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Andrew Moore (Editor), Nathan Flis (Editor), Francesca Vanke (Editor)
Description: The Paston Treasure: Microcosm of the Known World
Appendix 2
Author
Andrew Moore (Editor), Nathan Flis (Editor), Francesca Vanke (Editor)
PublisherYale Center for British Art
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Appendix 2: Two Latin Verses in Memory of Sir William Paston
British Library Sloane MS 1009, vol. 1, fol. 136
With notes and English translation by David Money
Umbræ venerabilis et clarissimi <viri> D[omi]ni Gulielmi Pastoni Baronetti corporis exu[v]ias1This appears to be “exuias”, an error for “exuvias”, the scribe writing a single “u” where he should have put two. relinquenti octavo calendarum Martii Anno Domini 1662 latinis Iambis Prosopopeia
Quicquid sub Arcto, quicquid in gremio latet
Thetidis, vel amplo conditur ponti sinu,
Aut æstuantis febre perpetuâ canis
Radians ocellus videt, inter fluctuum
Ebulientes rivulos, vel anxius
5
Quærunt sub undis alacer Indus Æthiops,
Maurusve pelle nigricante Barbarus.
Hæc omnia domi nôsse te (charum caput)
Testantur Argonautæ, et abietum frequens
Catena, malorumque silvæ2Uncertain reading; word altered in composition. mobiles,
10
Pontique nemora densa, decumano mari
Tot Insulas nutante fixas vertice
Toties salutantia, iteratis nuntiis
Dum tu Liburnarum revisens navium
Orbem stupentem, miscuisti Barbaris
15
Gentem togatam.
At ista menti prævolenti vilior
Conditio sordet, et Globi scientia
Exacta licet et ampla terreni iacet
Contempta, et æquator (quod explanat) solo.
20
Cælestis ardor surgit ad cælestia,
Nec sufficit contractus orbis navitæ
Terræ marisque conscio, sat semitæ
Rimæque cuiusque extimæ, sed altius
........ .... .... .......... 3Four words are illegible due to where the leaf was once folded. The reading of the first three words in the next line is also uncertain. illic forsitan
25
Cælestis [et eadem] fluentis navigans
Stellata in Argo, coelum aquosum transnatas
Vel forsan undas Atri adhuc tranans Stygis
Cymba Charontis ibis Elysiam domum,
Vale ergo, et inter vive cælestes Choros:
30
Tantum hoc avitam liceat urnam carmine
Notare[.]
Epitaphium
Transi viator, nobilis
Et civis hic sepultus est,
At siste gradum, nam brevi
Videbis istum nobilem,
Redibit, haud morabitur,
5
Resurget extremo die,
Qui transmarinam navigans
Tot Orbis ampli littora
Expertus, omnem noverat
Terræ marisque semitam,
10
Tandem suam foeliciter
Mundi Charibdæis abnuens
Adegit ad portum ratem,
Sed vela iam si creditis
Iterum tetendisse, et sua /col. 2/
15
Ventis dedisse carbasa,
Nec falsa forsan erit fides
Ergo Valete dicit, at
Redibit, expectabitis
Gazophylacio deest4There has been an erasure here. It looks as if the scribe wrote the words of the following line (including “perennis” spelt correctly), and then realized they were in the wrong place.
20
Gemma hæc perrenis5Here “perrenis” is a misspelling for “perennis”. This is evidently a sign of haste, rather than a legitimate alternative spelling—“perrenis” would not scan metrically, and “perennis” must be what the poet intended. unica:
Æterna vita dicitur.
Ad hanc emendam navigat
Christi sub auspitiis, novæ
Ad nundinas Hierusalem
25
Hic nobilis non civis est,
At6An incorrect “ad” has been altered to read “at”. civis illic nobilis,
Corolla hic datur aurea,
Illic corona gloriæ.
JHL7It seems most likely that the monogram at the end of these texts is intended to encapsulate three letters, “J”, “H”, and “L”, although it might simply be “HL”. The author has not been identified.
An address in Latin iambics to the shade of that venerable and most distinguished gentleman, Sir William Paston, baronet, who left behind his mortal remains on 22 February8This is the eighth day before the Calends of March. 1662.
