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  WRITINGS OF SIDONIUS APOLLINARIS
  by Sidonius Apollinaris
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Writings of Sidonius Apollinaris (c. AD 490). Sidonius Apollinaris was an early
church father whose writings have been preserved for the edification of the
church.

  Chapters: 14

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS
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    0. Writings of Sidonius Apollinaris
    1. Bibliography
    2. Book 1
    3. Book 2
    4. Book 3
    5. Book 4
    6. Book 5
    7. Book 6
    8. Book 7
    9. Book 8
   10. Book 9
   11. Introduction
   12. Preface to the online edition
   13. Title page and Preface

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  CHAPTER 0: WRITINGS OF SIDONIUS APOLLINARIS
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  CHAPTER 1: BIBLIOGRAPHY
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) pp. clvi-clix;
Bibliography

BIBLIOGRAPHY A. WORKS SPECIALLY RELATING TO SIDONIUS.

Baret, M. E. C. S. Sidonii Apollinaris Opera: Œuvres de Sidoine Apollinaire.
Paris, 1878.

Bitschofsky, R. De C. Sollii Apollinaris Studiis Statianis. 1881.

Brakman, C. Sidoniana et Boethiana. 1904.

[Breyer, R. Letters of St. Lupus of Troyes and St. Sidonius of Clermont,
translated by R. B., Canon of Troyes. Troyes, 1706.] Büdinger, M. Apollinaris
Sidonius als Politiker, in Sitzungsberichte der Wiener Akad. xcvii. 1880.

Chaix, L. A. Saint Sidoine Apollinaire et son siècle. 1867.

Crégut, G. R. Avitacum, essai de critique sur remplacement de la villa de
Sidoine Apollinaire. 1890 [in Mém. de l'Acad. des Sciences de Clermont-Ferrand,
2nd Series, fasc. 3.] Dill, S. Roman Society in the Last Century of the Western
Empire. 1898. [Especially pp. 157 ff. and 270 ff.] Ellis, R. Glossae in
Apollinarem Sidonium ex Codice Digbeiano 172: in Anecdota Oxoniensia i, pt. v.
1882.

Elmenhorst, G. C. S. A. Sidonii Opera, expostrema recogni-tione Io. Wovverii,
&c., Geverhartus Elmenhorstius edidit ex vet. cod. textum emendavit et indicem
copiosum adiecit. Hanoviae, 1617.

Eshevsky, S. V. C. S. Apoll. Sidonius: Episodes of the Literary and the
Political History of Gaul in the Fifth Century. St. Petersburg, 1855 (in
Russian).

Fertig, M. Caius Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius und seine Zeit, nach seinen Werken
dargestellt. Würzburg, 1845-8 (unfinished: three parts issued). |clvii Germain,
A. C. Essai historique et littéraire sur Apollinaris Sidonius. Montpellier,
1840.

Grégoire, J. F., and Collombet, F. Z. Œuvres de C. Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius.
Paris, 1836.

Grupe, E. Zur Sprache des Apollinaris Sidonius. 1892.

Gustaffson, F. V. De Apoll. Sidon. emendando. 1882.

Kaufmann, G. Die Werke des Apollinaris Sidonius als eine Quelle für die
Geschichte seiner Zeit. Göttingen, 1864.

Péricaud, A. Notice historique sur Sidoine Apollinaire. Lyons, 1825. [Notices
extracted from the Archives du Rhône, and used, with additions and alterations,
by Grégoire and Collombet.] Purgold, K. Archäologische Bemerkungen zu Claudian
und Sidonius. Gotha, 1878.

Sauvigny, E. Billardon de. Lettres de Caius Sidonius Apollinaris. Paris, 1787.

Sauvigny, E. Billardon de. Œuvres de Caius Sidonius Apollinaris. 1792.

Savaron, J. C. Solli Apollinaris Opera, Jo. Savaronis studio et diligentia
castigatius recognita. Paris, 1598. [Text, with Life.]

Savaron, J. C. S. Apollinaris opéra; Jo. Savaro Claromontensis multo quam antea
castigatius recognovit et librum commentarium adiecit. Paris, 1609. [Another
edition in 1614. Savaron's commentary is still of value.]

Sirmond, J. C. S. Apollinaris opera, Jac. Sirmundi Soc.Jesu. presb. cura et
studio recognita notisque illustrata. Paris, 1614.

Sirmond, J. Opera, Jac. Sirmundi cura et studio recognita notisque illustrata.
Editio Secunda. (Curante Ph. Labbeo.) Paris, 1652. [Sirmond's work, which passed
through later editions, is an example of seventeenth-century scholarship at its
best, and the notes are excellent] Yver, G. Euric, roi des Wisigoths, in Études
d'histoire du moyen âge dédiées à G. Monod. 1896. |clviii

TEXTS The two important critical texts are the Teubner text, edited by Mohr, and
that of Lütjohann, Löwe, and Mommsen: viz.:— C. Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius,
recensuit Paulus Mohr. Leipzig, 1895.

C. Sollii Apollinaris Sidonii Epistulae et Carmina, recensuit et emendavit C.
Lütjohann. [Completed by F. Löwe and Th. Mommsen, who contribute the preface.
The Praefatio of Mommsen, dealing with the life, &c., of Sidonius, is
important.]

Among texts of less value not already noted in the bibliography may be mentioned
that printed by J. P. Migne in his Patrologiae Cursus Completus, Latin Series,
vol. xviii, 1844; Sidonius is included in J. M. Nisard's Collection des auteurs
latins, 1850; in the Bibliotheca Veterum Patrum of A. Gallandius, vol. x, 1765;
in P. Amati's Collectio Pisaurensis, &c., vol. vi, 1766. The Corpus omnium
Poetarum Latinorum, 1627, and the Chorus Poetarum Classicorum duplex, &c., pt.
I, 1616, include the Poems. The sixteenth century produced the texts of J. de
Wouweren, with notes by Wouweren and P. Colvius, Paris and Lyons, 1598; E.
Vinetus, Lyons, 1552; G. P. Pio, Basel, 1542. To the fifteenth century belong an
imperfect text with Pio's commentary, produced at Milan in 1498; and an edition
issued at Utrecht by N. Ketelaer and G. de Leempt in 1473 (?).

B. WORKS OF GENERAL REFERENCE.

Bury, J. B. History of the Later Roman Empire. 1889. The Cambridge Mediaeval
History, vol. i. 1911. (Quoted as C.M.H.) Dahn, F. Die Könige der Germanen. Pts.
V and VI. 1870, 1871.

Duchesne, L. Fastes épiscopaux de l'ancienne Gaule. 1907. |clix Fauriel.
Histoire de la Gaule méridionale sous la domination des conquérants germains.
1836.

Freeman, E. A. Western Europe in the Fifth Century. 1904.

Gibbon, E. Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. Ch. xxxvi. (Ed. J. B. Bury,
1909; vol. iv.) Guizot, F. P. Histoire de la civilisation en France depuis la
chute de l'Empire romain. 1846, vol. i.

Hodgkin, T. Italy and her Invaders. Vols, i and ii (second ed. 1892).

Histoire littéraire de la France . . . par les Religieux de S. Maur. 1738, &c.
Vols, i-iii.

Lavisse, E. Histoire de France depuis les origines jusqu'à la Révolution. Vols.
i. and ii, 1900.

Schmidt, L. Geschickte der deutschen Stämme. 1910.

Thierry, Amédée. Récits de r histoire romaine au cinquième siècle. 1860.

Tillemont, L. S., Le Nain de. Mémoires pour servir à l' histoire ecclésiastique
des premiers siècles. 1701-12, vol. xvi. This text was transcribed by Roger
Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 2: BOOK 1
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) pp. 1- 33; Book I

BOOK I

I. To his friend Constantius c. A.D. 477

[1] WITH all the influence you derive from a genius for sound advice, you have
long urged me to correct, revise, and bring together in one volume the more
finished of those occasional letters which matters, men, and times have drawn
from me: I am to set presumptuous foot where Symmachus of the ample manner, and
Pliny of the perfected art have gone before. [2] Of Cicero as letter-writer I
had best be dumb; not Julius Titianus himself, in his Letters of Famous Women,
could worthily reproduce that model; 1 he tried to imitate a style which was not
of his time," and Fronto's other pupils,2 in their jealousy, called him 'ape of
orators' for his pains. I have always been horribly conscious how far I fall
short of these great examples; I have consistently claimed for each the
privilege of his own period and genius. [3] But I have done your will; here you
have the letters, not merely to revise, for that is nothing, but to polish and,
as the phrase goes, clear of lees. Do I not know you devoted not to studies
only, but to the studious too? Which devotion now makes you launch me, despite
my fears, upon this deep main of ambition. [4] I had been safer had I breathed
no word about these |2 trifles, content with the reception of my poems,1 which
good luck surely helped to recognition rather than skill of mine. Such fame as I
have should be to me an anchor cast in the haven of safe repute. I ought to be
content with it after the envious snarls of all the Scyllas which my ship has
passed. But if the tooth of jealousy spares these extravagances of mine, volume
shall follow upon volume, all full-brimming with my most copious flow of
correspondence. Farewell.

II. To [his brother-in-law] Agricola*

A.D. 454(?)

[1] You have often begged a description of Theodoric the Gothic king, whose
gentle breeding fame commends to every nation; you want him in his quantity and
quality, in his person, and the manner of his existence. I gladly accede, as far
as the limits of my page allow, and highly approve so fine and ingenuous a
curiosity.

Well, he is a man worth knowing, even by those who cannot enjoy his close
acquaintance, so happily have Providence and Nature joined to endow him with the
perfect gifts of fortune; his way of life is such that not even the envy which
lies in wait for kings can rob him of his proper praise. [2] And first as to his
person. He is well set up, in height above the average man, but below the giant.
His head is round, with curled hair retreating somewhat from brow to crown. His
nervous |3 neck is free from disfiguring knots.1 The eyebrows are bushy and
arched; when the lids droop, the lashes reach almost half-way down the cheeks.
The upper ears are buried under overlying locks, after the fashion of his race.
The nose is finely aquiline; the lips are thin and not enlarged by undue
distension of the mouth. Every day the hair springing from his nostrils is cut
back; that on the face springs thick from the hollow of the temples, but the
razor has not yet come upon his cheek, and his barber is assiduous in
eradicating the rich growth on the lower part of the face.2 [3] Chin, throat,
and neck are full, but not fat, and all of fair complexion; seen close, their
colour is fresh as that of youth; they often flush, but from modesty, and not
from anger. His shoulders are smooth, the upper- and forearms strong and hard;
hands broad, breast prominent; waist receding. The spine dividing the broad
expanse of back does not project, and you can see the springing of the ribs; the
sides swell with salient muscle, the well-girt flanks are full of vigour. His
thighs are like hard horn; the knee-joints firm and masculine; the knees
themselves the comeliest and least wrinkled in the world. A full ankle supports
the leg, and the foot is small to bear such mighty limbs.

[4] Now for the routine of his public life. Before daybreak he goes with a very
small suite to attend the service of his priests.3 He prays with assiduity, but,
if I may speak in confidence, one may suspect more of habit than conviction in
this piety. Administrative duties of the kingdom take up the rest of the
morning. Armed nobles stand about the royal seat; the mass of guards in their
garb of skins are admitted that they may |4 be within call, but kept at the
threshold for quiet's sake; only a murmur of them comes in from their post at
the doors, between the curtain and the outer barrier.1 And now the foreign
envoys are introduced. The king hears them out, and says little; if a thing
needs more discussion he puts it off, but accelerates matters ripe for dispatch.
The second hour arrives; he rises from the throne to inspect his
treasure-chamber or stable.

[5] If the chase is the order of the day, he joins it, but never carries his bow
at his side, considering this derogatory to royal state. When a bird or beast is
marked for him, or happens to cross his path, he puts his hand behind his back
and takes the bow from a page with the string all hanging loose; for as he deems
it a boy's trick to bear it in a quiver, so he holds it effeminate to receive
the weapon ready strung. When it is given him, he sometimes holds it in both
hands and bends the extremities towards each other; at others he sets it,
knot-end downward, against his lifted heel, and runs his finger up the slack and
wavering string. After that, he takes his arrows, adjusts, and lets fly. He will
ask you beforehand what you would like him to transfix; you choose, and he hits.
If there is a miss through either's error, your vision will mostly be at fault,
and not the archer's skill.

[6] On ordinary days, his table resembles that of a private person. The board
does not groan beneath a mass of dull and unpolished silver set on by panting
servitors; the weight lies rather in the conversation than in the plate; there
is either sensible talk or none. The hangings2 and draperies used on these
occasions are sometimes of purple silk, sometimes only of linen; art, |5 not
costliness, commends the fare, as spotlessness rather than bulk the silver.
Toasts are few, and you will oftener see a thirsty guest impatient, than a full
one refusing cup or bowl. In short, you will find elegance of Greece, good cheer
of Gaul, Italian nimbleness, the state of public banquets with the attentive
service of a private table, and everywhere the discipline of a king's house.
What need for me to describe the pomp of his feast days? No man is so unknown as
not to know of them. But to my theme again. [7] The siesta after dinner is
always slight, and sometimes intermitted. When inclined for the board-game,1 he
is quick to gather up the dice, examines them with care, shakes the box with
expert hand, throws rapidly, humorously apostrophizes them, and patiently waits
the issue. Silent at a good throw, he makes merry over a bad, annoyed by neither
fortune, and always the philosopher. He is too proud to ask or to refuse a
revenge; he disdains to avail himself of one if offered; and if it is opposed
will quietly go on playing. You effect recovery of your men without obstruction
on his side; he recovers his without collusion upon yours.2 You see the
strategist when he moves the pieces; his one thought is victory. [8] Yet at play
he puts off a little of his kingly rigour, inciting all to good fellowship and
the freedom of the game: I think he is afraid of being feared. Vexation in the
man whom he beats delights him; he will never believe that his opponents have
not let him win unless their annoyance proves him really victor. You would be
surprised how often the pleasure born of these little happenings may favour the
march of great affairs. Petitions that some wrecked influence |6 had left
derelict come unexpectedly to port; I myself am gladly beaten by him when I have
a favour to ask, since the loss of my game may mean the gaining of my cause. [9]
About the ninth hour, the burden of government begins again. Back come the
importunates, back the ushers to remove them; on all sides buzz the voices of
petitioners, a sound which lasts till evening, and does not diminish till
interrupted by the royal repast; even then they only disperse to attend their
various patrons among the courtiers, and are astir till bedtime. Sometimes,
though this is rare, supper is enlivened by sallies of mimes, but no guest is
ever exposed to the wound of a biting tongue. Withal there is no noise of
hydraulic organ,1 or choir with its conductor intoning a set piece; you will
hear no players of lyre or flute, no master of the music, no girls with cithara
or tabor; the king cares for no strains but those which no less charm the mind
with virtue than the ear with melody. [10] When he rises to withdraw, the
treasury watch begins its vigil; armed sentries stand on guard during the first
hours of slumber. But I am wandering from my subject. I never promised a whole
chapter on the kingdom, but a few words about the king. I must stay my pen; you
asked for nothing more than one or two facts about the person and the tastes of
Theodoric; and my own aim was to write a letter, not a history. Farewell. |7

* Translated by Hodgkin, Italy and her Invaders, ii. 352. The king here
described is Theodoric II, successor of Thorismund, predecessor of Euric.

III. To his friend Filimatius

A. D. 467

[1] INDICT me now by the laws against intrigue,1 degrade me from the Senate for
keeping patient eyes on the promotion to which, after all, birth gives me claim,
since my own sire and my wife's, my grandsire and his sire too before him were
urban and praetorian prefects, or held high rank in court and army.2 [2] If it
comes to that, consider our friend Gaudentius, who but now of tribune's rank,
towers in the dignity of the Vicariate above the unenterprising sloth of our
good citizens.3 Of course our young nobles grumble at his passing over their
heads; as for him, his one sentiment is satisfaction. And they now respect a man
scorned till yesterday; amazed at such a sudden rise, they look up to one as
magistrate on whom as neighbour they looked down. He for his part sets his crier
to stun the ears of his drowsy detractors; though envy goads them to hostility
they always find a friendly bench reserved for them in court.4 [3] You too had
best make good the loss of your old office by the membership of the prefect's
council now offered you; if you fail to do so, if you sit without the advantage
which such a position confers, you will be set down as one only fit to represent
a Vicarius. Farewell. |8

IV. To his friend Gaudentius

A. D. 467

[1] CONGRATULATIONS, most honoured friend; the rods of office are yours by
merit. To win your dignities you did not parade your mother's income, or the
largess of your ancestors, your wife's jewels, or your paternal inheritance. In
place of all this, it was your obvious sincerity, your proven zeal, your
admitted social charm which won you favour in the imperial household.1 O thrice
and four times happy man, whose rise means joy to friends, gall to enemies, and
glory to your own posterity, to say nothing of the example given to the active
and alert, and the spur applied to the listless and the slow. The man who tries
to emulate you, be his spirit what it will, may haply owe the last success to
his own exertions, but will certainly owe his start to your example. [2] I fancy
I see among the envious, with all deference to better citizens be it said, the
old miserable arrogance, the old scorn of service affected by men too slack to
serve, men lost to all ambition, who crown their cups with sophistries about the
charm of a free life out of office, their motive a base indolence, and not the
love of the ideal which they pretend. . . .

[3] [Such a] taste the wisdom of our fathers rejected, for fear that boys might
take advantage of it; they likened school orations to a textile fabric, and
perfectly understood that, in the case of youthful eloquence, it is harder to
spin out the terse than cut the exuberant short. So much for this subject; for
the rest, remember that |9 if Providence approves my endeavours and brings me
back safe and sound, I mean to repay your goodness with equal measure.

V. To his friend Herenius *

A. D. 467

[1] YOUR letter finds me at Rome. You are solicitous to know whether the affairs which have brought me so far go forward as we hoped, what route I took, and how I fared on it, what rivers celebrated in song I saw, what towns famed for their fair sites, what mountains reputed as the haunt of gods, what glorious battlefields; for it is your delight to check the descriptions you have read by the more accurate relation of the eye-witness. I am rejoiced that you inquire about my doings, because I know that your interest springs from the heart. Well then, though little accidents there were, I will begin, under kind Providence, with things of good event; it was the wont of our ancestors, as you know, to develop even a tale of mishap from fortunate beginnings.
[2] As bearer of the imperial letter,1 I was able to avail myself of the public post on leaving our beloved Lyons + ; my path lay amid the homes of kinsmen and acquaintances; and I lost less time from scarcity of horses than from multiplicity of friends, so closely did every one cling about me, shouting each against the other best wishes
|10 for a happy journey and safe return. In this way I drew near the Alps, which I ascended easily and without delay; formidable precipices rose on either side, but the snow was hollowed into a track, and the way
thus smoothed before me. [3] Such rivers, too, as could not be crossed in boats, had convenient fords or traversable bridges with covered arches, built by the art of old time from the foundations to the stoned road above. On the Ticino I boarded the packet known as the cursoria, which soon bore me to the Po; be sure I laughed over those convivial songs of ours about Phaethon's sisters1 and their unnatural tears of amber
gum. [4] I passed the mouth of many a tributary from Ligurian or Euganean heights, sedgy Lambro, blue Adda, swift Adige, slow Mincio,2 borne upon their very eddies as I looked; their margins and high banks were clothed with groves of oak and maple. Everywhere sweetly resounded the harmony of birds, whose loose-piled nests swayed on the hollow canes, or amid the pointed rushes and smooth reed-grass luxuriantly flourishing in the moisture of this wet
riverain soil. [5] The way led past Cremona,3 over whose proximity the Mantuan Tityrus so deeply sighed. We just touched at Brescello to take on Aemilian boatmen in place of our Venetian rowers, and, bearing to the right, soon reached Ravenna,4 where one would find it hard to say whether Caesar's road, passing between the two, separates or unites the old town and the new port. The Po divides above the city, part flowing through, part round the place. It is diverted from its main bed by the State dykes, and is thence led in diminished volume through derivative channels, the two
|11 halves so disposed that one encompasses and moats the walls, the other penetrates them and brings them trade
----[6] an admirable arrangement for commerce in general, and that of provisions in particular. But the drawback is that, with water all about us, we could not quench our thirst; there was neither pure-flowing aqueduct nor filterable cistern, nor trickling source, nor unclouded well. On the one side, the salt tides assail the gates; on the other, the movement of vessels stirs the filthy sediment in the canals, or the sluggish flow is fouled by the bargemen's poles, piercing the bottom slime.
[7] From Ravenna we came to the Rubicon, which borrows its name from the red colour of its gravels, and formed the frontier between the old Italians and the Cisalpine Gauls, when the two peoples divided the Adriatic towns. Thence I journeyed to Rimini and Fano, the first famed for its association with Caesar's rebellion, the second tainted by the fate of Hasdrubal1; for hard by flows Metaurus, more durably renowned through the fortune of a single day than if it had never ceased to run red to this hour, and roll down the dead on blood-stained waters to the Dalmatian Sea.
[8] After this I just traversed the other towns of the Flaminian Way----in at one gate, out at the other----leaving the Picenians on the left and the Umbrians on the right; and here my exhausted system succumbed either to Calabrian Atabulus2 or to air of the insalubrious Tuscan region, charged with poisonous exhalations, and blowing now hot, now cold. Fever and thirst ravaged the very marrow of my being; in vain I promised to their avidity draughts from pleasant fountain or hidden well, yes, and from every stream present or
|12 to come, water of Velino clear as glass, of Clitunno ice-cold, cerulean of Teverone, sulphureous of Nera, pellucid of Farfa, muddy of Tiber;1 I was mad to drink, but prudence stayed the craving.
[9] Meanwhile, Rome herself spread wide before my view, but I felt like draining down her aqueducts, or even the water of her naval spectacles. Before I reached the city limits I fell prostrate at the triumphal threshold of the Apostles, and in a flash I felt the languor vanish from my enfeebled limbs.2 After which proof of celestial protection, I alighted at the inn of which I have engaged a part, and there I am trying to get a little rest,
writing as I lie upon my couch. [10] As yet I have not presented myself at the bustling gates of Emperor or Court official. For my arrival coincided with the marriage of the patrician Ricimer, to whom the hand of the Emperor's daughter was being accorded in the hope of securer times for the State.3 Not individuals alone, but whole classes and parties are given up to rejoicing; you have the best of it on your side of the Alps. While I was writing these lines, scarce a theatre, provision-market, praetorium, forum, temple, or gymnasium but echoed to the passage of the cry Thalassio! 4 and even at this hour the schools are closed, no business is doing, the Courts are voiceless, missions are postponed; there is a truce to intrigue, and all the serious business of life seems merged in the buffooneries of the stage.
[11] Though the bride has been given away, though the bridegroom has put off his wreath, the consular his palm-broidered robe, the brideswoman her wedding gown, the distinguished senator his toga, and the plain man his cloak, yet the noise of the great gathering has
|13 not died away in the palace chambers, because the bride still delays to start for her husband's house. When this merrymaking has run out its course, you shall hear what remains to tell of my proceedings, if indeed these crowded hours of idleness to which the whole State seems now surrendered are ever to end, even when the festivities are over. Farewell.

* Paraphrased by Hodgkin, Italy and her Invaders, ii. 454; For the occasion of
Sidonius' visit to Rome, see Introduction, p. xxvii.

+ Rhodanusiae nostrae.

VI. To his friend Eutropius*

A. D. 467

[1] I HAVE long wished to write, but feel the impulse more than ever now, when
by the Christ's preventing grace, I am actually on the way to Rome. My sole
motive, or at least my chief one, is to drag you from the slough of your
domestic ease by an appeal to you to enter the imperial service.1 . . .

[2] Moreover, by the goodness of God, your age, your health of body and mind concur to fit you for the task; you have horses, arms, wardrobe, establishment, slaves in plenty; the one thing lacking, unless I greatly err, is the courage to begin. In your own home you are energetic enough; it is only at the idea of exile from it that a dull despondency intimidates you. How can it fairly be described as exile, for one with blood of senators in his veins and with the effigies of ancestors in the trabea daily forced upon his sight, to visit Rome once in his prime----Rome the abode of law, the
|14 training-school of letters, the fount of honours, the head of the world, the motherland of freedom, the city unique upon earth, where none but the barbarian and the slave is foreign?1

[3] Shame on you now if you bury yourself among cow-keeping rustics, or grunting
swineherds, as if it were the height of your felicity to feel the plough-handle
tremble above the cleft furrow, or, bowed over your scythe, to spoil the meadow
of its flowery wealth, or hoe the luxuriant vines with a face bent earthwards.
Have done! awake! sleek ease has unstrung the sinews of your mind; raise it to
higher things. Is it a less duty in a man of your descent to cultivate himself
than his estate? [4] In fine, what you are pleased to call a young man's
exercise is really a relaxation only fit for broken soldiers, when their feeble
hands exchange rusty sword for belated mattock. Suppose you achieve your end;
suppose that vineyard upon vineyard foams with purple juice, while piled
granaries collapse under endless mounds of grain; suppose plump neatherds drive
the crowding cows with their swollen udders into the reeking yards to milk: what
then? What use will it be to have enlarged your patrimony by sordid gains like
these, to have lived recluse not only among such things, but, O deeper shame!
for such things' sake? You will have only yourself to thank if one day you
stand, you a nobleman born, obscure in your white hairs behind your juniors
seated in debate, if you smart under the speech of some poor man risen to honour
by office, and with anguish see yourself distanced by those in whom it would
once have been presumption to follow in our train. [5] But why say more? 'Take
my appeal |15 as it is meant, and you shall find me at your side ready to
anticipate and share your every effort.1 But if you let yourself be caught in
the insidious nets of pleasure; if you choose to yoke yourself, as the saying
is, with the tenets of Epicurus, who frankly sacrifices virtue, and defines the
chief good as physical delight, then, be our posterity my witness, I wash my
hands of the disgrace. Farewell.

* Partly translated by Chaix; p. 264. For the effect of the letter on Eutropius,
see III. vi.

VII. To his friend Vincentius

A. D. 468

[1] THE case of Arvandus2 distresses me, nor do I conceal my distress, for it is
our emperor's crowning praise that a condemned prisoner may have friends who
need not hide their friendship. I was more intimate with this man than it was
safe to be with one so light and so unstable, witness the odium lately kindled
against me on his account, the flame of which has scorched me for this lapse
from prudence. [2] But since I had given my friendship, honour bound me fast,
though he on his side has no steadfastness at all; I say this because it is the
truth and not to strike him when he is down. For he despised friendly advice and
made himself throughout the sport of fortune; the marvel to me is, not that he
fell at last, but that he ever stood so long. How often he would boast of
weathering adversity, when we, with a less superficial sense of things, deplored
the sure disaster of his rashness, unable to call happy any man who only
sometimes and |16 not always deserves the name. [3] But now for your question as
to his government; I will tell you in few words, and with all the loyalty due to
a friend however far brought low. During his first term as prefect his rule was
very popular; the second was disastrous. Crushed by debt, and living in dread of
creditors, he was jealous of the nobles from among whom his successor must needs
be chosen. He would make fun of all his visitors, profess astonishment at
advice, and spurn good offices; if people called on him too rarely, he showed
suspicion; if too regularly, contempt. At last the general hate encompassed him
like a rampart; before he was well divested of his authority, he was invested
with guards, and a prisoner bound for Rome. Hardly had he set foot in the city
when he was all exultation over his fair passage along the stormy Tuscan coast,
as if convinced that the very elements were somehow at his bidding. [4] At the
Capitol, the Count of the Imperial Largess,1 his friend Flavius Asellus, acted
as his host and jailer, showing him deference for his prefectship, which seemed,
as it were, yet warm, so newly was it stripped from him. Meanwhile, the three
envoys from Gaul arrived upon his heels with the provincial decrees2 empowering
them to impeach in the public name. They were Tonantius Ferreolus,3 the
ex-prefect, and grandson, on the mother's side, of the Consul Afranius Syagrius,
Thaumastus, and Petronius, all men practised in affairs and eloquent, all
conspicuous ornaments of our country. [5] They brought, with other matters
entrusted to them by the province, an intercepted letter, which Arvandus'
secretary, now also under arrest, declared to have been |17 dictated by his
master. It was evidently addressed to the King of the Goths,* whom it dissuaded
from concluding peace with 'the Greek Emperor', + urging that instead he should
attack the Bretons north of the Loire, and asserting that the law of nations
called for a division of Gaul between Visigoth and Burgundian. There was more in
the same mad vein, calculated to inflame a choleric king, or shame a quiet one
into action. Of course the lawyers found here a flagrant case of treason. [6]
These tactics did not escape the excellent Auxanius and myself; in whatever way
we might have incurred the impeached man's friendship, we both felt that to
evade the consequences at this crisis of his fate would be to brand us as
traitors, barbarians, and poltroons. We at once exposed to the unsuspecting
victim the whole scheme which a prosecution, no less astute than alert and
ardent, intended to keep dark until the trial; their scheme was to noose in some
unguarded reply an adversary rash enough to repudiate the advice of all his
friends and rely wholly on his own unaided wits. We told him what to us and to
more secret friends seemed the one safe course; we begged him not to give the
slightest point away which they might try to extract from him on pretence of its
insignificance; their dissimulation would be ruinous to him if it drew
incautious admissions in answer to their questions. [7] When he grasped our
point, he was beside himself; he suddenly broke out into abuse, and cried:
'Begone, you and your nonsensical fears, degenerate sons of prefectorian
fathers; leave this part of the affair to |18 me; it is beyond an intelligence
like yours. Arvandus trusts in a clear conscience; the employment of advocates
to defend him on the charge of bribery shall be his one concession.' We came
away in low spirits, disturbed less by the insult to ourselves than by a real
concern; what right has the doctor to take offence when a man past cure gives
way to passion? [8] Meanwhile, our defendant goes off to parade the Capitol
square, and in white raiment too; he finds sustenance in the sly greetings which
he receives; he listens with a gratified air as the bubbles of flattery burst
about him. He casts curious eyes on the gems and silks and precious fabrics of
the dealers, inspects, picks up, unrolls, beats down the prices as if he were a
likely purchaser, moaning and groaning the whole time over the laws, the age,
the senate, the emperor, and all because they would not right him then and there
without investigation. [9] A few days passed, and, as I learned afterwards (I
had left Rome in the interim), there was a full house in the senate-hall.
Arvandus proceeded thither freshly groomed and barbered, while the accusers
waited the decemvirs'1 summons unkempt and in half-mourning, snatching from him
thus the defendant's usual right, and securing the advantage of suggestion which
the suppliant garb confers. The parties were admitted and, as the custom is,
took up positions opposite each other. Before the proceedings began, all of
prefectorian rank were allowed to sit; instantly Arvandus, with that unhappy
impudence of his, rushed forward and forced himself almost into the very bosoms
of the judges, while the ex-prefect* gained subsequent credit |19 and respect by
placing himself quietly and modestly amidst his colleagues at the lowest end of
the benches, to show that his quality of envoy was his first thought, and not
his rank as senator. [10] While this was going on, absent members of the house
came in; the parties stood up and the envoys set forth their charge. They first
produced their mandate from the province, then the already-mentioned letter;
this was being read sentence by sentence, when Arvandus admitted the authorship
without even waiting to be asked. The envoys rejoined, rather cruelly, that the
fact of his dictation was obvious.1 And when the madman, blind to the depth of
his fall, dealt himself a deadly blow by repeating the avowal not once, but
twice, the accusers raised a shout, and the judges cried as one man that he
stood convicted of treason out of his own mouth. Scores of legal precedents were
on record to achieve his ruin. [11] Only at this point, and then not at once, is
the wretched man said to have turned white in tardy repentance of his loquacity,
recognizing all too late that it is possible to be convicted of high treason for
other offences than aspiring to the purple. He was stripped on the spot of all
the privileges pertaining to his prefecture, an office which by re-election he
had held five years, and consigned to the common jail as one not now first
degraded to plebeian rank, but restored to it as his own. Eye-witnesses report,
as the most pathetic feature of all, that as a result of his intrusion upon his
judges in all that bravery and smartness while his accusers dressed in black,
his pitiable plight won him no pity when he was led off to prison a little
later. How, indeed, could any one be much moved at his |20 fate, seeing him
haled to the quarries or hard labour still all trimmed and pomaded like a fop?
[12] Judgement was deferred a bare fortnight. He was then condemned to death,
and flung into the island of the Serpent of Epidaurus.1 There, an object of
compassion even to his enemies, his elegance gone, spewed, as it were, by
Fortune out of the land of the living, he now drags out by benefit of Tiberius'2
law his respite of thirty days after sentence, shuddering through the long hours
at the thought of hook and Gemonian stairs, and the noose of the brutal
executioner. [13] We, of course, whether in Rome or out of it, are doing all we
can; we make daily vows, we redouble prayers and supplications that the imperial
clemency may suspend the stroke of the drawn sword, and rather visit a man
already half dead with confiscation of property, and exile. But whether Arvandus
has only to expect the worst, or must actually undergo it, he is surely the most
miserable soul alive if, branded with such marks of shame, he has any other
desire than to die. Farewell.

* Euric.

+ Anthemius.

* Tonantius Ferreolus.

VIII. To his friend Candidianus*

A. D. 468

[1] You congratulate me on my prolonged stay at Rome, though I note the touch of
irony, and your wit at my expense. You say you are glad your old friend has at
last seen the sun, since on the Saône his chances of |21 a good look at it are
few and far between. You abuse my misty Lyons,1 and deplore the days so cloaked
by morning fog that the full heat of noon can scarcely unveil them. [2] Now does
this nonsense fitly come from a native of that oven of a town Cesena? You have
shown your real opinion of your charming and convenient natal soil by leaving
it. The midges of Po may pierce your ears; the city frogs may croak and swarm on
every side, but you know very well that you are better off in exile at Ravenna
than at home. In that marsh of yours the laws of everything are always the wrong
way about; the waters stand and the walls fall, the towers float and the ships
stick fast, the sick man walks and the doctor lies abed, the baths are chill and
the houses blaze, the dead swim and the quick are dry, the powers are asleep and
the thieves wide awake, the clergy live by usury and the Syrian chants the
Psalms, business men turn soldiers and soldiers business men, old fellows play
ball and young fellows hazard, eunuchs take to arms and rough allies to
letters.2 [3] And that is the kind of city you choose to settle in, a place that
may boast a territory but little solid ground. Be kinder, therefore, to
Transalpines who never provoked you; their climate wins too cheap a triumph if
it shines only by comparison with such as yours. Farewell.

* Partly translated by Hodgkin, i. 860, and by Chaix, i. 273. Cf. Letter V.

IX. To his friend Herenius

A. D. 468

[1] THE patrician Ricimer well married, and the wealth of both empires blown to
the winds in the process, the |22 community has at last resumed its sober senses
and opened door and field again to business. Even before this happened I had
already been made welcome to the home of the prefectorian Paul, and enjoyed the
friendliest and most hospitable treatment in a house no less respectable for
piety than learning. I do not know the man more eminent in every kind of
accomplishment than my host. I am amazed when I think of the subtleties which he
propounds, the figures of rhetoric adorning his judgements, the polish of his
verses, the wonders which his fingers can perform. And over and above this
encyclopaedic knowledge, he has a still better possession, a conscience superior
even to all this science. Naturally, my first inquiries as to possible avenues
to court-favour were addressed to him; with him I discuss the likeliest patrons
for the advancement of our hopes. [2] There is, however, little need to
hesitate; the number of those whose influence merits our consideration is so
small. There are, indeed, many senators of wealth and birth, ripe in experience,
helpful in counsel, all of the highest rank, and equal in real consideration.
But without disparagement to others, we found two consulars, Gennadius Avienus
and Caecina Basilius, in enjoyment of a peculiar eminence, and conspicuous above
the rest; if you leave out of the account the great military officers, these two
members of the exalted order easily come next to the emperor himself. We found
them both deserving of the highest admiration; but their characters were very
different; what resemblance there was rested rather on inborn than acquired
qualities. Let me give you a short description of the pair. [3] Avienus reached
the consulate |23 by luck, Basilius by merit. It was observed that the former
attained his dignities with enviable rapidity, but that although the latter was
slower, he won the greater number of distinctions in the end. If either chanced
to leave his house, a whole populace of clients was afoot to escort him, and
pressed about him like a human tide. But though the two were in so far on a
level, the spirits and expectations of their friends were very far from equal.
Avienus would do all that in him lay for the advancement of his sons, or
sons-in-law, or brothers, but was so absorbed in family candidates that his
energy in the interest of outside aspirants was proportionately impaired. [4]
There was a further reason for preferring the Decian to the Corvinian family.
What Avienus could only obtain for his own connexions while in office, Basilius
obtained for strangers while he was in a private station. Avienus opened his
mind freely, and at' once, but little came of it; Basilius rarely and not for
some time, but to the petitioner's advantage. Neither of the two was
inaccessible or costly of approach; but in the one case cultivation reaped mere
affability, in the other, solid gain. [5] After long balancing of alternatives,
we finally compromised in this sense; we would preserve all due respect for the
older consular, whose house we were duly frequenting, but devote our real
attention to the habitué's of Basilius' house. Now while, with the assistance of
this right honourable friend, I was considering how best to advance the matter
of our Arvernian petition,1 the Kalends of January came round, on which day the
emperor's name was to be enrolled in the Fasti as consul for a second year. [6]
'The very thing,' cried my |24 patron. 'My dear Sollius, I well know that you
are engaged in an exacting duty, but I do wish you would bring out your Muse
again in honour of the new consul; let her sing something appropriate to the
occasion, in whatever haste composed. I will obtain you an audience, be there to
encourage you before you begin to recite, and guarantee you a good reception
when you have done. I have some experience in these matters; trust me when I say
that serious advantage may accrue from this little scheme.' I took the hint; he
did not withdraw from the suggested plan, but gave me the support of an
invincible ally in the act of homage imposed upon me, and managed so to
influence my new consul, that I was incontinently named president of his senate.
[7] But I expect you are tired to death of this prolix letter, and would much
rather peruse my little work1 itself at your leisure. Indeed, I am sure you
would, so the eloquent pages bear you the verses herewith, and must do duty for
me until I come to speak for myself a few days hence. If my lines win the
suffrage of your critical judgement, I shall be just as delighted as if a speech
of mine in the assembly or from the rostra called forth the 'bravos' not of
senators alone but of all the citizens. I warn you, nay, I insist with you, not
to think of setting this slight piece of mine on the same plane as the
hexameters of your own Muse, for by the side of yours my lines will suggest the
triviality of epitaph-mongers rather than the grandeur of heroic verse. [8]
Rejoice, all the same, with the panegyrist; he cannot claim the credit of a fine
performance, but at least he has the reward of one. And so, if gay may enliven
grave, I will imitate |25 the Pyrgopolinices of Plautus, and conclude in a
robustious and Thrasonical vein.1 And since, by Christ's aid, I have got the
prefecture by a lucky pen, I bid you treat me as my new state demands; pile up
all conceivable felicitations and exalt to the stars my eloquence or my luck,
according as I please, or fail to please, your judgement. I can imagine your
smile when you see your friend carrying it off in this style with the braggart
airs of the old stage-soldier. Farewell.

X. To his friend Campanianus

A. D. 468

[1] THE Intendant of Supplies 2 has personally presented the letter in which you
commend him as your old friend to my new judgement. I am greatly indebted to
him, but most of all to yourself for this evidence of your resolve to assume my
friendship certain and proof against all suspicion. I welcome, I eagerly embrace
this opportunity of acquaintance, and of intimacy, since my desire to oblige you
cannot but draw closer the bonds which already unite us. [2] But please commend
me in my turn to his vigilant care, commend, that is, my cause and my repute.
For I rather fear that there may be an uproar in the theatres if the supplies of
grain run short, and that the hunger of all the Romans will be laid to my
account. I am on the point of dispatching him immediately to the harbour in
person, because news is to hand that five ships from Brindisi have put in at
Ostia laden with wheat and honey. |26 A stroke of energy on his part, and we
should have these cargoes ready in no time for the expectant crowds; he would
win my favour, I the people's, and he and I together yours. Farewell.

XI. To his friend Montius About A. D. 461-7

[1] ON the eve of your departure to visit your people of Franche-Comté, most eloquent of friends, you ask me for a copy of a certain satire, assuming it really of my composition. I must say the request surprises me; it is not nice to jump to a false conclusion about a friend's conduct in this manner. It is so likely----is it not?----that at my then age and with my total lack of leisure, I should devote my energies to a kind of literature which it would have been presumptuous in a young man doing his service to compose, and assuredly perilous to publish. Why, a mere nodding acquaintance with a grammarian would suffice to recall the advice of the Calabrian:

'Against the libellous poet, is there not remedy of law and sentence?'1

[2] To prevent any more credulity of this sort as regards your old friend, I will set forth at some length, and from the beginning, the events which brought on my head the sound and smoke of public odium. In the reign of Majorian, an anonymous but very mordant satire in verse was circulated at court; gross in its invective, it took advantage of unprotected names,
|27 though it lashed vice, its attack was above all personal.1 The inhabitants of Aries (that city was the scene of these events) were much excited; they wanted to know on which of our poets the weight of public indignation was to fall; at their head were the men whom the invisible author had most visibly branded.
[3] It chanced that the illustrious Catullinus arrived at this juncture from Clermont; always a close friend of mine, he was then nearer to me than ever, as we had just served together; a common duty away from home brings (you know how) fellow citizens nearer. Well, Paeonius and Bigerrus set a trap for the unsuspecting visitor: they took him off his guard, and asked him, before numerous witnesses, whether he was familiar with the new poem. 'Let me hear some of it,' said Catullinus. But when they went on jestingly to quote various passages from the satire, he burst out laughing, and asseverated, rather inopportunely, perhaps, that such verses deserved to be immortalized, and set up in letters of gold on the rostra or the Capitol.2
[4] At this Paeonius flamed out, for he was the man whom the fiery tooth of the satirist had most sharply bitten. 'Ha!' he cried to the crowd attracted to the spot, 'I have found out the author of this public outrage. Just look at Catullinus half dead with laughter there; obviously he knew all the points beforehand. How could he thus anticipate, and conclude from a mere part, unless he were already acquainted with the whole? We know that Sidonius is in Auvergne. It is easy to infer that he wrote the thing and that Catullinus was the first to hear it from his lips.' Now I was not only absent, but ignorant and innocent as a babe; that did not prevent a tempest of fury and
|28 abuse against me; they cast to the winds loyalty, fair
play, and fair inquiry; [5] such power had this popular favourite to draw the fickle crowd whither he would. As you know, Paeonius was a demagogue well versed in the tribune's art of troubling the waters of faction. But if you asked 'whence his descent and where his home?'1 'tis known he was nothing more than a plain citizen, whom the eminence of his stepfather more than any distinction of his own house first brought to public notice. He was bent on rising, and more than once let it be seen that he would stick at nothing to attain his end; though mean by nature he would spend freely for his own advancement. For example, when the engagement of his daughter (against whom I would not breathe a word) brought him the alliance of a family above his own, our Chremes,2 if rumour does not lie, announced to his Pamphilus a dower magnificently beyond the
strict civic standard. [6] Again, when the Marcellian conspiracy 3 to seize the diadem was brewing, what did our friend do? A novus homo, and in his grey hairs, he must needs constitute himself the leader of the young nobility until in the fullness of time the efforts of a lucky audacity were rewarded, for the interregnum, like a rift in clouds, threw a flash of splendour on the obscurity of his birth. The throne was vacant, the State in confusion; but he, and only he, had the face, without waiting for credentials, to assume the fasces as prefect in Gaul, and for months together climb, in the sight of gods and men, the tribunal distinguished by so many illustrious magistrates. Like a public accountant or advocate promoted to honours at the close of a professional career, he
|29 just managed to get recognition at the very end of his official term.
[7] A prefect and senator in such wise that only my respect for the character of his son-in-law prevents me from exposing him as utterly as he deserves, behold him unashamed to fan the odium of good and bad alike against one still nominally his friend, as if I were the only man of my epoch competent to string a verse or two together. I came to Aries suspecting nothing ----how should I?----though my enemies were good enough to believe I dared not venture. The next day I paid my duty to the emperor, and went down to the forum, as I always do. As soon as I appeared, the conspiracy was at once confounded, being of the sort which, as Lucan says,1 dares put nothing to the touch. Some fell cringing at my knees, abasing themselves beyond propriety; others hid behind statues or columns to avoid the necessity of salutation; others, again, with looks of affected sorrow, walked closely at my sides.
[8] I was wondering all the time what might be the meaning of this excess, first in insolence and now in abasement, but was determined not to ask, when one of the gang, put up, no doubt, to play the part, came forward to exchange greeting. We talked, and incidentally he remarked: 'You see these people?' 'I do indeed,' I answered, 'and I may say that their proceedings astonish me as much as they impress me little.' To which my kind interpreter rejoined: 'It is in your quality of satirist that they show this fear or detestation of you.' 'How so,' I cried, 'on what grounds? when did I give them the excuse? who detected the offence? who brought the charge and who the proof?' Then, with a smile, I continued thus: 'My dear sir, if you
|30 don't mind, oblige me by asking these excited persons from me, whether it was a professed informer or spy who got up this imaginative story about my writing a satire. If they have to make the inevitable apology later, it will be better for them to give up this outrageous behaviour at once.'
[9] No sooner had he conveyed the message, than they all came to offer their hands and salutations, not man by man, and with decorum, but the whole herd with a rush. Our Curio was left all alone to breathe imprecations on the base deserters, until at fall of evening he was hurried off home on the
shoulders of bearers gloomier than mutes. [10] The next day the emperor commanded my presence at the banquet he was giving on the occasion of the Games. At the left end of the couch 1 was Severinus, the consul of the year, who managed to trim his sails to a wind of even favour throughout our vast dynastic changes and all the uneven fortunes of the State. Next him was the ex-prefect Magnus, who had just laid down the consul's office, and by virtue of these two dignities was no unworthy neighbour. Beyond Magnus was his nephew Camillus, who had also held two offices, and by his conduct of them added equal lustre to his father's proconsular rank and his uncle's consulship. Next to him was Paeonius, and then Athenius, a man versed in every turn of controversy and vicissitude of the times. After them came Gratianensis, a character not to be mentioned in the same breath with evil; and though lower in rank than Severinus, above him in the imperial estimation. I was last, upon the left side of the emperor, who lay at the right extremity of the table.
[11] When the dinner was well advanced, the prince
|31 addressed a few short remarks to the consul. He then turned to the ex-consul, with whom he talked several times, the subjects being literary. At an early opportunity he addressed himself to Camillus, with the remark: 'My dear Camillus, you have so admirable an uncle that I pride myself on having conferred a consulship on your family.' Camillus, who coveted a like promotion, saw his chance, and replied: 'A consulship, Sire! you surely mean a first?' Even the emperor's presence did not check the loud applause which greeted this rejoinder.
[12] By accident, or of set purpose, I cannot say which, the prince now passed over Paeonius, and addressed some question or other to Athenius. Paeonius had the bad manners to take the oversight ill, and made matters worse by answering before the other had time to speak. The emperor only laughed; it was his way to be very genial in society so long as his own dignity was observed. To Athenius the laugh came as compensation for the slight he had suffered. That craftiest of all the elders had been boiling with suppressed resentment all the time because Paeonius had been placed above him, but he calmed himself enough to say: 'It no longer surprises me, Sire, that he should try to push himself into my place, when he has now pushed into your Majesty's conversation.'
[13] The illustrious Gratianensis here remarked that the episode opened a wide field to a satirist. On this, the emperor turned round to me and said: 'It is news to me, Count Sidonius,1 that you are a writer of satires.' 'Sire,' I answered, 'it is news to me too.' 'Anyhow,' he replied with a laugh, 'I beg you to be merciful to me.' 'I shall
|32 spare myself also,' I rejoined, 'by refraining from illegality.' Thereupon the emperor said: 'What shall we do, then, to the people who have provoked you?' 'This, Sire,' I answered. ' Whoever my accuser be, let him come out into the open. If I am proved guilty, let me abide the penalty. But if, as will probably be the case, I rebut the charge, I ask of your clemency permission to write anything I choose about my
assailant, provided I observe the law.' [14] The emperor looked at Paeonius, who was hesitating, and made a sign of inquiry whether he accepted the conditions. But he had not a word to answer, and the prince spared his embarrassment; at last, however, he managed to say: 'I agree to your conditions, if you can put them in verse on the spot.' 'Very well,' I said; and turning back, as if to call for water for my hands, I remained in that attitude the time occupied by a quick servant in going round the table. I then resumed my former position, and the emperor said: 'Your undertaking was to ask in an impromptu our sanction for writing satire.' I replied:

'O mightiest prince, I pray that this be thy decree: let him who calls me
libeller or prove his charge, or fear.'

[15] I do not want to seem conceited, but the applause which followed was equal
to that which had greeted Camillus; though it was earned, of course, less by the
merit of the verse than by the speed with which I had composed. Then the emperor
cried: 'I call God and the common weal to witness that in future I give you
licence to write what you please; the charge brought against you was not
susceptible of proof. It would be most unjust if the imperial decision allowed
such latitude to private quarrels that evident malice might imperil |33 by
obscure charges nobles whom conscious innocence puts wholly off their guard.' At
this pronouncement I modestly bent my head and thanked him; the face of my
opponent, which had previously shown successive signs of rage and vexation, now
grew pale. Indeed, it was almost frozen with terror, as if he had received the
order to present his neck to the executioner's drawn sword. [16] Little more was
said before we rose from the table. We had withdrawn a short distance from the
imperial presence, and were in the act of putting on our mantles, when the
consul fell upon my bosom, the ex-prefects seized my hands, and my guilty friend
abased himself so often and so profoundly, that he aroused universal pity, and
bade fair to place me in a more invidious position by his entreaties than he had
ever done by his insinuations. Urged to speak by the throng of nobles round me,
I closed the episode by telling him that he might set his mind at rest; I should
write no satire on his base intrigue so long as he abstained henceforward from
the misrepresentation of my actions. It should be punishment enough for him to
know that his ascription of the lampoon to me had added to my credit and brought
nothing but discredit on himself. [17] In fine, honoured lord, the man whom I
thus confounded had not been loudest in calumny; he was a mere whisperer. But
since, by his offence, I had the satisfaction of being so warmly greeted by so
many men of the highest influence and position, I confess that it was almost
worth while to have borne the scandal of the exordium for the sake of so
triumphant a conclusion. Farewell. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse,
2003. All material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 3: BOOK 2
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) pp. 34-62 ; Book II

BOOK II

I. To [his brother-in-law] Ecdicius* c. A.D. 470

[1] YOUR countrymen of Auvergne suffer equally from two evils. 'What are those?' you ask. Seronatus' presence, and your own absence. Seronatus----his very name first calls for notice; 1 I think that when he was so named, a prescient fortune must have played with contradictions, as our predecessors did, who by antiphrasis used the root of 'beautiful' in their word for war, the most hideous thing on earth; and, with no less perversity, the root of mercy in their name for Fate, because Fate never spares. This Catiline of our day is just returned from the region of the Adour to blend in whole confusion the fortune and the blood of unhappy victims which down there he had only pledged
himself in part to shed. [2] You must know that his long-dissembled savagery comes daily further into the light. His spite affronts the day; his dissimulation was abject as his arrogance is servile. He commands like a despot; no tyrant more exacting than he, no judge more peremptory in sentence, no barbarian falser in false witness. The livelong day he goes armed from cowardice, and starving from pure meanness. Greed makes him
|35 formidable, and vanity cruel; he continually commits himself the very thefts he punishes in others. To the universal amusement he will rant of war in a civilian company, and of literature among Goths. Though he barely knows the alphabet, he has the conceit to dictate letters in public and the impudence to revise them under the same conditions.

[3] All property he covets he makes a show of buying; but he never thinks of
paying, nor does he trouble to furnish himself with deeds, knowing it hopeless
to prove a title.1 In the council-chamber he commands, but in counsel he is
mute. He jests in church and preaches at table; snores on the bench, and
breathes condemnation in his bedroom. His actions are filling the woods with
dangerous fugitives from the estates, the churches with scoundrels, the prisons
with holy men. He cries the Goths up and the Romans down; he prepares illusions
for prefects and collusions with public accountants. He tramples under foot the
Theodosian Code to set in its place the laws of a Theodoric,2 raking up old
charges to justify new imposts. [4] Be quick, then, to unravel the tangle of
affairs that makes you linger; cut short whatever causes your delay. Our people
are at the last gasp; freedom is almost dead. Whether there is any hope, or
whether all is to be despair, they want you in their midst to lead them. If the
State is powerless to succour, if, as rumour says, the Emperor Anthemius is
without resource, our nobility is determined to follow your lead, and give up
their country or the hair of their heads.3 Farewell. |36

* Partly translated by Fertig, Part i, p. 20.

II.

T0 his friend Domitius

A.D. 461-7(?)

[1] You attack me for staying in the country; I might with greater reason
complain of you for lingering in town. Spring already gives place to summer; the
sun has travelled his full range to the Tropic of Cancer and now advances on his
journey towards the pole. Why should I waste words upon the climate which we
here enjoy? The Creator has so placed us that we are exposed to the afternoon
heats. Enough said; the whole world glows; the snow is melting on the Alps; the
earth is seamed with gaping heat-cracks. The fords are nothing but dry gravel,
the banks hard mud, the plains dust; the running streams languish and hardly
drag themselves along; as for the water, hot is not the word; it boils. [2] We
are all perspiring in light silks or linens; but there you stay at Ameria all
swathed up under your great gown, buried in a deep chair, and setting with many
yawns 'My mother was a Samian' 1 to pupils paler from the heat than from any
fear of you. As you love your health, get away at once from your suffocating
alleys, join our household as the most welcome of all guests, and in this most
temperate of retreats evade the intemperate dog-star.

[3] You may like to know the kind of place to which you are invited. We are at
the estate known as Avitacum,2 a name of sweeter sound in my ears than my own
patrimony because it came to me with my |37 wife. Infer the harmony which
established between me and mine; it is God's ordinance; but you might be
pardoned for fearing it the work of some enchantment. On the west rises a big
hill, pretty steep but not rocky, from which issue two lower spurs, like
branches from a double trunk, extending over an area of about four jugera. But
while the ground opens out enough to form a broad approach to the front door,
the straight slopes on either side lead a valley right to the boundary of the
villa, which faces north and south. [4] On the south-west are the baths,1 which
so closely adjoin a wooded eminence that if timber is cut on the hill above, the
piles of logs slide down almost by their own weight, and are brought up against
the very mouth of the furnace. At this point is the hot bath, which corresponds
in size with the adjoining unguentarium, except that it has an apse with a
semicircular basin; here the hot water pressing through the sinuous lead pipes
that pierce the wall issues with a sobbing sound. The chamber itself is well
heated from beneath; it is full of day, and so overflowing with light that very
modest bathers seem to themselves something more than naked. [5] Next come the
spacious frigidarium, which may fairly challenge comparison with those in public
baths. The roof is pyramidal, and the spaces between the converging ridges are
covered with imbricated tiles; the architect has inserted two opposite windows
about the junction of walls and dome, so that if you look up, you see the fine
coffering displayed to the best advantage. The interior walls are
unpretentiously covered with plain white stucco, and the apartment is designed
by the nicest calculation of space |38 to contain the same number of persons as
the semicircular bath holds bathers, while it yet allows the servants to move
about without impeding one another. [6] No frescoed scene obtrudes its comely
nudities, gracing the art to the disgrace of the artist. You will observe no
painted actors in absurd masks, and costumes rivalling Philistio's gear with
colours gaudy as the rainbow.1 You will find no pugilists or wrestlers
intertwining their oiled limbs in those grips which, in real bouts, the
gymnasiarch's chaste wand unlocks the moment the enlaced limbs look indecent.
[7] Enough you will see upon these walls none of those things which it is nicer
not to look upon. A few verses there are, harmless lines enough, since no one
either regrets perusal or cares to peruse again. If you want to know what
marbles are employed, neither Paros nor Carystos, nor Proconnesos, nor Phrygia,
nor Numidia, nor Sparta have contributed their diverse inlays. I had no use for
stone that simulates a broken surface, with Ethiopic crags and purple precipices
stained with genuine murex. Though enriched by no cold splendour of foreign
marble, my poor huts and hovels do not lack the coolness to which a plain
citizen may aspire. But now I had really better talk about the things I have,
than the things I lack. [8] With this hall is connected on the eastern side an
annexe, a piscina, or, if you prefer the Greek word, baptistery, with a capacity
of about twenty thousand modii. Into this the bathers pass from the hot room by
three arched entrances in the dividing wall. The supports are not piers but
columns, which your experienced architect calls the glory of buildings. Into
this piscina, then, a stream lured from the brow |39 of the hill is conducted in
channels curving round the outside of the swimming basin; it issues through six
pipes terminating in lions' heads which, to one entering rapidly, seem to
present real fangs, authentic fury of eyes, indubitable manes. [9] When the
master of the house stands here with his household or his guests about him,
people have to shout in each other's ears, or the noise of falling water makes
their words inaudible; the interference of this alien sound forces conversations
which are quite public to assume an amusing air of secrecy. On leaving this
chamber you see in front of you the withdrawing-room; adjoining it is the
storeroom, separated only by a movable partition from the place where the maids
do our weaving.

[10] On the east side a portico commands the lake, supported by simple wooden
pillars instead of pretentious monumental columns. On the side of the front
entrance is a long covered space unbroken by interior divisions; it may be
incorrect to call this a hypodrome, but I may fairly award it the name of
cryptoporticus. At the end it is curtailed by a section cut off to form a
delightfully cool bay, and here when we keep open festival, the whole chattering
chorus of nurses and dependants sounds a halt when the family retires for the
siesta.

[11] The winter dining-room is entered from this cryptoporticus; a roaring fire
on an arched hearth often fills this apartment with smoke and smuts. But that
detail I may spare you; a glowing hearth is the last thing I am inviting you to
enjoy just now. I pass instead to things which suit the season and your present
need. From here one enters a smaller chamber or dining-room, |40 all open to the
lake and with almost the whole expanse of lake in its view. This chamber is
furnished with a dining-couch and gleaming sideboard upon a raised area or dais
to which you mount gradually, and not by abrupt or narrow steps from the portico
below. Reclining at this table you can give the idle moments between the courses
to the enjoyment of the prospect. [12] If water of our famous springs is served
and quickly poured into the cups, one sees snowy spots and clouded patches form
outside them; the sudden chill dulls the fugitive reflections of the surface
almost as if it had been greased. Such cups restrict one's draughts; the
thirstiest soul on earth, to say nothing of Your Abstemiousness, would set lip
to the freezing brims with caution. From table you may watch the fisherman row
his boat out to mid-lake, and spread his seine with cork floats, or suspend his
lines at marked intervals to lure the greedy trout on their nightly excursions
through the lake with bait of their own flesh and blood: what phrase more
proper, since fish is literally caught by fish? [13] The meal over, we pass into
a withdrawing-room, which its coolness makes a perfect place in summer. Facing
north, it receives all the daylight but no direct sun: a very small intervening
chamber accommodates the drowsy servants, large enough to allow them forty winks
but not a regular sleep. [14] It is delightful to sit here and listen to the
shrill cicala at noon, the croak of frogs in the gloaming, the clangour of swans
and geese in the earlier night or the crow of cocks in the dead of it, the
ominous voice of rooks saluting the rosy face of Dawn in chorus, or, in the
half-light, nightingales fluting in the bushes and |41 swallows twittering under
the eaves. To this concert you may add the seven-stopped pipe of the pastoral
Muse, on which the very wakeful Tityri of our hills will often vie one with
another, while the herds about them low to the cow-bells as they graze along the
pastures. All these tuneful songs and sounds will but charm you into deeper
slumbers. [15] If you leave the colonnade and go down to the little lakeside
harbour, you come to a greensward, and, hard by, to a grove of trees where every
one is allowed to go. There stand two great limes, with roots and trunks apart,
but the boughs interwoven in one continuous canopy. In their dense shade we play
at ball1 when my Ecdicius honours me with his company; but the moment the shadow
of the trees shrinks to the area covered by the branches we stop for want of
ground, and repose our tired limbs at dice.

[16] I have described the house; I now owe you a description of the lake. It
extends in a devious course towards the east, and when violent winds lash it to
fury, drenches the lower part of the house with spray. At its head the ground is
marshy and full of bog-holes, impassable to the explorer; a slimy and saturated
mud has formed there, and cold springs rise on all sides; the edges are fringed
with weed. When the wind drops, small boats cleave its changeful surface in all
directions. But if dirty weather comes up from the south the whole lake is
swollen into monstrous waves and a rain of spray comes crashing over the
tree-tops upon the banks. [17] By nautical measure, it is seventeen stadia in
length. Where the river comes in, the broken water foams white against the rocky
barriers; but the |42 stream soon wins clear of the overhanging crags, and is
lost in the smooth expanse. Whether the river itself makes the lake, or is only
an affluent, I know not; certain it is that it reaches the other end, and flows
away through subterranean channels which only deprive it of its fish, and leave
it intact in volume. The fish, driven into more sluggish waters, increase in
size, red bodied and white under the belly. They cannot either return or escape;
they fatten, and go self-contained as it were in portable jails of their own
composition. [18] On the right, a wooded shore curves with an indented line; on
the left, it opens to a level sweep of grass. On the southwest the shallows
along the banks look green; overarching boughs lend the water their own hue, and
the water transmits it to the pebbles at the bottom; on the east, a similar
fringe of foliage produces a like tint. On the north, the water preserves its
natural colour; on the west, the shore is covered with a tangle of common
growths crushed in many places where boats have rowed over them; close by, tufts
of smooth reeds bend to the wind, and pulpy flat leaves of aquatic plants float
upon the surface; the sweet waters nourish the bitter sap of the grey-green
willows growing near. [19] In the deep middle of the lake is an islet, at one
end of which projects a turning post upon boulders naturally piled, worn by
contact with oar-blades during our aquatic sports; at this point competitors
often collide and come to cheerful grief. Our fathers used to hold boat-races
here in imitation of the Trojan ceremonial games at Drepanum.1

It is not in my bond to describe the estate itself; suffice it to say that it
has spreading woods and flowery |43 meadows, pastures rich in cattle and a
wealth of hardy shepherds. [20] Here I must conclude. Were my pen to run on much
further the autumn would overtake you before you reached the end. Accord me,
then, the grace of coming quickly; your return shall be as slow as ever you
choose. And forgive me if, in my fear of overlooking anything about our
situation here, I have given you facts in excess and beyond the fair limits of a
letter. As it is, there are points which I have left untouched for fear of being
tedious. But a reader of your judgement and imagination will not exaggerate the
size of the descriptive page, but rather that of the house so spaciously
depicted. Farewell.

III. To [his friend Magnus] Felix c. A.D. 472

[1] I REJOICE, honoured lord, to see you win the distinction of this most
exalted title;1 and all the more because the news is announced to me by special
messenger. For though you are now high among the powers, and after all these
years the patrician dignity comes back to the Philagrian house by your felicity
2, you will discover, most loyal of friends, how much your honours grow by being
shared, and how far so rare a modesty as yours exalts a lofty station. [2] It
was for these qualities that the Roman people once preferred Quintus Fabius the
Master of the Horse to Cursor with his dictatorial rigour and his Papirian
pride;3 for these that Pompey surpassed all rivals in a popularity |44 which he
was too wise to scorn. By these Germanicus won the whole world's favour and
forced Tiberius to repress his envy. For these reasons I will not concede all
the credit for your promotion to the imperial pleasure. It has only one
advantage over ours; were we to oppose your claims, it has the power to override
us. Your peculiar privilege, your unique advantage is this: you have neither
actual rival nor visible successor. Farewell.

IV. To his friend Sagittarius*

A.D. 461-7

[1] THE honourable § Projectus is ardently bent upon your friendship; I trust that you will not repel his advances. He is of noble lineage; the reputation of his father and his uncle, and his grandfather's eminence in the Church unite to lend a lustre to his name; he has indeed all that conduces to distinction; family, wealth, probity, energetic youth; but not till he is assured of your good graces, will he consider himself to have attained the culminating point of his career.
[2] Although he has already asked and obtained from the widow of the late honourable Optantius her daughter's hand----may God speed his hopes----he fears that little will have been gained by all his vows, unless his own solicitude, or my intercession gains him your support as well. For you have taken the place of the girl's dead father; you have succeeded to his share in the
|45 responsibility for her upbringing; it is to you that she looks for a father's love, a patron's guidance, a guardian's bounden care.
[3] And since it is but natural that your admirable government of your household should attract men of the right stamp even from distant places, reward the modesty of this suppliant wooer by a kindly response. In the usual course of events it would have fallen to you to obtain him the mother's consent; as it is, he saves you this trouble, and you have only to sanction a troth already approved. Your reputation gives you in effect a parental authority in regard to this match; the father himself, if he had lived, could not have claimed a greater. Farewell.

* Or to Syagrius, as C.

§ Clarissimus.

V. To his friend Petronius

A.D. 461-7

[1] JOHN, my friend, is caught inextricably in the labyrinth of a complex
business, and is at a loss what to hope and what abandon until your experienced
eye, or another as good (if such there be), has looked into his titles to
determine their validity. The case is confusing in that it has more than one
side, and he does not see whether his statement should maintain one line of
action or impugn another. [2] I most earnestly beg you, therefore, to examine
his documents and tell him what his rights are, what he ought to allege or
refute, and what his procedure should be. Let but the stream of this affair flow
from the springs of your advice, and I have no fear that the other side will
manage to reduce its volume by any unfair diversion. Farewell. |46

VI. To his friend Pegasius

A.D. 461-7

[1] THERE is a proverb that delay is often best; I have just had proof that it
is true. We have had your friend Menstruanus long enough among us, to find him
worthy of a place among our dearest and most intimate friends. He is agreeable,
and of refined manners, moderate, sensible, religious, and no spendthrift; his
is a personality which confers as much as it obtains when admitted to the most
approved of friendships. [2] I tell you this for my own satisfaction, and not to
inform you of what you already know. As a result, content will now reign in
three separate quarters. You will be pleased at this seal set on your judgement
in the choice and adoption of your friends; the Arvenians will be pleased, since
to my certain knowledge they liked him for the very qualities which, I am sure,
commended him to you; lastly Menstruanus himself will be gratified at receiving
the good opinion of honourable men. Farewell.

VII. To his friend Explicius

A.D. 461-7

[1] You have given so many proofs of your impartiality that you have won
universal respect, and for that reason I am always more than eager to send all
seekers after justice to your judgement-seat; by so doing I ease |47 the
disputants from their burden, and myself from all necessity of argument. These
ends I shall attain in the present case, unless your diffidence should prompt
you to refuse the parties audience; but your very inaccessibility is the best
proof of your impartiality. For almost every one else intrigues to be chosen as
an arbitrator, expecting to gain something in influence or advantage. [2] Be
indulgent, therefore, to men who press on each other's heels to enjoy the
privilege of pleading before so fair a judge; your repute is such that the loser
can never be so stupid as to impugn your verdict, or the winner so over-subtle
as to deride it. Both sides respect the truth; those against whom the verdict
goes respect you; those whom it favours show their gratitude. Therefore I
implore your early decision on the matter in dispute between Alethius and
Paulus. I believe your sound sense and healthy judgement can alone heal the
malady of this interminable quarrel, and that they will be far more effective
than any decrees of decemvirs or of pontiffs. Farewell.

VIII. To his friend Desideratus

A.D. 461-7

[1] I WRITE oppressed by a great sorrow. Three days ago Filimatia died, and all
business was suspended out of respect to her memory. She was an obedient wife, a
kindly mistress, a capable mother, a dutiful daughter, whether at home or
abroad, earning the willing service of her inferiors, the affection of her
equals, and the |48 consideration of the great. Left an only daughter at her
mother's death, she so bewitched her father by her charming ways, that though he
was still a young man, he never longed for a male heir. And now her sudden death
pierces two hearts, leaving a husband desolate and a father childless. The
mother of five children has been snatched away before her time, her very
fertility her worst misfortune1; had she been left, and the invalid father
taken, the little ones would seem less helpless than now. [2] The tributes of
affection which we pay the dead are not vain; it was not the sinister train of
bearers who buried her; all present were dissolved in tears, and the very
strangers hung upon the bier as if they would hold it back. They imprinted
kisses on it, until more like one in slumber than one dead, she was received by
her relatives and the clergy, to be laid to rest in her long home. When the
rites were done, the bereaved father begged me to write an elegy for her
tombstone; I did it while my tears were still almost warm, choosing the
hendecasyllabic in place of the elegiac measure. If you do not think the lines
too bad, my bookseller shall include them in the volumes of my selected poems;
if you do, the heavy verse shall be confined to the heavy stone.

[3] Here is my epitaph:

'In this tomb a mourning country's hands have laid the matron Filimatia, whom
with fierce stroke and swift, fate snatched from spouse, from sire, from five
orphaned children. O pride of thy house, O glory of thy consort, O wise and pure
and seemly, O strict and tender, and worthy to precede even the aged, by what
art of thy gentle nature didst thou unite the |49 qualities which seem at
discord with each other? For a grave ease and a modesty not too severe for
gaiety were ever the companions of thy life. Therefore we mourn thee taken, thy
sixth lustre hardly run, and the due rites paid in this undue season of thy
prime.' 1

Whether you like the verses or not, hasten back to the city. You owe the
bereaved homes of two fellow townsmen the duty of consolation. Pray God you so
act that the manner of your action may never be your reproach hereafter.
Farewell.

