Letter 8

Ausonius to Paulus. To Axius [Axius Paulus], a worthy sharer in the Greek Muse and in the Latin song, I, Ausonius, send my playful greeting in a tongue of two languages. [This poem is composed in alternating Greek and Latin, often word by word.] Muses, what are we doing? Why do I trifle away the day with empty hopes, careless and growing older with each passing day? Over the Santonic plains [around Saintes, in southwestern Gaul], where the frost gives an inhospitable welcome, I wander, shivering and cold, a chaser after chill, a useless servant of the soft-tressed Pierides. The freezing of the feet and the chattering of the teeth hold everyone in their grip, for there is no warmth of a hearth in this snowy country, and men only double the cold by brooding over their frosty verses. Yet at the beginning of the new month, on the Kalends of January, let me send to my Paulus the first-fruits of our song, the much-singing children of fair-veiled Mnemosyne [Memory, mother of the Muses], the nine talkative, lily-garlanded maidens. Come now, bring me verses full of laughter, a scurrilous strain of song. On your brows wear a feathered triumph; for it is you I summon, clumsy bottle-poet that I am [Dionysopoietes, a 'wine-poet']: fashion for Paulus a half-barbarian, mingled lay. For it is not lawful for me, while I linger in this region, to leave worthy Axius wanting for our Muses. He is my partner in all things: he knows how to handle both our serious work and our jests in every kind of wrestling-school [i.e. with every literary skill]. And now, set apart in his lonely countryside at Crebennus, in a grapeless land, he keeps his heart-grieving converse, accommodating neither to dear companions nor to any dinner-table; sick at heart, he reproaches the mind-charming Muses for his idleness. Enough now, O dear Paulus, of toil, in the forum, in lawsuits, and in the thankless professorial chairs, in the schools of rhetoric, from which nothing ever came. By now all that youthful sweat has been poured out from his limbs, and trembling old age is at hand, and the strongbox, grown light, supplies the means for spending less generously. For the helpless man has no profit, nor does the bedridden old man earn his golden fee. But if you are even-minded, and would rather praise everything, there will be forgetfulness of toil and of poverty. And this is the finest thing of all: that, with all the Muses on every side, with the bowl and with wine, the true companion of the years, you may seek the gentle solaces of a sorrowing heart. Here too will be the fruit of Demeter, glorious in her harvests; here are the thriving swine, here the capacious cups, if you should wish to mix the nectar of the wine. So let us both, then, beguile the leisure hours of our life, as long as fortune and age and the purple threads of the Sisters [the Fates] are still being spun.

To Axius, worthy - participant in Hellenic poesy and Roman song, I, Ausonius, send playful greeting in a medley of the two tongues. Muses, what do we ? Wherefore with empty hopes do I sport idly, heedless of growing older day by day? O'er the Santonic plains, where frost accords chill welcome, I wander shivering with cold, a frigid hard indeed, a servant unemployed of the soft-tressed Pierides. Cold feet and chattering of teeth are each man's lot, because no hearth gives warmth in this snowy country, and men redouble all the cold with meditating their frigid verse. Yet even so, at the beginning of the new month and on the first of January let me send to Paulus the first-fruits of my song. Ye songful children of Mnemosyne with tresses coiffed, nine wordy maids with locks begarlanded. come now with chant ridiculous and macaronic 3 lay, wear winged triumph on your brows—for 'tis on you T call, a clumsy bottle-bard—compose for Paulus some mixed barbarian strain! For I may not, albeit tarrying in these parts, leave worthy Axius lacking my poesy. He shareth all with me, and knoweth all sorts of tricks for wrestling with my serious and my jesting verse. And now retired in the lonely-country of Crebennus he hath his heart-vexing dwelling in a grapeless land, remote alike from his dear friends and from all dinner-tables. There, sick at heart, he chides the heart-soothing Muses for his loneliness. Enough experience have 1 had of toil ere now, friend Paulus, both as a pleader in the courts and in the thankless professorial chair at Schools of Rhetoric, and got therefrom no profit. But now has all that youthful energy oozed from these limbs, trembling old age is nigh, and my strong-box grown light furnishes means for outlay less readily. For the helpless draws no salary from the Exchequer,1 and the bed-ridden dotard earns no golden fees. Yet if only thou wilt be of unruffled mind and rather see good in everything, thy toil and poverty will find oblivion. But this is the very best of all, from all the Muses everywhere—not without bowl and wine, comrade of the true Muses—to seek soothing consolation for a troubled heart. Here shalt thou find the fruit of Demeter. rich in crops, here fat swine, here capacious goblets if thou wouldst mix the nectar of good wine. So shall we twain cheer the blank hours of our life, so long as means and age allow and the Three Sisters spin their purple thread.2

