To the Lord Bishop Graecus [Bishop of Marseille].
Here once again our Amantius — that gossipmonger of ours — returns to his Marseille, doubtless planning to bring home some profit from the city's markets, if only a favorable cargo-ship should arrive. Through him I would chatter at length in a lighter vein, if my heart could manage to practice joy and endure grief at the same time. For the present state of our wretched corner of the world is such that, as reliable report confirms, our condition was less miserable under war than under this so-called peace. Our enslavement has become the price of other people's security.
The slavery of the people of the Auvergne — oh, the grief of it! — who, if you look back to ancient times, once dared to call themselves brothers of Rome and to trace their people's descent from Trojan blood [the Arverni claimed Trojan ancestry, like Rome itself]. If you recall more recent events, these are the people who held back the armies of the public enemy with their own strength — a people for whom the Goth, when they were shut up within their walls, was never a source of terror, while they in turn terrified the besiegers penned in their own camp. These are the people who served as both their own generals and their own soldiers. And whatever success attended their battles brought comfort to you, while whatever reverses came broke only them. It was they who, out of love for the republic, dared hand over Seronatus [a corrupt Roman official who was secretly working with the Goths to hand over provinces] to the law, though the republic itself barely dared to execute the man once convicted.
Was this what they deserved — poverty, fire, the sword, plague, swords greasy with slaughter, and warriors gaunt with hunger? For the sake of the hope of this glorious peace, we tore herbs from the cracks in the city walls for food, often poisoned by unfamiliar plants whose undistinguished leaves and green juices were gathered by hands as pale as famine itself. And for all these proofs of devotion, we are told that our people have been sacrificed?
Shame on you, we beg, for this treaty — neither useful nor honorable. Embassies pass through your hands. It is to you that the first peace terms are revealed and entrusted for negotiation, even while the emperor is absent. Let the harshness of truth be forgiven by your ears — pain strips it of the stigma of abuse. You consult too little for the common good; and when you meet in council, you care more about advancing private fortunes than healing public dangers. By doing this so often and so long, you have ceased to be the first among your fellow provincials and have become the last.
But how long can such illusions last? For our ancestors will not much longer glory in that title when they begin to have no descendants. Therefore cut short this disgraceful peace by whatever counsel you can. We are still willing, if need be, to be besieged, to fight, to starve. But if we are being handed over — we who could not be taken by force — then you can be sure, you cowards, that you have found a uniquely barbarian thing to propose.
But why do we give such free rein to excessive grief? Rather, forgive the afflicted and do not reproach the mourning. For other regions, when surrendered, can hope for servitude; the Auvergne expects punishment. If you cannot heal our final wounds, at least ensure through earnest prayer that our blood may live even as our liberty dies. Prepare land for exiles, ransom for captives, provisions for pilgrims. If our wall is opened to the enemy, let yours not be closed to refugees. Be mindful of us, my lord bishop.
EPISTULA VII
Sidonius domino papae Graeco salutem.
1. Ecce iterum Amantius, nugigerulus noster, Massiliam suam repetit, aliquid, ut moris est, de manubiis civitatis domum reportaturus, si tamen ..... aut cataplus arriserit. per quem ioculariter plura garrirem, si pariter unus idemque valeret animus exercere laeta et tristia sustinere. siquidem nostri hic nunc est infelicis anguli status, cuius, ut fama confirmat, minus <tristis> fuit sub bello quam sub pace condicio. facta est servitus nostra pretium securitatis alienae.
2. Arvernorum, pro dolor, servitus, qui, si prisca replicarentur, audebant se quondam fratres Latio dicere et sanguine ab Iliaco populos computare. si recentia memorabuntur, hi sunt, qui viribus propriis hostium publicorum arma remorati sunt; cui saepe populo Gothus non fuit clauso intra moenia formidini, cum vicissim ipse fieret oppugnatoribus positis intra castra terrori. hi sunt, qui sibi adversus vicinorum aciem tam duces fuere quam milites; de quorum tamen sorte certaminum si quid prosperum cessit, vos secunda solata sunt, si quid contrarium, illos adversa fregerunt. illi amore rei publicae Seronatum barbaris provincias propinantem non timuerunt legibus tradere, quem convictum deinceps res publica vix praesumpsit occidere.
3. hoccine meruerunt inopia flamma, ferrum pestilentia, pingues caedibus gladii et macri ieiuniis proeliatores? propter huius tam inclitae pacis expectationem avulsas muralibus rimis herbas in cibum traximus, crebro per ignorantiam venenatis graminibus infecti, quae indiscretis foliis sucisque viridantia saepe manus fame concolor legit? pro his tot tantisque devotionis experimentis nostri, quantum audio, facta iactura est?