IX. To his friend Donidius *

A.D. 461-7

[1] To your question why, having got as far as Nimes, I still leave your hospitality expectant, I reply by giving the reason for my delayed return. I will even dilate upon the causes of my dilatoriness, for I know that what I enjoy is your enjoyment too. The fact is, I have passed the most delightful time in the most beautiful country in the company of Tonantius Ferreolus and Apollinaris, the most charming hosts in the world. Their estates march together; their houses are not far apart; and the extent of intervening ground is just too far for a walk and just too short to make the ride worth while.2 The hills above the houses are under vines and olives; they might be Nysa and Aracynthus, famed in song.3 The view from one villa is over a wide flat country, that from the other over |50 woodland; yet different though their situations are, the eye derives equal pleasure from both. [2] But enough of sites; I have now to unfold the order of my entertainment. Sharp scouts were posted to look out for our return; and not only were the roads patrolled by men from each estate, but even winding short-cuts and sheep-tracks were under observation, to make it quite impossible for us to elude the friendly ambush. Into this of course we fell, no unwilling prisoners; and our captors instantly made us swear to dismiss every idea of continuing our journey until a whole week had elapsed. [3] And so every morning began with a flattering rivalry between the two hosts, as to which of their kitchens should first smoke for the refreshment of their guest; nor, though I am personally related to one, and connected through my relatives with the other, could I manage by alternation to give them quite equal measure, since age and the dignity of prefectorian rank gave Ferreolus a prior right of invitation over and above his other claims. [4] From the first moment we were hurried from one pleasure to another. Hardly had we entered the vestibule of either house when we saw two opposed pairs of partners in the ball-game1 repeating each other's movements as they turned in wheeling circles; in another place one heard the rattle of dice boxes and the shouts of the contending players; in yet another, were books in abundance ready to your hand; you might have imagined yourself among the shelves of some grammarian, or the tiers of the Athenaeum, or a bookseller's towering cases.2 They were so arranged that the devotional works were near the ladies' seats; where the master sat were those |51 ennobled by the great style of Roman eloquence. The arrangement had this defect, that it separated certain books by certain authors in manner as near to each other as in matter they are far apart. Thus Augustine writes like Varro, and Horace like Prudentius; but you had to consult them on different sides of the room. [5] Turranius Rufinus' interpretation of Adamantius Origen1 was eagerly examined by the readers of theology among us; according to our several points of view, we had different reasons to give for the censure of this Father by certain of the clergy as too trenchant a controversialist and best avoided by the prudent; but the translation is so literal and yet renders the spirit of the work so well, that neither Apuleius' version of Plato's Phaedo, nor Cicero's of the Ctesiphon of Demosthenes is more admirably adapted to the use and rule of our Latin tongue. [6] While we were engaged in these discussions as fancy prompted each, appears an envoy from the cook to warn us that the moment of bodily refreshment is at hand. And in fact the fifth hour had just elapsed, proving that the man was punctual, had properly marked the advance of the hours upon the water-clock 2. The dinner was short, but abundant, served in the fashion affected in senatorial houses where inveterate usage prescribes numerous courses on very few dishes, though to afford variety, roast alternated with stew. Amusing and instructive anecdotes accompanied our potations; wit went with the one sort, and learning with the other. To be brief, we were entertained with decorum, refinement, and good cheer. [7] After dinner, if we were at Vorocingus 3 (the name of one estate) we walked over to our |52 quarters and our own belongings. If at Prusianum, as the other is called, [the young] Tonantius and his brothers turned out of their beds for us because we could not be always dragging our gear about: 1 they are surely the elect among the nobles of our own age. The siesta over, we took a short ride to sharpen our jaded appetites for supper. [8] Both of our hosts had baths in their houses, but in neither did they happen to be available; so I set my own servants to work in the rare sober interludes which the convivial bowl, too often filled, allowed their sodden brains. I made them dig a pit at their best speed either near a spring or by the river; into this a heap of red-hot stones was thrown, and the glowing cavity then covered over with an arched roof of wattled hazel. This still left interstices, and to exclude the light and keep in the steam given off when water was thrown on the hot stones, we laid coverings of Cilician goats' hair over all.2 [9] In these vapour-baths we passed whole hours with lively talk and repartee; all the time the cloud of hissing steam enveloping us induced the healthiest perspiration. When we had perspired enough, we were bathed in hot water; the treatment removed the feeling of repletion, but left us languid; we therefore finished off with a bracing douche from fountain, well or river. For the river Garden runs between the two properties; except in time of flood, when the stream is swollen and clouded with melted snow, it looks red through its tawny gravels, and flows still and pellucid over its pebbly bed, teeming none the less with the most delicate fish. [10] I could tell you of suppers fit for a king; it is not my sense of shame, but simply want of space which sets |53 a limit to my revelations. You would have a great story if I turned the page and continued on the other side; but I am always ashamed to disfigure the back of a letter with an inky pen. Besides, I am on the point of leaving here, and hope, by Christ's grace, that we shall meet very shortly; the story of our friends' banquets will be better told at my own table or yours----provided only that a good week's interval first elapses to restore me the healthy appetite I long for. There is nothing like thin living to give tone to a system disordered by excess. Farewell.

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 324 f.

X. To his friend Hesperius c. A. D. 470

[1] WHAT I most love in you is your love of letters, and I strive to enhance the
generous devotion by the highest praises I can give; your firstfruits please the
better for it, and even my own work begins to rise in my esteem. For the richest
reward of a man's labours is to see promising young men growing up in that
discipline of letters for which he in his own day smarted under the cane. The
numbers of the indifferent grow at such a rate that unless your little band can
save the purity of the Latin tongue from the rust of sorry barbarisms we shall
soon have to mourn its abolition and decease. All the fine flowers of diction
will lose their splendour through the apathy of our people. [2] But of that
another time. My present duty is to send you what you asked, namely, any verses
I might have written since we saw each other last, to compensate |54 you for my
absence. I now satisfy your desire; young though you are, your judgement is
already so matured that even we seniors like to obey your wishes. A church has
recently been built at Lyons,1 and carried to a successful completion by the
zeal of Bishop Patiens; you know his holy, strenuous, and ascetic life, how by
his abounding liberality and hospitable love towards the poor he erects to an
equal height the temple of a spotless reputation. [3] At his request I wrote a
hurried inscription for the end of the church in triple trochaic, a metre by
this time as familiar to you as it has long been to me. Hexameters by the
illustrious poets Constantius and Secundinus adorn the walls by the altar; these
mere shame forbids me to copy here for you. It is with diffidence that I let my
verse appear at all; comparison of their accomplished work with the poor efforts
of my leisure would be too overwhelming. Just as a too beautiful bridesmaid
makes the worst escort for a bride, and a dark man looks his swarthiest in
white, so does my scrannel pipe sound common and is drowned by the music of
their nobler instruments. Holding the middle post in space and the last in
merit, my composition stands condemned as a poor thing, no less for its faulty
art than for the presumption which has set it where it is. Their inscriptions
properly outshine mine, which is but a sketchy and fanciful production. But
excuses are of little use: let the wretched reed warble the lines demanded of
me:

[4] 'O thou * who here applaudest the labours of Patiens our pontiff and father,
be it thine to receive of heaven |55 an answer to a prayer according with thy
desire. High stands the church in splendour, extending neither to right nor
left, but with towering front looking towards the equinoctial sunrise. Within is
shining light, and the gilding of the coffered ceiling allures the sunbeams
golden as itself. The whole basilica is bright with diverse marbles, floor
vaulting and windows all adorned with figures of most various colour, and mosaic
green as a blooming mead shows its design of sapphire cubes winding through the
ground of verdant glass.1 The entrance is a triple portico proudly set on
Aquitanian columns; a second portico of like design closes the atrium at the
farther side, and the mid-space is flanked afar by columns numerous as forest
stems. On the one side runs the noisy highway, on the other leaps the Saône;
here turns the traveller who rides or goes afoot, here the driver of the
creaking carriage; here the towers, bowed over the rope, raise their river-chant
to Christ till the banks re-echo Alleluia. So raise the psalm, O wayfarer and
boatman, for here is the goal of all mankind, hither runs for all the way of
their salvation.'

[5] You see I have done your bidding as if you were the older and I the younger man. But mind not to forget that I expect repayment with compound interest; and to make the payment easy and positively delightful, there is only one thing to do: read shamelessly; never stop longing for your books. The auspicious event, now so near, I mean the home-coming of your bride, must not distract you; keep steadily before your mind how many wives have held the lamp for studious or meditative lords----Marcia for Hortensius, Terentia for
|56 Tullius, Calpurnia for Pliny, Pudentilla for Apuleius, Rusticana for Symmachus.
[6] When you are inclined to complain that feminine companionship may deaden not only your eloquence but your poetic talent as well, and dull the fine edge which long study has set upon your diction, remember how often Corinna helped her Ovid to round off a verse, Lesbia her Catullus, Caesennia her Gaetulicus, Argentaria her Lucan, Cynthia her Propertius, or Delia her Tibullus. Why, it is as clear as day that, to the studious, marriage is opportunity, and only to the idle an excuse. Set to, then; do not permit a mob of the unlettered to discourage your zeal for letters. For it is Nature's law in all the arts that the rarer the accomplishment, the higher the value. Farewell.

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 328 ff., who uses a corresponding English metre;
also by Fertig, ii. 37.

XI. To his friend Rusticus

A. D. 461-7

[1] IF only we lived nearer to each other, and the distance which sunders us
were less vast, I should allow no remissness in correspondence to affect the
duties of our established intimacy. I should not cease, the foundations of our
mutual friendship once laid, to raise thereon a noble structure by all
honourable attention. The distance of our homes from each other may hardly
affect the union of hearts linked once for all, yet it interferes with the
intercourse of minds. [2] The remoteness of our cities is really responsible for
the rarity of our letters; but so close is our friendship that we keep accusing
ourselves, though all the time the |57 obstacles are purely natural, and afford
no real ground either for blame or for excuse. I opened my gates in a good hour,
illustrious lord, to your messengers, in whom I marked the effect of your
training and the influence of their master's unassuming manners. I heard with
pleasure all they had to say, and finally dismissed them as the event required.
Farewell.

XII. To his brother-in-law Agricola

A. D. 461-7

[1] WHAT a fast and well-built boat you have sent, roomy enough to hold a couch;
and a present of fish too! In addition, a steersman who knows the whole river
well, with sturdy and expert oarsmen who seem able to shoot up-stream just as
fast as down. But you must hold me excused if I decline your invitation to join
your fishing; stronger nets than yours detain me here, nets of anxiety for our
invalids, a source of concern not merely to our own circle but to many beyond
its limits. If the natural feelings of a brother awaken in you the moment you
open this, you too will give up the expedition and return. [2] The cause of this
general solicitude is our Severiana. At first she was troubled by a shattering
intermittent cough; upon this an exhaustive fever supervened which has grown
worse during successive nights. She longs to get away into the country; when
your letter came, we were actually preparing to leave town for the villa.
Whether you decide to stay where you are, or to come to us, join your prayers to
ours that Nature with her vigorous |58 growth may bring back health to one
pining for country air. Your sister and I have been living in suspense between
hope and fear; we thought that to oppose the invalid's wish would only make her
fret the more. So under Christ's guidance we are determined to fly the languor
and heat of town with all our household, and incidentally escape the doctors
also, who disagree across the bed, and by their ignorance and endless visits
conscientiously kill off their patients. Only Justus shall be of our party, but
in the quality of friend, not as physician; Justus, who, if this were a time for
jesting, I could easily prove a Chiron rather than a Machaon.1 Let us then with
all the more diligence entreat and beseech the Lord that the cure which our
efforts fail to effect may come down to our invalid from above. Farewell.

XIII. To Senanus*

A. D. 461-7

[1] THE advocate Marcellinus has brought your letter; I find him a man of experience; he is of the sort that makes friends. The consecrated words of greeting over, you give all the rest of your space, no trifling amount, to laudation of Petronius Maximus, your imperial patron. With more persistence (or shall I call it amiability?) than truth and justice, you style him 'the most fortunate', because, after holding all the most honourable offices of state, he at last attained the diadem. Personally, I shall always refuse to call
|59 that man fortunate who is poised on the precipitous and slippery peak of office.
[2] O the unspeakable miseries of that life, the life of your fortunates! And are they who usurp the title, as Sulla did, really to be so styled for trampling upon all law and justice, and believing power the only happiness? Does not their blindness to their own most harassing servitude alone prove them more wretched than other men? For as kings rule their subjects, so desire of domination dominates kings.
[3] Were the fate of all princes before and after him left out of the account, this Maximus of yours would alone provide the maximum of warnings.1 He had scaled with intrepidity the prefectorian, the patrician, the consular citadels; with an unsated appetite for office, he took for a second term posts which he had already held. But when the supreme effort brought him to the yawning gulf of the imperial dignity, his head swam beneath the diadem at sight of that enormous power, and the man who once could not bear to have a master could not now endure to be one.
[4] Imagine how much was left in all this of the influence, the power, and the stability of the old life; then think of this two-months' principate, its beginning, its whirlwind course, its end. Is it not plain that his real happiness was over and done before this epithet of 'fortunate' was ever given him? The man who once was so great a figure, with his conspicuous way of life, his banquets, his lavish expense, his retinues, his literary pursuits, his official rank, his estates, his extensive patronage; who so jealously watched the flight of time that the clock 2 must set before his eyes the passage of every hour; this man, once made emperor, and prisoned
|60 in the palace walls, was rueing his own success before the first evening fell. And when his mountainous cares forbade him to mete the hours in his former tranquil way, he had to make instant renunciation of the old regular life; he soon discovered that the business of empire and a senatorial ease are inconsistent with each
other. [5] The future did not deceive his sad forebodings; it was no help to him to have traversed all other offices of the court in the fairest of fair weather; his rule of it was from the first tempestuous, with popular tumults, tumults of soldiery, tumults of allies. And the climax was unprecedentedly swift and cruel; Fortune, who had long cozened him, showed now all her faithlessness and made a bloody end; it was the last of her that stung him, as the tail of the scorpion stings. A prominent, noble man of high culture, whose talents raised him to quaestor's rank, a man of great influence among the nobility, I mean Fulgentius, used to say that whenever the thrice-loathed burden of a crown set Maximus longing for his ancient ease, he would often hear him exclaim:
'Happy thou, O Damocles, whose royal duresse did not outlast a single banquet!' [6] History tells us that Damocles was a Sicilian of Syracuse, and an acquaintance of the tyrant Dionysius. One day, when he was extolling to the skies the privileges of his patron's life without any comprehension of its drawbacks, Dionysius said to him: 'Would you like to see for yourself, at this very board, what the blessings and the curses of royalty are like?' 'I should think I would,' replied the other. Instantly the dazzled and delighted creature was stripped of his commoner's garb and made resplendent with robes of Tyrian and Tarentine dye;
|61 they set him on a gold couch with coverings of silk, a figure glittering with gems and pearls.
[7] But just as a Sardanapalian feast was about to begin, and bread of fine Leontine wheat was handed round; just as rare viands were brought in on plate of yet greater rarity; just as the Falernian foamed in great gem-like cups and unguents tempered the ice-cold crystal; just as the whole room breathed cinnamon and frankincense and exotic perfumes floated to every nostril; just as the garlands were drying on heads drenched with nard,----behold a bare sword, swinging from the ceiling right over his purple-mantled shoulders, as if every instant it must fall and pierce his throat. The menace of that heavy blade on that horsehair thread curbed his greed and made him reflect on Tantalus; the awful thought oppressed him that all he swallowed might be rendered through gaping wounds.
[8] He wept, he prayed, he sighed in every key; and when at last he was let go, he was off like a flash, flying the wealth and the delights of kings as fast as most men follow after them. A horror of high estate brought him back with longing to the mean, nicely cautioned never again to think or call the mortal happy who lives ringed round with army and guards, or broods heavy over his spoils 1 while the steel presses no less heavily upon him than he himself upon his gold. If such a state be the goal of happiness I know not my lord brother; but that those who attain it are the most miserable of men is proved beyond dispute. Farewell.
|62

* Partly translated by Hodgkin, ii. 200-3.

XIV. To his friend Maurusius

A. D. 461-7

[1] I HEAR that your vines have responded to your hard work and our general
hopes with a more abundant harvest than a threatening and lean year promised. I
expect that you will consequently stay longer at the village of Vialoscum; 1 was
not the place formerly called Martialis, from the time when it formed Caesar's
winter quarters? Of course you have a rich vineyard there, and a large farm
besides worthy of its great proprietor, both of which will keep you and yours
busy harvesting the various crops and always in fresh quarters. [2] When your
granaries and stores are full, you may decide to pass the snowy months of Janus
and Numa in rural ease 2 by your smoking hearth until swallow and stork
reappear; if so, we too shall cut short engagements hardly promising enough to
keep us in town, and while you enjoy your country life we shall enjoy your
society. You know me well enough to be aware that even the sight of a fine
estate with ample revenues could never give me half the satisfaction or the keen
pleasure which I derive from intercourse with a neighbour of my own years and so
worthy of my esteem. Farewell. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003.
All material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 4: BOOK 3
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) pp. 63-86 ; Book III

BOOK III

I. To his friend Avitus c. A. D. 472

[1] FROM our earliest boyhood and through our youth you and I have been linked by many bonds of mutual affection. To begin with, our mothers were very near relations. Then we were born about the same time and were contemporaries at school; we were together initiated into the study of the arts and employed our leisure in the same amusements; we were promoted by the same imperial favour; we were colleagues in the service of the state. Lastly, in personal likings and antipathies our judgement has always agreed----perhaps a stronger and more efficient factor this, in widening the scope of friendship than all the rest together.
[2] The outward resemblance of our careers drew us together by the bond of similar occupation; inwardly we were less alike, for yours was by far the higher and more excellent nature. And now I gladly recognize that yours is the hand to crown the edifice of our long mutual regard by this most timely endowment of the church in our poor town of Clermont, whose unworthy bishop I am. In this estate of Cutiacum, lying almost at its gates, you have indeed made an important addition to its property; to the members of our sacred profession
|64 whom your generosity has thus enriched, the convenience of access counts for almost as much as the
revenue which the place yields. [3] Under your late sister's will, you were only a co-heir, but the example of your piety has already moved your surviving sister to emulate your good works. And heaven has already repaid you as you deserve for your own deed and its effect upon her; God has chosen you out to be exalted by unusual good fortune in inheritances. He did not long delay to reward your devotion a hundredfold, and it is our sure belief that these earthly gifts will be followed by heavenly gifts hereafter. I may tell you, if you are really unaware of it, that the Nicetian succession is
heaven's repayment for Cutiacum surrendered. [4] We pray you in the future to extend to the city itself the interest you have already shown its church; henceforward it should be more than ever the object of your protection since you have inherited a property there. You may conclude from the attitude of the Goths how valuable the place might become if you would only make it frequent visits; they are always depreciating their own Septimania,1 and even talking of returning it to the empire, all because they covet this land of yours, which they would like to annex even if everything upon
it were laid waste. [5] But by God's grace and your mediation a more tranquil outlook lies before us. For though the Goths have broken their old bounds, though their valour and the impetus of a vague greed have pushed their frontiers to the Rhône and Loire, yet the esteem in which you are held and the weight your opinion carries, should so influence both sides that we shall learn to refuse when we ought, and they to refrain
|65
from further demands when met with a firm denial. Farewell.

II. To his friend Constantius

A. D. 474

[1] THE people of Clermont salute you, a great guest in their lowly homes,1
coming without ambitious retinue and simply environed by their love. Merciful
God, what joy they felt amid their tribulation when you set your venerated foot
within their half-ruined walls. How dense was the crowd of both sexes, and of
every rank and age about you; how impartially you gave a cheering word to one
and all; how kind the small boys found you, how considerate the young men, how
helpful in advice the older among us. What tears you shed over our buildings
ruined by the flames and our homes half burned to the ground, as if you had been
the father of us all. What grief you showed at the sight of fields buried under
the bones of the unburied dead. And afterwards what a power of encouragement you
were, with what spirit you urged the people to repair their loss. [2] Over and
above this, you found the city no less desolated by internal dissension than by
the barbarian onslaught; but you conciliated all; you renewed their harmony; you
gave the country back her sons. The walls are re-manned, the people restored to
them at unity, all thanks to you; your counsel it was which brought them back
into one mind as into one city. They all regard you as their father and
themselves as your children; they perceive with an infallible eye |66 wherein
lies your greatest title to praise. [3] For day by day it is borne in upon their
minds what a magnificent thing this is that you have done at so advanced an age
and in so delicate and infirm a state of health. Despite your noble birth and
the veneration with which you are regarded, you broke down every barrier by
sheer force of love; all the difficulties of the journey were nothing to you,
long ways and short days, thick snows and thin fare, wide wastes and narrow
lodging,1 roads full of holes, now sodden with rain, now ribbed with frost,
highways covered with rough stones, rivers slippery with ice; you had steep
hills to climb, valleys choked with continual landslides to pass; through every
discomfort you came triumphant with the love of a whole people for your reward
because your own comfort was the last thing of which you thought. [4] And now we
beseech the Lord that he may hear our prayer and set far the term of your life;
that the friendship of all good men may be yours to have and hold; that our
affection which you seem to be leaving behind may ever be about your path; and
finally, that the fair structure of our concord which you began to restore, may
be regarded from foundation to summit as your peculiar work. Farewell.

III. To his brother-in-law Ecdicius

A. D. 474

[1] THERE never was a time when my people of Clermont needed you so much as now;
their affection for you is |67 a ruling passion for more than one reason. First,
because a man's native soil may rightly claim the chief place in his affection;
secondly, because you were not only your countrymen's joy at birth, but the
desire of their hearts while yet unborn. Perhaps of no other man in this age can
the same be said; but the proof of the statement is that as your mother's time
advanced, the citizens with one accord fell to checking every day as it went by.
[2] I will not dwell on those common things which yet so deeply stir a man's
heart, as that here was the grass on which as an infant you crawled, or that
here were the first fields you trod, the first rivers you swam, the first woods
through which you broke your way in the chase. I will not remind you that here
you first played ball and cast the dice, here you first knew sport with hawk and
hound, with horse and bow. I will forget that your schooldays brought us a
veritable confluence of learners and the learned from all quarters, and that if
our nobles were imbued with the love of eloquence and poetry, if they resolved
to forsake the barbarous Celtic dialect, it was to your personality that they
owed all. [3] Nothing so kindled their universal regard for you as this, that
you first made Romans of them and never allowed them to relapse again.1 And how
should the vision of you ever fade from any patriot's memory as we saw you in
your glory upon that famous day, when a crowd of both sexes and every rank and
age lined our half-ruined walls to watch you cross the space between us and the
enemy? At midday, and right across the middle of the plain, you brought your
little company of eighteen 2 safe through some thousands of the Goths, a feat
which |68 posterity will surely deem incredible. [4] At the sight of you, nay,
at the very rumour of your name, those seasoned troops were smitten with
stupefaction; their captains were so amazed that they never stopped to note how
great their own numbers were and yours how small. They drew off their whole
force to the brow of a steep hill; they had been besiegers before, but when you
appeared they dared not even deploy for action. You cut down some of their
bravest, whom gallantry alone had led to defend the rear. You never lost a man
in that sharp engagement, and found yourself sole master of an absolutely
exposed plain with no more soldiers to back you than you often have guests at
your own table. [5] Imagination may better conceive than words describe the
procession that streamed out to you as you made your leisurely way towards the
city, the greetings, the shouts of applause, the tears of heartfelt joy. One saw
you receiving in the press a veritable ovation on this glad return; the courts
of your spacious house were crammed with people. Some kissed away the dust of
battle from your person, some took from the horses the bridles slimed with foam
and blood, some inverted and ranged the sweat-drenched saddles; others undid the
flexible cheek-pieces of the helmet you longed to remove, others set about
unlacing your greaves. One saw folk counting the notches in swords blunted by
much slaughter, or measuring with trembling fingers the holes made in cuirasses
by cut or thrust. [6] Crowds danced with joy and hung upon your comrades; but
naturally the full brunt of popular delight was borne by you. You were among
unarmed men at last; but not all your arms would have availed to extricate |69
you from them. There you stood, with a fine grace suffering the silliest
congratulations; half torn to pieces by people madly rushing to salute you, but
so loyally responsive to this popular devotion that those who took the greatest
liberties seemed surest of your most generous acknowledgements. [7] And finally
I shall say nothing of the service you performed in raising what was practically
a public force from your private resources, and with little help from our
magnates. I shall not tell of the chastisement you inflicted on the barbaric
raiders, and the curb imposed upon an audacity which had begun to exceed all
bounds; or of those surprise attacks which annihilated whole squadrons with the
loss of only two or three men on your side. Such disasters did you inflict upon
the enemy by these unexpected onsets, that they resorted to a most unworthy
device to conceal their heavy losses. They decapitated all whom they could not
bury in the short night-hours, and let the headless lie, forgetting in their
desire to avoid the identification of their dead, that a trunk would betray
their ruin just as well as a whole body. [8] When, with morning light, they saw
their miserable artifice revealed in all its savagery, they turned at last to
open obsequies; but their precipitation disguised the ruse no better than the
ruse itself had concealed the slaughter. They did not even raise a temporary
mound of earth over the remains; the dead were neither washed, shrouded, nor
interred; but the imperfect rites they received befitted the manner of their
death. Bodies were brought in from everywhere, piled on dripping wains; and
since you never paused a moment in following up the rout, they had to be taken
into houses which were then hurriedly set |70 alight, till the fragments of
blazing roofs, falling in upon them, formed their funeral pyres. [9] But I run
on beyond my proper limits; my aim in writing was not to reconstruct the whole
story of your achievements, but to remind you of a few among them, to convince
you how eagerly your friends here long to see you again; there is only one
remedy, at once quick and efficacious, for such fevered expectancy as theirs,
and that is your prompt return. If, then, the entreaties of our people can
persuade you, sound the retreat and start homeward at once. The intimacy of
kings is dangerous; 1 court it no more; the most distinguished of mankind have
well compared it to a flame, which illuminates things at a short distance but
consumes them if they come within its range. Farewell.

IV. To his friend Magnus Felix

A.D. 473

[1] THE bearer of this is Gozolas, a Jew, and a client of your excellency, a man
I should like if I could only overcome my contempt for his sect. I write in
great anxiety. Our town lives in terror of a sea of tribes which find in it an
obstacle to their expansion and surge in arms all round it. We are exposed as a
pitiful prey at the mercy of rival peoples, suspected by the Burgundians, almost
in contact with the Goths; we have to face at once the fury of our assailants
and the envy of our defenders.2 [2] But of this more later. Only let me know
that all goes well with you, and I shall be |71 content. For though we may be
punished in the sight of all men for some obscure offence, we are still generous
enough of heart to desire for others all prosperity. If a man cannot wish others
well in evil times he is no better than a captive; the enemy that takes him is
his own unworthy nature. Farewell.

V. To his friend Hypatius

A.D. 473

[1] THE excellent Donidius admires and respects your character; and had he no
other aim than his own family advantage, he might safely confide in your
acknowledged reputation, and feel no need of another's advocacy. But he thinks
so well of me, that he would have me ask for him what he could certainly obtain
alone. Consequently, you will acquire a crowning title of distinction in making
both of us your debtors, though one alone will reap the material benefit. [2] He
seeks to acquire the other moiety of the estate of Eborolacum,1 abandoned even
before the barbarian came, but now in possession of a patrician family; his
rights are clear, but the added weight of your support would be very welcome.
Respect for the memory of his ancestors, and no mere greed, inclines him to this
purchase, for down to the recent death of his stepfather the whole property
belonged to his family. He is of an economical turn of mind, but not the man to
covet his neighbour's goods; the loss of a former possession in itself troubles
him little; the point of honour decides him; it is not avarice which prompts his
action, but the |72 shame of inactivity. [3] Deign therefore to consider what
you owe to your own credit, to his honourable desire, to my friendly
intercession; help to secure for him this chance of rounding off the estate.
These paternal acres are not just casually known to him; he crawled upon them as
an infant hardly weaned. He will make little profit by their recovery; but he
feels that it would have been too contemptible not to make the effort. Whatever
favour you may be able to accord to one whom I regard as a brother in years, a
son by profession, a fellow citizen by origin, and a friend by loyalty, I shall
be as much beholden as if the matter turned to my own particular advantage.
Farewell.

VI. To his friend Eutropius

A. D. 470 (?)

[1] IF kind memories still remain to you of our old comradeship and of an
intimacy ever and again renewed, you will readily understand that our soaring
wishes will follow your ascent to each new height of office. We rejoice with you
over your insignia, believing that thereby your house and our friendship are
alike promoted. In proof whereof I remind you of my letter of exhortations 1,
which I think had no small share in this result. [2] But what trouble I had in
persuading you that a man might be a philosopher and a prefect at the same time!
You were deep in the tenets of Plotinus, and the Platonic school had seduced you
into a quietism unsuited to your age. I maintained that only a man without
family |73 obligations was free to profess a philosophy of that nature. Most
people ascribed your scorn for public service to simple indolence; malignant
tongues added that our nobles fail to rise in the state less from disinclination
than incapacity. [3] Now, therefore, as a Christian should, I begin by rendering
unstinted thanks to Our Lord who has raised you to an official rank befitting
your exalted birth; our hopes are also raised, so that we may fairly look for
even better things to come. It is a common saying with provincials that a good
year really depends less on ample crops than on a good administration;1 it must
be yours, honoured lord, to crown all our expectations by such measures as the
present occasion demands. Our nobles do not forget the stock from which you
spring; they are sure that so long as the family of Sabinus controls their
destinies, they have nothing to fear from the house of Sabinianus.2 Farewell.

VII. To his friend [Magnus] Felix

A.D. 474

[1] You are very sparing in your correspondence. Each of us obeys his own
temperament: I gossip, you hold your peace. And since in other obligations of
friendship you are beyond reproach, I am driven to the conclusion that this
indefatigable love of ease must itself be a kind of virtue. But, seriously, will
no thought of old acquaintance ever lift you from the rut of this interminable
silence? Or are you really unaware that it is nothing short of insult to refuse
a talkative man an |74 answer? You bury yourself in the depths of a library or
office and give no sign of life, yet all the while expect the attention of a
line now and then from me; and this though you know quite well that mine is
rather a ready than a gifted pen. [2] The apprehensions among which we live
ought alone to furnish you with subject enough for letters; write then, and do
not fail to entrust a good bulky missive to some one coming our way, to relieve
your friends' anxieties and especially to let them know whether the new quaestor
Licinianus 1 is likely to open a door of safety out of these mutual alarms. He
is described as one who has more than fulfilled the expectations formed of him,
proving greater on acquaintance than his great repute; in fine, a man
conspicuously endowed with the best gifts of nature and good fortune. [3] A
model of judgement, adorned with equal discretion and personal charm, this
trusty envoy is worthy of the power which he represents. He is quite free from
affectation or pretence; there is nothing feigned in the gravity which lends
weight to his words. He does not follow the example of most envoys who seek a
reputation as safe men, and are over-timid in diplomacy; on the other hand, he
is not to be numbered among those ambassadors to barbarian courts, who sell
their master's secrets, and work for their own advantage rather than that of
their mission. [4] Such is the character of the man as favourable rumour carries
it to us. But let us know at once if the description squares with fact. Then
perhaps we may snatch some breathing-space from our unceasing vigils; at present
neither a snowy day nor a cloudy moonless night will tempt our people from their
watch upon the walls. Even were the barbarian |75 to draw off to winter
quarters, their fears are too deep to be eradicated; at the most, they can only
be deferred. Encourage us with hope of better times; you may regard our country
as remote, but the cause we stand for is as near to your own heart as to ours.
Farewell.

VIII. To his friend Eucherius (No indication of date)

[1] I HAVE the highest respect for the men of antiquity, but mere priority in
time shall never lead me to place the virtues and the merits of our
contemporaries upon a lower plane of excellence. It may be true that the Roman
state has sunk to such extreme misery that it has ceased to reward its loyal
sons; but I will not therefore admit that a Brutus or a Torquatus is never born
into our age. You ask the purport of this declaration? You yourself shall point
my moral, most capable of men; the state owes you the rewards which history
applauds when granted to the great men of the past. [2] Men ignorant of the
facts had best refrain from carelessly conceived opinions; they had best abandon
the obstinate habit of looking up to the men of old time and down on those of
our own day. It is abundantly clear that the recognition which the state owes
you is now long overdue. Yet what is there to wonder at in this, when a race of
uncivilized allies directs the Roman power, yes, and bids fair to bring it
crashing to the ground? We have men of rank and valour who excel anything we
ourselves could hope, or our enemies believe. |76 Aye, and they do the old
deeds; but the reward is not forthcoming. Farewell.

IX. To his friend Riothamus c. A. D. 472

[1] I WILL write once more in my usual strain, mingling compliment with
grievance. Not that I at all desire to follow up the first words of greeting
with disagreeable subjects, but things seem to be always happening which a man
of my order and in my position can neither mention without unpleasantness, nor
pass over without neglect of duty. Yet I do my best to remember the burdensome
and delicate sense of honour which makes you so ready to blush for others'
faults. [2] The bearer of this is an obscure and humble person, so harmless,
insignificant, and helpless that he seems to invite his own discomfiture; his
grievance is that the Bretons are secretly enticing his slaves away. Whether his
indictment is a true one, I cannot say; but if you can only confront the parties
and decide the matter on its merits, I think the unfortunate man may be able to
make good his charge, if indeed a stranger from the country unarmed, abject and
impecunious to boot, has ever a chance of a fair or kindly hearing against
adversaries with all the advantages he lacks, arms, astuteness, turbulences, and
the aggressive spirit of men backed by numerous friends. Farewell. |77

X. To his friend Tetradius

A. D. 461-7

[1] IT is a most laudable trait in the character of younger men when they resort
to more experienced heads in questions of perplexity; as the honourable
Theodoras now does. He is a man of good family, but quite as much ennobled by
his admirable modesty as by his high descent. My letter introduces him to the
source of humane letters, I mean the pure fount of your erudition, to which he
is setting out with the most commendable ardour, hoping to learn much himself
and perhaps bring away as much to impart to others. [2] Should even an
experience like yours fail to give him all the help he needs against such
factious and powerful opponents, at all events your skill and advice will stand
him in good stead. Unless you wish me to conclude that you regard our joint
petition as troublesome and importunate, justify his hopes of you and this
testimonial of mine by a favourable reply, so that the cause and wavering
fortunes of this suppliant may be fortified by your salutary counsel. Farewell.

XI. To his friend Simplicius (No indication of date)

[1] A KIND of fatality attends my hopes, and you still grudge us a sight of you.
But, most excellent of |78 men, we need not therefore regard you as one whose
memorable actions must necessarily escape our notice. For all our people, the
notables included, hail you with one accord as the model of all that a father
should be, even in the select and critical society in which you move. [2] The
manner in which you have brought up your daughter, and chosen a husband for her,
confirms the opinion of our friends; and the accomplishment of your desires in
this union must have raised in your mind an agreeable uncertainty whether you
have most excelled in the choice of the one or the education of the other. On
that score, venerable parents, you may wholly set your minds at rest; you
surpass every one because your children surpass even you. Please, therefore,
excuse my earlier letter; it was negligent of me not to have sent it before I
did, but the dispatch of it, I fear, betrayed the chatterer. My officiousness
will lose its blemish of loquacity if you condone the impertinence of this
greeting by sending me an answer. Farewell.

XII. To his nephew Secundus c. A. D. 467

[1] I HAVE dreadful news. Yesterday profane hands all but desecrated the grave
where my grandsire and your great-grandsire lies,1 but God's intervening arm
stayed the accomplishment of an impious act. The cemetery had for years been
overcrowded with burned and unburned burials,2 and interment there had long
ceased. But snows and constant rains had caused the mounds |79 to settle; the
raised earth had been dispersed, and the ground had resumed its former even
surface. This explained how it was that some undertaker's men presumed to
profane the spot with their grave-digging tools just as if it were unoccupied by
human bodies. [2] Must I relate what happened? They had already unturfed the
ground, so that the soil showed black, and were piling the fresh sods upon the
old grave. By a mere chance I happened to be passing on my way to Clermont, and
saw this public outrage from the top of a neighbouring hill. I gave my horse his
head, and dashed at full speed over the intervening ground, flat or steep was
all the same to me; I grudged even those brief moments, and sending a shout
before me, stopped the infamy even before I myself reached the scene. The
villains, caught in the act, were still hesitating whether to make off or hold
their ground, when I was upon them. It was wrong, no doubt, but I could not
allow them an instant's impunity; on the very grave of our beloved ancestor I
gave them such a trouncing1 as should in future secure the dead from
molestation, and safeguard the pious care of the survivors. [3] I did not
reserve the case for the judgement of our good bishop,2 considering it best for
the common advantage not to do so; I knew too well the strength of my own case,
and his gentle nature; he was certain to judge me with too much severity, and
these fellows with too great a lenience. To satisfy his right to be informed I
did explain the whole affair after I had resumed my journey, and this upright
and holy man gave me far more than the mere absolution I expected; he extolled
my righteous indignation, declaring that in his opinion men who perpetrated |80
so audacious a deed deserved the death our forefathers would have inflicted. [4]
The incident should help to prevent any similar mischance in future, and I beg
you to see that the disturbed earth is at once raised to a mound again, and to
have a smooth flat slab placed upon it at my expense. I have deposited a sum of
money with the venerable Gaudentius to cover the cost of the stone and of the
mason's labour. The verses which I enclose were composed the night of the
occurrence; of course they are not finished to perfection; I was too busy with
preparations for the road. [5] Such as they are, please have them carved on the
tomb with the smallest possible delay, and be specially careful that the
stonemason makes no errors either by negligence or with intention; for whatever
the cause, the captious reader will put it all down to me. If you carry out this
pious obligation I shall thank you no less heartily than if you were not certain
to receive part of the praise and credit. For were I, your uncle, no longer with
you, the whole responsibility of this duty would have devolved on you as the
next descendant after myself.

'A grandson not all unworthy of such a grandsire, I dedicate to him, though all
too late, this epitaph, my father and my paternal uncles being dead, that you, O
passer by, may never tread on unmounded earth, unwitting of the reverence due to
him who is buried in this grave. Here lies Apollinaris, who, having ruled all
Gaul, was gathered to the bosom of a mourning country. He was learned in the law
and helpful to his kind above all other men. He laboured for the land, and for
the State, and in the cause of eloquence; and, example perilous to others, he
dared be free |81 under the rule of tyrants. But this stands as his chief title
to fame, that of all his race he was the first to purify his brow with the sign
of the cross and his limbs with baptismal water; he first abandoned the old
sacrilegious rites. This is the highest glory, this the transcendent virtue, if
a man outstrip in hope those whom he equals in honours, and is placed by his
desert above his fathers though on earth his titles were the same as theirs.'

[6] I know well that this epitaph is unworthy of our accomplished ancestor; yet
methinks the souls of the lettered do not refuse a poetic tribute. And neither
of us need regard as too belated the pious duty which we have now fulfilled in
our quality as heirs in the third and fourth degree. How many revolving years
rolled by before Alexander celebrated funeral rites for Achilles' shade, or
Julius Caesar for the shade of that Hector whom he treated as an ancestor of his
own? Farewell.

XIII. To [his son] Apollinaris c. A. D. 469

[1] THE love of purity which leads you to shun the company of the immodest has my whole approval; I rejoice at it and respect it, especially when the men you shun are those whose aptitude for scenting and retailing scandals leaves nothing privileged or sacred, wretches who think themselves enormously facetious when they violate the public sense of shame by shameless language. Hear now from my lips that the
|82 standard-bearer of the vile troop is the very Gnatho of our
country.1 [2] Imagine an arch-stringer of tales, arch-fabricator of false charges, arch-retailer of insinuations. A fellow whose talk is at once without end and without point; a buffoon without charm in gaiety; a bully who dares not stand his ground. Inquisitive without insight, and three-times more the boor for his brazen affectation of fine manners. A creature of the present hour, with ever a carping word ready for the past and a sneer for the future. When he is after some advantage, no beggar so importunate as he; when refused, none so bitter in depreciation. Grant his request and he grumbles, using every artifice to get better terms; he moans and groans when called on to refund a debt, and if he pays, you never hear the end of it. But when any one wants a loan of him he lies about his means and pretends he has not the wherewithal; if he does lend, he makes capital out of the loan, and bruits the secret abroad; if debtors delay repayment he resorts to calumny; when they have
absolved the debt he tries to deny receipt. [3] Abstinence is his abomination, he loves the table; but a man who lives well wins no praise from him unless he treats well too. Personally, he is avarice itself; the best of bread is not for his digestion unless it is also the bread of others. He only eats at home if he can pilfer his viands, and send them off amid a storm of buffets. He cannot indeed be wholly denied the virtue of frugality; he fasts when he cannot get himself invited. Yet with the light perversity of the parasite, he will often excuse himself when asked; on the other hand, if he sees
that men avoid him, he will fish for invitations. [4] If left out he grows abusive; if admitted, unbearably
|83
elate: no blow descends on him unexpected. If dinner is served late, he falls like a bandit upon the dishes; if appetite is stilled too soon, he falls to lamentation. Thirst unquenched makes him quarrelsome; drunkenness makes him sick. If he banters others, he grows scurrilous; if others banter him, ungovernable; take him for all in all, he is like the filth in sewers, the fouler the more you stir it. His life brings pleasure to few, love to none, contemptuous mockery to all. He is one to burst bladders or break canes upon,1 one whose thirst for drink is only excelled by his thirst for scandal; exhaling loathsomeness, frothing wine, uttering venom, he makes one doubt for what to hate him most, his unsavouriness, his drunken habits, or his villany.
[5] 'But', you may say, 'perhaps a fair complexion lends a colour to a vile nature; perhaps his charm of person redeems ineptitude of mind; the man may have elegance or exquisite taste; he may create a good impression on those who meet him.' In point of fact, his person is fouler and more unsightly than a corpse rolled half-burnt from the pyre when the brands have settled----such a thing as a very undertaker's slave 2 could not bring himself to put back. He hardly sees out of his; eyes, which, like the Stygian lake, roll waters down through darkness.
[6] His ears are elephantine; an ulcered skin surrounds each aperture with indurated waste, either helix is bossed with suppurating tumours. His nose is broad at the nostril and narrow at the bridge, strait for his own olfactory ends, but for the spectator a cavernous vision of horror. He obtrudes a face with leaden lips and a bestial rictus, with purulent gums and brown teeth; a foul mephitic odour breathes from his
|84
decayed and hollow teeth, enhanced by eructations from the feasts of yesterday and the bilge of his excesses at
the board. [7] A forehead too he flaunts hideous with creases and distension of the brows. He grows a beard which age vainly whitens, since Sylla's malady 1 keeps it black. His whole face is as pale as if it were ever dolorous with infesting shades. I spare you the hulking residue, gout-ridden, fat and flabby. I spare you his weal-furrowed skull, covered with almost as many scars as hairs. I spare you the description of a nape so short that when his head is thrown back
it seems to merge into his shoulder-blades. [8] The sunken carriage, the lost grace and vigour of his arms, the gouty hands bound cestus-like with greasy poultices; all these I spare you, so too the acrid hircine armpits that entrench his sides, and pollute the air for every nostril near him with a reek three times more pestilent than that from Ampsanctus' cave.2 And breasts collapsed with adiposity horrible on a man's body even in mere protuberance, but now hanging like a mother's. And the pendulous folds of the abdomen about genitals thrice shameful in their debility, a foul creased covering worse
than what it hides. [9] Why should I tell of his back and spine? True, the ribs do sweep round from the vertebral joints and cover the chest, but the whole branching structure of bones is drowned under a billowing main of belly. I pass over the fat reins and buttocks which make even his paunch look insignificant in comparison. I pass the bent and withered thigh, the swollen knees, the slender hams, the horny shanks, the weak ankles, the small toes and enormous feet. As I have drawn him, he is horrible enough in his deformity, a monster
|85
from whom his infinite noisomeness drains half the blood and life, who cannot sit a litter or walk a yard, however much they prop him. But his tongue is more detestable still than his other members.
[10] He keeps it busy in the service of the vilest prurience; but it is most dangerous of all to patrons with anything to hide. For those in luck he belauds, but those who are unfortunate he betrays; let a tempting moment but urge to disclosure of a friend's secret, and instantly this Spartacus will break all bars and open every seal. He will mine with the unseen tunnels of his treachery the houses which the rams of open war have failed to breach. This is the fashion in which our Daedalus crowns the edifice of his friendships, sticking as close as Theseus in prosperity; but when adversity comes, more elusive than any Proteus.
[11] The more you avoid even a first introduction to such company the better you will please me; especially to those so shameless that they talk like degraded players at the booths, and know neither bar nor bridle. For when a man exults in leaving all seemliness and decency behind, and fouls a loose tongue with the dirt of all lawless licence, be sure his heart is no less filthy than his language. You may find an evil liver with a serious tongue; the foul tongue and virtuous life are very rarely allied. Farewell.

XIV. To his friend Placidus

After A. D. 477

[1] THOUGH your loved Grenoble1 holds you far from me, I learn from a sure channel----your former hosts---- |86 that you are kind enough to prefer my trifles in prose or verse to all the other volumes on your shelves. It goes without saying that it gave me pleasure to hear how my writings occupy your leisure; but I understand well enough that it is really affection for the author and not the quality of his work which procures you this delight. My debt is all the greater; friendship wins me the honour which you could not honestly give the composition. [2] For the rest, I have not yet considered what definitive reply I shall make to the detractors of my work. The self-appointed critic absorbs a sound or unsound style with equal appetite; he cares no more that the world should exalt his favourite than that it should despise the object of his mockery. And so we see the fine construction, the comeliness and grandeur of our Latin tongue exposed to contemptuous criticism of idle quidnuncs; minds careless and so flippant as this want books only to carp at; their use for literature is a mere abuse. Farewell. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 5: BOOK 4
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) vol. 2. pp. 3-47 ; Book IV

BOOK IV

I. To his friend Probus

A.D. 461-7

[1] You married my cousin 1, whence the first and principal tie between us; the
cousinly relationship often leads to a stronger, purer, and more unmixed
affection than that between two brothers. For when brothers' quarrels over
property are once appeased, their children have no longer cause for
disagreement, and so it often happens that cousins are the more deeply attached;
the enmities arising from the partition of estates are over, the tie of blood
relationship remains. The second link between us is intellectual, and formed by
a similarity of studies; our literary taste is identical; we praise and blame
the same things; a style approved or disapproved by one produces the same
impression on the other. [2] But I am presumptuous in venturing a comparison
between my judgement and yours. It is common knowledge among young and old that
you were my real master, though we were nominally both pupils of another. You
were everybody's teacher in every branch of literature. All of us learned from
you, except those who had not the brains, or could not do themselves proper
justice: our epic poets derived from you their lofty vein, our comic poets their
humour, our lyric poets their musical art; from |4 you the orator drew his
rhetoric, the historian his respect for truth, the satirist his pictorial gift,
the grammarian his fidelity to rule, the panegyrist his plausibility, the
sophist his gravity of style, the writer of epigram his petulance and point, the
commentator his lucid method, the lawyer his obscurity. Heavens! how proud our
respective fathers used to be when they saw that Christ had given you grace to
teach and me to learn, that you not only did what lay within your power but also
enjoyed the doing of it, and so deserved a name for goodness no less than a
learned reputation. [3] And indeed in your case Eusebius' house1 proved a
veritable mint of the sciences and arts; you were there struck on a
philosophical die, and to the delight of your own instructor were able to impart
to the rest of us every phase of knowledge and of eloquent expression. Just as
Plato the pupil was more expert than Socrates, so did you excel our good
Eusebius. While he was maturing our tender, unformed and plastic youth with
ruthless floggings, or trying to ground it on wholesome principles, there you
were, a dialectician born, moving with Attic ease through all the categories of
Aristotle.

[4] Yet how admirable his principles were after all, how precious in possession!
If only some migratory philosopher could export them to the Sigambri on their
marshes, or the Alans of the Caucasus, or the mare-milking Geloni, the horny
hearts of all these stark and brutal folks, yes and all their frozen fibres,
were surely thawed and softened, while we should cease to sneer and scoff, and
tremble by turns at their stolidity and their ferocious natures, which now brood
in bestial |5 dullness, now burst into swift flame. [5] Since, then, our family
connexion and our studies thus unite us, preserve the laws of friendship
unshaken, wherever your abode may be; though my home is far from yours, let our
hearts draw nearer by virtue of this affection, which I for my part will keep
inviolate as long as breath remains in my body. Farewell.

II.

Claudianus [Mamertus1] to the Lord Bishop Sidonius

A. D. 472

[1] IF I could only meet you now and again, my dear lord, were it only for a
short time, I should not have to look about on all sides for any kind of
messenger whose goodwill or necessities might help me pay the debt of
correspondence owed you. Numerous causes, all sad ones, prevent me from seeing
you again; even an opportunity of writing comes rarely or not at all. Whether
all this excuses me or not, you yourself must judge.

[2] But in often favouring with your letters persons who either do not expect
them, or deserve to get them less than I, you on your side are guilty of an
offence against the laws of friendship which may not be committed with impunity.
Though I have said little, I confess that it has wounded me never to have
received from you any acknowledgement of the book 2 which you have deigned to
allow me to publish under the auspices of your illustrious name. But perhaps you
cannot spare even |6 a few short moments for a friendship of such long standing
as ours?

[3] I wonder if you will ever involve yourself in any interest which does not
turn to other folks' advantage. When you propitiate God by prayer, you entreat
Him not only for your friends but for men you have never seen; when you search
out the mysteries of Holy Writ, the more deeply your own mind is imbued with
doctrine, the fuller the stream which you impart to others. When you lavish your
goods upon the poor, there is a sense in which you may be said to serve
yourself, but your aim is the service of others. Not a single action of yours is
so barren as to yield abundant fruit to your sole self and not to a host of
other people as well. [4] No possible pretext, then, can be alleged by any
stretch of fancy on which an intimate friend like myself should be deprived of
his own especial fruit, while strangers in scores are allowed to eat of it in
plenty. I suppose you follow the precedent of the giver in the Gospel, and
accord to the unworthy but importunate what you deny to a hungering friend. But
if you allow yourself to grow hardened in this habit, I shall take measures to
assure your repentance. For if your taciturnity exceeds all reason, my
communications shall do the same. It is quite evident that you will have to be
punished by my letters, as I myself am punished by your silence. Farewell. |7

III. To Claudianus [Mamertus]

A.D. 472

[1] You declare, most honoured master, that I have offended against the laws of friendship: you allege that though it is my turn to give you epistolary greeting, I have let my tablets and stylus lie, and no traveller's hand has been burdened with papyrus of mine inscribed with my assiduous wishes for your welfare. The suggestion is unfair; you cannot really suppose that any man on earth, with the least devotion to Latin letters, would lightly submit his compositions to the ordeal of being read to you; you, with whose accomplishments, but for the overwhelming privilege of antiquity, I should never rank either Fronto's gravity, or the fulminating force of Apuleius; for compared with you the Varros, both he of the Atax and he of Reate, and the Plinies, uncle and nephew, will always seem provincial.
[2] In support of this opinion I have only to mention your new volume on the nature of the Soul, with all its wealth of evidence and mastery of diction. The dedication to me I regarded as an inestimable gift: the fame which my own books would never keep alive, would now be immortalized by yours. Great God! what a wonderful book it is, and of what authority! abstruse in subject, in exposition clear as day; in statement serried, expansive in discussion, and though barbed with many a point of syllogism, yet soft with vernal flowers of eloquence!
[3] You have found ancient words which by their very age regain the charm of novelty; compared with these even a classic vocabulary
|8 seems obsolete. And what is more, the style, so succinct in its short clauses, has yet an even flow; loaded with facts, concise in comment, these pages do not merely propound----they inform. It was once, and rightly, held the highest part of eloquence to condense much matter into a small space and aim at exhausting the
subject before the paper. [4] And what a charming feature it is in your books, when you allow some relaxation in the sustained display of mastery and interpose most welcome graces amid the severities of argument; by this means the reader's attention, strained by following that exhaustive analysis of doctrine and philosophy, is suddenly relieved by the most delightful of digressions, comforting as harbours after open seas. O work of endless excellences! O worthy expression of a genius subtle without tenuity, which neither freshets of hyperbole
swell, nor mean terms minish and abase! [5] And then the unrivalled, the unique learning conspicuous in so many fields, and used to hold its own with the great masters in the discussion of every art. It does not hesitate, if need be, to wield the plectrum with Orpheus himself, or the staff with Aesculapius, or the rule with Archimedes, the horoscope with Euphrates, the compasses with Perdix, the plummet with Vitruvius; it never ceases to explore the ages with Thales, or the stars with Atlas; to study weight with Zetus, number with Chrysippus, or measure
with Euclid.1 [6] I can only say that no man of our times produces his knowledge with more effect, in the stress of conflict with the adversary can point with more justice to his own share in maintaining the spirit and the letters of Greece and Rome. Here is a writer who has the perception of Pythagoras, the clear logic
of |9  Socrates; he can unfold a theme with Plato or involve it with Aristotle; the charm of Aeschines is his, and the indignation of Demosthenes; he is as fresh and vivid as Hortensius; he storms like a Cethegus; he is impetuous as Curio, cautious as Fabius; in finesse the equal of Crassus, in reserve of Caesar, in suasion of Cato, in dissuasion of Appius, in persuasion of Tully himself.
[7] Compare him now with the holy Fathers; you find him instructive as Jerome, destructive as Lactantius, constructive as Augustine; soaring in flight like Hilary, in humility meek as John; a Basil in rebuke, in consolation a Gregory. He is fluent as Orosius, terse as Rufinus; he has Eusebius' gift of narrative and Eucherius' power to stir, Paulinus' rousing voice, the perseverance of an Ambrose.
[8] And now for my opinion on your hymn.1 I find it at once admirable in brevity and richness of content, at once tender and exalted, in poetic charm and truth to history superior to any lyrics or dithyrambs that I know. It is your peculiar merit that you observe each foot in the metre, each syllable in the foot, and each emphasis in the syllable; and in a restricted measure none too rich in opportunity, you contrive to include great opulence of words; the compressed, terse metre does not exclude long-drawn beauty of ornate diction. It seems mere play to you, with your tiny trochees and tinier pyrrhics, to surpass in effect not merely the Molossian and anapaestic ternary, but even the quaternary, the epitrite and Paeonian rhythms.

[9] Your grand exordium overflows the customary strait limits, as a great gem is
hardly confined in a poor setting; as the mettle of a strong steed flashes out,
and he chafes on the bit if he is held in over rough and |10 broken ground; so
it is with you; you are conscious of a speed to which a proper field is denied.
What more shall I say? I will assert that neither Athens was ever so Attic, nor
the Muses so musical as Claudian, if indeed a long period of inaction has not
robbed me even of my critical capacity. For in deference to the profession which
has been thrust upon me,1 I am endeavouring step by step to acquire a new style
of writing, while I unlearn my old one by leaps and bounds; little remains now
of a good speaker, except that I am more than ever the indifferent poet.2 I must
therefore beg your indulgence if, remembering who and what I am, I seldom blend
my thin and parching rivulet with your mighty river. The whole world shall
honour the music of your silver trumpet, music thrice blessed in finding neither
rival nor equal, though it has sounded all these years over the earth, charming
the ears and lips of peoples, while I, too, strove to spread its fame. But all
that your servant now dares in public speech is to raise his voice among
town-councillors and teachers or even among market-quacks; these are the
majority now, and (with all apologies to the best among them), even in their
ambitious efforts, but illiterately lettered. But as for you, who can ring the
changes on verse and prose and write in metre or without it exactly when you
please, your emulators will be few, and those only whom Apollo loves.3 Farewell.
|11

IV. To [his kinsmen] Simplicius and Apollinaris c. A.D. 472

[1] AT last I send the promised Faustinus,1 for whom you have been waiting; he
is the father of a family, a noble by birth, and a man to be accounted one of
the chief ornaments of our common country. In years he is a brother to me, in
community of sentiment a friend. How often have he and I together blended grave
and gay! how often, in the far-off days of our youth, played ball and dice
together, and vied in leaping, running, hunting, or swimming, always honourable
rivals because firmest friends! He was my elder, but only by a little; the
difference did not so much bind me to defer to him, as make it a delight to
follow; he too was more deeply charmed not to be given deference, but simply
affection. Only with advancing years, and with his entry into the Church, has my
old love for him insensibly passed into veneration. [2] This is the man through
whom I greet you, in the ardent desire that I may see you very soon, if God
will, and the state of the country permit. Unless, then, my wish is irksome to
you, inform me, by return of this good messenger, in what places you expect to
be, and when. I am firmly determined to shake myself free from all obstacles and
hindrances of personal affairs, and allow myself the privilege of long and
intimate hours in your society, if only some major force does not upset my
plans, as I am half afraid it may. [3] You too might find it worth while |12 to
talk them over with Brother Faustinas in the light of probable events. I made
him my envoy because I love him and know that he returns my feelings. If he
justifies my good opinion, I shall be very thankful. All men set him high in
their esteem; and perhaps he is none the worse for not being a perfect paragon.
Farewell.

V. To his friend [Magnus] Felix

A.D. 474

[1] I SALUTE you a second time by the same messenger as before. Your Gozolas1
(may I soon call him mine too!) acts once more as the carrier of my letter.
Spare us both, therefore, the indignity of an open slight; for if you persist in
silence, every one will think that you look down on me and on the destined
bearer of your reply. [2] As on the last occasion, I ask nothing as to the state
of public affairs, fearing it may be painful to you to announce unfavourable
events at a time when fortune fails us. It would not be like you to send false
news; and as there is nothing pleasant to record, I would rather learn of
disaster from any one but my friends. Farewell.

VI. To [his kinsman] Apollinaris

A. D. 472

[1] I SENT you a verbal warning lately by the priest Faustinus, my old comrade
and new brother in the ministry, and glad I am that you have listened to it. It
is the root-principle of practical wisdom to avoid |13 unnecessary risks; if a
man takes them, and a rash course ends in trouble, it is futile to break out
into lamentations and abuse Fate for the consequences of one's own bad
management. [2] You ask the trend of these remarks. I confess I was much afraid
that, at a time when all men felt anxiety, you might feel none; and that the
house which stood solid as a rock through all these years might be shaken at
last through a misplaced devotion. I feared that the solemnity to which the
ladies of your family so looked forward might be spoiled for their gentle souls
by these alarms, though I well know that true religion is so deeply implanted in
their breasts that they would have rejoiced to suffer a sort of martyrdom in
honour of the Martyr1 had anything untoward befallen upon the way. But I have
less innocence, and therefore more distrust of events; amid such uncertainties I
prefer the safer side; it takes little to make me join those who discover danger
in the very heart of safety. [3] I therefore approve your action in putting off
so perilous an expedition, and refusing to expose the fortunes of a family like
yours to such a hazard. The journey, once undertaken, might possibly have
prospered; but I for one will never vote for the reckless kind of measure which
only luck can justify. Providence, I doubt not, will grant a happy issue to our
prayers, and under new blessings of peace we shall look back upon these tenors
as mere memories; but those who wish to enjoy security in future must learn
caution from the present hour. [4] Meanwhile, I draw your attention to the
bearer's complaint of some wrong done him by one of your people, by name
Genesius. If you find that facts bear out the grievance, I beg of you to do the
plaintiff justice and grant him |14 a quick return to his distant home. But if
he has fanned up a flame of calumny out of culpable spite, the defendant can
enjoy the foretaste of his discomfiture, when he thinks of his wanton accuser,
wayworn and impoverished, bearing all for nothing the hard consequences of a
rash accusation, and that at the very height of winter, when the ice is thick
and the snow lies piled in drifts. The litigious are apt to find this a season
when hearings are generally short, but there is plenty of time for suffering
damage. Farewell.

VII. To his kinsman Simplicius (Date not indicated)

[1] 'You spur the willing,' 1 is the usual comment of the man who meant to do
unasked the thing you ask of him. You ask how the quotation applies? The bearer
of these lines insists on a letter of introduction from me, whereas, the moment
I knew where he was going I should myself have begged the privilege of giving it
before he opened his mouth, obliging him not so much from consideration for him
as from my warm feeling towards yourself. For the rest, my messenger calculates
that by doing me a service he will have deserved a good turn; he has obtained
what he wanted, but without ever dreaming how close the bond is which unites you
and me. [2] Miles away though I remain, I shall be able to picture his
stupefaction on his arrival, when the mere fact that he comes from me secures
him respectful welcome, and he finds no effectual use for a letter which it was
really superfluous to solicit. I can see it all as if I were there; the novelty
of everything to one whose |15 wits are not of the sharpest; his confusion as a
stranger invited to make himself at home, or as a nervous guest drawn into
conversation, or as a countrified fellow called on to take his part in polite
gaiety, or as a poor man set down at a sumptuous board. It will be strange
indeed to a man from these parts, where ill-cooked viands and too much onion
afford the only fare, to find himself as nobly regaled as if he had eaten his
fill all his days at Apician banquets, served by the rhythmic carvers of
Byzantium.1 3. Anyhow, whatever his merit or importance, he could not have
better helped me to pay my debt of friendship. Men of his type are often almost
beneath our notice; at the same time friends who, like ourselves, are thrown
back on letters for their intercourse would lose many a chance of writing were
they too particular about the person of their messengers. Farewell.

VIII. To his friend Evodius *

A.D. 467 (?)

[1] I WAS just setting out for a remote country district when your messenger
handed me your letter, and told his acquaintances in confidence that you were on
the point of visiting Toulouse in obedience to a summons from the King. This
gave me an excuse to shake off the embarrassing crowd which delayed my early
start, and allowed me to give you such reply as a traveller booted and spurred
could attempt. [2] My servants had gone ahead at dawn to pitch my tent eighteen
miles away at a spot with many conveniences for camping, |16 a cold spring
issuing from a wooded hill with a meadow of rich grass at the foot; a river in
the foreground stocked with waterfowl and fish; and in addition to these
advantages, almost on the bank, the new home of an old friend whose boundless
hospitality is the same, whether you try to refuse it or not. [3] After stopping
behind to do what you required, that I might send the messenger back at once
from the end of the town, I found it was already more than four hours after
dawn; the sun was well up, and his gathering heat had absorbed the heavy dews of
night. The torrid air and our parched throats got worse and worse, and so
cloudless was the sky that the only protection from the blazing heat was the
dust we made ourselves. The long way was a weariness, stretching in full view
for miles in front of us across the grassy plain; before it had time to tire us,
it already terrified by its prospect; it meant that our lunch would be late. [4]
All this introduction is to convince you, honoured lord and brother, that when I
obeyed your behests I had small time to spare and little leisure of mind or
body. I return now to the substance of your letter. After the usual salutations,
you asked a poem of twelve verses suitable for engraving on a large two-handled
cup, the sides of which from foot to rim were fluted with six channels. [5] The
verses you design, I suppose, for the hollows of the flutings, or, better still,
if that seems more suitable, for the ridges between, and, as I gather, you
intend to assure yourself an invincible protection for all your plans, actual or
prospective, by offering the cup, enriched with this embellishment, to
Ragnahild, the queen.1 I did your bidding then, not as I could have wished, |17
but as best circumstances allowed. You must blame yourself for giving the
silversmith time but the poet none; though you know perfectly well that in the
literary smithy the verses forged upon the metric anvil want polishing no less
severely than any metal. But all this is beside the mark; here is your poem: *
'The shell which bears Cythera behind the fish-tailed Triton, compared with this
must yield its pride of place. Bend thy queenly head, exalted patroness, to our
prayer; accept this humble gift; graciously look down upon Evodius who seeks thy
favour; make him great, and thine own glory shall grow greater. Thy sire and thy
lord's sire were kings; royal too is thy lord, may thy son also reign a king,
both by his father's side and after him. Happy water enclosed in this gleaming
metal, reflecting a royal face yet brighter! For when the queen shall deign to
touch it with her lips, the silver shall draw new splendour from her
countenance.' If you love me well enough to make use of such idle stuff, conceal
my authorship and properly rely for success on your own part of the offering.
For in such a mart or such a school 1 as this barbaric court, your silver page
will get all the notice, and not my poor inscription. Farewell.

* The first part translated by Hodgkin, ii. 330-2.

* Translated into German verse by Fertig, Part i, p. 32; and into prose by
Chaix, i. 353.

IX. To his friend Industrius + c. A.D. 472

[1] I RECENTLY visited the illustrious Vectius, and was able to study his way of
life at close quarters as |18 leisurely as if I had nothing else to do. I found
it well worth knowing, and therefore not unworthy of description. In the first
place, and this may rightly be regarded as the highest praise of all, the whole
household emulates the master's flawless purity of life. His servants are
efficient, those in the country obliging, those at his town house friendly,
obedient and contented with their lord. His table is open to the stranger no
less than to his own clients; there reigns a large hospitality, and an even
larger moderation. [2] It is of less moment that the man of whom we speak is
without a rival in training a horse, judging a dog, or in bearing hawk afield;
that his dress is always exquisite and his girdle to match, that all his
accoutrements are splendid. The majesty of his gait accords with his gravity of
mind, and as the first secures him consideration abroad, so the last maintains
his dignity at home. His is an indulgence which does not spoil, a punishment
without brutality, a tempered severity, stern but never dreadful. [3] With all
this he is a regular reader of the Scriptures; even at meal times he enjoys this
nutriment of the soul. He studies the Psalms, and yet more frequently chants
them, setting a new precedent by living after this fashion in martial dress, the
complete monk in all but the monastic habit.1 Though he abstains from eating
game, he indulges in the chase; to have the sport without the spoil accords with
the secret delicacy of his religious feeling. [4] The comfort of his widower's
life is his little daughter, sole pledge of his lost wife's love; he brings her
up with the tenderness of a grandfather, a mother's sedulous care, a father's
kindness. In addressing his servants he does not give way to violence, and he is
not above |19 taking their advice upon occasion; in investigating an offence he
is never inquisitorial, he rules those under him by reason and not mere
authority: you might take him for the steward in his own house. [5] All this
virtue and moderation seemed to me to deserve recording for the benefit of
others; the outlines of it at least should be common knowledge. It would be well
for our age if every member of our sacred profession were stirred to emulation
by the story irrespective of a garb which in these days often deceives the
world. For be it said without offence to my own order, if only the good men
among us manifest their individual qualities, I shall prefer the layman of
priestly instincts to the priest. Farewell.

+ Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 340-2.

X. To his friend [Magnus] Felix

A.D. 477

[1] IT is many years since I have written to you, my good lord, and this
greeting breaks a long silence; I had not the heart to keep up the old frequent
correspondence while I was living in banishment from my country, and my spirit
was broken by the hard lot of an exile. You ought to have compassion on one who
admits his delinquency as I do; for whosoever is brought low should go humbly
and not attempt to preserve the same familiar footing as before with those
towards whom affection may be less in place than reverence. That is why I have
said nothing so long, and why, after the arrival of my son Heliodorus,1 I could
at least acquiesce in your silence, though I could hardly be expected to regard
it with satisfaction. |20 [2] You used to say, in jest, that you stood in
positive awe of my eloquence. Even were it seriously meant, the ground for that
excuse is gone; for as soon as I had finished my volume of Letters, which,
though I say it, was a careful piece of work, I reverted to the every-day style
in everything else. And indeed my fine style itself is much on the same level;
for what is the use of giving finish to phrases which will never see the light?
If, however, you are faithful to an old friendship and allow our correspondence
once more to follow its former course, I too will return to the old track and be
as communicative as ever. Nay more, if Christ will guide my steps and my patron
1 on his return will only sanction my departure, how eagerly will I fly to meet
you wherever you may be, and revive by my presence a friendship which my
negligent pen has left to languish. Farewell.

XI. To his friend Petreius * c. A.D. 473

[1] I MOURN the loss of your great uncle Claudianus, snatched from us only the
other day; it is the loss of our age; perhaps we shall never see his. like
again. He was a man of wisdom, prudence and learning; eloquent, and of an active
and ingenious mind above all his compatriots and contemporaries. He was a
philosopher all his days without prejudice to his faith. It |21 was only by his
faith, and by his adoption of ordinary dress, that he dissociated himself from
his friends of the Platonic school; for he never let his hair and beard grow
long and would make fun of the philosopher's mantle and staff, sometimes with
much bitterness. [2] How delightful it used to be when a party of us would visit
him just for the pleasure of hearing his opinion! With what freedom from
diffidence or pretence would he at once open his whole mind for our common
benefit, delighted if some insoluble and thorny point arose to prove the vast
resources of his knowledge! If there were many of us, he expected us all, of
course, to listen, but nominated a single spokesman, probably the one whom we
ourselves should have chosen; then in his methodical way, now addressing one,
now another, and giving each his turn, he would bring forth all the treasures of
his learning, not without the accompaniment of trained and appropriate gesture.
[3] When he had finished, we would put our adverse criticisms in syllogistic
form; but nothing was admitted which was not well considered and susceptible of
proof, for rash objections he would at once demolish. Most of all we respected
him for his tolerance of some men's persistent dullness of apprehension. It
amounted almost to an amiable weakness; we could admire his patience, but it was
beyond our imitation. Who could shrink from consulting on any recondite point a
man who would gladly suffer in argument the stupid questions of the ignorant and
the simple?

[4] So far as to his intellectual interests. It is beyond my power adequately to extol him in other relations of life. Mindful in all things of our weak mortal nature, he was always ready with consolation, helping the
|22
clergy by his deeds, the people by his words, mourners with exhortation, the destitute with words of comfort. He gave the prisoner money; he fed the hungry, he clothed the naked. To enlarge upon these things were indeed vanity of repetition. He was poor in this world's goods, but the good deeds with which he richly endowed his soul he concealed from notice
in the hope of a better reward hereafter. . . . [5] For his elder brother the bishop 1 he had the most affectionate regard; he reverenced him as a father, he loved him as a son. And the brother in his turn looked up to him with boundless admiration, knowing that he had in him a counsellor in every disputed question, a representative in his churches, an agent in business matters, a steward on his farms, a registrar of all ecclesiastical dues, an associate in his reading, an interpreter in difficulties of exposition, a travelling companion upon his visitations. They were the very exemplars of brotherly affection, with an absolute confidence in each other.
[6] But why do I add fuel to the flame of a sorrow which it was my purpose to assuage? I meant to have begun by saying that I have written an elegy to this ungrateful shade----the phrase is Virgil's, as you know, and applied to the dead, who can render no man thanks. They are sad lines full of sorrow; the writing of them was no light task to one who has lost the habit of composing; but grief heavy with rising tears moved me from my natural indolence. This is the elegy:

'Beneath this sod lies Claudianus, at once the glory and grief of his brother
Mamertus, the wonder and supreme pride of the bishops. In three fields of
learning he was a master and a shining light, the |23 Roman, the Greek, and the
Christian; all of them as a monk in his prime he made his own by secret
discipline; he was orator, logician, poet, commentator, geometer, musician;
skilled also to loose the bonds of disputation, and with the sword of the word
dissect the sects1 that harass the Catholic faith. Well was he skilled to chant
psalms and lead a choir; for his grateful brother he taught the trained groups
of singers to chant before the altar. His was the choice that at the yearly
conclave appointed the passages to be read in season. A priest of the second
order,2 he eased his brother's shoulder of the bishop's burden; for while the
other bore the insignia of pontifical rank, it was he who undertook the labour.
But thou whoe'er tbou art that grievest, O kindly reader, over the thought that
of such a man nothing now survives, wet not this marble with thy tears: the mind
and its renown come not down into this grave.'

[7] Such are the lines that I composed over the remains of this brother of my
soul, as soon as I reached the spot. For when they buried him I was away, though
absence did not wholly rob me of the longed opportunity for tears. For while I
was pondering what to write, my heart swelled to overflowing; I gave it rein,
and over my epitaph I wept as others had wept above the tomb. I write this to
you for fear you should imagine that my devotion is only to living friends, and
censure me as one who thinks less tenderly of those who are gone than of those
who are yet alive. And indeed, in days when hardly a trace of loyalty remains
among survivors, you might well be pardoned for counting as a small company
those who are faithful to the departed. Farewell. |24

* Most of this letter is translated by Guizot, Histoire de la civilisation en
France, ed. 1846, i. 167-8. See also Fertig, Part iii, p. 10.

