Letter 4022: The distinguished Hesperius — that jewel among friends and men of letters — recently returned from Toulouse and told...
Sidonius Apollinaris→Leo, in Corsica|c. 467 AD|Sidonius Apollinaris
barbarian invasioneducation booksfriendshipgrief death
To Leo.
The distinguished Hesperius — that jewel among friends and men of letters — recently returned from Toulouse and told me that you want me to put aside my letter-writing, now that those books are finished, and turn my pen to history. I embrace this judgment with the deepest respect and the warmest affection. After all, you are declaring me fit for greater works by telling me I should abandon lesser ones. But I must confess: it is easier for me to admire such a verdict than to follow such advice.
This is a task worthy of your command — but no less worthy of your own hand. In the old days, when Cornelius [Tacitus] urged Pliny the Younger to attempt something similar, he himself later seized the very task he had assigned. You could follow that precedent even more brilliantly, since I rise before Pliny only as a student, while you, in the ancient art of narrative, rightly surpass Cornelius himself. If Tacitus came back to life in our age and saw your standing in the world of letters, he would for once truly be Tacitus — "the silent one" [a pun on the historian's name, which means "silent" in Latin].
You are the right man for this enormous subject. Beyond your singular eloquence and vast learning, you have an unmatched vantage point: every day, through the counsels of a most powerful king [Euric, king of the Visigoths, whom Leo served as secretary], you learn the affairs, the laws, the treaties, and the wars of the whole world. Who has a better right to take up such a task than a man who is known to have mastered the movements of nations, the variety of embassies, the deeds of generals, and the pacts of kings — a man placed at such a height that he need neither suppress the truth nor fabricate falsehood?
My situation is entirely different. Exile is my grief, old books my only resource. My profession demands humility, my temperament seeks obscurity, and my mediocrity guarantees it. What little hope I have is invested in the future, not the present. Laziness — and illness too — have finally become dear to my heart. No praise attaches to my efforts now, and none will follow me after death.
Above all, I have resolved that history will bring me little glory. For when clergymen write it, our own deeds sound presumptuous and others' deeds sound like boasting. The past is reported fruitlessly, the present incompletely, falsehood shamefully, truth dangerously. The moment a clergyman picks up a historical pen, the writing takes on the color and smell of satire. Historical writing seems utterly unsuited to our order: it begins in envy, continues in toil, and ends in hatred.
But if you yourself — who have the power to trample the necks of critics or simply stride over them — would willingly take on this province of letters, no one will have written more nobly, no one more authoritatively, even if the subject is recent events. You are so full of words and now so full of the world's affairs that you have left the venomous no reason to bite. In the future, consulting you will be useful, hearing you a pleasure, and reading you an authority. Farewell.
EPISTULA XXII
Sidonius Leoni suo salutem.
1. Vir magnificus Hesperius, gemma amicorum litterarumque, nuper urbe cum rediit e Tolosatium, praecipere te dixit, ut epistularum curam iam terminatis libris earum converteremus ad stilum historiae. reverentia summa, summo et affectu talem atque tantam sententiam amplector; idoneum quippe pronuntias ad opera maiora quem mediocria putas deserere debere. sed, quod fatendum est, facilius audeo huiusmodi suspicere iudicium quam suscipere consilium.
2. res quidem digna quam tu iuberes sed non minus digna quam faceres. mamque et antiquitus, cum Gaius Cornelius Gaio Secundo paria suasisset, ipse postmodum quod iniunxit arripuit, idque ab exemplo nunc melius aggrederis, quia et ego Plinio ut discipulus assurgo et tu vetusto genere narrandi iure Cornelium antevenis, qui saeculo nostro si revivisceret teque qualis in litteris et quantus habeare conspicaretur, modo verius Tacitus esset.
3. itaque tu molem thematis missi recte capessis, cui praeter eloquentiam singularem scientiae ingentis magna opportunitas. cotidie namque per potentissimi consilia regis totius sollicitus orbis pariter [eius] negotia et iura, foedera et bella, loca spatia merita cognoscis. unde quis iustius sese ad ista succinxerit, quam ille, quem constat gentium motus legationum varietates, facta ducum pacta regnantum, tota denique publicarum rerum secreta didicisse, quique praestanti positus in culmine non necesse habet vel supprimere verum vel concinnare mendacium?
