To the Lord Bishop Faustus [Bishop of Riez].
You have long complained of our mutual silence, most holy man. I recognize your side of the story; I do not recognize my own guilt. For I was told to write some time ago and did not keep silent — I sent a letter ahead of this one, which, however, when it reached Riez, conveniently failed to find you, since you were then at Apt. And this suited me very well: my commissioned letter was both written to satisfy friendship and escaped the scrutiny of your criticism.
But let that pass. You now demand another ample letter. The will to obey is present, but the material is not. For a greeting, unless it carries some real business, is naturally brief. Anyone who pads it out with unnecessary words strays from Sallust's principle, who criticized Catiline for having "enough eloquence but too little wisdom." So having said hello, I quickly say goodbye. Pray for us.
But wait — just as I was folding the page, a matter came to mind worth denouncing. If I suppress my joy and anger about it any longer, I will deserve the insult I have received. You have fallen into my hands, master — and I do not merely exult, I positively gloat. You have come, and exactly as my longing has been hoping for a very long time. I confess I am not sure whether you came entirely unwillingly, but you certainly looked unwilling — since it was by your arrangement, or at the very least your acquiescence, that your books passed through Auvergne without stopping to greet me, even brushing past my very walls.
Were you afraid we would envy your writings? God has freed me from that vice more than any other — and even if I were prey to it, the despair of ever matching you would have killed the desire to compete. Were you afraid of my harsh judgment? What living reader possesses such arrogance, what critic such bloated pride, as not to greet even your tepid efforts with the hottest praise?
Did you decide to snub me and ignore me because you despised a junior? I find that hard to believe. Because I am uneducated? That I accept more readily — though a man who cannot speak can still listen, just as those who attend the chariot races can appreciate the driving even if they cannot do it themselves. Were we on bad terms? God forbid — even our enemies cannot pretend our friendship is anything less than strong.
"So where is this going?" you ask. I will tell you what I am glad to have discovered and angry that you tried to hide. I have read your books — those that Bishop Riochatus, both monk and bishop, a man doubly a pilgrim in this world, was carrying back to your Britons [Faustus was originally from Brittany]. While this venerable man was staying in our city waiting for the storm of hostile peoples to die down, he revealed some of your gifts while artfully concealing the best — unwilling to adorn my thorns with your flowers.
But after two or more months, when certain travelers let slip that the departing party was secretly carrying treasures wrapped in their bundles, I sent fast horses after him — horses that could easily cover the distance of a day's travel. I threw myself upon the captured traveler's neck with a kiss — playfully in manner but ferociously in intent, like a tigress robbed of her cubs who leaps upon the kidnapper's horse with flying feet.
To make a long story short: I seized my captive host, embraced his knees, halted his pack-animals, untied the reins, opened the baggage, found the book I sought, brought it out, read it, and excerpted its chief passages. The speed of my scribes, who used shorthand to capture what they could not write out in full letters, also allowed me some hurried dictation. As for the tears we shed — soaking each other in mutual weeping when we finally had to separate from our repeated embraces — it would take too long to tell and is beside the point. What matters for my triumphant joy is that I brought home my spoils of love and my spiritual plunder.
You want to know my verdict on the captured works? I would rather not reveal it yet, to keep you in suspense longer — for I would take greater revenge by staying silent about what I think. But you are not vain without cause, knowing full well that you possess the power to speak in such a way that the force of the reader's pleasure — willing or unwilling — compels him to praise. So here is what the injured party thinks of your writings:
I have read a most painstaking work — complex, sharp, sublime, well organized in structure and rich in examples, divided into two parts as a dialogue and into four parts by subject. You wrote much of it with fire, more with grandeur; some of it with simplicity but never crudeness; some with wit but never guile; weighty matters with maturity, deep matters with care, doubtful matters with confidence, complex matters with logical rigor; some with severity, some with gentleness — all of it morally, learnedly, powerfully, and with supreme eloquence.
So having followed you through these many registers across the entire vast field of your composition, I could find nothing in anyone else's eloquence or genius that was equally polished. That these are my honest opinions, you can be sure, since even in my injured state I judge you no differently. Truly, the speech of an absent author, as far as I can tell, cannot grow greater — unless perhaps something is added by the voice, gesture, bearing, and modesty of the author speaking in person. Be mindful of us, my lord bishop.
EPISTULA IX
Sidonius domino papae Fausto salutem.
