Letter 4

Synesius of CyreneAlethius, (brother of Florentius)|synesius cyrene
barbarian invasiondiplomaticeducation booksgrief deathhumorillnessimperial politicsmonasticismproperty economicsslavery captivitytravel mobility

To my Brother.

We set out from Bendideum [near Alexandria] at dawn but had barely passed the Pharian Shoals by noon — our ship ran aground two or three times still inside the harbor. A bad omen from the very start, and it would have been wiser to abandon a vessel that was already unlucky. But we were too ashamed to have you call us cowards, so — as Homer puts it — "there was no longer any chance to tremble or withdraw."

If disaster comes, it will be your fault. Was it really so terrible for you to be laughing while we were safe? But "Epimetheus," as they say, "never lacked for hindsight" — and that is precisely our situation. We could easily have saved ourselves at the beginning. Instead, here we sit on deserted shores, gazing back at Alexandria and forward toward our homeland Cyrene — having willfully left the one and unable to reach the other, after seeing and suffering things we never imagined possible even in dreams.

Let me tell you the story, so you can stop laughing at us. I will start with our crew. The captain was ready for death because he was bankrupt. Besides him, twelve sailors — thirteen in all. More than half, including the captain, were Jews — a people fully convinced of the righteousness of sending as many Greeks as possible to the bottom. The rest were peasants who had never gripped an oar until the previous year.

Both groups had one thing in common: every man aboard had some physical defect. While we were safe they joked about it, calling each other by their disabilities instead of their names, and since everyone had a defect, nobody took offense. Our helmsman could not even see — a blind man steering a ship, the mythological Thamyris brought to life. The rest were equally qualified.

[Synesius goes on to describe a terrifying storm at sea, with the Jewish captain refusing to steer on the Sabbath even as the ship was being swamped, passengers praying and writing hasty wills, soldiers drawing their swords to die fighting the waves rather than drowning passively, and the ship finally being driven ashore on a deserted coast.]

This letter comes to you from the beach where we washed up — alive, by some miracle, but stripped of everything except the story itself.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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