Praefatiunculae

AUSONIUS TO THE READER, greeting. Ausonius was my father, and I bear the same name. Who I am, of what sect, stock, household, and homeland, I have set down, that you might know, good man, whoever you may have been, and might cherish me, when known, with a mindful heart. Vasates is my father's homeland; my mother's race was Aeduan on her father's side, but my mother herself was from Tarbellic Aquae (Dax); I myself was born at Bordeaux: the origin of my stock is divided among four ancient cities. Hence my kinship is widely spread; let names come to many, drawn, as has pleased them, from our house: to others they are derived, but to us, from the first pedigree, they are pleasing not as those of kinsmen but as native. But I return to my course. My father studied medicine, the one of the disciplines that gave us a god (Aesculapius). I turned my zeal to grammar, and soon touched also upon rhetoric, as much as is enough. Nor were the courts unfrequented by me, but my care for teaching was more cultivated, and I earned the name of grammarian — not indeed so grand that my glory should approach Aemilius or Scaurus or Probus of Berytus, but one whereby I might, when compared, look upon many of my countrymen, Aquitanian names, yet not be set below them. And then, the annals being completed through three decades, I, a teacher, deserted my municipal work, and, bidden to come to the golden palace of Augustus, I taught the Augustan offspring as grammarian, and soon also as rhetor; for our confidence was not vain, nor the glory of an unsound judgement. Yet I grant that there may have been masters of a more powerful fame, provided that no one had a better pupil. Alcides (Hercules) of Atlas, and the grandson of Aeacus (Achilles) of Chiron — the one almost sprung from Jove, the other the son of Jove — had Thessaly and Thebes as their household gods: but this one of mine reigns over his own whole world. Of whom I was the companion and quaestor, and — the summit of honours — prefect of the Gauls and of Libya and of Latium; and, having first gained the fasces and the Latin curule chair, I was consul, my colleague being the later one. This, then, is Ausonius: but do you not scorn it, that of my own accord I make you the patron of my songs.

AUSONIUS TO SYAGRIUS. As you, kindly Syagrius, dwell in the seat of our heart, and, a second self, inhabit a common Ausonius: so too you shall be held set as a preface to our book, that it may differ in nothing whether it be yours or mine.

A LETTER OF THE EMPEROR THEODOSIUS. Theodosius Augustus to his father (parent) Ausonius, greeting. My love which is toward you, and my admiration of your talent and learning, which are by far the greatest, have brought it about, most delightful father, that I should set aside the custom usual to other princes, and send you a familiar discourse in my own hand, asking — by a right not, indeed, royal, but of that private affection between us — that you not suffer me to be cheated of the reading of your writings, which, once known to me and now in time forgotten, I again desire: not only that what is known may be recalled, but also that I may receive those things which, added by a famous report, are recorded. These you, who love me, will gladly impart from the store-room of your archives, following the examples of the best authors, whom you have deserved to equal: who eagerly handed over their works to Octavian Augustus when he held the power, composing many things in his honour without end. Whether he admired them as much as I you, I should hardly know; certainly he loved them no more. Farewell, father.

TO MY LORD, AND THE LORD OF ALL, THEODOSIUS AUGUSTUS, YOUR AUSONIUS. If golden Ceres should bid the farmer give his seed to the earth, if Gradivus (Mars) should bid the general take up arms, if Neptune should bid an unarmed fleet loose from harbour: it is as right to trust as it is wrong to doubt — although the sea rage with mad storm, and the earth be raw for the seed, and the band not fit enough for war. Doubt nothing, when the author is good. Mortal things require counsel; do you, made sure, take up the commands of a god. Augustus bids me write, and demands my songs, almost entreating: a power lies hidden in the coaxing command. I have no talent, but Caesar has bidden it: I shall have it. Why should I deny that I can do what he thinks I can? He himself rouses my weak strength, and the same who commands also helps: it is enough that mine be the compliance. It is not safe to have refused a god. Praised is often the delay of modesty, as often as you doubt against an equal. Nay more, for some time now my unbidden songs make ready to burst forth — which would not wish to be the book of a Caesar, lest he bear an unworthy bard and a hundred erasures, ever to be changed with a worse mark? Do you only remember, Roman father, that you commanded it, and in my faults grant yourself pardon.