I've decided to make Silvae book 5 a little project--and wrote out this translation of 5.1 the other day (not "artistic" (yet)) just to get the sense, and make some first decisions how to render this or that.

Probably Maurer did these at one point too. But I want to work through the book--and get friendly with the Latin--before I check and see how he took things.

Mirando Apollinis beneficio, ex Poeta se Pictorem factum esse. Anno M. DC. XLI. 

In wonder at the kindness of Apollo, that he has made a painter of a poet

Cum bona non pridem Belgam Fortuna Monacum
Arte sua subnixa tulisset;
Conveni: paribus lepidam pictura Poesin
Quod studiis imitabilis aequet,
Alter Zeuxis erat, volucres qui fallere botris;
Parrhasius qui Zeuxida posset.
Sic expressa virum transfert in corpore vitam,
E tabulis exstare videntur.
Velle loqui credas spirant simulacra, tenentque
Attonitos, vescuntur et aura.
Talia cernenti, pudor est et moeror obortus,
Tecta simul musea revisi.


Though formerly good Fortune reliant on her own skill
had not brought a Belgian to Munich;
I've come to agree: imitative painting rivals 
charming Poesy in equal endeavors.
The one was a Zeuxis, to fool birds with grapes;
the other a Parrhasius to fool Zeuxis.
So expressly it transcribes the embodied life of men,
they seem to emerge from the panels.
You'd think about willing to speak. Images breathe, and hold you 
dumbstruck--they even feed on the breeze.
For one discerning such things, blush and sadness rise,

To see at the same time the roof of the Museum.

Haec mecum: plectro me nondum posse quod iste
Peniculo, quod simplice concha!
Arripuique chelyn, Phoebique astratus ad aram,
Multa Deum, nec parva rogavi.
Heic dum chordas, inter suspira, plango
Illacrimans, similisque furenti:
Tres ex adverso digiti (mirabile) muro
Apparent, mucroque sagittae
Flavus, et in iustum digitis productus acumen
Quae vellem, signare paratis.
Qualis Chaldaeo quondam est in pariete regi
Visa manus tria scribere Verba.
Ac quoties lusi, percussis dextera nervis:
Se toties umbratica movit.
Clara per apricam ceu lux immissa fenestram
Quae varia vertigine vibrat:
Utque Polum versus trepidat magnetica, si qua
Tinxit acus ferrugine, gemma
Obstipui, tremuere artus formido ligabat
Marmoreum sine sanguine vultum.
Restitit extemplo, citharaque refulsit et arcu
Et iaculis insignis Apollo: 

I say to myself: “I cannot yet do with plectrum, 
what this man does with a paint brush, 
and a simple shell for oils.
I snatched my tortoise and, low at Apollo's altar,
prayed many prayers, and big ones, to the God.
Here while striking chords between my sighs,
Weeping like one in a rage,
Three fingers (O wonder!) appear from the opposite wall,
and the tip of an arrow,
Golden, and pulled back to its just point by fingers poised 
to signal the things I wanted.
As once on the wall of Babylon 
a hand appeared to write three Words for a king.
As often as I played, beating strings with my right hand,
So often moved the shadow hand.
As bright light pouring free through a summer window
Shimmers in shifting spiral,
Or as a needle (one that stains, at any time, with rust) 
trembles toward the pole, 
I was transfixed by the jewel,
My joints began to tremble, 
terror locked my face in bloodless marble.
Suddenly it halted—and from lyre and bow and darts 
shone forth the unmistakable Apollo.

Parce metu, nostris Vates dilecte Camenis.
Optabas miscere colores;
Annuimus pinges non finges amplius, inquit.
Carmen enim mox fiet imago.
Tu, quaecumque voles oculis subiecta teneri,
Nec tantum transire per aureis,
Concipe mente prius; tum fila sonantia t[e]nta
Ad strepidum Testudinis ictae
Omnia monstrandis radians manus exprimet umbris.
Quale vides, cum voce moveri.
Quod tamen in specimen cupies depingere primum,
Proiecta sit vilius alga.
Ne fors insueto te tanti in limine coepti
Sollicitum primordia reddant.
Dixit et afflatum medio sermone reliquit,
Ob munus paeana canentem.

“Fear not, O seer, loved by our sister Muses.
You were praying to mix pigments.
We have nodded: you will paint, and fable no more, he said.
For song itself will soon become an image.
Whatever things you wish to see held subject to your eyes, 
not only passing through your ears,
Grasp, first in your mind; then rouse the strings
of your beaten lute to rattle loud and clear;
Let a hand radiant to point out shadows express all things,
As you see it, moving along with your voice.
But your desire to paint unto a first appearance,
Be it cheaper than cast out seaweed.
Nor perchance, let your first inklings leave you full of worry 
on the awkward doorsill of so great an undertaking.
He spoke, and left me in the middle of a word, breathed upon,
singing a Paean for his gift.