Marcus Aurelius→Marcus Cornelius Fronto|c. 145 AD|Marcus Cornelius Fronto|From Rome (career hub)|To Rome (career hub)|AI-assisted
To Marcus Caesar 4.6 [62 Hout; 1.180 Haines]
Greetings, my sweetest of masters.
1. We are well. I slept rather late on account of a slight chill, which now seems to have settled. So from the eleventh hour of the night until the third hour of the day I partly read some of Cato's On Agriculture, and partly wrote—less wretchedly, by Hercules, than yesterday. Then, after I had paid my respects to my father, I soothed my throat by swallowing honey-water down to the gullet and spitting it back out: I “warmed my throat” rather than say “I gargled”—for that word is found in Novius, I believe, and elsewhere. But once my throat had been seen to, I went off to my father and stood by while he was offering sacrifice. Then we went to lunch. What do you suppose I had to eat? A tiny bit of bread, while I watched the others devouring beans and onions and sprats heavy with roe. After that we set to work gathering grapes, and we worked up a good sweat and shouted for joy and, as the author says, “left some clusters hanging high, survivors of the vintage.”
2. At the sixth hour we came home. I studied a little, and that to no purpose. Then I chattered a good deal with my dear little mother as she sat on the couch. My talk ran like this: “What do you think my Fronto is doing right now?” Then she: “And what do you think my Gratia is doing?” Then I: “And what about our little sparrow, the little Gratia?” While we were talking it over in this way and squabbling about which of us loved the other of you the more, the disc clanged—that is, word came that my father had passed over into the bath. So, after bathing, we dined in the press-room (not that we bathed in the press-room, but that, having bathed, we dined there), and we gladly listened to the country folk poking fun at one another. Then, after coming back, before I turn onto my side to snore, I unfold my task and render an account of the day to my most delightful master—whom, if I could long for more, I would gladly pine away a little more.
3. Farewell, my Fronto, wherever you are, most honey-sweet, my love, my delight. What is there between you and me? I love you, though you are absent.
? 144–145 A.D. , my sweetest of masters. 1. We are well. I slept somewhat late owing to my slight cold, which seems now to have subsided. So from five a.m. till nine I spent the time partly in reading some of Cato's Agriculture and partly in writing not quite such wretched stuff, by heavens, as yesterday. Then, after paying my respects to my father, I relieved my throat, I will not say by gargling—though the word gargarisso is, I believe, found in Novius and elsewhere—but by swallowing honey water as far as the gullet and ejecting it again. After easing my throat I went off to my father and attended him at a sacrifice. Then we went to luncheon. What do you think I ate? A wee bit of bread, though I saw others devouring beans, onions, and herrings full of roe. We then worked hard at grape-gathering, and had a good sweat, and were merry and, as the poet says, still left some clusters hanging high as gleanings of the vintage . After six o'clock we came home. 2. I did but little work and that to no purpose. Then I had a long chat with my little mother as she sat on the bed. My talk was this: What do you think my Fronto is now doing? Then she: A nd what do you think my Gratia is doing? Then I: And what do you think our little sparrow, the wee Gratia , is doing? Whilst we were chattering in this way and disputing which of us two loved the one or other of you two the better, the gong sounded, an intimation that my father had gone to his bath. So we had supper after we had bathed in the oil-press room; I do not mean bathed in the oil-press room, but when we had bathed, had supper there, and we enjoyed hearing the yokels chaffing one another. After coming back, before I turn over and snore, I get my task done and give my dearest of masters an account of the day's doings, and if I could miss him more, I would not grudge wasting away a little more. Farewell, my Fronto, wherever you are, most honey-sweet, my love, my delight. How is it between you and me? I love you and you are away.
ad M. Caesarem 4.6 [62 Hout; 1.180 Haines]
Have mihi magister dulcissime.
1 Nos valemus. Ego aliquantum prodormivi propter perfrictiunculam, quae videtur sedata esse. Ergo ab undecima noctis in tertiam diei partim legi ex agri cultura Catonis, partim scripsi, minus misere, mercule, quam heri. Inde salutato patre meo aqua mulsa sorbenda usque ad gulam et rejectanda ‘fauces fovi’ potius quam dicerem ‘gargarissavi’, nam est ad Novium, credo, et alibi. Sed faucibus curatis abii ad patrem meum et immolanti adstiti. deinde ad merendam itum. Quid me censes prandisse? Panis tantulum, cum conchim et caepas et maenas bene praegnatis alios vorantis viderem. Deinde uvis metendis operam dedimus et consudavimus et jubilavimus et “aliquos”, ut ait auctor, “reliquimus altipendulos vindemiae superstites”. 2 Ab hora sexta domum redimus. Paululum studui atque id ineptum. Deinde cum matercula mea supra torum sedente multum garrivi. Meus sermo hic erat: “Quid existimas modo meum Frontonem facere?” Tum illa: “Quid autem tu meam Cratiam?” Tum ego: “Quid autem passerculam nostram Cratiam minusculam?” Dum ea fabulamur atque altercamur, uter alterutrum vestrum magis amaret, discus crepuit, id est, pater meus in balneum transisse nuntiatus est. Loti igitur in torculari cenavimus (non loti in torculari, sed loti cenavimus) et rusticos cavillantes audivimus libenter. inde reversus, antequam in latus converto ut stertam, meum pensum explico et diei rationem meo suavissimo magistro reddo, quem si possem magis desiderare libenter plusculum macerarer.