Whatever lies in the Arctic, whatever is hidden in the lap of Thetis,9The poem begins with “under the [constellation of the] bear” (literal translation for the Arctic) and mention of Thetis, a sea goddess. This and the following lines are fairly conventional classical ways of describing exotic locations. or is concealed in the ample gulf of the sea; or whatever the sun’s radiant eye looks upon, with the perpetual fever of the burning dog-star, among the foaming rivulets of the waters; or whatever the careful Indian or keen Ethiopian seek under the waves—or the barbarian dark-skinned Moor: all of these things you knew at home (dear man), as the Argonauts testify, and the numerously linked fir trees,10The Argonauts were the first-ever sailors. The text concerning the fir trees translates literally as “frequent chain of fir-trees”, referring either to the masts of ships (as in the following lines), or possibly the linked planks and beams that make up a hull. and the moving forests of masts, those thick woods of the sea which so often salute with their nodding heads so many stationary islands on the immense ocean, while you revisited the amazed world with fast-sailing brigs, your regular messengers, making connections between the civilized world and barbarians.11Literally, “you have mixed the toga-wearing race with barbarians”. The Romans referred to themselves as toga-wearers, so, for a seventeenth-century writer, the term can be expanded to include all of European culture; “barbarians” is a loose term (for Romans, it could mean either Britons or Persians, or anyone else outside their Greco-Roman culture), which may imply either “savage” or more obviously sophisticated non-European peoples. Both line 16 and the final line 32 are metrically incomplete (it is not clear whether there is any significance in this being exactly half-way through the poem), though not identically, being the first five syllables (or the first three) of a possible iambic line. It is deeply odd for the lines not to be completed; one wonders whether this is a deliberate decision on the poet’s part, or a sign that the scribe (whether or not he is also the poet) is making a fair copy of an incomplete poem, that could theoretically have been continued by finishing either of those lines, and perhaps going further. While a poem is in progress, it is natural to allow the sense to run over into a new line, but almost invariably these lines are later completed, not left in this state. But for a mind that flies ahead, this humbler human condition seems too low, and knowledge (albeit precise and ample) merely of the terrestrial globe lies despised, and is equated with the ground that it describes.12This seems quite a complicated (perhaps quite clever) thought. The poet seems to be punning on the “equator” found on the globe and the verb aequatur (is equalled). The MS seems to read “-or”, though possibly “-ur” is meant. Heavenly ardour rises up to heavenly things, nor is the narrow world sufficient for a sailor who has known both land and sea, and is fully aware of each pathway and narrow route, however distant, but who [yearns eagerly . . . ?]13The illegible words are probably something along these lines. This section of the poem must refer to the dead man’s desire to go “higher” (altius) than the bonds of mortal life on earth permit. to go higher; . . . and there perhaps you are swimming across the watery heaven, navigating the heavenly floods on a starry Argo, or perhaps you are still swimming across the waters of black Styx, and will go to your Elysian home on Charon’s boat. Farewell, then, and live among the heavenly choirs: may we be allowed simply to mark your ancestral urn with this song.14The “song” perhaps refers to the epitaph that follows.
Epitaph
Pass on, traveller; a noble man and a citizen is buried here. But pause, for soon you will see this noble man; he will return, he will not delay, he will rise again on the last day. He navigated overseas, experienced so many shores of the wide world; he knew every path of land and sea; and at length he has brought his ship happily into port, having rejected the whirlpools of the world. But now, if you believe that he has again stretched out his sails, and given canvas to the winds, perhaps your faith will not be false; therefore he says “farewell”, but he will return, you will expect him. There is lacking in his treasure-house this one unique and everlasting gem: it is called eternal life. To purchase this, he sails under Christ’s auspices, to the market of the new Jerusalem. Here, a noble is not an ordinary citizen; there, a citizen is noble. Here, he is given a little golden coronet; and there, the crown of glory.
JHL
Comments on the Poems
In terms of literary quality, these two poems are moderately sophisticated, but with some awkward or unusual features. (Our appreciation of them may also be hampered by some errors by the author or copyist, as well as the illegibility of a few words.) The handling of the metre is generally competent, as is normal for British Latin of this period. Some of the phrasing is rather too repetitive and conventional; a better poet might not have said the same thing quite so many times.