XII. To [his kinsmen] Simplicius and Apollinaris* c. A.D. 472

[1] THE excitable mind of man is like nothing so much as a wrecking sea; it is lashed to confusion by contrary tidings as if it bred its own rough weather. A few days ago, I and the son whom we both regard as ours were together enjoying the admirable Hecyra of Terence. Seated at his side as he studied, I forgot the cleric in the father; to increase his ardour and incite my docile scholar to a more perfect appreciation of the comic rhythms, I had in my own hands a play with a similar plot, the Epitrepontes
1 of Menander. [2] We were reading, and jesting, and applauding the fine passages ---- the play charmed him, and he me, we were both equally absorbed, ---- when all of a sudden a household slave appears, pulling a long face. 'I have just seen outside', he said, 'the reader Constans, back from his errand to the lords Simplicius and Apollinaris. He says that he delivered your letters, but
has lost the answers given him to bring back.' [3] No sooner did I hear this, than a storm-cloud of annoyance rose upon the clear sky of my enjoyment; the mischance made me so angry that for several days I was inexorable and forbade the blockhead my presence; I meant to make him sorry for himself unless he restored me the letters all and sundry, to say nothing of yours, which as long as I am a reasonable being
|25
I shall always want most because they come least often. [4] However, after a time my anger gradually abated; I sent for him and asked whether, besides the letters, he had been entrusted with a verbal message. He was all a-tremble and ready to grovel at my feet; he stammered in conscious guilt, and could not look me in the face, but he managed to answer: 'Nothing.' The message from which I was to have received so much instruction and delight, had been all consigned to the pages which had been lost. So there is nothing else for it; you must resort to your tablets once more, unfold your parchment, and write it all out anew. I shall bear with such philosophy as I may this unfortunate obstacle to my desires until the hour when these lines reach you, and you learn that yours have never yet reached me. Farewell.

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 340-2.

XIII. To his friend Vectius c. A.D. 472

[1] NOT long ago I went to see the church of Chantelle1 at the request of the
excellent Germanicus, who is clearly the personage of the place. Though he now
has sixty years behind him, he cultivates such bravery of fashion that not
content with growing younger, he gets more boyish every day. His clothes fit
close, his boots are tight, his hair is cut wheel-fashion; the tweezers have
searched the depths of all his wrinkles to get every single hair out of his
face. [2] Heaven has given him strong and well-knit limbs, an unimpaired sight,
an easy and rapid gait; his teeth are complete and his mouth |26 wholesome. He
has a perfect digestion, an even circulation, a sound heart and lungs, his loins
are free from stiffness, his liver from congestion. His hand is firm, his back
straight, endowed with the health of youth, all he asks for age is its proper
privilege of respect. [3] God has indeed shown him peculiar mercies. But on that
very account I beg, nay, I enjoin you, as a neighbour and intimate friend, to
give him a piece of that advice which a character like yours invests with such
authority: tell him not to put his trust too much in such unstable things, or
fancy himself immune from all decay; tell him it is high time for him to embrace
religion, to gather strength from innocence reborn, and by good deeds to become
a new man in his old age. [4] Tell him that few of us are free from secret
faults, and it were well for him to pour forth full and open satisfaction for
all the hidden offences which memory can recall. A man who is a priest's son and
has a son of his own a bishop, must sanctify his own life, or he will be even as
a rosebush. Of roses born, and bearing the same, he comes between the old bloom
and the new; and the briery thorns about him may be likened to his wounding
sins. Farewell.

XIV. To his friend Polemius

A.D. 477

[1] CORNELIUS TACITUS your ancestor, consular in the reigns of the Ulpians,1 in
his history introduces a German Commander2 as saying, 'My acquaintance with
Vespasian goes back to old days, and while he |27 was a private person we were
called friends.' You ask the object of this preface. To remind you that your
position as a public man ought not to involve neglect of private friendships.
Almost two years ago, our old regard for you rather than our satisfaction at
your new dignity, led us to rejoice over your elevation to the post of
praetorian prefect in Gaul. But for the misfortunes of the Empire, nothing would
satisfy us but the enrichment of everybody and every province by the various
benefits of your administration. [2] And now that proper feeling prevents us
from asking what it is beyond your power to grant, I should like to know what
generosity you would have shown us in deed, when in word you have proved so
obstinately avaricious. For if I compare you with your ancestors, I must
consider you more than the equal of Tacitus in eloquence, and in poetry above
Ausonius. If this new prefecture has turned a philosopher's head, remember the
line:

We too have served for name and fame.1

[3] But if you scorn the lowliness of our profession because we priests
voluntarily lay bare before Christ, the Healer of human lives and fortunes, the
ugly sores of the sick heart, which in us are at least unswollen by pride,
however much they may have hitherto offended for want of proper tending, I would
have you know this, that it is one thing for a man to stand before the
magistrate in the forum, another thing for him to stand before the Judge of all
the world. The offender who avows his crime to you is condemned; but among us
the same confession made to God is absolved.2 It is therefore abundantly clear
that you judges of this world are wrong |28 in fastening guilt on him who is
amenable to another jurisdiction than yours. [4] You cannot therefore any longer
ignore the force of my complaint; whether your prosperity makes you forget old
friendship, or only neglect it, the result in either case is almost equally
bitter to me. If, then, you have any serious thoughts of the future, write to me
as to a priest; if of the present, as to a colleague. There is a virtue which
never disdains an old friend for a new one; if it was born in you, develop it;
if not, at once implant it in your heart. Otherwise you will appear to treat
your friends as one does flowers, which are only cherished as long as they are
fresh. Farewell.

XV. To his friend Elaphius

After A.D. 472

[1] MAKE ready a great feast, and couches to receive a great company. By
numerous roads parties yet more numerous converge upon you, for since the date
of your coming dedication is now universally known, all our good friends are
bent upon invasion. Your letter tells us that the baptistery so long in the
builder's hands is now ready for consecration. We must all keep festival in
honour of the faith that we own, and some of us for other causes too; you to
celebrate the accomplishment of your vow; I to do my part as bishop; and many
others to show their recognition of your enterprise. For indeed you set a great
precedent, erecting a new fabric in an epoch when other men have hardly courage
to repair an old one.1 [2] For the future |29 I pray that as your present vow is
paid, you may make new vows to the glory of God to be redeemed in coming
prosperous years; and that, too, not as the expression of a concealed faith, but
of manifest conversion. I further pray that in happier times than these Christ
may grant my own desire and the hope of the people of Rouergue, and that you who
now offer an altar for your own soul's weal, may then offer the holy Sacrifice
for theirs. [3] Though the days draw in with the late autumn, and leaves from
every tree rustle in the anxious traveller's ear; though your castle of the
mountain crags is hard to reach when winter is so near, yet with Christ to guide
my steps I shall traverse your rugged mountain flanks; I shall not shrink from
rocks beneath or overhanging snows; no, not even if the way winds in spirals up
the long slopes and returns continually upon itself. For should there be no
festivities after all, yet you are one of those for whom, to use the words of
Tully,1 a man would even tramp to Thespiae. Farewell.

XVI. To his friend Ruricius (No indication of date)

[1] PATERNINUS has given me your letter; I can hardly say whether it pleases
most by wit or charm. It presents such eloquence, such fragrant flowers of
diction, that your progress is clearly due to something more than an
acknowledged study: you must be working in secret as well. The abstraction of a
book of mine to copy, for which you so apologize, I regard |30 as an act
redounding to your credit, and requiring no excuse. What can you do really
wrong, when even your faults are laudable? [2] I am not the least vexed at being
played this little trick in my absence; it is no loss at all, but really a
signal privilege. The volume you appropriated to your use has not therefore
ceased to be my property; your knowledge has not been increased at the cost of
other people's. On the contrary, you shall have full credit for your action, and
rightly; for your nature has the quality of flame, which communicates itself
entirely and yet remains entire; it is proper that you should act like your own
element. Be no more uneasy, then; that were to betray a little too much
uncertainty of your friend, who would only deserve the wound of blame were he
vulnerable by the dart of envy. Farewell.

XVII. To his friend Arbogast c. A.D. 477

[1] YOUR friend Eminentius, honoured lord, has delivered a letter dictated by
yourself, admirable in style, and bearing in every line the evidence of three
shining virtues. The first is the friendliness which leads you to esteem the
lowly talents of one so far away,1 and so anxious to avoid publicity. The second
is the modesty which makes you over-sensitive to blame, but deservedly wins you
praise. The third is the gentle humour which makes you in the wittiest way
accuse yourself of writing wretched stuff, whereas you have drunk at the
well-spring |31 of Roman eloquence, and no draughts from the Moselle can take
the taste of Tiber from your mouth. You have your conversation among barbarians,
yet you permit no barbarism to pass your lips; in eloquence and valour you equal
those ancient generals whose hands could wield the stylus no less skilfully than
the sword. [2] The Roman tongue is long banished from Belgium and the Rhine; but
if its splendour has anywhere survived, it is surely with you; our jurisdiction
is fallen into decay along the frontier, but while you live and preserve your
eloquence, the Latin language stands unshaken. As I return your greeting, my
heart is glad within me that our vanishing culture has left such traces with
you; continue your assiduous studies, and you will feel more surely every day
that the man of education is as much above the boor as the boor in his turn
above the beast. [3] Were I to obey your wish and send you a commentary on some
part of the Scriptures, it would be sorry verbiage; you would do far better to
direct your request to the clergy of your own district. They are venerable in
years, approved in faith, known by works; they are ready in speech and tenacious
in memory, my superiors in all sublimer gifts. Even if we leave out of the
account the bishop of your city, a character of supreme perfection, blessed in
the possession and repute of all the virtues, you may far more appropriately
consult on any kind of problem the celebrated fathers of the Church in Gaul;
Lupus and Auspicius are both within your reach, and however inquisitive you may
be, you will not get to the bottom of a learning such as theirs. In any case,
you must pardon me for disobeying you in this matter, and that not only out of
|32 kindliness, but from simple justice; for if it is fair that you should
escape from incompetence, it is equally right that I should avoid conceit.
Farewell.

XVIII. To his friend Lucontius c. A.D. 470

[1] I FEAR you have a memory defective in the matter of others' requests but
infallible in the matter of your own. It would be tedious to repeat all the
promises of swift return which you and your family made to me and mine; not the
smallest of them have you kept. Far from it, your flight was cunningly planned
to make us think you were coming back for Easter; you took no heavy baggage out
of town, neither carriage nor cart for luggage appeared in your train.

[2] It is too late to complain of the trick you made the ladies play us, causing
them to travel with only the lightest of effects, while you and our brother
Volusianus were hardly escorted by a single client or attendant. By this device
you cheated the friends who came to see you off with the delusive hope that they
were soon to see you back. Certainly our good brother Volusianus deceived us by
the pretence of a short trip, when in fact he was probably bound, not merely for
his own estate at Baiocassium, but the whole second province of Lyons into the
bargain.1 [3] As for yourself, though you have broken faith by idling all this
time away down there, you yet have the face to ask me for any poetical trifles I
may have recently composed. I obey; but |33 simply because you deserve the
rubbish you will get; the verses I am sending are so rustic and unfinished that
no one would believe they came from town and not from the depths of the country.
[4] You must know that Bishop Perpetuus,1 a worthy successor of his great
predecessor, has just rebuilt on a greater scale than before the basilica of the
saintly pontiff and confessor Martin. It is said to be a great and memorable
work, and all that we should expect when one such man does honour to another.
For the walls of this church he has demanded of me the inscription you are now
to criticize, and sure as he is of his place in my affection, he takes no denial
in matters of this kind. [5] Would I could think this offering of mine would
prove no blot upon the magnificence of that pile and its wealth of gifts; but I
fear it must be so, unless some happy chance should lend its very defects a
charm where all is of such perfection, just as a dark spot on a fair body is
mocked at first, and then compels approval. But why should I dilate upon all
this? Put down your shepherd's pipe, and give a supporting hand to this hobbling
elegy of mine:

*'Over the body of Martin, venerated in every land, the body in which renown
survives the life departed, there rose a structure meet for poor men's worship,
and unworthy of its famous Confessor. Always a sense of shame weighed heavy on
the citizens when they thought of the saint's great glory, and the small
attraction of his shrine. But Perpetuus the bishop, sixth in line after him,2
has now taken away the disgrace; he has removed the inner shrine from the modest
chapel and |34 reared this great building over it. By the favour of so powerful
a patron the founder's fame has risen together with the church, which is such as
to rival the temple of Solomon, the seventh wonder of the world. That shone
resplendent with gems and gold and silver; but this fane shines with a light of
faith beyond the brilliance of all metals. Avaunt, Envy of the venomous tooth!
be our forefathers absolved; may our posterity, however fond of its own voice,
presume to add or alter nothing. And till the second coming of Christ to raise
all people from the dead, may the fane of Perpetuus perpetually endure.'1

[6] I send you, as you see, the most recent verses I can find. But if you
persist in spinning vain delays, the concession will not stop me from shaking
the stars with my complaints; nor, if the case requires it, shall I shrink from
a resort to satire, and you will be very much mistaken if you imagine that I
shall be as suave as in the verses you have had to-day. For it is a law of human
nature that man is more telling, more fiery, and quicker on the mark in his
censure than in his praise. Farewell.

* Translated by Fertig, Part ii, pp. 37-8; and by Chaix, i. 329.

XIX. To his friend Florentinus (No indication of date)

[1] You blame me for my delay and my silence. I can purge myself of both
charges, for I am not only on my way, but as you see, I write as well. Farewell.
|35

XX. To his friend Domnicius * c. A. D. 470

[1] You take such pleasure in the sight of arms and those who wear them, that I
can imagine your delight if you could have seen the young prince Sigismer 1 on
his way to the palace of his father-in-law in the guise of a bridegroom or
suitor in all the pomp and bravery of the tribal fashion. His own steed with its
caparisons, other steeds laden with flashing gems, paced before and after; but
the conspicuous interest in the procession centred in the prince himself, as
with a charming modesty he went afoot amid his bodyguard and footmen, in
flame-red mantle, with much glint of ruddy gold, and gleam of snowy silken
tunic, his fair hair, red cheeks and white skin according with the three hues of
his equipment. [2] But the chiefs and allies who bore him company were dread of
aspect, even thus on peace intent. Their feet were laced in boots of bristly
hide reaching to the heels; ankles and legs were exposed. They wore high tight
tunics of varied colour hardly descending to their bare knees, the sleeves
covering only the upper arm. Green mantles they had with crimson borders;
baldrics supported swords hung from their shoulders, and pressed on sides
covered with cloaks of skin secured by brooches. [3] No small part of their
adornment consisted of their arms; in their hands they grasped barbed spears and
missile axes; their left sides were guarded by shields, which flashed with tawny
|36 golden bosses and snowy silver borders, betraying at once their wealth and
their good taste. Though the business in hand was wedlock, Mars was no whit less
prominent in all this pomp than Venus. Why need I say more? Only your presence
was wanting to the full enjoyment of so fine a spectacle. For when I saw that
you had missed the things you love to see, I longed to have you with me in all
the impatience of your longing soul. Farewell.

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 364.

XXI. To his friend Aper c. A.D. 472

[1] IN every genealogy the father's line must take precedence, yet we owe not a
little to our mothers. For it hardly befits us to accord a lesser honour to her
who bore, than to him who begot us. I leave the biologist the care of defining
what we are or how we came into the world, passing on to the subject introduced
by these reflections. [2] Your father is an Aeduan,1 your mother comes from
Auvergne. Aeduan, then, you are first and foremost, but yet not altogether. For
remember the passage in Virgil2 to the effect that Pallas is Arcadian, but at
the same time Samnite. He might have qualified, as a foreigner, to lead the
Etruscans against Mezentius, save only for the fact that through his Samnite
mother he traced his descent in part to her country of Etruria. Here you have
evidence of great moment from the greatest of authorities (unless, indeed, you
believe poets false to facts even when they deal with history), that |37 the
mother's country must count no less than that of the father. [3] Now if the
Arvernians in their turn rightly claim at any rate a half-share in you, pray
give a patient hearing to the complaint of men who yearn for your presence, and
now unburden the bosom-secret of a whole population through the lips of a single
spokesman. Imagine them as standing before you and addressing you face to face.
'What is our offence, ungrateful fellow citizen, that all these years you shun
the soil which nourished you as if it were an enemy's country? Here we tended
your cradle, here we heard your infant cries and formed your tender limbs; it
was our people who carried you in their arms. [4] This was the country of your
grandsire Fronto, whose indulgence to you was equalled only by his own
self-discipline, which our models of to-day might take as a model for
themselves. This was the country of your grandmother Auspicia, who from a single
heart after her daughter's death gave to the helpless orphan a devotion great
enough for two. Your aunt was also of our land, and so was Frontina, the virgin
holier than a nun, held by your mother in respect, by your father in veneration,
and so ascetic and austere in her life, so perfect in God's faith and fear, that
she inspired an awe in all men. It was here that our schools vied one with the
other to perfect you in grammar and in rhetoric, when the time came for your
initiation in the liberal arts, with such results that even by virtue of your
education alone you cannot but think of Clermont with affection. [5] I shall not
recall to you the unique charm of our land;1 the broad main of tillage, where
the profitable waters flow harmless through the crops, bringing rich increase;
where the more the |38 industrious man traffics, the less he need fear
shipwreck; the land which is easy to the traveller, fertile to the cultivator,
to the hunter a perpetual joy; where pastures crown the hill-tops and vineyards
clothe the slopes, where villas rise on the lowlands and castles on the rocks,
forests here and clearings there, valleys with springs, headlands washed by
rivers; the land, in short, of which a single glimpse suffices to make many a
stranger forget his own country. [6] Need I remind you of the town which was
always so devoted to you that you ought to find no society more agreeable than
that of its nobility? You were received with open arms, and all were so
delighted to have you with them that no one could ever see enough of you. Need I
speak of your own property? the more you visit it the better it will make good
your outlay. For the very expenses of a proprietor cultivating his own land
contribute to the increase of his income. I unburden myself thus in the name of
all our citizens, and certainly of the best among them. Such is the affection
which they show, so high the compliment implied in their desire, that you may
imagine the greater joy which will be yours if you assent to their request.
Farewell.

XXII. To his friend Leo

A.D. 477

[1] THE magnificent Hesperius, pearl of friends and glory of letters, informed
me on his return from Toulouse not long ago that you wished me to begin writing
history as soon as my volume of Letters is |39 completed. I need not tell you
with what respect and gratitude I receive an opinion of such weight, and
moreover so flattering to myself; for if you hold that I ought to abandon the
work of smaller compass for the greater, it must be because you think me
competent. But frankly, I find it easier to respect your judgement than to
follow your advice. [2] The task indeed is one which is worthy of your
recommendation, but it is no less worthy of your own practice. Tacitus long ago
gave similar advice to Pliny and then anticipated his friend by following his
own counsel. The precedent bears perfectly on your suggestion; for I am a mere
disciple of Pliny,1 whereas in the old historical style you excel Tacitus. Could
he return to earth, could he witness your literary eminence and reputation, he
would soon follow the hint conveyed by his own name. [3] You, therefore, are the
man to shoulder the burden of your own proposal; you have an excellent gift of
eloquence and to vast erudition you join unrivalled opportunities. For as
adviser of a most potent sovereign, whose policy is concerned with all the
world, you are admitted to the secrets of his business and his laws, his wars
and treaties, you understand their local significance, their extent and their
importance. Who, then, more fit to gird him for the task than he who is behind
the great scene of public affairs, who knows the movements of the peoples, the
embassies that pass between them, the generals' feats of arms, the treaties of
the princes, who stands himself at such an altitude that he need neither
suppress the truth nor broider the fabric of a lie?

[4] How different is my own condition, afflicted with |40 the griefs of exile,
deprived of the old facilities for study; a cleric, sworn to renounce ambition,
and keep the middle path of his obscurity. My trust is no longer in the gifts of
this present world, but in the hope of a world to come. My failing strength
plays me false, and makes me delight in idleness; I care no more for the praise
of my own generation, and as little for that of men who shall come after me. [5]
History is the last field in which I should now pursue fame; we churchmen are
ill-advised to publish our own affairs and rash to meddle with those of others;
we record the past without advantage to ourselves, and the present from
imperfect knowledge; we write what is untrue to our disgrace, and what is true
at our peril. It is a work or subject in which the mention even of the virtuous
wins a man scant credit, and of the great, unbounded enmity. Forthwith some hue
and flavour of satire invades the historian's style, and this is wholly
incongruous with our vows. Historical writing begins in spite, proceeds in
weariness, and ends in ill repute. [6] Let a cleric once dabble in it, and all
these woes will fall upon him; forthwith the viper's tooth of envy is into us;
if our style be straightforward, we are called mad; if polished, we are
presuming beyond our place.1 But you can enter upon this province with a light
heart; your fame allows you to spring from strength to strength. You will tread
the neck of the detractor or lightly leap above it. None will have written in a
more exalted vein than you, none so near the antique manner, even though your
theme be the story of our own times. For as you were trained long since in the
art of letters, and now are no less versed in that of |41 affairs, you have left
the venomed fang no hold whatever on you. Therefore it is that in years to come
your works will be consulted with advantage, heard with delight, and read with
assurance of their authority. Farewell.

XXIII. To his friend Proculus c. A.D. 472

[1] YOUR son, whom I may almost call mine also, has taken refuge with me, full
of sorrow for having left you, overwhelmed with shame and repentance of his
desertion. When I heard what he had done, I rebuked him for this truancy with
sharp words and threatening looks. The voice was mine, but I spoke in your
place; I denounced him as one whose proper meed was disinheritance,1 the cross,
the sack, and the other penalties of parricides. He flushed red in his
confusion, but made no brazen excuses for his fault; and when I convicted him on
every point, such floods of streaming tears accompanied his contrition that it
was impossible to doubt his future amendment. [2] I entreat you, therefore, to
show mercy on one who now shows none to himself; imitate Christ and do not
condemn him who admits that he deserves to be condemned. You may prove
inexorable; you may subject him to unheard-of punishments; but no torture you
can inflict will hurt him like his own remorse. Free him from his despairing
fears; justify my confidence in you; relieve yourself from the secret anguish
you must feel (if I know aught of a father's feelings) at the spectacle of |42 a
son crushed by undisguised affliction. I shall only have done him harm if you
lift a finger against him, which I trust you will not do unless you mean to
remain as hard as rock and rigid as impenetrable adamant. [3] If I am right in
expecting something better from your known character and warm heart, be
indulgent and forgive; I pledge myself that, once reconciled, he will
henceforward be a loyal son. To absolve him promptly of his fault is to bind me
by a new obligation. I earnestly beg you to do more, and grant him instant
pardon; I want you, when he returns, not to open him your door alone, but your
heart as well. Great God! what a bright day will dawn for you, what joyous news
it will be to me, what gladness will fill his soul, when he casts himself at his
father's feet and receives from those injured lips, those lips of terrible
aspect, not reproaches but a kiss! Farewell.

XXIV. To his friend Turnus *

A.D. 461-7 [1] THE Mantuan's lines suit perfectly your name and your affair:

Turnus, what never God would dare To promise to his suppliant's prayer, Lo,
here, the lapse of time has brought E'en to your hands, unasked, unsought.1 |43

You remember that a long time ago your father Turpio (he was then of tribune's
rank) sought and obtained a loan of Maximus, an official of the Palatine
Service; he assigned nothing as security or guarantee, either in money or land;
there is only a document ensuring the creditor his twelve per cent.1 This
interest had been accumulating ten years, and had doubled the capital sum. [2]
When your father was grievously ill and near his death, the public authority put
serious pressure on him for the payment of the debt; the bailiffs too behaved in
an intolerably brutal manner. I was then setting out for Toulouse, and the sick
man, in despair, wrote entreating me to intercede with his creditor for at least
a short delay. Of course I at once promised to do what I could, for Maximus and
I are something more than acquaintances, and linked by old ties of hospitality.
I therefore diverged from my route to pay him a visit, though his estate lies
some miles distant from the highway.

[3] On my arrival, he came out himself to meet me. But how changed his walk from the old erect and rapid gait; how changed the old frank regard and hearty voice! His dress, his walk, his humility, his pallor, his mode of speech----all declared the churchman. And then his hair was short and his beard long; he had simple tripod seats; coarse Cilician hangings covered his doors 2; the beds were featherless, the tables unadorned. His entertainment was as plain as it was kindly, with more vegetable than meat; if any richer dish appeared, it was brought not to him but to his guests.
[4] When we rose from table, I asked my neighbours quietly to which of the three orders he belonged;
|44
was he monk, clerk, or penitent? They told me he was so popular that his fellow citizens had thrust priestly office upon him against his inclination.1 When morning came, and the servants and clients were busy catching the animals, I begged a private interview, which he at once granted. I began by congratulations on his new dignity which he had not expected, but my
petition followed close upon them. [5] I preferred the prayer of our common friend Turpio; I urged his straits and his extremity; I told how much harder it seemed to the sick man's afflicted friends that his soul should be released from a body still held in the bond of debt. I implored him to remember his new calling and our ancient fellowship; I entreated him at least to accord delay, and so to moderate the barbarous importunities of the collectors, who were barking like dogs about a death-bed; I asked that if Turpio died, the heirs should be granted the respite of the mourner's year, and that if, as I hoped, he recovered health, he should be left in peace during the time of convalescence
from so exhausting a sickness. [6] I had got thus far with my petition when this charitable soul began to weep copious tears, not for the delay in recovering his debt but for the peril of the debtor, and restraining his sobs, cried: 'Far be it from me, a cleric, to demand from a sick man what as an official I should hardly have brought myself to ask from a sound one. But I am so attached to my friend's children also, that, even should he die, I shall require of them not a penny more than the law of our friendship sanctions. You shall write to them in their anxiety, enclosing a letter from me to confirm the authority of yours. Assure them
|45
that whatever be the issue of our brother's illness, (and may it prove a happy one!) I give them a whole year's respite; I will also remit that half of the debt represented by the accumulated interest, and content myself with the simple return of the loan.' On this, I rendered thanks to God first, and then to my host, who so respected his good name and conscience; I assured this good friend that he laid up as a treasure in advance for himself what I was empowered to remit to you, and purchased a heavenly kingdom by refusing to drive a hard bargain here on earth. It now remains for you to use every effort for the repayment of the principal, and to return him heartfelt thanks in the name of your young brother and sister, who by reason of their tender age can know nothing of their own good fortune. There is no excuse for you to say, 'I am only a co-heir; the estate has not yet been divided; it is common knowledge that I have come off worse than the other two; my brother and sister are still minors; a husband has yet to be found for her, a guardian for him, and a surety for the guardian when appointed.' Such things are sometimes said with fairness to creditors, but only to the bad ones. You are fortunate in having to deal with a person ready to remit half your debt when he might exact the whole. Do not keep him waiting; he would be within his right if he demanded once more in his resentment all that his lenience had excused. Farewell.
|46

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 345.

XXV. To his friend Domnulus* c. A.D. 470

[1] I CANNOT delay an hour in letting you know of an event which must cause you the greatest pleasure, anxious as you were to learn what success attended the piety and firmness of our metropolitan and father in Christ, Patiens, upon the occasion of his visit to Châlon. He went to ordain a bishop for that town, where discipline had been imperilled after the retirement and subsequent death of the young bishop Paulus. Some of the provincial bishops formed his escort; others had preceded him. When the Episcopal Council met, it found that the opinion of the citizens was not unanimous,1 and that there existed private factions of the kind so ruinous to the public welfare.
[2] The presence of three candidates aggravated these evils. The first had no moral qualification whatever, but only the privilege of ancient lineage, of which he made the most. The second was brought in on the applause of parasites,2 bribed to support him by the free run of a gourmand's table. The third had a tacit understanding with his supporters, that if he attained the object of his ambition, the plundering of the
Church estates should be theirs. [3] Seeing this, the holy Patiens and the holy Euphronius determined that no
|47
thought of odium or popularity should move them from the firmness and severity of the saner judgement. They communicated their intention to their fellow bishops1 in secret conclave assembled, before they made it public. Then, with a complete disregard of the unruly crowd, they suddenly joined their hands upon the holy John, a man conspicuous for an honourable, humane and gentle life, and without the faintest suspicion of what they proposed, or the slightest desire for preferment.
[4] This John was first a Reader, and had been a server at the altar from his tender years. In course of time and strenuous duty he became archdeacon, in which office or rank his efficiency kept him back; they would not give him promotion because they did not wish to relieve him of functions he performed so well. Such was the man, a member only of the second order, on whom they laid their hands, to the perplexity of the factions, which had no acclamations ready for one never even put forward for the office, but dared not at the same time say anything against a man whom his own career acclaimed. So, to the stupefaction of the intriguers, the rage of bad citizens, and the delight of good, without one dissentient voice, they two consecrated their new colleague.
[5] And now, unless the monasteries of the Jura 2 keep you, where you love to ascend as if in foretaste of a celestial habitation, this letter ought to reach you, bringing the happy news, how these our fathers and protectors opined in accord, or accorded in opinion----whichever you will. Rejoice too in his name whom Euphronius and Patiens consecrated, the one by testimony, the other by laying on of hands, the two together by their concurring
|48 judgement; in all which events Euphronius acted as beseemed his age and the long tenure of his high office, Patiens, for whom no praise could ever be too high, as befitted one who by his ecclesiastical dignity is the first person in our city, and by the priority of the city, the first citizen in all the province. Farewell.

* Partly translated by Guizot, Hist, de la civilisation en France, ed. 1846, i.
81-2.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in
the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 6: BOOK 5
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) vol. 2. pp. 48-78 ; Book V

BOOK V

I. To his friend Petronius

A.D. 478

[1] THEY tell me you devote patient but not unpleasant hours to the perusal of
my Letters; you who have achieved mastery in studies of widest scope, can yet
notice the most insignificant writings of another. This is great, and well
becomes the enthusiast for letters. But you are repaid for it by the most
perfect kind of fame; for he who is generous enough to praise other men's talent
will not fail to find his own conspicuously acknowledged. [2] I commend to you
my friend Vindicius, a man of piety, and admirably suited for the dignity of
deacon which he has recently attained. I had no time to copy what you wanted
from my tablets, as it was incumbent on me to do, so I have entrusted him with
these trifling lines just to have something to send; but such is your kindness
that you accept any letter of mine as if it were an exceeding great reward. [3]
Meanwhile I commend to your notice the affair of this same bearer who is taken
to your neighbourhood by a troublesome business in which he finds himself
involved. Two possibilities lie before him: he may either enter peacefully upon
an inheritance, or he may be entangled in legal proceedings. |50 His paternal
uncle has died a bachelor and intestate, and he is taking steps to inherit as
next of kin; but factious opposition may bar his way. Against each and every
difficulty which may be raised, you, after Christ, are the suppliant's best
hope; I am confident that if he finds favour in your sight, his cause will prove
victorious. Farewell.

II. To his friend Nymphidius c. A.D. 472

[1] CLAUDIANUS MAMERTUS, the most accomplished of our Christian philosophers and
the most learned man in the world, wrote not long ago a notable work in three
volumes on the Nature of the Soul; in its embellishment and final elaboration he
employed the method of the disposition and logical arrangement of profane
philosophy, demonstrating that the nine Muses are not maidens at all, but
Liberal Arts. The attentive reader discovers in his pages the real personified
titles of the Nine, who of themselves and for themselves create their proper
appellations. For in this book Grammar divides,1 and Rhetoric declaims;
Arithmetic reckons, Geometry metes; Music balances, Logic disputes; Astrology
predicts, Architecture constructs; Poetry attunes her measures. [2] Pleased with
the novelty of a theory like this, and kindled to enthusiasm by so much ripe
wisdom, you had hardly seen the book before you asked to have it for a short
time to examine and copy it and to make extracts; you promised to return |51 it
quickly, and your request was granted as soon as made. Now, it is far from
fitting that I should be deceived in this little matter, and that you should be
the deceiver. It is high time for you to send the book back; if you liked it,
you must have had enough of it by now; if you dislike it, more than enough.
Whichever it be, you have now to clear your reputation. If you mean to delay the
return of a volume for which I have to ask you, I shall think that you care more
for the parchment than for the work. Farewell.

III. To [his kinsman] Apollinaris

A.D. 472

[1] IT was perhaps only fair that you should retaliate on my loquacious habits
by applying the curb of taciturnity. But since in the exchange of kind offices a
perfect friendship should dwell less on what it pays than on what it may still
be held to owe, I shall loosen the rein of scruple and render you the impudent
homage of another letter: of course the impropriety of this is proved by the
fact of your continued silence. Do I not deserve to be informed of a brother's
fortunes in time of war? Are you really afraid of revealing your hopes or
apprehensions to a friend who is anxious on your account?

[2] Your motive in keeping your doings from me can only be that you are not
quite sure of me, and fear that I might not rejoice as I ought at news of your
good luck, or properly lament your adverse fortunes. May such disloyalty find no
place in gentle hearts; may so miserable a suspicion be no longer a blot on |52
the candour of a true affection! For, as your Crispus says, ' to desire and
reject the same things, that is the making of firm friends.'1

[3] I shall be content if I can hear that you are in good case. My own mind has
been depressed by the weight of a troubled conscience; a violent fever brought
me almost to death's door. As you know, the cares of an august profession have
been imposed on me, unworthy though I am of such an honour. And it has been
misery to me to have to teach what I have never myself learned, and to preach
goodness before practising it; like a barren tree, I bear no fruit of good
works, but scatter idle words like leaves.

[4] And now pray for me that my future life may prove it to have been worth
while to come back almost from the underworld; for now a continuance in past
errors would make this renewal of life the beginning of my soul's destruction.
You see that I hide nothing from you, and I may fairly ask in return how things
fare with you. I have done the part of friendship; it remains for you to act as
you think right. But remember that by God's grace we recognize no end to a
comradeship which we gave our hearts to begin; it must be like laws of Attica,
graven eternally on brass. Farewell.

IV. To [his kinsman] Simplicius (No indication of date)

[1] YOUR failure to answer my letter I impute to a friendship not beyond
reproach, but in a greater |53 degree, to an uneasy conscience. For unless I do
you an injustice, your answer is withheld less from perversity than from a sense
of shame. But if you continue to close and bolt your door against my
communications, I shall not be sorry to oblige you with the peace which you
desire. At the same time I must tell you plainly that the instigators of the
wrong thus done me are to be found among those nearest to you.

[2] For it is no injustice to attribute all that is hateful in your silence to
the spoiled humours of your sons, who, secure in your affection, submit with
impatience to my assiduity.1 It is incumbent on you to admonish them by your
parental authority to be more amiable henceforward in their behaviour, and so
sweeten to me the bitterness of their past offence. Farewell.

V. To his friend Syagrius (No indication of date)

[1] THOUGH you descend in the male line from an ancestor who was not only consul----that is immaterial----but also (and here is the real point) a poet, from one whose literary achievement would certainly have gained him the honour of a statue, had it not been secured for him already by his official honours,----witness the finished verse that he has left us; and though on this side of his activity his descendants have proved themselves no wise degenerate, yet here we find you picking up a knowledge of the German tongue with the greatest of ease; the feat fills me with indescribable amazement.

[2] I can recall the thoroughness of your education |54 in liberal studies; I
know with what a fervid eloquence you used to declaim before the rhetor. With
such a training, how have you so quickly mastered the accent of a foreign
speech, that after having your Virgil caned into you, and absorbing into your
very system the opulent and flowing style of the varicose orator of Arpinum,1
you soar out like a young falcon from the ancient eyrie 2?

[3] You can hardly conceive how amused we all are to hear that, when you are by,
not a barbarian but fears to perpetrate a barbarism in his own language. Old
Germans bowed with age are said to stand astounded when they see you
interpreting their German letters; they actually choose you for arbiter and
mediator in their disputes. You are a new Solon in the elucidation of Burgundian
law; like a new Amphion you attune a new lyre, an instrument of but three
strings. You are popular on all sides; you are sought after; your society gives
universal pleasure. You are chosen as adviser and judge; as soon as you utter a
decision it is received with respect. In body and mind alike these people are as
stiff as stocks and very hard to form; yet they delight to find in you, and
equally delight to learn, a Burgundian eloquence and a Roman spirit.

[4] Let me end with a single caution to the cleverest of men. Do not allow these
talents of yours to prevent you from devoting whatever time you can spare to
reading. Let your critical taste determine you to preserve a balance between the
two languages, holding fast to the one to prevent us making fun of you, and
practising the other that you may have the laugh of us. Farewell. |55

VI. To [his kinsman] Apollinaris

A.D. 474-5

[1] As soon as summer began to yield to autumn and the fears of my Arvernians
were in some degree moderated by the approach of winter, I was able to make a
journey to Vienne. There I found, in great tribulation, your brother Thaumastus,
who alike by virtue of his age and his descent inspires me with feelings of
affection and respect. Afflicted already by the recent loss of his wife, he was
no less troubled on your account, fearing that the gang of barbarians and
officers about the court might trump up some malicious charge against you.1

[2] According to his report, venomous tongues have been secretly at work,
whispering in the ear of the ever-victorious Chilperic, our Master of the
Soldiery,2 that your machinations are chiefly responsible for the attempt to win
the town of Vaison for the new Emperor.3 If you are exposed to any suspicion on
this score, inform me at once by return, that we may not lose any possible
advantage which might accrue from my presence or the exertion of my interest. If
in your opinion a real danger exists, I shall make it my special business either
by conciliating the royal favour, to ensure your safety, or by discovering the
extent of the king's anger to make you see the need for greater caution in
future. Farewell. |56

VII. To his [kinsman] Thaumastus

A.D. 474-5

[1] AT last we have discovered who the villains are who have accused your brother before our tetrarch for siding with the partisans of the new Emperor----unless, indeed, the stealthy steps of the informers have deceived the proved sagacity of our friends. They are the wretches, as you yourself have heard me say upon the spot, whom Gaul endures with groans these many years, and who make the barbarians themselves seem merciful by comparison. They are the scoundrels whom even the formidable fear. These are the men whose peculiar province it seems to be to calumniate, to denounce, to intimidate, and to plunder.

[2] These are they who in quiet times make parade of their affairs, in peace of
their ample spoils, in war of their evasions, over their cups of their
victories. These are the creatures who will spin out a case if they are called
in, and block its progress if they are kept out; who grow offensive if reminded
of their duty, and if they once pocket your fee, forget their obligation. These
are the fellows who buy themselves a lawsuit to sell their mediation; who
control the appointment of arbitrators, dictate their sentence, and tear it up
whenever it suits them to do so; who incite litigants to sue, and hold the
hearing in suspense; who hale off the convicted, and force back into the court
those who would fain escape by settlement. These are the men who, asked a favour
opposed by none, will promise |57 with reluctance what shame forbids them to
refuse, and moan if they have to keep their word.

[3] These are they at whose appearance the world's great scoundrels would
confess themselves surpassed, Narcissus, Asiaticus, Massa, Marcellus, Carus,
Parthenius, Licinus, Pallas, and all their peers.1 These are they who grudge
quiet folks their peace, the soldier his pay, the courier his fare, the merchant
his market, the ambassador his gifts, the farmer of tolls his dues, the
provincial his farm, the municipality its flamen's dignity, the controllers of
revenue their weights, the receivers their measures, the registrars their
salary, the accountants their fees, the bodyguards their presents,2 towns their
truces, taxgatherers their taxes, the clergy the respect men pay them, the
nobles their lineage, superiors their seats in council, equals equality, the
official his jurisdiction, the ex-official his distinctions, scholars their
schools, masters their stipends, and finished pupils their accomplishments.

[4] These are the upstarts drunken with new wealth 4 (I spare you no sordid
detail), who by their intemperate use betray their unfamiliarity with riches.
They like to march under arms to a banquet, they will attend a funeral in white,
and wear mourning at a marriage festival; they go to church in furs,3 and hear a
litany in beaver. No race of men, no rank, no epoch is ever to their liking. In
the market they behave like Scyths; in the chamber they are vipers, at feasts
buffoons. While they are harpies in exaction, in conversation you might as well
talk to statues, or address a question to brute beasts. In negotiation slow as
snails, they are sharp as money-lenders at a contract. In comprehension |58 they
are stones, in judgement stocks; swift as flame in anger, hard as iron in
forgiveness, pards in friendship, bears in humour, foxes in deceit, overbearing
as bulls, fierce as Minotaurs in destruction.

[5] They believe in the unsettlement of affairs; the more troubled the time the
firmer their faith in its advantage. Cowardice and a bad conscience destroy
their nerves; they are lions in the palace and hares in camp; they dread
treaties for fear of having to disgorge, and war for fear of having to fight.
Let them but scent from afar a rusty purse, and you will see them fix on it the
eyes of Argus, Briareus' hands, the Sphinx's claws; they will bring into play
the perjuries of Laomedon, the subtleties of Ulysses, Sinon's wiles; they will
stick to it with the staunchness of Polymestor and the loyalty of a Pygmalion.

[6] Such are the morals with which they hope to crush a man both powerful and
good. And what can one man do, encompassed on every side by slanderers whose
venomous lips distort each word he says? What should he do when nature meant him
for honest company, but fortune cast him among thieves whose evil communications
would make Phalaris more bloodthirsty, Midas more covetous, Ancus vainer,
Tarquin haughtier, Tiberius craftier, Gaius more dangerous, Claudius more
slothful, Nero more corrupt, Galba more avaricious, Otho more reckless,
Vitellius more prodigal, Domitian more ferocious?

[7] But we have one consolation in our trouble; fair Tanaquil restrains our
Lucumon:1 she waits her chance, and rids his ears by a few coaxing words of all
the poison with which the whisperers have filled them. |59 You ought to know
that we owe it to her interest if up till now the mind of our common patron has
not been poisoned against our brothers by these younger Cibyrates1; God willing,
it never will be, while the present power holds Lyons for the German race, and
our present Agrippina exerts her moderating influence on her Germanicus2.
Farewell.

VIII. To his friend Secundinus c. A.D. 477

[1] WHAT a long time it is since we used to read your masterly hexameters with
outspoken admiration! Your verse was equally full of life, whether you were
celebrating a wedding, or the fall of great beasts before the prowess of kings.
But even you yourself would admit that you have never done anything better than
your last poem in triple trochaics constructed in hendecasyllabic metre. [2]
What fine malice I found in it; what style, what pungent eloquence! it was
impossible for me to keep my enthusiasm to myself. As for your subjects, you
were fearless; only the necessity for respecting persons seemed to check
somewhat the lightning of your genius and the free course of your irony. I think
the Consul Ablabius3 never thrust more brilliantly at the family life of
Constantine with a couplet, or gave more stinging point to the famous distich
secretly appended to the palace gates:

'Who wants back Saturn and his golden age?

We have the diamond age----Neronian.' |60

You remember that, when this was written, Constantine had done to death his
consort Fausta 1 in a hot bath and his son Crispus with cold poison. [3] I would
not have you deterred by anything from your bold and vivid use of satire. You
will find the flourishing vices of our tyrant-ridden citizens 2 a rich mine to
exploit. For the folk whom we set down as fortunate according to the lights of
our age or our locality comport themselves with such an arrogance that the
future will not readily forget their names. The infamy of vice and the praise of
virtue are both alike eternal. Farewell.

IX. To his friend Aquilinus c. A.D. 477

[1] I FIND it certainly to my advantage, friend capable of every virtue, and I
trust you will feel the same, that we should have as many ties to bind us as we
have reasons for being united. Such ties are hereditary in our families; I do
but recall the experience of the past. Let me summon as my witnesses our
grandfathers Rusticus and Apollinaris,3 whom like fortunes and aversions united
in a noble friendship. They had a similar taste in letters, their characters
were alike; they had enjoyed similar dignities and undergone the same dangers.
They were equally agreed in detesting the inconstancy of Constantine, the
irresolution of Jovinus, the perfidy of Gerontius; both singling out the fault
proper to each person, and both finding in Dardanus the sum of all existing
vices.4 |61

[2] If we come down to the years between their time and our own, we find our
fathers brought up together from their tender youth until they came to manhood.
In Honorius' reign,1 as tribunes and secretaries, they served abroad together in
such close comradeship that among all the grounds of their agreement the fact
that their own fathers had been friends appeared to be the least. Under
Valentinian, one of the two ruled all Gaul, the other only a region of it; even
so they managed to balance their dignities with a fraternal equilibrium; the one
who held the lower rank had seniority in office. [3] And now the old tradition
comes down to us grandsons, whose dearest care it should be to prevent the
affection of our parents and our forefathers from suffering any diminution in
our persons. But there are ties of all kinds, over and above that of this
hereditary friendship, which needs must bring us close together; we are linked
by equality of years no less than by identity of birthplace; we played and
learned together, shared the same discipline and relaxation, and were trained by
the same rule. [4] So then, for what remains of life now that our years touch
upon the threshold of age, let us under the providence of God be two persons
with but a single mind; and let us instil into our sons the same mutual regard:
let us see that the objects which they desire and refuse, pursue or shun, are
the same. It would indeed crown our vows if the boys who bear the honoured names
of Rusticus and Apollinaris renewed within their breasts the hearts of those
illustrious ancestors. Farewell. |62

X. To his friend Sapaudus (No indication of date)

[1] AMONG all the virtues of the illustrious Pragmatius, I place this first, that his enthusiasm for letters inspires him with an ardent admiration for you. He finds in you the last traces of the antique industry and accomplishment; and it is only right that he should show you favour, since few men owe a greater debt to
literature than he. [2] When he was a young man his persuasive eloquence won such applause in the schools of rhetoric, that Priscus Valerianus, himself reputed for his oratorical skill, made him his son-in-law, and adopted him into his patrician family. Besides his youth, his birth and means, Pragmatius had good looks, and an engaging modesty which enlisted people's sympathy. Even at that age he was of a serious disposition and felt the shame of making his way by a handsome face when he would have been better content to attract by his qualities of mind and character. And indeed a beautiful nature is the best key to men's hearts; bodily charm is transient; as years advance and life wanes, it falls away. When Priscus Valerianus was made Prefect of the Gauls, his opinion of his adopted son remained unaltered, indeed he clung to it with pertinacity. He associated him with himself in council-chamber and court, resolved that the accomplishments which had been admitted to share his family life should also share in the enhancement of his dignity.
[3] Your own style is so admirable and lucid, that far from surpassing it, the great orators, with all their qualities, can
|63
hardly attain its level----not the logical Palaemon, the austere Gallic, the opulent Delphidius, the methodical Agroecius, the virile Alcimus, the charming Adelphius, the rigid Magnus, the agreeable Victorius.1 It is far from my desire to cajole or flatter you with this hyperbolic list of rhetors, but in my opinion only Quintilian in his force and his intensity, or Palladius with his splendid manner, can fairly be compared with you; and even that comparison I should not urge----I should merely yield it acquiescence.
[4] If after you there shall be any other adept of Roman eloquence, he will be deeply grateful to that friendship with Valerianus, and if he is half a man, will long to be admitted as a third to your society. Such a wish could never prove a source of annoyance to you, since there are now, alas! so few who have any respect for polite studies. And it is a defect rooted and fixed in human nature, to think little of the artist when you know nothing of the art. Farewell.

XI. To his friend Potentinus c. A. D. 467

[1] I AM your devoted friend, and my devotion was born neither of caprice nor
error. Before I linked myself to you in close friendship, I pondered well; it is
my habit to choose first, and give my heart afterwards. 'But what on earth ',
you will say, 'did you see to like in me?' [2] I will answer gladly and in two
words: gladly, for you are my friend; briefly, because my space is small. What I
respect in your career is this; you |64 do so many things that every reasonable
man would like to imitate. You cultivate your estates as an expert; you build
with the utmost method, you are an unerring hunter, your hospitality is
perfection, your wit is of the first order, your judgements are absolutely fair;
you are sincere in persuasion, very slow to wrath, very quickly appeased, very
loyal after reconciliation. [3] I shall rejoice if when he grows up my young
Apollinaris copies these several qualities; it shall not be for want of urging
on my part if he fails. Let Christ but grant me success in my plans for his
training and instruction, and it will not be my least satisfaction to have
borrowed from your character the chief ensample of life which I set before him.
Farewell.

XII. To his friend Calminius

A. D. 474

[1] It is no foolish pride of mine, but this alien dominance which makes my
letters so few and far between; do not expect me to speak out; your own fears,
similar to mine, explain the need for silence. One thing, however, I may freely
lament, that sundered as we are by this whirlwind of warring forces, we have
practically no chance of meeting one another. Alas! your harassed country never
sees you except when the alien's formidable command bids you hide yourself in
armour, while we on our side are covered by our ramparts. At such time you are
led against your native land, an unwilling captive,1 to empty your quiver
against |65 us while your eyes fill with tears. We bear you no ill will; we know
that your prayers are otherwise directed than your missiles. [2] But as from
time to time, without ratification of any treaty some semblance of a truce opens
for us a casement on our darkness, bright with hope of liberation, I entreat you
to let us hear from you as often as you can; for be sure that our besieged
citizens preserve the kindliest thoughts of you and manage to forget the hateful
part you play as their besieger. Farewell.

XIII. To his friend Pannychius *

A. D. 469

[1] HAVE you heard that Seronatus 1 is coming back from Toulouse? If you have
not (and I hardly think you have), learn it from these presents. Evanthius is
hurrying to Clausetia, making passable the parts of the road in the contractor's
hands, and clearing it wherever it is choked with fallen leaves. When he finds
any part of the surface full of holes, he rushes in a panic with spadefuls of
soil and fills them with his own hands; his business is to conduct his monster
from the valley of the Tarn, like the pilot-fish 2 that leads the bulky whale
through shoals and rocky waters. [2] But lo! the monster, swift to wrath and
slow to move by reason of his bulk, no sooner appears like a dragon uncoiling
from his cave, than he makes immediate descent upon the pallid folk of Javols,
whose cheeks are pale with fear. They had |66 scattered on all sides, abandoning
their townships; and now he drains them dry by new and unparalleled imposts, or
takes them in the mesh of calumny; even when they have paid their annual tribute
more than once, he refuses to let these unhappy victims return to their homes.
[3] The sure sign of his impending arrival in any district is the appearance of
prisoners in troops, dragging their chains along. The anguish of these men is
joy to him; their hunger is his food; and he finds his peculiar pleasure in
subjecting them to ignominy before their sentence. He compels the men to grow
long hair, and off cuts the hair of the women. If here and there a prisoner
receives a pardon, it is through his vanity or his corruption, and never through
his mercy. Not even the prince of orators or the prince of poets could describe
so dire a creature: Marcus of Arpinum and Publius of Mantua would be impotent
alike. This pest (whose treasons God confound!) is said to be now on his way;
anticipate his onset by salutary precautions; if there is talk of suits,
compound with the litigious enemy; provide yourself with guarantees against new
imposts, and prevent this worst of men from compromising the affairs of worthy
people by his favour or ruining them by his enmity. I will sum up in these words
my opinion of Seronatus: others fear some crushing blow at the brigand's hands;
to me his very benefits are suspicious. Farewell. |67

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 338; and Fertig, i. p. 20.

XIV. To his friend Aper

A.D. 472-3

[1] ARE you taking your ease in your sunny Baiae,1 where the sulphurous water
rushes from hollows of the porous rock, and the baths are so beneficial to those
who suffer either in the lungs or liver? Or are you 'camped among the mountain
castles',2 looking for a place of refuge, and perhaps embarrassed by the number
of strongholds you find to choose from? Whatever the cause of your delay,
whether you are making holiday or going about your business, I feel sure that
the thought of the forthcoming Rogations 3 will bring you back to town. [2] It
was Mamertus our father in God and bishop who first designed, arranged, and
introduced the ceremonial of these prayers, setting a precedent we should all
revere, and making an experiment which has proved of the utmost value. We had
public prayers of a sort before, but (be it said without offence to the
faithful) they were lukewarm, irregular, perfunctory, and their fervour was
destroyed by frequent interruption for refreshment; and as they were chiefly for
rain or for fine weather, to say the least of it, the potter and the
market-gardener could never decently attend together! 4 [3] But in the Rogations
which our holy father has instituted and conferred upon us, we fast, we pray
with tears, we chant the psalms. To such a feast, where penitential sighs are
heard from all the congregation, where heads are humbly bowed, and forms fall
prostrate, I invite you; and if I rightly gauge your spirit, you will only |68
respond the quicker because you are called in place of banquets to a festival of
tears. Farewell.

XV. To his friend Ruricius (No indication of date)

[1] THE usual salutations over, I at once urge upon your notice the claims of our bookseller, because I have made discriminating and unbiased trial of the man, proving him to my complete satisfaction at once loyal in sentiment and alert in service to our common master----yourself. He brings in person the manuscript of the Heptateuch all written out by his own hand with the utmost neatness and rapidity, though I read it through myself, and made corrections. He also brings a volume of the Prophets; this was edited by him in my absence, and with his own hand purged of corrupt additions.1 The scholar who had promised him assistance in reading out from another text, was only able to perform his task in part; I fancy illness prevented him from carrying
out his undertaking. [2] It remains for you by encouragement or promise of your influence to show appropriate recognition of a servant who has done his best to satisfy, and deserves to succeed; and if this is in proportion to his arduous task, he will soon begin to look for his reward. All that I ask for the moment is your benevolence towards him; it is for you to decide what he deserves, though indeed I think the good opinion of his master is far nearer to his heart than any recompense. Farewell.
|69

XVI. To [his wife] Papianilla*

A. D. 474

[1] THE moment the Quaestor Licinianus, coming from Ravenna, had crossed the
Alps and set foot on Gaulish soil, he sent a message in advance to make it known
that he was bearer of imperial letters patent conferring the title of Patrician
on Ecdicius.1 I know that your brother's honours delight you no less than my
own; considering his years, he has attained this one very early; considering his
deserts, very late. For he earned the dignity he is now to receive long ago, by
service in the field and not by purchase; and though only a private citizen,
poured into the treasury no mere contribution, but sums like spoils of war. [2]
Julius Nepos, true Emperor in character no less than prowess, has done nobly in
keeping the pledged word of his predecessor Anthemius that the labours of your
brother should be recognized; his action is all the more laudable for the
promptitude with which he has fulfilled a promise reiterated so often by
another. In future the best men in the State will feel able, nay, rather, will
feel bound, to spend their strength with the utmost ardour for the commonweal,
assured that even should the prince who promised die, the Empire itself will be
responsible, and pay the debt due to their devotion and self-sacrifice. [3]
Knowing your affectionate |70 nature, I am convinced that even in the very midst
of our adversities this news will bring great consolation, and that not even the
imminent dread of siege will divert your mind from the path of a joy common to
us all. For I am sure you were never quite so gratified by any of my own
honours, in which you legally shared; good wife as you have always been, you are
the best sister that man ever had. That is why I have not lost an instant in
sending my letter of congratulation on this enhancement of dignity which Christ
has permitted to your family. I satisfy alike your solicitude and your brother's
modesty. He will be sure to say nothing of this promotion; but even if you did
not know his unassuming nature, you would not blame him for lack of brotherly
feeling. [4] As far as I am concerned, I derive great satisfaction from these
new distinctions which you have awaited with unconcealed impatience; but I
derive a greater yet from the brotherly union which exists between Ecdicius and
myself. It is my ardent wish that our children and his may live in equal
harmony; and I pray in our common name that just as we of this generation were
born into prefectorian families, and have been enabled by divine favour to
elevate them to patrician rank, so they in their turn may exalt the patrician to
the consular dignity. [5] Little Roscia, our joint care,1 sends you her love;
she has the rare advantage of being brought up by her grandmother and her aunts,
who temper their great indulgence with strictness, forming her character, yet
not asking too much of her tender years. Farewell. |71

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 346-8.

XVII. To his friend Eriphius *

A. D. 461-7

[1] You are the same man still, my dear Eriphius; the pleasures of the chase,
the amenities of town or country are never allowed to lure you so far that in
your hour the charm of letters will not win you back. That devotion it is which
bids you tolerate even me, whom you are good enough to describe as redolent of
the Muses. If you were in a frivolous mood when you wrote so, you jest at my
expense; if in sober earnest, your regard for me has blinded your eyes, for it
needs no demonstration to prove your judgement at fault. Really, you go much too
far when you use of me expressions hardly appropriate to a Homer or a Virgil.
[2] I leave these kindly exaggerations, and pass to the proper subject of my
letter. You bid me send you the verses which I was weak enough to compose at the
request of your most distinguished father-in-law, who understands the art of so
living with his fellows as to command or obey with equal ease. Blame yourself if
words run away with me, and I relate an insignificant event at greater length
than it deserves; you insist on a picture of the scene and all that occurred,
since your illness prevented you from being with us. [3] We had assembled at the
tomb of S. Justus 1; the annual procession before daylight was over, attended by
a vast crowd of both sexes which even that great church |72 could not hold with
all its cincture of galleries. After Vigils were ended, chanted alternately by
the monks and clerics, the congregation separated; we could not go far off, as
we had to be at hand for the next service at Tierce, when the priests were to
celebrate the Mass. [4] We felt oppressed by the crowding in a confined space,
and by the great number of lights which had been brought in. It was still almost
summer, and the night was so sultry that it suffocated us, imprisoned as we were
in that steaming atmosphere; only the first freshness of the autumn dawn brought
some welcome relief. Groups of the different classes dispersed in various
directions, the principal citizens assembling at the monument of Syagrius, which
is hardly a bowshot from the church. Some of us sat down under an old vine, the
stems of which were trained trellis-wise and covered with leaves and drooping
fronds; others sat on the grass odorous with the scent of flowers. [5] The talk
was enlivened with amusing jests and pleasantries; above all (and what a blessed
thing it was!), there was not a word about officials or taxes, not an informer
among us to betray, not a syllable worth betrayal. Every one was free to tell
any story worth relating and of a proper tenor; it was a most appreciative
audience; the vein of gaiety was not allowed to spoil the distinct relation of
each tale. After a time, we felt a certain slackness through keeping still so
long, and we voted for some more active amusement. [6] We soon split into two
groups, according to our ages: one shouted for the ball, the other for the
board-game, both of which were to be had. I was the leader of the ball-players;
you know that book and ball are my twin companions. In the other |73 group, the
chief figure was our brother Domnicius, that most engaging and attractive of
men: there he was, rattling some dice which he had got hold of, as if he sounded
a trumpet-call to play. The rest of us had a great game with a party of
students, doing our best at the healthful exercise with limbs which sedentary
occupations made much too stiff for running. [7] And now the illustrious
Filimatius sturdily flung himself into the squadrons of the players, like
Virgil's hero 'daring to set his hand to the task of youth' 1; he had been a
splendid player himself in his younger years. But over and over again he was
forced from his position among the stationary players by the shock of some
runner from the middle, and driven into the midfield where the ball flew past
him, or was thrown over his head; and he failed to intercept or parry it.2 More
than once he fell prone, and had to pick himself up from such collapses as best
he could; naturally he was the first to withdraw from the stress of the game in
a state of internal inflammation, out of breath from exercise and suffering
sharp pains in the side from the swollen fibres of his liver. [8] Thereupon I
left off too. It was done from delicacy; if I stopped at the same time, my
brother would be spared a feeling of mortification at being so soon exhausted.
Well, while we were sitting down, he found himself in such a perspiration that
he called for water to bathe his face. They brought it, with a shaggy towel
which had been washed after yesterday's use, and had been swinging on a line
worked by a pulley near the doors of the porter's lodge. [9] As Filimatius was
leisurely drying his cheeks, he said: 'I wish you would dictate a pair |74 of
couplets in honour of a cloth which has done me such a noble turn.' 'Very well,'
I replied. 'But you must get my name in,' he rejoined. I said that there would
be no difficulty in that. 'Dictate away, then.' I smiled; 'I would have you
know', I said, 'that the Muses are upset if I frequent their company before
witnesses.' At this he burst out in his explosive but delightful way (you know
his ardent nature, and what an inexhaustible flow of wit he has): 'Beware, my
lord Sollius! Apollo may be still more upset if you tempt his pupils to secret
interviews all alone.' You can imagine the applause aroused by a retort as neat
as it was instantaneous. [10] I wasted no more time, but called up his
secretary, who was at hand with his tablets, and dictated the following epigram:

'At dawn, or when the seething bath invites, or when the hot chase beads the
brow, may goodly Filimatius with this cloth cherish his face till all the
perspiration flows into the thirsty fleece.' Our good friend Epiphanius the
secretary had hardly taken down the lines, when they came to tell us that our
time was up, and that the bishop was leaving his retreat; we therefore rose to
go. [11] You must not be too critical of verses written thus to order. It is
another matter with the longer poem which some time ago you two asked me to
write in a hyperbolical and figured style on the man who bore good fortune ill.1
I shall send it off to-morrow for your private revision. If you both approve of
it, you can then publish it under your auspices; if you condemn, you can tear it
up and forgive me as best you can. Farewell. |75

* The greater part translated by Guizot, Hist, de la civilisation en France, ed.
1846, i. 95-7; and by Fertig, Part ii, pp. 39-40.

XVIII. To his friend Attalus (No indication of date)

[1] I WAS delighted to hear that you have consented to preside over the
destinies of Autun.1 I am glad for several reasons; first, you are my friend;
second, you are a just man; third, you are not to be trifled with; fourth, you
will be quite near us. You will now have not only the inclination to help our
people and further their affairs, but the duty and the power of doing so. In my
satisfaction at seeing an old acquaintance invested with new authority, I am
already looking round for objects on which you may exercise your benevolence.
For understand, I feel so sure of it, that if I fail to find anything to ask
for, I shall expect you to make me a suggestion yourself. Farewell.

XIX. To his friend Pudens c. A. D. 472

[1] THE son of your nurse has eloped with the daughter of mine. It is a shameful
action, and one which would have destroyed our friendly relations, had I not
learned at once that you knew nothing of the man's intention. But though you are
thus acquitted in advance, you yet do not scruple to ask that this crying
offence should be allowed to go unpunished. I can only agree on one condition:
that you promote the ravisher from his original servile state, by changing your
relation to him |76 from that of master to that of patron. [2] The woman is
already free; but she will only be regarded as a lawful wife instead of a mere
concubine if our criminal, whose cause you espouse, ceases to be your dependant
and becomes your client, assuming the status of a freeman in place of that of a
colonus.1 Nothing short of these terms or these amends will in the least condone
the affront. I only yield to your request and your protestation of friendship on
condition that, if as ravisher he is not to be bond to Justice, Liberty shall
make him a free bridegroom. Farewell.

XX. To his friend Pastor

A. D. 461-7

[1] YOUR absence from yesterday's business of the Municipal Council 2 is thought
by most to have been intentional; they suspect that you wished to avoid the
burden of an embassy which might be laid upon your shoulders. I congratulate you
on being so eligible a person as to live in constant fear of being elected. Your
efficiency commands my applause, your prudence my admiration, your happy fortune
my congratulations; [2] in fine, I wish no better lot than yours to every friend
I love as well. Many men are possessed by a detestable thirst for popularity;
you see them take the chief citizens by the hand, lead them aside from a
meeting, and embrace them in a corner, promising good offices for which no one
asked; you see them, in the hope of nomination as public envoys, refusing the
usual |77 travelling-allowance,1 and insisting on going at their own charges;
secretly canvassing every member in turn, so that when the council meets, they
may be sure of a unanimous and public invitation. [3] The consequence is that
though people are pleased enough to be served for nothing, they find it in the
long run pleasanter to choose a more modest representative, even at the cost of
paying all expenses; the self-assertion of the volunteer becomes too irksome,
even though his tenure of office throws no burden on the town. Since, then, the
intentions of our best citizens are now no secret to you, acquiesce, and meet
their wishes; you have given proof enough of modesty; test the warm feelings of
those who invite you. Your failure to appear was put down to your discretion; a
repetition of such conduct would expose you to the charge of indifference. [4]
Remember, too, that if you do go to Arles, you will be able to greet your
venerable mother and your affectionate brothers on the way; you will greet the
natal soil that returns love for love, and is doubly delightful when
unexpectedly revisited. Then think how convenient it will be to see your agent,
and to get even a passing glimpse of your own home, your vines, your olives,
your cornfields, and the house itself. Though our envoy, you will yet be
travelling for your own pleasure; altogether, this journey on city business
should suit you admirably, and you will be able to thank the community for an
excellent chance of getting a sight of your own people. Farewell. |78

XXI. To his friends Sacerdos and Justinus (No indication of date) YOUR uncle
Victorius, whose varied learning and eminence we so revered, always wrote with
power, especially when he wrote verse. As you know, I too have been the servant
of the Muses from my youth up. You are your uncle's heirs no less in merit than
in law. But by right of poetry I am as much his kin as you by right of blood; we
ought all of us, therefore, to share in the succession according to our several
affinities. So keep the property for yourselves, but hand the poems over to me.
Farewell. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this
page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 7: BOOK 6
========================================================================

Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) vol. 2. pp. 79-94 ; Book
VI

BOOK VI

I. To the Lord Bishop Lupus*

A. D. 472

[1] BLESSED be the Holy Spirit and Father of Almighty God that we have you, father of fathers, bishop of bishops and the second James of your age,1 to look down upon every member of the Church from the eminence of your charity, as it were from another Jerusalem exalted high as the first; you, the consoler of all the feeble, the counsellor of all men, whose trust you so well deserve. And what answer can I make to one thus venerated, I who am as vile dust foul with sin?
[2] Suffering deep need of your salutary converse, yet standing in great awe, I am driven by the memory of my guilty life to cry to you, as once that great colleague of yours cried to the Lord: 'Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.' 2 But if my dread is not tempered by love, I fear that I may be abandoned like the Gerasenes, and that you may go forth from my borders. Rather, for my greater profit, will I seek to bind you with the conditional prayer of that other leper: 'If thou wilt, thou canst make me clean;' 3 in which words he both declared his need and published abroad his faith.
[3] For though you are beyond |80
all doubt first of all bishops in the wide world; though even the throng of your colleagues submits to the prerogative which you enjoy, and trembles at your adverse judgement; though the hearts of the oldest among them are as the hearts of little children compared with yours; though your hard vigils in the spiritual warfare at Lerins,1 and the nine lustres passed in your apostolic see have made you a veteran honoured in the camps of the Church, and the captain of our vanguard whom every soldier acclaims----yet you never hesitate to leave the first line awhile and those who fight before it; you do not despise camp-follower and servant, but to the meanest of the baggage-train, who for their ignorant simplicity still sit beside the loads of the flesh, you carry the standard of the cross which you have borne so long, and to their stricken souls extend the Word, as it were
a hand of rescue. [4] They say, dear veteran leader, that you gather to you even the enemy's wounded, sounding the retreat from Sin to Christ after the manner of a consummate trumpeter, and like the Shepherd of the Gospel feel more joy over those who abandon the way of despair than over those who have never left the path of safety. O norm of all right conduct, column of all virtues, and (if a sinful man may dare to praise) fount of sweetness, truest because most holy, you did not shrink from touching with the finger of exhortation the sores of a most despicable worm; you did not grudge the food of admonition to a soul frail and fasting, or from the store-house of your deep love refuse me the measure of
the humility I am now to pursue. [5] Pray for me, that I may know at length how vast the burden is that weighs upon my shoulders. Wretched man that I am, by the
|81
continuance of my transgressions brought to such a pass, that I must now intercede for the sins of the people ---- I for whom their own supplications, more innocent than mine, should hardly obtain the divine mercy. How shall a sick man give others medicine? How shall one in a fever presume to feel a pulse that beats more strongly than his own? What deserter has the right to sing the praise of military science? What lover of high living is fit to read a lecture to the abstemious? Yet I, the unworthiest of men, must preach what I cannot practise. Condemned out of my own mouth when I do not fulfil my own injunctions, I must daily pronounce sentence upon myself. But if like a new Moses, not less, but of a later age, you intercede before Our Lord, with whom you are daily crucified, for all the multitude of my sins, I shall not living descend further into hell, nor longer, inflamed by the incentives of carnal sin, light alien flame on the altar of the Lord. For one guilty as I, there can be no glory to weigh down the scale; how abundantly shall I then rejoice if your prayers avail to restore my inward man, not indeed to perfect health and its reward, but to the healing of the heart's wounds, and pardon. Deign to keep me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

* Translated by Chaix, i. 449; and Germain, p. 103 f.

II. To the Lord Bishop Pragmatius

A. D. 472

[1] THE venerable matron Eutropia, known to me as a woman of the most exemplary
merit, is in the greatest trouble. Frugality and charity dispute her days; her
|82 fastings feed the poor; so watchful is she in Christ's service, that sin is
all in her which she allows to slumber. But as if the sorrow of her widowhood
were not enough, she now finds herself threatened with a lawsuit. Her first
instinct in her two-fold affliction is to obtain the perfect remedy of your
consolation; if you only see her, she will be equally grateful, whether you
regard her coming as a short journey or as a lasting proof of her respect. [2]
Now Eutropia is being harassed by the subtleties, to use no harsher word, of our
venerable brother the presbyter Agrippinus. He is taking advantage of her
woman's inexperience, and continually troubling the serene surface of her
spiritual nature by windy gusts of worldliness. And all the while this poor
woman is bleeding from two fresh wounds which time has added to the old deep
wound of widowhood; for her son was first taken from her, and very soon
afterwards her grandson also. [3] I did my best to compose this matter; a
friendship of long standing gave me an old claim to be heard, and my sacred
calling a new one; I let them know what I thought; I used persuasion where I
could, and entreaty at every turn. You may be surprised to learn that throughout
the woman and not the man was the first to accept suggestions for agreement. And
though the father boasts that in his paternal quality he is in the best position
to serve his daughter's interests, the daughter herself prefers her
mother-in-law's most generous proposals.1 [4] The dispute, only half appeased,
is now to be carried before you. Pacify the adversaries by your episcopal
authority, show their suspicious souls the truth, and bring about a
reconciliation. You |83 may take my word for it that the holy Eutropia will
count it almost victory if even at the cost of heavy sacrifices she can escape
from litigation. Though two families are parties to the quarrel, I fancy you
will soon decide which of them deserves the name of quarrelsome. Deign to hold
me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

III. To the Lord Bishop Leontius

A. D. 472

[1] You have not yet seen fit to encourage my first steps in our sacred
profession, or to pour the rain of heavenly doctrine on the drought of my
worldly ignorance; but I do not so far forget myself as to expect an equipoise
in the courtesies which we render to each other. I am of small account; you are
easily above me in years, in seniority, in the precedence enjoyed by your see,1
in your wide learning, in the treasure of your righteousness; if I expected you
to notice every letter, I should deserve no notice at all. [2] I therefore make
no imputation against your silence; these lines merely introduce the bearer, and
give me the excuse for sending them. If on this journey he can only have the
assurance of your prompt favour, a broad harbour of safety will be open to his
affairs. His business relates to a will. He does not know the importance of his
own documents; the object of his expedition is to get the advice of skilled
counsel. He will think it the next best thing to winning his case if it is
proved to be lost on its merits; his one desire is to avoid the charge of
negligence, and of not sufficiently |84 protecting family interests. My request
on his behalf is simply this, that if the lawyers will not deign to give him
proper advice, you should exert the authority of your sacred office1 to extract
it from them without delay. Deign to keep me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

IV. To the Lord Bishop Lupus c. A. D. 472

[1] I RENDER you the observance always due to the incomparable eminence of your
apostolic life, still always due, however regularly paid. But I have a further
object, to commend to your notice a long-standing trouble of the bearers, in
whose case I have recently become interested. They have journeyed a great
distance into Auvergne at this unfavourable season, and the journey has been
undertaken in vain. A female relative of theirs was carried off during a raid of
the Vargi,2 as the local bandits are styled. They received trustworthy
information, and following an old but reliable clue, discovered that some years
ago she had been brought here before being removed elsewhere. [2] As a matter of
fact, the unfortunate woman had been sold in open market before their arrival,
and is now actually under the roof and the control of my man of affairs. A
certain Prudens, rumoured to be now resident in Troyes, had attested the
contract for the vendors, whose names are unknown to us; his signature is to be
seen on the deed of purchase as that of a suitable witness of the transaction.
By the fortunate fact of your presence, you |85 will be able, if you think fit,
to see the parties confronted, and use your personal influence to investigate
the whole course of the outrage. I gather from what the bearers say, that the
offence is aggravated by the death of a man upon the road as a sequel to the
abduction. [3] But as the aggrieved parties who wish to bring this scandalous
affair to light are anxious for the remedy of your judgement and for your
neighbourly aid, it seems to me that it would no less become your character than
your position to bring about an equitable arrangement, thus affording the one
side some comfort in affliction, and saving the other from an impending danger.
Such a qualified decision would be most beneficial to all concerned; it would
diminish the misery of one party and the guilt of the other, while it would give
both of them a greater feeling of security. Otherwise, in regions and times like
these of ours, the last state of the dispute may well prove no better than the
beginning. Deign to keep me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

V. To the Lord Bishop Theoplastus (No indication of date)

WHOEVER bears a letter of introduction from me to you unconsciously does my
business; by conveying my dutiful regards at the proper moment, he renders me a
service at least as great as that which he considers himself to receive. This is
the case with the venerable Donidius, who is deservedly to be numbered among the
|86 most admirable of mankind. I now recommend to you his client and servants,
who have undertaken this journey for the benefit of their patron and master.
Pray take the weary travellers under your protection; do all you can to help
them by your support, your hospitality, and your intercession. And if our good
friend, through inexperience and unfamiliarity with public affairs, should in
any matter betray his inefficiency, consider the cause of an absent man, rather
than the personality of his representative. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my
Lord Bishop.