3 Valebis, mihi Fronto, ubiubi es, mellitissime, meus amor, mea voluptas. Quid mihi tecum est? Amo absentem.
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To Marcus Caesar 4.6 [62 Hout; 1.180 Haines]
Greetings, my sweetest of masters.
1. We are well. I slept rather late on account of a slight chill, which now seems to have settled. So from the eleventh hour of the night until the third hour of the day I partly read some of Cato's On Agriculture, and partly wrote—less wretchedly, by Hercules, than yesterday. Then, after I had paid my respects to my father, I soothed my throat by swallowing honey-water down to the gullet and spitting it back out: I “warmed my throat” rather than say “I gargled”—for that word is found in Novius, I believe, and elsewhere. But once my throat had been seen to, I went off to my father and stood by while he was offering sacrifice. Then we went to lunch. What do you suppose I had to eat? A tiny bit of bread, while I watched the others devouring beans and onions and sprats heavy with roe. After that we set to work gathering grapes, and we worked up a good sweat and shouted for joy and, as the author says, “left some clusters hanging high, survivors of the vintage.”
2. At the sixth hour we came home. I studied a little, and that to no purpose. Then I chattered a good deal with my dear little mother as she sat on the couch. My talk ran like this: “What do you think my Fronto is doing right now?” Then she: “And what do you think my Gratia is doing?” Then I: “And what about our little sparrow, the little Gratia?” While we were talking it over in this way and squabbling about which of us loved the other of you the more, the disc clanged—that is, word came that my father had passed over into the bath. So, after bathing, we dined in the press-room (not that we bathed in the press-room, but that, having bathed, we dined there), and we gladly listened to the country folk poking fun at one another. Then, after coming back, before I turn onto my side to snore, I unfold my task and render an account of the day to my most delightful master—whom, if I could long for more, I would gladly pine away a little more.
3. Farewell, my Fronto, wherever you are, most honey-sweet, my love, my delight. What is there between you and me? I love you, though you are absent.
AI-assisted translation - This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.
Latin / Greek Original
ad M. Caesarem 4.6 [62 Hout; 1.180 Haines] Have mihi magister dulcissime. 1 Nos valemus. Ego aliquantum prodormivi propter perfrictiunculam, quae videtur sedata esse. Ergo ab undecima noctis in tertiam diei partim legi ex agri cultura Catonis, partim scripsi, minus misere, mercule, quam heri. Inde salutato patre meo aqua mulsa sorbenda usque ad gulam et rejectanda ‘fauces fovi’ potius quam dicerem ‘gargarissavi’, nam est ad Novium, credo, et alibi. Sed faucibus curatis abii ad patrem meum et immolanti adstiti. deinde ad merendam itum. Quid me censes prandisse? Panis tantulum, cum conchim et caepas et maenas bene praegnatis alios vorantis viderem. Deinde uvis metendis operam dedimus et consudavimus et jubilavimus et “aliquos”, ut ait auctor, “reliquimus altipendulos vindemiae superstites”. 2 Ab hora sexta domum redimus. Paululum studui atque id ineptum. Deinde cum matercula mea supra torum sedente multum garrivi. Meus sermo hic erat: “Quid existimas modo meum Frontonem facere?” Tum illa: “Quid autem tu meam Cratiam?” Tum ego: “Quid autem passerculam nostram Cratiam minusculam?” Dum ea fabulamur atque altercamur, uter alterutrum vestrum magis amaret, discus crepuit, id est, pater meus in balneum transisse nuntiatus est. Loti igitur in torculari cenavimus (non loti in torculari, sed loti cenavimus) et rusticos cavillantes audivimus libenter. inde reversus, antequam in latus converto ut stertam, meum pensum explico et diei rationem meo suavissimo magistro reddo, quem si possem magis desiderare libenter plusculum macerarer. 3 Valebis, mihi Fronto, ubiubi es, mellitissime, meus amor, mea voluptas. Quid mihi tecum est? Amo absentem.