Letter 8009: Radegund, mind fertile for God, life of the sisters —
Radegund, mind fertile for God, life of the sisters —
you who burn your limbs in subduing them, to nourish your soul:
observing your yearly vows, today you shut yourself away
and seek for yourself the harder path of discipline.
I do not pretend to understand this fully —
the way that restriction becomes, for you, a kind of freedom.
The world offers me more food and company than I need,
and I take more than I should.
You do the opposite and seem the better for it.
I think of the athletes I have read about in the old books —
how they denied themselves in training for a contest.
But your contest is not with other men.
Your contest is with whatever in yourself falls short of God.
And you win, year by year, by the evidence of your face,
which carries a peace I have not seen on many faces.
I will not visit during your enclosure — that would defeat the purpose.
But I will be nearby, writing bad verse and eating too much,
and thinking of you with the particular admiration
one reserves for people who are genuinely better than oneself.
Your Fortunatus
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.
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Whence has returned to me a face with shining light?
Powerful Radegund, of royal stock in the world —
O queen with power, to whom gold and purple are worthless,
The world's orb is gripped by the ice of winter cold
If the seasons were bringing me white lilies as usual