To Demetrius. (358/59)
I mourned for the city itself -- the one I was so glad to see, which I left unwillingly, and which I longed for even while sitting at home -- and before the city, I mourned for the noble Aristaenetus, who was taken by it and with it.
I believe that neither lament was really my own; both belonged to Grief herself. For at the moment when I was beside myself and alarming my household with fears that I would not survive the blow, she took my hand and wrote whatever she wished.
I showed what I had written to four people -- the occasion did not call for a public audience. Besides my uncle there was Priscianus the rhetorician, then the excellent Philocles, and Eusebius, who has made a study of friendship. Sabinus, it turned out, was in the country.
These men heard me, and not one of them failed to share what they heard. Soon I was surrounded by people insisting that I either read it aloud or confess that I was being unfair. I handed over the manuscript, and those who took it left few people without a hearing. You too have permission to read it alone, if you wish, or with others, if you prefer.
I suspect you have composed something similar yourself.
To Demetrius (358/59)
I have lamented both this very city — which I saw with the greatest pleasure, left against my will, and longed for even while sitting at home — and, before the city, the noble Aristaenetus, who perished both by her and with her.
I believe that neither lament was truly mine, but that both belong to Grief herself. For in that moment when I was beside myself and frightening my household with the thought that I would not withstand the calamity, it was she who took my hand and wrote whatever she wished.
Those to whom I showed each piece numbered four — for the occasion did not call for a large audience: besides my uncle, there was Priscianus the rhetorician, then the excellent Philocles, and Eusebius, who has made a study of devotion. Sabinus, as it happened, was in the country.
These men heard me, and not one of them failed to tell others who would want to hear. At once I was surrounded by people insisting that I either read the pieces aloud or confess myself guilty of withholding them. I gave up the book, and those who took it left few who had not heard it. You too have my permission to read it — alone, if you prefer, or with others, if that suits you better.
I suspect that you yourself have composed something of the kind for your brother, for it was not in the nature of your eloquence to bury that man in silence. Send it, then, since I too find no displeasure in the company of monodies after that earthquake. But I shall be amazed if, enjoying grapes of such quality as you now have, you will dare to call the present season winter.
I mourned for the city itself -- the one I was so glad to see, which I left unwillingly, and which I longed for even while sitting at home -- and before the city, I mourned for the noble Aristaenetus, who was taken by it and with it.
I believe that neither lament was really my own; both belonged to Grief herself. For at the moment when I was beside myself and alarming my household with fears that I would not survive the blow, she took my hand and wrote whatever she wished.
I showed what I had written to four people -- the occasion did not call for a public audience. Besides my uncle there was Priscianus the rhetorician, then the excellent Philocles, and Eusebius, who has made a study of friendship. Sabinus, it turned out, was in the country.
These men heard me, and not one of them failed to share what they heard. Soon I was surrounded by people insisting that I either read it aloud or confess that I was being unfair. I handed over the manuscript, and those who took it left few people without a hearing. You too have permission to read it alone, if you wish, or with others, if you prefer.
I suspect you have composed something similar yourself.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.