The metre of the first poem is iambic trimeter. The second poem is in iambic dimeter. There is an error in the metre of line 3 of the second poem, which seems to be the poet’s forgetfulness—the “a” of “gradum” is short, in a position where he needed a long syllable.
The liveliest lines seem to me to be the passage in the first poem (lines 10–13), where the masts of ships bobbing on the water seem to nod in salute to the unmoving land, a witty image, and the last ten lines of the second poem, with the collector heading to market day in the new Jerusalem to seek the gem of eternal life, and the final neatly pointed juxtaposition of glorious heavenly citizenship and mere earthly nobility.
The language is at times reminiscent of Catullus (as in lines 3–4 of the first poem: with the diminutive “ocellus”, and the heat that may recall “aestuosi” at Catullus poem 7, line 5; and more generally, the humorous piling up of alternatives). Readers may also have been intended to think of Horace, another favourite model for poetry of this kind; the same fondness for listing alternatives has perhaps something in common with the approach used in Horace’s opening address to his patron, Maecenas (Odes book 1, poem 1). The apparent contraction of the world (line 22 of the first poem here) may seem a slightly Horatian paradox: compare “contracta … aequora” at Odes book 3, poem 1, line 33. Our poet here is playing with a range of phrases and ideas that doubtless have roots in his reading of classical verse, and applying them (sometimes more adeptly, sometimes less so) to his own imaginative framework.
 
1     This appears to be “exuias”, an error for “exuvias”, the scribe writing a single “u” where he should have put two. »
2     Uncertain reading; word altered in composition. »
3     Four words are illegible due to where the leaf was once folded. The reading of the first three words in the next line is also uncertain. »
4     There has been an erasure here. It looks as if the scribe wrote the words of the following line (including “perennis” spelt correctly), and then realized they were in the wrong place. »
5     Here “perrenis” is a misspelling for “perennis”. This is evidently a sign of haste, rather than a legitimate alternative spelling—“perrenis” would not scan metrically, and “perennis” must be what the poet intended. »
6     An incorrect “ad” has been altered to read “at”. »
7     It seems most likely that the monogram at the end of these texts is intended to encapsulate three letters, “J”, “H”, and “L”, although it might simply be “HL”. The author has not been identified. »
8     This is the eighth day before the Calends of March. »
9     The poem begins with “under the [constellation of the] bear” (literal translation for the Arctic) and mention of Thetis, a sea goddess. This and the following lines are fairly conventional classical ways of describing exotic locations. »
10     The Argonauts were the first-ever sailors. The text concerning the fir trees translates literally as “frequent chain of fir-trees”, referring either to the masts of ships (as in the following lines), or possibly the linked planks and beams that make up a hull. »
11     Literally, “you have mixed the toga-wearing race with barbarians”. The Romans referred to themselves as toga-wearers, so, for a seventeenth-century writer, the term can be expanded to include all of European culture; “barbarians” is a loose term (for Romans, it could mean either Britons or Persians, or anyone else outside their Greco-Roman culture), which may imply either “savage” or more obviously sophisticated non-European peoples. Both line 16 and the final line 32 are metrically incomplete (it is not clear whether there is any significance in this being exactly half-way through the poem), though not identically, being the first five syllables (or the first three) of a possible iambic line. It is deeply odd for the lines not to be completed; one wonders whether this is a deliberate decision on the poet’s part, or a sign that the scribe (whether or not he is also the poet) is making a fair copy of an incomplete poem, that could theoretically have been continued by finishing either of those lines, and perhaps going further. While a poem is in progress, it is natural to allow the sense to run over into a new line, but almost invariably these lines are later completed, not left in this state. »
12     This seems quite a complicated (perhaps quite clever) thought. The poet seems to be punning on the “equator” found on the globe and the verb aequatur (is equalled). The MS seems to read “-or”, though possibly “-ur” is meant. »
13     The illegible words are probably something along these lines. This section of the poem must refer to the dead man’s desire to go “higher” (altius) than the bonds of mortal life on earth permit. »
14     The “song” perhaps refers to the epitaph that follows. »
Appendix 2: Two Latin Verses in Memory of Sir William Paston
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