ΑΥΣΟΝΙΟΣ ΠΑΥΛΩΙ Ἑλλαδικῆσ μέτοχον μούσησ Latiacque camenae Ἄξιον Αὐσόνιοσ sermone adludo bilingni. Musae. quid facimus? τί κεναῖσιν ἐφ' ἑλπίσιν Indimus ἀφρυδίῃδιν ἐν ἤματι Σαντονικοῖσ κάμποισιν, ὅποι κρύοσ ἄξενόν. erramus gelido τρομεροὶ καὶ frigdopetae. Πιερίδων τενεροπλοκάμων θεράποντεσ inertes. πάντα δ' ἔχει παγετόσ τε pedum καὶ κρουσμὸσ ὀδόντων, θαλπωρὴ quia nulla φοκοῦ χιονώδει χώρῃ et duplicant frigus ψυχρὰ carmina μητιόωντεσ. ἀρχόμενοσ δ' ἄρα μηνὶ νέῳ Ιανοῦ τε calend αισ primitias Panlo nostrae πέμψωμεν Μνημοσύνησ κρηδεμνοκόμου πολν cantica τέκνα, ἐννέα Verbosae κριννοστέφανοί τε puellae, ἔνθ' ἄγε μοι πολυ risa ἔπη, σκουρώδεα μολπήν. frontibus ὑμετέραισ πτέρινον praeferte triumphum ὑμᾶσ γὰρ καλέω σκαιὸσ Διονυσοπουητήσ Παύλῳ ἐφαρμόσσαιτε μεμιγμενοβάρβαρον οὐ γάρ μοι θέμισ ἐστὶν in hac regione μένοντι Ἄξιον abnostris ἐπιδεύεα εἶνε καμήναις: κεῖνοσ ἐμοὶ πάντων μέτοχοσ. qui seria nostra. qui ioca παντοδαπῇ novit tractare παλαίστρῃ. καὶ νῦν sepositus μοναχῷ ἐνὶ rnre Κρεβέννου ἀσταφύλῳ ἐνὶ χώρῳ habet θυμαλγέα λέσχην οὔτε φίλοισ ἑτάροισ nec mensae accommodus ulli. otia θελξινόοισ aeger σνμμέμφεται Μούσαισ. Iam satis, ο φίλε Παῦλε, πόνου ἔν τε for ῳ caus αισ τε καὶ ingrat αισι καθέδραισ. ῤητορικοῖσ λουδοῖσι, καὶ ἔπλετο οὐδὲν ἄλλ' ἤδη κεῖνοσ μὲν ἅπασ iuvenalios ἱδρὼσ ἐκκέχυται μελέων, τρομερὴ δὲ πάρεστι senectus καὶ minus in sumptum δαπάνασ lenis arca ministrat. Οὐ γὰρ ἔχει ἀπάλαμνοσ ἀνὴρ lucr ον, κλεινικὸσ οὔτε γέρων χρυσέην ἐργάζετ'. Aequanimus quod si fueris et πάντα vel αἰνεῖν malueris, λήθη πόνου ἔσσεται ἠδὲ. Κεῖνο δὲ παγκάλλιστον, ut omnibus undique Musis σὺν φιάλῃque οἴνῳque ἐτεῶν συνοπάονι, θυμοῦ άλῃχεμένου solacia blanda requiras. hic crit et fructus Δημητέρος ἀγλαοκάρπου, ἔνθα σύεσ θαλεροί, πολυχανδέα pocula ἔνθα, κιρνᾶν εἴ κε θέλοισ νέκταρ οὐίνοιο. Ambo igitur nostrae παραθέλξομεν otia vitae. Dum res et aetas et sororum νήματα πορφύρεα πολέκηται.