VI. To the Lord Bishop Eutropius

A. D. 472

[1] As soon as I learned that the treaty-breaking nation 1 had withdrawn within
its borders, and that travellers were in no further danger of insidious attack,
I held it a disgrace to delay the presentation of my respects, for fear your
friendship might grow rusty from my neglect, like a sword which is not properly
kept bright. My sole object in sending this letter is to satisfy my anxiety as
to your health and the success of your affairs; it is my hope that neither the
distance which divides us nor the long intervals between our meetings may ever
diminish the friendship once accorded me; it is the homes of men which the
Creator confines within narrow limits, not their mutual affections. [2] And now
I hope your Beatitude will feed my starving ignorance with sharp |87 and
salutary discourse; your exhortations have a way of causing mystic increase and
spiritual growth in the emaciated inward man. Deign to hold me in your
remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

VII. To the Lord Bishop Fonteius

A. D. 472

[1] IF a previous friendship between the older members of two families helps the
younger in their turn to know each other better, then indeed by virtue of such
preexisting ties I enjoy a great advantage in now seeking your Lordship's more
intimate acquaintance. I well remember how powerful a patron in Christ you
always were to my family, so that I regard myself less as making a new
acquaintance, than as renewing an old one. I will add that the title of bishop
imposed on my extreme unworthiness1 compels me to seek the covert of your
intercession, that the gaping wounds of a seared conscience may at least be
closed by your healing prayers. [2] While, therefore, I commend to you myself
and those who are dear to me, at the same time apologizing for not writing
sooner, I implore you to sustain my first steps as a novice in this office by
those availing supplications for which you are so widely renowned. So shall I
owe all to your mediation, if the immutable mercy of God deign but to change the
wickedness of this heart of mine. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord
Bishop. |88

VIII. To the Lord Bishop Graecus c. A. D. 472

[1] THE bearer of this is one who ekes out a bare living by commerce; he gains
no profit or other advantage from any handicraft or employment, nor does he make
anything from the cultivation of land. He has come to be favourably known as an
agent and trader; but a good name is all he gets; the pecuniary advantage goes
to others. Though his means are small, the general confidence in him is so great
that if he wants to raise money for the purchase of a cargo, people are
confiding enough to trust him on no greater security than their experience of
his good faith. It is true that I only learned these facts while actually
writing these lines, but that does not make me hesitate to assert them with some
assurance, for the sources of the information are common acquaintances of his
and mine. I recommend him to you, then, on the ground of his youth and the
arduous life he has led. As his name is now entered in the roll as Reader, you
will see that I have had to give him in addition to an ordinary introduction as
citizen, a canonical letter1 as a clerk. I think I am right in looking forward
to his brilliant success as a merchant if he is quick to take advantage of your
patronage; but he must definitely prefer the fount of commerce to the icy
springs of a municipal career.* Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.
|89

* The passage is corrupt.

IX. To the Lord Bishop Lupus c. A. D. 472

[1] THE bearer Gallus, made an honest man by returning at once to his wife as he
was bidden, conveys my greeting in this letter, and by doing so proves the
efficacy of your own. For when I opened your missive in his presence, he was
seized with instant compunction, and saw in it not so much a communication for
me as a condemnation of himself. The result was that he immediately promised to
go back, made his preparations at once, and was off without delay. At sight of
so rapid a repentance, I could not confine myself altogether to rebuke; I gave
him a few words of consolation, for so spontaneous an amendment is the next best
thing to unbroken innocence. [2] A man with a perfect conscience could hardly
have done more, always supposing him to keep within the range of your
admonishment; for even such words of gentle censure as I read out to him are in
themselves a most powerful incentive to reform. What, indeed, could be more
valuable than a reprimand aiding the sick mind to discover within itself a
remedy which the sharp reproach of others could never find? [3] It remains for
me to ask a place in those frequent prayers by which you so mightily triumph
over every kind of vice; that as the Wise Men of the Gospel returned to their
own country by a different way, so by a new way of life you may lead me home to
the land of the blessed. I had almost forgotten to mention the point which I |90
could least have afforded to omit. Convey my thanks to the respected Innocentius
for so promptly obeying your injunctions. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my
Lord Bishop.

X. To the Lord Bishop Censorius*

A.D. 473 THE bearer is one privileged to hold the rank of deacon. Flying with
his family from the whirlwind of the Gothic devastations, he was carried, as it
were by the sheer momentum of his flight, into your territory. Immigrant and
destitute as he was, he hurriedly sowed a half-tilled plot on Church lands in
your holiness's diocese, and now begs permission to take the whole harvest for
himself. The poor fellow is a stranger whose means are as narrow as his outlook;
but if you treat him with the indulgence often granted to the humbler among the
faithful, that is, if you remit him the glebe dues,1 he will think he has done
as well as if he were yet at work upon his native soil. If only you show him the
liberality usually accorded to the faithful, and abandon your strictly lawful
claim on his most exiguous crop, he will be full of gratitude, and set off home
royally furnished for the road. Should you take the opportunity of his return to
send me one of your usual gracious letters, all the brethren, and I myself, will
regard it almost as a letter fallen from heaven. Deign to hold me in
remembrance, my Lord Bishop. |91

* Translated by Hodgkin, ii. 371.

XI. To the Lord Bishop Eleutherius c. A.D. 472

[1] I HEREWITH commend a Jew 1 to you, not because I approve a sect pernicious
to those involved in its toils, but because we ought to regard none of that
creed as wholly lost so long as life remains to them. For while there is any
possibility of converting them, there is always a hope of their redemption. [2]
The nature of his business will be best explained by himself when admitted to
your presence; for it would be imprudent to allow discursive talk to exceed the
brevity proper to a letter. In the transactions and the disputes of this present
world, a Jew has often as good a cause as any one; however much you may attack
his heresy, you can fairly defend him as a man. Deign to hold us in remembrance,
my Lord Bishop.

XII. To the Lord Bishop Patiens*

A.D. 474

[1] ONE man deems happiness to consist in one thing, a second in another;2 my
own belief is that he lives most to his own advantage who lives for others, and
does heaven's work on earth by pitying the poverty and misfortune of the
faithful. You may wonder at what I aim in these remarks. At yourself, most
blessed father, for my sentiments refer especially to you, |92 who are not
content to succour only the distress which lies within your cognizance, but push
your inquiries to the very frontiers of Gaul, and without respect of persons,
consider each case of want upon its merits. [2] Does poverty or infirmity
prevent a man from making his way to you in person? He loses nothing; your free
hand anticipates the needs of those whose feet are unable to bring them to you.
Your watchful eye ranges over other provinces than your own; the spreading tide
of your benevolence bears consolation to the straitened, however far away. And
so it happens that you often wipe tears from eyes which you have never seen,
because the reserve of the absent touches you no less than the plaints of those
near at hand. [3] I say nothing of your daily labour to relieve the need of your
impoverished fellow countrymen, of your unceasing vigils, your prayers, your
charity. I pass over the tact with which you combine the hospitable and the
ascetic virtues, so that the king1 is never tired of praising your breakfasts
and the queen your fasts. I omit your embellishment of the church committed to
your care until the spectator hardly knows which to admire most, the new fabric
which you erect, or the old which you restore. [4] I do not mention the churches
that rise in so many districts under your auspices, or the rich additions to
their ornaments. I dismiss the fact that under your administration the faithful
are increased and multiplied, while heretics alone diminish. I shall not tell
how your apostolic chase for souls involves the wild Photinians2 in the
spiritual mesh of homily; or how barbarians once converted by your eloquence
pursue your track until, like a thrice-fortunate fisher of men, you |93 draw
them up at last out of the profound gulfs of error. [5] It may be true that some
of these good deeds are not peculiar to you, and are shared by colleagues; but
there is one which is yours, as lawyers say, as a first charge, and which even
your modesty cannot deny; it is this, that when the Gothic ravages were over,
and the crops were all destroyed by fire, you distributed corn to the destitute
throughout all the ruined land of Gaul at your own expense, though it would have
been relief enough to our starving peoples if the grain had come to them, not as
a free gift, but by the usual paths of commerce. We saw the roads encumbered
with your grain-carts. Along the Saône and Rhone we saw more than one granary
which you had entirely filled. [6] The legends of the heathen are eclipsed;
Triptolemus must yield his pride of place, whom his fatherland of Greece deified
for his discovery of corn; Greece, famed for her architects, her sculptors and
her artists, who consecrated temples, and fashioned statues, and painted
effigies in his honour. A doubtful story fables that this son of Ceres came
wandering among peoples savage and acorn-fed, and that from two ships, to which
poetry later assigned the form of dragons, he distributed the unknown seed. But
you brought supplies from either Mediterranean shore, and, if need were, you
would have sought them among the cities of the Tyrrhenian sea; your granaries
filled not two paltry ships, but the basins of two great rivers. [7] If you
disapprove, as unsuited to your profession, a comparison drawn from the Achaean
superstition of Eleusis, I will recall instead the historic prescience of the
patriarch Joseph, who by his foresight provided a remedy for the famine which
had to follow the seven lean years; I omit |94 for the moment his mystic and
typical significance.1 But I hold that man morally as great, who copes with a
similar disaster without any warning in advance. [8] I cannot exactly tell the
sum of gratitude which all the people owe you, inhabitants of Arles and Riez,
Avignon, Orange, Viviers,2 Valence, and Trois Châteaux 3; it is beyond my power
to count the total thanks of men who were fed without having to count out a
penny. But for the city of Clermont I can speak, and in its name I give you
endless thanks; all the more, that your help had no obvious inducement; we did
not belong to your province; no convenient waterway led to us, we had no money
to offer. [9] Measureless gratitude I give you on their behalf; they owe it to
the abundant largess of your grain that they have now their own sufficiency once
more. If now I have properly fulfilled the duty entrusted to me, I will cease to
be the mouthpiece of others, and speak out of my own knowledge. I would have you
know that your glory travels over all Aquitaine; all pray for your welfare,
their hearts go out to you in love and praise, in longing and loyal devotion. In
these evil times you have proved yourself a good priest, a good father, and as
good as a good year to men who would have deemed it worth while to risk
starvation if there had been no other means of discovering the measure of your
generosity. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

* Partly translated by Fertig, Part ii, p. 24.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in
the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 8: BOOK 7
========================================================================

Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) vol. 2. pp. 95-137 ; Book
VII

BOOK VII

I. To the Lord Bishop Mamertus

A.D. 474

[1] RUMOUR has it that the Goths have occupied Roman soil; our unhappy Auvergne
is always their gateway on every such incursion. It is our fate to furnish fuel
to the fire of a peculiar hatred, for, by Christ's aid, we are the sole obstacle
to the fulfilment of their ambition to extend their frontiers to the Rhone, and
so hold all the country between that river, the Atlantic, and the Loire. Their
menacing power has long pressed us hard; it has already swallowed up whole
tracts of territory round us, and threatens to swallow more. [2] We mean to
resist with spirit, though we know our peril and the risks which we incur. But
our trust is not in our poor walls impaired by fire, or in our rotting
palisades, or in our ramparts worn by the breasts of the sentries, as they lean
on them in continual watch. Our only present help we find in those Rogations1
which you introduced; and this is the reason why the people of Clermont refuse
to recede, though terrors surge about them on every side. By inauguration and
institution of these prayers we are already new initiates; and if so far we have
effected less than you have, our hearts are affected equally with yours. [3] For
it is not unknown to us by what portents and |96 alarms the city entrusted to
you by God was laid desolate at the time when first you ordained this form of
prayer. Now it was earthquake, shattering the outer palace walls with frequent
shocks; now fire, piling mounds of glowing ash upon proud houses fallen in ruin;
now, amazing spectacle! wild deer grown ominously tame, making their lairs in
the very forum. You saw the city being emptied of its inhabitants, rich and poor
taking to flight. But you resorted in our latter day to the example shown of old
in Nineveh, that you at least might not discredit the divine warning by the
spectacle of your despair. [4] And, indeed, you of all men had been least
justified in distrusting the providence of God, after the proof of it vouchsafed
to your own virtues. Once, in a sudden conflagration, your faith burned stronger
than the flames. In full sight of the trembling crowd, you stood forth all alone
to stay them, and lo! the fire leapt back before you, a sinuous beaten fugitive.
It was miracle, a formidable thing, unseen before and unexampled; the element
which naturally shrinks from nothing, retired in awe at your approach. [5] You
therefore first enjoined a fast upon a few members of our sacred order,
denouncing gross offences, announcing punishment, promising relief. You made it
clear that if the penalty of sin was nigh, so also was the pardon; you
proclaimed that by frequent prayer the menace of coming desolation might be
removed. You taught that it was by water of tears rather than water of rivers
that the obstinate and raging fire could best be extinguished, and by firm faith
the threatening shock of earthquake stayed. [6] The multitude of the lowly
forthwith followed your counsel, and this |97 influenced persons of higher rank,
who had not scrupled to abandon the town, and now were not ashamed to return to
it. By this devotion God was appeased, who sees into all hearts; your fervent
prayers were counted to you for salvation; they became an ensample for your
fellow citizens, and a defence about you all, for after those days there were
neither portents to alarm, nor visitations to bring disaster.

We of Clermont know that all these ills befell your people of Vienne before the Rogations, and have not befallen them since; and therefore it is that we are eager to follow the lead of so holy a guide, beseeching your Beatitude from your own pious lips to give us the advocacy of those prayers now known to us by the examples which you have transmitted.
[7] Since the Confessor Ambrose discovered the remains of Gervasius and Protasius, it has been granted to you alone in the West to translate the relics of two martyrs----all the holy body of Ferreolus, and the head of our martyr Julian,, which once the executioner's gory hand brought to the raging persecutor from the place of testimony.1 It is only fair, then, in compensation for the loss of this hallowed relic, that some part of your patronage should come to us from Vienne, since a part of our patronal saint has migrated thither. Deign to hold us in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.
|98

II. To the Lord Bishop Graecus* c. A. D. 472

[1] You overwhelm me, most consummate of all bishops, by the praises showered on
any unpolished lines which I happen to write. Short though my first letter was,
I wish I could acquit myself of blame for having told you a whole string of
things irreconcilable with fact; the truth is that a crafty traveller imposed
upon my innocence.1 Ostensibly a trader, he persuaded me to give him a canonical
letter 2 as Reader; and this ought certainly to have contained some statement of
his indebtedness to others. For it appeared, on subsequent inquiry, that by the
generosity of the people of Marseilles, he set out better equipped than one so
moderately favoured in birth and fortune had reason to expect. [2] It makes
quite a good story, if I only wielded a pen able to do justice to its humours.
But as you have asked me for a long and diverting letter, permit me to relate
the manner in which this messenger of ours exploited the hospitality of your
city. It shall be told in a light vein, but I shall be careful to say nothing to
offend the severity of your ears. You will see that on this occasion I really do
know the man whom I introduce to your notice for the second time. Usage permits
a writer to find his subject-matter wherever he can; why, then, should I go far
afield, when the man who is to bear my letter can himself provide the theme of
it? |99

[3] The bearer, then, is a native of Clermont, born of humble but free parents,
people who made no pretence of social standing, but were above all fear of
degradation to the servile state, and satisfied with means, moderate indeed, but
unencumbered and amply sufficient for their needs; it was a family which had
chiefly held offices under the Church, and had not entered the public service.
The father was a most estimable man, but not free-handed with his children; he
preferred to serve his son's advantage, instead of ensuring him pleasant times
in his youth. The result was, that the prisoner escaped to you a little too
lightly equipped; and this was no small impediment at the outset of his
adventure, for a light purse is the heaviest encumbrance on a journey. [4]
Nevertheless he made his first entry into your city under the most favourable
auspices. Your predecessor St.Eustachius received him with a twofold blessing in
word and deed. He wanted a lodging; one was forthcoming without difficulty on
the prelate's commendation. He rented the rooms in due form, entering on his
tenancy without delay, and at once set about making the acquaintance of his
neighbours by saluting them as often as possible and being civilly greeted in
return. He treated all as befitted their several ages; respectful to the old, he
was always obliging those of his own years. [5] He was consistently temperate
and moral, showing qualities as admirable as they are rare at his time of life.
He was assiduous in paying court to your chief personages, and even to the Count
of the city himself; alive to every chance, he began by receiving nods, went on
to acquaintance, and ended in intimacy. By this systematic cultivation of
important friendships, he |100 rapidly got on in the world; the best people
competed for his company. Every one wished him well; there were plenty to offer
him good advice. Private individuals made him presents, officials helped him by
their influence. In short, his prospects and his resources rose by leaps and
bounds. [6] It chanced that near the house where he lodged there resided a lady
whose disposition and income were all that he could have desired; she had a
daughter, not quite marriageable, but no longer a child. He began to attract the
girl by pleasant greetings, and by giving her (as, at her age, he quite properly
could) the various trifles and trinkets which delight a maiden's fancy; by such
light links he succeeded in closely attaching her heart to his own. [7] Time
passed; she reached the age of marriage. You already guess what happened. This
young man, without visible relations or substance, a foreigner, a minor who had
left home without his father's leave or knowledge, demands the hand of a girl
equal to himself in birth, and superior in fortune. He demands, and, what is
more, he obtains; he is recognized as suitor. For the bishop actively supported
his Reader, and the Count encouraged his client; the future mother-in-law did
not trouble to investigate his means; the bride approved his person. The
marriage contract was executed, and some little suburban plot or other at
Clermont was put into settlement and read out with much theatrical parade. [8]
This legal trick and solemn swindle once over, the pauper lover carried off the
wealthy bride. He promptly went into all his wife's father's affairs, and got
together some nice little pickings for himself, aided all through the imposture
by |101 the credulity of his easy-going and free-handed mother-in-law; then, and
not till then, this incomparable charlatan sounds the retreat and vanishes into
Auvergne. After he had gone, the mother thought of bringing an action against
him for the absurd exaggerations in the contract. But it was rather late for her
to begin lamenting the exiguity of his settlement, when she was already
rejoicing at the prospect of a wealth of little grandchildren. It was with the
object of appeasing her that our Hippolytus went to Marseilles when he brought
you my first letter of introduction.

[9] That is the story of this accomplished young man, as good in its way as any
out of Attic Comedy or Milesian fable. Excuse the excessive length of my letter;
I have dwelt upon every detail that you might be fully informed in regard to the
person whom your generosity has made a citizen of your town; and besides, one
naturally has a kindly feeling for those in whom one has taken active interest.
You will prove yourself in everything the worthy successor of Eustachius if you
expend upon his clients the personal interest he would like to have been able to
bequeath them, as you have already paid his relations the legacies mentioned in
his will.

[10] And now I have obeyed your commands to the full, and talked to the limit of
my obligation; remember that one who imposes on a man of small descriptive
powers a subject calling for great detail, must not complain if the response
betrays the gossip rather than the skilled narrator. Deign to hold me in
remembrance, my Lord Bishop. |102

* The greater part translated by Hodgkin, ii. 328-30. Cf. VI, viii above,

III. To the Lord Bishop Megethius

After A.D. 472

[1] I HAVE considered long and carefully whether I ought to send you those short
treatises of mine,1 for which you ask. It required thought, though my
affectionate desire to please you strongly prompted me at once to comply; but at
last I have decided in your favour, and forward what you want. Is not this a
great proof of docility? great indeed; but of impudence a yet greater. It is
almost as bad as bringing water to a river, or wood to a forest; as audacious as
offering a pencil to Apelles, a chisel to Phidias, or a mallet to Polyclitus.
[2] I beg you, therefore, venerable friend, you whose sanctity is only equalled
by your eloquence, to pardon the presumption which submits to your critical
judgement these products of an irrepressible pen. I am always writing, though I
publish very little; much as a dog will keep on snarling, though he may never
break into an open bark. Deign to keep me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

IV. To the Lord Bishop Fonteius

After A.D. 472

[1] I AM getting quite afraid of introducing people to you, for whereas I only
give them words, you give them presents, as if it were not already the height of
privilege for a man to leave my sinful company for a conversation |103 so holy
as yours. I cite in evidence my friend Vindicius, who is so laden with your
generous gifts that he has returned by slower stages than he went, proclaiming
everywhere that high as your repute may be, supreme as your position, your true
title to praise lies less in your high office than in the voluntary respect of
men. [2] He dilates upon your piety, upon the sweetness and affable charm of a
familiarity never too familiar; he declares that your episcopal dignity in no
way suffers, and that in you the priestly character, like a tall tree, may bend
but is never broken. After hearing all these eulogies I shall never be quite
happy until God suffers me to clasp in my close presumptuous embrace a heart so
wholly stayed upon Him. [3] For I will make you a small confession. I can admire
a man of an austere nature, and because I am very conscious of my own weakness
can even tolerate harsh treatment from him; but I feel that one only submits to
people of such temperament, one cannot really like them. In my opinion, the ml a
who is always stern to those about him had best be very sure that his conscience
is good enough to justify his pride; and for myself, I prefer to take as my
model one who knows how to attract the devotion even of those who live leagues
away. [4] Great as your other good deeds have been, nothing that I have heard
delights me more than the news that the stream of your episcopal favour flows,
with your unceasing prayers, towards the true lords of my heart, Simplicius and
Apollinaris. If this be true, I pray that your kind deeds may never have an end;
if false, that they may have immediate beginning. I commend the bearer to your
notice. A troublesome business has |104 arisen for him at Vaison,1 which the
weight of your revered authority can doubtless bring to a favourable issue.
Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

V. To the Lord Bishop Agroeclus

A. D. 472

[1] A PUBLIC resolution of the citizens has called me to Bourges. The reason for
the summons is the tottering condition of the Church, which has just been
widowed of her bishop; members of both orders have been intriguing for the
vacant see, just as if some bugle had sounded for the fray. The people are
excited, and divided into factions; while only a few are ready to propose
others, there are many who do not so much propose as impose themselves. To a man
determined, as far as in him lies, to obey God and keep fast the truth,
everything here seems frivolous, unstable, and sophisticated; one might say that
the only genuine thing left is impudence. [2] You may think these laments
exaggerated; but I scarcely hesitate to affirm that there are many here who
harbour thoughts so rash and ruinous that they are ready to offer ready money
for this holy see and all its dignity; the sale might before now have been
effected in open market if the greed of the would-be purchasers had found
response in vendors equal in audacity. I entreat you, therefore, to crown my
hopes by giving me the honour of your presence under the same roof, and lending
my diffidence, my |105 embarrassment, and my inexperience the shelter of your
high protection. [3] At a time of such perplexity, do not refuse your help in
healing the dissensions of the people of Aquitaine; it is true that you are at
the head of the Sénonais, but that is of small consequence; though we live in
different provinces, we are bound by a single religious bond. Besides, Clermont
is the last of all the cities in Aquitanica Prima 1 which the fortune of war has
left to Rome; the number of provincial bishops is therefore inadequate to the
election of a new prelate at Bourges, unless we have the support of the
metropolitans. [4] Rest assured that I have in no way encroached on your
prerogatives. As yet I have neither nominated, summoned, nor preferred a
candidate; I have left the matter absolutely intact for your decision. All that
I take upon myself is to invite you hither, to await your good pleasure, to
acquiesce in your opinion, and when the throne is filled, to render the proper
deference to your commands. 5. I do not for a moment suspect that any bad
adviser will dissuade you from acceding to this request; but should that prove
to be the case, you will hardly acquit yourself of blame, though it is easy to
find reasonable excuses for not undertaking so long a journey. On the other
hand, your coming will prove that though there may be limits to your diocese,
your brotherly love is without bounds. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord
Bishop. |106

VI. To the Lord Bishop Basilius

A.D. 472-3

[1] GOD has permitted us to give this generation a new example of what old friendship means; ours indeed is an attachment of long duration, and equal strength upon both sides. But our respective positions are by no means equal: you are the patron and I the client; perhaps, indeed, I presume too far in saying even so much. For so great is my unworthiness, that even the proven efficacy of your intercession can hardly
make good my backsliding. [2] Because you are doubly my lord and master, firstly as my protector, secondly as my friend; because I so well remember (was I not by?) the flow of your eloquence, springing from that fervent zeal of yours, when you pierced with the point of your spiritual testimonies Modaharius the Goth as he brandished the darts of Arian heresy against you; because of all this, I need fear no charge of disrespect towards other pontiffs when I pour into your ears my grief at the ravages of the great wolf of our times, who ranges about the ecclesiastical fold battening upon lost souls, and biting right and left by
stealth and undetected. [3] For that old enemy begins by threatening the shepherds' throats, knowing it the best way to ensure his triumph over the bleating and abandoned sheep. I am not so far oblivious of my own career as to ignore that I am one whose conscience has yet to be washed clean by many tears; but by God's grace my foulness shall at last be cleared away
|107
with the mystic rake of your intercession. But since consideration for the public safety must come before everything, even a man's sense of his own unworthiness, I shall not hesitate to proclaim the cause of truth, disregarding all insinuations about my vanity, or doubts as to the sincerity of my faith.
[4] Neither a saint like you can fitly here discuss, nor a sinner like myself indict, the action of Euric 1 the Gothic king in breaking and bearing down an ancient treaty to defend, or rather extend by armed force the frontiers of his kingdom. It is the rule here below, for Dives to be clothed in purple and fine linen, and for Lazarus to bear the lash of sores and poverty. So long as we walk in this allegoric land of Egypt, it is the rule that Pharaoh shall go with a diadem on his head, and the Israelite with the carrier's basket. It is the rule that while we are burned in the furnace of this symbolic Babylon we must sigh and groan like Jeremiah for the spiritual Jerusalem, while Assur thunders in his royal pomp and treads the Holy of Holies beneath his feet.
[5] Yet when I compare the transient joys of this world with those which are to come, I find it easier to endure calamities which no mortal may escape. For, firstly, when I consider my own demerits, all possible troubles seem lighter than those which I deserve; and then know well that the best of cures for the inward man is for the outward man to be threshed by the flails of suffering.
[6] I must confess that formidable as the mighty Goth may be, I dread him less as the assailant of our walls than as the subverter of our Christian laws. They say that the mere mention of the name of Catholic so embitters his countenance and heart
|108
that one might take him for the chief priest of his Arian sect rather than for the monarch of his nation. Omnipotent in arms, keen-witted, and in the full vigour of life, he yet makes this single mistake----he attributes his success in his designs and enterprises to the orthodoxy of his belief, whereas the real cause lies
in mere earthly fortune. [7] For these reasons I would have you consider the secret malady of the Catholic Church that you may hasten to apply an open remedy. Bordeaux, Périgueux, Rodez, Limoges, Javols, Eauze, Bazas, Comminges, Auch, and many another city are all like bodies which have lost their heads through the death of their respective bishops. No successors have been appointed to fill their places, and maintain the ministry in the lower orders of the Church; the boundaries of spiritual desolation are extended far and wide. Every day the ruin spreads by the death of more fathers in God; so pitiful is her state, that the very heresiarchs of former times, to say nothing of contemporary heretics, might well have looked with pity on peoples orphaned of their pontiffs and oppressed
by desperation at this catastrophe of their faith. [8] Diocese and parish lie waste without ministers. You may see the rotten roofs of churches fallen in, the doors unhinged and blocked by growing brambles.1 More grievous still, you may see the cattle not only lying in the half-ruined porticoes, but grazing beside altars green with weeds. And this desolation is not found in country parishes alone; even the congregations of
urban churches begin to fall away. [9] What comfort remains to the faithful, when not only the teaching of the clergy perishes, but their very memory
|109 is lost out of mind? When a priest departs this life, not merely the holder of the sacred office dies, but the office itself dies with him, unless with his failing breath he gives his blessing to a successor.1 What hope remains when the term of a man's life implies the end of religion in his parish? If you examine more closely the ills of the body spiritual, you will soon perceive that for every bishop snatched from our midst, the faith of a population is imperilled. I need not mention your colleagues Crocus and Simplicius, removed alike from their thrones and suffering a common exile, if different punishments. For one of them laments that he cannot see whither he is to return; the other that he sees only too clearly where he is to return no more.
[10] You for your part have about you the most holy bishops Faustus, Leontius, and Graecus, environed by the city, your order and their fraternal love. To you these miserable treaties are submitted, the pacts and agreements of two kingdoms pass through your hands.2 Do your best, as far as the royal condescension suffers you, to obtain for our bishops the right of ordination in those parts of Gaul now included within the Gothic boundaries, that if we cannot keep them by treaty for the Roman State, we may at least hold them by religion for the Roman Church. Deign to bear me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.
|110

VII. To the Lord Bishop Graecus*

A.D. 474-5

[1] HERE is Amantius 1, the usual bearer of my trifles; off once more to his
Marseilles, to bring home a little profit out of the city, if he is fortunate in
his business at the port. I could use the opportunity of his journey to gossip
gaily on, if a mind that bears a load of sorrow could at the same time think of
cheerful things. For the state of our unhappy region is miserable indeed. Every
one declares that things were better in war-time than they are now after peace
has been concluded. [2] Our enslavement was made the price of security for a
third party; the enslavement, ah! the shame of it! of those Arvernians who by
old tradition claimed brotherhood with Latium and descent from the sons of
Troy;2 who in our own time stood forth alone to stay the advance of the common
enemy; who even when closely beset so little feared the Goth that they sallied
out against his leaguer, and put the fear of their valour into his heart.3 These
are the men whose common soldiers were as good as captains, but who never reaped
the benefit of their victories: that was handed over for your consolation, while
all the crushing burden of defeat they had to bear themselves. These are the
patriots who did not fear to bring to justice the infamous Seronatus4, betrayer
of imperial provinces to the barbarian, while the State for which they risked
|111so much had hardly the courage on his conviction to carry out the capital
sentence. [3] And this is to be our reward for braving destitution, fire, sword,
and pestilence, for fleshing our swords in the enemy's blood and going ourselves
starved into battle. This, then, is the famous peace1 we dreamed of, when we
tore the grass from the crannies in the walls to eat; when in our ignorance we
often by mistake ate poisonous weeds, indiscriminately plucking them with livid
hands of starvation, hardly less green than they. For all these proofs of our
devotion, it would seem that we are to be made a sacrifice. [4] If it be so, may
you live to blush for a peace without either honour or advantage. For you are
the channel through which negotiations are conducted. When the king is absent,
you not only see the terms of peace, but new proposals are brought before you. I
ask your pardon for telling you hard truths; my distress must take all colour of
abuse from what I say. You think too little of the general good; when you meet
in council, you are less concerned to relieve public perils than to advance
private fortunes. By the long repetition of such acts you begin to be regarded
as the last instead of the first among your fellow provincials.2 [5] But how
long are these feats of yours to last? Our ancestors will cease to glory in the
name of Rome if they have no longer descendants to bear their memory. Oh, break
this infamous peace at any cost; there are pretexts enough to your hand. We are
ready, if needs must, to continue the struggle and to undergo more sieges and
starvations. But if we are to be betrayed, we whom force failed to conquer, we
shall know beyond |112 a doubt that a barbarous and cowardly transaction was
inspired by you.

[6] But it little avails to give the rein to passionate sorrow; you must make
allowance for us in our affliction, nor too nicely weigh the language of
despair. The other conquered regions have only servitude to expect; Auvergne
must prepare for punishment. If you can hold out no help in our extremity, seek
to obtain of Heaven by your unceasing prayers that though our liberty be doomed,
our race at least may live. Provide land for the exile, prepare a ransom for the
captive, make provision for the emigrant. If our own walls must offer an open
breach to the enemy, let yours be never shut against your friends. Deign to hold
me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

* Partly translated by Fertig, Part ii, p. 16.

VIII. To the Lord Bishop Euphronius

A. D. 472

[1] I AM now held in the bonds of my clerical duty, but I should regard my
undistinguished position as a veritable blessing if only the walls of our cities
were as near as the borders of their territories. If that might only be, I
should consult your holiness 1 on all things small and great; my activities
would flow like a placid and untroubled stream, could they but rise from your
converse as from a life-giving spring. They should never know the froth of vain
conceit, or the turbid course of pride, or the muddiness of a bad conscience, or
the falls of headstrong youth; if defilement and corruption were found in them,
they should |113 be washed clean by the clear vein of your counsel. [2] But
alas! the distance that divides us prevents the fulfilment of these desires; I
therefore beg you to send a representative to advise on a perplexing question
which has arisen here. The inhabitants of Bourges demand the consecration of the
admirable Simplicius as their bishop; I want your decision in the matter. Your
consideration for me, and your authority over others, are such that you need
never press your views; you have simply to indicate your will, which is sure to
coincide with justice. [3] I must tell you that of Simplicius all good is
spoken, and by the best men in the city. At first I was inclined to view this
testimony with little favour; it seemed to me to suggest favouritism. But when I
observed that his rivals could find nothing better to do than to hold their
tongues, especially those of the Arian persuasion; when I saw that no
irregularity could be alleged to his discredit, though he is only a candidate
and not yet in orders, I came to the conclusion that a man against whom the bad
citizen could say nothing and on whose behalf the good could never say enough
must be regarded as almost a perfect character. [4] But how foolish I am to make
these comments, as if I were giving advice in place of asking it! The clergy
will act in accordance with the decision contained in your letter; the people
will acclaim it in the same spirit. We are not altogether irrational; we should
not have decided to secure, if possible, your present aid, or if not, your
advice, unless we had made up our minds to follow your counsel in all things.
Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop. |114

IX. To the Lord Bishop Perpetuus*

A. D. 472

[1] YOUR ardour for religious books has given you a most intimate acquaintance
with everything written for the Catholic faith, whether by the Canonical authors
or by the controversialists. You are even curious about productions unworthy the
honour of your attention; for instance, you now wish me to send a copy of my
public address delivered in the church at Bourges, an oration without the
orthodox rhetorical divisions, or emphasis, or figures of speech to lend it a
proper style and dignity. [2] It has none of the qualities of a finished
eloquence; the weight of historical allusion, the enrichment of poetical
quotation, the sparkling points of dialectic had all to be abandoned. I was
distracted by the rancorous intrigues of the various factions; my mission
occupied all my time; the abuses before my eyes were the one and only subject
for my pen. So great was the company of the competitors, that two benches would
not have held the candidates for the single vacant throne. And every one of
these was as pleased with himself as he was critical of all his rivals. [3] If
the people had not grown reasonable, and subordinated their judgement to that of
the bishops, there would have been little chance of effecting anything. As it
was, one saw small groups of priests whispering together in corners, though not
a word was uttered |115 openly, most of them being just as afraid of their own
order as of every other. The result was that every one was suspicious of his
neighbour; all were induced to hear our proposals without too much difficulty,
and afterwards to explain them in their turn to others.

[4] Here, then, I append the address. It was written in two vigils of a single
summer night, under no eyes but those of Christ; my haste is, I fear, too
obvious from internal evidence for you to need my assurance that it existed.

ADDRESS.*

[5] Secular history relates, beloved brethren, that a certain philosopher 1 used
to teach new pupils the discipline of keeping silence before the art of
speaking. They had to sit through five mute years listening to the disputations
of their fellow students echoing all round them, and not even the quickest
brains were allowed to anticipate the proper hour of recognition. When, after
that long repression these pupils spoke at last, the audience could not repress
applause; for until the mind is steeped with knowledge there is less credit in
displaying what you know than in holding your peace on things of which you are
ignorant. [6] Far other is the position of the indifferent orator who now
addresses you. While he yet walked among lamentable pitfalls and
wallowing-places of sin, the heavy charge of the sacred calling was laid upon
him; and without ever having himself rendered a disciple's duty to a master of
repute, he has himself to play the teacher of other men. That task is in itself
impossible enough; it is made heavier by the diffidence |116 which I feel at
having been selected by your decretal letter1 to choose you a bishop, while all
the time I see before me a saintly prelate 2 worthy of the highest of pontifical
thrones, one who stands at the head of his province, and is my superior in
everything, in experience, in training, in eloquence, in prestige, in seniority,
and in years. Speaking thus as a junior and provincial bishop, before one
metropolitan on the election of another, I am doubly embarrassed by my lack of
qualification, and by the odium of presumption which I may well incur. [7] The
responsibility, however, rests on you, since you have been rash enough to impose
upon one deficient in wisdom the task of finding you, with God's aid, a bishop
wiser than himself, and combining in a single person a host of different
virtues: you must be well aware that honourable though the task may be, it is
yet more clearly onerous. I would have you in the first instance reflect to what
a crushing burden of criticism you subject me, requiring a perfected judgement
from a beginner, and right guidance from one who hitherto has shown you nothing
but his fallibility. Since, however, this has been your will, I entreat your
prayers, that I may really become all that you now suppose me to be, and that if
I am to be exalted to the skies, it may be not by your plaudits but by your
supplications.

[8] But first you ought to know on what Scylla-rocks 3 of slander, on what
barking mouths (alas! that they should be human) I have been driven by the
tempestuous fury of those who seek to bring you into discredit. Evil manners
have this power: they allow the offences of the few to disfigure the innocence
of the multitude, |117 whereas the good are too rare to communicate their
virtues to the many, and so to palliate their crimes.

[9] If I name a monk to you, were his austerities to rival those of a Paul, an
Antony, a Hilarion, or a Macarius, my ears will at once be deafened by the
confused outcries of ignoble pygmies who will object in these terms: 'The man
you nominate is trained not for a bishop's but for an abbot's work, and better
fitted to intercede for souls before the celestial Judge than for their bodies
before the judges of this world.' Now who could keep his patience, hearing
singleness of heart besmirched by such imputation of imaginary defects? [10] If
we choose one distinguished for humility, he will be called an abject; if, on
the other hand, we propose a man with self-respect, he will be set down as
arrogant; if our choice be one of small learning, his ignorance will make him
fair game; if he be erudite, he will be declared conceited. If he is austere,
all will shrink from an inhuman creature; if indulgent, they will blame his
lenience. If he is simple, he will be an oaf; if clever, a sly fellow. Is he
diligent? he must be superstitious. Is he easy-going? he stands convicted of
negligence. Does he love a quiet life? he is a coward. If our candidate is
abstemious, he becomes a skinflint; if charitable with hospitality, a glutton;
if with fasting, one vain of his austerities. [11] A free manner will argue
vice; a modest one contemptible rusticity. They mislike the stern man for his
severity, and depreciate the affable for making himself cheap. And so, whichever
of two virtues may adorn his life, he will be caught on the two-barbed hook of
the malicious tongues whose points pierce all good qualities. Besides |118 all
this, the people in their perversity, and the clergy in their love of licence,
are equally averse from the idea of monastic discipline.

[12]  If, instead of a monk, I take a member of the secular clergy, his juniors will be consumed with a jealousy which his seniors will openly express. For among the clergy there are not a few----I may say this without offence to the rest----in whose eyes seniority counts before merit; they would like us to consider age alone and disregard efficiency, as if mere length of life were the one qualification for the highest office in the priesthood, and the prerogative, the amenity and charm of personal accomplishments were to count for nothing. On this principle a few individuals strive to direct the Church, though they are so old that they will soon need direction themselves----persons remiss in ministration, prompt in obloquy, indolent in affairs, busy in faction, weak in charity, sturdy in intrigue, steady in feud, vacillating in judgement.

[13] Enough: I will not stigmatize the many for the machinations of a few; I
only add this, that I shall mention no names. Whoever looks aggrieved proclaims
his own discomfiture. I may freely admit that the multitude surrounding me
to-day includes many of episcopal ability. But then, all cannot be bishops.
Every man of them may be satisfied with his own particular gifts, but none has
gifts to satisfy us all.

[14] Suppose I were to nominate one who had followed an administrative career, I
can imagine the storm of disapproval: 'Sidonius was transferred to the Church
out of the great world, and because of this is reluctant to accept a cleric as
metropolitan; he looks down on |119 every one from the height of his
distinguished birth and the great offices he has held; he despises Christ's
poor.' [15] Now therefore, in fulfilment of the trust imposed upon me, not so
much through the esteem of the well disposed as through the suspicions of the
slanderous (Almighty God liveth, the Holy Spirit, who by the voice of Peter
condemned Simon Magus 1 for thinking to buy for gold the glory of the blessing),
I testify that in the man whom I have chosen as suited for your needs I have
considered neither money nor influence; I have weighed to the last scruple every
circumstance affecting his own person; the times in which we live, the
respective needs of city and province, and I decide that the man most fitted for
this office is he whose career I shall now briefly relate.

[16] He is Simplicius, on whom a blessing already rests. Hitherto a member of
your order, but henceforth of ours, if God approve him through your voices, he
answers by conduct and profession, so well satisfying the claims of both, that
the State will find in him one to admire and the Church one to love. [17] If
birth is still to command respect, as the Evangelist teaches (for St. Luke,
beginning his eulogy of St. John,2 considers it of the highest moment that he
sprang from a line of priestly tradition, and exalts the importance of his
family before celebrating the nobility of his life), I will recall the fact that
his relatives have presided alike over the Church and the tribunal. His family
has been distinguished in either career by many bishops and prefects; it had
become almost their hereditary privilege to administer the divine and human
laws. [18] If we scrutinize rather more narrowly his personal qualifications, we
shall |120 find him conspicuous among the most respected. You may say that the
illustrious Eucherius and Pannychius stand higher; they may have been so
regarded, but on the present occasion they are excluded by the canon, because
each of them has married again. Turning to his age, we find that he has at once
the vigour of youth and the caution of maturity; comparing his talents with his
acquirements, we see nature and learning rivalling each other. [19] If we ask
whether he is given to hospitality, we find him generous to a fault, lavishing
his substance on all men small and great, whether they are clerics, laymen, or
strangers, and entertaining those most of all who are least likely to return his
kindness. When an embassy had to be undertaken, more than once he has
represented his city before barbaric kings in furs, or Roman emperors in purple.
If you ask from what master he learned the rudiments of the faith, I will make
the proverbial response: 'the source of knowledge flowed for him at home.'1 [20]
Lastly, let us not forget, beloved brethren, that this is he whom the barbarians
held in darkness and duresse, and for whom God flung wide the prison gates with
all their bolts and bars. This is the man whom, if report be true, you
yourselves once with a single voice called to the priesthood before his
father-in-law or father; but he returned home covered with glory because he
preferred to be honoured in his parents' dignity rather than in his own. [21] I
had almost overlooked a point which should under no circumstances have been
omitted. In the days of old time, as the Psalmist tells,2 all Israel heaped
offerings at the feet of Bezaleel in the desert for the erection of the
Tabernacle of the Covenant. |121 Afterwards Solomon, to build his temple in
Jerusalem, exhausted the whole strength of his people, though he had not merely
the riches of Palestine and the tribute of surrounding kingdoms, but in addition
the treasures of the Queen of Sheba at his command. But Simplicius built a
church alone out of his own slender resources, when he was still a young
official under paternal control, and already burdened with the expenses of a
family. Neither consideration of his young children nor the steady opposition of
his parents could divert him from the fulfilment of his vow; it was his way to
do good works, and hold his peace about them. [22] For unless I misread his
character, he is one to whom all popularity is abhorrent; he does not court
every man's good opinion, only that of the worthiest; it is not his custom to
make himself common by undiscriminating familiarity, but rather to enhance his
value by according his friendship only after the most careful thought. His is a
manly nature which would rather help than please a rival, comparable in this to
that of the stern father, who thinks more of his children's real advantage than
of their present comfort. He is a man constant in adversity, loyal in danger,
unassuming in prosperity; of simple tastes in dress, affable in conversation,
never putting himself forward among his friends, but in discussion easily the
first. A friendship of which he knows the worth he will pursue with ardour, hold
with constancy, and never abandon; on the other hand, a declared hostility he
pursues with honourable frankness, not believing in it till the last moment, and
laying it down at the earliest. Extremely accessible just because he seeks
nothing for |122 himself, he desired not so much to assume the priest-hood as to
prove himself worthy to hold it. [23] But some one will say: 'How did you learn
so much about him in so short a time?' My answer is that I made acquaintance
with men of Bourges long before I knew their city. I have travelled with some
and served with others; many I have met in affairs of business or in debate;
many when either they or I were away from our several countries. Moreover, a
short cut to knowledge of a man is given by the general opinion about him, since
nature does not confine our reputations within such narrow limits as our abodes.
If, then, a city is to be judged less by the circumference of its walls than by
the merit of its inhabitants, I could not fail to discover, before your town was
known to me, not only what manner of men you are, but where you stand in the
world as well.

[24] The wife of Simplicius belongs to the Palladian family, which alike in the
schools and in the Church has occupied the chief seats with the approbation of
its own order. To speak of a woman's life demands both delicacy and reticence; I
will only say here that this lady has shown herself worthy of the ecclesiastical
dignity enjoyed by her two families, both that in which she was born, and that
into which she married. She is associated with her husband in the education of
their sons on sound and careful principles; so that the father, comparing them
with himself, is all the happier for the discovery that he is already being
surpassed.

[25] You have sworn to abide by my humble advice in this election; the spoken
binds no less fast than the written word. I pronounce, then, in the name of the
|123 Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit that Simplicius is the man whom you
are to choose as the head of the Church in your city, and as Metropolitan of our
province. If you agree with this my new pronouncement, give it the applause
which your old promise demands.

* Partly translated by Guizot, Histoire de la civilisation en France, ed. 1846,
pp. 84 ff.

* Translated by Chaix, ii. 26 ff.

X. (XI) To the Lord Bishop Graecus

A.D. 474

[1] I ENVY the fortune of my habitual messenger who has the chance of seeing you
so often. Nor do I confine my envy to Amantius; 1 I am jealous of the very
letters opened by the hands, and perused by the eyes which I so much revere.
Alas! penned as I am within the narrow enclosure of half-burned and ruinous
walls, with the terror of war at the gates, I am never allowed to satisfy my
longing to greet you again. Would that the state and prospects of Clermont were
such as to make our excuses for not meeting less excusable! [2] It is the
hardest stroke of all that the very punishment of our old lapses from justice
should become our justification. My salutations rendered, I now earnestly beg
you to release me from my duty of paying you a visit; I must discharge the debt
as well as I can by letter. If peace ever makes the roads secure again, your
only fear need be that I shall present myself so often as to become in future a
mere nuisance. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop. |124

XI. (X) To the Lord Bishop Auspicius

A.D. 473

[1] IF the state of our country and our times allowed me freedom, I should not
keep up my friendships by the poor expedient of correspondence. But since the
storms aroused by the shock of kingdoms confound all hopes of fraternal peace
and quiet, let us retain in separation that constant exchange of letters so long
ago devised for the solace of absent friends, and approved by the example of
antiquity. You must forgive one who so reveres you the rarity of his visits; but
the unbroken enjoyment of your sainted converse is denied him by the menace of
formidable neighbours and by the delicacy of his relations with his own
protectors.1 On these points I need say no more: I have already said too much.
[2] This letter introduces to you the bearer Peter, a man of tribunician rank;
he personally pressed for the introduction, and will be better able to explain
his business orally. I beg that the sight of this page from me may secure him
your support, in so far as may be consistent with justice; it is not my custom
to urge even my friends' claims unfairly. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my
Lord Bishop.

XII. To his friend [Tonantius] Ferreolus c. A.D. 479

[1] IF, disregarding our friendship and relations, I had considered only your
rank and position, your name |125 would have taken its proper place at the
beginning of this small work, and the dedication would have been yours. My pen
should have recounted the curule chairs of your ancestors and the infulae of
their patrician dignity; it should not have omitted the twice repeated
prefecture, or refused to herald with due praise your great Syagrius for three
times changing the heralds of his office. It should have proceeded to celebrate
your father and your uncles, whom it were impossible, indeed, to pass in
silence; [2] and however worn by transcribing the long roll of your ancestral
triumphs, it should not have been so spent by the unfolding of your genealogy as
to grow too blunt for the record of your own achievements. Why even if the
recital of your ancestral glories had dulled it, that of your great personal
qualities would lend it a new point. In place of all this, it is determined to
pay you here conspicuous homage and, leaving your past career to speak for
itself, to consider rather what you are to-day. [3] It has passed over your
administration of the Gauls when they were still at their greatest extent. It
has been silent on the efficacy of your measures against Attila the enemy on the
Rhine and Thorismond the guest of the Rhone, and on your support of Aetius the
Liberator of the Loire. It has not related the dragging of your chariot by
cheering provincials, whose fervent applause proclaimed their gratitude for the
prudence and the foresight with which you handled the reins of power; since you
ruled the Gauls with such wisdom that the exhausted proprietor was relieved from
the unbearable yoke of taxes. It passed over the address with which you
influenced the savage Gothic king |126 by a language blending grace with gravity
and astuteness, a language unfamiliar in his ears, causing him to withdraw from
the gates of Arles by a banquet, where Aetius could not have succeeded by force
of arms. [4] All this it forbore to dwell upon because it was my hope that you
might more fitly find a place among the bishops than the senators; I deemed it
more appropriate that your name should be found among the perfect of the Lord
than among the prefects of Valentinian. Malice need not misconstrue your
insertion among the priests; only great ignorance can hold that a man could lose
rank thereby. Just as at a public banquet the last guest at the first table
takes precedence of the first guest at the second, so in the opinion of all
reasonable men the least of the religious is beyond dispute above the holder of
the highest office. I ask your prayers on my behalf.

XIII. To his friend Sulpicius c. A. D. 470

[1] YOUR son Himerius the priest,1 of whom I had hitherto seen little but heard
much, his reputation being wide, came to Lyons not long ago from Troyes, and
there I had a hurried opportunity of forming an opinion of him. In character he
reminds me of the sainted Lupus, the foremost of our Gallic bishops, master of
his sacred profession, and author of his rank within it. [2] Just God! how
charming is his way of enouncing his views, whether he is urging or debating any
given course of action! With what point he speaks when |127 asked his advice,
with what sweetness when he has resort to that of others! He is an enthusiast
for letters, above all for sacred literature, in which he ever avoids the froth
of verbiage and chooses the substantial marrow. The end of his every action is
Christ's service; if he accelerates or delays, it is for that. It is a thing at
once wonderful and admirable, that although he is always tranquil he does
nothing idle. [3] Fasts are a joy to him, yet he does not abjure the social
board; the way of the cross keeps him faithful to the first, love of his kind
inclines him sometimes to the last. In either case he uses the utmost
moderation; when he dines, he mortifies his appetite; when he fasts, it is
without vainglory. On others he showers favours, but is reluctant to accept
theirs; and when his turn to receive an equivalent comes, prefers that the debt
should remain unpaid. [4] It is his way to give his inferiors precedence at
table, or in council, or when travelling; this makes his superiors in rank
delight to follow his example, and place themselves below him when they can. In
intercourse with others he shows the utmost tact. The stranger is put at his
ease; the feelings of a friend are never hurt. The over-credulous are not placed
in false positions, nor are the curious rebuffed. Suspicion he meets without
malice; he does not say hard things of knowledge, or treat ignorance with
contempt. In the Church he has the simplicity of the dove, in the world the
wisdom of the serpent. In his dealings with the good he has a name for prudence,
with the bad for caution; but with neither does he resort to guile. [5] Enough:
he seemed to me your second self, reproducing in the most charming manner all
your moderation, your piety, your |128 frankness, your modesty, the supreme
purity of a sensitive and delicate mind. So that in future you can enjoy your
privacy, and retire from the world as much as ever you like, since my brother
Himerius with his grandsire's name, his father's looks, and the sage qualities
of both will always be at my disposal. Farewell.

XIV. To his friend Philagrius c. A. D. 470

[1] A SHORT while since at a large gathering of the principal persons here, some
one mentioned your name. All were unanimous in sounding your praises, though one
esteemed you for one quality and a second for another. Then certain individuals
took on themselves to claim a more intimate acquaintance, on the ground that
they saw you frequently. That made me flare up; I could not for a moment allow
it to be said that one distinguished in all kinds of letters is better known by
his countrified neighbours than by men of culture living a great distance away.
[2] The discussion was carried further; some present argued the point with
obstinacy, for it is characteristic of stupid people that they are easily proved
wrong, but very hard to silence. I stood my ground, and maintained that it might
indeed be trying for such a man's cultured friends to be deprived of his
society, but that all the same it was endurable; their brains and their pens
gave them access to the remotest province where the need of Culture was felt,
while the unlettered fellow citizen was always a stranger within the gates. It
was matter |129 of frequent experience, I said, for men of education, separated
by wide distances, to conceive for each other an esteem as great as any which
can be produced by the most assiduous of personal relations. That being so, they
had better leave off exaggerating the effect of unavoidable separations, for
they only showed that they thought more of face than character. [3] People may
argue, if they like, that matter, not mind, makes the man,1 but I am at a loss
to find anything to wonder at in the human race, viewed corporeally, for its
limits are so narrow, however wide its range of action; by the conditions of its
birth, it is the most miserable and helpless of all that sees the light. The ox
has his hairy coat, the boar his bristles, the bird its feathers; and in
addition, these creatures have arms for offence and for defence in their horns
and tusks and claws. But man's limbs are such poor things that they seem to have
been flung at random into the world, not brought into it by intelligible laws.
For other animals broad-bosomed Nature, like a true mother, provides all manner
of protection; the human body she just casts forth, to give it thenceforward the
stepmother's indifferent usage. [4] To me, who hold that your mind is greater
than your body, the contrary supposition is untenable; it would be ridiculous,
on that hypothesis, that man should be differentiated by possession of a
reasoning mind from beasts unable to distinguish the true from the false. I
should like to ask those who so absurdly judge friends by appearances instead of
investigation, what remains when they have even in the slightest degree impaired
the dignity of the human soul, what after that they find so eminent and
admirable |130 in man? [5] Is it height? that, is often a quality more
appropriate in a beam. Is it strength? that reigns more mightily in the lion's
sinewy neck. Grace of feature? the clay of the statue and the wax of the
portrait 1 hold its impress better. Is it speed? for that, dogs are more justly
famed than we. Vigilance? for that prize the owl competes. Is it strength of
voice? the ass's bray is loudest. Industry? therein, on its tiny scale, the ant
fears no comparison. [6] Do they allege keenness of sight? how absurd! as if the
eagle's vision were not far above that of man. Keenness of hearing? as if the
coarse-skinned swine were not his rival. Keenness of scent? as if in that the
vulture were not supreme. Discernment of taste? as if there we were not far
behind the monkey. I need hardly trouble to speak of touch, our fifth sense; the
philosopher shares it with the worm. Why speak of the carnal appetites? the
man's lust is satisfied in the same way as that of the brute. [7] And this poor
thing is the humanity, paraded and tricked out by fools who give themselves airs
and flout me because they know you more or less by sight! But I have always
before my eyes a Philagrius other than theirs, a Philagrius who would not be
himself if I saw him and he did not speak. The whole argument recalls to me a
certain well-known remark, made on a different kind of occasion, it is true, but
nevertheless to our point: 'The son of Marcus Cicero was speaking, and Rome did
not even know who he was.' 2 For accomplishments of mind bring with them
dignity, worth, and the pre-eminence recognized by universal consent, and by
their means alone man gradually attains the heights of merit. [8] First you have
the animal frame, |131 which by virtue of its form excels formless matter. Above
that comes the body, possessing intelligence. And above the intelligence of
beasts rises the mind of man. For as mere flesh is below life, so mere life is
below reason, of which the Creator has made our substance alone capable, and not
the substance of animals. Yet how variously conditioned is the human mind! There
are souls which are rational indeed, but by reason of slowness and dull wits are
spurned by others which see further and more clearly. In like manner, there are
souls which, having only a natural understanding, accept the superiority of
those more enlightened than themselves. [9] When I consider these gradations I
always have before my mind's eye the Philagrius whom a similarity of tastes has
made, potentially at least, my friend. However popular you may be, with the
worthiest among us, no man has a clearer insight into your inner nature than he
who strives outwardly to imitate you. And how closely I for my own part try to
follow you in your inclinations, the rest of this letter shall reveal. [10] They
say you like quiet people; I go further, and like the idle. You shun barbarians
because of the bad name they bear; I avoid them even when they bear a good one.1
You are ardent in study; I do not suffer a natural indolence to hold me back.
You act up to your religion; I only seem to do so. You do not covet your
neighbour's goods; I hold it sufficient gain not to lose my own. [11] You love
the society of the learned; to me the bigger the crowd of the unlettered, the
vaster is the solitude. You are said to be of a cheerful countenance; I hold
that every tear shed on earth except in prayer is vain. You are reported to |132
be given to hospitality; my poor table, like the cave of Polyphemus, rejects no
possible guest. You are indulgent with your servants; it is no torture to me
that mine are not tortured for each trivial fault committed. [12] Is it your
view that a man should fast on alternate days? I am with you. That he should
dine? I am not ashamed to anticipate you there. If Providence would grant me a
sight of you, I should be as delighted as only he can be to whom even your
smaller traits are familiar; with your greater qualities I am of course
thoroughly acquainted. So that if I ever do manage to see you face to face, I
shall hardly know you any better than I do now, though I may gain a new pleasure
in existence. Farewell.

XV. To his friend Salonius c. A. D. 470

[1] EVERY time I go to Vienne, I would give a great deal if you and your brother
stayed more frequently in the town, for we three are all united not only by the
ties of friendship but by those of a common literary interest.1 But your brother
eludes my reproaches by pretending the visits he has constantly to make to his
suburban property, so that he is never present to stand on his own defence; you
in your turn find a similar excuse, as one possessed by a newly-acquired
possession. [2] Be all this as it may, come this time, and I will let you go on
condition that you both promise to come again, either in turn, or [together?] at
some later time. You may live in the country and be model cultivators; |133 but
not till you give more labour yet to the Church which you love, will you bring
increase to the true land of your souls. Farewell.

XVI. To Abbot Chariobaudus

A.D. 477

[1] IN alleviating by a letter of condolence the trouble of an absent friend, O
my one patron in Christ, you have acted like your benevolent self. May your
thoughts ever turn to me thus; may this interminable chain of anxieties which
your exhortations have worn down be finally broken by your prayers. [2] I think
your freedmen have concluded the business on which you sent them, and are on
their way home; they have done everything with such energy that they never
required any assistance. I send you by them a cowl for nightwear, though I admit
that the end of winter, with summer in sight, is not quite the right time to
send you woollens. When you are exhausted by long fasting, it shall give you
proper protection as you pass from your bed to Vigils and back again. Farewell.

XVII. To his brother Volusianus

A.D. 477

[1] You ask me, my lord brother, by the law of friendship which none may
infringe, to set my long inactive fingers to the old forge. I am to write a sad
funeral |134 dirge for the sainted Abraham,1 newly departed this life. I shall
not fail to obey, moved alike by your authority, and even more by the devotion
of the noble Count Victorius, my patron according to the world, my son according
to the Church, whom I honour as a client, and love as a father. He gave abundant
proof of his ardent solicitude for the servants of Christ, when by the sick
priest's couch he humbled his dignity and bent his body low above the dying, his
own face sympathetically paling with that already colourless by the approach of
death; while his tears betrayed his deep feeling for the friend he was to lose.
[2] He has insisted on taking the funeral almost entirely upon himself and
defraying all the expenses required for the due obsequies of a priest; to
complete the honour due to the memory of the departed, I can only contribute
these few words, confining my pen to a plain testimony of a mutual affection.

*'Abraham, worthy to stand beside the celestial patrons whom I shall not fear to
call thy colleagues, since they are gone before on the path which thou shalt
follow; a share in the martyr's glory gives a share in the kingdom of heaven.
Born by Euphrates, for Christ thou didst endure the prison, chains, and hunger
for five long years. From the cruel King of Susa2 thou didst fly, escaping alone
to the distant land of the West. Marvels born of his holiness followed the steps
of the confessor; thyself a fugitive, thou didst put to flight the spirits of
evil. Wherever thy footsteps passed, the throng of Lemures cried surrender; the
exile's voice bade the demons go forth into banishment. All sought |135 thee,
yet didst thou yield to no vain ambition; the honours acceptable in thy sight
were those that brought the heaviest burdens. Thou didst shun the tumult of Rome
and of Byzantium, and the walls of the city that warlike Titus breached.1 Not
Alexandria held thee, not Antioch; thou spurnedst Byrsa, the famed home of
Dido.2 Thou didst contemn the populous lands of Ravenna by the marshes, and the
city named from the woolly swine.3 But this corner of earth was pleasing to
thee, this poor retreat, this hut roofed with reeds. Here didst thou rear a
sacred house to God, thou whose own frame was already itself His temple. Here
ended thy wanderings, here thy life's course; now thy labours are rewarded by a
twofold crown. Now dost thou stand in Paradise amid the thousands of the Saints,
with Abraham for thy fellow wanderer. Now art thou entered into thine own land,
from which Adam fell; now lies thy way clear to the sources of thy native
stream.'4

[3] With these lines I have paid, as you desired, the last observance due to him
who is now laid to rest. But if it is the duty of those who yet live, of
brothers, friends and comrades, to obey the commands of brotherly affection, I
shall make you a request in my turn: I would beg you to use the principles with
which you are so eminently endowed for the consolation of the dead man's
followers, confirm by the discipline of Lerins or of Grigny5 the shaken rule of
a brotherhood now cast adrift without a leader. If you find any insubordinate,
see to it in person that they are punished; if any obedient, give them praise
from your own lips. The holy Auxanius is presumed to be their head; but he, as
|136 you well know, is too infirm of body and of too diffident a character, and
more fitted to obey than to command. He himself insists that you should be
called in, that in succeeding to the headship of the house, he may have the
support of your overheadship; for if any of the younger monks should treat him
with disrespect, as one lacking alike in courage and experience, thanks to you,
a joint rule would not be slighted with impunity. I say no more. If you would
have my wishes in a few words, they are these; I desire brother Auxanius to be
abbot over the rest, and you yourself to be above the abbot. Farewell.

* The verses are translated by Fertig, Part ii, p. 45.

XVIII. To his friend Constantius c. A. D. 479

[1] 'WITH you my work began, with you it shall end.'1 I send the volume for
which you asked, but the choice of letters has been rather hurried. I could only
find comparatively few; I had not preserved any number, never having
contemplated their appearance in this form. Few and trivial as they are, I was
soon done with them; though when I had once started, I found the love of
scribbling by no means dead within me, and that I was keen to balance any
deficiency in their number by an addition to their length.

[2] At the same time, I thought that if it was to attract so fine a critic, the
book would be handier and need less apology if you had a smaller weight of
parchment to deal with, since in parts there was a certain |137 lightness of
style and subject which might give you cause of offence. I therefore submit to
your judgement these manifold emotions of my heart, well aware that a book as
surely reflects a man's mind as a mirror his face. A few of the letters preach,
a number congratulate; some offer advice, others consolation; not a few are
humorous.

[3] If here and there you find that I show unexpected heat, I would have you
know that while Christ is my defender I will never suffer my judgement to be
enslaved; I know as well as any one that with regard to this side of my
character there are two opinions: the timid call me rash, the resolute a lover
of freedom; I myself strongly feel that the man who has to hide his real
opinions cuts a very abject figure. [4] To return to my original subject. If you
ever allow yourself a rest from your unending studies in religious literature,
these trivialities should afford you innocent distraction. There is here no
interminable theme to weary you; each subject ends with its containing letter;
you can see where you are at a glance, and have done before the inclination to
read has died within you. Farewell. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse,
2003. All material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 9: BOOK 8
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) vol. 2. pp. 138-175 ; Book
VIII

BOOK VIII

I. To his friend Petronius c. A. D. 480

[1] A MAN who makes it a principle, whenever he can, to encourage his friends
along the path of glory deserves the gratitude of all good men everywhere: the
practice is your honourable distinction; be true to it always. To no other cause
can I ascribe this new request that I should turn out my cases at Clermont in
the search for further letters. I should have thought the examples already
published would have satisfied you; but I must needs obey, though I shall merely
append a few at the end to supplement the original series, and crown the
completed volume, as it were, by a marginal addition. [2] I shall now have fresh
reason to be on my guard against malignant critics, for adding in this way to a
book which has already seen the light. How, indeed, could I hope to escape the
edged tongues of the spiteful-born, when even a Demosthenes and a Cicero for all
their masterly periods and their perfected eloquence were not permitted to go
free? The first found his detractor in Demades, the second in Antonius, carpers
both, whose malice was as clear as their diction was obscure, and who have come
down to posterity simply through their hate of excellence. [3] But since the
command has gone forth, I set my sail to the old winds; I have navigated oceans,
and shall I not cross this quiet |139 water? I have always been convinced that a
man should give of his best in anything he writes, and then tranquilly face all
criticism. There is no middle course; one must either care no jot for what the
malignant say, or else hold one's peace altogether. Farewell.

II. To his friend Johannes

A. D. 478

[1] I SHOULD hold myself guilty of something like a crime against polite
learning, most accomplished of friends, were I for a moment to defer
congratulation on your own success in deferring the decease of Literature. One
might almost speak of her as dead and buried; it is your glory to have revived,
supported and championed her, and in this tempest of war which has wrecked the
Roman power, you are the sole master in Gaul who has brought the Latin tongue
safely into port. [2] Our contemporaries and our successors should all with one
accord and fervent gratitude dedicate statues or portraits to you, as to a new
Demosthenes or Tully; by your example they were formed and educated, and they
shall preserve in the very midst of an invincible but alien race this evidence
of their ancient birthright. Since old grades of rank are now abolished which
once distinguished the high from the low, in future culture must afford the sole
criterion of nobility. None is more deeply indebted to your learning than I; for
like all authors professed, who write for posterity, I shall owe to your school
and your teaching the certainty of an understanding audience. Farewell. |140

III. To his friend Leo

A. D. 478

[1] I SEND you, at your request, the Life of Apollonius the Pythagorean,1 not in the transcription by Nicomachus the Elder, from Philostratus, but in that from Nicomachus himself by Tascius Victorianus.2 I was so eager to fulfil your wish, that the result is a makeshift of a copy, obscure and over-hurried, and rough as any version could be.3 Yet the work took me longer than I expected, and for this you must not blame me, for all the time I was a captive within the walls of Livia,4 release from which I owe, next to Christ, to you. My mind was sick with care and really unable to fulfil my task even in the most desultory manner; all kinds of hindrances prevented me----various obligations by day, my utter misery
at night. [2] When the evening hour brought me at last to my quarters, ready to drop with fatigue, my heavy eyelids knew small repose; there were two old Gothic women established quite close to the window of my chamber, who at once began their chatter----quarrelsome, drunken, and disgusting creatures, whose like will not easily be seen again. As soon as my restoration to my own home gave me a little leisure, I dispatched the book with all its faults upon it, uncorrected, ill-digested, as you might say, an immature wine; in doing so, I thought more of your anxiety to have it, than of
my own responsibilities. [3] Now that your wish is gratified, forsake awhile Apollo's bays and the fount of Hippocrene; forget the measures of which you alone
|141
are absolute master, and which, in those who have only your learning without your eloquence, seem not so much to rise from a well-spring as to drip painfully from fevered brows. Stay the renowned stream of an eloquence peculiar to your race and line, which, flowing from your ancestor the great Fronto through successive generations, has now passed in due course into your breast. Lay aside awhile the universally applauded speeches composed for the royal lips, those famed deliverances with which the glorious monarch from his exalted place strikes terror into the hearts of tribes beyond the seas, or binds a treaty on the necks of barbarians trembling by the Waal,1 or throughout his newly extended realm curbs force itself by law as once he curbed his foes by force.
[4] Shake off the burden of your endless cares and steal a little leisure from the affairs and agitations of the court. Not till you surrender yourself wholly to this book, and in imagination voyage with our Tyaneus to Caucasus and Ind, among the Gymnosophists of Ethiopia and the Brahmins of Hindostan, not till then shall you know the story you desired in its right hour and as it should be known.
[5] Read, then, the life of a man who, but for his paganism, in many points resembled you, as one who did not pursue riches, but was pursued by the rich; who loved knowledge and did not covet money; who was abstemious among the feasters and went in coarse linen among princes robed in purple; who was grave amid luxurious follies; whose hair was matted, whose face was rough and hirsute among smooth, anointed peoples; who was conspicuous in the dignity of his squalor among satraps of crowned monarchs exquisite in person
|142
and drenched with nard and myrrh; who abstained from animal flesh and would not clothe himself in wool,----for such abstinence, indeed, held more in honour than contempt in the Eastern kingdoms which he traversed. When royal treasures were placed at his disposal, he asked only the gifts he liked to offer others and would not keep himself.
[6] Why pursue the subject further? Unless I am much at fault, it may be doubted whether our ancestors' days produced a biographer fit to write so great a life; but of this there is no doubt at all, that in your person our own times have produced a student worthy to peruse it. Farewell.

