(I do wonder at Philagrius only getting the one epitaph, given how Gregory usually is. Did a sequence of poems get lost, or did the two of them just not get on?)
The versions of 8.91 and 98 will be in Epigrams from the Greek Anthology, out this autumn (Amazon UK / Amazon US); the rest are newly done, for this blog. I'm moved by Gregory and feel privileged to have translated him.
'Gregory’s handiwork' -- poem 98 contains an internal signature, a feature I've not seen in other Anthology poets, but that seems to comfort Gregory as he memorialises a lifetime of painful losses for posterity.
85
On Caesarius his brother
The tomb is merciless. I never dreamed
That it would swallow up the latest-born
Before their elders; nonetheless it took
Caesarius, our parents’ famous son,
Before the ones who had preceded him.
What kind of justice, this? What kind of right?
85b
On the same
The tomb is not at fault; don’t call it names.
The deed was Envy’s, for how could it bear
To see a young man wiser than the old?
86
On the same
Gregory, your good fortune was to gain
A son who soared above all mortal men
In looks and wisdom, and our Emperor’s friend:
Yet he was powerless to overcome
Pitiless death. My fears were all too true.
What says the tomb, though? ‘Suffer and endure:
Caesarius is dead, yet you possess
The mighty reputation he had won,
To compensate you for your own dear son.’
87
On the parents of Gregory the Great and Caesarius
‘We two were ripe for burial, when here
The masons set this stone for our old age;
They set it for our use; but out of joint
Caesarius possesses it instead,
The last-born of our children. O our child,
Our child, we suffer grief beyond compare:
Make haste to welcome us into your tomb.’
88
On the same Caesarius
This stone our parents raised to be their tomb,
Expecting their remaining share of life
To be but slender; but against their will
They gave it to their son Caesarius,
A bitter gift, since he ahead of them
Was ransomed and set free from mortal life.
89
On the same
‘My old age lingered long upon the earth;
While in your father’s place you have this stone,
Dearest of all my sons, Caesarius.
What kind of law is this? What kind of right?
Lord of Mankind, how could you nod at this?
I cry for life too long, and death too soon.’
90
On the same
‘I cannot, no, I cannot love this gift,
The tomb that was your sole inheritance
From all of our estate, Caesarius;
The stone that pierced your aged parents through.
Malicious Envy willed it to be so.
I cry for life made longer still by pain.’
91
On the same
Wisdom and everything it comprehends:
Geometry, the stations of the stars,
The stratagems of the logician’s art,
Grammar and history too, and speaker’s force:
Caesarius alone of mortal men
With subtle mind and soaring intellect
Could grasp them all. Alas! Now like the rest
He is become a scattering of dust.
92
On the same
You left your brothers the entire estate,
And in its place you claim a little tomb.
Caesarius the glorious, you knew
Geometry, the stations of the stars,
History too — but none of what you knew
Was any remedy against your death.
93
On the same
Beautiful man, you left your fatherland
And travelled far, famous Caesarius,
Bearing with you the summits of all skills.
We sent you forth a healer unsurpassed
To aid our sovereign, but we welcomed back,
Alas!, mere ashes from Bithynia’s plain.
94
On the same
The terrifying earthquake’s rumbling threat,
That time Nicaea’s city tumbled down —
This you escaped, only to cede your life
To cruel disease. We weep, for you were young,
And pure, and wise, handsome Caesarius.
95
On the same
The best and bravest son of Gregory
And Nonna who feared God: I am the tomb
That covers nobly-born Caesarius,
Peerless among the eloquent and wise,
Pre-eminent among the sovereign court,
Who blazed as lightning to the ends of earth.
96
On the same
The day Caesarius was swept away,
The emperor’s halls were hushed in disbelief;
At once the Cappadocians bowed their heads;
And if a trace of goodness had remained
Among mankind, it has been done away,
And reason now and principle are wrapped
Inside a cloud of mute unknowingness.
97
On the same
If weeping ever made a man a tree,
Or turned one into stone, if any spring
Once flowed with human tears, then stones and streams
And trees should all be pining for him now,
You friends and neighbours of Caesarius;
Honoured by all, he brought our rulers pride.
Oh, how it hurts! For he has gone below.
98
On the same
Gregory’s handiwork. In sad regret
For best of brothers, I proclaim to men
That they should hate and scorn this mortal life.
Who was so fine as my Caesarius?
Who of all men could match him, or could claim
So great a name for wisdom? None that live;
But he has flown from life, gone suddenly,
As might a rose from all the other flowers,
As does the dew from off the leaves at dawn.
99
On the same <and his siblings, Philagrius and Gorgonion>
Greet your new neighbours; take them in your arms,
You Martyrs, these the blood of Gregory,
Of Gregory and of Nonna the renowned,
For by their piety and holy rites
Of burial they are gathered here as one.
100
On the same, and on Philagrius
Hear, Alexandria! Philagrius
Has lost the beauty in which he excelled
No less than in the reason in his soul;
Envy as well has snatched Caesarius,
Who was so young; and never did you send
Such blooms to horse-famed Cappadocia.
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