4. at nostra longe condicio dispar, quibus dolori peregrinatio nova nec usui lectio vetus, tum religio professioni est, humilitas appetitui, mediocritas obscuritati, nec in praesentibus rei tantum, quantum in futuris spei locatum, postremo languor impedimento iamque vel sero propter hunc ipsum desidia cordi; aequaeva certe iam super studiis nulla laus curae, sed ne postuma quidem.
5. praecipue gloriam nobis parvam ab historia petere fixum, quia per homines clericalis officii temerarie nostra iactanter aliena, praeterita infructuose praesentia semiplene, turpiter falsa periculose vera dicuntur. est enim huiusmodi thema [vel opus], in quo bonorum si facias mentionem, modica gratia paratur, si notabilium, maxuma offensa. sic se illi protinus dictioni color odorque satiricus admiscet. ilicet: scriptio historica videtur ordine a nostro multum abhorrere, cuius inchoatio invidia, continuatio labor, finis est odium.
6. sed tunc ista proveniunt, clericis si aliquid dictetur auctoribus; qui colubrinis oblatratorum molaribus fixi, si quid simpliciter edamus, insani, si quid exacte, praesumptiosi vocamur. at si tu ipse, cui datum est saltibus gloriae proterere posse cervices vituperonum seu supercurrere, materiae istius libens provinciam sortiare, nemo te celsius scripserit, nemo et antiquius, etiamsi placeat recentia loqui; quandoquidem sermonum copia impletus ante, nunc rerum non reliquisti, cur venenato morsu secere. atque ideo te in posterum consuli utilitas, audiri voluptas, legi auctoritas erit. vale.
◆
To Leo.
The distinguished Hesperius — that jewel among friends and men of letters — recently returned from Toulouse and told me that you want me to put aside my letter-writing, now that those books are finished, and turn my pen to history. I embrace this judgment with the deepest respect and the warmest affection. After all, you are declaring me fit for greater works by telling me I should abandon lesser ones. But I must confess: it is easier for me to admire such a verdict than to follow such advice.
This is a task worthy of your command — but no less worthy of your own hand. In the old days, when Cornelius [Tacitus] urged Pliny the Younger to attempt something similar, he himself later seized the very task he had assigned. You could follow that precedent even more brilliantly, since I rise before Pliny only as a student, while you, in the ancient art of narrative, rightly surpass Cornelius himself. If Tacitus came back to life in our age and saw your standing in the world of letters, he would for once truly be Tacitus — "the silent one" [a pun on the historian's name, which means "silent" in Latin].
You are the right man for this enormous subject. Beyond your singular eloquence and vast learning, you have an unmatched vantage point: every day, through the counsels of a most powerful king [Euric, king of the Visigoths, whom Leo served as secretary], you learn the affairs, the laws, the treaties, and the wars of the whole world. Who has a better right to take up such a task than a man who is known to have mastered the movements of nations, the variety of embassies, the deeds of generals, and the pacts of kings — a man placed at such a height that he need neither suppress the truth nor fabricate falsehood?
My situation is entirely different. Exile is my grief, old books my only resource. My profession demands humility, my temperament seeks obscurity, and my mediocrity guarantees it. What little hope I have is invested in the future, not the present. Laziness — and illness too — have finally become dear to my heart. No praise attaches to my efforts now, and none will follow me after death.
Above all, I have resolved that history will bring me little glory. For when clergymen write it, our own deeds sound presumptuous and others' deeds sound like boasting. The past is reported fruitlessly, the present incompletely, falsehood shamefully, truth dangerously. The moment a clergyman picks up a historical pen, the writing takes on the color and smell of satire. Historical writing seems utterly unsuited to our order: it begins in envy, continues in toil, and ends in hatred.
But if you yourself — who have the power to trample the necks of critics or simply stride over them — would willingly take on this province of letters, no one will have written more nobly, no one more authoritatively, even if the subject is recent events. You are so full of words and now so full of the world's affairs that you have left the venomous no reason to bite. In the future, consulting you will be useful, hearing you a pleasure, and reading you an authority. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.