IV. To his friend Consentius c. A. D. 478

[1] WILL Providence ever allow us to meet once more, honoured lord, on your estate of Octaviana----I call it yours, but it seems really to belong to your friends just as much as to you. Situated as it is near town and sea and river, it offers continual hospitality to all comers, and to yourself a regular succession of guests. How charming, too, is its first aspect, with its walls so cleverly designed in perfect architectural symmetry! how brilliant is the gleam of chapel colonnade and baths conspicuous near and far! Then there is the amenity of its fields and waters, its vines and olives, its approach, its beauty of hill and plain. Well stocked and furnished with abundance, it has also a large and copious library;
|143
when the master is there, dividing his interests between pen and plough, one might be in doubt whether his mind or his estate enjoys the finer culture.
[2] No wonder this was the chosen place (unless my memory deceives me) where you have produced the swift iambics, the pointed elegiacs, the rounded hendecasyllables, and all the other verses fragrant with thyme and flowers of poesy to be sung by every one at Béziers and Narbonne! These poems, no less remarkable for speed of composition than for charm of style, make you beloved of your contemporaries and must increase your fame among those who shall come after us. I have always been convinced of it myself every time a new poem of yours has been brought me, as it were hot from the composer's anvil, and though I may be an indifferent writer, I am no such despicable critic.
[3] My earlier life might not improperly find time for such pursuits, and in fact it did so. But now I only read and write of serious things, for now it is high time to think rather of eternal life than of posthumous renown, and to remember that after death our good works, and not our literary work, will be weighed in the balance.
[4] I am far from implying by this that you do not excel in both, or that the lively style which you still affect is inconsistent with gravity of judgement; but since by Christ's grace you are already a saint in secret, I would have you openly submit to His salutary yoke a head and heart alike devoted to His service, your tongue unwearying in prayer and praise, your mind filled with pious thoughts, your hand ever open in benefaction. Especially would I insist upon the open hand, for all that you cast abroad
|144
among the churches is really gathered in for yourself. Let this reflection above all incite you to the exercise of generosity, that whatever be our opportunities in respect of the things which the foolish call this world's goods, all that we give in charity remains our own, all that we keep is really lost to us. Farewell.

V. To his friend Fortunalis c. A. D. 480

[1] You too shall figure in my pages, dear Fortunalis, column of friendship,
bright ornament of your Spanish country. Your own acquaintance with letters is
not, after all, so slight as to deprive you of any immortality which they can
confer. The glory of your name shall live; yes, it shall survive into after
ages. [2] If my writings win any favour or respect, if they command any
confidence among men, I will have posterity know that none were more stout of
heart than you; that none were goodlier to see or more equitable in judgement,
none more patient, none weightier in council, gayer in company, or more charming
in conversation. Last, and not least, it shall learn that these praises have
been enhanced by your misfortunes. For it is more likely to hold you great, as
one proved in the hard day of adversity, than as one who lay hidden in the bosom
of kind fortune. Farewell. |145

VI. To his friend Namatius* c. A. D. 480

[1] CAIUS JULIUS CAESAR, reputed the greatest master of strategy who ever lived,
was a great reader and a great writer also. Though he was the first man of his
age, and the arts of war and rhetoric disputed his genius with equally glorious
results, yet he never considered himself to have attained the summit in either
branch of knowledge until your orator of Arpinum proclaimed him without a rival
among men. [2] To compare small things with great1, it has been the same in my
own case, however vast my inferiority. No one should know this better than
yourself, concerned as you have always been for my success and for my modesty in
bearing it. I learn that Flavius Nicetius, distinguished above all his
countrymen by his birth, his rank, his merit, his prudence, his wise knowledge
of the world, has accorded my small work unlimited praise. He has gone further
and declared that while yet in the prime of life I have surpassed in the two
fields of literature and war the great number of our young men and not a few of
the older among us. [3] If I may say it without vanity, I derive real
satisfaction from the approval of so eminent a judge. If he is right, his weight
counts for much; if partial, I have a fresh proof of his friendship; though
nowadays every man of us is but a sluggard in deed, and in word an infant in
comparison with his |146 forefathers. To the men of earlier ages the ruler of
all ages granted supreme excellence in these arts; but now the world waxes old,
the quickening seed is exhausted, the marrow lost; and if in our time aught of
admirable or memorable appears, it is manifest in exceeding few. [4] Nicetius
may lead all learning and all letters, but I fear that our intimacy may have led
him to exaggerate my merit through the bias natural to friendship. And were it
so, I will not deny that in the past I used often to attend the delivery of his
luminous speeches, and however fleeting or imperfect my memories, I may properly
recall some of them in the present place, even at the risk of being thought to
join a game of mutual admiration.

[5] I heard him speak when I was growing to manhood and had just left boyhood
behind me; at that time my father was praetorian prefect presiding over the
tribunals of Gaul, and in his term of office Astyrius assumed the trabea and in
a propitious hour inaugurated his consulship.1 On that day I hardly stirred from
the curule chair; my age gave me no right to a seat, but my rank allowed me to
keep in the foreground; so I stood next to the censor's men who in their
official mantles stood nearest to the consul. As soon as the largess had been
distributed (and that took little time though it was no little one), as soon as
the diptychs had been bestowed, the representative advocates of the province who
had come in from every district asked with one consent that the assumption of
the consul's office might be celebrated in a panegyric. The ceremonies had
anticipated the day, and there was yet some time before the late dawn, which
otherwise would have been passed in |147 silence. [6] All eyes turned at once
towards Nicetius, the first men present were the first to look his way; the
assembly called upon him not by a voice here or there, but by general
acclamation; he reddened, and cast down his eyes, giving us such an earnest of
his modest nature as gained him hardly fewer bravos than the eloquence he
subsequently displayed. He spoke with method, with gravity, with fire; if his
ardour was great, his fluency was yet greater, and his science greatest of all;
his coloured and golden language seemed to enhance the splendour of the consul's
palm-embroidered robe, steeped though it was in Sarranian dyes and rich with
applied strips that rustled at every movement of the wearer. [7] About that time
(to speak like a decemvir) was promulgated the statute of limitations1 which
decreed in summary terms that all cases protracted to thirty years should
automatically lapse. It was our orator who first introduced this law, as yet
unknown in Gaul; he advocated it at the tribunal; he expounded it to the various
parties; and he finally saw it added to the statute-book, before a great
audience whose members mostly kept their feet in their excitement and only
interrupted by applause. [8] I had many other occasions of observing his
intellectual capacity, myself unobserved, and therefore in the best of all
positions to see the real man; for though my father governed the province, it
was to Nicetius that he went for advice. It must suffice to say that I never
heard of a single action of which I did not like to hear, and which I did not
admire.

[9] The union in his person of all these fine qualities naturally makes me proud
to receive the suffrage of a critic so high in the public esteem. Whatever his
|148 opinion, it must have great influence; if rumour is true, he is on my side,
and I shall have just as good reason to be reassured as I should have had to
feel uneasy had his vote gone the other way. In any case, I am determined, as
soon as I know for certain what he thinks, either to give silence a loose rein,
or curb my facility according to the verdict. For if he supports me I shall be
inclined to go on talking like an Athenian; if he condemns, no citizen of
Amyclae shall hold his tongue like me.1

[10] But no more of myself or of my friend: how does the world go with you? I am
every whit as eager to hear your news as to give you mine. Are you hunting, or
building, or playing the country gentleman? Are you indulging one only of these
pursuits or each in turn, or all together? As for Vitruvius and Columella,2 you
do well to study either one or both, for you are competent to deal with either
admirably, as one who is equally at home in agriculture and in building. [11]
With sport the case is different, and I beg you not to plume yourself upon your
prowess. It is useless to invite the boar to meet your spears, so long as you
take the field alone with those exceedingly merciful hounds of yours; you just
rouse the quarry, but not enough to make him run. It is excusable enough that
your dogs should dread close quarters with such formidable beasts as boars; but
what apology can you make when they hunt poor helpless kids and timid does, head
high and spirits prone, stinting the pace but prodigal of music? [12] You will
find it more profitable to net in the rough rocks and likely coverts, and cry
the dogs on from a chosen post; if you have any self-respect left, you will give
up galloping over the open country and lying in wait for the leverets of Oléron.
|149 Indeed it is hardly worth while to worry them on rare occasions by
unleashing the hounds in the open, unless our good Apollinaris comes to help you
and your father, and gives you a better run.

[13] But, joking apart, do let me know how things go with you and your
household. Just as I was on the point of ending a letter which had rambled on
long enough, lo and behold! a courier from Saintonges. I whiled away some time
talking with him about you; and he was very positive that you had weighed
anchor, and in fulfilment of those half military, half naval duties of yours
were coasting the western shores on the look-out for curved ships; the ships of
the Saxons,1 in whose every oarsman you think to detect an arch-pirate. Captains
and crews alike, to a man they teach or learn the art of brigandage; therefore
let me urgently caution you to be ever on the alert. [14] For the Saxon is the
most ferocious of all foes. He comes on you without warning; when you expect his
attack he makes away. Resistance only moves him to contempt; a rash opponent is
soon down. If he pursues he overtakes; if he flies himself, he is never caught.
Shipwrecks to him are no terror, but only so much training. His is no mere
acquaintance with the perils of the sea; he knows them as he knows himself. A
storm puts his enemies off their guard, preventing his preparations from being
seen; the chance of taking the foe by surprise makes him gladly face every
hazard of rough waters and broken rocks.

[15] Moreover, when the Saxons are setting sail from the continent, and are
about to drag their firm-holding anchors from an enemy's shore, it is their
usage, |150 thus homeward bound, to abandon every tenth captive to the slow
agony of a watery end, casting lots with perfect equity among the doomed crowd
in execution of this iniquitous sentence of death. This custom is all the more
deplorable in that it is prompted by honest superstition. These men are bound by
vows which have to be paid in victims, they conceive it a religious act to
perpetrate this horrible slaughter, and to take anguish from the prisoner in
place of ransom; this polluting sacrilege is in their eyes an absolving
sacrifice. [16] I am full of anxiety and apprehension about these dangers,
though on the other hand there are factors which encourage me mightily. Firstly,
the standards under which you sail are those of an ever-victorious nation.
Secondly, men of prudence, among whose number you may fairly be included, are
not in the habit of leaving anything to chance. Thirdly, very intimate friends
who live far from each other are apt to feel alarm without due cause, because it
is natural to be apprehensive of events at once incalculable and occurring very
far away. [17] You will perhaps argue that the cause of my uneasiness need not
be taken so seriously. That may be true; but it is also true that we are most
timid in regard to those whom we love best. So take the first opportunity of
relieving the fears which your situation has aroused by a good account of your
fortunes. I am incorrigible on this head, and shall always fear the worst for
friends abroad until they contradict it themselves, especially those harassed by
the watchword or the signal for attack.

[18] In accordance with your request, I send you the Libri Logistorici of Varro
and the Chronology of Eusebius.1 If these models reach you safely, and you find
a little |151 leisure from the watches and the duties of the camp, you will be
able, your arms once furbished, to apply another kind of polish to an eloquence
which must be getting rusty. Farewell.

* The latter part translated by Hodgkin (ii. 366-8), who also refers to the
episode of Nicetius' oration (ibid. 306-7).

VII. To his friend Audax

A. D. 474

[1] I WISH you would tell me into what corner of the world the folk are crept
who used to be so proud of wealth amassed, and heaps of tarnished family plate.1
Where, too, are the men who on mere grounds of seniority thought to overbear
those whose one sin it was to be younger? Where are the people gone whose real
affinities come out in nothing so clearly as in their capacity for hatred? [2]
As soon as ever merit found recognition, as soon as ever weight of character,
and not weight of coin, began to tell in the scales of imperial opinion, these
worthies were left in the cold with their insolent claim to precedence by simple
right of property. Brooding over their money-bags, and, I may add, their vices,
they want to brand those who rise in the world as vain upstarts, while they
would be shocked at the suggestion that they owe their own riches to greed.
Athletes in this arena of defamation, they rub in the poisonous juice of spite
in place of oil, and so reduce their weight. [3] But all hail to you, whose way
is the opposite of theirs. You have now the honour of prefectorian rank, and
though the prestige of high descent was always yours, you have if anything
laboured rather the more on that account to shed a new |152 lustre upon your
posterity. To an enlightened mind, none seems nobler than he who steadily
devotes all his power, his intellect, and his resources to the single end of
excelling his forefathers. [4] Well, it shall be my prayer that your sons may
equal you, or even (a better prayer still) leave you behind; and that if there
is any envious soul who cannot bear to see you advanced above him, he may just
endure the seething torment of his own spite, and never having had the chance of
patronizing you, have now the fullest reason for his jealousy. It is only
justice that under a just prince he should come at the bottom who is personally
nothing and only important in personalty; a starveling spirit, and counting only
for his money. Farewell.

VIII. To his friend Syagrius

A. D. 474 (?)

[1] TELL me, fine flower of our Gallic youth, how much longer your ardour for
country labours will bid you scorn the town? How long shall rustic implements
unrightfully usurp the hands only worn before by throwing dice? How much longer
is your estate of Taionnacus to weary your patrician limbs with a peasant's
toil? How much longer, O cavalier turned ploughman, will you go on burying in
the winter fallows the spoil of the waving meadows? how much longer ply your
blunt and heavy hoe along the interminable vine-rows? [2] Why, professed rival
of Serranus and Camillus,1 do you guide the plough, yet renounce the embroidered
toga? |153 Give up this rustic folly; cease to disgrace your birth. Who
cultivates in moderation is lord of his land, who does too much is slave of it.
Return to your fatherland, return to your father, return to all the loyal
friends who can justly claim a place in your affections. Or, if the life of
Cincinnatus the Dictator attracts you so, first wed a Racilia 1 to yoke your
oxen for you. [3] I don't suggest that a man of sense should neglect his
domestic affairs; but he should use moderation and think not merely of what he
ought to have but what he ought to be. If you renounce all higher interests, if
your one motive in life is the increase of your property, then, what can it
avail you to descend from a line of consuls and see every day their ivory curule
chairs with applied ornament of gold and their calendars enriched with purple?
Your plodding and obscure career will bring you rather burdens from the revenue
officials than honour from the censor. Farewell.

IX. To his friend Lampridius *

A. D. 478

[1] ON my arrival at Bordeaux, your messenger brought me a letter from you full
of nectar, rich with blooms and pearls. You arraign my silence, and ask me for
some of my poems, in a few of those verses of yours which your cadenced voice so
often sends echoing from your melodious palate, like music poured from |154 a
flute of many stops. In this you take mean advantage of your royal munificence;
you have sent your gift; you feel impregnable. Perhaps you have forgotten one
satirist's remark about another:

'When Horace says "Evohe", he has plenteously dined.'1

[2] Enough! You are right to send a command from your place of ease, bidding me sing because you are in the mood to dance. In any case I must obey; and far from acknowledging compulsion, I yield of my own free will; but spare me, if you can, the criticism of your proud Catonian brow. You know well enough what manner of thing a poet's gladness is; his spirit is entangled in grief as the fish in nets; if sorrow or affliction comes, his sensitive soul does not so lightly work free from the bonds of anguish: I am still unsuccessful in obtaining a decision about my mother-in-law's estate, even provisionally, though I have offered a third part of
it as ransom.2 [3] You must see whether the theme of my verses is such as to please you; but my cares forbid me to live in one mood and write in another. It would be unfair to me were you to institute a comparison between our two poems. I am harassed; you are happy. I am in exile; 3 you enjoy your rights of citizenship. I cannot attain your level; I want of you verse like my own, but receive something
infinitely better. [4] But if by any chance these trifles composed in the midst of much mental tribulation obtain indulgence at your hands, I will let you persuade me that they are like the swan's notes, whose song is more harmonious just before his death; or that they are like lyre-strings tensely drawn, which make the
|155
sweeter music the tighter they are strained. But if verses without suggestion of gaiety or ease can never really please, you will find nothing satisfactory in the enclosed.
[5] Do not forget, moreover, a second point which tells against me, namely that a piece which you only read and cannot hear recited is robbed of all the advantage which delivery by the author lends it. His manuscript once dispatched, the most musical of poets has no further resource; distance does not allow him to do for himself what mimics do by their accompaniment----make bad verse acceptable by dint of fine delivery.

* 'Lampridius, glory of our Thalia, why urge me now to sing of Cirrha,1 or the
Boeotian Muses, or Helicon's poetic stream called by neighing Pegasus to life at
a stroke of his hoof? Why would you make me write as if I had received the
Delphic insignia from your Delian god, and, myself a new Apollo, possessed the
hangings, and the tripods, the lyre, the quivers, the bows, and gryphons, or
tossed from my brow the laurel and the ivy? You, O happy Tityrus, have won your
lands again; you may wander through the groves of plane and myrtle, and strike a
lyre with which your voice makes perfect harmony. Wondrous is the music of
string and tone and measure.

Twice has the moon risen upon me prisoned here; 2 and but once have I been
received into the presence. For scant leisure has the King even for himself,
since all the subjugated earth awaits his nod. We see in his courts the
blue-eyed Saxon, lord of the seas, but |156 a timid landsman here. The razor's
keen blade, content no more to hold its usual course round the head's extremity,
with clean strokes shearing to the skin, drives the margin of the hair back from
his brow, till the head looks smaller and the visage longer. We see thee, aged
Sygambrian warrior, the back of thy head shaven in sign of thy defeat; but now
thou guidest the new-grown locks to the old neck again. Here strolls the
Herulian with his glaucous cheeks, inhabitant of Ocean's furthest shore, and of
one complexion with its weedy deeps. Here the Burgundian bends his seven feet of
stature on suppliant knee, imploring peace. Here the Ostrogoth finds a powerful
patron, and crushing the Hun beyond his border, triumphs at home only through
his homage to this mighty patron. And here, O Roman, thou also seekest thy
protection; if the Great Bear menaces commotion, and the Scythian hordes
advance, the strong arm of Euric is invoked, that Garonne, drawing power from
the Mars who loves his banks, may bring defence to the dwindled stream of Tiber.
Here the Parthian Arsacid 1 himself asks grace to hold, a tributary, his high
hall of Susa. He perceives in the regions of the Bosphorus dread war arise with
all its enginery, nor hopes that Persia, dismayed at the mere sound of conflict,
shall avail to guard alone Euphrates' bank. He who boasts himself kin with stars
and near allied to Phoebus, even he becomes a simple mortal, and descends to
lowly supplication. At such a court my days go by in vain. But do you, O
Tityrus, refrain, nor invite me more to song. I envy thee no longer; I can but
marvel at thy fortune. |157 For myself, I effect nothing; I utter fruitless
prayers, and so become another Meliboeus.'1

[6] There is the poem. Read it at your leisure, and like a charioteer already
crowned, look down from the balcony to the arena where I struggle still in the
sweat and dust of contest. Do not expect me to do the like again, whatever
pleasure you derive from this present effort, until the happy day arrives when I
can turn my mind once more from dark vaticinations to the service of the Muse.
Farewell.

* The poem partly translated by A. Thierry, Lettres sur l'histoire de France, p.
103.

* Translated into verse by Fertig, Part ii, p. 23; and into prose by Chaix, ii.
229.

X. To his friend Ruricius

A.D. 479

[1] I AM indeed delighted that you derive from letters at once a benefit and a pleasure. But I should be freer to extol the fire and fluency of your style, were it not that while assiduously praising me yourself you forbid me to return the compliment with interest. Your letter had all the sweetness of affection, all the grace of natural eloquence, all the mastery of style; it failed only in one respect----the choice of subject, and even there you have the credit of good intention, an error of judgement forms its only fault. You cover me with immense laudation. But you should have spared my blushes, and recalled betimes the saying of Symmachus: 'True praise adorns, false praise lashes.'2
[2] But unless I misjudge your genius you have not only shown sincere affection, but also remarkable dexterity. The really eloquent love to
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show the stuff they are made of by choosing a subject full of difficulty; they drive the accomplished pen as if it were the plough of fertile speech through matter sterile as dry and barren soil. Life abounds with examples of skill similarly applied. The hopeless case proves the great doctor, the tempest proves the steersman; for both, the perils traversed enhance reputation; their
talent wastes unseen until it finds a proper scope. [3] In the same manner the great orator proves his ample genius most effectively in strait places. Thus Marcus Tullius, who always surpassed his rivals, in his speech for Aulus Cluentius surpassed even himself. Marcus Fronto stood head and shoulders above others in all his pleadings, but in that against Pelops he rose above his own high level. Gaius Plinius won greater fame for his defence of Attia Viriola from the centumvirs' tribune than for the panegyric which almost matched the matchless Trajan.1
[4] You have followed these great examples; confident in your powers, you have not feared to take so miserable a subject as myself. But let me rather have the succour of your prayers in my depression; do not lure me with a cozening eloquence, or crush my frail and ailing soul by the weight of an illusory renown. Your diction indeed is fine, but your life finer; and I think you will serve me better by your orisons than by your perorations. Farewell.
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XI. To his friend Lupus* c. A. D. 480

[1] TELL me about your folk of Périgueux and Agen,1 whose competing claims upon
you are ever a source of pious emulation? You are bound to the people of the one
place by your own property, to those of the other by your wife's family
connexions; your birth tells in favour of the first, your marriage speaks for
the second; and the best of it is that each place has good ground for its
contention. God has verily marked you for happiness, when the privilege of
securing you and keeping you longest becomes an object of ambition to two rival
communities. [2] You grant the favour of your presence to each in regular
alternation, restoring to one its Drepanius, to the other its Anthedius; if
rhetoric be the object of their desire, neither need regret a Paulinus and an
Alcimus as long as you are with them.2 All this makes me marvel more that you
should care to ask for any old poems of mine when any day you like you have the
rummaging of so representative a library as your own. I cannot refuse you,
though this is a time of mourning, and the revival of the old jests is somewhat
out of place.

[3] It is but recently that the news reached me of Lampridius the rhetor's
murder. He was my very dear friend; and even if no violent death had snatched
him from our midst, his end would have smitten me with profound affliction. In
the days that are gone, |160 we had our jokes together, as intimates will; I was
Phoebus, he the Odrysian bard.1 So much it was necessary to premise, or the use
of these fanciful epithets would have obscured the sense of the following poem.
You must know that once upon a time, when about to visit Bordeaux, I wrote him a
letter of inquiry as to quarters, sent with the Muse in advance. Sad though the
present occasion is, I feel less constraint in sending these verses, than if I
had forwarded some mournful composition on our loss; anything of that sort I
should have written ill, while the subject would have been no less painful to
yourself.

'Orders of Phoebus to his own beloved Thalia. Dear pupil, lay aside the lyre
awhile; bind up your flowing hair with a verdant wreath, and let a zone of ivy
gird the up-bound folds of your full-bosomed robe. See you put no soccus on,
plunge not the foot deep, as your custom is, in the loose cothurnus; but bind on
such sandals as did Harpalyce,2 or she who felled her wooers with victorious
sword. You shall go the swifter, you shall leap and fly along, if your toes are
left uncovered to guide your sandalled feet with quick firm steps, and if the
chain of laces, with their converging loops, is brought up through a great loop
to the leg.3 So equipped for speed, see that you find my Orpheus, who daily by
his sweet and tuneful art softens rocks and trees, aye, and the hardest hearts;
my Orpheus, whose style the sonorous tongue of the Arpinate enriches, and the
pen of Maro, or thine, Horace, which gladdens the heart of Latium. As lyric bard
he excels the great Alcaeus; he is skilled to indite the high strain of tragedy,
or the humours of the comic |161 Muse; he can flame out in satire, and arraign
the raging tyrant with resounding voice. To this Orpheus say: "Phoebus comes; he
has left the road, his oars now smite the bosom of Garonne, white with sails. He
bids you meet him, but first be swift to prepare him hospitable welcome." And to
Leontius whom Livia bare, she of the old Senatorial line, say this: "He is
almost here." Then go to Rusticus, whose wit belies his name. But if they say
they have no room, and that their houses are full, go next to the bishop's gate;
kiss the holy Gallicinus' hand, and ask the freedom of his lowly dwelling lest,
rejected on all sides, I am driven to turn sadly to some sodden tavern, where I
should soon need to hold my nose and inveigh against the reeking kitchen with
its ruddy sausages which hang in two rows, exhaling odours from thymy pots,
while jars and hissing plates send up clouds of steam together. Even there, when
the feast-day rouses the hoarse song, and the parasite in the ecstasy of his
grumbling makes the air resound, yes, even there and even then, my voice incited
by the muse of a thirsty host, I, worse barbarian than all, shall whisper verses
more worthy of your praise.'

[4] Alas for the abject necessity of being born, alas for the miserable
necessity of living, alas for the hard compulsion of death! to these things we
are borne round on the voluble wheel of human life. I liked the dead man well;
he had his failings, which were venial enough, blending with his virtues
qualities of less worth. The slightest cause would excite him, but his wrath was
also slight; I always tried to persuade his other friends that these were
defects of temperament, |162 and nowise due to malice; I suggested other points
in his favour, as that his passion was a physical tyranny, dominating his
nature; I tried to clear him of the blot of cruelty by lending it the colour of
mere severity. Though before his mind was made up he was weak, he was most
resolute when once convinced. Like all credulous men, he was reckless; like all
those who mean no harm, he suspected none in others. He hated no one enough to
abuse him, and liked no one enough to resist the pleasure of sometimes breaking
out against him. Though a very conspicuous figure, he was not ready of access;
he had to be borne with, but he was bearable.

[5] If one were to attempt an estimate of him as orator, one would say that he
was at once terse and copious, concise and ample; if as poet, that he had
feeling, that he was a master of measure, and a consummate literary craftsman.
He had the gift of writing verse of extreme finish, and wonderfully varied alike
in metre and in metaphor. His hendecasyllables were easy and fluent, his
hexameters stately and sonorous; in elegiacs he could handle the 'echoing' or
the 'recurrent' line, and could link end with beginning by ingenious
repetitions.1 [6] He could adapt his style to person, place or occasion as the
subject required, and that too, not with commonplaces, but by chosen terms
replete with dignity and beauty. In controversy he was a power, and wielded a
strong arm; in satire alert and mordant. If his subject was tragic, he could
command terror and pathos; if comic, he was polished and infinite in resource.
In Fescennines his diction was of a vernal freshness and ardent in vows; his
bucolics were terse, alert, and |163 musical. In georgics he could strike the
perfect rustic note, though he had no touch of rusticity about him. [7] In
epigram he shunned diffuseness and aimed at point; he would always write at
least two lines, but never exceeded four; there was often a sting in the words,
more often still some graceful turn, and, without exception, wit. Horace was his
model in lyrics; his iambics went with a swing, his choriambics with a fine
gravity; his Alcaics had a supple grace, and his Sapphics were inspired. In
short, his work was so fine, so accomplished, so happy in expression, that one
might fairly think of him as a bird of glorious wing, following next after the
Horatian and Pindaric swans.

[8] His interest in different amusements was very unequal. Hazard was a weariness, the ball game a delight. He liked to chaff his friends; and it was a nice feature in him that he liked being chaffed himself still better. He wrote a great deal, but was always longing to write more. He read the ancients with perseverance and reverent admiration, the moderns without jealousy; he would give ungrudging praise to talent, perhaps the most difficult form of generosity on earth.
[9] Unfortunately he had the indefensible, I might say the fatal, fault of superstition. He was curious as to the manner of his death, and consulted those African astrologers whose nature is as fiery as their native clime. They considered the position of the stars when he was born, and told him his climacteric year, month, and day----I use the astrological terms----as men to whom the scheme of his nativity was revealed in all its sinister conditions. It seemed that in the year of his birth, all the planets which rose favourably in the zodiac sank
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with blood-red fires; whether it was that Mercury made them baleful, asyndetic upon the diameter, or Saturn retrograde upon the tetragon, or Mars returning
to his old position upon the centre.1 [10] Beliefs like these, whatever their precise form, are false, and cannot but delude; if we are to discuss them openly, and at length, we must wait until we meet, for you too are deep in the science of numbers, and with your wonted diligence study Vertacus, Thrasybulus, and Saturninus from end to end: yours is a mind always intent on things lofty and arcane. It must be admitted that in the present case there was neither appearance of mere conjecture nor deliberate ambiguity: death enmeshed our reckless inquirer into the future exactly when and how it had been foretold; all his shifts to
evade it were in vain. [11] He was strangled by his own slaves in his own house; choked and throttled he died the death of Scipio of Numantia, if not quite that of Lentulus, Jugurtha, and Sejanus. The one relieving feature in the cruel business was the discovery of crime and criminal as soon as the day broke. The first sight of the body was enough to show a fool or a blind man
that death had come by violence. [12] The livid hue, the protruding eyes, the distorted features with their look of mingled fury and anguish, all were so many proofs of what had happened. The floor was wet about his lips, because the scoundrels had turned him with his face to the ground when the deed was done, as if to suggest that life had left him with a sudden haemorrhage. The source, inciter, and ringleader of the conspiracy was first captured; next his accomplices were seized and separately confined till the terror of torture drew the
|165 truth from their unwilling breasts.
[13] Would we could say that our friend had not deserved his end by his rash and ill-advised resort to vain advisers. But I fear that he who presumes to probe forbidden secrets sets himself beyond the pale of the Catholic faith; he deserves the lot of all who put unlawful questions and receive replies that point to doom. His death was avenged, it is true, but only the survivors gain by that, for the execution of a murderer cannot mend the mischief; it only affords a certain satisfaction of revenge.

[14] My attachment to the dead man has led me to write at too great length; such
a grief I could not vent in silence. I will end by begging you to give me any
news you can, if only a line or two, to relieve the burden of my melancholy. For
the relation of this sad story with all its horror has naturally troubled me,
and filled my mind with mournful thoughts; indeed, for the time being I can
neither think, speak, nor write on any other subject. Farewell.

* An abridged translation is given by Hodgkin, ii. 331 ff.

XII. To his friend Trygetius

A. D. 461-7

[1] HAS Bazas, built on dust in place of good green earth, such charms, have
lands sandy as Syrtes, and moving soil and dunes bandied by retorting winds such
hold upon you, that neither earnest prayers of invitation, nor force of
friendships, nor even the most succulent oysters of our pools, suffice to bring
you this trifling distance in to Bordeaux, where we have been |166 expecting you
all these days? Is it that the hardships of a winter journey deter you? those
wild winds of Bigorre will often obliterate the soft tracks, and perhaps you
dread a kind of shipwreck upon land? [2] If so, your memory is short; how long
ago was it that Gibraltar was conquered by your bold foot? or that your camp was
pitched on the uttermost shores of Cadiz? or the last goal of great wanderings
reached, common to Hercules and to my Trygetius? Are you grown such a traitor to
your proper nature as to abandon yourself wholly to sloth, you who once ranged
the lands of mystery and fable, you whose limbs might fail, but never your
indefatigable purpose? [3] Yet with such a record, you come down to Langon
harbour 1 crawling with no less reluctance than one bound for the Danube to
resist the all-invading Massagetae, or for the dull flood of Nile with all its
awful crocodiles. If a bare twelve miles can so delay you, what would you have
done had you been with Marcus Cato on his marches through the deserts of Leptis?
2

[4] You shiver, it seems, at the mere name of the winter months; but I can
assure you we enjoy the gentlest, mildest, and clearest skies, where the
lightest breezes serve as winds; so nominal a winter season should less deter
than the temperate reality attract. But if my letter of invitation leaves you
still obdurate, you shall not resist the verses which in two days' time shall go
forth to the attack, more insidious in persuasion, yet I trust none the less
strenuous agents of my wishes. [5] My friend Leontius, first of all our
Aquitanians, with Paulinus, worthy son of worthy sire, are to meet you with the
falling tide on the Garonne at the appointed |167 place; so that not only the
boats, but the very river itself shall come out with them to greet you. The
oarsmen at the thwarts, the steersmen on the poops, shall tune their chants to
sing your praises. They shall pile high for you a couch of cushions, there shall
be a board set with men of two colours1; the dice shall await you, ready to be
thrown and thrown again from the ivory steps of the boxes. A pine-wood grating
shall be fixed across the bottom of the boat so that the bilge flowing to and
fro shall never wet your dangling foot; a wicker screen above shall protect you
from the treacherous winter sun. [6] What more could the most pampered of the
indolent expect than to find himself at his destination before he seemed well
under weigh? A truce to your objections and delays; I could swear that the snail
with his house on his back would easily outstrip you. And to think that there is
a store-room at your command crammed with piles of the most exquisite delicacies
and only wanting an enterprise to do it justice! [7] Come, then, to be
entertained or to entertain; or, best of all, to do both; come with all your
armoury of Mediterranean fare to crush and subjugate the finely equipped
gourmets of Médoc.2 On our battle-ground let us see the fish of Adour triumph
over the mullets of Garonne, and our coarse crew of crabs fall back before the
lobster-armies of Bayonne. Join battle after this wise with the rest of us; but
if you value my opinion, take a veteran's advice as a wise man should, and leave
my senatorial host out of the contest; if you once come beneath his hospitable
roof, you will feast as if you enjoyed continual feasts or the banquets of a
Cleopatra. His |168 own and his country's honour will be involved in the
competition; and it is generally agreed that he surpasses all his rivals just as
far as his city leaves all other cities behind. Farewell.

XIII. To the Lord Bishop Nunechius

A.D. 472-4

[1] No one, most blessed father, rejoices more than I over the number and
variety of virtues with which you are so richly endowed by Heaven. You are
described as a man of birth who is never arrogant, a man of influence who makes
a blameless use of power, a man of piety untouched by superstition. You are
praised as one who is learned without airs and serious without fatuity; one
whose wit is never rehearsed, who is courteous, but knows his mind, and sociable
without any love of popularity.

[2] And not content with allowing you these qualities, Fame crowns them with another of yet higher degree, the supreme gift of charity----Fame who, however she may sing your praises, must leave the greater part unsung. For though she can explain to distant friends the aim of your good deeds, their number is beyond the powers of her relation. The tale of them fires me now to make you a first advance, as a conscious inferior should. I therefore proceed to pay my homage; hitherto I might so justly have been accused of backwardness, that I have no apprehension now of being considered forward.

[3] I commend to your kindness the bearer Promotus, |169 whom you already know,
and whom your prayers have now made my fellow penitent. Though by birth a Jew,
he has preferred to be numbered with those chosen by faith rather than blood; he
has sought the franchise of the heavenly city; by grace of the Spirit which
makes alive he has rejected the letter that kills. Considering, on the one hand,
the rewards laid up for the just, on the other the punishment, endless as
eternity, awaiting him who dares not desert the Circumcision for the camp of
Christ, he has made up his mind to be accounted no longer a citizen of the
Solyma on earth, but a son of the Holy Jerusalem which is above. [4] Which thing
perceiving, let now the spiritual Sara take to her maternal arms the truer son
of Abram; for he ceased to belong to the handmaid Hagar when he exchanged the
servitude of conformity according to law for the freedom which comes of grace.
The special reason for his journey you will more conveniently learn from his own
lips. To me he will always be very dear for the cause above related; I have
dwelled upon it because the most effective introduction of all is that which
simply sets forth a man's indisputable claim to be well received. Deign to hold
us in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

XIV. To the Lord Bishop Principius

A. D. 472-4

[1] THOUGH I have never seen your face, venerable father, for a long time I have
seen the effect of your activities. The praise of such saintliness as yours is
widely spread; |170 it overleaps mere bounds of space; and just as the influence
of a great character knows no bound, so no term is set to the range of a noble
reputation. [2] You will put this all down as my exaggeration unless I adduce in
support of my statement some competent witness. I therefore cite a revered
member of the famous brotherhood at Lerins,1 a contemporary there with Maximus
and Lupus, one who went such lengths in renunciation that he might claim to
rival the archimandrites2 of Memphis or the Holy Land. I mean Bishop Antiolus,
who was the first to tell me about your father and brothers, and the high
example which both of you set in the exercise of your exalted functions in the
Church; his account of you first kindled in me the desire to know a story,
familiarity with which has ever since been my delight. [3] One might almost
compare your father to Aaron the High Priest of old, whom his brother, the
Lawgiver, first anointed with the oil of sanctification in the midst of the
people in the wilderness, calling next his sons to the same sacred office. But
Aaron's happiness in Ithamar and Eleazar was marred when Nadab and Abihu were
destroyed by lightning; they were cut off and punished in the flesh, but we may
believe that in the spirit they had absolution. [4] I never heard that you offer
strange fire when you come to lay your hands upon the altar; rather with the
censer of the heart you burn a glowing incense, offering the sacrifices of
chastity and love. As often as with the cords of exhortation you bind the yoke
of the law upon the necks of the proud, so often in spirit do you sacrifice
bulls to the Lord. As often as with the goad of your rebuke you drive sinners
polluted by the rankness of |171 sensual indulgence to the sweet savour of a
modest life, so often do you offer rank goats in the sight of Christ. [5] As
often as your rebuke leads the soul to sigh in penance and compunction over the
committed fault, who shall doubt that you present in mystic sacrifice the pair
of turtle-doves and the two young pigeons which by their number and their
plaints symbolize the twofold nature of man? As often as your warning voice
moves the glutton to parch by fire of frequent fastings his gross body and
heaving swollen stomach, who shall doubt that you consecrate, as it were, the
finest flour in the pan of continence? [6] Every time that you persuade a sinner
to renounce the vanities of misbelief, to profess right doctrine, to hold the
faith, to keep the way, or to hope for eternal life, who doubts that in the
making of a convert triply freed from heresy, hypocrisy, and schism, you
dedicate the purest shewbread with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth?
[7] Who, in fine, is not aware that the corporeal sacrifice slain as type under
the Law is more than replaced by the spiritual sacrifice which you offer under
grace? That is why I give abundant thanks to God for your letter, from which I
perceive that although the aforesaid prelate told me great things of you, there
were greater things which he left unsaid. I am persuaded that you who seem so
admirable in other men's description, and more admirable yet in your own letter,
will prove best of all seen face to face.

[8] The clerk, Megethius, who brought your message, has satisfactorily concluded
his affairs, and carries back my respects. I fear I may be of little practical
use to him, but if good wishes avail, he has mine. Through |172 him I urgently
entreat your brother and yourself frequently to quench my thirst with a stream
of your most literary letters, and you must write the oftener of the two. If the
difficulties of the road and the distance between us prove an obstacle to my
desires, at least pray sometimes for those who ask your prayers. Honoured though
I should be by your regular correspondence, your occasional prayers promise me
something more than honours, they promise me salvation. Deign to hold me in
remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

XV. To the Lord Bishop Prosper

A. D.478 (?)

[1] You wished me to celebrate the glory of the holy Annianus, the greatest and
most perfect of prelates, equal to Lupus, and no unworthy rival of Germanus; you
would fain see graven on the hearts of all the faithful the memory of a
character so fine, so eminent, so richly endowed with so many virtues and so
many merits, to which I myself should like to add this, that he made way for
such a successor as yourself. You exacted a promise from me at the same time
that I would hand down for the benefit of those who come after us the history of
the war with Attila, with the whole tale of the siege and assault of Orleans
when the city was attacked and breached, but never laid in ruins, and the
bishop's celebrated prophecy was divinely answered from above.1 [2] I actually
set to work upon the book; but when I grasped the extent of my undertaking I
repented of |173 having ever begun; I therefore suffered no one else to hear a
work which my own judgement already condemned. But to the first part of your
request I can return a different answer: your wishes, and the merit of that
great bishop make it my duty to enhance his fame without delay by every means
within my power. I only ask you, as a fair creditor, to treat with laudable
indulgence this promise of your reckless debtor, and in that other matter to
refrain from asking what I must refrain from attempting to do. Deign to hold me
in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

XVI. To his friend Constantius c. A. D. 478

[1] I PROMISED the illustrious Petronius to conclude this little book in a few
letters; but in endeavouring to spare you, I have been very hard on him. He was
to have the drudgery of revision, you the honour of the issue; the
responsibility of conveying the volume to you was to be his, the pleasure of
paying the homage mine. I have carried out my intention; if you will cast your
practised eye over the numerous superscriptions I think you will be struck by
the manner in which the pages are filled. I have reached the very margins near
the umbilicus; as the Satirist says, it is time to finish my Orestes 1, even if
I have to write on the other side of the parchment.

[2] In this work I have not been classical, or enlisted in my service a fabulous
Terpsichore, nor have I led |174 my pen by dewy banks and mossy rocks to the
well-spring of Aganippe. I only hope that what I have written may not prove
rambling pointless stuff, and full of trivial commonplaces. For an accomplished
reader like yourself can take no pleasure in an invertebrate, soft and enervated
style; what he requires is something nervous and masculine in the antique
manner. Those qualities must be left to a greater talent than mine; enough for
me, if you forgive me for keeping you waiting so long.

[3] It is fortunate that our illustrious friend requested no further additions;
that would have involved me in long delays, for not a single cabinet or case
contains anything more worth production. This will show you that although my
time of silence is still to come, I have certainly begun to think of it, and
that for two reasons. If I win approval, I shall give my readers pleasure at the
smallest cost to themselves; if, on the other hand, I am disapproved, their
weariness will soon be over. For my style has no polished graces; it is of a
positively heathen bluntness. [4] What use should I have, indeed, for an austere
archaic manner, or for far-fetched terms of Salii or Sibyls, or the old Sabine
Cures?1 Such things the masters for the most part avoid; they are for some
flamen to expound, or some antiquated reader of the law's conundrums. My diction
is dry and jejune; mine is a vocabulary of common words in too general use to
claim distinction, too ready to every one's hand to find acceptance with the
critical. [5] If my writing lacks eloquence and force, I can confidently say
that it contains nothing which is not genuine and absolutely true to fact. Why
should I insist upon the point? |175 If my style pleases my friends, it is good
enough for me. I am content with either kind of verdict: they may either be
critical and tell me the truth, or partial and deceive themselves. All I shall
ask of Providence in future is that posterity may judge or be deceived in the
same manner. Farewell. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All
material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


========================================================================
  CHAPTER 10: BOOK 9
========================================================================

Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) vol. 2. pp. 176-214 ; Book
IX

BOOK IX

I. To his friend Firminus

After A. D. 480

[1] You insist, my honoured Son, that I should exceed the existing limit of my
collected letters; that I should adventure further, and refuse to content myself
with the present total. Your reason in favour of adding a ninth volume is that
Pliny, in whose steps you deem me to follow in this work, assigns the same term
to his own collection.1 [2] I may yield to your desire; but all the same, this
friendly invitation raises difficulties, and is far from promising advantage to
such poor reputation as I already possess. In the first place, it is very late
in the day to append this new addition to the volume already issued. Secondly, I
do not know the umpire who would not hold it indecent in an author to give a
single work three supplements. [3] Nor, having definitely announced the work
done, should I know what excuse to make for not curbing my incorrigible
loquacity, unless indeed it were this, that one cannot constrain one's
friendships as one can limit one's page. For these reasons, I think you ought to
stand on guard before my reputation, and make my motives clear to the
inquisitive; I should like you to send me regular intelligence of the views
expressed by those whose opinions I should value. [4] If |177 after forcing me
to chatter on, you yourself persevere in silence, you will have no fair ground
for complaint if I pay you out in your own coin. It is incumbent on you above
all others to be lenient in judging my endeavour to fulfil the task and
obligation imposed upon me. Meanwhile, I will at once insert in the margin of
the eighth book any fresh letter which comes into my hands.

[5] Apollinaris, all ardour in most pursuits, is utterly remiss in one; study
has but a faint attraction for him, whether he reads by his own choice or by
compulsion. At least, that is how it appears to me, since I count myself one of
those fathers who are so eager, so ambitious, and so apprehensive about the
progress of their sons that they hardly ever find anything to commend, or if
they do, are hardly ever satisfied. Farewell.

II. To the Lord Bishop Euphronius c. A. D. 472

[1] THE missive with your saintly greeting has been delivered by the priest Albiso and the Levite1 Proculus, whom I may accept as my masters in conduct, since they have proved themselves your worthy pupils. The letter does me a great honour, but it imposes a yet greater burden. Although your benediction delights me, the accompanying injunction fills me with dismay. Indeed, I am so perturbed that I cannot think even of a partial obedience. You bid me attempt too intricate a task, and much too far beyond my capacity. At a time when my powers wane towards their end, I am to essay
|178
a work which I should be mad to begin and could never hope to finish. [2] If I know your loyal heart aright, your real aim was rather to give me proof of your affection than to see my completed labours. But I shall take good care that while from Jerome, the master of exegesis, Augustine, the master of dialectic, and Origen, the master of allegory, you reap full ears of spiritual emotion and a harvest of saving doctrine, that no dry stubble shall rustle in your ears from this parched tongue of mine. As well blend the hoarse cry of the goose with the swan's music, or the sparrow's impudent chirp with the tuneful plaint of
nightingales. [3] Should I not show a certain effrontery and want of proper feeling were I to approach so formidable a task----I, a novice in the Church, but a veteran, alas! in transgression----I, light in learning, but weighed down by a heavy conscience? If I were to send what I had written to be seen by other eyes, I should become the laughing-stock even of critics who never set eyes on me.

I entreat you, therefore, my Lord Bishop, not to insist on spoiling a modesty
which would fain avoid publicity, or tempt me into so rash an adventure. Such is
the envy of the backbiters, that a mere beginning is more sure of their censure
than a successful conclusion of their applause. Deign to hold me in remembrance,
my Lord Bishop. |179

III. To the Lord Bishop Faustus c. A.D. 477

[1] YOUR old loyalty to a friend, and your old mastery of diction are both
unchanged; I admire equally the heartiness of your letters, and the perfect
manner of their expression. But I think, and I am sure that you will concur with
me, that at the present juncture, when the roads are no longer secure owing to
the movements of the peoples, the only prudent and safe course is to abandon for
the present any regular exchange of messages; we must be less assiduous
correspondents; we must learn the art of keeping silence. This is a bitter
deprivation, and hard to bear when a friendship is as close as ours; it is
imposed upon us not by casual circumstance, but by causes at once definite,
inevitable, and diverse in their origin.

[2] First among them 1 must set the examination of all letter-carriers upon the
highways. Messengers may run small personal risk, since nothing can be alleged
against them; but they have to put up with endless annoyance, while some
vigilant official subjects them to an inquisitorial search. At the first sign of
faltering in reply to questions, they are suspected of carrying in their heads
instructions which cannot be found upon their persons. The sender of a letter is
thus placed in an awkward position, and the bearer is liable to rough usage,
especially at a time like this, when fresh disputes between rival nationalities
have destroyed a treaty of long duration. [3] In the second place I set the
soreness of |180 my heart over my own private troubles, for I was taken from
home with a show of great consideration, but really removed by compulsion to
this distant spot, where I am broken by every kind of mental anguish, enduring
all the hardships of an exile and the losses of a proscript. It is therefore by
no means the right moment to ask me for finished letters, and were I to attempt
them, it would be impertinence, for the exchange of a lively or elaborate
correspondence should be confined to happy people; to me it seems little less
than a barbarism for a man to write gaily when his spirit is vexed within him.
[4] How much better it would be for you to give the benefit of your unremitting
orisons to a soul conscious of its guilt and trembling as often as it recalls
the debts of a sinful career! For you are versed in the prayers of the Island
brotherhood, which you transferred from the wrestling-place of the hermit
congregation, and from the assembly of the monks of Lerins,1 to the city over
whose church you preside, for all your episcopal rank, an abbot still in spirit,
and refusing to make your new dignity a pretext for any relaxation in the rigour
of the ancient discipline. Obtain for me, then, by your most potent intercession
that my portion may be in the Lord; that enrolled from henceforth among the
companies of my tribesmen the Levites, I may cease to be of the earth earthly, I
to whom not a yard of earth remains;2 and that I may begin to estrange myself
from the guilt of this world, as I am already estranged from its riches.

[5] In the third place, and perhaps this after all is the chief reason why I
have given up writing to you, I have a boundless admiration for your tropical
figurative style, and for that consummately varied and perfected diction |181 of
which your last letter affords such ample evidence. Many years ago I sat a
hoarse demonstrative listener when you preached either extempore, or, if
occasion demanded, after careful preparation. I especially remember the week's
festival of the dedication of the church at Lyons, when you were called upon by
the general desire of your venerable colleagues to deliver an oration. On that
occasion you proved yourself a master both of forensic and religious eloquence,
and held the balance between them with such perfection that we hung upon your
words with ears strained and roused emotions; you cared less to indulge our
simple predilections because you knew that you had wholly satisfied our reason.

[6] There you have the cause of my present and my future silence; I could not
refuse a few words without disobedience, but henceforward I shall hold my peace
and learn in silence. In future the word lies with you, my Lord Bishop. It is
yours to devote yourself to the teaching of sound and perfect doctrine in works
destined to live; for not a man hears you in argument or exposition who does not
learn to deserve the praise of others in deed no less than word. Forgive my
simple letter,1 which has at least the virtue of conforming to your desires; I
have myself to admit that, by comparison with yours, my style is inarticulate as
a child's. [7] But there is little point in all this heavy repetition; the most
foolish thing in the world is to be always deprecating one's own follies.
Judgement rests with you, and if you put things to a thorough test, you will
find much to laugh at, and even more to censure. I shall welcome it if your
notorious kindness of heart allows you for once to abandon your dislike of |182
being critical, and condemn such points as need correction. Only if you strike
out passages here and there, shall I have the satisfaction of feeling that you
approve what you leave intact. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

IV. To the Lord Bishop Graecus

A. D. 473 (?)

[1] OUR traveller and bearer of mutual salutations treads a path of which he
knows every yard from having to traverse over and over again the roads and
tracts between our several cities. We ourselves must keep to the ideal set
before us; we ought, indeed, to be more intent on it than ever, and redouble our
zeal now that so many messengers are constantly upon the way, and above all,
Amantius. If we fail in this, it will look as if we corresponded just because he
regularly calls for letters, and not because we really wish to write them. You
must think more often of the friends among whose number I venture to count
myself; all of us feel no less elated by your good, than depressed by your
adverse fortune. [2] Were we not moved to sympathetic tears by the mournful
story of your anguish at the fate of certain brethren? Flower of the priesthood,
jewel among pontiffs, mighty in learning, in righteousness mightier yet, spurn
from you the threatening waves of earthly storms, for we have often heard from
your own lips that the way to the promised feasts of patriarchs and the
celestial nectar lies through the bitter cups of earthly |183 sorrows. Whether
he will or no, each follower of the Mediator who endured the world's contempt
must follow his Lord's example. Whatever draughts of trouble the affliction of
this present life sets to our lips, we shall perceive how small our burden is if
we will but remember what He who calls us to His heaven once drank upon the
tree. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

V. To the Lord Bishop Julianus c. A.D. 477

[1] THOUGH we dwell further apart than either of us could wish, the distance
dividing us has had less to do with the interruption of our intercourse than the
fact that we live under different laws; national disagreements born of opposing
interests have hindered our frequent correspondence. But now that a peace has
been concluded,1 and the two peoples are to become trusty allies, our letters
will be able to pass in greater numbers since they will arouse no more
suspicion. [2] Unite your prayers, then, with those of your reverend brothers,
that Christ may deign to prosper our handiwork, restraining the quarrels of our
princes, making their wars to cease, granting to them the gift of good
intention, to us peace, and to all security. Deign to hold us in remembrance, my
Lord Bishop. |184

VI. To the Lord Bishop Ambrose

After A. D. 472

[1] YOUR holiness has interceded before Christ with effect on behalf of our well-beloved friend (I will not mention his name----you will know whom I mean), the laxity of whose youth you used sometimes to lament before a few chosen witnesses of your sorrow, sometimes to bemoan in silence and alone. For he has suddenly broken off his relations with the shameless slave-girl to whose low fascination he had utterly abandoned his life; by this prompt reformation he has taken a great step in the interests of his estate, of his
descendants, and of himself. [2] He dissipated his inheritance until his coffers were empty; but when he once began to consider his position, and understood how much of his patrimony the extravagance of his domestic Charybdis had swallowed up, not a moment too soon he took the bit in his teeth, shook his head, and stopping his ears, as one might say, with Ulysses' wax, he was deaf to the voice of evil, and escaped the shipwreck that follows meretricious lures. He has led to the altar a maid of high birth and ample fortune, and
for that we must give him credit. [3] It would of course have been a greater glory to have abandoned the voluptuous life without taking to himself a wife; but few of, those who forsake error at the call of virtue can begin upon the highest level, and after indulging themselves in everything, cut off all indulgence at one stroke.
[4] It is now your part by assiduous prayer to obtain for
|185
the newly married couple good hope of issue; and then, when they have one or two children (perhaps even in that we concede too much), to see to it that this stealer of unlawful joys shall abstain thereafter even from lawful pleasures. At present the conduct of this bride and bridegroom is so seemly that to see them once together is enough to reveal the gulf between the honourable love of a wife and the feigned endearments of the concubine. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

VII. To the Lord Bishop Remigius

A.D. 472-4(?)

[1] ONE of our citizens of Clermont (I know the man, but forget his business, which is immaterial) went recently on a journey to Belgic Gaul, and while at Rheims so won your copyist or your bookseller by the charms of his manner or of his purse that he wormed out of him, without your consent, a complete set of your Declamations. After his triumphant return with such a splendid spoil of volumes, he insisted on presenting the whole series to us as his fellow townsmen, though we were quite ready to purchase them----a rather graceful act. All of us here who are devoted to literature were properly desirous of reading the books, and we at once began to transcribe the whole, committing to memory as much as we were able.
[2] It was the universal opinion that there were few men living who could write as you do. There are few or none who before even beginning to write could arrange their subjects so well, so calculate the position of syllables, or the
|186 juxtaposition of consonant and vowel; and besides, there is none whose illustrations are so apposite, whose statements are so trustworthy, whose epithets are so appropriate, whose allusions so full of charm, whose arguments are so sound, whose sentiments carry such weight, whose diction has such a flow, whose periods come to so
fulminant a conclusion. [3] The framework is always stout and firm, bound with many a delightful transition, and close caesura, but withal quite easy and smooth, and rounded to perfection; it helps the reader's tongue to pass without obstacle, so as never to be troubled by rough divisions, or roll in stammering accents on the palate. All is fluent and ductile; it is as when the finger glides lightly over a surface of polished crystal or onyx, where there is not the slightest crack
or fissure to stay its passage. [4] I have said enough. There is no orator alive whom your masterful skill would not enable you easily to surpass and leave far behind. I almost dare to suspect (forgive my audacity) that a flow of eloquence so copious and so far beyond my powers of description must sometimes make you vain. But do not think that because you shine with the twofold brilliance of your holy life and your consummate style you can therefore disregard our opinion; remember that though our authorship may be
worth little, our criticism may count for much. [5] In future, then, cease to evade our judgement, from which you have nothing either mordant or aggressive to fear. For I must warn you that if you leave our barrenness unenriched by the stream of your eloquence, we shall take our revenge by engaging the services of burglars, whose clever hands will soon despoil your roll-cases
|187
with our connivance and support. If you are imperturbable before a friendly request to-day, you will soon learn what perturbation means to-morrow, when the thieves have cleared your shelves. Deign to keep me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

VIII. To the Lord Bishop Principius

A.D. 472-474

[1] I WAS longing for a line from you when quite unexpectedly our old messenger
brought me your answer; his efficiency in the present case proves him a fit and
proper person to be entrusted with our further correspondence. Your second
letter is a gift, or rather blessing, which I repay with my further greetings:
the account is now numerically but far from qualitatively equal. [2] And since
we live in spiritual communion, while our homes are remote, so that we are
debarred by our situation from the pleasure of meeting, pray for me, that I may
be released from the burden and travail of this present life by a holy death
such as my heart desires, and that when the day of Judgement dawns and the dead
are raised, I may join your throng a servitor, were it even on the terms of the
Gibeonites 1. For in accordance with the divine promise, the sons of God shall
come together from every nation, and if pardon be given to my grievous sin,
however diverse my deserts, I shall not be separated far from the place where
glory awaits you among the saints. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord
Bishop. |188

IX. To the Lord Bishop Faustus

After A. D. 475

[1] You have lamented our long silence, venerable father, but while I recognize
and applaud your desire that it should at last be broken, I cannot admit that
any blame attaches to me. When you bade me some time back give you my news, I
wrote before receiving your last communication, and my letter actually reached
Riez; but though you were at Apt, you aptly escaped its perusal.1 I was most
anxious, both to receive my due credit for having written, and to escape too
severe a criticism when you read the missive. [2] But on this point I need say
no more at present, especially as you again ask me for a letter, and one as
voluminous as I can make it. I long to satisfy you; the goodwill is there, but
unfortunately I have no subject for my pen. Greetings should take up little
space, unless they introduce some matter of real interest; to spin them out with
mere verbiage, is to deflect from the path defined by Sallust when he said that
Catiline had words enough but little wisdom.2 So my vale will have to follow my
ave at an exceedingly short interval. I beseech your prayers for me.

[3] What a stroke of luck! Just as I was on the point of folding up my letter,
something has occurred for me to write about, and if either the pleasure or the
annoyance of the event delays my protest a single moment, I will own myself
deserving of the indignity to which I have been exposed. You have fallen into my
hands, Great Master, |189 I do more than triumph; I have you at my mercy, and in
my captive I find one of no less stature than the anticipations of years had led
me to expect. I cannot say whether you are caught against your will, but it
looks like it. For if you did not mean your books to pass me without my
knowledge, you certainly did nothing to prevent the passage. It aggravates the
offence that in traversing Auvergne they not merely went close under my walls
but almost grazed my person. [4] Were you afraid that I should be jealous? Thank
God, I am less open to the charge of envy than any other; and were it otherwise,
were I as guilty of this as of other defects, the hopelessness of a successful
rivalry would be enough to purge me of emulation. Did you fear the frown of so
severe and difficult a critic as your servant? What critic so swollen or so
opinionated as not to kindle at your least ardent passages! [5] Was it your low
estimate of a junior that led you to ignore and to disdain me? I hardly think
it. Was it that you thought me ignorant? I could put up with that if you mean
ignorant of the art of writing, not ignorant in appreciation. I must remind you
that only those who have taken part in the games presume to pass judgement on
the racing chariots. Was there any casual disagreement between us, leading you
to suppose that I might decry your work? Thanks be to God, my worst enemies
cannot make me out a lukewarm friend. Why waste these words? you ask. [6] Well,
I will now let you have the whole story of this secretiveness which so incensed
me, and of the discovery which has put me in such high spirits again. I had read
those works of yours which Riochatus the priest and monk,1 and |190 thus twice a
stranger and pilgrim in this world, was taking back for you to your Bretons; for
you, who may well be called Faustus to-day, since you cannot grow old, since you
will always live in the mouths of men, and after your bodily death, attain
immortality by your works. The venerable man made some stay in our city, waiting
till the agitated main of peoples should calm down, for at that time the vast
whirlwind of wars rose dreadful against us on this side and on that. All your
other good gifts he freely produced; but managed to keep back, always with the
most exquisite courtesy, the chief treasure he conveyed, unwilling perhaps to
let me feel the contrast between your roses and my brambles. [7] After rather
more than two months, he hurriedly left us, a rumour having got abroad that he
and his company had with them mysterious things of great price, carefully
wrapped up from view. I went after him with horses swift enough easily to cancel
the day's start he had gained; I came up with my felon, I leapt at his throat
with a kiss, laughing like a man but pouncing like a wild beast; I resembled a
robbed tigress that with winged feet springs like a flash upon the neck of the
Parthian hunter to dash her stolen cub from his grasp.1 [8] To cut the story
short, I embraced the knees of my captive friend; I stopped the horses, tied the
bridles, opened his baggage, discovered the volume I sought,2 dragged it forth
in triumph, and began reading away and dismembering it by making lengthy
excerpts from the important chapters. I dictated as fast as I could, and the
skill of my secretaries yet further abbreviated my task, for they were able to
skip letters wholesale, using a system of substituted signs. The story of our
parting would be |191 an overlong tale, and after all of no great interest; our
cheeks were wet with tears; we embraced and embraced again, hardly able to tear
ourselves away. My exultation was justified by my safe return, laden with the
spoils of loving-kindness and master of great riches for the soul.

[9] And now for my opinion of this booty. I should rather like to hold it back,
in order to keep you in suspense; judgement withheld were vengeance more
complete. But I despair of taking down your pride; for you are conscious of so
masterly an eloquence that sheer delight in what they read wrings eulogy from
your readers, whether they wish to withstand the charm or not. Listen, then, to
the sentence which an injured friend now passes on your book. [10] It is a work
of the most fruitful labour, varied, ardent, sublime, excellent in
classification, rich in apt examples, well balanced by its form as dialogue, and
by the fourfold division of its subject. There is much that is inspiring, much
that is grand; here I find simplicity without clumsiness, there point not too
far-fetched; grave matters are handled with ripe judgement, deep matters with
proper caution; on debatable ground you take firm stand; in controversy your
argument is always ready. Now persuasive, now severe, always intent to edify,
you write with eloquence, with force, and with exquisite discrimination.

[11] Following you over the whole wide field traversed in so many manners, I find you easily superior to all other writers alike in conception and in execution. You must appreciate my sincerity in this the more, when you remember that I pronounce my opinion under the smart
|192
of your affront. I think your work could only be improved by one thing----your presence in person to read it, when something might yet be added by the author's own voice, his gesture, his restrained art of
physical expression. [12] Endowed thus with all these intellectual and literary gifts, you have united yourself with a fair woman according to the precept of Deuteronomy.1 You saw her among the hostile squadrons; and then and there you loved her as she stood in the forefront of the adversary's battle; through all the resistance of the foe, you bore her off in the strong arm of passion. Her name is Philosophy, she it is whom you snatched by force from among the impious arts; and having shorn the locks betokening a false faith, with the eyebrows arched with pride of earthly learning, and cut away the folds of her ancient vesture, which are the folds of sad dialectic, veiling perverse and unlawful conversation, you purified her and joined her
to you in a close and mystical embrace. [13] She has been your faithful follower from your early years; she was ever at your side, whether you practised your skill in the arena of the crowded city, or subdued the flesh in remote solitudes; in the Athenaeum she was with you, and in the monastery; with you she abjured the wisdom of the world, with you proclaims that which is from above. Whoever provokes you as her lawful spouse shall soon perceive the noble range of your philosophy, and find himself confronted by the Platonic Academy
of the Church of Christ. [14] He shall hear you first declare the ineffable omniscience of God and the eternity of the Holy Spirit. He shall not see you grow long hair or flaunt the pallium or staff as insignia
|193
of the philosophic state. He shall not see you pride yourself in nice apparel, indulging the exquisite's pretension, or making squalor your boast. He shall not see you betray your envy when in the gymnasia, or the Schools of the Areopagus; Speusippus is pictured for admiring eyes with bowed head, Aratus with open countenance; Zeno with contracted brows, Epicurus with unwrinkled skin, Diogenes with hirsute beard, Socrates with failing hair, Aristotle with arm freed from the mantle, Xenocrates with his contracted leg, Heraclitus with his eyes closed by tears, Democritus with lips parted in a laugh, Chrysippus counting with clenched fingers, Euclid measuring with open hands, Cleanthes biting his nails over problems both of space and number.1
[15] Far from all this, whoever challenges you shall see the Stoic, the Cynic, the Peripatetic, the Heresiarch all beaten with their own weapons and crushed by their own devices. Their followers who dare resist Christian faith and dogma to venture a bout with you shall soon be bound hand and foot and fall headlong into the toils of their own nets. The barbed syllogisms of your logic shall hook these voluble tongues even while they seek escape; you shall noose their slippery problems in categoric coils after the fashion of the clever doctor, who, if need be, will prepare his antidote for poison from the very venom of the serpent.
[16] I have said enough for the moment on your spiritual insight and on the soundness of your learning. For no one can follow in your footsteps with an equal stride, since to no other is it given to speak better than the masters who taught him, and to make his actions better than his words. Not without reason shall you be called by those qualified to judge,
|194 most blessed above all in our generation, as one who in deed and word enjoys a great and twofold glory; who after numbering years to be counted on the right hand,1 after being the model of this century and the desire of every other, shall die honoured for his excellence in every field, leaving his possessions to his own folk, and himself to the nations of the world. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

X. To the Lord Bishop Aprunculus After A.D. 475 (?)

[1] MY letter was delivered to you by a messenger who ought to have brought me
back a reply; for our brother Celestius, on his return recently from Béziers,
extracted from me a document of surrender relating to my [clerk] Injuriosus. I
wrote it urged by the compelling force of your modesty rather than by any
inclination of my own; the least that I could do, confronted with such an
attitude was to meet you halfway upon the swift feet of my respect. [2] Regard
him, then, as yours by my deliberate act, but use him with generosity; indeed, I
am sure you proposed nothing but the solace of your kindness. I have no further
resentment against him, and write this rather as an introduction to you than as
a formal dimissal for him. But I should like it to be a condition that he is to
render you obedient service and assistance, and that if he stays with you he
shall be regarded as neither yours nor mine; but that if he leaves you, it shall
be open to both of us to treat him as a fugitive.2 Deign to hold me in
remembrance, my Lord Bishop. |195

XI. To the Lord Bishop Lupus

A.D. 478 (?)

[1] THAT unfortunate book which you regard as sent not so much to you as through you, has inspired a letter which I in my turn regard as written not so much to me as against me.1 I cannot reply to your reproaches with an eloquence equal to yours; I rely only on the justice of my cause; how indeed am I to plead 'not guilty' when you imply the opposite? At the very outset, therefore, I frankly ask your pardon for my offence, such as it is; but I confess only to an error born of diffidence and by no means of improper pride.
[2] The strictness of your judgement is no less formidable to me in literary than in moral questions, but I must admit that when I opened the volume it was the thought of the friendship you profess for me which oppressed me most. And that I think is natural; for it is human nature for a friend who suspects an injury to be severer than any one else.
[3] It is true enough, as you point out, that my book is a medley packed and piled with multifarious subjects, episodes and personal facts; it would have been outrageous had I been so infatuated with my work as to imagine that no part of it would displease you. Whatever your judgement might prove to be, it was evident that I should derogate from my loyalty, if I failed to give you at least the first sight of the volume, even though I might not formally present it. If I were lucky enough to meet with your approval, you could not accuse me of having arrogantly neglected you; if on the
|196 other hand I were less fortunate, you could not say that
I had forced my work upon your notice. [4] Nor did I expect to find it very difficult to excuse the motive which saved me from possibly having to blush for myself. I imagined you to be as well aware as I myself that modesty becomes the writer of a new book better than assurance, and that timidity is far more likely to win the vote of the severe critic than a provocative spirit. On the other hand, if a man boldly announces a volume on a fresh subject, however much he may really have done to satisfy the legitimate expectation of the public, he will soon find that he will be expected to do more. Whatever strictures you may pass on the tenor of this reply, I prefer to make a clean breast of
it rather than resort to disingenuous evasions. [5] Any one but myself would probably have argued somewhat after this wise: 'I never gave any one the advantage over you; no one else had received a special letter from me. The man whom you believed to be preferred before you had to be content with one letter to his credit, and that, too, having no relation to the present matter. You on the other hand, for all your complaints at being overlooked, must have been simply exhausted by the three garrulous sheets you received; you must have been sickened by so long an immersion in empty and dull verbiage. Moreover you may not have observed that, even so, your position and your high deserts have received ample consideration; your name appears in the first superscription of the book, as befits that of the primate among our bishops. His name, on the contrary, only occurs once in a letter addressed to himself; yours is so mentioned more than once, and you are cited
|197
besides in letters addressed to other persons. [6] Remember, too, that where there is a subject likely to please you, I have encouraged you to read it, whereas the person in question can only do so by your kindness; he is probably so embarrassed by your attitude to my little gift that I should be surprised if even now he has had a real chance of perusal, while you long ago reached the stage of transcribing. I expect he will hardly regard as my holograph a copy over which you have glanced; for to an example revised by you he can never impute either excess of barbarisms or defects in punctuation. In fine, it might appear that all rights in the book had been handed over to you, seeing that you have the use of it while you please, and can dispose of it for so long that you may be said to keep it rather in your memory than in your bookcase.'
[7] Such arguments, with more of the same kind, might readily be adduced. I, however, shall waive them all, and prefer frankly to seek your pardon instead of making excuses for a problematical offence. I make even less excuse for the carelessness of the present letter, first, because I have no longer the art of fine writing, even if I attempt it; second, because, when one has got a book off one's mind, one is longing for a holiday and cannot bring oneself to elaborate what one does not care to make public.
[8] But as I rightly make a point of giving way to you in everything-----for where, indeed, is your equal to be found?----and as for ten whole lustres,1 as often as a comparison has been instituted, you have been preferred to all priests that have ever been, whether in our own time or before it, I would have you understand, that though your lamentations may shake the
|198
stars, though you call the glowing ashes of your fathers to witness my outrage to the laws of friendship, yet if there is to be any contest in mutual affection, my foot shall stand firm against yours, were it for no other reason than that to be beaten in anything is bad, but to be vanquished in loyalty an abomination. Whether you approve or no, I have right on my side in replying by this open declaration to reproaches, which for all their bitterness, are yet more to me than all the honeyed flatteries of others.

[9] I have given you as communicative a letter as you could desire. But all my
correspondence with you is that; no letters of any writer-could be more so. For
you have the gift of encouraging men to write with confidence. I say no more of
myself; but there is not a literate, however retiring, whom you do not know how
to draw out, just as the sun's rays by their absorbent power extract the
moisture hidden in the bowels of the earth. So sharp are those rays, that they
can penetrate not the fine sand or surface soil alone, but if there be a
concealed spring deep under some massive mountain, there too the ardent nature
of the mysterious powers of heaven reveals the secret of the liquid element. In
like manner, venerated father, your lucid eloquence knows admirably how to
influence and draw into the light, by its subtle address, all the studious who
from love of quiet, or from modesty, lie in the obscurity of dark corners, their
fame yet unawakened. [10] Enough: I come back to the point; I have talked
endlessly and at large, but since I have surrendered and confessed my fault, I
entreat you to be placable and give me the benefit of your clemency and
forgiveness. Such are your holy cheerfulness and love of others that |199 you
will derive a greater pleasure from this my written apology than you would from
any positive act of reparation. Deign to hold me in remembrance, my Lord Bishop.

XII. To his friend Oresius c. A. D. 484

[1] I HAVE just received your letter, which I may compare to the salt mined in
the hills of Tarragona. The reader finds it sharp and lucid, yet none the less
of a bland savour. The phraseology is charming, but the matter is also full of
point. Taking small account of my present state of life, it asks me for a new
poem, and this demand brings me no less trouble of mind than the admirable
diction delight. At the very outset of my religious career, the art of
versifying was the first thing that I renounced; gravity of deed was now my
business, and if I occupied myself with such frivolous things as verses, I might
well be accused of levity. [2] Besides, it is a matter of universal experience
that a pursuit which has been intermitted for any time is only resumed with
difficulty. Every one knows that both art and artist achieve their highest by
constant practice; if the usual exercise be forgone, arm and intellect alike
will grow inert. The later or the more seldom the bow is used, the more
refractory it is under the hand; it is the same with the ox under his yoke and
the horse with his bridle. Moreover, disinclination is not my only motive; it is
accompanied by a certain timidity. After three whole Olympiads of silence,1 to
|200 begin rhyming again would be no less embarrassing than irksome. [3] But it
seems almost a crime to refuse you even the most difficult things; your warm
heart is quite unused to be denied, and it would be a shame to deceive you of
your confident hope. I shall therefore choose a middle path: I will compose
nothing new; but if I can find any of my former letters containing poems,
written before the pressure of my present duties, you shall have them. I shall
merely ask you not to be unfair, and set me down as an incurable poetaster. I
shall pride myself just as much on your good opinion if you deign to think of me
rather as a modest than as an accomplished man. Farewell.

