Letter 9011: To the Lord Bishop Lupus [Lupus of Troyes].

Sidonius ApollinarisLupus, close friend|c. 467 AD|Sidonius Apollinaris
education booksfriendship

To the Lord Bishop Lupus [Lupus of Troyes].

Because of the book I sent — which you considered sent not to you but past you — I received a letter from you that was written not to me but against me. I reply to your reproaches on the strength of my case, not on the strength of matching your eloquence. Though who am I, and how small, to presume to plead innocence when you are the prosecutor? So I immediately beg forgiveness for this offense, however slight — confessing it was an error of diffidence, not of pride.

For though the rigor of your criticism in letters is as formidable as in morals, I confess that in the unsealing and reading of the book itself, the very affection you claim to feel was a greater burden to me than you admit. And this is not an unreasonable conjecture, since it is in human nature that friends are less forgiving of mistakes than strangers.

I had written a book — as you observed — packed and loaded with a jumble of subjects, occasions, and personalities. I would have been supremely impudent if everything in it had pleased me so well that I was confident nothing would displease you. And whatever the verdict might be, I saw that it would not be entirely honorable to withhold the volume from you — even if it did not seem to be offered to you — with the understanding that if I happened to please, I would not appear to have arrogantly passed you by, and if otherwise, to have impudently sought you out.

Another man in my position might have said: "I did not prefer anyone to you. I sent no special letter to anyone else. The person you think I favored received only a single standard letter and went away content. You, whom you claim was slighted, have been battered by three supremely wordy pages. Moreover — and you may not have noticed this — respect for your rank and merits was actually preserved by the fact that your name comes first in the book, just as you come first among bishops. His name barely sounds once, on his own page; yours appears frequently even on pages addressed to others."

But I pass over all such defenses and prefer to ask forgiveness rather than to argue my case. I also do not excuse the carelessness of the present letter — first because, even if I wished to, I can no longer write with much polish; second because, having finished my literary production, my mind, ready to rest at last, refuses to cultivate what it no longer cares to publish.

Yet though I yield to you completely in all other things — and rightly so, for what comparison is there? — you should know this: even if you shake the stars with your complaints and call on the ashes and shades of our ancestors to witness the injury done to your affection, I will not retreat from the contest — if the contest is who loves whom more. For in all things, but especially in love, defeat is the most shameful of all outcomes.

There — you have a letter nearly as talkative as you were demanding. Though all of mine, if any exist anywhere, are supremely wordy. For who would you not drive to the audacity of speaking? You draw out the talents of every writer — and I say nothing of myself — just as the rays of the sun draw hidden water through the porous earth from the bowels of the ground. Be mindful of us, my lord bishop.

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

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