Letter 2: (Written about the same time, in reply to another letter now lost.) I do not like being joked about Tiberina and its mud and its winters, O my friend, who are so free from mud, and who walk on tiptoe, and trample on the plains. You who have wings and are borne aloft, and fly like the arrows of Abaris, in order that, Cappadocian though you are, y...
Gregory to Basil.
You make fun of me about Tiberina and its mud and its winters -- you, my friend, who are so far above the mud yourself, walking on tiptoe and trampling the plains beneath you! You who have wings and soar aloft, flying like the arrows of Abaris, all so that -- Cappadocian though you are -- you may escape from Cappadocia. Have we done you some injury? While you are pale and breathless and measuring the sun, we are sleek and well-fed and not lacking for room. And yet that is your situation: you live in luxury and wealth, and you go to market. I cannot approve of this. So either stop mocking us for our mud -- since you did not build your city, and we did not create our winter -- or for our mud we will match you with your petty merchants and all the other nuisances that infest cities.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.
Related Letters
Twice cabbage is death, says the unkind proverb. I, however, though I have called for it often, shall die once. Yes: even though I had never called for it at all!
Behold! I have sent you my speech, all streaming with sweat as I am! How should I be otherwise, when sending my speech to one who by his skill in oratory is able to show that the wisdom of Plato and the ability of Demosthenes were belauded in vain?
Will you not give over, Basil, packing this sacred haunt of the Muses with Cappadocians, and these redolent of the frost and snow and all Cappadocia's good things? They have almost made me a Cappadocian too, always chanting their I salute you. I must endure, since it is Basil who commands.
The proverb says You are not proclaiming war, and, let me add, out of the comedy, O messenger of golden words. Come then; prove this in act, and hasten to me. You will come as friend to friend.
(Written to S. Basil shortly after his Ordination as Priest, probably toward the end of a.d. 362.) I approve the beginning of your letter; but what is there of yours that I do not approve?