Letter 8010: To Ruricius [Ruricius of Limoges, a cultivated aristocrat who later became bishop].

Sidonius ApollinarisRuricius of Limoges|c. 467 AD|Sidonius Apollinaris
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To Ruricius [Ruricius of Limoges, a cultivated aristocrat who later became bishop].

I am deeply pleased that you both value and love literature. For the fire of your intellect and the river of your words I would declare more freely, if only your eagerness to praise me did not make it impossible for you to accept praise yourself. Though your letter displays charity's sweetness, nature's eloquence, and learning's discipline, you have erred in only one thing: your choice of subject matter — though even that can be called praiseworthy in intention, since you seem to have strayed in judgment. You heap enormous titles of praise upon my character; but if you had any consideration for my modesty, you should have remembered Symmachus's dictum: "True praise adorns, but false praise punishes."

Yet if I read your heart correctly, you did this as much by art as by affection, beyond the enormous love you display. For it is the habit of eloquent men to test their talents against difficult material and to drive the skilled plow of a fertile mind precisely where the barren argument offers the dullest, thinnest soil. The world overflows with such examples: the physician is known in desperation, the helmsman in the storm. Their reputation is built by the very dangers that precede it — a fame that stays hidden until it finds something to prove itself against.

So too a great orator: if he takes on a narrow subject, he displays his vast talent all the more impressively. Marcus Tullius surpassed all others in his other speeches, but in the case of Aulus Cluentius he surpassed himself. Marcus Fronto shone in all his orations but exceeded his own standard in the speech against Pelops. Gaius Plinius [Pliny the Younger] won more glory from the centumviral court in his speech for Attia Variola than when he delivered his comparable panegyric to the incomparable emperor Trajan.

So you have done the same: in your desire to exercise your skill, you did not fear that even my own self-knowledge would stand in your way. Rather, heal my weaknesses with your prayers, and do not crush the fragility of my still-ailing soul under the false weight of flattering eloquence. Since your life is even more beautiful than your beautiful prose, you would do me a greater favor if you chose to pray for me rather than to make speeches about me. Farewell.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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