XIII. To his friend Tonantius c. A. D. 481

[1] I MUST admit that your judgement on my verses has long been too flattering
and appreciative: I must admit that you rank me among the elect of poets and
even above many of their number. I might be inclined to listen, were not your
critical acumen influenced by your friendship. Praises born of partiality,
though uttered in perfect good faith, are really based on error. [2] You ask me
now to send you some Asclepiads forged on the Horatian anvil, that you may keep
yourself in practice by declaiming them at table. I do so, though never in my
life have I been so busily engaged in writing prose.

'Long time, with hand well worn by the pen, have I written smooth
hendecasyllables which you might |201 sing more easily than choriambics, dancing
on lighter foot to freer measure. But you will that our way should henceforth
run by the Calabrian road, where, with reins of mighty music, Flaccus guided his
lyric steeds to the melody of Pindar, while the strings were struck to the
Glyconian rhythm, to the Alcaic also and the Pherecratian,1 the Lesbian and the
anapaestic; in the freshness of his varied song he went, with words like violets
of diverse hue about him. Hard was it for bards of old, hard for me to-day to
see that the tongue, essaying the various music of verse, trips not by reason of
too many written letters, and their male style which forbids luxuriant graces.
Hardly may Leo himself attempt it, king of the Castalian choir; hardly he who
most nearly follows him, Lampridius, though he professes prose and verse alike
before his students of Bordeaux. Yet this it is which I must try for you: spare
me, then, your jests. Suffer your poet to keep to the close his pledge of
modesty; for nothing is less excellent than this, to end with laxity where the
beginning was with rigour.'

[3] I should personally much prefer that when you divert yourself at the banquet
you should confine yourself to pious histories; recite them often among your
friends, and let an eager audience encourage their repetition. And if (for you
are yet young) these salutary distractions but faintly appeal to you, then
borrow from the Platonist of Madaura2 his formulae of festal questions; and to
master them more fully, practise answering them when others propound, or
yourself propound them for solution; make this your study |202 even in leisure.
[4] But as festive occasions have been mentioned, and you insist upon a poem,
even one composed on another theme and for another person, I cannot hesitate to
produce one longer. Take, therefore, with what grace you may, one written in
Majorian's reign, when a number of us were invited to a banquet by a common
acquaintance, and I had to produce something extempore on a book by Petrus, the
emperor's secretary,1 which was just out, the master of the feast delaying the
first course awhile for the occasion. My friends Domnulus, Severianus, and
Lampridius, summoned from their several homes to a single city,2 had also been
invited, and had to write as I did. That sounds presumptuous; they wrote, of
course, far better. [5] We were only granted just time for the allotting of the
metres; for we had agreed, as honourable members of the poetical fraternity,
that though the subject should be the same for all, the verses of each should be
in a different measure, so that the unsuccessful competitors might be spared
immediate mortification and subsequent jealousy of the victor. For if all is
composed in the same metre, inequality of talent is much more easily detected. I
recommend the enclosed to your approval, preferably at some hour of perfect
relaxation. It would hardly be fair to subject it to a severe criticism when
your friend was never able to give his whole mind to the composition.

* 'Come, flower of youth, called happily together. The place, the hour, the
festal board, the theme, bid you extol to the skies the book which you now hear
|203 recited, now yourselves recite. It is the book of Petrus, master alike of
prose and verse. Brothers, let us celebrate the pious festival of letters. Let
all things ministering to delight usher out the day which now moves to its
close, fair cheer, and wine and the dance.

Bring out hangings of fine linen ruddy of hue; bring purple steeped with
Meliboean dye in brazen vessels to enrich the fleece with purest stain. Let the
fabric from a far land display the heights of Ctesiphon and of Niphates,1 and
the wild beasts racing over the field, driven to madness by wounds skilfully
feigned in red, from which a blood which is no blood seems to issue, as though a
real dart had pierced their sides. There the Parthian fierce of mien and adroit
in the backward gaze vanishes on swift steed and turns again to launch a second
dart, now flying, now putting in turn to flight the wild beasts' counterfeited
forms.

Let the round table be spread with linen purer than snow, and covered with
laurel, with ivy and the green growths of the vine. Pile great baskets high with
cytisus and crocus, starwort and cassia, privet and marigold; let sideboard and
couch be gay with garlands of sweet scent. Let some hand perfumed with balsam
smooth your disordered hair; let frankincense of Araby smoke to the lofty roof.
Come the dark, let many a light be hung from the glittering ceiling, high in the
chamber's upper space; innocent of oil and clammy grease, let each lamp's bowl
yield flame from Eastern balms alone.

Let servitors bear in on laden shoulders viands fit for kings, their necks bowed
under silver richly chased. |204 In patera and bowl and cauldron let nard mingle
with Falernian wine; let wreaths of roses crown tripod and cup. For we shall
tread where garlands sway from many an unguent-vase; in mazy rounds our languid
limbs shall know disport; by step, by garb, by voice, each shall play the
quivering Maenad. From her seat between two seas let Corinth send her players of
the cithara trained in the best of schools 1 to mimetic dance and song; let
their tuneful lingers accompany their melodious voices, the plectrum cast aside,
and deftly ply the wires that leap to life beneath their touch.

Give us, too, the bronze pipe loved of the nude Satyr; give us deep-sounding
flute-players for our chorus, who from cavernous mouth and full-blown cheek
shall chant the loud wind into the tubes.

Give us songs for the tragic buskin, for the comic soccus songs; give us
eloquence of rhetors and melody of poets, of each in his several part, the best.

Give us all these, yet Petrus shall surpass them all. In our hands is his book woven of prose and verse, faring swift over roughest paths and labyrinthine ways. In every kind he makes essay, in every kind approved; from this side and from that he bears the palm; even learned lips must celebrate his praise. Away with the well of Hippocrene, away with Aganippe's fount; avaunt! Apollo, maker of sweet song, with all thy train of Muses; avaunt! Minerva, arbitress of melody. Away with all the names of legend; one God alone has dowered him with these gifts. When this man raised his voice, all sat dumb----emperor and senator, warrior, knight, and all the folk |205 of Romulus. And still their acclamations roll through forum, temple, camp, and country, while Po and Liguria's loyal cities add their loud plaudits to the chorus. Like greetings echo through the towns of Rhone, even the wild Iberian shall imitate the Gaul. Nor shall the sound die in this region of earth; it shall press onward to the lands where Eurus reigns; Zephyr, Aquilo, and Auster shall bear it on their wings.'

[6] Seeking a song for your lips, I have found one of my own. These trifles I
drag into the light from the bottom of my desk, where for well-nigh twenty years
they have lain for the rats and mice to gnaw: such verses as Ulysses might have
found when he came home from Troy. I pray you give me gracious pardon for this
distraction of an idle hour; it is surely neither false modesty nor impudence
which begs you to bow before the force of precedent, and judge my small
performance in the spirit with which I judged the whole book of my friend.
Farewell.

* The poem is translated into German rhymed decasyllabics by Fertig, i, p. 13.

XIV. To his friend Burgundio (No indication of date)

[1] IT doubles my own pain to learn that you too are driven to keep your bed. No
fate is so hard to bear as the separation of friends through sickness, when they
are quite close to each other. Unless they share one room, they cannot exchange
a word of mutual comfort or offer a prayer together. Each has burden of anxiety
|206 enough on his own account, but a greater for his friend. However ill a man
may be, his fears for himself vanish before the knowledge of his friend's
danger. [2] But God, most affectionate son, has relieved me of my worst
disquietude, since you begin to regain strength. They say you even want to get
up, and what I long even more to hear, that you are strong enough to do so. I
really think you must be, or you would not have begun to ask my advice again,
and set me literary problems with the ardour of one perfectly recovered. Though
you are only a convalescent, you seem far more inclined for some ethical
discourse of Socrates, than any physical treatise of Hippocrates. Verily you
deserve, if ever man did, the encouragement of Rome's applauding hands, the
thunder of the Athenaeum hailing you master, till the seats shake with the
clamour through every tier. [3] And were but peace ours, and the roads free,
these triumphs you would attain, given the opportunity of forming yourself in
the society of our senatorial youth. Of such fame and such distinction I judge
you capable from the becoming speech you recently made; you delivered extempore
the matter of a written discourse, with the result that the kindly acclaimed
you, the supercilious marvelled, the most accomplished had no fault to find. But
I ought not to embarrass your modesty by impertinent excess of praise; my
eulogies are better made to third persons than to yourself. I will proceed to
the real subject of my letter.

[4] The inquiry which your messenger brings is: what do I mean by recurrent
verses? you want an immediate answer, with a concrete illustration. A recurrent
verse is one which reads the same backwards and forwards |207 without changing
the position of a single letter, or making any alteration in the metre.1 Here is
the classic example:

Roma tibi subito motibus ibit amor.

[Here is another:

Sole medere pede, ede perede melos.]

[5] There is another kind in which, though the metre is unchanged, only the
words are read backwards, not the several letters. A distich of my own shall
illustrate the point, though I am sure I have met with many others in the course
of my reading. I amused myself by composing it about a brook which had been
filled by sudden rain storms, crossing the highway with a noisy rush of waters,
and overflowing all the tilled lands below.

[6] It was merely a passing flood, swollen with transient rains, and not
sustained by any perennial flow from spring above. I happened to arrive by the
road, and while I waited for the banks to reappear, for the moment giving up the
ford, I amused myself by writing the following two verses, on the feet of which,
if not on my own, I crossed the foaming torrent.

'Praecipiti modo quod decurrit tramite flumen, Tempore consumptum iam cito
deficiet.'

You see that, inverting the order, you get the following:

'Deficiet cito iam consumptum tempore flumen, Tramite decurrit quod modo
praecipiti.' |208

Of course the merit all lies in the arrangement of the words; elegance you must
not expect, for there is none. The example sufficiently explains, I think, what
you wanted to know. [7] It now falls to you to oblige me in a similar way by
following my lead, and sending me something which I in my turn request. An ideal
chance is yours in the near future of speaking in public on the most notable of
subjects, the glory of that Julius Caesar in praise of whom you have already
written. The theme is so great that even the most exuberant of orators might
doubt his power of rising to the occasion. Even if we leave out of the account
all that the historian of Padua1 has written on the fame of the invincible
dictator, who could hope to challenge with the living word the work of
Suetonius, or Juventius Martialis,2 or the Ephemerides of Balbus? Be the
enterprise reserved for your hand. [8] My friendly care it shall rather be to
see that the benches are well filled with auditors, and to prepare men's ears
for the coming bursts of applause.3 While you exalt the virtues of another, it
shall be my part to celebrate yours. Have no fear that I shall bring an audience
of ignorant or spiteful Catos, ready to cloak either defect under a pretence of
critical severity. One can make allowance for honest lack of culture, but people
sly enough to detect good work, and at the same time grudge it credit, are
detected and discredited themselves by every man of honour.

[9] Do not, then, be apprehensive on this account; every one will lend a
favouring ear and a fostering support; we shall all enjoy together the
refreshing pleasure which your recitation will give us. Some will extol your
fluency, more your talent, all of us your freedom from conceit. |209 For it is
laudable indeed, when a young man, I might almost say a boy, can stand forth in
the open arena and be adjudged the prize on the double ground of character and
talent. Farewell.

XV. To his friend Gelasius c. A. D. 481

[1] You prove my offence against you, and I do not defend myself on the charge. In so far as no letter in this collection bears your name, I have indeed offended. But you write that you will regard the fault as venial, provided I send you something for recital at table, like the letter in prose and verse which I sent not long ago to my friend Tonantius for a similar purpose. You conclude by deploring that when I drop into poetry I never write anything but hendecasyllables, preferring that in the present case I should substitute for this trochaic facility something composed in verses of six feet. I acquiesce, only hoping that the enclosed will please you, whether you style it ode or eclogue. The composition was hard work, for when one is out of practice in a given metre, to write in it is far from easy. 'You wish, dear friend, the fierce iambic to echo through my pages with impetuous rhythm, as hitherto the trochee; the spondee with its two slow feet and its time of four, to hold the flighty dactyl in check awhile; you wish that other swiftest of all feet to resound with these, named fitly from the Pyrrhic dance, and always to be placed at the conclusion; you wish next the anapaest to bound the beginning or the end of the verse, |210 which only in strictness deserves its name when a third long syllable follows upon two short. An ordinary poet----for such, you know, your Sollius is----has not the skill to manage all these measures. My note is uncertain, my wandering tongue has no art to unroll from echoing mouth the long-drawn epic. That skill is rather Leo's, or his who in Latin song follows in Leo's steps, and in the Greek stands first, who descends from the Sire of the Consentii; who with lyre and tone and measure has sung, men say, by the ford of Pegasus in every form we know, and in the Greek tongue has held the high stars by Pindar's side, and ranged victorious the twin-peaked hill, second to none among the caves of Delphi. But if either bard forsake the Doric speech, and sing to the poet's lyre a Latian strain, then, Flaccus, all too feebly shalt thou wield the plectrum of Venusia, and thou, O vanquished swan of Aufidus, shalt bow thy white and tuneful neck, moaning to hear the music of the swans of Atax. Nor these alone are skilled, albeit than the common skilled more skilful. For the rhetor Severianus had sung with a more transcending voice, and Domnulus, the subtle bard of Africa, with more elegance, and the learned Petrus with more harmonious strength, whose love of writing letters would never have stayed him from composing marvellous verse. And ever more masterly had been the melodious music of Proculus, him of Ligurian home and race, so finishing his graceful poems as to make his country rival in men's love Mantua of the Venetian land, and himself arise the peer of Homer in his glory, or drive abreast with Maro's car. |211 But I, whose thought and style merit contempt, how should I raise my babbling voice among these, even for your pleasure, without proof of babbling unashamed and achievement falling ever short of my ambition? Yet if even this shame suffice not to deter me, how shall I deny you? Love knows not fear: 'tis therefore I obey.'

[2] Do not, now, be critical with one who picks up a lost thread; all I ask is
some indulgence for an art I rarely practise. If in future you make more such
demands, you will have to smooth the path of my obedience, by giving me either a
subject for my Muse, or a dance to put me in the comic vein. Farewell.

XVI. To his friend Firminus c. A. D. 484

[1] You may remember, honoured Son, asking me to add a ninth book, specially
composed for you, to the eight already issued: those addressed to Constantius,
whose great qualities are known to you, his eminent capacity, his sanity in
counsel, his pre-eminent gift of eloquence, by which, in the discussion of
public affairs, he eclipses all other speakers on his own or on the opposite
side. Herewith I fulfil my promise with punctuality, if not strictly as
proposed. [2] For on my return after my diocesan visitation,1 I began going
through all my mouldering old papers for any chance drafts of letters that might
be among them; I worked as fast and as hard as I could, and then had them out
and transcribed them with |212 all speed. I did not allow the wintry season to
interfere with my resolve of fulfilling your desire, though the copyist was
hindered by the cold which prevented the ink drying on the page; the drops froze
harder than the pen,1 and as the hand pressed the point on the page, they seemed
to break from it rather than to flow. I have done my best to acquit my
obligation before the mild Favonian breeze brings his natal showers to fertilize
our twelfth month, which you call the month of Numa. [3] I must now ask you not
to require of me the two incompatible virtues of perfection and rapidity; for
when a book is written, as it were, to order, the author may perhaps expect
credit for punctual delivery but hardly for the quality of his work. As you
profess delight with the iambics I recently sent to our very genial friend
Gelasius, you too shall have your present in the shape of these little slaves of
Mytilene.2

* 'Now has my bark steered its bold course on the twin seas of prose and verse,
nor have I feared to ply the tiller on their sundered tides. I have lowered the
yards, furled the great sails, and laid down the oar; my thwarts have run
alongside, I have leapt ashore to kiss the dear-loved sands. The jealous chorus
of my foes makes muttering; they snarl like furious dogs; but openly they dare
say nothing; they fear the public approval which is mine. Hissings of evil
tongues beat upon the poop, and shake the keel, and toss the curved sides of my
boat; they fly about the mast. |213 For I, having recked nought of the heaving
storms, with the steersman's guardian art have held my prow straight and come
safe to port, winner of a twofold crown. One the Roman people granted, and the
purple-robed senate assigned, and with a single voice the company of the
lettered, what time Nerva Trajan's forum saw arise a lasting statue to my
honour, set up between the founders of the two Libraries.1 The other was mine
wellnigh two lustres after, when I received the honour of that high office which
now alone maintains the rights of people and of senate.2

Heroic verse I have written, and much have I woven in lighter vein; elegiacs in
six feet I have turned with twin caesura.

Now, trained to ride my course in lines of eleven syllables I have gloried in a
swift way; singing many a time in Sapphic metre, rarely in the impetuous iambic.
Nor can I now call to mind all that once I wrote in the ardour of past youth;
would that the mass of it might be buried away and withdrawn into silence! For
as we come to our last years, and the goal of old age draws nearer, the deeper
grows our shame, remembering the levities of our callow youth. In the dread of
that remembrance, I transferred all my care to the epistolary style, that though
guilty of foolishness in song I might be innocent in deed; nor be esteemed one
all dissolved in pretty phrases, filling my page with tropes and idle trappings,
by which the poet's empty fame might stain the austerity of the priest.

Henceforth I plunge no more into any kind of verse; be the measure light or
grave, I shall not readily be drawn to produce a song again; |214

Unless it be to sing the trials of men persecuted for the faith, and martyrs
worthy of heaven, who have bought by death the reward of eternal life.

First my chant should celebrate the prelate who held the throne of Toulouse,1
whom they flung headlong down from the highest steps of the Capitol. Who denied
Jove and Minerva, and confessed the blessing of Christ's cross, and therefore
was bound by a raging mob to the wild bull's back. That when the beast was
driven to full speed over the height, his rent body was flung to earth, and the
rock reddened with the pulp of his reeking brain. And after Saturninus my lyre
should sing all those other guardian saints who through many tribulations have
proved my helpers at need. Their several names my pious song may not rehearse;
but though they sound not from the strings, they shall ever find echo in my
heart.'

[4] Let me at the end drop verse for prose, and so conform to the scheme
originally proposed for my book. If I closed an unmetrical work with rhyme, I
should break the rule of Horace,2 and turn out as common pot what began as
amphora. Farewell.

* Translated into German verse by Fertig, Part iii, pp. 23-4.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in
the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 11: INTRODUCTION
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) pp. xi-clv ; Introduction

INTRODUCTION

(CAIUS) SOLLIUS APOLLINARIS (MODESTUS) SIDONIUS 1 was born at Lyons, about the
year 431, and died at Clermont perhaps in A.D. 489, at the age of nearly sixty
years.2 The exceptional interest of the period covered by his life is apparent
from these dates; he saw the last sickness and the death of the Roman Empire in
the West, and is our principal authority for some of the events which attended
its extinction. He was a younger contemporary of Attila and Gaiseric. The
campaigns of Aëtius took place in his boyhood; he was a youth of about twenty
when the Huns were defeated on the Catalaunian plains, and for the first time in
history the Roman and the Teuton fought side by side against a common |xii
enemy. He was about twenty-four when the house of Theodosius became extinct with
Valentinian III, and the Vandals plundered the city of the Caesars (A.D. 455).
He was still alive when Romulus Augustulus laid down his diadem at the bidding
of Odovakar. More than once his path crossed that of the last emperors who ruled
in Italy; as the son-in-law of Avitus, and a high officer of state under
Anthemius, he saw Rome in the final phases of her imperial existence. In his own
country he met or corresponded with every person of importance. He had dined
with Majorian, he had played backgammon with the Visigoth Theodoric II; he lived
to become first the prisoner and then the subject of that monarch's fierce
successor, Euric. He exchanged letters with Lupus, Remigius, Faustus, and all
the leaders of the Church in Gaul. There was hardly a single distinguished name
with which in some way or another his own was not associated. Like Cassiodorus,
he enjoyed an outlook over two worlds, the old Roman civilization in its decay,
and mediaeval society in its beginnings. To paraphrase a sentence of Sir Thomas
Browne, he stands like Janus in the field of history.

Sidonius came of a senatorial family long settled in Gallia Lugdunensis, a
family to which, as he himself says, the holding of high office seemed almost a
hereditary right: both his father and his grandfather had been prefects in
Gaul.3 His mother belonged to the gens |xiii of the Aviti, which was connected
with other noble provincial families, the Ferreoli, the Ommatii, and the
Agroecii; when therefore he married Papianilla, daughter of the Avitus who
became emperor, he may only have added a new tie to an old alliance.4 He had a
brother, who may not have lived to mature age, as no letter is addressed to
him;5 he had aunts or sisters and a mother-in-law, mentioned as taking care of
one of his children (V. xvi. 5). A nephew Secundus (III. xii), and a cousin
Apollinaris complete the list of his own relations, with the possible addition
of Simplicius, who is so often mentioned with Apollinaris that he may have been
his brother. He had two brothers-in-law, Ecdicius and Agricola,6 of the latter
of whom we hear little, of the former, much. For Ecdicius was the hero of his
native country of Auvergne. He distinguished himself by great gallantry in the
last struggle for independence (III. iii), and seems to have had in him much of
the spirit of mediaeval chivalry.7 Nor |xiv was he deficient in other gifts; he
must have possessed some talent for diplomacy, since he was instrumental in
rallying the Burgundians to the cause of Auvergne at a very critical moment.
Sidonius and Papianilla8 had one son, Apollinaris, and three daughters, Alcima,
Roscia, and Severiana.9 The boy, whose early promise is mentioned in one of the
most pleasing passages of the Letters (IV. xii. 1), was destined to disappoint
his parents, first in his failure to maintain the intellectual promise of his
youth, and later by more serious deficiencies, recorded by other hands than
those of his own father.10 Of the girls, only Roscia and Severiana are |xv
mentioned in the Letters, and both in an incidental manner; for Sidonius was not
communicative on his family affairs. The name of Alcima does not occur at all:
we learn more of her from other sources than Sidonius himself tells us of her
sisters. She became noted for her devotion to the saints, and for her
munificence to the Church,11 and is said to have joined her sister-in-law
Placidina in a successful effort to obtain the see of Clermont for her brother
some years after her father's death (see below, p. li, note 2).

Sidonius was educated in his native city, where the schools, if less famous than those of Bordeaux, were yet of high repute. He passed through the regular course of academic training, the essential parts of which consisted of grammar and rhetoric; and in both Letters and Poems preserves kindly memories of his teachers and fellow students.12 As might be expected from the fortunate circumstances of his birth, and his father's rank as prefect, his youth was probably a happy one, passed alternately between the city and the country estate, where he enjoyed games and all the pleasures of |xvi the chase.13 His love of eloquence began early; he refers to the delight with which, as a youth of eighteen, he listened to the speech of Nicetius when Astyrius assumed the consulship at Aries in 449 (VIII. vi. 5). After his marriage, which must have been an early one, he probably divided his time between Lyons and Auvergne; in the latter region was situated his father-in-law's estate of Avitacum, which was ultimately to come to him through Papianilla, and of which he has left a description (II. ii; Carm. xviii). It was probably during the first years of his married life that he frequented the Visigothic Court at Toulouse, from which he wrote home the very interesting letter descriptive of Theodoric II to his brother-in-law Agricola (I. ii).14 Avitus, to whose exertions the coalition of Roman and Visigoth against Attila had been largely due, had long favoured an understanding between the two peoples. He had been a familiar figure at the Court of Theodoric I, whose sons he had endeavoured to imbue with Roman civilization; 15 it was therefore natural that he should |xvii encourage the visits of his son-in-law to the more important of these pupils. He may not have clearly foreseen the part which he was destined personally to play in the near future; but it must have appeared a possible contingency that the Goths and their Gallo-Roman neighbours might once more be called upon to take decisive action together. With Tonantius Ferreolus and many others, he may well have shared the belief that the Roman understanding with the most civilized of the barbaric peoples might save an Empire which Italy was too enfeebled to lead. He had seen the Visigoths and the Burgundians in their homes, and learned to appreciate the rude virtues and the manly strength which redeemed the coarser elements in their nature. He dreamed perhaps of a Teutonic aristocracy more and more refined by Latin influences, which should impart to the Romans the qualities of a less sophisticated race and to their own countrymen a wider acceptance of Italian culture.16 He knew that for more than a century Gaul had been the most vigorous and enlightened portion of the Empire in the West, and as Italy became year by year more helpless, he may well have believed that the leadership of the decaying state might pass into the control of his own country. But throughout he probably gave Theodoric II credit for a greater disinterestedness than he possessed; for in all likelihood the Visigothic king intended to exploit the Roman connexion in the |xviii interest of himself and his own people. Be that as it may, when, in 455, the line of Theodosius became extinct with Valentinian III, the murderer of Aëtius, Avitus was sent as magister milltum to secure the recognition of Petronius Maximus in Gaul. But while he was at Toulouse, news came of that emperor's murder, whereupon Theodoric urged him to assume the diadem himself.17 After a meeting either of representative magnates or of the Council of the Seven Provinces 18 at Ugernum (Beaucaire), Avitus, then some sixty years of age, was formally invested with the purple. The event was the first turning-point in the career of Sidonius: it opened before him the brightest prospects of advancement, and awakened in him that ardent desire of political distinction which was for many years to exert so strong an influence on his life. He accompanied his father-in-law to Rome, and there, following the precedent of a Claudian or an Ausonius, delivered the Panegyric of Avitus which earned him the honour of a statue in the. Forum of Trajan.19 But the hopes |xix which the young aspirant might legitimately base upon his relationship to the head of the state were soon dashed to the ground: Avitus did not fulfil the expectations of his friends. His personal courage availed him little in Rome. On the other hand, his character revealed unsuspected weakness,20 and his position as a provincial nobleman among the critical aristocracy of the capital became each day more difficult. His every action was watched with unfriendly eyes; his bodyguard of Visigoths aroused resentment; and when, to provide their payment, he was reduced to melting statues and stripping the bronze tiles from temple roofs, it needed but a pretext to ensure his speedy ruin. The immediate cause of his downfall lay in the hostility of Ricimer, now only at the beginning of his career as king-maker. The formidable Suëve had achieved a notable triumph over the Vandal fleet near Corsica (456), and, flushed with victory, determined to remove an emperor over whose election he had exerted no |xx control. The unfortunate Avitus, who found his position in Rome untenable, fled to Gaul with the object of obtaining military support, but returning with an insufficient force, was defeated by Ricimer at Placentia.21 The conqueror, establishing a precedent destined to be followed more than once in the immediate future, compelled him to exchange the diadem for the mitre, but the transformation did not long preserve the victim's life. Apprehensive that his fate was only postponed, Avitus seems to have sought safety in renewed flight; it is certain that he met his death within a few months of his deposition.22 The fall of Avitus was a crushing blow to Sidonius. He returned home, where he found many spirits troubled like his own, and a party among the nobility still indisposed to acquiesce in the rule of Ricimer, or to see Gaul robbed of the leadership which she had fairly assumed. Feeling ran so high that a regular conspiracy was formed with both Visigothic and Burgundian support, in the hope of placing upon the throne a second emperor approved by Gaul. The candidate is conjectured to have been the gallant Marcellinus; 23 but it seems unlikely that |xxi such a scheme can have had the consent of the person principally involved, for Marcellinus, actually commander in Dalmatia, had been the comrade of Majorian, now raised by Ricimer to the principate (April 457), and during the new reign played a part of conspicuous loyalty.24 Majorian had almost all the gifts which make a ruler----courage, prudence, tact, love of justice, and magnanimity. A puppet-emperor might have been defied, but not a man like this. As soon as events permitted, he entered Gaul, and in 458 and 459 reduced the rebels to submission,25 The focus of the rising was Lyons, which had actually received a Burgundian garrison.26 Whether these barbaric auxiliaries remained in the city, or whether they were persuaded to withdraw by Petrus, Majorian's Secretary of State, there could only be one end to the adventure; the city, after suffering great hardships, was compelled to unconditional surrender.27 The emperor felt it necessary to exercise severity; in addition |xxii to the ruin of its walls and buildings, Lyons was punished by severe taxation. In this rising and its consequent disasters Sidonius took a prominent part; he seems to imply that he and his friend Catullinus actually bore arms,28 and he was certainly one of those who had to smart under the lash of a 'tribute' described in one of his poems as triple-headed, like the monster Geryon.29 After the capture of Lyons, the movement collapsed: perhaps by the secret activity among the rebels of men like Paeonius, the upstart, who during the interregnum had usurped positions to which he had no claim, and who now sowed dissension in the hope of securing favour at the victor's hands.30 Theodoric, who had attacked Aries, abandoned open hostility, and renewed his previous relations to the empire; the Burgundians, returning to their old position as loyal foederati, were confirmed in possession of all Lugdunensis Prima except the capital itself. From the embarrassment into which his active participation in rebellion had thrown him, Sidonius extricated himself, perhaps with the assistance of the literary Petrus, by the exercise of his poetic talents. His short appeal against the triple impost was successful; he made a |xxiii further bid for the emperor's favour by writing a pane-eyrie. It is difficult to exonerate our author from the charge of a certain moral pliancy in this matter. Not twenty months had elapsed since he had sung the praises of Avitus before the Senate at Rome, and now he stood forth in the town of his birth to laud the nominee of Avitus' murderer.31 This second panegyric is in some ways superior to the first; if the heart of the writer was less glad, his pen was no less ready; and the poem contains passages of no small brilliance and great descriptive power.32 Majorian loved letters, and had a generous nature; he accepted the tribute, and admitted the panegyrist to the circle of his friends. Sidonius received the title of count, and became a persona grata at the court; the extent of his influence became apparent during the second visit of Majorian to Gaul in the year 461.33 At that time there appeared an anonymous satire which created a great stir at Arles; the writer |xxiv severely lashed some of the personages most prominent under the new régime, among others the parvenu Paeonius, who was naturally consumed with the desire to unmask the hidden assailant. He thought he had succeeded in tracing the lampoon to Sidonius, whom he would have gladly humiliated. Instead of this, he was himself subjected to new and conspicuous discomfiture in the presence of the emperor, who at a banquet endorsed the conduct of his new friend by publicly resenting an unproved insinuation (X. xi).34 Once more the star of Sidonius seemed in the ascendant; for the second time it was eclipsed. Majorian's career, which promised so much for the empire, was suddenly arrested, and the last real emperor of Rome fell a victim to the jealousy of Ricimer (461). The king-maker availed himself of the disappointment caused by the failure of a new naval expedition against the Vandals to remove too popular a rival.35 During the |xxv next four years he kept upon the throne Severus, a feeble personage on whose nullity he could rely. Severus died in 465, whereupon Ricimer for two years controlled the destinies of Italy alone. In 467, however, a rapprochement with the court of Constantinople, alienated by the murder of Majorian, became the interest of Italy, and the Senate requested Leo I to nominate an emperor in the West.36 He complied, naming Anthemius, a great Byzantine noble, son-in-law of Marcian, and a soldier of high repute. Soon after the new ruler had landed in Italy, he endeavoured to conciliate Ricimer by giving him his daughter Alypia in marriage.37 For the first time since Majorian's death Italy indulged new hopes. Under a soldier supported by Byzantine influence she might make head against the barbarian without, while the union of Ricimer with the imperial princess promised internal peace. When his prospects were for the second time overclouded by the untimely fate of Majorian, Sidonius passed six years of retirement at Lyons and upon his |xxvi favourite estate of Avitacum. The quietness of his life was relieved by more than one round of visits to friends at Bordeaux and Narbonne; a number of the letters, and these among the most entertaining, were probably written during the leisure which he now enjoyed.38 But for the ambitions awakened by experience of two courts and only latent during these years, this would perhaps have been the happiest period of his career. Reading or composing in his library, or instructing his young son; wandering in his grounds by the lake, and amusing himself upon occasion with games and with the chase, he found the hours pass not unpleasantly at home; abroad, the society of the cultured friends and relatives who vied with one another in their desire to show him hospitality, afforded him the most agreeable of distractions. But he had tasted publicity and imperial favour; he had fallen under the glamour of Rome; and amid all the ease and calm of his existence the thought of the prizes which had just slipped from his grasp was a source of secret discontent. He was still well under forty; he could not yet resign himself to the undistinguished life of a provincial noble.39 While Ricimer remained sole arbiter of Rome's destinies, Ricimer who had caused the death of both his patrons, there seemed no place for him on the greater stage of the world. On all sides the road |xxvii was barred against him; he must accept the fate of the disappointed man.

Into these shadows the election of Anthemius and the improved position of affairs in Italy brought a sudden light; hopes almost abandoned rose once more. Sidonius began to consider whether he might not attain at the new court the position which fortune had twice placed almost within his reach and twice withdrawn. The course now taken by events was exceptionally favourable to the attempt. Anthemius fully grasped the importance of strengthening his new dominions, and his attention was naturally directed to Gaul as the bulwark of empire in the West. The provincials on their side were anxious to explain their needs, and to enlist the sympathies of the new prince; they probably had grievances for redress, and schemes for a strong policy against barbaric encroachment. A deputation was appointed to visit Rome, and after offering congratulations to Anthemius, to lay before him the hopes and the necessities of the country. What more natural than that the eloquent son-in-law of Avitus, one used to courts and no stranger in the capital, should be selected to act as leader? Doubtless to his great satisfaction, Sidonius found himself once more preparing to cross the Alps, furnished with an Imperial letter which placed all public means of transport at his disposal. After a favourable journey down the Ticino and the Po to Ravenna, he learned that the emperor was at Rome, and followed him thither by the Flaminian Way, arriving on the eve of the nuptials of Ricimer and Alypia. The first step was taken; Sidonius had now to see that on this, his third endeavour to rise, he reached an |xxviii altitude commensurate with his persistent effort and with the dignity of his family. It is probable that Anthemius met him more than half-way, and that the comedy of advancement in which Sidonius now engaged was in reality directed by the imperial advisers. It was very important for the emperor to conciliate Gaul. He was now perfecting a defensive scheme against the aggression of Euric,40 which involved the sanction of all Burgundian appropriations, and possibly a further cession,41 in order to secure the more willing cooperation of Gundioc. It was a matter of moment to win for his policy a man of such influence in Lyons and Auvergne as Sidonius, and it may therefore be fairly surmised that the way of ascent was made smooth for the aspirant's feet. The leader of the deputation took up his quarters with a cultured Roman noble, Paulus, by whose assistance he prepared to combine the prosecution of his mission with a legitimate advancement of his private fortunes. The two selected the most efficacious patron in the Senate, Basilius, who had the |xxix reputation of obtaining promotions for all his clients and not for his relatives alone. It was arranged that the emperor should be favourably impressed by a panegyric delivered on his assumption of the consulship for the second term on New Year's Day, 468 A.D.42 The story which must be read in Sidonius' own words (I. ix), recalls some episode from court-life in the eighteenth century; as Baret has said, the scene might almost be an entresol at Versailles. The panegyric was graciously received----had not Basilius guaranteed as much? And the poet was magnificently rewarded with the office of Prefect of Rome, carrying with it the presidency of the Senate. It can hardly be supposed that the appointment was nothing more than a distinction offered to Letters, like the consulship of Ausonius, or those nominations with which ministers of the eighteenth century recompensed their literary partisans. As already hinted, it is more probable that in part at least the affair was prearranged, and that the panegyric provided an ostensible motive for an act really dictated by considerations of imperial policy.

Sidonius now rode, as he would have said, at a safe anchor of glory,43 he had
attained the highest grade but two in the imperial system of honours. There
remained only the titles of Patrician and Consul; could he win these, he would
have achieved the feat which he repeatedly declared to be every man's proper
ambition; he would have risen to a higher rank than any of his ancestors. In the
moment of his elation, he |xxx doubtless indulged golden dreams; but the
unselfishness of his nature is shown by his evident desire that his friends in
their turn should set their feet upon the official ladder, and by his promises
to do all that he can to further their advancement.44 Yet he soon found that
office has its troubles; almost from the first, the path of greatness was rough
to his feet. Among his duties as prefect was the superintendence of the Corn
Supply, the Praefectus Annonae being his subordinate officer.45 On one occasion
supplies ran dangerously short, and he grew somewhat alarmed, fearing outbreaks
in the amphitheatre on the part of the spoiled Roman populace; fortunately the
arrival of ships at Ostia preserved him from the unpopularity which he dreaded
(I. x. 2). A more serious event was the impeachment of Arvandus, Prefect of
Gaul, and a personal acquaintance of his own, before a committee of the Senate
on charges of peculation and high treason.46 |xxxi Sidonius was now placed in a
most embarrassing position. On the one hand, he could not but sympathize with
this effort of his native province to end by a signal example the insolence and
corruption which were leading Roman provincial government to disaster; moreover,
the principal accuser, Tonantius Ferreolus, was his connexion and intimate
friend. On the other hand, to leave Arvandus to his fate without lifting a
finger, appeared a dishonourable and cowardly course. He decided to do what he
could for the impeached man who proved an intractable client, committing every
possible blunder in the defence, and rendering the severest sentence
unavoidable. The action of Sidonius has been commended by historians, among whom
Gibbon is numbered.47 He necessarily incurred much odium (I. vii. i); for never
had representative of law and order a more compromising client. The praise which
thus falls to his lot is doubtless deserved, for it may well have been that
Sidonius was unaware of Arvandus' treasonable correspondence with Euric, a
matter which the prosecution may have kept as the trump-card to be played at
Rome, and perhaps deliberately concealed from all friends of the accused,
however nearly connected with themselves. Even when the treasonable letter was
produced, Sidonius may have hoped against hope that it was not a genuine
document, but had been supplied to the accusers by more unscrupulous enemies
|xxxii of the fallen prefect.48 But though we may approve this loyalty to a
fallen friend, we cannot but feel some astonishment that a man of Sidonius' high
character should have permitted himself an intimacy with an unscrupulous and
violent personage like Arvandus: he was wont to choose his intimates among men
of a very different stamp, and to be fastidious in selection. The conceit and
obstinacy of the ex-prefect frustrated all efforts to establish a plausible
defence,49 and Sidonius absented himself from Rome before sentence was
pronounced, probably to avoid the pain of witnessing a condemnation which he had
been unable to avert. But he and those who acted with him did not relax their
efforts on behalf of the condemned man; in all likelihood the commutation of the
death-sentence to banishment with confiscation of property may be ascribed to
their active intervention.

Events of such a nature must have rendered the term of his office an anxious
time for the Prefect of Rome. There was another and yet graver cause of anxiety,
|xxxiii less immediately conspicuous, but big with coming trouble. This was the
increasing tension between Anthemius and his new son-in-law.50 To any one gifted
with political foresight, an ultimate rupture became day by day more certain;
and it may be that the retirement of Sidonius 51 was hastened by his desire to
leave Rome before fresh disasters broke on the ill-fated empire. This
explanation of his final departure is perhaps as likely as that which would
attribute his second return from Italy to something in the nature of honourable
dismissal. It is possible, however, that, like Mr. Secretary Addison in 1717,
this earlier literary statesman proved unequal to the routine of administration,
and that the title of Patrician which he now received, was intended to cover any
mortification at the premature close of his career; but the capacity for affairs
manifested in the stage of his life on which he was now to enter, is rather
against the supposition of actual failure. Whatever the causes of his
retirement, Sidonius now bade farewell to secular ambitions; restored to the
peace of Avitacum, he may well have reflected upon their vanity, and tasted the
last bitterness of disillusion. It is a |xxxiv probable conjecture that such
reflections gave a more serious turn to a mind never irreligious, and that the
evident change of his outlook on the world conditioned the event which was now
to transform his life.52 On the death of the Bishop of Clermont, Sidonius was
invited by general consent to occupy the vacant throne, and he accepted the
invitation.53 Assuming him to have been born between 431 and 433, he was now
about forty years of age.54 The Letters contain no allusion to the circumstances
immediately preceding this, the crucial event of our author's life. Nowhere does
Sidonius allude to the invitation itself, of the persons who made |xxxv it or to
the arguments which they employed, though more than once he describes his new
profession as having in a sense been forced upon him,55 as indeed it had been
forced upon many other men of birth and wealth alike in Italy, and in his own
country, among whom St. Ambrose himself is numbered. It is not difficult to
supply the information which he omits to furnish. In those troubled times, the
Church had special need of leaders familiar with the traditions of high office,
trained to public life, and possessed of ample fortune (see below, p. lxxiii).
Such men were better able than any others to stand between their flocks and the
imperious barbarian princes who, with every year, closed in a narrowing circle
round the dwindling territory of Rome. The careers of a Patiens and a Perpetuus
proved the wisdom of those who elected them: the career of Sidonius was destined
to justify it in an equal degree. He probably accepted the office not only from
the changed view of life which led him to despise worldly ambition, but also
because he believed that it opened to him a prospect of useful action for the
benefit of his fellow countrymen. He well knew the anxieties and labours which
it would involve; long before his own ordination, he had been acquainted with
some of the best among the Gallic bishops, and the arduous manner of their life.
There can be no question of vanity or ambition in his acceptance. As far as
worldly honour went, the ex-Prefect and Patrician had nothing to gain |xxxvi by
occupying a bishop's throne; and Clermont was not even a metropolitan see.56
Several letters written by Sidonius to other prelates soon after his election
show that he was sincerely oppressed by the sense of his own unworthiness, and
aware how little his previous life had prepared him for his new career; at the
same time his health seems to have suffered, and a dangerous fever brought him
almost to death's door (V. iii. 3). But he was cheered by the receipt of
encouraging and kindly replies from several bishops of the Province; that of
Lupus of Troyes57, which is preserved, must have caused him peculiar pleasure,
for Lupus was the most venerable figure in Gaul, and regarded with respect in
every diocese.

Events were now moving to a crisis which was to put the character of Sidonius to the severest test, alike as patriot and as ecclesiastic. The hold of the empire upon Gaul continually relaxed. It had rewarded the friendship of the Burgundians by permitting great annexations of territory;58 its enemies were never satisfied. Riothamus the 'King' of the Bretons, who had been entrusted with the defence of Berry with some twelve thousand men, had already been defeated by the Goths, whose ambition was an ever-present menace.59 Count Paul, for a while the Roman commander, had |xxxvii checked with Frankish support their advance north of the Loire, but they now added to their dominion the northern part of Aquitanica Prima, with the cities of Bourses and Tours. While Euric's lieutenant Victorius made steady conquests in Aquitanica Prima he himself overran the country beyond the Rhône, which he was unable to retain on account of Burgundian jealousy.60 The fulfilment of his ambitions involved the absorption of Auvergne, the most loyal district which remained to the empire, inhabited by a war-like race claiming Trojan descent, a people which had fought with Hannibal, and, in the person of Vercingetorix, sent against Julius Caesar a captain worthy of his military genius. Their principality had been the most formidable in Gaul, and they had long enjoyed the reputation |xxxviii of freemen and warriors.61 Such men, whose leaders still desired Roman rule, even with the traitorous Arvandus and Seronatus 62 as the official representatives of the empire, were not likely to accept Visigothic domination without a struggle. Their country was apparently exposed for several years to a series of raids and invasions culminating in sieges of the city of Clermont,63 whose people offered a most stubborn resistance, with Sidonius at their head. The bishop was no longer animated by the sentiments towards the Gothic monarchy which had inspired his eulogy of Theodoric II. Euric was a very different man from his murdered brother, more violent, less refined, less amenable to reason. He made no pretence of recognizing Roman supremacy; moreover his Arianism was of an aggressive type, and with Sidonius, whose Catholicism was orthodox and sincere, this was a factor which now weighed more than any other. The Arvernians, though at first they had conceived new hope from the accession of Nepos,64 now began to fear that they looked in vain |xxxix towards the Rome for which they prepared to make the utmost sacrifices. As the year 474 advanced it was seen that without imperial support their position was hopeless. Sidonius had attempted to postpone the evil day by diplomatic means; Avitus, whose family name was so well known to the Goths, had been sent to intercede with Euric;65 Ecdicius seems to have been dispatched to solicit aid from the Burgundians. But neither was able to prevent the horrors of continued siege. The defenders fought with tenacity; and though their walls were damaged, though fires destroyed whole quarters and they were reduced to extremities by hunger, they succeeded in holding the city. Their spirits were at one time raised by a heroic exploit of Ecdicius, 'the Hector of this Troy,'66 who with a little band of eighteen troopers broke through the enemy's lines, inflicting heavy loss upon seasoned warriors, perhaps |xl overcome by a momentary panic.67 The privations of the city had been so severe, that a party was apparently formed in favour of accepting Gothic rule, a party perhaps recruited by Gothic agents, who no doubt reminded the suffering citizens that the exactions of Visigothic counts were not likely to exceed those of Seronatus. This was a move of which Sidonius perceived the peril. The tension of war was followed each winter by inevitable reaction. The Goths had burned the crops; and though the generosity of Patiens and Ecdicius, now and later, did much to relieve distress,68 men stood among ruined homes and saw their families still suffering the pangs of hunger. The advocates of surrender had here a promising material to work upon, and Sidonius strained every nerve to counteract their efforts. He induced his friend Constantius of Lyons, a venerable priest whose name was held in honour in Auvergne, to visit Clermont.69 The appeal was not in vain; though the winter weather was severe, the old man braved every inconvenience of the way, and by his cheerful presence and calm advice composed |xli the differences and animated the courage of the people.70 The bishop also instituted the solemn processional prayers or Rogations already used in time of peril by Mamertus, bishop of Vienne.71 These also had a tranquillizing effect. But there was still a prospect that the siege might be again renewed, and all eyes were turned to Italy. Julius Nepos was alive to the danger that Euric might cross the Rhône; but weak as his resources were, he could only hope to secure peace by negotiation. The quaestor Licinianus, who had been sent into Gaul to investigate the condition of affairs upon the spot, had done little more than confer upon Ecdicius the title of Patrician, an honour which even at this anxious time highly gratified Sidonius, and filled Papianilla with delight; 72 he had now returned, and it was soon only too clear that hopes based on his |xlii intervention were not likely to be fulfilled. Rumours of negotiations were in the air. We find Sidonius writing for information to those presumably in a position to receive early intelligence.73 To this last period of suspense, if not earlier, may belong the visit to the Burgundian kingdom, when he was able to frustrate the machinations of the informers threatening Apollinaris.74 He began to fear that something was going on behind his back, and that the real danger to Auvergne came no longer from determined enemies but from pusillanimous friends. His suspicions were only too well founded. On receipt of the quaestor's report, a Council was held to determine the policy of the empire towards the Visigothic king. Four Gaulish bishops were empowered to enter into negotiations----Leontius of Arles, Graecus of Marseilles, Faustus of Riez, and Basilius of Aix. It is not easy to say whether they failed because they refused to surrender Auvergne; nor can we precisely define the relation of their mission to that undertaken on behalf of the emperor by the venerated bishop of Pavia. Schmidt considers that the embassy of Epiphanius took place when the negotiations of the four bishops had broken down, and that the treaty of 475 was ratified by him.75 The empire did not feel strong enough to support Auvergne, and it was decided |xliii to cede the whole territory to Euric, apparently without condition, unless, indeed, the Visigoth undertook that Catholics should receive fairer treatment, and that the disabilities from which they had suffered should cease.76 If so, the contingent religious advantages of the treaty might ultimately have soothed Sidonius the Churchman, as the shame of surrender at first incensed Sidonius the patriot. But when the news of the decision reached him he gave way to an outburst of righteous indignation, and wrote to Graecus, his intimate friend, a letter in which the bitterness of reproach is no less remarkable than the exalted tone of patriotism.77 Sidonius loved Auvergne; among all the Gallo-Roman nobles none was more devoted to the imperial connexion than he; none attached more weight to the maintenance of Latin letters and Roman civilization. He was cut to the heart. All the valour of Auvergne had been thrown away: the treaty seemed an impossible, an |xliv incomprehensible betrayal; the thought of it filled him with mingled shame and sorrow. The year 475, in which he ceased to be a Roman citizen, was the darkest year of his life.78 In the organization of his new territory, which he seems to have annexed without further opposition, Euric showed the qualities of a statesman. He appointed Victorius, a Catholic and Gallo-Roman, as Count of Clermont, a man whose piety Sidonius praises, but whose character is painted in a different light by Gregory of Tours.79 He probably intended to act as fairly by his new Catholic subjects as violent prejudice would allow. But the conduct of Sidonius in encouraging so protracted a resistance at Clermont had incurred his sharp resentment. The bishop was imprisoned in the fortress of Livia, situated between Narbonne and Carcassonne.80 There may have been some pretence of entrusting him with a special duty,81 but probably the principal object of the victor was to keep him away from his people until the new government was fairly |xlv established. Sidonius seems to have remained for some time within the walls of Livia, but to have undergone no great physical hardships, since his chief complaint is that he suffered from the chattering of two repulsive Gothic hags outside his window (VIII. iii. 2). He had a powerful friend at court in the person of Leo, Euric's Secretary of State, who only waited a propitious time to intercede for his unfortunate countryman, and meanwhile recommended him to occupy his mind by literary work.82 It must have been due to the solicitations of Leo (VIII. iii) that the prisoner was at last removed, apparently on parole, to Bordeaux, where Euric was now holding his court; and here, among a crowd including members of numerous barbaric tribes, he was forced to wait the king's good pleasure.83 Sidonius was ill at ease about his property, perhaps his loved estate of Avitacum, all, or part, of which had been seized during the recent disturbances.84 He found it difficult to obtain justice; and in a letter to his friend Lampridius (VIII. ix), whose case was very different |xlvi from his own, bewails the hardness of his lot; but the verses which accompany the letter are practically a panegyric of the Visigothic ruler, whose power they exalt to the skies.85 As Lampridius was now a favoured personage in the king's entourage, the writer doubtless hoped that they would be brought to the royal notice, as indeed they probably were; the subsequent permission to return home, soon afterwards accorded to Sidonius, may well have been hastened by this timely resort to the arts of the court poet.86 Euric was perhaps of opinion that his prisoner had now suffered enough, and would cause him no further trouble. The bishop returned to Clermont in a despondent mood. The Patrician and ex-Prefect was brought low; |xlvii the idol of his patriotism was shattered. He saw himself abandoned by the government for which he had willingly risked his life; he was the subject of a barbarian whose manners he despised and whose heresy he detested. There remained to him only his faith and his pastoral duty; and in time these were sufficient for him, leading him to those paths of sanctity which were to result in his canonization. But at first the new life was hard; Auvergne enslaved was no longer Auvergne to one whose youth was full of such memories as his. He threw himself with a high sense of duty into his episcopal work; several of his letters refer to events and meetings which occurred in the course of his diocesan visitations;87 those which were written to aid clerks, deacons, readers, and others in need of his assistance prove that he did not spare himself when an opportunity came to help his neighbours or dependants. But in spite of all these activities, there must have been long and melancholy hours, especially in winter; and his friends feared their effect on his mind. They therefore encouraged him to write; and to this encouragement we probably owe the nine books of the Letters. The first book was issued in response to a request from the aged priest Constantius who had rendered him such noble aid after the siege of Clermont. It probably appeared in 478.88 It was followed by Books II-VII, dedicated to the same venerable friend. Books VIII and IX |xlviii were supplemental, the first added to gratify Petronius,89 though still dedicated to Constantius; the second by desire of another friend, Firminus.90

There can be no two opinions as to the wisdom of his friends. It is clear from
more than one passage that Sidonius enjoyed rummaging among his papers for any
letters suited for publication, and that to transcribe, correct and polish the
pages written at various periods of his life provided just the distraction which
he required. To the gradual process of publication may in part be ascribed the
lack of chronological order in the Letters, which makes them appear inconsequent
to the modern reader, though it is not the sole reason (cf. below, p. cliv). But
Sidonius was not only asked for collections of his letters. His talent as a poet
was still in request. If a new church was erected, a metrical inscription for
the walls must come from his hand; if a notable person died, he must provide an
elegy.91 High ecclesiastic though he was, he was still expected by privileged
persons to furnish occasional verses; and though he sometimes declined a request
which he felt inappropriate, at others he could not find it in him to refuse.92
He was also urged to write the history of periods falling within his own
remembrance, a task which he was unwilling to perform.93 But he occupied |xlix
himself with Commentaries on the Scriptures, and composed, among other religious
works, certain Contestatiunculae, which appear to have been prefaces to the
Mass. The loss of his religious writings makes it impossible to estimate his
position among the doctors; Gennadius placed him without hesitation among their
number.94 His activities were not confined to composition; he also revised
manuscripts. Thus we find him sending to Ruricius a Heptateuch collated by his
own hand.95

Amid these manifold occupations, pastoral, literary, and scholastic, the later
life of Sidonius wore away. In the words of his epitaph (see p. Hi), he lived
tranquil amid the swelling seas of the world (mundi inter tumidas quietus
undas). He continued to write to his friends and to receive letters from them;
it is thought some examples may date from 484, or even later.96 |l This was an
important year, for it marked the death of Euric, and the succession of a weaker
ruler in the person of Alaric II. The disappearance of the great Arian may have
relaxed in some measure the tension between the Catholic Gallo-Romans and their
unorthodox rulers; but it prepared the way for the final subjection of Gaul
under a single barbaric nation. The Franks soon afterwards commenced the advance
which was only to end on the shores of the Mediterranean; in 486 Clovis ended
the shadowy rule of Syagrius between the Loire and Somme, and prepared the way
for a descent upon the Visigothic and Burgundian kingdoms;97 Sidonius may even
have lived to hear of this event.98 The last years of his life are said to have
been embittered by the persecution of two priests of Clermont, Honorius and
Hermanchius, possibly representatives of the Arian heresy.99 The story runs that
they proposed |li on a certain day to drive Sidonius from his church, but a
horrible fate overcame one conspirator, and the other for the moment desisted
from aggression. Thus Sidonius, when his time came, was suffered to die in
peace. He is said to have fallen sick of a fever, and to have been carried into
the church of St. Mary, where he took an affecting farewell of his flock, and
indicated his desire that Aprunculus should succeed to his office.100 Little
more is heard of his family after his death. His son Apollinaris is said to have
been one of his successors in the see of Clermont.101 The year of Papianilla's
death is unrecorded; of her daughters, we know only the meagre facts with regard
to Alcima related by Gregory of Tours. By the end of the sixth century the house
which had played so great a part in Gaul was no longer known to history.102
Sidonius was buried in the chapel |lii of St. Saturninus at Clermont, and an
epitaph of eighteen hendecasyllables, composed not very long after his decease,
is quoted by Savaron from an early manuscript formerly belonging to the Abbey of
Cluny, but now at Madrid.103 At some time after the tenth century, the chapel
having fallen into ruin, his remains were translated to the church of St.
Genesius in the centre of the town, where they lay in a reliquary on the
right-hand side of the principal altar. In 1794 the church was destroyed; it is
not known whether the bones were actually burned within the Place de Jaude, or
whether the reliquary was buried under the ruins of the demolished walls.

Such were the principal events in the career of Sidonius, Gallo-Roman noble,
Prefect and Patrician, Visigothic subject, bishop and saint. His letters have
been compared to a literary Herculaneum, preserving under the accumulated
centuries the most varied evidences of late Roman provincial life.104 We may
gather from them a multitude of facts bearing upon the |liii society, civil and
ecclesiastical, of the time; and though the value of Sidonius as a chronicler is
seriously affected by an upbringing which set more store on literature than on
observation, the harvest is plentiful enough. He experienced life under such
various aspects, and knew so many people, that he could not fail to present a
picture of provincial society of the highest interest and importance. It was
inevitable that he should see things in the light of his own times, and remain
under the influence of his own environment. He does not say as much about common
things and ordinary events as a modern historian would like to know; he is
reticent, after the Roman manner, about his family. It was not an age which
cared to talk much of private life, or to describe the usual scenes of city,
farm and country-side; nor was it the age of confessions, confidences and
apologies. Sidonius does not depict his inmost nature like Montaigne, though in
many little touches, applied almost at random, he allows us to trace for
ourselves a portrait which he would not himself elaborate. We must not therefore
go to him either for the sociology of the fifth century, or for the more
intimate aspects of life; his mind was absorbed in other things. But when all
deductions are made, we shall still find in his pages much invaluable material
even on the subjects which he disregards; while those on which he cared to be
explicit receive from him more illumination than from any contemporary writer.
This is especially true of the lives of the members of his own class, of the
literary activities of fifth-century Gaul, and of ecclesiastical affairs. His
hundred and forty-nine letters are addressed to a hundred and nine
correspondents, including ex-prefects |liv and patricians, a minister and an
'admiral' of the Visigothic king, a Breton commander, and no less than
twenty-eight bishops; while among the recipients of letters who did not hold
ecclesiastical or secular office are to be found the student, the poet, the
young noble, the country gentleman, the schoolmaster and the rhetor. So varied a
list proves that the writer was a man whose wide acquaintance gives him a right
to be heard as a representative of his time and country.

Many allusions in the Letters will be more intelligible if a few words are said
in the present place on the general conditions obtaining in Gaul when Sidonius
wrote, with especial reference to the classes from which his correspondents were
drawn. And firstly in relation to his own class, the provincial nobles of
senatorial houses.

Perhaps the point which first strikes us is that life on the great estates in
the last half of the fifth century, at the very end of Roman power in Gaul, is
just as Roman, and in some ways almost as secure, as in the times of Hadrian or
Trajan. The noble has his town house and his country villa, the latter with its
large establishment of slaves, its elaborate baths, and all the amenities of
country existence as understood by Roman civilization.105 In his well-stocked
library he reads his |lv favourite authors, writes himself in verse and prose,
or maintains a continual correspondence with friends of equal wealth and
leisure. For diversion, he hunts and fishes, or rides abroad to visit his
neighbours; if interested in the development of his land, he goes round the
estate, watches the work in progress, and is present at the harvest or the
vintage.106 It is the life of the cultured landed proprietor in a country at
profound peace, where soldiers seem to be neither seen nor thought of, and the
only sense of insecurity arises from the presence of robbers on the lonelier
roads; but for the apparent predominance of literary over sporting interests, we
might be reading of the English shires in the days of the Georges, when the
carriages of nobles were stopped by highwaymen on Bagshot Heath. Yet the
Visigoths had been established half a century in Aquitaine; the Burgundians were
on the Rhône; the Franks were pressing upon such territory in northern Gaul as
still retained a shadow of Roman authority. The barbarians encompassed the
diminished imperial possessions upon three sides; even before the time of
Anthemius and Euric, the empire must have been aware that they were bent on a
further advance.107 When we think of the apprehension caused in modern times
|lvi by the threatened invasion of one nationality by another, of the military
preparations and the manifold precautions on every hand, it all seems at first
sight very strange. The explanation is to be sought in the fact that, for the
majority of the population, the possibility of change had no exceeding terrors.
The small landowners and townsmen had suffered to such an extent from
maladministration in the past, that they regarded the future with indifference;
their own lot was no whit better than that of their fellows who had already
passed under Teutonic sway. The Visigoths and the Burgundians had the best
reputation among the barbarian peoples; they kept order with a strong hand; they
endeavoured to assimilate what was good in Roman law and practice. Even the
great landowner had only to fear a partial confiscation of his estates; but in
most cases the acreage was large enough to leave him still in comfort, and in
difficulties he would probably still have an appeal to some administrator of
Roman extraction, like Leo or Victorius.108 Under these circumstances |lvii the
Gallo-Roman noble might view the change in his allegiance without despair;
though his income and his acreage would be diminished, he would still have his
villa, and cultivators to work on his land; he would still live his leisured
life. Only in Auvergne, perhaps, did loyalty to a tottering empire go the length
of resolute resistance; even there, it is probable that a part of the population
was lukewarm, and that ardour had to be assiduously fanned by enthusiastic
loyalists like Sidonius and Ecdicius. Thus the change from Roman to Visi-gothic
citizenship implied, for the noble, a comparative loss, and for the lower
classes a possibility of actual gain: a Euric was less likely than a remote and
helpless emperor to tolerate a Seronatus in his service. The Letters afford
interesting confirmation of a certain tacit confidence in barbaric rule. One
year Sidonius paid a round of visits to Roman friends living near Bordeaux and
Narbonne; these friends are displayed to us reading and writing in their
comfortable libraries, maintaining their luxurious kitchens, entertaining each
other, and living a large life at their ease. Yet at the time every one of them
had ceased to have any political concern with the empire; every one of them was
a Visigothic subject. The fact speaks for itself, and it makes the point from
which we started less strange than it at first appeared. If life continued
almost in the old fashion, |lviii even across the barbaric frontier, why should
there be panic on the Roman side, or terror as to what would happen when the
line was finally abolished? Existence would be much the same for most men after
the great change was made. The higher nobility would lose the honours of
imperial office, for there would be no more prefectorian or patrician rank; the
rude barbarians would be unwelcome neighbours; but there were ways of avoiding
them, and after all, they were a small minority. The Gallo-Roman nobles would
continue to pay each other visits and write each other elaborate letters; they
would hold closely together, and neither Visigoth nor Burgundian would care to
intrude on their society. The prestige of Roman culture would remain; things
would go on as before. Their day would begin at its usual early hour, opening in
religious families with a service in the chapel attached to the house,109
followed by visits to particular friends. After nine o'clock, there would be
outdoor and indoor games; if sport was pursued, the hawks or hounds would be
taken out.110 The company would perhaps adjourn to the baths, after which would
come the prandium or midday meal, about 11 a.m.111 |lix The hour of the siesta
would be succeeded by a ride or other light exercise, and by the afternoon bath,
preparatory to the coena, or supper, which would be enlivened by songs and
music, or seasoned by cultured conversation. The barbarian might rule the land,
but the laws of polite society would be administered as before. The Letters
enable us to follow in some detail the career of the Gallo-Roman noble from
childhood to mature age. During his tender years he and his sisters were left to
the care of the ladies of the family; at this period of their lives they
remained in a seclusion almost resembling that of the Eastern gynaeceum.112 From
this seclusion the girl never really issued into the full light; she learned, as
she grew up, to superintend and share the work of the textrinum (II.ii. 9); if
she was skilful, like Araneola, she executed ambitious pieces of embroidery with
figure-subjects (Carm. xv. 147 ff.); in the library, |lx her place was where the
religious books were kept (II. ix. 4), and sometimes, like Frontina, she
attained at home a reputation of piety superior to that of nuns (IV. xxi. 4).
The boy was permitted far more freedom; he played ball-games, and was initiated
into the various forms of outdoor sport. As soon as he was old enough he
attended the schools of his provincial capital, and learned to deliver
'declamations' before the rhetor, perhaps a man of distinction like Eusebius of
Lyons, at whose feet Sidonius sat (IV. i). In his holidays, or on special
occasions, the high official position held by his relatives might secure for him
a good position at any spectacle or ceremony; we see the young Sidonius, when
his father was prefect, pushing into the near neighbourhood of the consul
Astyrius on the day of his inauguration (VIII. vi. 5). Released from the
schools, he continued his sports, adding games of chance with dice, evidently
very popular on all hands (II. ix. 4; V. xvii. 6, &c.). If a young man was rich
and clever, or his family had influence, he went to Rome and entered the
Palatine service, with the hope of rising to the high offices of the State. But
his public life was usually over before middle age, and he retired to enjoy the
honorary rank conferred by his late office. If he had no taste for further
publicity he remained at home, read and wrote, followed his hounds, or acquired
a taste for rural economics; kept up his classics and his ball-games; perhaps
built additions to his villa. He might even grow too absorbed in rural interests
to visit town even in the winter, like the Eutropius whom Sidonius rebuked, or
the Maurusius whose company he so highly valued. Or he might advance a stage
further, and think of |lxi nothing else, till he was lost to all ambition beyond
crops and stock, and sank into rusticity. There were many such in Gaul, and in
more than one letter Sidonius alludes to them with regret or indignation. 113
But the more intellectual among the country gentlemen did not lightly forget the
culture of their younger years. Literature probably occupied the class as a
whole more than it has ever done in modern Europe. The Gallo-Roman noble was
always a potential author, and valued himself as a critic. Verses and epigrams
were circulated from house to house,114 and the writers of these expected from
every reader a letter of acknowledgement, which could be nothing less, under the
circumstances, than eulogistic. The more earnest students would edit a classic,
and keep copyists at work transcribing manuscripts for their shelves. In their
houses the library was a very important room, and the scrolls and books were
carefully arranged.115 We receive the impression that the proportion of
well-to-do people really fond of literature was high in the second half of the
fifth century; and though the devotion to the classics in many ways recalls that
of the Chinese |lxii literate to whom the past is everything, the precedence
given to literature over sport is a feature which commands our respect. For all
this, the more strenuous noble must often have found time hang heavy on his
hands. He had few outlets for his energy; local politics were of the slightest
interest to him; they were the affair of smaller men, and he had, as a rule,
little notion of what we now call social service (see below, p. lxx). But his
duties as father of a family were conscientiously performed; he sometimes
himself took a part in his children's education.116 Then there was the regular
and voluminous correspondence with his friends, comparable, in the care lavished
on style and diction, to the leisurely exchange of letters by persons of culture
in the eighteenth century. Visits to friends living at a distance were also
serious undertakings; we find Sidonius making 'rounds' which range from Auvergne
to Provence, from Bordeaux to Lyons.117 On long expeditions he took his
servants, bedding, and all impedimenta; where there was no friend's house to
offer hospitality, he camped (IV. viii), or, if driven to it, used an inn (II.
ix. 7; VIII. xi. 3). Friends' houses stood open to each other, and liberal
hospitality reigned. But though good cooking was evidently as general as in
modern France, excess at table was rather the exception than the rule.
Hospitality, |lxiii however, was sometimes insistent, then as now; and in one
place Sidonius confesses that after the opulent suppers of Ferreolus and
Apollinaris a week's thin living will do him good (II. ix. 10). If the noble was
a Christian, as was now very generally the case,118 public religious duties
played some part in his life. When a church was consecrated, or the feast of the
patron saint came round, he made a point of attending the services, which
sometimes began even before daybreak: at such festivals all classes came
together, though they did not mingle, and the intervals between the services
were occupied with games and conversation (V. xvii). Or he would prepare to set
out with all his family on a pilgrimage to some important shrine, even when the
state of the roads was dangerous (IV. vi). With these tranquil occupations his
years passed by. But if he bore a high character and was popular with his
neighbours, the quiet tenor of his life might be suddenly interrupted: he might
wake one day to find himself elected bishop, and the most earnest nolo
episcopari was not accepted as an excuse. If, on the other hand, the Church made
no such claim upon him, he declined into a serene old age, and might have to
listen in his own bed to those contradictory verdicts of the doctors whose
quarrels in previous years disturbed his patience.119 |lxiv He died; but though
veneration for the dead was a conspicuous virtue of his age, his family might
forget for two generations to erect his monument, and when reminded by some
accident of their duty, excuse each other by citing the irrelevant cases of an
Achilles and an Alexander.120

Both in town and country, the nobles seem to have led a large and sumptuous
existence, in no way inferior to that of their own class in Italy. The proud
name of 'the lesser Rome of Gaul' which Ausonius applied to Arles,121 is
justified by the letters alluding to the sojourn of Majorian in that town. In
one an imperial banquet is described; in another a private feast, given by an
acquaintance of Sidonius.122 In both cases the luxury is redeemed by an
intellectual atmosphere, but the luxury is there, with all the genialis
apparatus which contemporary extravagance required. There are the hangings of
rich purple, the napery 'white as snow', the table-decoration of vine-tendrils
and ivy; there are flowers in profusion. The guests recline, with
balsam-perfumed hair, while frankincense smokes to the roof, and the very lamps
are scented. The slaves bow beneath the burden of chased silver plate; choice
wines flow in cups crowned with rose-wreaths. There is dancing, and music made
on cithara and flute by Corinthian girls and other professional musicians. It
|lxv all suggests an evening with Lucullus rather than a dinner-party in a
provincial capital. These were special occasions; but the general standard of
life was clearly high. There is a picture of one Trygetius, so comfortable at
Bazas amid the selected delicacies of his storeroom123 that even the prospect of
a gourmet's paradise at Bordeaux cannot drag him from home. A snail would
outstrip this lazy personage, whom a comfortable boat awaits on the Garonne,
with 'mounds of cushions', a grating to keep the feet dry, an awning to ward off
the evening damp, dice and backgammon to pass the idle hours while, in frequent
chants, the oarsmen sing his praise. Even the delicata pigritia of Trygetius,
thinks Sidonius, must be tempted by this care for his comfort, all leading to a
veritable tournament of epicures at the end. Who would imagine that when this
invitation was sent, the homes of these Gallic Sybarites were in Visigothic
territory, and that Theodoric was master of Bordeaux? Sidonius himself was
comfortable enough at Avitacum, with his winter and summer dining-rooms, his
elaborate baths, and his ball-ground down by the lake (see below, p. xcv); while
the lordly villa of Consentius, the Octaviana, was probably more extensive
still, with its porticoes and baths, its well-stocked library, its vineyards and
olive-groves, where the visitor hardly knew which to praise most, the
cultivation of the estate or that of the master's mind (VIII. iv).124

It is in many respects a singularly refined life, free, |lxvi as a rule, from coarse vice and brutality. But no one who reads either the letters of Sidonius, or any other work descriptive of the fourth and fifth centuries, can fail to be struck by a certain lack of broad aims or ardent interests. These men are less primitive than the barons of the Middle Ages, but in idealism and fervour the mediaeval knights leave them far behind. It has already been hinted that to find a parallel for some of these lives, absorbed in solemn literary trifling, we should have to look to the Far East, rather than to any European state. These members of the senatorial class125 were possessed of enormous wealth, but they seem to have had little encouragement to expend any part of it for the benefit of their country.126 They escaped the municipal taxation which they could well afford; 127 their chief use for surplus money was to lend |lxvii it at twelve per cent, and if possessed of business instinct, to foreclose their mortgages.128 Thus they had come to possess nearly the whole superficial area of a country which they were not even supposed to defend. If they wished to commit illegal acts, they could often set themselves above the law. Provincial governors were amenable to hospitality and open to social influence; a Seronatus could be persuaded to sanction courses which the distant emperor would not have tolerated. Judges were even more exposed to improper influence; the powerful noble had probably little difficulty in wresting a judgement, if he had the mind to do so. The base arts to which some members of the senatorial class descended to evade their share of taxation, or fill their pockets at the expense of a defrauded state, disclose a code of ethics for which too often public duty was a phrase without a meaning.129 The honourable men among them----a Tonantius Ferreolus, a Thaumastus----might discountenance such ignoble practices, and lead the province in an attempt to obtain the punishment of a bad governor. But they were in a minority, and the evil grew despite their efforts. It is difficult to understand how the nobles spent the princely incomes which, by fair or unfair means, were always increasing. |lxviii In modern times, with continual demands upon his purse for all kinds of public objects, with the competition for expensive works of art, with a thousand and one objects of use or luxury daily forced upon his notice, it may be supposed that the magnate can keep expenditure within range of income. But the Roman millionaire, at any rate in the provinces, had no great and steady drain on his resources unless he was a devout man and prepared to erect or restore churches as a practice. He might spend considerable sums on his houses and baths; but as labour was cheap, if not unpaid, and as there is a limit to construction, even building on a large scale would not seriously diminish an income equivalent to £50,000 a year. A few, like Magnus or Consentius, might buy pictures or other works of art, but the sums paid for them can hardly have been comparable with those given for old masters to-day, nor do we gather from the Letters that the love of art was really intense, or widely disseminated in Gaul. The chief intellectual interest was literary, and however enthusiastic it may have been, it can hardly have depleted a senatorial purse. There were manuscripts to buy, but, it may be conjectured, not at the prices of the modern sale-room; and the rarer illuminated books were not yet collected by the competitive methods of our day. If then there were no hospitals to endow, no large yachts to maintain, no subscription lists to head, on what did the provincial millionaire spend his money? He could only entertain on a very lavish scale when resident in a town like Arles. He gambled, but not, as far as we know, on the heroic scale. He patronized the chase, but hunting was then a cheap pursuit. The milliners' and jewellers' |lxix bills which he had to pay can hardly have caused him much embarrassment; the weaving, and probably the making, of his wife's clothes was done by the maids of the house; and it may be doubted whether, in an age when diamonds were practically unknown, the most expensive jewellers could send him an inconvenient account. His estate was self-supporting; those who tilled it largely worked for nothing or were recompensed in kind;130 all the food and all the fuel required for his household came from his own fields and woods. 'Clients' cannot have been ruinously expensive where food was cheap. He had only to feed and clothe his domestic servants, not to pay them wages.131 The |lxx answer to the question probably is that the rich provincial noble did not and could not spend his income; year by year he became richer and ever more uselessly rich. That he did so was but one count in the indictment against the Roman system of provincial government, which threw such burdens on the middle class and the lower class of freemen, that the vigour of both was sapped, and the spirit of enterprise crushed out of existence. It is unnecessary in the present place to dwell upon the notorious evils of the Curial system,132 which gave the decurion all duties and no rights, and the senatorial class all rights and no duties. We need not linger over the folly which encouraged useless wealth and useless lives in a class which, reasonably handled, might have become a bulwark of the State. The noble had no useful work to do. His tenure of quaestorship, vicariate or prefecture once over, he had no further career. He could not serve in the army; he was not |lxxi supposed to found an industry. There was no scope for active brains except in literature, and literature was now of such a kind that its propagation was of doubtful advantage to the world. We can hardly wonder if men unmanned, as it were, by statute failed the empire in its need, or if the great proprietor made his estate his world, and cared little for events beyond his boundaries. He had become a fly upon the wheel of government, brilliant perhaps, but an insect still, and adding no momentum. Sidonius belonged to the best of his order; he and his relations loved their country, and were prepared to sacrifice everything for it. But custom held them bound; they had no chance to prove themselves until it was too late. The Roman empire opened its own veins. But there was now within it an organism which drew to itself new blood, and amid the general enfeeblement of old institutions, grew daily in vitality. The Church succeeded to the neglected opportunities of the State. While the secular arm relaxed, the Church enlarged her power, and drew the people to the one rallying-point that remained to them amid the increasing disruption of society. 'In the civil world', said Guizot, many years ago, speaking of the fifth century, 'we find no real government; the imperial administration is fallen, the senatorial aristocracy fallen, the municipal aristocracy fallen as well. It is a tale of dissolution everywhere. Authority and freedom alike are attacked by the same sterility. In the religious world, on the other hand, we see an active government, an animated and interested people. Excuses for anarchy and tyranny may be numerous; but the liberty is real, |lxxii and so is the power. On all sides are the germs of an energetic popular activity and of a strong executive. This, in a word, is a society marching towards a future, a stormy future fraught with evil as well as good, but full of power and fecundity.'133 Here is the root of the matter: the Church had a future and a present; the State had only a past. While the imperial officials were too often regarded as instruments of tyranny, whose only relation to the mass of the people was external and oppressive, the leaders of the Church were in constant touch with national and individual life. Their homes were in the towns; their houses were open to all in trouble. Instead of being the common enemy, the bishop was every one's friend,134 he stood in a regular relation to the municipal body, and exercised certain judicial rights of his own.135 |lxxiii Moreover, he controlled the Church lands in his diocese, and had thus a power of the purse which necessarily increased his consideration at a time of general impoverishment. It is not astonishing that under such circumstances the prestige of the bishop steadily rose. In the time of Sidonius, the episcopate was already moving towards the emancipation attained in the sixth century; but as yet the occupants of the Gallic sees were men of such high character that there was little abuse of their expanding authority. The Letters bring no such charges of violent and unseemly conduct as those which are scattered through the pages of Gregory of Tours.136 The bishops of the expiring fifth century were powers in the land and powers for good, mitigating the hardships of a dangerous epoch, and standing forth in the public eyes as the true representatives of national life. They were indeed almost the only conspicuous figures who were visibly doing national work, and the fact was widely recognized. Good men of wealth and standing, condemned to inaction by the absence of any secular career, must have cast envious eyes upon this episcopal office which enabled its holders to serve their country so well; the hierarchy and the people, equally alive to the importance of strengthening the Church by the |lxxiv admission of such valuable recruits, did not discourage their aspirations.137 The Church was not so ill-advised as to imitate the State in debarring from a share in her activities the very men who could render the greatest service; she gave the nobles a ready welcome, not merely because they were rich, though riches were desirable, but because they were likely to possess, in a more eminent degree than others, the high culture and the great manner which the long habit of receiving deference conferred. The Church had room, as historians have observed, for two types of bishop. She needed, on the one hand, the learned pupil of the monasteries, the theologian, preacher, and disciplinarian. She needed, on the other, the man born to great place, imposing respect by personal distinction, and a commanding figure in any company. She appreciated a Faustus, pursuing as bishop the austerities which he had practised as a monk; she welcomed Remigius and Principius, sons of a count, and the wealthy Patiens, who could combine simplicity in his own life with a lordly openness of hand and the most gracious arts of hospitality (cf. VI. xii. 3). The aristocratic bishop could serve her best not only in her relations with imperial officials, whose day was almost gone, but also with the barbarian princes, whose favour grew more important with every year. As the empire was ever further dismembered, and the Church provided the one bond of union between the subjects of isolated kingdoms, the diplomatic bishop continually proved his |lxxv worth. The Visigoth and the Burgundian were impressed by his culture and his experience of the world; moreover, they were by tradition disposed to favour high birth. There was thus a general tendency to elect a certain number of aristocratic personages to vacant sees, and a corresponding readiness, on the part of the worthier noble, to look with favour on such election, seeing, as he could not fail to do, that the one way to be of use was to become a bishop. It was therefore no unprecedented event when upon the death of the Bishop of Clermont, Sidonius found himself called to succeed by the voice of his fellow countrymen in Auvergne. The call came perhaps too suddenly; it appeared rather a summons than an invitation; but the recipient of it was more ready for the change than he supposed himself to be. And in spite of the misgivings which crowded upon his mind, he must have seen ground for hope in more than one direction. In leaving the aimless existence of the provincial magnate for the living work of the Church, he joined an organization which now assumed a commanding influence over the whole moral and intellectual field; to throw himself with ardour into its work was to aid the one force in the land which made for regeneration. The Church appealed also to the scholar and man of letters. The only original philosophical speculation of the day was carried on by theologians like Faustus and Claudianus Mamertus, who had persuaded Philosophy into the service of Religion (IX. ix. 12).138 To rhetoric the Church offered the one chance of effective action; the orator in the pulpit could feel that he was not |lxxvi delivering a class-room declamation, but reaching the hearts of men. The preacher could treat the great subjects of life, not as themes for academic display, but with a purpose of practical reform; the eloquence of a Remigius carried away great congregations; the pulpit had succeeded the rostra, it alone spoke to an assembly of the people.139 Even the education of the young was beginning to pass into the control of the Church: in the monastery of Lerins a school was established by Faustus, at which a brother of Sidonius was trained (Carm. xvi. 1. 70).140 The old education was doomed to pass with the passing of the empire; it was a survival, unfitted for the coming age. The people at large had no interest in the exercises of rhetors and grammarians; they turned from them to other teachers. And among these the former pupil of Hoënius and Eusebius now took an honoured place.

