AND THEN HE BEGAN TO WRITE - epistolaerum

Sunday, June 1, 2014

That which seems to others infamous and deserving of reproach – the fact that you are shameless and bold and complaisant – is what I love about you most. Take the case of animals: the horses we most admire are those that are conscious of their own powers; and the lions we admire are those that show spirit; and the cocks we admire are those that do not let their heads droop. So then, in your case also, you are doing nothing strange if, since you are a woman who surpasses many in beauty, you have a haughty glance and an imposing gait; surely there is a citadel of loveliness surpassing far this citadel of kings – at least we love you and fear them. You receive wages; so too Danae received gold. And you accept garlands; the virgin Artemis did the same. And you give yourself to tillers of the soil; but Helen actually gave herself to shepherds. And you grant your favours to lyre-players: why hesitate – just look at Apollo? Do not hold yourself back from flute-players either, for theirs is the art of the Muses. And do not scorn slaves, but let them think that, thanks to you, they are freemen. And do not feel shame, my fair one, of Aphrodite's rites with those who live by the hunt and by the chase; nor with sailors: 'tis true that they go off quickly, but Jason, the first to dare the sea, was not without honor; not yet of those who serve in arms for pay; strip these vainglorius fellows bare. For you must never so much as gainsay the poor: to them the gods give ear. Esteem the aged man because of his dignity; instruct the young man, regarding him as a tiro; hold back the stranger, if he is hastening away. That is what Timagore did, and Lais, and Aristagora, and Menander's Glycerium, and in their footsteps you also are treading. You place your charms at men's disposal with full knowledge, and you possess a skill that is nicely adjusted to produce its effect. For fire is not so hot as is your panting, nor flute so sweet to hear as are your words.

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"So, my friends, may a glimmer of that delight which has so often possessed me, but perhaps too frequently in secret, now reach you from these pages. J. B. Priestley