1. Longum tacere, vir sacratissime, nos in commune dequestus es; cognosco vestrae partis hinc studium, nostrae reatum non recognosco. namque iampridem iussus garrire non silui litteris istas antecurrentibus, quibus tamen recensendis, cum Reios advenerant, qui tunc Aptae fuistis, aptissime defuistis. idque votivum mihi granditer fuit ac peroptatum, ut epistula iniuncta nec negaretur scripta amicitiae nec subderetur lecta censurae.
2. ista omittamus. mitti paginam copiosam denuo iubes. parere properanti adsunt vota, causae absunt. nam salutatio, nisi negotium aliquod activa deportet materia, succincta est; quam qui porrigit verbis non necessariis, a regula Sallustiani tramitis detortus exorbitat, qui Catilinam culpat habuisse satis eloquentiae sapientiae parum. unde ave dicto mox vale dicimus. orate pro nobis.
3. sed bene est, bene est, quia chartulam iam iamque complicaturo res forte succurrit, de qua exprobranda si diutius vel laetitia sese mea vel ira cohibuerit, ipse me accepta dignum contumelia iudicabo. venisti, magister, in manus meas (nec exulto tantum, verum insulto), venisti, et quidem talis, qualem abhinc longo iamdiu tempore desideria nostra praestolabantur. dubito sane utrum et invitus, at certe similis invito, quippe quo providente vel, si tamen hoc nimis abnuis, adquiescente sim tuis libris insalutatus hisque, quod multo est iniuriosius, territorium Arvernum cum praeterirent, non solum moenia mea, verum etiam latera radentibus.
4. an verebare, ne tuis dictis invideremus? sed dei indultu vitio nulli minus addicimur; cui si ita ut ceteris a mea parte subiaceretur, sic quoque auferret congrediendi aemulationem desperatio consequendi. an supercilium tamquam difficilis ac rigidi plosoris extimescebas? ecquaenam est cuiquam peritiae cervix tanta quive hydrops, ut etiam tepida vestra non ferventissimis laudibus prosequatur?
5. an ideo me fastidiendum negligendumque curasti, quia contemneres iuniorem? quod parum credo. an quia indoctum? quod magis fero, ita tamen, ut qui dicere ignorem, non et audire; quia et qui Circensibus ludis adfuerunt, sententiam de curribus non ferunt. an aliquo casu dissidebamus, ut putaremur his quos edidissetis libellis derogaturi? atqui praesule deo tenues nobis esse amicitias nec inimici fingere queunt.
6. 'ista quorsum?' inquis. ecce iam pando, vel quid indagasse me gaudeam vel quid te celasse succenseam. legi volumina tua, quae Riochatus antistes ac monachus atque istius mundi bis peregrinus Britannis tuis pro te reportat, illo iam in praesentiarum fausto potius, qui non senescit quique viventibus non defuturus post sepulturam fiet per ipsa quae scripsit sibi superstes. igitur hic ipse venerabilis apud oppidum nostrum cum moraretur, donec gentium concitatarum procella defremeret, cuius immanis hinc et hinc turbo tunc inhorruerat, sic reliqua dona vestra detexit, ut perurbane quae praestantiora portabat operuerit, spinas meas illustrare dissimulans tuis floribus.
7. sed post duos aut his amplius menses sic quoque a nobis cito profectum cum quipiam prodidissent de viatoribus mysticae gazae clausis involucris clam ferre thesauros, pernicibus equis insecutus abeuntem, qui facile possent itineris pridiani spatia praevertere, osculo in fauces occupati latronis insilui, humano ioco, gestu ferino, veluti si excussura quemcumque catulorum Parthi colla raptoris pede volatili tigris orbata superemicet.
8. quid multa? capti hospitis genua complector iumenta sisto, frena ligo sarcinas solvo, quaesitum volumen invenio produco, lectito excerpo maxima ex magnis capita defrustans. tribuit et quoddam dictare celeranti scribarum sequacitas saltuosa compendium, qui comprehendebant signis quod litteris non tenebant. quibus lacrimis sane maduerimus mutuo vicissim fletu rigati, tunc cum ab amplexu saepe repetito separaremur, longum est dixisse nec refert; quod triumphali sufficit gaudio, spoliis onustum caritatis et spiritalis compotem praedae me domum rettuli.