We may briefly notice a few allusions in the Letters to those ecclesiastical
matters with which the second part of Sidonius' life was so largely concerned.
Great as the influence of the bishops had become, it is clear that it was still
in some measure controlled both by the general voice of the laymen, and by that
of the priesthood, now a body apart, and more definitely severed from the
community than in early Christian times.141 We mark the survival of these two
factors, |lxxvii the popular and the priestly, in the interesting accounts of
the episcopal elections at Bourges and Châlon (VII. ix; IV. xxv). We there find
the popular vote still regarded as an integral part of the proceedings, while
some of the diocesan priests give vent to strong opinions of their own, not
always coincident with the episcopal point of view. But in both cases the
bishops, though recognizing the traditional popular claim, succeed in carrying
their point. They hold a private meeting at which they agree upon their
candidate and it is this candidate who is elected.142 The consecration of a new
bishop at Châlon is carried out by Patiens and Euphronius in a masterful manner;
at Bourges, Sidonius delivers a formal address calling upon the people to accept
Simplicius. At Bourges,143 indeed, the electors seem to have recognized the
necessary confusion where 'two benchfuls' of unscrupulous men were all urging
their claims to a single throne (VII. ix. 2). When one aspirant based his hopes
on his kitchen and his dinners, and another on a promise to divide Church
property among his supporters, the evils of popular election became apparent to
all responsible laymen: they abrogated their claims in favour of the bishops,
whose selection they agreed to accept. Such cases |lxxviii probably illustrate
as well as any examples could, the evil tendencies which necessitated a change
of system.144 And the people were not alone in the responsibility for
undesirable episodes on these occasions. At Bourges the priests openly favoured
promotion by seniority rather than by merit, and Sidonius was obliged to
administer a sharp rebuke. It is plain that in the late fifth century a
tightening of the bonds of discipline was inevitable, and this could only be
effected by the bishops.145 The intense and factious excitement aroused on the
occasion of an episcopal vacancy affords yet another proof of the importance
attaching to the bishop's position. A see was worth fighting for; so much so,
that the prize attracted candidates whose motives were sometimes entirely
base.146 Perhaps in the years preceding the disasters of A.D. 474 there had been
a certain laxity in the religious life of Gaul. Sidonius alludes to public
devotions in which the prayers were too much interrupted by refreshments (V.
xiv. 2); 147 the dicing and other amusements interspersed between the services
at the festival of St.. Just seem in rather |lxxix too close an alternation with
the devotions of the day (V. xvii).148 There may have been in many places an
excessive preoccupation with the material side of life, which affected even
those whose office it was to inspire thoughts of the opposite kind. An
Agrippinus in holy orders harassing his sister-in-law on money matters is not a
pleasant figure (VI. ii). Nor can we approve the apparent toleration of
money-lending in the case of priests (IV. xxiv). But against such examples may
be set others of a very different kind, which show that there was a strong
leaven of piety and devotion both among clerics and among laymen. In the
monasteries there was severe self-discipline, and many of the distinguished
monks or abbots who were taken from Lerins to fill the sees of Gaul, carried
into their new spheres of activity all the monastic rigour to which they had
been accustomed.149 The Syrian monk Abraham, who after being driven from his
native country by |lxxx Sassanian persecution, had finally settled down at
Clermont (see below, pp. lxxxiii, civ), afforded another example of
renunciation,150 which produced its effect even upon Victorius, Euric's Count of
Auvergne (VII. xvii. 1). Vectius, the noble who maintained his place in the
world while secretly practising a devout life, is, as Dill has observed, a
character which might be taken from Law's Serious Call (IV. ix). The ex-quaestor
Domnulus, a friend of Sidonius, goes into retreat in the monasteries of the Jura
(IV. xxv). Simplicius, while a young man, straitens his resources by building a
church, Elaphius builds a baptistery in Rouergue (IV. xv).

It is natural that we should learn more from Sidonius of the contemporary
bishops than of the lower ranks in the Church, since it was with them that he
had chiefly to correspond. Many attractive figures pass before us, some already
familiar, as having their recognized place in the history of their age. There is
the aged Lupus of Troyes (S. Loup), the doyen of Gaulish bishops, who in spite
of advanced years and many anxieties, received the news of Sidonius' election
with fatherly satisfaction, and, for all his saintliness, was human enough to
take umbrage at a supposed breach of literary etiquette (IX. xi). There is
Remigius (S. Remi), the apostle of the Franks, to whose glowing eloquence |lxxxi
Sidonius bears his testimony (IX. vii). There is Faustus, the daring theologian
of the day, and leader of a semi-Pelagian school in the south of Gaul, whose
work on Free Grace was condemned by Pope Gelasius, and whose anonymous treatise
on the Materiality of the Soul elicited the De Statu Animae of Claudianus
Mamertus.151 There is the learned Graecus of Marseilles, whose part in ratifying
the treaty of surrender drew from Sidonius the bitter reproach of outraged
patriotism, but did not ultimately affect the friendly relations between them.
There are St. Euphronius of Autun, Leontius of Arles, Perpetuus of Tours,
Basilius of Aix, and many others less known to posterity.152 Finally there is
Patiens, for whom Sidonius is the sole authority, the saintly and generous
bishop who relieved the distress even of those living far beyond the limits of
his own diocese, and rebuilt on a magnificent scale the old church of the
Maccabees at Lyons: for him, as bishop of his native town, Sidonius may well
have felt an almost filial affection. Of the 'second order' in the Church, the
priests, we hear comparatively little. The most distinguished |lxxxii among them
is the above-mentioned Claudianus Mamertus, the religious philosopher of Gaul,
who combined high speculation with orthodox belief, while at the same time
aiding his brother Mamertus, Bishop of Vienne, in almost all the practical work
of the diocese, from the receipt of the revenues to the training of the choir
(IV. xi). Most other priests whose names are mentioned in these pages are names
and nothing more; it is a matter for regret that there is no portrait of the
parish priest and his activities, such as the most literary bishop of Gaul could
so well have drawn for us on his return from one of his extended visitations. Of
the inferior orders, one or two deacons ('Levites') are briefly introduced.
Proculus, a pupil of Euphronius, is praised as reflecting in his manner
something of the urbanity of his master Principius (IX. ii); a more unfortunate
Lévite, who, driven from home by the barbarian incursion, has sown a crop on
church-lands in the diocese of Auxerre, finds a ready advocate in Sidonius, who
begs of Bishop Censorius the remission of the payments due (VI. vii). Two
Readers (lectures) also find mention in these pages, one, the impudent Amantius,
several times, and once at great length; the other, an unnamed person engaged in
commerce, whom the influence of Graecus is to convert from a small trader into a
'splendid merchant' (splendidus mercator (VI. viii). Of the monks in Gaul
Sidonius gives but scanty information. An Abbot Chariobaudus receives a gift of
a cowl for winter use (VII. xvi); but though allusions are made to the great
houses of Lerins and Grigny, and to the smaller houses of Condat and Lauconne in
the Jura, the Letters give us |lxxxiii no details of monastic life.153 We only
learn that on the death of the monk Abraham, the founder of St. Cirgues at
Clermont, his successor had not the qualities which maintain order, and Sidonius
asks his friend Volusianus to act as a kind of Superior without the walls (VII.
xvii); perhaps in the founder's time these monks followed an oriental custom,
and Volusianus was now to introduce the stricter rules of Lerins or Grigny. It
was at St. Cirgues that some ill-conditioned person removed Sidonius' book when
he was conducting a service, with the vain idea of causing him embarrassment
(Gregory, Hist. Franc. II. xxii), a rather curious little episode, which, if
really founded on fact, throws an interesting side-light on the maintenance of
monastic discipline. The house ultimately became a priory and lasted till the
close of the eighteenth century.154

Though as a young man Sidonius was familiar with the court of Theodoric II at
Toulouse (I. ii), no small part of his experience among the barbarians was
gained when he had become a bishop. We have seen that after his imprisonment in
the fortress of Livia, he |lxxxiv seems to have been compelled to wait the
king's pleasure at Bordeaux; and in the course of his efforts to recover his
lost property, he must have been brought into contact with various members of
the Visigothic administration. It was at Bordeaux that he saw those
representatives of the different barbarian tribes whose personal characteristics
he has described, some of them captives like himself, others rendering voluntary
service to a dreaded master. At both periods of his life he must have been
familiar with the Burgundians, whose territory even in his youth was at no great
distance from his native town. But in their case also, the acquaintance which
was so distasteful to his fastidious mind was renewed at a later time after they
had entered on the possession of Lyons. His female relations continued to reside
in that city; and he went there after his entry into the Church, to see not only
his family, but also the Burgundian king who stood with Rome against the
aggression of Euric.155 It must have been painful in the extreme for one to whom
Roman culture meant so much, to hear the guttural voices of the barbarians in
the streets where in his young days he had passed to and fro with his Latin
classics; to see 'skin-clad' guards at the gate of the praetorium where Rome had
displayed the symbols of her power, and, penetrating to the halls built for an
imperial magistrate, to be welcomed by the gross good-humoured chieftain whom
Patiens conciliated by excellent dinners (VI. xii. 3). Sidonius paid his court,
as duty to his people compelled him to do; he took the opportunity of
interceding for his |lxxxv kinsman Apollinaris, threatened by the malevolence of
the informers who now infested the barbarian capitals; but, all the time, the
iron must have entered into his soul. Like his brother-in-law Ecdicius, who in
like manner had frequented these same halls, he must have suffered from a keen
sense of humiliation. There was but one consolation, that however unrefined the
Visigoth and the Burgundian might appear by comparison with the Roman standard,
they were humane and civil compared with the pagan Frank and the fierce
piratical Saxon of the north.156

It was indeed the peculiar good fortune of central and southern Gaul that the
two peoples which here succeeded to the Roman inheritance were the best of all
the conquering Teutons. The Visigoths belonged to a tribe which had now been in
contact with imperial civilization for generations and had adopted much from
Roman law and custom; the Burgundians, though outwardly less civilized, were the
most genial and good-natured of all the German nations. The great drawback to
both lay in their common profession of the Arian heresy, but for which the
Gallo-Romans might have acquiesced far more readily in their dominion, and the
ultimate triumph of the Frank would hardly have been |lxxxvi so rapid.157
Religious fanaticism apart, and this only flamed fiercely in the ten years of
Euric's reign, the relations between provincial and barbarian were those of
mutual tolerance.158 Neither Visigoth nor Burgundian was animated by any
inveterate hostility to Rome. They had been confirmed in possession of their
present territory by imperial sanction;159 it had been their earlier ambition to
rank as foederati; the Burgundian king was even now proud to hold rank under the
empire.160 It was impossible even for the most exclusive Roman citizen to forget
that the fabric of the empire had been preserved by barbarian arms, and that the
great Stilicho was a Vandal. Nor could personal charm be denied to those
Teutonic leaders who had learned the arts of Roman life. In Italy itself there
had been conspicuous examples; and though the portrait of Theodoric II in I. ii
is perhaps overdrawn for a temporary political purpose, his manner of life was
tolerably civilized. The Goths and Burgundians were prepared to treat the
Gallo-Romans without violence; but they were determined ultimately to dominate
the whole of central and southern Gaul. Before the time came for the full
satisfaction of that ambition, they were as a rule inclined to live peaceably
with their neighbours; |lxxxvii meanwhile they were subjected to a continual
process of Romanization,161 their new relation to the land and their inferior
knowledge of agriculture alone making them to a great extent dependent on Roman
law. On their side, the Gallo-Romans were used to the presence of the northerner
in their midst. The individual Teutonic peasant or slave had been a familiar
figure in their households or on their farms since the days when the military
emperors had distributed thousands of prisoners over the land. It was
recognized, not by the fiery Salvian162 alone, but by the average inhabitant,
that the barbarians had their good qualities, and that in blunt honesty and the
sense of justice the Teutonic chief might excel the Roman official. When the
imperial system degenerated beyond redemption, when a Seronatus succeeded an
Arvandus, and the extortions of the tax-gatherers were hardly to be borne, the
perception became general that life might |lxxxviii be more tolerable in
Septimania, or under Chilperic than under the jurisdiction of Rome. Except in
Auvergne, where among a section of the inhabitants loyalty to Rome was a
passion, the country was being gradually prepared for the inevitable
transference of sovereignty. The poor man often longed for the change; the rich
man resigned himself to unavoidable fate. The one felt that his lot could not be
worse; the other saw that the civilized life of ease might be led almost as
agreeably at Toulouse or Bordeaux, which had been Visigothic for half a century,
as in the cities remaining to the empire (cf. above, p. lxv). It may be added
that even as fighting men the barbarians did not inspire universal terror. The
intruders were in a numerical inferiority which increased with each fresh
annexation, and the Gallo-Roman could remember more than one occasion on which,
man for man, Roman warriors had proved their equals.163 Moreover the barbarian
tribes were not united against Rome. The Burgundian was jealous of the Visigoth,
and even lent troops to Auvergne to assist in opposing his advance. Perhaps the
worst feature in the situation was the general suspense; the uncertainty when
the blow would fall paralysed such public life as remained. The administration
continued to deteriorate; the officials were openly dishonest. The roads were
insecure. |lxxxix Fugitives from unjust usage established themselves in
fastnesses and seized on all property which could be carried off.164 They were
joined by bankrupts, runaway agents or cultivators from the great estates, in
short by every one to whom the lawless life appealed. Rome was ceasing to
maintain order; she had to make way for a power which could.

Perhaps when the blow did fall, it proved, for a time at least, more serious
than the sanguine had expected.165 Euric was an intolerant Arian; the passive or
active resistance of the Catholic clergy provoked him to harsh treatment of
individuals, while he prevented new appointments to sees left vacant by death or
deprivation. Churches fell in ruin; bereft of their pastors, flocks were
scattered.166 He was further incensed by the obstinate resistance of Auvergne;
his troops burned the crops and devastated the country, thus causing the most
widespread distress. But as soon as the treaty was concluded and Berry and
Auvergne were his own, he in some measure justified the hope that the Goths
would establish a reputable government. He already had at his right hand, as |xc
prime-minister, the Catholic Gallo-Roman Leo;167 he now set over the conquered
Auvergne another Gallo-Roman, Victorius; and we may perhaps assume that the
episcopal negotiators of the treaty had secured from him better conditions for
the Catholic population under his rule (see above, p. xlii). As a whole, the
newly acquired territory settled down under Visigothic laws, in which, as we
have seen, much Roman law was now incorporated.168 A sensible loss to the
senatorial families was that of the 'consular', 'prefectorian', and other titles
derived from their passage through the cursus honorum. As Sidonius says, the
only distinction now was culture, so that the jealous maintenance of Roman
literature and the purity of Latin speech became more than ever important.169 A
few nobles followed the example of Leo and Victorius, and took high office under
the new régime, as they did in like manner at the Burgundian courts.170 Evodius,
for whose presentation-cup to Ragnahild Sidonius wrote his verses (IV. viii),
may have succeeded in pushing his fortunes in this manner. Other conspicuous
Gallo-Romans were perhaps content to ingratiate themselves |xci with their
prince by the arts of flattery: such was Lampridius, the orator and poet of
Bordeaux (VIII. ix).171 The baser sort found their advantage in becoming
informers, and trading in the properties and lives of their fellow
countrymen.172 Their machinations were in one case thwarted by the interventions
of Chilperic's queen, whose support was of such worth to Patiens. The respect
which the Teutonic princes and peoples showed to their women was a virtue which
did much to make them respected by their Gallo-Roman subjects.

Probably Sidonius came into close personal relations with no barbarians other
than the Visigoths and Bur-gundians; of the rest he had a glimpse during his
sojourn at Euric's court (see below, p. cix), or only knew by hearsay.173 His
experience was gained in the most favourable field; but it is clear that though
in younger days he had followed his father-in-law's pro-Gothic policy, and
though as a Visigothic subject he schooled himself to civility, the intensity of
his Roman sympathies never suffered him to like even the best of the barbarians.
In a confidential letter he makes the confession that he does not care for
barbarians even when they are good (VII. xiv. 10). He despised them as lacking
in the refinements of the one culture in which he believed. The personal habits
of the Burgundians |xcii revolt him,174 he indulges in a subdued sneer at the
culture of the Visigothic court: the quality of the silver of Ragnahild's cup,
not that of the verses engraved on it, will alone be esteemed 'in such an
Athenaeum' (cf. above, p. xlvi). The barbarians are always the skin-clad savages
(pelliti), as compared with . the Romans in their civilized dress.2 In a time of
strained relations, the Visigoths become the perfidious people (foedifraga
gens), in whom no reliance can be placed (cf. p. lxxxvii, note175). This
ingrained dislike on the part of Sidonius is an unfortunate circumstance for the
historian of the barbaric nations. He was in a position which offered him
priceless opportunities to observe not only the outward appearance of a few ypes
casually seen at Bordeaux or Lyons, but the daily life of the community. He
might have learned to converse with them, given us examples of their speech,
told us their proverbial wisdom, their legends and their history. He did none of
these things. The apostle of Latin idiom would not soil his lips with the
detested German tongue. An Athenian, forced to learn Persian under a victorious
Xerxes, would not have suffered more than this Patrician, if Visigothic had been
made a compulsory language in vanquished Gaul. It is clear that he only half
admires |xciii the cleverness of a Syagrius who became so proficient in the
Burgundian dialect that old men were afraid of being detected by him in solecism
(V. v. 3).

It is a great opportunity lost.176 But though he falls lamentably short of what
he might so easily have accomplished, Sidonius has left several sketches of
barbarian types which are not without their value to the student of history and
ethnology, or even to the literary man. It was probably at Lyons that he saw the
young Frankish (?) prince Sigismer in his rich apparel, walking amongst his
guards to the house of his prospective father-in-law, the Burgundian Chilperic
(IV. xx). The description is full of interest, and has attracted the attention
of every historian of the fifth century; so circumstantial is it that though the
nationality of Sigismer is not stated, it may be fairly inferred from his
equipment and his arms.177 But, as already noted, it was during his enforced
stay at Bordeaux that the Bishop of Clermont had occasion to observe the various
representatives of the northern tribes who pressed upon one another at the court
of the powerful Euric (VIII. ix). There he saw the swift Herulian with his
glaucous countenance;178 the blue-eyed Saxon 'arch-pirate', terror of the
coasts; 179 the grey-eyed Frank with his shaven face, yellow hair, and
close-fitting tunic;180 the Sigambrian, shorn of his |xciv treasured
back-hair.181 His knowledge of Mongolians probably dates from an earlier time,
and is not displayed in the Letters; it may chiefly have been derived from
Avitus, who knew the Asiatic nomads well from the days of Attila, Aëtius, and
Litorius. What Sido-nius has to say of them is to be found in his Panegyric of
Anthemius, where he praises the horsemanship of troopers who seem rather
centaurs than men separable from their mounts.182 From hearsay also may have
come the extremely interesting description of the Saxons, 'who regarded
shipwreck as only so much practice.' Their maritime skill and enterprise are
told in a few vigorous phrases, while their custom of offering a human sacrifice
before setting sail on the homeward voyage is recorded as a fact of common
knowledge.183 Taken as a whole, these contributions to our knowledge of the
Teutonic tribes are well worth having, though, for the reasons given above, they
at the same time disappoint us, knowing as we do the unique nature of his
opportunities. After all, great allowance must be made for a writer who had
championed a lost cause against these very peoples of the north. The
representative of a high civilization who fears that all refinement is going
down before the flood of barbarism cannot be expected to regard the barbarian
with the same sympathetic interest as the conqueror or pioneer |xcv who carries
the banner of the higher culture into the wilderness in the confident assurance
of its triumph. Had Sidonius accompanied a victorious Roman army to the shores
of the Baltic, he might have looked upon the Teuton with other eyes, and
developed some of the observant qualities of a Tacitus or a Lafitau. And yet,
when we remember his silence on his own countrymen of the lower classes, we may
perhaps doubt whether, even under stimulating conditions, he would have made a
good scientific observer. The whole education and training of the Roman school
were such as to make the scientific attitude almost impossible to the finished
product of the system.

Before turning to consider that system and its effect upon the literary talent
of Sidonius, we may pause briefly to consider the information which he supplies
on several external aspects of Gallo-Roman civilization in the last years of the
imperial connexion.

We may take, in the first place, his description of his villa Avitacum,
evidently modelled upon Pliny's accounts of his own favourite country seats. In
some parts this description is hard to follow, and the relative position of the
principal chambers not quite easy to understand. We imagine, however, an
extensive structure designed with all the Roman regard for aspect; with a winter
dining-room provided with an open hearth, and summer dining-room, half out of
doors; with colonnade and loggia, weaving-room, women's quarters, and very
extensive baths.184 The |xcvi baths were clearly a great feature of Avitacum.
The house almost abutted upon an eminence, from which a stream flowed down,
while the same hill provided timber for heating in such convenient fashion that
the cut logs rolled down the steep slope, and almost delivered themselves at the
furnace-door.185 The different chambers used by the bathers, some of which were
adorned with frescoes, are described in some detail; one had a pyramidal roof;
another a basin filled from pipeheads cast to resemble lion-masks, through which
the water comes in such a tumult that the master of the house and his fellow
bathers have to converse at the top of their voices to be heard. Sidonius
clearly prided himself on his baths, saying that they need fear no comparison
with public establishments.186 The house of |xcvii Avitacum must have been a
charming place, situated on rising ground with a wide prospect over a lake,
perhaps the Lake of Aydat (see note, 36. 2, p. 222); it is not wonderful that
the owner should describe it with enthusiasm. But there are curious omissions in
the description of its amenities. It is remarkable that so bookish a man should
say nothing of his own books, though he could certainly have quoted Cicero's
words about his library (Ep. VI. viii), and in another letter dwells at some
length on that of a friend. Again, while there must have been extensive gardens
round such a residence, not a word is said of them, though, here again, the
gardens of a friend are praised in another place. How different Pliny, who
dwells with delight upon his fountains and trim walks, his cypresses and roses!
We are tempted to doubt whether Sidonius really loved flowers.187 Nothing,
again, is said of stables; nor is there a word of domestic pets: we doubt
Sidonius as |xcviii a lover of animals. Yet, for its freshness and solitude,
Avitacum was evidently near to his heart; there he enjoyed the tunicata
quies,188 which to the Roman was the equivalent of the ease in 'flannels' so
delightful to the city dweller of to-day. We gather that the villa of Avitacum
was as undefended as Roman country-houses usually were. But it is a sign of this
unsettled period that some seats were already fortified, rather, perhaps, to
resist sudden attack by brigands than assault by barbarian invaders.189 We learn
nothing precise from the Letters of the architectural features of town
dwellings. It would have been interesting to know the disposition of the houses
in such a place as Lyons, and how those of the chief citizens resembled the
larger residences in Italy on the one side and Britain on the other.190 |xcix Of
the interior furnishing of the house, little is said; apart from the description
of baths, what details we have concern almost exclusively the dining-room. Here
were the stibadium (horseshoe couch) and 'gleaming sideboard' (nitens abacus);
here couches for the diners, decked perhaps, like those of Theodoric, with linen
coverings on ordinary days, and silk on great occasions (I. ii). The best
accounts of dining-room arrangements are given where Sidonius describes the
banquets at Arles already mentioned (p. lxiv). In I. xi the arrangement of the
company on the stibadium. in strict order of precedence is clearly noted, the
host being at one 'horn', his principal guest at the other, followed by the
remaining guests in order of their official rank, so that the junior (in this
case, Sidonius himself) reclined next to the host.191 The poem of IX. xiii
enters with some detail into the luxurious accessories of a Roman banquet in the
capital of the province. The couches are draped with hangings of purple silk, or
with figured silk textiles bearing representations of mounted huntsmen in
Sassanian style,192 which proves the importation of oriental stuffs into the
West as early as the mid-fifth century (see note, 203. I, pp. 251-2). There are
flowers on the sideboards and even on the couches. Burning frankincense rolls
its perfume to the roof; the |c lamps, knowing nothing of common oil (oleum
nescientes), are fed with scented opobalsamum. When the feast begins the
servants appear, bowed under the weight of the chased silver plate.193 Wine
gleams in rose-wreathed cups and bowls of various form, and is spiced with nard.
When the meal is done, some of the guests are stimulated to the imitation of
Bacchantes, and dance among garlands that hang from the unguent-vases.194 But
the chief entertainment comes with the introduction of Corinthian girls, who
sing to the accompaniment of the cithara, and of other flute-players and
singers. It is a scene of lavish extravagance. The midday meal of a senatorial
family in every-day life is described as consisting of dishes few in number but
varied in contents; the evening meals seem to have been more elaborate (II. ix.
6, 10). A high standard of comfort and a good cuisine were evidently the rule.
Introducing to Simplicius a person unused to the manners of society (IV. vii),
Sidonius pictures the man's astonishment when invited, as the acquaintance of so
old a friend |ci as himself, to sit at the family table: 'it will abash this
rustic to be entertained with an elegance which will make him think himself
among the delicate guests of Apicius, and served by the "rhythmic carvers of
Byzantium".'195 The one indispensable article of furniture, not necessarily
placed in the dining-room, which receives special mention is the water-clock or
clepsydra;196 even here, however, it is in one case brought in as having
announced to the chef the hour for lunch. Of bedrooms nothing is said: one
passage rather leads us to suppose that sleeping accommodation was less
extensive than we should have expected (II. ix. 7).

Such artistic references as occur seem to show that Sidonius, though fond of all refinement, was not a connoisseur.197 It may perhaps be surmised that provincial art in Gaul in the second and third quarters of the |cii fifth century resembled the literature of the same period, and that its work was uninspired and imitative, coldly reproducing at second-hand traditional classical models. It probably did not share the great prestige accorded to literature; though Sidonius mentions a score of contemporary orators and poets, artists are to seek in his pages. The wealthy Gallo-Romans may have chiefly concentrated their enthusiasm upon Letters, and have regarded art as a secondary matter. Such comparative indifference could only have hastened the downfall of the academic Roman style before the invading oriental motives which now entered Gaul in increasing numbers, and were naturally more congenial to barbaric taste. Of sculpture we learn even less than painting. The author gives no description of his own statue erected at Rome after the delivery of his Panegyric of Avitus, nor does he allude to the sculptor. His mention of stereotyped attitudes when enumerating the |ciii principal philosophers of antiquity (IX. ix. 14) suggests that he had well-known sculptural types in his mind, but he does not himself assert it. On the subject of architecture Sidonius does not seem to write with understanding. The account of the villa of Avitacum is not that of an expert; and his descriptions of two churches, that erected by Patiens at Lyons (II. x) and that by Perpetuus at Tours (IV. xviii. 4) are rather slight: we do, however, gather that the first was an orientated basilica, preceded by an atrium, and with a coffered ceiling in the interior,198 though there is no clear statement as to the number of aisles or the form of the bema. The second, which replaced the older building erected by St. Brice over the shrine of St. Martin, seems to have presented most exceptional features; it may have introduced into Gaul a type of choir which was destined to influence the whole course of Romanesque and even Gothic building (see note, 33. 1, p. 231). Yet nothing that Sidonius says would lead us to infer that the church of Perpetuus was an epoch-making |civ structure; we infer it only from the later description by Gregory of Tours.199 In connexion with the churches mentioned by Sidonius, we must not forget the metrical inscriptions which he and his rival poets composed at the bishop's request to be engraved upon the walls. These are of such a length that they were probably cut in rather small characters upon panels or executed in mosaic. In the case of Patiens' church, the verses of Constantius and Secundinus were to be placed to right and left of the altar, those of Sidonius himself perhaps opposite on the west wall, though the words he uses are not clear (in extimis).200 Monastic buildings are not described by our author. Yet, as we have already seen, he had a personal knowledge of Lerins, and any details of its architectural features, plan, and internal arrangements would have been of the highest interest. He could have described to us, too, the process by which the simple cell of the Syrian monk Abraham near Clermont developed into the monastery of St. Cirgues, for at the time of Abraham's death the community was evidently of some size (VII. xvii. 3, 4).201 Altogether, we could wish that Sidonius shared the |cv architectural interest of one of his friends, who was fond of reading Vitruvius (VIII. vi. 10). Perhaps, however, he would only have reiterated his preference for the traditional in all things, and, like the accepted oracles of the eighteenth century, to whom Gothic architecture was all contemptible, have regarded all divergences from Vitruvian precept as wholly beneath his notice. His indifference to the really important features of Perpetuus' church lends some colour to the supposition. In relation to the art of music, our author again reveals no personal enthusiasm. His references to secular music usually concern the performances enlivening banquets, which then, as now, were intended rather to distract than to inspire. But we are told that Theodoric II only cared for serious strains at table, and that he dispensed alike with the hydraulic organs 202 and with vocalists---- the negative statement here suggesting that in other houses neither was disdained (cf. above, p. lxiv). Perhaps at no period of his life was Sidonius a patron of musicians.203 Church music receives just enough attention to tantalize the reader. Among the merits of the accomplished priest-philosopher Claudianus Mamertus, Sidonius records his zeal in training the choir for his brother the Bishop of Vienne;204 again, in connexion |cvi with the celebration of the festival of St. Just at Lyons, we hear of antiphonal singing (V. xvii. 3). There is no definite allusion to the use of musical instruments in churches. In the matter of costume, we learn more of barbarian than of Roman dress, and more of the garb of laymen than of clerics. It may be taken for granted that the tunic remained the usual garment for the house among the Gallo-Romans; sometimes the girdle or belt which held it round the waist offered scope for ornament of a particular fashion (IV. ix. 2).205 Over the tunic were probably worn the mantles most commonly in use in late-Roman times----the pallium, of Greek origin,206 and the paenula (a kind of poncho) for bad weather. The toga was now a ceremonial garment, of which the most sumptuous form was the toga palmata, or embroidered robe worn by the Consul.207 Sandals or boots are only |cvii mentioned in relation to a symbolic figure of a Muse; the description of the method of lacing is not easy of comprehension (VIII. xi., 11. 12 ff. of the poem). It is just possible that there is an allusion to a professional dress in the letter which Sidonius sends to Domitius, the grammarian of Ameria, inviting him to the cool retreat of Avitacum in a very hot summer. Domitius is depicted as expounding Terence to his pupils wrapped in a thick cloak, while others were perspiring in thin linen or silk; it may be, however, that Domitius was extremely sensitive to draughts, for even under the thick cloak he is said to be swathed round and round, a fashion which would be no necessary accompaniment of a master's gown.208 Armour is mentioned in the letter which recounts the prowess of Ecdicius in breaking through the Gothic lines round Clermont. The hero is described as wearing greaves, a cuirass, and a helmet with cheek-pieces (III. iii. 5), the whole equipment following the Roman model. The most careful description of barbarian costume concerns not the Visigoths or Burgundians, with whom Sidonius was in frequent contact, but in all likelihood the Franks, with whom he had had probably no regular relations. It has been already noticed (p. xciii) that the weapons borne by the guards of the young Sigismer, whom Sidonius saw at Lyons, are characteristic of that nation (note, 35. 1, p. 233). The prince himself wears a flame-red mantle over a white silk tunic, and a wealth of |cviii gold ornaments.209 His companions wear high, close-fitting, short-sleeved, parti-coloured (?) tunics scarcely reaching to their bare knees, and low boots of hide with the hair adhering; their legs are left uncovered. Each has a green cloak (sagum) with a purple border, and apparently a skin mantle over all, brooched on the right shoulder to leave the sword-arm free. The sword is worn on a baldric; the other weapons are barbed lances and missile axes (lancet uncati, secures missiles). Circular shields enriched on the field with silver, and on the umbo with gold, complete the equipment of the brilliant train. In general it recalls the Frankish warrior as he is depicted in Carolingian illuminated manuscripts of the ninth and tenth centuries; though at this later date |cix the legs are commonly protected by tight bandages. The skin garment is the great characteristic of the barbarian in the Roman's eyes; the adjective pellitus is used almost as a synonym for barbarian.210

Especial importance was attached by the different tribes to the manner in which
the hair was cut. Theo-doric's hair is withdrawn from the forehead and long over
the ears (I. ii. 2).211 The Saxons have the whole fore-part of the skull shorn,
a fashion which at a distance seems to increase the length of the face and
reduce that of the head (VIII. ix, 11. 23-7 of the poem). The Sigambrian
normally wears his hair long at the back; the old warrior of this tribe, whom
Sidonius sees at Bordeaux, has had his long locks cut off, and will not feel a
true man until they have grown again (ibid. 1. 28). Of clerical vestments,
unfortunately, nothing is said; at this early period, differentiation between
clerical and lay garb may not have gone very far; but it had begun, and even a
few words would have had their importance. Monks are described as wearing the
palliolum, which |cx would seem to indicate that the monastic dress at first
resembled that of the philosopher (IV. ix. 3). The cowl was apparently at this
time an independent covering for the head, as Sidonius sends a thick one as a
present to the abbot Chariobaudus (nocturnalem cucullum, VII. xvi. 2).212 The
tonsure is described by the usual word corona, which is ultimately transferred
to the tonsured: corona tua is used very much as we should say 'your reverence'.
The allusions to sport and games are fairly numerous. In the chase the bow is
the principal weapon (I. ii), but for encountering the boar and other beasts the
spear comes into play, the game being driven into nets (VIII. vi. 12). Namatius
is bantered on the over-merciful temperament of the hounds with which he pursues
the hares of Oleron (ibid.).213 The hawk is more than once mentioned as an
essential possession of the young country gentleman with sporting tastes (III.
iii. 2). In one place we hear of a fishing expedition to which Agricola, his
brother-in-law, invites Sidonius (II. xii. i).214 Racing in small boats took
|cxi place in former times on the lake below Avitacum, in recollection of
Aeneas' regatta at Drepanum, the people of Auvergne claiming a Trojan descent
(II. ii. 19). Large comfortable river-boats manned by rowers ply on the Garonne
(VIII. xii. 5).215

References to games are of much interest, but unfortunately they are seldom
precise, and where they seem to give detail, only confuse by uncoordinated
facts. A board-game of some kind resembling backgammon, possibly that known as
duodecim scripta,216 is indicated in the difficult passage in I. ii, where
Theodoric is described at play. Dice-boxes are frequently mentioned, and one
would assume that games of hazard were a little too popular with the aristocracy
of Gaul.217 Outdoor games with balls were evidently pursued with ardour, |cxii
and Sidonius, similar in this to Augustine, admits himself a devotee (V. xvii.
6). But here again it is difficult to form an idea of the rules. There is no
mention of any apparatus beyond the ball itself, so that to translate by
'tennis' is misleading to a modern reader: the players seem simply to have
required an open space in a courtyard or on the grass, with perhaps lines marked
upon the ground. Sometimes two players were enough, as when Sidonius and
Ecdicius play in the meadow by the lake (II. ii. 15)218; at others there are
opposing pairs (II. ix. 4); in one place we read of whole 'sides', when at the
festival at Lyons the elderly Filimatius is knocked down (V. xvii. 7). The
reference to collisions shows that the game was fast.219 The great games of the
Circus were still held in Gaul in the second half of the fifth century, but
possibly not after Majorian's time.220

Turning to the apparatus of more serious pursuits, we find various references to
writing materials. Letters and manuscripts were written upon parchment or paper;
the words membrana, papyrus, and charta are all employed, the two latter being
synonymous.221 But tablets (codicilli, pugillares) and a stylus were used for
the first notes or |cxiii rough drafts (e. g. IV. xii. 4, and cf. Cicero, Ad
fam. IX. xxvi). Literary people were sometimes accompanied by a secretary, who
kept the tablets always ready for their use, or himself wrote from their
dictation, as did the secretary of Filimatius on the famous occasion when
Sidonius composed his epigram upon the towel (V. xvii. x).222 From IX. xvi it
would appear that ink was allowed to dry, and that the process was not
accelerated by the use of sand, or by any other substitute for blotting-paper.
In the same passage there is a reference to ink freezing on the pens in very
cold weather.223 A few miscellaneous facts may be noted which bear upon
contemporary custom and observance. From I. v. 10 we gather that the old
Thalassio still held its own in 468, the year of the wedding of Ricimer and
Alypia, and that the crown was still worn by the bridegroom at the ceremony. For
all that is said to the contrary, it might have been a pagan marriage of |cxiv
Catullus' day, whereas both the contracting parties were Christians. An
interesting point is raised with regard to the disposal of the dead. The spade
of the excavator seems to show that in the Roman provinces cremation went out of
fashion about the year A. D. 250. We should infer the opposite from those
passages in Sidonius, where the machinery of cremation is mentioned as if it
were still in use, or had been so within living memory (III. iii. 13; III. xiii;
Carm. xvi. 123). Perhaps we may hazard the conjecture that a few aristocratic
families preserved an old custom after it had been abandoned by the mass of the
people, just as, in more ancient times, they had maintained burial when
incineration was first introduced. The evidence of Sidonius with regard to
epitaphs also deserves notice. Those which he himself composed are of inordinate
length, and imply monuments with abundance of plane surface.224 That they are
not merely literary exercises, but really meant to be used, is shown by his
desire that the work of the monumental mason who was to cut the epitaph on the
tomb of the prefect Apollinaris should be |cxv carefully checked, for fear that
any error committed might be imputed to the writer and not to the artisan.
Altogether, the epitaphs are of most formidable length, eclipsing in this
respect those of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, or the longer
effusions of our country churchyards. The imperial road system was still
apparently maintained on a satisfactory footing in the year 467, when Sidonius
travelled from Lyons to Rome, and, as bearer of an imperial summons, was
entitled to the free use of post-horses. The mansiones, or rest-houses, and the
veredarii, or mounted letter-carriers, are mentioned in different Letters (III.
ii. 3; V. vii. 3).225 In more than one place Sidonius alludes to inns which were
patronized by nobles when no better accommodation was to be had, but they seem
to have been of indifferent quality.226 The above are but examples of a much
larger number of points which the archaeologist may discover in the Letters. But
even these will suffice to show that the study of Sidonius is not altogether
unprofitable to archaeological research. The preceding pages have sketched in
outline the |cxvi life of Sidonius and the surroundings in which it was passed.
But the conditions under which he grew to manhood will be imperfectly understood
unless something is said of the system under which the young Gallo-Roman was
prepared for his career. For the education which the boy Sidonius received, the
typical education of his class and time, exerted a lasting influence upon the
man. It coloured his whole outlook upon the world, not always to his advantage,
since his very loyalty to academic ideals obscured those natural powers of
observation which he certainly possessed. It controlled his literary prospects,
determined his interests, and created the astonishing style which seemed to him
worth so many vigils, but to us is like a faded finery, hampering the free
movement of his thought. Some idea of the intellectual training which produced
such strange results is thus essential to our purpose. The education of the
young Gallo-Roman in the fifth century differed but little from that which his
father and grandfather had received.227 The whole training was rooted in
traditions no longer vital; it was essentially bookish, uninterested in facts,
almost exclusively absorbed in words. Before all other things it set Grammar and
Rhetoric; in many schools these two subjects represented almost the whole
curriculum. Law had of course to be learned by candidates for the bar; |cxvii
philosophy was studied perhaps more as an accomplishment and a discipline of the
mind, than for the problems with which it was properly concerned;228 there was
some musical instruction, perhaps more of a theoretical than of a practical
nature. But for most youths education meant a proficiency in the Latin classics,
a knowledge of the structure of the Latin language, and of the art of speaking
before an audience upon a given subject. The interest was directed not to the
synthesis of life, but the antithesis of clauses. Science, as we understand the
term, was practically unknown; the mathematics, the geography, the astronomy of
the schools had as much relation to mythology as to fact. The interesting letter
on the death of the rhetor Lampridius shows that even on the most brilliant
products of the late Roman schools, astrologers 229 could still exert their
baneful influence (VIII. xi. 9). Perhaps the decline in the study of Greek
prejudicially affected the power and inclination to observe or think naturally.
That language was still taught in Gaul; Sidonius noted the fluency of Lampridius
in both Greek and |cxviii Latin;230 and at Narbonne there were men of culture
who appreciated Greek poetry.231 But the Theodosian Code shows that the Latin
grammarians received higher salaries than the Greek, enjoyed a higher position,
and probably instructed larger classes.232 Their lectures consisted for the most
part in commentaries on classical authors, chiefly the Roman poets. Style was
analysed; the vocabulary of each writer examined; metaphors and expressions were
carefully discussed. Points of etymology and antiquarian knowledge were raised,
and pursued along the by-paths of erudition; it was a golden age for
commentators. Not all, however, was learned trifling. Some of the criticism upon
Virgil and Homer was acute and penetrating, as, for example, the fifth book of
the Saturnalia of Macrobius. The great text-book in the schools of the fourth
and fifth century was Virgil. To Sidonius, as to Augustine, he is the prince of
poets.233 Terence was evidently popular in Gaul; the Letters allude to his
characters, and in the passage on the home-education of Apollinaris, Sidonius
reads the Hecyra with his son, uncertain which delights him most, the fine style
of the author, or the youthful grace and ardour of the boy. The influence of
Horace is also evident in our author; he is second to Virgil among the poets.234
The opulent and elaborated |cxix style of Statius naturally commended him to
such a society as that of fifth-century Gaul; he had been popular with Ausonius;
and his influence on Sidonius as poet is undeniable.235 It is the same with
Claudian; the Panegyrics which charmed the ears of an Avitus or an Anthemius owe
him much, but the splendour of the original is gone. Among prose-writers, not
Cicero,236 but the younger Pliny was the favourite. In the introductory Letter
of the fifth book, Sidonius acknowledges him as his master; and in a later book
again refers to this professed allegiance.237 Pliny, the agreeable
letter-writer, was the inevitable model of a society in which correspondence
with friends was a main interest of existence: no less inevitable was the
reproduction of his mannerisms rather than his excellences by purely imitative
writers. In his introductory epistle to Constantius, Sidonius quotes as a
warning the nickname given to Julius Titianus for his sedulous efforts to
reproduce the style of Cicero: he was called 'the ape of orators' (pratorum
simia). Yet he and his own contemporaries fell into the same error; they were
apes of the second great Roman letter-writer, caricaturing their master by
accentuating all his faults. Features of Sallust's style were distorted by them
in the same manner.238 |cxx

Grammatical criticism of the classics was followed by specialized study of the great orators, with a view to proficiency in public speaking: this was the course of Rhetoric. The rhetor was a more important person in society than the grammarian. But, as noted above, he professed an art which, except in the Church, had little prospect of great or serious audiences; it was divorced from real life; it was the accomplishment of the speech-room.239 The training was still, no doubt, a good one; rhythm, prosody, voice-production, division of the subject, were all thoroughly taught, and proved their value when there was a worthy occasion for their use. But most opportunities were hardly worth the taking; the speaker eulogized the great dead or the Epigoni of the present; he took part in academic displays or competitions before small circles, in which ancient or unreal issues were treated in the style of the class-room declamation.240 An unbounded respect for certain models, a good memory with an endless stock of figures, metaphors and mythological examples always at command----these, and not the power to read hearts and
|cxxi
sway them to a genuine emotion, were the essentials of oratorical success. These were the qualities which carried Ausonius, the rhetor of Bordeaux, to the highest office in the State.241 The enthusiasm for letters which such promotion implies is laudable in itself; but in the time of Roman decadence the reward fell to an artifice which sterilized instead of fertilizing the mind, and drove hearts capable of valiant action into channels of sentimental retrospect. The fine flower of all this education was the panegyric, and it was an artificial flower.

It has been already noted that the Church was beginning a new education of her own (p. lxxvi), and that in some cases boys were placed under a religious teacher, as Sidonius' own brother studied under Faustus at Lerins. But as a rule, sacred learning would seem to have been neglected in the schools attended by wealthy pupils.242 Some of the great families were probably still pagan: others appear to have shown little zeal for the religion which they nominally professed; the old mythology dominated literary culture. Perhaps Sidonius was never really grounded in the study of the Scriptures till after his consecration. Only after that event do his letters show a familiarity with |cxxii Holy Writ; examples and illustrations derived both from the Old and New Testament then accompany or displace the mythological figures dear to his earlier years. By the side of Triptolemus, we hear of Joseph.243 Moses, Aaron, and Solomon, Joshua, the Gibeonites, and the people of Nineveh are introduced in illustration.244 The Church is the spiritual Sara; 245 Philosophy is the fair woman captured from the enemy and espoused by the captor; 246 the story of Peter and Simon Magus points its obvious moral.247 St. Luke is quoted as a believer in the advantage of long descent.248 In no capacity did this scholastic education so harm Sidonius as in that which it was designed to advance---- his quality as man of letters. He was too good a pupil of his peculiar masters to be anything but a bad writer. The curse of the rhetorical tradition clung to him like a chronic disease; it destroyed the originality of a genius never too spontaneous. In an age when it was improper for a literary man to be himself, he thought too faithfully of the proprieties. His age was just to him: he had the reward of his obedience. The society whose conventions he defended saw in him the mirror of contemporary writers; 249 in his heart, he |cxxiii himself was sure that the vote of posterity was won.250 Though, soon after his death, a Ruricius might whisper a doubt, it was long before the general verdict turned against him. The Middle Ages approved; and even after Petrarch's misgivings, the voice of admiration continued to be heard. But the Renaissance grew critical, the eighteenth century dared to attack.251 If the value of Sidonius really lay in his style and diction, as he himself believed, then his credit would indeed be dead beyond resuscitation. Hardly any Latin author has received so short a shrift at the hands of modern criticism as this professed champion of the Roman tongue. When good Latinity was once more understood, our author's pedestal became a pillory; and the works of every writer upon style, from Horace to Boileau, provided missiles wherewith to pelt him. Gibbon, preferring his prose to his 'insipid verses', pays it a back-handed compliment after his manner. Even those who uphold particular merits are forced to draw upon the arsenal of epithets forged against the affected and the turgid writer. The most recent critics are the most severe of all. Hodgkin says that Sidonius has achieved nothing beyond a fifth-rate position as a post-classical author; Dill sees in him one of the most tasteless writers who ever lived. In the matter of depreciation the last word has been spoken; nothing fresh can now be said. The Latin style of Sidonius is condemned as finally as the French style of Voiture.252 |cxxiv But the position of Sidonius no longer depends on his manner; his style is to-day brushed aside as a tiresome veil, obscuring what he has to say. He refused to write history; 253 he survives as the historian malgré lui. Though he missed one of the great opportunities in literature; though he failed to record much that was most worth recording in the world about him, and instead of the new drama of his times preferred to transmit for the hundredth time the vapid and worn-out stories of Greek mythology, he has yet preserved for us facts enough to constitute him a chief authority on the century in which he lived. His literary fate is indeed a paradox; he is one of those men whose parergon alone is valued, and who are esteemed for the very part of their work which they themselves deemed least important. By a careful sifting of the Letters and the Poems,254 modern writers have extracted much material which, classified and co-ordinated, has thrown useful |cxxv light on one of the darkest periods of history; on many points, Sidonius is the sole source of information. Nor is his mannerism always with him.255 The Letters which yield most with least trouble are precisely those in which an eager personal interest in his subject, or the pressure of a busy life, or some unexpected necessity for haste have forced the writer to abandon his preoccupation with style and tell his business in a natural way. At such times he speaks directly: tam nunc dicit tam nunc debentia dici. The most efficient cause of plainer writing |cxxvi was probably the stress of episcopal work; to this our debt is large. We are infinitely relieved when amid the familiar affectations we come upon the stilus rusticans or the sermo usualis for which he apologizes as a degradation of his pen.256 We almost lose sympathy with him in his personal troubles, as soon as it appears that it is misfortune which has simplified his diction.257 Appreciating to the full the honourable solicitude of Sidonius for the purity of Latin, and his ever-present fear of Celtic or Teutonic encroachments,258 we are willing to condone any intrusions from the vulgar tongue to be rid for a while of the alliterations, the inversions, the forced antitheses, and to see the meaning quickly in a simple dress. What we want of Sidonius is plain fact, and it is pleasant to admit that occasionally we get it without too much exasperation; sometimes the actor removes the mask and speaks in unaffected tones. Let it therefore be recorded to his credit that he does not always offend, and that not once or twice, but many times, he writes in a manner worthy of Roman literature at an earlier day. Let it also be remembered that his |cxxvii subject-matter is often well presented; when his narrative interests him, he can tell a story brightly and with effect. Nor should we overlook the fact that Sidonius has a gift for portraiture, which frequently lends animation to his pages. Sometimes a character is sketched in a few sentences, as in the case of Paeonius the parvenu, the malicious old Athenius,259 the lively veteran Filimatius who plays ball with the younger men (V. xvii), and Himerius the model priest (VII. xiii). At other times the description is at greater length, and details are drawn with a free hand. We have amusing pictures of the young fortune-hunter Amantius (VII. ii), and of Ger-manicus the juvenile sexagenarian (IV. xiii), who dresses in the fashion, who will hear nothing of age except the increased respect it brings, and grows more boyish every day (non iuvenescit solum sed quodammodo repuerascit). We have the interesting sketch of Vectius the country gentleman, whose girdles are of exquisite design, who hunts, hawks, and entertains his friends, but listens to the Psalms at meals, and is more priestly in spirit than many of those who wear priests' garments (IV. ix). We have the memoir of Claudianus Mamertus who does all the hard work for his brother St. Mamertus, to which allusion has been made above (p. lxxxi); we have the reminiscences of Lampridius, the quicktempered rhetor, murdered by his slaves (VIII. xi). In other cases classes of men are portrayed with the same precision; for instance, informers, or popularity-hunting candidates for municipal appointments (XV. xix). A writer possessing such penetration and such graphic |cxxviii powers as these deserves something more than an untempered ridicule.

Yet the counts in the indictment are sufficiently numerous. First and foremost
there is the mania for antithesis, and plays on words which degenerate into the
most lamentable of puns, for paronomasia, antonomasia, and all the other
obliquities of language which sound like the infirmities which they are. A
critical examination of Sidonius' work resembles literary pathology; his
language is often diseased language, which could only regain a semblance of
health by a free use of the knife. It calls aloud for amputation of the
platitudes, pomposities, and verbal conceits which the euphuist himself would
renounce as foolish. It is unnecessary to dwell long on a subject which has its
pathetic side, yet concrete instances must be adduced in evidence.

First, we may take examples of the ruling passion for antithesis. The abuse of this is persistent, and sometimes verbal oppositions are cumulated with almost incredible pertinacity, as, for instance, in the description of Ravenna (I. viii). Sidonius pits against each other the words novus and vetus or antiquus, until the staleness of the trick infuriates. Thus novus clericus, peccator antiquus (IX. ii); novo exemplo amicitiarum vetera iura (VII. vi. l), in famillari vetusto novum ius potestatis (V. xviii). But no glaring contrast of word or sense, however elementary, comes amiss; for instance: pingues caedibus gladii, macri ieiuniis praeliatores (VII. vii. 3); confitetur repulsam qui profitetur offensam (VII. ix); pharetras sagittis vacuare, lacrimis oculos implere (V. xii); Cuius parva tuguria magnus hospes implesti (III. ii); Itinerum longitudinum, brevitatem dierum, &c. (III. ii. 3). |cxxix And so on, and so on. The reader who desires more of this misplaced ingenuity will find instances on every other page. Plays upon words are no less common. Inferre calumnias, deferre personas, afferre minas, auferre substantias (V. vii); scientia fortis, fortior conscientia (IX. iv); at non remaneamus terrent quibus terra non remanet (IX. iii); iuste iusta solventes (III. iii. 8); indidit prosecutionibus, edidit tribunalibus, prodidit partibus, additit titulis, &c. (VIII. vi. 7); seu sic sentiente concordia, seu sic concordante sententia (IV. xxv. 5); inconsulte consultat. (VIII. ix. 13); praedae praedia (IV. xxv. 2); suspicere iudicium, suscipere consilium (IV. xxii. 1). The changes are continually rung upon such words as dicere and ducere, suspicere despicere, orare perorare, ambiendus ambitiosus, providere praevidere, &c. The list of such things is endless, but we are not yet at the worst; we have to endure puns from which a schoolboy would recoil. A proper name like Faustus, Perpetuus, or Rusticus is seldom allowed to escape: let two of them represent the series: Perpetua durent culmina Perpetui (IV. xviii----this to be carved on the wall of a church); rusticans multum quod nihil rusticus (VIII. xi. 6, cf. Rusticus). It is pardonable for a man once in a way, in intimate conversation, to indulge a weakness of this kind, but how can a bishop be forgiven who puns for publication, and in work carefully revised not only by himself but by his friends? From a long list we may cite the following specimens: non tam honorare censor quam censetor onerare (VIII. viii); honoris . . . oneris (IX. ii); ex more . . . ex amore (IX: iv. 1); classicum in classe cecinisse (VIII. vi. 13); Aptae fuistis, aptissime defuistis |cxxx (IX. ix)----perhaps the worst of all. It is time to draw the. veil over faults which it is impossible to condone; we may conclude with the following instances of paronomasia and antonomasia. Leges Theodosianas calcans, Theudoricianasque proponens (I. ii. 3); flumen in verbis, fulmen in clausulis (IX. vii); inter perfectos Domini quam inter praefectos Valentiniani (VII. xii. 4). The reader may be spared illustration of the overloaded interminable sentences;. or of the strings of illustrative instances and persons, sometimes eight or ten where two would have sufficed, till the tail is out of all proportion to the kite; or of the mannerism which declares for silence on things which might be praised, and then enumerates them to the bitter end; or of the labouring of points till they are, so to speak, hammered blunt; or the tautologies recalling the 'which here thou viewest, beholdest, surveyest or seest' of Armado: to insist on these things is to waste time; there is no possible defence. We may pass to other features, not reprehensible in themselves, but made so by immoderate or tasteless use. The metaphors of Sidonius for the most part are familiar, and worn in service. The world is a threshing-floor, spiritual exhortation a harrow. Life is like a river; a literary career is a sea-voyage; the mind of man is a sea, suddenly disturbed by the squall of adverse tidings. Silence is a curb; evil tongues are like barbed hooks. Verse written in sorrow is like the song of swans, or the music of very tense strings (VIII. ix. 4). A king's favour is a flame, which illuminates afar, but in neighbourhood consumes (III. iii. 9). A friendship not maintained is like a |cxxxi sword that rusts if not frequently polished.260 The schools of Lyons resemble a mint, in which youthful natures are struck on a philosophical die (IV. i. 3). Where originality is attempted, the result is often either crude 261 or over-intricate. As an example of the latter fault we may take the passage comparing the scion of a clerical family to a rosebush, for if he be not holy he stands amid all the roses armoured in the thorns of his sin (IV. xiii. 4); or that comparing Lupus, the generous discoverer of hidden talent, to the sun, whose searching rays will detect and draw up a moisture hidden deep under ground (IX. xi. 9); again, that which likens an author who is always writing but never publishes, to a dog who only snarls but never barks out (VII. iii. 2). Sometimes we find similitudes extraordinary to our taste, like the mysticus adeps et spiritalis arvina, which recalls the startling similitudes of a Crashaw or a Donne (VI. vi. 2). It is not surprising to find that Sidonius will mix metaphors with any man. Salsi sermonis libra (III. ii. 1); lacrimis habenas anima parturients laxavi (IV. xi. 7); manum linguae porrigis (IV. i. 3); quibus . . .faece petulantiae lingua polluitur infrenis (III. xiii. 2), may suffice to show his quality. There are other defects or affectations, not immediately concerned with words, but equally due to the same imitative contentment with bad rhetorical tradition. There is the tiresome realism which insists upon elaboration of unessential details offensive to the finer sense----what Chaix has called la manie de tout |cxxxii peindre;262 there is the parade of erudition which, if less obtrusive than the determined pedantry of Cassiodorus, is yet a weariness to the reader; there are the hyperbole in flattery, the perverse preference of the inappropriate, the joy in 'combinations of confused magnificence'. We cannot more justly stigmatize the work of Sidonius at his worst263 than by continuing the criticism from which the last phrase was quoted, a criticism directed against certain English poets of the seventeenth century,264 but equally applicable to our author of the fifth. For his style too is marred 'by descriptions copied from descriptions, by imitations borrowed from imitations, by traditional imagery and hereditary similes'. The thing could not be better said. The result of all these artifices, applied with an unshrinking hand, is that Sidonius is often hard to construe.265 Ruricius, his younger contemporary and |cxxxiii partial imitator, was the first to complain of his obscurity, Petrarch confessed that he often found him unintelligible; 266 and the most accomplished modern editors of his text admit that he presents some problems which they cannot be sure of having solved.267 While diffuseness is his besetting sin, some of his phrases are condensed to the point of impenetrability, and his constructions are rendered obscure by the imperfect development of his thought. Petrarch wondered at the audacity of his style; yet, as Baret has remarked, when it is examined, it is found that in prose he has fewer direct irregularities than Tacitus, and, in verse, than Virgil. It is rather a certain strange exotic character, instinctively felt, but not easily defined, which characterizes our author's work, compared not only with that of the golden age, but with that of a late writer like Symmachus. He is 'heteroclite' 268; his cadences have an unfamiliar ring; when they are read aloud, they strike us as differing not in degree, but in kind from those of the classical authors. Were it not that an early critic has given blunt utterance to the suspicion,269 |cxxxiv we should hardly dare to hint that some subtle Celtic influence had really affected his manner, and that, unknown to himself, the older Gaul was secretly revenged upon this son of hers who had only ears for an Italian idiom. Is it merely a fancy that indigenous turns of thought have been unconsciously adopted by this champion of the classics? Do we witness the first movement towards the changes which were to issue in the Romance language in the South of France? Various indications seem to point that way. The synthetic structure of the older Latin tends to pass into analysis: the conjunctions quia or quod replace the complementary infinitive; the abstract replaces the concrete term. Prepositions grow more indispensable to inflected cases; the genitive is used in a manner which is almost French. The reader of the Latin text will discover a number of words or turns of expression used in a mediaeval or modern way. In one place, if not in two, the word familia is employed in the French, in place of the old Latin sense (VI. vii). Vir litterarum is homme de lettres; |cxxxv nebula de pulvere is nuage de poussière. Baret records a number of these peculiarities, and gives a list of the archaisms and neologisms in the text.270 We may note a few favourite or peculiar words: e. g. tumultuarius, used of rapid or impromptu composition; lenocinari, to coax or flatter; fatigatio, chaff or banter; eventilare, to go over, or search through; humanitas, hospitality; piperatum, 'piquant' or caustic. To some words Sidonius appears to give a new sense; thus it is hard to avoid the conclusion that more than once he employs toreuma where toral is alone appropriate. In his complimentary formulae he is as a rule correct and Roman; though he is fond of abstract terms like celsitudo or Sanctitas tua as honorific appellations.271 His superscriptions give the name of his correspondent in the dative, with the addition of suo, if the person is a friend, or of the title domino papae if he is a bishop.272 Sidonius does not employ the affectionate modes of address adopted by Ruricius, e. g. domino pectoris sui Lupo; domino animae suae Pomerio; domino venerabili, admirabili, et sanctis omnibus aequiparando Sidonio. As a rule, the letter ends with a Vale; but when the correspondent is a bishop, the formula is: memor nostri esse dignare, domine Papa. In one instance he closes with an ora pro nobis (VII. xii----to Ferreolus). So much for the more obvious characteristics which |cxxxvi mar the style of Sidonius; we have now briefly to estimate his merits as a letter-writer. It need hardly be said that he cannot be placed in the first rank; he is not, as his friends averred, a second Pliny, far less a second Cicero. But he touches so many sides of contemporary life; he lived through such momentous times; he is so exceptional in speaking with two voices, first as man of letters, nobleman and high official, then as a prominent Churchman, that in spite of his deterrent style, he has an interest somewhere for almost every reader.273 In most things but the cultivation of brevity, he is superior to his predecessor Symmachus, whose letters seldom touch either great or entertaining issues, but are written to discharge the obligations of a punctual correspondent, and are often brief as memoranda, and of an unsurpassed aridity.274 It will be more easy to understand the level on which Sidonius should be placed if we consider a few of the gifts which make the letter-writer, and then ask whether he possessed them. The master in this art must not be argumentative, or his letters become treatises; he must not always be serious, or they may insensibly change to sermons. He must know, as one of the greatest of the craft has said, how |cxxxvii to approach great matters by their small side----prendre les grandes choses par les petits cotes. If he confines himself chiefly to questions of public concern, he must be doubly careful to be individual, terse, and vivid; above all, he must have the light touch, and the latent gaiety, which never permit the tale to drag. He must be skilled in expression; things must be put, they will not put themselves. But the art must be so concealed that what he writes affects us like the prompt phrases of an unpremeditated conversation. He must be catholic in taste and subject. He must interest most men and not a few; the greatest letter-writers play upon an instrument of many strings. And, in the modern view, at any rate, his letters should be often intimate, revealing the writer's own mind, and telling something of his private life. We thus require of the perfect correspondent much that even the greatest of the ancient letter-writers cannot give. They are mostly Romans; and Roman manners entailed reticence on intimate things; hence a certain preoccupation with intellectual themes and public affairs, which tends to reduce the human interest of their letters. It is not that human interest is absent; there is evidence enough, especially in the case of Cicero, to prove the contrary. But it is often too much in the background, and a correspondence which is too objective is not letter-writing at its very best: it is one-sided; it lacks the perfect balance. For these reasons, even the first among the ancients will sometimes disappoint a modern reader familiar with the achievement of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, but approaching the classics for the first time. In many ways Cicero is almost modern; his lively |cxxxviii sympathies bring him nearer to natural unreserve than any letter-writer of antiquity; he stands in a class by himself. But if we are conscious of a something wanting when reading Cicero, with all his ardour, his mobility, his colour and conciseness of phrase, it is inevitable that the same deficiency in the less admirable Sidonius should cause a more conspicuous void. The studied care for form which makes the agreeable Pliny sometimes tire, is exaggerated in his last disciple until all spontaneity is lost. And while the manner is frequently repellent, the matter often wearies in its turn; there is too much laudation of obscure literary efforts, too little talk of home affairs, of country life, of details of travel, of the natural beauties of southern France. Nature is overlooked, or regarded, as it were, with the eyes of a duke or cardinal of the Renaissance, seated at a comfortable point of vantage and with quotations from Virgil nearer to his lips than true feeling to his heart.275 When Sidonius visited Rome in the time of Anthemius, his route followed the Flaminian Way from Rimini; and the latter part of it was the wonderful hundred and fifty miles beginning at Foligno, the stage which travellers from northern Europe used to cover before the days of railways. Goethe followed it when he first approached Rome; Shelley came down it in 1818, and felt the charm to the full. But of that charm the Gallo-Roman |cxxxix poet is silent, betraying no interest in these things, and assuming none in his correspondent. He has nothing to say of Spoleto, or the falls of the Velino; we should never guess that he had seen Soracte from Civita Castellana, or looked from Castelnuovo across the valley of the Tiber towards the distant Alban hills. And on his river journey down the Ticino and the Po, though the song of the birds in the bulrushes gives him pleasure, his thoughts are soon diverted to Tityrus and the metamorphosis of Phaethon's sisters. For these and other reasons Sidonius cannot be placed very high among the masters who have expressed themselves through the medium of letters. It is in vain to seek in his pages the unstudied brilliance of Mme de Sévigné, the wit and vivacity of Voltaire, the light irony of Horace Walpole, or the natural gaiety of Cowper. We feel that Sidonius would never christen a path or copse 'La Solitaire' or 'La Sainte Horreur';276 or stay alone in the woods all day for sheer love of verdure. His is not the art to throw off a likeness in half a dozen words, or to resume an affair of State in a pair of sentences; nor is it his to make a hearthside event like the escape of a pet hare an absorbing and complete adventure. In edification, he lacks the winning simplicity, the amiable grace of St. Francis of Sales. He cannot restrain his scholarship like Gray, or expand in confidences like Lamb. His humour often strikes us |cxl as forced;277 he has compliments like those of the Hôtel de Rambouillet, but less adroitly turned. In fine, he was the victim of an artificial training; he lived in times not of renaissance but of dissolution; his was an age more eager for epistolary honours than any other, but more obviously debarred by circumstance from their attainment.278

Though we are not primarily concerned with Sidonius as poet, the inclusion in the Letters of some dozen epigrams and short pieces compels us to ask whether Gibbon's contemptuous phrase is deserved. Were these verses all that remained to us, there could be but one answer; ' insipid ' is a temperate epithet for some among them. Of the two impromptu epigrams, one on the imputed satire (I. xi. 14), the other on Filimatius' towel (V. xvii. 10) we can only say that, like other couplets written against time, they should not |cxli have been exposed to time's revenge. The epitaphs, elegies, and church inscriptions have the mechanical correctness to be expected of one whose mind was continually exercised by questions of metre. But they are mostly written out of good nature, or out of kindness of heart, motives which in all ages have often left the imagination uninspired. In truth, some of them come near to deserving the title of naenia epltaphistarum which their author almost feared for them himself. The poet's reputation cannot, however, be judged by these secondary efforts; it rests upon the Carmina, the twenty-four poems issued in 468,279 and chiefly upon the three panegyrics in honour of Avitus, Majorian, and Anthemius. In these more ambitious works, which challenge, if unsuccessfully, a comparison with Claudian and Statius, we find the same faults so conspicuous in the writer's prose, with others added----the glittering antitheses, the far-fetched metaphors, the forced emphatic utterance, the unquestionable facility, the lack of emotional inspiration, the tiresome parade of knowledge, making whole parts read 'like versified chapters out of Livy'. But though over the greater part hangs the curse of an implacable memory that cannot forget the Schools, though Pegasus is ever reined to the manège, the whole achievement cannot fairly be dismissed as bad because the bad preponderates.280 It may be that here, as in the stilted periods |cxlii of the Letters, the ear is arrested by unfamiliar rhythms and strange sonorities; here, too, a breath of barbarism has passed. But where the author feels his conscious power, there is dexterity, opulence and movement, there is a pageantry of changing form and colour to which the name of poetry cannot be denied. There are narrative passages which seize and hold the interest; for example, the description of the Vandals, or of the Roman army crossing the Alps. Parts of the Panegyric of Majorian advance with an ardour worthy their theme, while here and there flash out gnomic phrases after the glittering style of Lucan.281 The declamatory manner of these hexameters, so far removed from the suave Virgilian grandeur, admits of frequent brilliance in description; the effect is that of historical painting on a large scale by a skilful but uninspired master. Some of the pieces on less ambitious subjects are not without occasional grace. The verses to Majorian, pleading for remission of the triple tax, strike a light vein with more success than the humour of the Letters would lead us to expect; but the Epithalamia would damage any reputation.282 Sidonius is at his best in the rhetorical vein; he is the rhetor through and through. In his never-failing fluency, his adroit use of mythology and proverbial wisdom, he is the natural successor of Ausonius, and takes his place after him among the poets of the Roman decadence. The literary reputation of Sidonius long survived his death. Ruricius of Limoges, in some respects |cxliii a pupil, refers to him in eulogistic terms, though conscious, as we have seen, of a certain obscurity in his style;283 so does Avitus of Vienne, another late writer of letters.284 Gregory of Tours praises his eloquence and power of improvisation.285 Cassiodorus regards him as a master; Ennodius and Fortunatus are his frank admirers;286 Jornandes had clearly read his poems.287 Savaron has illustrated his popularity during the Middle Ages, when John of Salisbury, Abelard, and other scholars were familiar with his works, and mediaeval writers sought to imitate his manner.288 But in the fourteenth century, the growing familiarity with Classic models reacted unfavourably upon his reputation. We have already noted that Petrarch was critical; and the Renaissance more critical still. Politian was unimpressed by his style; Vives called his prose ridiculous (absurdissima); Casaubon is severe, though Scaliger can still find words of praise.289 The editions of Savaron and Sirmond revived an interest in his works; but with the eighteenth century he finally lost credit as a writer of Latin, while securing a permanent place as an authority for the history of his times. From Tillemont and Gibbon to Amédée Thierry, Guizot and more recent historians of his age, |cxliv all have rendered homage to his involuntary merit, while one man of letters at least, Chateaubriand, has borrowed material from his pages (p. xciii above). Despite his chastisement as stylist, Sidonius has not fared ill at the hands of the posterity to which he entrusted his fame. Though his periods will never be recited either for pleasure or instruction, neither his name nor his work is forgotten; and in our greater libraries, while men pursue research, the Letters and the Panegyrics will always hold their undisputed place. Of Sidonius as a man it is almost unnecessary to speak; the Letters prove his noble qualities, and those written after his entry into the Church reflect the saintliness which won him the honour of canonization. His chief fault, a defect of his ambitious early life, was an over-readiness to flatter where flattery, if given at all, should not have come from him. There were times when he too conveniently forgot the antecedents of the great, or their connexion with men whom honour forbade him to conciliate. Majorian was the comrade and the nominee of that Ricimer who had murdered Avitus; Sidonius forgets the fact too soon. Theodoric II had murdered his own brother; Sidonius, perhaps for a political end, appears oblivious of all save the royal virtues. Such flexibility is unworthy of the man who was to write the stern letter of rebuke to Graecus; nor was it a true part of the nature which trials and disillusions proved to be really his. This is the worst charge which can be brought against him; his other failings are little weaknesses which make him real to us, and which he never seeks to conceal. Thus |cxlv he sometimes appears too lenient towards unworthy action: for instance, towards the deception of the young adventurer Amantius; but he confesses with a charming frankness that he does not like censorious rigour (VII. iv 3). His literary vanity is now and then accentuated by false modesty (VII. iii, IX. xiii); but as a rule his simple confidence disarms resentment. When he assured his friend Fortunatus that the appearance of his name on the superscription of one of the Letters would ensure its immortality, he was probably more serious than not; after all, he spoke the truth, for the name of Fortunatus is preserved (VIII. v). He probably had no objection to being called a second Pliny (IX. i), and was quietly convinced that his critics were in the wrong.290 But no doubt he discounted the eulogy which he received; much of it was complimentary verbiage, belonging to the etiquette of his day; and he himself was so profuse of it to others, that he can have been under no illusion as to its current value. The age allowed a great latitude in exaggeration; but it must be admitted that Sidonius availed himself of it upon occasion to an extent which is revolting to modern sentiment. His letter to Claudianus Mamertus reaches the limit of extravagance,291 and with all allowance for the influence of an eulogistic time, we cannot read it |cxlvi without continual irritation. When we are told that the subject of his praise can hold his own with the first names in every field, with Orpheus, Aesculapius, Archimedes, Vitruvius, Thaïes, Euclid, Chrysippus, and all the greatest Fathers of the Church as well, credulity is too obviously taxed, and we wish that Sidonius had remembered more often the gnomic saying which he ascribes to Symmachus: ut vera laus ornat, ita falsa castigat. Nevertheless it must be remembered that eulogies almost as absurd have been perpetrated in periods very near our own. Thus Prior, in his Carmen Saeculare so grossly flattered William III that, in Johnson's phrase, he exhausted all his powers of celebration.292 We may dismiss the present subject by once more applying to Sidonius the words of the same critic, and say of him that in these matters he 'retained as much veracity as can be properly exacted from a writer professedly encomiastic'.293 Again, Sidonius was quickly moved, and sometimes allowed his temper to impair his dignity. He 'blazes out'294 when views are expressed which controvert a pet opinion; and when more seriously offended, does not confine himself to words. The apparently innocent disturbers of his grandfather's grave feel the weight of his fists or the lash of his whip (III. xii); he explodes at the |cxlvii carelessness of a slave who lost some letters, and will not speak to him for days (IV. xii. 2). But these are the small defects of great qualities. The most affected of writers is the most natural of men. Though uncommunicative about his home, he says enough to show that he was a good father of his family, affectionate to his wife, solicitous for the health and welfare of his children. There is real charm in the passage, already noted, in which he describes himself as sitting reading with his son, distracted between delight in the boy's ardour, and in the fine passages of the poets (IV. xii); there is real regret when in later years the enthusiasm of the young Apollinaris waned (V. xii).