4. pudeat vos, precamur, huius foederis, nec utilis nec decori. per vos legationes meant; vobis primum pax quamquam principe absente non solum tractata reseratur, verum etiam tractanda committitur. veniabilis sit, quaesumus, apud aures vestras veritatis asperitas, cui convicii invidiam dolor eripit. parum in commune consulitis; et, cum in concilium convenitis, non tam curae est publicis mederi periculis quam privatis studere fortunis; quod utique saepe diuque facientes iam non primi comprovincialium coepistis esse, sed ultimi.
5. at quousque istae poterunt durare praestigiae? non enim diutius ipsi maiores nostri hoc nomine gloriabuntur, qui minores incipiunt non habere. quapropter vel consilio, quo potestis, statum concordiae tam turpis incidite. adhuc, si necesse est, obsideri, adhuc pugnare, adhuc esurire delectat. si vero tradimur, qui non potuimus viribus obtineri, invenisse vos certum est quid barbarum suaderetis ignavi.
6. sed cur dolori nimio frena laxamus? quin potius ignoscite afflictis nec imputate maerentibus. namque alia regio tradita servitium sperat, Arverna supplicium. sane si medicari nostris ultimis non valetis, saltem hoc efficite prece sedula, ut sanguis vivat, quorum est moritura libertas; parate exulibus terram, capiendis redemptionem, viaticum peregrinaturis. si murus noster aperitur hostibus, non sit clausus vester hospitibus. memor nostri esse dignare, domine papa.
◆
To the Lord Bishop Graecus [Bishop of Marseille].
Here once again our Amantius — that gossipmonger of ours — returns to his Marseille, doubtless planning to bring home some profit from the city's markets, if only a favorable cargo-ship should arrive. Through him I would chatter at length in a lighter vein, if my heart could manage to practice joy and endure grief at the same time. For the present state of our wretched corner of the world is such that, as reliable report confirms, our condition was less miserable under war than under this so-called peace. Our enslavement has become the price of other people's security.
The slavery of the people of the Auvergne — oh, the grief of it! — who, if you look back to ancient times, once dared to call themselves brothers of Rome and to trace their people's descent from Trojan blood [the Arverni claimed Trojan ancestry, like Rome itself]. If you recall more recent events, these are the people who held back the armies of the public enemy with their own strength — a people for whom the Goth, when they were shut up within their walls, was never a source of terror, while they in turn terrified the besiegers penned in their own camp. These are the people who served as both their own generals and their own soldiers. And whatever success attended their battles brought comfort to you, while whatever reverses came broke only them. It was they who, out of love for the republic, dared hand over Seronatus [a corrupt Roman official who was secretly working with the Goths to hand over provinces] to the law, though the republic itself barely dared to execute the man once convicted.
Was this what they deserved — poverty, fire, the sword, plague, swords greasy with slaughter, and warriors gaunt with hunger? For the sake of the hope of this glorious peace, we tore herbs from the cracks in the city walls for food, often poisoned by unfamiliar plants whose undistinguished leaves and green juices were gathered by hands as pale as famine itself. And for all these proofs of devotion, we are told that our people have been sacrificed?
Shame on you, we beg, for this treaty — neither useful nor honorable. Embassies pass through your hands. It is to you that the first peace terms are revealed and entrusted for negotiation, even while the emperor is absent. Let the harshness of truth be forgiven by your ears — pain strips it of the stigma of abuse. You consult too little for the common good; and when you meet in council, you care more about advancing private fortunes than healing public dangers. By doing this so often and so long, you have ceased to be the first among your fellow provincials and have become the last.
But how long can such illusions last? For our ancestors will not much longer glory in that title when they begin to have no descendants. Therefore cut short this disgraceful peace by whatever counsel you can. We are still willing, if need be, to be besieged, to fight, to starve. But if we are being handed over — we who could not be taken by force — then you can be sure, you cowards, that you have found a uniquely barbarian thing to propose.
But why do we give such free rein to excessive grief? Rather, forgive the afflicted and do not reproach the mourning. For other regions, when surrendered, can hope for servitude; the Auvergne expects punishment. If you cannot heal our final wounds, at least ensure through earnest prayer that our blood may live even as our liberty dies. Prepare land for exiles, ransom for captives, provisions for pilgrims. If our wall is opened to the enemy, let yours not be closed to refugees. Be mindful of us, my lord bishop.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.