To Modestus. (359/60)
A fine set of rewards awaits governors, it seems -- if they are to wear themselves out, neglect their own interests while tending to public affairs, and then receive in return insult, condemnation, disgrace, and danger.
This is what has now engulfed Tryphonianus -- a man you never dishonored, a man who lived among us. He was ready to march to Chalcis to compel the local farmers to do their duty, but just as he stood at the starting line, a storm descended on him from the hands of Ursoualus.
Certain men arrived from that quarter, barged boldly into his bedroom, demanded gold, and shouted for him to produce a sum -- how much gold, do you think? When none appeared, they went through the house sealing everything, causing an uproar. His wife was in shock, and the baby nearly came before its time.
We are doing what is in our power: we grieve with our friend. But you, who can do more, grieve alongside us -- and then help him on your own, showing your goodness and putting your power to use.
To Modestus (359/60)
Fine rewards indeed await those who govern, if they are to wear themselves out and neglect their own affairs while tending to the public good, only to receive in return insult, condemnation, disgrace, and danger.
For these are what now encircle Tryphonianus — a man whom you never treated with dishonor and who lived among us. He was prepared to set out for Chalcis to compel the farmers there to do their duty, but just as he stood at the starting line, a storm cloud raised by the hands of Ursualus engulfed him.
For certain men came from that quarter and burst boldly into his bedchamber, demanding gold and shouting that he must pay — how much gold, do you think? When none was found, they put seals on everything, and there was a great uproar. His wife was thrown into a panic, and the child in her womb nearly came forth before its time.
We, then, do what lies within our power: we grieve with our friend. But you, who have something more to give — grieve with us, yes, but also come to his aid alone, showing yourself a good man and putting your power to use.
Let the first measure of your favor be this: not to take his remaining in office as cause for anger — or rather, to redirect that anger onto those who would not let him leave. The second: to lift the fine that has been imposed on him.
What we ask is no trifling matter, nor indeed is what you accomplish every day a trifling matter — nor is it within the reach of just any man's judgment, but yours alone. Do not be surprised, then, if those of us who have long watched you teach us that you prevail even in impossible cases now demand of you further deeds to match those.
Rather, consider whence this condemnation arose, condemn the injustice of the affair and the magnitude of the penalty, and — honoring us and coming to the rescue of a governor driven to utter ruin — do what will bring distinction to you, joy to us, and salvation to his family.
A fine set of rewards awaits governors, it seems -- if they are to wear themselves out, neglect their own interests while tending to public affairs, and then receive in return insult, condemnation, disgrace, and danger.
This is what has now engulfed Tryphonianus -- a man you never dishonored, a man who lived among us. He was ready to march to Chalcis to compel the local farmers to do their duty, but just as he stood at the starting line, a storm descended on him from the hands of Ursoualus.
Certain men arrived from that quarter, barged boldly into his bedroom, demanded gold, and shouted for him to produce a sum -- how much gold, do you think? When none appeared, they went through the house sealing everything, causing an uproar. His wife was in shock, and the baby nearly came before its time.
We are doing what is in our power: we grieve with our friend. But you, who can do more, grieve alongside us -- and then help him on your own, showing your goodness and putting your power to use.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.