Lucian Pro lapsu inter salutandum 1

[1] It is difficult for a mortal to avoid the caprice of some power on high, but it is much more difficult to find a defence for a silly slip sent by some such heavenly power. Both of these misfortunes have now happened to me. When I came to you to give you the morning greeting, I ought to have used the usual expression “Joy to you,” but like a golden ass I blundered and said “Health to you,” a pleasant enough greeting, but not suitable—it is not for the morning. As soon as I had said it I was all sixes and sevens. I began to sweat and went pink. Some of the company thought it a slip—naturally enough; others thought that I had become a fool in my old age, or that it was a hangover from yesterday’s drinking. You took it very well, though—not a trace of a smile to mark my slip of the tongue. So I thought it a good idea to write something to comfort myself, so as not to be too upset over my slip, or think it intolerable if I, an old man, had fallen so far from what was proper before so many witnesses. I don’t think an apology was necessary for a tongue that slipped into a wish so pleasant.

[1] If a poor mortal has some difficulty in guarding against that spirit of mischief which dwells aloft, he has still more in clearing himself of the absurd consequences when that spirit trips him up. Iam in both predicaments at once; coming to make you my morning salutation, which should have taken the orthodox form of Rejoice, I bade you, in a very choice fit of absentmindedness, Be healthy—a good enough wish in its way, but a little untimely and unconnected with that early hour. I at once went moist and red, not quite aware whether I was on my head or my heels; some of the company took me for a lunatic, no doubt, some thought I was in my second childhood, some that I had not quite got over my last night’s wine—though you yourself were the pink of good manners, not showing your consciousness of the slip by any ghost of a smile. It occurred to me to write to myself a little something in the way of comfort, and so modify the distress my blunder gave me—prove to myself that it was not absolutely unpardonable for an old man to transgress etiquette so flagrantly before so many witnesses. As to apology, there could be no occasion for that, when one’s slip had resulted in so well-omened a wish.