9. quaeris nunc, quid de manubiis meis iudicem; nollem adhuc prodere, quo diuturnius expectatione penderes; plus me enim ulciscerer, si quod sensi tacerem. sed iam nec ipse frustra superbis, utpote intellegens tibi inesse virtutem sic perorandi, ut lectori tuo seu reluctanti seu voluntario vis voluptatis excudat praeconii necessitatem. proinde accipe, quid super scriptis tuis et iniuriam passi censeamus.
10. legimus opus operosissimum multiplex, acre sublime, digestum titulis exemplisque congestum, bipertitum sub dialogi schemate, sub causarum themate quadripertitum. scripseras autem plurima ardenter plura pompose; simpliciter ista nec rustice; argute illa nec callide; gravia mature profunda sollicite, dubia constanter argumentosa disputatorie, quaedam severe quaepiam blande, cuncta moraliter lecte, potenter eloquentissime.
11. itaque per tanta te genera narrandi toto latissimae dictationis campo secutus nil in facundia ceterorum, nil in ingeniis facile perspexi iuxta politum. quae me vera sentire satis approbas, cum nec offensus aliter iudico. denique absentis oratio, quantum opinamur, plus nequit crescere, nisi forsitan aliquid his addat coram loquentis auctoris vox manus, motus pudor.
12. artifex igitur his animi litterarumque dotibus praeditus mulierem pulchram sed illam deuteronomio astipulante nubentem, domine papa, tibi iugasti; quam tu adhuc iuvenis inter hostiles conspicatus catervas, atque illic in acie contrariae partis adamatam, nil per obstantes repulsus proeliatores, desiderii brachio vincente rapuisti, philosophiam scilicet, quae violenter e numero sacrilegarum artium exempta raso capillo superfluae religionis ac supercilio scientiae saecularis amputatisque pervetustarum vestium rugis, id est tristis dialecticae flexibus falsa morum et illicita velantibus, mystico amplexu iam defaecata tecum membra coniunxit.
13. haec ab annis vestra iamdudum pedisequa primoribus, haec tuo lateri comes inseparabilis, sive in palaestris exerceris urbanis sive in abstrusis macerarere solitudinibus, haec Athenaei consors, haec monasterii, tecum mundanas abdicat, tecum supernas praedicat disciplinas. huic copulatum te matrimonio qui lacessiverit, sentiet ecclesiae Christi Platonis academiam militare teque nobilius philosophari; primum ineffabilem dei patris asserere cum sancti spiritus aeternitate sapientiam;
14. tum praeterea non caesariem pascere neque pallio aut clava velut sophisticis insignibus gloriari aut affectare de vestium discretione superbiam, nitore pompam, squalore iactantiam neque te satis hoc aemulari, quod per gymnasia pingantur Areopagitica vel prytanea curva cervice Speusippus Aratus panda, Zenon fronte contracta Epicurus cute distenta, Diogenes barba comante Socrates coma cadente, Aristoteles brachio exerto Xenocrates crure collecto, Heraclitus fletu oculis clausis Democritus risu labris apertis, Chrysippus digitis propter numerorum indicia constrictis, Euclides propter mensurarum spatia laxatis, Cleanthes propter utrumque corrosis.
15. quin potius experietur, quisque conflixerit, Stoicos Cynicos Peripateticos haeresiarchas propriis armis, propriis quoque concuti machinamentis. nam sectatores eorum, Christiano dogmati ac sensui si repugnaverint, mox te magistro ligati vernaculis implicaturis in retia sua praecipites implagabuntur, syllogismis tuae propositionis uncatis volubilem tergiversantum linguam inhamantibus, dum spiris categoricis lubricas quaestiones tu potius innodas acrium more medicorum, qui remedium contra venena, cum ratio compellit, et de serpente conficiunt.
16. sed hoc temporibus istis sub tuae tantum vel contemplatione conscientiae vel virtute doctrinae. nam quis aequali vestigia tua gressu sequatur, cui datum est soli loqui melius quam didiceris, vivere melius quam loquaris? quocirca merito te beatissimum boni omnes idque supra omnes tua tempestate concelebrabunt, cuius ita dictis vita factisque dupliciter inclaruit, ut, quando quidem tuos annos iam dextra numeraverit, saeculo praedicatus tuo, desiderandus alieno, utraque laudabilis actione, decedas te relicturus externis, tua proximis. memor nostri esse dignare, domine papa.
◆
To the Lord Bishop Faustus [Bishop of Riez].
You have long complained of our mutual silence, most holy man. I recognize your side of the story; I do not recognize my own guilt. For I was told to write some time ago and did not keep silent — I sent a letter ahead of this one, which, however, when it reached Riez, conveniently failed to find you, since you were then at Apt. And this suited me very well: my commissioned letter was both written to satisfy friendship and escaped the scrutiny of your criticism.
But let that pass. You now demand another ample letter. The will to obey is present, but the material is not. For a greeting, unless it carries some real business, is naturally brief. Anyone who pads it out with unnecessary words strays from Sallust's principle, who criticized Catiline for having "enough eloquence but too little wisdom." So having said hello, I quickly say goodbye. Pray for us.
But wait — just as I was folding the page, a matter came to mind worth denouncing. If I suppress my joy and anger about it any longer, I will deserve the insult I have received. You have fallen into my hands, master — and I do not merely exult, I positively gloat. You have come, and exactly as my longing has been hoping for a very long time. I confess I am not sure whether you came entirely unwillingly, but you certainly looked unwilling — since it was by your arrangement, or at the very least your acquiescence, that your books passed through Auvergne without stopping to greet me, even brushing past my very walls.
Were you afraid we would envy your writings? God has freed me from that vice more than any other — and even if I were prey to it, the despair of ever matching you would have killed the desire to compete. Were you afraid of my harsh judgment? What living reader possesses such arrogance, what critic such bloated pride, as not to greet even your tepid efforts with the hottest praise?
Did you decide to snub me and ignore me because you despised a junior? I find that hard to believe. Because I am uneducated? That I accept more readily — though a man who cannot speak can still listen, just as those who attend the chariot races can appreciate the driving even if they cannot do it themselves. Were we on bad terms? God forbid — even our enemies cannot pretend our friendship is anything less than strong.
"So where is this going?" you ask. I will tell you what I am glad to have discovered and angry that you tried to hide. I have read your books — those that Bishop Riochatus, both monk and bishop, a man doubly a pilgrim in this world, was carrying back to your Britons [Faustus was originally from Brittany]. While this venerable man was staying in our city waiting for the storm of hostile peoples to die down, he revealed some of your gifts while artfully concealing the best — unwilling to adorn my thorns with your flowers.
But after two or more months, when certain travelers let slip that the departing party was secretly carrying treasures wrapped in their bundles, I sent fast horses after him — horses that could easily cover the distance of a day's travel. I threw myself upon the captured traveler's neck with a kiss — playfully in manner but ferociously in intent, like a tigress robbed of her cubs who leaps upon the kidnapper's horse with flying feet.
To make a long story short: I seized my captive host, embraced his knees, halted his pack-animals, untied the reins, opened the baggage, found the book I sought, brought it out, read it, and excerpted its chief passages. The speed of my scribes, who used shorthand to capture what they could not write out in full letters, also allowed me some hurried dictation. As for the tears we shed — soaking each other in mutual weeping when we finally had to separate from our repeated embraces — it would take too long to tell and is beside the point. What matters for my triumphant joy is that I brought home my spoils of love and my spiritual plunder.
You want to know my verdict on the captured works? I would rather not reveal it yet, to keep you in suspense longer — for I would take greater revenge by staying silent about what I think. But you are not vain without cause, knowing full well that you possess the power to speak in such a way that the force of the reader's pleasure — willing or unwilling — compels him to praise. So here is what the injured party thinks of your writings:
I have read a most painstaking work — complex, sharp, sublime, well organized in structure and rich in examples, divided into two parts as a dialogue and into four parts by subject. You wrote much of it with fire, more with grandeur; some of it with simplicity but never crudeness; some with wit but never guile; weighty matters with maturity, deep matters with care, doubtful matters with confidence, complex matters with logical rigor; some with severity, some with gentleness — all of it morally, learnedly, powerfully, and with supreme eloquence.
So having followed you through these many registers across the entire vast field of your composition, I could find nothing in anyone else's eloquence or genius that was equally polished. That these are my honest opinions, you can be sure, since even in my injured state I judge you no differently. Truly, the speech of an absent author, as far as I can tell, cannot grow greater — unless perhaps something is added by the voice, gesture, bearing, and modesty of the author speaking in person. Be mindful of us, my lord bishop.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.