He was a loyal friend. Mention has been made of his fidelity to Arvandus in the
dangerous hour of disgrace (V. vii). Similar qualities are apparent in the
letter on the death of Lampridius, another friend to whose faults he was by no
means blind. At a time when his own anxieties were great, he exerts himself to
the utmost at the Burgundian court to foil the informers who had brought
Apollinaris into danger (V. vii). A large number of the Letters illustrate his
anxiety for the health and prosperity of those for whom he felt regard, or his
sympathy with them in their misfortunes.295 When he became bishop, this fellow
feeling was extended to a wider circle, and Claudianus Mamertus bears the
highest possible testimony to the unselfishness of his life, when he complains
that Sidonius is so busy attending to those who have no real claim upon him,
that he finds too little time to answer |cxlviii the letters of old associates.
He, too, like this venerated friend, 'remembered through good and evil the
necessities of the human lot.'296 He was generous alike in the distribution of
gifts and in the sentiment which is always ready to recognize the qualities of
others. Gregory of Tours relates, in a passage often quoted, how he gave away
his silver plate to relieve distress, and how, when Papianilla insisted on the
recovery of the silver, the poor were compensated in other ways.297 An example
of his kindly thought for others is seen in VII. xvi, where he sends the winter
cowl to Chariobaudus. He is ever ready to encourage the literary efforts of
younger men (II. x, IX. xi), and even to lend them most precious volumes in his
library, a supreme test of human kindness. He was capable of tolerance298
towards those whose religious views he most detested; the Letters concerning the
two Jews Gozolas and Promotus exhibit him in a pleasing light, and his dictum
that a man may be a Jew and yet be sound in judgement does credit to his breadth
of vision. He was sociable and friendly,299 possessed of tact and patience,
accommodating affairs to men in a manner which would have won the approval of
his favourite Horace. Nor was he devoid of humour; though the examples of his
wit which have come down to us are sometimes tiresome, he was probably |cxlix
good company when in the mood. Throughout the Letters he appears as the kindly
intermediary who endeavours to help others in the practical difficulties of
life. As bishop, his benevolence is always active. We see him receiving a truant
son and bringing about a reconciliation with the injured father (IV. xxiv);
securing the remission of interest on an old debt for the advantage of an
orphaned family (IV. xxiv); persuading a delinquent husband to return to his
wife (VI. ix). But he never countenanced favouritism. He saw clearly that reward
should only follow efficient service, and expressly opposed the plea that
promotion should go by seniority (VII. ix; VIII. vii). He was a man of insight
and common sense, upon whom people relied for good advice. Many reflections and
maxims in the Letters attest his practical wisdom. He insists that the safeguard
of enduring friendship lies in community of likes and dislikes (III. i); he sees
that self-depreciation may be pushed to the verge of folly (IX. iii. 7); he
knows that the most bitter family quarrels are those which arise over the
division of estates (IV. i), and that at a Burgundian court, as at most others,
proximity to kings is dangerous (III. ix).300

He was a patriot both as Roman and Arvernian. In the earlier part of his career
we find him always urging the strenuous life for the credit of the Roman name.
We have seen that more than once he rebukes the men of family who allow all
interest to centre in their estates or pleasures, while the imagines of
trabeated |cl ancestors look down on their degeneracy (I. vi); even philosophy
is not accepted as an excuse for inactive contemplation (VI. vi). He did not
despair of the empire even in the days of Julius Nepos; he thought that if only
patriotism were fairly rewarded, as good men would appear to show it as in the
great days of the past (III. viii). When Auvergne was attacked by Euric, his
spirit was worthy of Roman tradition at its best. Both during the siege of
Clermont and after it, he evinced a courage and a fortitude which proved him
worthy of his ancestors. It is unnecessary to dwell upon this crisis of his
life; his nature issued from it confirmed in strength and refined as by fire. He
possessed to the full the moral strength which enables men to overcome old
prejudice in the service of a changed ideal. The exclusive magnate who chose his
acquaintances with such care became the friend of all men; the proud noble could
beg for the Church (III. i; VIII. iv). He was consistent in his loyalty to his
new profession, and resolutely maintained the dignity of the priesthood even
against the high worldly rank which he never ceased to respect (IV. xiv; VIII.
vii). He was sincerely humble in his sense of his own unworthiness to be the
shepherd of others at a time when he felt the need of guidance for himself: in
his Letters to Lupus and other bishops after his election to the see of
Clermont, the language is emphatic but the contrition is sincere (V. iii; VI. i;
VII. vi). The devotion which in earlier years had perhaps depended much on
formality of observance was now the guiding principle of his life; the
reputation for piety which he gained among |cli his contemporaries and immediate
successors is sufficient proof of his sincerity. History records no career
precisely comparable to this. Conspicuous alike for his rank and literary
celebrity, Sidonius was in many ways the first personage in his native land, yet
he fulfilled his arduous and unfamiliar duties in a spirit of abnegation equal
to that of colleagues trained to the renunciations of monastic life. In the evil
days which fell upon his country, he never abandoned his people; when his own
fortunes were darkest, he rejoiced that others escaped affliction (IV. ii). If
Sidonius failed of greatness as a writer, he surely attained it as a man.

There are extant more than sixty manuscripts containing the whole or the greater
part of the works of Sidonius, and some twenty containing a small part of
them.301 Out of this large number, Lütjohann, when editing the text for the
Monumenta Germaniae Historica, selected six as of superior importance, some of
these having affinities to a few other manuscripts, which for this reason were
occasionally employed. The six manuscripts are:

1. Codex Laudianus, (Bodleian Library, MS. Lat. 104) 9th or 10th century. Known
as L. Related to this book are Parisinus 1854 of the 10th century, known as N,
and Vaticanus 1783, 10th century, known as V.

2. Marcianus. (Marcian Library, Venice, 554.) 10th century. Known as M. |clii 3.
Laurentianus. (Laurentian Library, Florence, Plat. XLV. 23.) 11th-12th century.
Known as T.

4. Matritensis. (Madrid.) 10th-11th century. Known as C. (Related to this is
Vaticanus 3421, 10th century.) 5. Parisinus. (Bibl. Nat., Paris, 9551.)
12th-13th century. Known as F.

6. Parisinus. Bibl. Nat., Paris, 2781.) 10th-11th century. Known as P. Of these,
the first is the most valuable, with the two related, manuscripts in Paris and
at the Vatican, and with M and T for use where it fails; the other three are of
subsidiary importance. It may be noted that certain lacunae are common to all;
this would seem to indicate that they had a single archetype, which in these
places presented difficulties to the copyist or had perhaps been damaged by
fire.

Printed editions of Sidonius begin with the last quarter of the fifteenth
century, at which period one was issued from Utrecht and another from Milan, the
latter being reprinted at Basel in 1542 and 1595. E. Vinet's edition appeared at
Lyons in 1552, and Wouweren's in Paris in 1598. The same year saw Savaron's
first edition; his second (the first of critical value) followed in 1609. J.
Sirmond's valuable edition, with notes from which every one has something to
learn, was issued in 1614; Elmenhorst's five years later. Complete translations
have hitherto appeared only in French; the first, by R. Breyer, Canon of Troyes,
was printed in 1706; that of |cliii E. Billarden de Sauvigny in 1787 and 1792;
Grégoire and Collombet's version dates from 1836. The last-mentioned work has
often been criticized for inaccuracy, but it is not for one who knows by
experience the difficulties of their task to join in censure upon this point.
Single Letters, or parts of Letters, are summarized or translated by many
writers on Sidonius or his age. The arrangement of the Letters in nine books is,
as far as is known, that of Sidonius himself. Seven books were issued at
different times at the request of Constantius, the first appearing in 478.302
The Poems had already seen the light, perhaps as early as 468 (see above, p.
cxli). The eighth book was added at the request of Petronius the jurisconsult of
Arles (VIII. i),303 and the ninth at that of Firminius (IX. i), perhaps about
the year 484.304 It soon becomes apparent to any reader familiar with the
history of the times, that the order of the Letters is not chronological; most
books contain Letters from the earlier and later parts of Sidonius' life; and
within the limits of the several books the arrangement often seems capricious,
Letters logically and historically connected being separated by others unrelated
to them in subject. This confusion is partly due to the fact that, to complete
his tale of nine books,305 Sidonius had to ransack all his drawers |cliv and
cases at Clermont for drafts of letters written long years before: this explains
the inclusion in the two last books of Letters referring to his early manhood.
But it is also true that in preparing for publication he was not primarily
concerned with chronological sequence; he brought his letters together for other
reasons, by associations of idea which to us are often obscure. One of them
probably was to ensure to each book a wide variety of subject, that his readers
might not accuse him of monotony.306 Again, he regarded it as an advantage of
the collection of Letters as such that it is essentially discontinuous, and
provides reading for odd moments: from this point of view, lack of logical order
is not of prime importance. It has before now been suggested that the author's
arrangement should be disregarded, and that an edition should be issued with
every letter in its proper order. If it were possible to give a precise and
certain date to the majority of the letters, the overriding of the order
approved by Sidonius might be justified on utilitarian grounds. But although
certain Letters date themselves by recounting known events, while the period of
others can be inferred from personal or other allusions, there remains a large
proportion to which nothing more than conjectural or approximate dates can be
given. This being so, it is hardly justifiable to upset the sequence which
received the author's sanction, and has been retained for fifteen hundred years.
Moreover, the convenience gained in one direction would be lost in another; for
the references to Sidonius in historical |clv and critical literature all follow
the old system; and, were it changed, the reader, driven to consult a table of
concordance at every turn, would soon wish the old order back. It has therefore
seemed best to keep the nine books as they stand in the texts, placing at the
head of each letter its certain or conjectural date wherever such can be
reasonably assigned. In many cases the year is exactly or approximately
indicated by the contents. In others, a particular allusion, or the general
tone, may enable us to infer the period: for instance, it is often possible to
say with some confidence that a given letter must have been written before or
after the entrance of Sidonius into the Church, or the abandonment of Auvergne
by the empire. Again, there is a long interval of leisure in the author's career
between A.D. 461 and 467, within which many letters descriptive of provincial
life seem naturally to fall: a few of these might be transferred to the years
between A.D. 456 and 459, though I have not actually suggested this. It will
thus be seen that the date of the majority of letters can only be regarded as
approximate.

[Footnotes have been renumbered and placed at the end]

1. 1 Sidonius is the principal name, and by it he is properly designated. He
himself (Carm. ix) gives the order of his names as Sollius Apollinaris Sidonius.
Caius is substituted for Apollinaris by Claudianus Mamertus in the dedication of
the De Statu Animae. Modestus is derived from the MS. of the Abbey of Cluny, in
which Savaron discovered the epitaph (see p. lii below); but our author himself
does not mention it. The description 'Sidonius Apollinaris' dates from the
thirteenth century, and became general through its adoption by Politian (Fertig,
p. 5; Germain, pp. 178-80).

2. 2 Mommsen (Praefatio, p. xlvii) gives the year of his birth as between 430
and 433. Hodgkin (Italy and her Invaders, ii. 304) is in favour of about 430.

3. 1 His father, whose name may have been Apollinaris, was a secretary of state
under Honorius, and prefect in Gaul under Valentinian III in 448-9 (V. ix. 2).
His grandfather, the first member of his family to be converted to Christianity
(III. xii), was prefect in the time of the usurper Constantine (the 'Tyrant'),
A. D. 408.

4. 1 Among the connexions of Sidonius were Tonantius Ferreolus, Philagrius,
Magnus and his sons Probus and Felix, Priscus, and Valerianus. For his pedigree,
see Mommsen, Praefatio, p. xlvii.

5. 2 Carm. xvi. 70 ff., where Faustus is thanked for the care bestowed on his
education.

6. 3 Agricola seems to have led a country life and taken no prominent part in
affairs (II. xii).

7. 4 In this display of personal courage he was but following the example of his
father Avitus, who once challenged a Hun trooper to single combat, and slew him
in the sight of two armies (Carm. vii. 246). Several allusions in the Letters
present Ecdicius in the light of a lover of outdoor sports and physical prowess.
He had other moral qualities besides courage; he rivalled Bishop Patiens in the
generosity with which he relieved the distress of Auvergne after the Visigothic
invasion (see below, p. xl), and is thought by some to have ultimately become a
bishop.

8. 1 Though a single letter is addressed to Papianilla, who is there praised as
a good wife, she too remains a rather shadowy figure. The only actions
attributed to her which at all suggest a personality are related by Gregory of
Tours (see below, p. cxlviii).

9. 2 Unless, as Mommsen has suggested, the three names all belong to a single
person.

10. 3 Apollinaris associated himself with Victorius whom Euric appointed
governor of Auvergne, and accompanied him on his flight to Italy, where he
almost shared his fate. From Milan he managed to effect his escape, and returned
to Auvergne, where he was reconciled to his father, reformed his ways, and
married Placidina (Ruricius, Ep. II. xxv; and cf. Chaix, ii. 289 ff.). Gregory
of Tours in one place relates that in A. D. 507 he led the nobles of Auvergne at
the battle of Vouglé or Vouillé near Poitiers, in which the forces of Alaric II
were defeated by Clovis. In another place he mentions him as one of the
successors of Sidonius in the see of Clermont, stating that he died four months
after his election. The two passages are reconcilable, because Gregory never
says, as some critics have assumed, that Apollinaris died at Vouillé, only that
he was present at the battle (Gregory of Tours, De gloria martyrum, lxv; cf.
Hist. Franc. II. xxxvii. Cf. also Chaix, ii. 379; L. Schmidt, Geschichte der
deutschen Stämme, p. 276).

11. 1 Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. III. ii. 12; De gloria martyrum, c. 64.

12. 2 Among his teachers were Hoënius (Carm. ix. 313) and Eusebius (VI. i. 3);
among the comrades of his youth, Probus, Avitus (III. i), Faustinus (III. iv),
and Aquilus (V. ix).

13. 1 Sidonius describes himself as always a great devotee of all games (on
which see pp. cxi, cxii). He also rode, hawked, and hunted (IV. iv). Cf. Chaix,
i. 69 ff.

14. 2 The consistently eulogistic nature of the letter is sufficient indication
that it was written with an ulterior purpose. We may compare Carm. xxiii. 70
ff.:

Martius ille rector atque Magno patre prior, decus Getarum, Romanae columen
salusque gentis Theudoricus . . .

15. 3 He is even said to have taught the younger Theodoric to appreciate Virgil
(Carm. vii. 497; Jornandes, De reb. Get. xl, xli). Cf. Hodgkin, ii, p. 379.

16. 1 As noted above, Avitus' attitude towards the barbarians was shared by his
son Ecdicius. It was also shared by other members of his house, for at the time
of Euric's aggression, Sidonius appealed to a younger Avitus to dissuade the
Visigothic king from his provocative policy (III. i. 5).

17. 1 In the Panegyric of Avitus, Sidonius describes the part taken by the Goths
in the elevation of that prince (Carm. vii. 441 ff., 508 ft, 570 ff.).

18. 2 The Seven Provinces formed the Dioecesis Viennensis, the second of the two
'dioceses' into which Gaul was divided. They were: Viennensis, Narbonensis Prima
and Secunda, Novempopulana, Aquitanica Prima and Secunda, Alpes Maritimae
(Marquardt, Römische Staatsverwaltung, i. 261, 509). In 418 Honorius had issued
a Constitution renewing the Council of Representatives of the Provinces, which
under normal circumstances met at Arles (cf. L. Schmidt, Geschichte, as above,
pp. 288-9, and p. xxx below.

19. 3 Cf. IX. xvi; Carm. viii. 8:

Ulpia quod rutilat porticus aere meo. The statue, which was placed between the
Greek and Latin Libraries, is now lost. As a work of art illustrative of the
decadence, it would have possessed for us an interest almos equal to that of the
Panegyric which has survived.

20. 1 For the career and character of Avitus see Gibbon, Decline and Fall, ch.
xxxvi; Hodgkin, as above, pp. 374 ff.; L. Schmidt, Geschichte der deutschen
Stämme, i, 1910, pp. 252 ff. Gibbon's accusations of immorality are not now
regarded as justified (Hodgkin, p. 393; and Bury, Gibbon, vol. iv, p. 14, note).
Avitus seems to have been a man of a simple nature, whose inaptitude for empire
lay rather in lack of subtlety than want of virtue. His greatest claim to
distinction was probably his action (already noticed) in bringing about the
rapprochement between the Gallo-Romans and the Visigoths.

21. 1 L. Schmidt, as above,"p. 254; C. M. H. i. 421.

22. 2 John of Antioch (Fr. 202) says that he was either starved or strangled.
Gregory of Tours (Hist. Franc, II. xi) relates that he attempted to escape from
Italy and take sanctuary at the shrine of S. Julianus at Brioude (Brivas) in his
native country of Auvergne, but that he died on the road, his remains being
carried for burial to the church which he had attempted to reach alive.

23. 3 The, episode of the conspiracy is obscure, and the commentators are
strangely silent. It should be observed that Sidonius alludes to it as
coniuratio Marcelliana (I. xi, 6), the adjective (if this is the word he really
wrote), pointing rather to a Marcellus than a Marcellinus. Marcelliniana is a
possible emendation, or Marcellini, as suggested by Mommsen (cf. P. Allard,
Revue des questions historiques, lxxxiii, 1908, pp. 438 ff.).

24. 1 Barker, in C. M. H. i. 425.

25. 2 Mommsen, Praefatio, p. xlviii, places this first visit of Majorian to Gaul
in the autumn of 458. Cf. also Schmidt, C. M. H. i. 202.

26. 3 Carm. v. 572 ff.; Schmidt, Geschichte der deutschen Stämme, Part i, pp.
256, 373.

27. 4 The miseries of Lyons may have been in part due to internal feuds breaking
out when the hopelessness of the rebellion became apparent.

28. 1 Carm. iv. n, 12, and v. 572 ff.:

Mihi diverso nuper sub Marte cadenti Iussisti placido, Victor, ut essem animo.

29. 2 Carm. xiii.

30. 3 The failure of Gaul to establish a state based in the last resort upon
Visigothic support, was perhaps a loss to civilization. Hodgkin has observed
that had the effort resulted in a Visigothic power sufficiently strong to resist
the Franks, the empire of Charlemagne might have been anticipated by a nobler
nation.

31. 1 It must be remembered in this connexion that the eulogistic description of
Theodoric II (I. ii) was written in full consciousness of the fact that the
Visigothic king had succeeded to the throne by murdering his brother Thorismond
(Thorismud).

32. 2 It is Carm. vii: an abstract of it is given by Hodgkin, ii. 410. The kind
of flattery which was expected from an imperial panegyrist in the fifth century
is illustrated by the words: Fuimus vestri quia causa triumphi, Ipsa ruina
placet.

33. 3 This is the date accepted by Mommsen (Praefatio, p. xlviii), and by
Clinton. The Circus games which were just over (I. xi. 10) are taken by the
latter authority to be the Quinquennalia of Majorian. But Hodgkin considers that
the emperor was probably in Spain and Italy during the season 460-1.

34. 1 This is one of the best of the descriptive letters. It is probable that
the intimacy of Sidonius with Majorian had aroused the jealousy of others who,
like Paeonius, were less successful in winning the emperor's good graces. These
men were glad to use any opportunity to disgrace their brilliant rival, and used
the episode of the lampoon to suit their own ends (cf. Chaix, i. 132). Hodgkin
thinks that Sidonius may really have written the satire. It is true that he does
not explicitly deny the charge brought against him; but the balance of
probability seems against his authorship.

35. 2 Majorian was dethroned and put to death at Tortona in Piedmont in August
461. During the disturbances following his death Theodoric obtained possession
of Narbonne (Schmidt, Geschichte, as above, p. 258). Before his murder in 466,
this king had very probably seized Novempopulana and a great part of Narbonensis
Prima (ibid. p. 263). The death of Majorian seems also to have been the signal
for encroachment on the Burgundian side. Gundioc reoccupied Lyons, and by 468
his frontiers had been widely extended towards the south, more or less with
Roman consent (ibid, p. 375).

36. 1 For the events attending this change of policy, see Hodgkin, ii. 440; C.
M. H. i. 426.

37. 2 The name of the bride was unknown until the discovery of the (fragmentary)
History of John of Antioch (cf. C. Müller, Fragt. Hist. Gr. IV, pp. 535 ff.,
Frag. 209; Bury's edition of Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. iv, appendix, p.
552). For the pedigree of Anthemius, see Hodgkin, p. 461. For Sidonius'
description of Rome at the time of the wedding, see I. v. 10.

38. 1 These are dated 461-7 in the translation. Chaix would reduce the number by
assigning a few to the period after 475. In a few cases 1 have followed his
opinion in preference to that of Baret, whose dating I have generally accepted.

39. 2 He probably felt in his own person all the discontent with which, in the
moment of his success, he endeavoured to inspire his friend Polemius (I. vi).

40. 1 Successor of Theodoric in 466. The imperial policy included an alliance
with the Armoricans under Riothamus (cf. III. ix), whose part it would be to
hold Berry against the Visigoths; and also an understanding with the Franks.

41. 2 The enlarged Burgundian territory was bounded, now or shortly afterwards,
on the south by the Visigoths of Aquitanica Prima and by Narbonensis Secunda, on
the north by the weak state of Aegidius and Syagrius in Belgica, soon destined
to be absorbed by the Franks (Schmidt, Geschichte, pp. 375-7). It included the
Viennensis, Maxima Sequanorum, Alpes Graiae et Poeninae, Lugdunensis Prima,
including Nevers, and part of Narbonensis Secunda between the Rhône and the
Durance.

42. 1 Anthemius had been consul for the first time thirteen years earlier, at
Constantinople.

43. 2 Cf. I. i: sufficientis gloriae anchora sedet.

44. 1 The letters to Polemius and Gaudentius illustrate this (IV. xiv; I. iii,
iv). In the case of both, the persuasion appears to have been effective.
Gaudentius became a vicarius; Polemius was the last Roman prefect in Gaul.

45. 2 The duties of the Prefect of Rome are defined in the Notifia Dignitatum,
c. iv; cf. also Cassiodorus, Var. vi. 4; Marquardt, Römische Staatsverwaltung,
ii. 131; C. M. H. i. 50.

46. 3 The impeachment was decided upon by the Council ot the Seven Provinces,
established by Honorius (Carette, Les assemblées provinciales de la Gaule
romaine, 1895, p. 333; cf. also above, p. xviii). For the whole affair cf.
Gibbon, ch. xxxvi ff.; Chaix, i. 299 ff. Arvandus seems to have completed a
first tenure of office with credit; his disgrace began with the second. He was
perhaps a man with certain good qualities, but a spendthrift, and incurably
vain. During his second tenure he was embarrassed by debt, and this was the
origin of his downfall. Äs we shall see, the advice which he gave to Euric was
actually carried out by that king.

47. 1 Decline and Fall, ch. xxxvi.

48. 1 Cf. Chaix, i. 303. Yet the leanings of Arvandus towards the Goths can
hardly have been altogether unknown to any of his acquaintances.

49. 2 It has been suggested by Martroye (Genséric, pp. 234-5) that Arvandus may
not have been so stupid as he appeared, and that the correspondence with Euric
may have been undertaken with the approval of Ricimer. The king-maker's privity
to his treason would explain Arvandus' arrogant confidence on his arrival in
Rome, as well as his sudden dejection, when he found himself left in the lurch
by the powerful personage on whom he counted (cf. Prof. Bury's note in his
edition of Gibbon's Decline and Fall, iv. 44, n. 108).

50. 1 When the breach soon afterwards occurred Ricimer alluded Anthemius as
Graeculus, while the emperor deplored the necessity which had made him give his
daughter in marriage to a 'skin-clad barbarian' (pellito Getae). In 470 a
rupture was averted by the intercession of St. Epiphanius, Bishop of Pavia; but
in 472 Ricimer proclaimed Olybrius, and marched on Rome. Anthemius was slain,
but after little more than a month the victor himself died (Pauly-Wissowa,
Real-Encyclopadie, s. v. Anthemius).

51. 2 It is generally assumed that he retired in 469. Fertig (i. 19) thinks he
may have remained till 471.

52. 1 A similar conversion occurred in the case of Sidonius' friend Maximus, who
also was called to the Church by the voice of his fellow citizens (IV. xxiv. i);
cf. Fertig, ii. 6.

53. 2 He may have passed the lower ecclesiastical grades per saltum like
Ambrose, who rose from baptism to the episcopate in a week (C. H. Turner, in C.
M. H. i. 151).

54. 3 The length of the interval between the return of Sidonius from Rome and
his entry into the Church depends upon the view adopted as to the date of his
retirement from the prefecture. Mommsen reduces it to less than a year
(Praefatio, p. xlviii). Schmidt seems to be of the same opinion (Geschichte, p.
264). Others, while accepting the date of departure from Rome as 469, consider
that three years elapsed, and that the episcopate of Sidonius began in 472. They
argue from the passage in VI. i, where Sidonius says that at this time Lupus had
been a bishop for forty-five years; now Lupus was elected to the see of Troyes
in 427 (cf. Chaix, i. 439; Dill, p. 179). Tillemont (Mémoires, p. 750), followed
by Germain (p. 19), makes Sidonius' ecclesiastical career begin a few months
earlier, at the close of 471, on the ground that when the letter was written he
must already have been bishop some little time.

55. 1 V. viii. 3 Utpote cui indignissimo tantae professionis pondus impactum
est. Cf. VII. ix; VI. vii. This language, as Germain remarks, recalls that of
St. Ambrose, when raised in a similar manner to the episcopal throne of Milan.

56. 1 The see of the Metropolitan was at Bourges.

57. 2 Baret, pp. 32-3.

58. 3 Cf. note, p. xxviii above. About this time Gundioc was succeeded by his
brother Chilperic I, who had no children. Gundioc left four sons, called on
Chilperic's death the 'tetrarchs': Gundobad ruling at Lyons, Chilperic II at
Vienne, Godgisel at Besançon, and Gundomar at Geneva.

59. 4 Riothamus, to whom one of the letters (III. ix) is addressed, foolishly
provoked the attack of Euric and was crushed at Bourg-de-Déols on the Indre, not
far from Châteauroux, whence he fled with the remnant of his force to the
Burgundians. This may have been in 470, or perhaps in 469, for Euric's
aggression was probably hastened by the failure of the Roman expedition against
the Vandals in 468. Cf. Gregory, Hist. Franc. II. xviii; Jornandes, Getica, xlv;
Dill, pp. 302, 316; Fauriel, v. 314; Schmidt, in C. M. H., p. 283.

60. 1 The Burgundians may even have driven him by force from this district
(Schmidt, Geschichte, p. 377). It may be that Euric was to some degree
influenced by a desire to avenge Arvandus and Seronatus, who had given him such
practical advice. Except that he had not come to terms with the Burgundians, his
present policy was that recommended by Arvandus in the famous letter which
caused his condemnation (cf. p. xxxi above, and Fauriel, Hist. de la Gaule
méridionale, i. 214).

61. 1 The claim of Trojan descent is more than once mentioned by Sidonius (cf.
II. ii. 19; VII. vii. 2. Cf. also Pliny, Nat. Hist. IV. xxxi).

62. 2 Seronatus was perhaps governor of Aquitanica I (Schmidt, Gesch., Part I,
p. 261), where he openly acted in the interests of the Goths (cf. VI. i. l; V.
xiii. i, 4; VII. vii. 2). He also was brought to justice, and lacking Arvandus'
useful friendships, underwent sentence of death (cf. Chaix, i. 377).

63. 3 Arverni is the general form for Clermont, though Jornandes uses Arverna.
The earlier name was Augustonemetum. When autumn set in the Goths raised the
siege, and drew off into winter quarters.

64. 4 Cf. VIII. vii, addressed to Audax, Prefect of Rome.

Nepos, nephew of Verina, consort of the Emperor Leo, was proclaimed in
Constantinople in 473, and landed in Italy in the following year, Glycerius
being consecrated bishop of Salona. He only reigned a year and two months; in
475 he was dethroned by Orestes, who invested his own son Romulus Augustus with
the purple. Nepos, at the beginning of his reign, appears to have endeavoured to
rejuvenate the Civil Service, and secure a more efficient administration. But
the effort came too late.

65. 1 III. i. 5. The efforts of Avitus may have been made in concert with
Licinianus (Schmidt, Geschichte, as above, p. 265). The memory of the Emperor
Avitus, the friend of the first Theodoric and instructor of the second, must
still have been fresh among the Visigoths. This younger Avitus may himself have
had a personal influence among them; the degree of his kinship to the emperor is
unknown.

66. 2 Fertig, i. 12.

67. 1 III. iii. The episode is also related by Gregory of Tours (Hist. Franc,
II. xxiv), who allows Ecdicius only ten men. Ecdicius seems to have been
successful, at some time during the operations, in bringing up Burgundian
support (Chaix, ii. 176); he also engaged troops at his own expense (III. iii.
7).

68. 2 VI. xii. Cf. Gregory of Tours, loc. cit.

69. 3 This may have been done by letter. It is possible that the personal visit
of Sidonius to Lyons and Vienne took place in some interlude between the sieges,
though we may doubt whether he would have left the city at so critical a moment.
Cf. below, p. xlii.

70. 1 III. ii. This is the same Constantius to whom the earlier books of the
Letters are dedicated.

71. 2 V. xiv; VII. i.

72. 3 The dignity had been promised by Anthemius. Several writers have remarked
that though the Roman dominion was on the point of disappearing, and though the
titles which Rome conferred were about to become emptier names than ever,
Sidonius and Papianilla regarded the augmentation of the family honours as a
matter of serious importance. In spite of the threatening aspect of affairs,
they could not even now persuade themselves that Auvergne was really to be
abandoned by the empire. Perhaps it was this ineradicable confidence in Roman
stability which enabled Sidonius to write several cheerful letters during this
time of suspense, e.g. III. viii and VII. i. We may note as an example of a
similar confidence manifested by others, that a friend whom he asks to attend
the Rogations is taking the waters at a bathing resort (V. xiv. 1).

73. 1 IV. v.

74. 2 But cf. p. xl, note 3.

75. 3 Schmidt, Geschichte, as above, p. 265. But if the four bishops made a firm
stand for Auvergne, why was Sidonius so indignant with Graecus? The account of
Epiphanius' proceedings given by Ennodius is uninforming (Vita Epiph. §81).

76. 1 Sees had been left vacant; churches were allowed to fall in ruins; cattle
grazed about the altars (VII. vi). Gregory of Tours (Hist. Franc, ii. 25) says
that bishops and priests were actually put to death, but it is doubtful whether
things were pushed to this extremity; cf. Chaix, ii. 182.

77. 2 VII. vii. Hodgkin compares the protest of betrayed Auvergne with that of
the city of Nisibis, surrendered to Persia by Jovian against the will of the
inhabitants. The reproach directed by Sidonius against Graecus, that he
considered nothing but his own interest, seems hardly justified. It is probable
that as a result of the treaty, to which the Burgundians appear to have been
parties, the whole territory between the Loire, the Rhône, the Pyrenees, and the
two seas passed to Euric, who now possessed Aquitanica I and II, Novempopulana,
Narbonensis I, and part of Lugdunensis III (Schmidt, p. 265).

78. 1 The treaty still left Rome the country between the Mediterranean and the
Durance, and from the Rhône to the Alps; but a part of this at least was taken
by Euric in 476, when he renewed the war, and drove the Burgundians beyond the
Durance (Schmidt, Geschichte, p. 377).

79. 2 Victorius may have degenerated (cf. Chaix, ii. 504). Gregory (Hist. Franc.
II. xx) states that he was obliged to fly to Italy; the young Apollinaris
followed him (cf. note 3, p. xiv, above).

80. 3 In the Peutinger chart it is called Liviana, and placed twelve miles from
Carcassonne. Cf. the Index Locorum in Mommsen's Praefatio.

81. 4 In VIII. iii and IX. iii Sidonius speaks of officia which occupied a great
part of his day during his captivity.

82. 1 The task which he suggested was an edition of Philostratus' work in honour
of Apollonius of Tyana (VIII. iii. i; cf. Fertig, ii. 22). Sidonius had a far
higher opinion of Apollonius than that entertained by the Catholic Church in
later times (cf. note, 140. i, p. 245). It is questioned whether he undertook a
regular translation from the Greek, or merely a transcription, as Sirmond
thought.

83. 2 Chaix thinks that Sidonius returned to Clermont on his release from Livia;
and that the visit to Bordeaux was undertaken later, with the express object of
presenting a petition with regard to his confiscated property (ii. 227).

84. 3 VIII. ix. The Visigoths, in accordance with precedent, probably
appropriated a fixed proportion of the conquered territory (cf. p. lvi below).
But Sidonius' active share in the war may have led to the confiscation of his
land.

85. 1 Sidonius may have been really impressed by the visible signs of Euric's
power, and forced into a kind of enthusiasm, despite his private feelings. But
the verses bear the signs of exaggeration, and historical evidence hardly
confirms their claim that Euric was arbiter of the destinies of half the world.

86. 2 Another letter containing verses (IV. viii) addressed to Evodius was
probably composed at Bordeaux. Evodius, who at a later time may have risen high
in the Gothic service (Chaix, ii. 290), was presenting a silver cup to
Ragnahild, Euric's consort, for which he desired a poetical inscription.
Sidonius, who realized as fully as his friend the great influence wielded over
their lords by the Teutonic queens, complied with a few couplets well calculated
to attain their object. But in a tone of irony which betrays his real sentiment
with regard to Teutons, he remarks at the end of the letter that the verses
themselves hardly matter, since in the place where the cup is going there will
be eyes only for the silver of which it is made.

87. 1 Cf. the visits to Vectius and Germanicus (IV. ix, xiii; cf. Chaix, ii.
239, 241). He paid other visits beyond his diocese, e.g. those to Elaphius and
Maximus (IV. xv, xxiv; cf. Chaix, ii. 234, 236).

88. 2 See below, p. cliii.

89. 1 VIII. i. 1; xvi. 1.

90. 2 IX. i, xvi.

91. 3 He says himself that after his entrance into the Church, his prose style
suffered, but he was ' more of a bad poet than ever ' (IV. Hi. 9).

92. 4 Cf. the convivial verses written at a late period for Tonantius, son of
Tonantius Ferreolus (IX. xiii).

93. 5 The request came from Prosper, Bishop of Orleans (VIII. xv).

94. 1 De scriptoribus ecclesiasticis, xcii. The theological writings of Sidonius are not the only works of his which are lost to us. He mentions epigrams and satires from his pen----evidently composed in earlier life (cf. Chaix, ii. 310). In the verses included in the last of all his letters, he alludes to certain juvenile productions: unde pars maior utinam faceri | possit et abdi!

95. 2 V. xv; cf. Germain, p. 117.

96. 3 It is argued that he must have been writing after 480, because in a letter
to Oresius (IX. xii) he says that he has given up secular poetry for three
Olympiads, and the period of abandonment to which he alludes must be the year of
his election as bishop. Mommsen, however, considers him to have died in 479
(Praefatio, p. xlix), in which Prof. Schmidt follows him (Geschichte der
deutschen Stämme, p. 378). But his argument is chiefly based on a conjectural
emendation of the vague date at the end of the epitaph (XII Kal. Sept. Zenone
imperatore), and his conclusion appears to accord no better with facts than that
of Tillemont (see next page).

97. 1 The Catholicism of the Franks was of great assistance to them in their
final struggle with the Arian Teutonic tribes. There is no doubt that their
orthodoxy led the Gallo-Roman population to favour their projects and to desire
their supremacy, and that Alaric II regarded the Catholic bishops as formidable,
if secret adversaries.

98. 2 Earlier authorities, the Benedictines (Histoire litt. de la France, ii.
557) and Tillemont (Mémoires, xvi. 274 and 755), were in favour of about 489 as
the date of Sidonius' death. Gregory of Tours says that in Sidonius' lifetime
the echo of Frankish arms resounded in Gaul, and that Arvernians desired their
arrival in Auvergne: this seems to point to a period later than the battle of
Soissons (cf. Germain, p. 181). It might also be contended that the references
which Sidonius himself makes to advancing age seem difficult of explanation if
he did not survive the year 479, when he would only have been about fifty (V.
ix. 4; IX. xvi, line 45 of the poem. Cf. also Hodgkin, ii, p. 317).

99. 3 Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. II. xxiii.

100. 1 Gregory, as above. On Sidonius' decease, the infamous Hermanchius usurped
the bishopric, but was struck dead at a banquet while he was celebrating his
success. Aprunculus, formerly Bishop of Langres (cf. IX. x), only held the see
for a short time, being succeeded by Euphrasius, whose tenure was also brief.
Cf. Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. III. ix, xii, xviii.

101. 2 Cf. p. xiv above, and Gregory, III. c. ii; Chaix, ii. 379. Placidina, the
wife, and Alcima, the sister, of Apollinaris, are said by Gregory to have
visited the newly-elected bishop and persuaded him that he did not possess the
qualities required for the efficient government of the see; it would be better,
therefore, if he withdrew in favour of Apollinaris. He agreed with them, and
effaced himself.

102. 3 Gregory tells us that the younger Apollinaris had a son, Arcadius, whose
daughter was named, like her grandmother, Placidina, and is mentioned by
Venantius Fortunatus (Carm. i. 15, 45). It has been supposed that the family of
Polignac represents the line of Apollinaris, but this is disputed.

103. 1 Codex Matritensis, known as C; tenth to eleventh century (see p. clii
below; and cf. E. Le Blant, Inscriptions chrétiennes de la Gaule, I, no. 562).
It is quoted by Sirmond, and by later writers on Sidonius, e. g. Germain, p. 36
(cf. Baret, Introduction, p. 101). The placing of this long metrical epitaph
over his remains would probably have accorded with his own wishes. Did he not
compose one of similar length for his grandfather's tomb, with the comment that
'a learned shade does not reject a poetic tribute' (Anima perita musicas non
refutat inferias. III. xi)?

104. 2 But, as observed below (p. cli), the Letters have never ceased to be
accessible, if only to a limited number of readers.

105. 1 Sidonius' description of Avitacum, with its fine baths, winter and summer
dining-rooms, women's quarters and weaving-chamber, imitates Pliny's accounts of
his two chief country-homes, the Laurentinum near Ostia, and the larger
Tusculanum at the foot of the Apennines in the upper Tiber valley (Ep. II. xvii;
VI. vi). It is rather curious that he makes no mention of his garden, though
such must surely have existed. Pliny, on the other hand, is very detailed in his
description of the gardens of his villas. He speaks of walks bordered with box
and rosemary, topiary-work, a 'wilderness', fountains and marble seats,
summer-houses, &c. (cf. also Sir A. Geikie, The Love of Nature among the Romans,
pp. 132ff.).

106. 1 Cf. II. xiv.

107. 2 Even Theodoric II had shown his desire of territorial aggrandizement in
Gaul (Schmidt, in C. M. H. i. 283).

108. 1 It is generally held that when the Visigoths first settled in Aquitaine,
they appropriated two-thirds of the tilled land, and one-half of the woodland,
while such land as was not thus partitioned was divided equally between Goth and
provincial. When the Goths annexed large new territories, the division probably
became less ruinous to the Gallo-Roman, because the barbaric numbers had not
increased in proportion to the fresh land seized (Schmidt, Geschichte, pp.
281,287). For the Burgundian division, see Dahn, Die Könige der Germanen, vi.
56; and for the partition of lands in Italy by the Ostrogoths, cf. Dumoulin,
ibid. p. 447. The Visigothic Code issued by Euric in 475, of which only a part
is preserved, was drawn up by Roman jurists. It borrowed much from the
provisions of Roman law with regard to property; with regard to moral offences,
it retained much of the old Teutonic severity. From the time of Theodoric I,
Gothic law had already begun to be romanized, but the effect of long contact
with Roman custom was now much more obvious (cf. C. Zeumer, Leges Visigothorum
antiquiores, 1894; L.Schmidt, Geschichte, pp. 296ff.; F. Dahn, as above, vi. 226
ff.).

109. 1 e. g. at the house of Magnus at Narbonne ( Carm. xxiii).

110. 2 Theodoric II, the Visigoth, who evidently conformed in many ways to Roman
usage, hunted before the midday meal; he too began the day very early with a
religious service, and then transacted state-business, which must have been over
before 10 A. M. (I. ii). Sport with hawk and hound is mentioned in connexion
with the beautiful country-house of Gonsentius near Narbonne (VIII. iv), and
with the estates of Namatius, Euric's admiral in Oleron (VIII. vi).

111. 3 II. ix; villas of Tonantius Ferreolus and Apollinaris. For the
disposition of the wealthy Roman's day, little changed from early imperial
times, cf. J. Marquardt, Privatleben der Römer, p. 258.

112. 1 It is hard to say from the writings of Sidonius whether or not the Roman
matron was still the commanding figure of the earlier empire. She was much
occupied with domestic concerns: thus the wife of the wealthy Leontius of
Bordeaux spins Syrian wool, and works embroidery (Carm. xxii. 195). But there
are examples of ladies with intellectual interests. Sidonius expects Eulalia,
wife of his friend Probus, to read his poems; and the expectation implies in her
more than a slight tincture of letters (Carm. xxiv. 95). He tells a friend about
to marry, that wedlock need imply no break in his literary work, since his
future wife may encourage and aid his studies. Probably the influence of the
materfamilias was none the less effective for being exerted in an inconspicuous
way.

113. 1 I. vi; II. xiv. For Eutropius, who bade fair to become a 'country
bumpkin', Sidonius draws an admonitory picture of the future, when the man who
has allowed all his opportunities to go by, will have to stand in his old age
silent at the back of the hall, an inglorius rusticus, while younger men,
without his advantages of birth, sit in the front places and express their
judgement.

114. 2 Verses were often enclosed or incorporated in letters until, as in the
correspondence of M. de Coulanges, they must have seemed 'as numerous as
Sibylline leaves' (Mme de Sévigné, Letter 1177).

115. 3 II. ix. 4, 5.

116. 1 Cf. IV. xii. 1.

117. 2 His friends are mostly of his own rank, but he may make exception in
favour of rhetors or grammarians, a class whose company was eagerly sought in a
society devoted to parlour-rhetoric. Cf. the cordial invitation to Domitius, the
Grammarian of Camerius (II. ii).

118. 1 But even as late as the end of the fifth century the Christianity of some
among the nobles was probably more a matter of conformity than conviction, as it
had been with Ansonius at an earlier date (cf. Ausonius, Ep. ii. 15; X. xvii).

119. 2 Cf. II. xiii, where Sidonius speaks of doctors who conscientiously kill
off their patients, and quarrel across the invalid's bed.

120. 1 Cf. Sidonius' apologia for the long neglect to erect a monument over his
grandfather's remains (III. xii. 6).

121. 2 Gallula Roma Arelas: Ordo urbium nobilium, X. 2.

122. 3 The banquet of Majorian (II. xi) and that of a sodalis quidam at Arles
during the imperial sojourn in the town (IX. xiii).

123. 1 VIII. xii. copiosissima penus aggeratis opipare farta deliciis.

124. 2 Difficile discernitur, domini plusne sit cultum rus an ingenium (VIII.
iv. i).

125. 1 The distinction of 'senatorial' rank had ceased to bear any direct
relation to the Senate; the title implied the status conferred by the possession
of a certain amount of landed property, or the previous tenure of some honorary
office or dignity. After Constantine's time the class rapidly increased in the
provinces (cf. J. S. Reid, C. M. H. i. 49).

126. 2 The Gallic estates were not so large as the Italian, but Ausonius had
one, described as small, which exceeded a thousand acres; and the great nobles
owned numerous properties. It may be assumed that Sidonius was a proprietor on
rather a large scale. Symmachus is thought to have had about £60,000 a year of
our money; if Sidonius had only a third of that amount, he would still be a
wealthy man according to our ideas. The really opulent members of the senatorial
class had anything between £100,000 and £200,000 a year (cf. Dill, p. 126).

127. 3 Though they paid a land-tax (follis senatorius), the aurum oblaticium,
and other taxes imposed in the province where they resided (cf. J. S. Reid, C.
M. H. i. 50).

128. 1 The mortgagor generally became dependent on the mortgagee. In this
relation may be sought one of the beginnings of the feudal system (Dill, p.
218).

129. 2 Cf. Dill, pp. 224 ff. The less scrupulous among the senatorial class,
indirectly engaged in commerce though trading was forbidden to them, patronized
usurers and fraudulent creditors, winked at dishonest action on the part of
their agents, and overbore the lesser officials of the state by their local
prestige.

130. 1 A great part of the estate was tilled by slaves; and such part as was
cultivated by coloni must have yielded the landowner a very handsome profit.
Some labour was paid by wages, but not a high proportion (J. Marquardt,
Privatleben, p. 139).

131. 2 Probably the relations of the average master to his servants were as a
rule not unkindly: but there are exceptions, both good and bad. The admirable
Vectius has a devoted household (IV. ix. 1); the violent Lampridius is murdered
by his slaves (VIII. xi. 11). Sidonius was almost certainly a good master,
though once at least he shows excitability (IV. xii. 2). An interesting Letter
(V. xix) deals with the abduction of a freed woman by a man in the servile
state. Sidonius, from whose house she had been taken, insists with Pudens, whose
slave the abductor was, that the man should be also freed and so be promoted
from the class of coloni to that of plebeian clients (mox cliens factus, e
tributario plebeiam potius incipiat habere personam quam colonariam). The tenth
Letter of Book IX is also of interest in this regard. Injuriosus, who may have
been a clerk, left Sidonius for Aprunculus, bishop of Langres, without ceremony
and without the proper litterae commendatoriae, Sidonius stipulates that if the
offender should ever treat Aprunculus in a similar way, both of them should
prosecute him as a fugitive servant.

132. 1 The reader will find references to the principal works on the subject in
Dill, p. 208; cf. also C. M. H. i. 52; J. Marquardt, already quoted, Römische
Staatsverwaltung, i. 92 ff. For the municipality,see Prof. J.S. Reid, The
Municipalities of the Roman Empire, 1913. The decurions had not only to control
municipal finance, but were responsible for the collection of imperial taxes.
They had liabilities in connexion with enlistment for the army, and with the
maintenance of the posting service on the great roads. During the fifth century
the imperial government made worthy efforts to improve jurisdiction and
administration, but over-centralization neutralized their effect in the
provinces, where old abuses persisted and reforms were not easily applied (cf.
C. M. H. i. 396).

133. 1 Hist. de la civilisation en France, ed. 1846, i. 91. For the organization
of the Church, see C. H. Turner, in C. M. H. i. 145. For the Catholic Church in
barbaric territory, see F. Dahn, Die Könige der Germanen, vi. 367 ff.; L.
Schmidt, Gesch. der deutschen Stamme, Part I, p. 300 f. Of Arian organization,
either in the Visigothic or the Burgundian State, practically nothing is known.

134. 2 We see from VIII. xi (line 8 in the poem) that visitors to the town who
could not find accommodation with their friends sometimes expected the bishop to
find room for them. Many letters show the bishop in a most pleasant light as
mediator in family disagreements, or as patron of worthy aspirants.

135. 3 The Constitutions of 408 gave bishops civil jurisdiction in their
dioceses (C. M. H. i. 396). Several passages of Letters in Book VI illustrate
episcopal influence. As Baret remarks, Sidonius always seems to assume that the
pondus of the bishop will settle the matter when it is placed in the scale.

136. 1 Cf. Hist. franc. IV. xii; V. xxi. Sidonius does not conceal his
sentiments when he finds ground for disapproval of the clergy, as in the case of
the dissentient priests at Bourges (VII. ix. 3). In IV. viii. 9 he implies that
many who wore clerical garb 'imposed upon the world', and that he personally
inclined to prefer the man 'who is priestly in morals to one who merely bears
the priestly title'.

137. 1 It was the same in the case of men distinguished in the professions:
Germain of Auxerre was once a soldier; Lupus of Troyes an advocate.

138. 1 Cf. IV. iii; and Chaix, i. 438.

139. 1 Cf. the effect produced by the address of Faustus at the consecration of
Patiens' new church at Lyons (IX. iii. 5).

140. 2 For Church schools, see G. Kaufmann, Rhetorenschulen und Klosterschulen,
&c., in Raumer's Historisches Taschenbuch, Ser. IV, vol. x, 1869, pp. 54 ff.

141. 3 For the growth of the influence of the Church as a body, cf. C. H. Turner
in C. M. H., as above, pp. 145, 152, 155.

142. 1 If the bishops of the province could not attend, the canon provided that
those of neighbouring provinces should be summoned. Thus at Bourges, Sidonius
invites the cooperation of Agroecius of Sens. Cf. Chaix, ii. 2 2.

143. 2 Bourges had been in Gothic hands since about 470. Of the bishops present
at the election, two came from territory which was still Roman, one from a
diocese in Burgundian territory. The fact illustrates both the universal
character of the Church, and the tolerance of the barbaric governments.

144. 1 For the gradual elimination of the popular element see C. H. Turner, as
above, p. 152.

145. 2 Though the authority of Rome was unquestioned, throughout the Letters
there is no mention of appeal to, or intervention by, the Pope.

146. 3 In the sixth century, though the Frankish kings exerted an influence over
the elections, scandals continued to occur, if not quite in the same way as at
Bourges and Châlon (Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. IV. xxxv; VI. vii, xxxviii).

147. 4 Erant quidem prius, quod salva fidei face sit dictum, vagae, tepentes,
infrequentesque, utque sic dixerim, oscitabundae supplicationes, quae saepe
interpellantum prandiorum obicibus hebetabantur.

148. 1 Sometimes festivals were protracted for many days. That which celebrated
the consecration of Patiens' church lasted a whole week (IX. iii. 5, festis
hebdomadalibus). Cf. the long festival at Gaza: G. F. Hill, The Life of
Porphyry, Bishop of Gaza, by Mark the Deacon, 1913, ch. 92.

149. 2 Thus Lupus of Troyes transferred to his diocese prayers in use at Lerins
(IX. iii). The austerities of Faustus have been already mentioned. For the
development of monastic life in the West in the early Christian centuries, see
Dom Butler in C. M. H. i. 531 ff. There was no ordered code or written rule,
except the short rule of Caesarius of Arles, until the seventh century. Before
that time the eremitical type of monachism practised in Egypt and Syria
prevailed, sometimes with the extreme austerities habitual in the latter
country. It is even doubtful whether Honoratus wrote a rule for Lerins.

150. 1 Cf. Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. II. xxi, and Vit. Patr. iii. In Bk.
VI, ch. vi, of the former work, Gregory alludes to the miracles of the saintly
recluse Hospicius of Nice, who in the second half of the sixth century made his
usual diet of bread and dates, and in Lent subsisted on roots brought in
merchant-ships from Egypt. In Gregory's time Auvergne still contained hermits
practising extreme asceticism.

151. 1 IV. ii, iii. Tertullian, Jerome, and Cassian had given support to the
doctrine thus proclaimed by Faustus, and Augustine had taken a prominent part on
the other side. A chief argument used by Faustus was that to call the soul of
man immaterial is to claim for it a quality belonging only to God (cf. Dill, p.
184). For the treatise of Faustus, see Gennadius, De Script. Eccles. 85. In
Engelbrecht, Corpus Script. Eccles. Lat., the treatise and Claudianus Mamertus'
reply are printed together.

152. 2 Among them Fonteius, Auspicius, Agroecius, Principius, and Aprunculus,
the successor of Sidonius at Clermont.

153. 1 It has been already noticed that previous to their election to the sees
of Troyes and Riez, Lupus and Faustus had both occupied the position of Abbot of
Lerins. Hilary of Arles and Eucherius of Lyons had been members of the same
community. A brief description of a visit paid by Sidonius to Lerins is given in
Carm. xvi. 105 ff., and the visit is alluded to in IX. iii. For Lerins, cf.
note, 80. 1, on p. 239. Cf. also VI. i; VII. xvii. 3; VIII. xiv. 2; IX. iii. 4.
For the Jura monasteries, see note, 47- 2, p. 235.

154. 2 Chaix, ii. 224.

155. 1 V. vi, vii.

156. 1 But in their family relations both the Visigothic and Burgundian royal
houses were guilty of murderous brutality. It has been noted that Theodoric II
assassinated his brother Thorismond, and was in turn assassinated by Euric.
Gundobad the Burgundian in like manner murdered two of his brothers, destroying
at the same time the wife and children of Chilperic under circumstances of such
cruelty that public opinion became indignant, and Sidonius' friend Secundinus,
the poet of Lyons, wrote a satire against the king (V. viii).

157. 1 The hostility of the clergy was always a danger to Alaric II before the
final conflict with Clovis (cf. L. Schmidt, Geschichte der deutschen Stämme, p.
302).

158. 2 Dill, Bk. IV, chs. i and ii.

159. 3 The Visigoths had been granted Aquitanica Secunda and Toulouse by
Honorius. The Burgundians were established south of Lake Leman by Aëtius.

160. 4 Cf. V. vi. 2, where Chilperic is described as magister militum (V. vi;
cf. VII. xvii).

161. 1 Cf. L. Schmidt, Geschichte, p. 271. Prof. Schmidt considers that the
Visigoths treated the Gallo-Romans almost on a footing of equality before the
law (ibid. p. 279), while the Burgundians certainly conceded equal rights (ibid.
p. 403).

162. 2 Salvian, holding a brief for barbaric integrity against Roman corruption,
may exaggerate the virtue of his clients; but his attribution of hospitality,
chastity, and honesty to various tribes was probably founded on contemporary
experience. He does not altogether close his eyes to their faults, styling the
Goths perfidious, and the Franks untruthful. (For Salvian, see Hodgkin, i. 504.)
Ammianus (XXII. vii) confirms Salvian on the national perfidy of the Goths
(XXII. 7); and it is interesting to note that after the Frankish Conquest the
Goths were regarded as poor fighting men, shunning close quarters, and relying
on the bow (Gregory of Tours, Hist. Franc. ii. 27, 37).

163. 1 As already noted, Avitus' son Ecdicius showed, during the last struggle
for Auvergne, that the race of heroes was not extinct (III. iii). Under Gothic
rule, Gallo-Romans were probably exempt from military service (see note 64. 1,
p. 238), but they served in the Burgundian ranks (Schmidt, Geschichte, p. 40).

164. 1 Cf. VI. iv. 1. The Vargi in many ways resembled the Bagaudae of an
earlier time. Cf. Salvian, De Gub. Dei, v. 24, 25; Sirmond, Notes, p. 65; Dill,
p. 315; Hodgkin, ii. 104.

165. 2 But at its worst how different from the fate which ultimately befell our
own country (cf. Haverfield in C. M. H., pp. 378 ff.; C. W. C. Oman, England
before the Norman Conquest, Bk. III, ch. xi).

166. 3 Sidonius says that Euric was not so much the prince as the chief-priest
of his nation (VII. vi. 6 ut ambigas, ampliusne suae gentis an suae sectae
teneat principatum).

167. 1 Leo probably combined in his own person the functions of the Quaestor
Sacri Palati (the highest legal officer) and the magister officiorum or head of
the Civil Service (cf. Schmidt, C. M. H. i. 290).

168. 2 For the Visigothic administration of justice, with its twofold system for
Goth and Gallo-Roman respectively, see L. Schmidt, Geschichte, pp. 295-6; for
the Burgundian, ibid. p. 423.

169. 3 Cf. II. x; IV. xvii.

170. 4 Syagrius, if not an official, was a persona grata at Lyons (V.v).

171. 1 Sidonius' rather fulsome poem on Euric reached the king's eyes through
being written in a letter to Lampridius, who was intended to exhibit it (VIII.
ix). Cf. above, p. xlvi.

172. 2 V. vi, vii. Sidonius' denunciation of these men, though written in his
most artificial style, breathes a genuine and righteous indignation.

173. 3 So, perhaps, the Vandals, whose raiding habits he describes in the
Panegyric of Majorian (11. 386 ff.).

174. 1 VII. xiv. In Carm. XII. vi he asks how he is to write verses in six feet,
with seven-foot giants all about him. The Burgundians also greased their hair
with rancid butter, had enormous appetites, and spoke in stentorian tones. The
poem is translated by Fertig (Part ii, p. 17).

175. 2 We may recall Anthemius' complaint (cf. p. xxxiii above).

176. 1 Hodgkin has accentuated this point (ii, p. 372).

177. 2 See below, note 35. I, p. 233. Chateaubriand, in Le Martyrs, adapts
Sidonius' description of the Franks.

178. 3 Cf. Carm. vii. 236. Cf. note 155. 2, p. 247.

179. 4 VIII. vi. 15, and cf. Carm. vii. 369.

180. 5 Carm. vii. 236: also Pan. Mai, 210 ff.

181. 1 VIII. ix, 11. 28 ff. of the poem. The term 'Sigambrian' is used
generically for the tribes of the lower Rhine (W. Schul tze, Deutsche Gesch. ii.
38), and the present captives may have been taken during some expedition of
Euric's troops against the Franks.

182. 2 Carm. ii. 243.

183. 3 In the letter to Namatius, VIII. vi.

184. 1 Perhaps there were sleeping-rooms for the daily siesta as well as for the
nightly rest, as was the case at the villa of Caninius Rufus on the shores of
Como, described in one of Pliny's letters (Ep. I. iii). The account of the open
apartment at Avitacum looking out on the lake, where the guest might sit in
contemplation at any hour, suggests a place adapted for the siesta.

185. 1 As excavations in more than one country sufficiently prove, the hypocaust was commonly used for other rooms beside the bath. Cf. Carm. xxii. 188, where the hiberna domus of Leontius is described; here the wood-fed furnace spargit lentatum per culmina tota vaporem----in fact, central heating.

186. 2 He mentions also the baths in the Octaviana of Consentius at Narbonne,
and those in the Burgus of Leo near Bordeaux (Carm. xxii.).

Almost more interesting than Sidonius' description of these elaborate
structures, is the account which he gives of the extemporized vapour-baths used
by him at Vorocingus and Prusianum, where the baths of his hosts were for some
reason unavailable. He there caused a pit to be dug and enclosed by an arched
roof of wattling, upon which coverings of Cilician goat's-hair were laid.
Red-hot stones were placed in the pit and upon these warm water was thrown, with
the result that the improvised chamber was filled with vapour. In this the
bather sat for some time, receiving when he came out a douche of cold water. The
whole procedure recalls that employed in Russia, the East, and in primitive
America (cf. note, 52. 2, p. 225). For the general arrangement of Roman baths,
see Daremberg and Saglio, Dict. des ant. grecques et rom. i. 651; Marquardt,
Privatleben, pp. 279 ff. It is interesting to contrast Sidonius' descriptions of
Roman country-houses with what he has to say of the palace of Theodoric II at
Toulouse (I. ii). There he describes a large hall of audience, a
treasure-chamber, and a stable, but nothing is said of any baths.

187. 1 But cf. Carm. xxiv. 56 ff., where the garden of Apollinaris is mentioned.

188. 1 Leaving off the toga was one of the first delights of country life. Pliny
(Ep. V. vi. 45) says of one of his haunts nulla necessitas togae (cf. Juvenal,
Sat. iii. 171).

189. 2 The Burgus of Leontius was fortified. Dill (p. 310) notes the fact that
in isolated cases such fortification seems to have begun at the time of the
Visigothic settlement in Gaul. The remains of the castle built by Dardanus,
Prefect from 409 to 413, were identified by an inscription found on the spot (C.
I. L. xii. 1524). Cf. Fauriel, Hist, de la Gaule méridionale, i. 560. The
foundation of these strongholds in difficult country heralded the approach of a
feudal system.

190. 3 The absence of information about the towns themselves is also
disappointing. Several allusions show that they were protected by walls: thus
Vienne (VII. i. 2) and Clermont (III. ii. 1). The mention of the statues in the
forum at Arles is interesting (I. xi. 7), and the allusion to the deer which
took refuge in the forum at Vienne (VII. i. 3) seems to show that the forum of
that place still stood in the late fifth century.

191. 1 For Roman dining arrangements, see Marquardt, Privatleben, pp. 302 ff.

192. 2 Or at any rate with subjects familiar on Sassanian textiles of the sixth
to eighth centuries. Similar motives, however, were favoured in other places in
the Near East, among others probably in Alexandria (O. von Falke,
Kunstgeschichte der Seidentextilien; Berlin, 1913).

193. 1 Silver plate, as we should expect from a wealthy Roman writer, is often
mentioned. Theodoric's was unostentatious (I. ii); but there were families who
thought more of their old plate than of being useful in the world (VIII. vii.
1). A silver cup with fluted sides, like a shell, is considered an appropriate
gift for Ragnahild, queen of Euric (IV. viii. 4, 5). Sidonius is silent as to
his own plate; to Gregory of Tours we owe the story that in the time of greatest
distress at Clermont the bishop disposed of his silver to relieve the poor (see
p. cxlviii).

194. 2 Iuvat et vago rotatu | dare fracta membra ludo, | simulare vel trementes
| pede veste voce Bacchas: lines 64-7 of the poem. It is here implied that even
the costume of the Bacchante was assumed.

195. 1 The reference probably is to carvers who officiated with a studied style
and flourish, as if they worked to music (see note, 15. 1, p. 230).

196. 2 II. ix. 6, xiii. 4. For the clepsydra, see note, 51. 2, p. 224.

197. 3 His visits to Rome inspire him with no desire to dwell upon the artistic
treasures of the capital. He dismisses the frescoes in his baths with the remark
that there was nothing in them to offend modesty. K. Purgold has shown that most
of the descriptions in his poems which seem to suggest observations of works of
art are really borrowed from Claudian and other Roman poets (Claudianus und
Sidonius, 1878). Some of these are elaborate, but in no case does the poet speak
with enthusiasm or evident personal comprehension. In Carm. xxii he enumerates
frescoes and pictures in the house of Pontius Leontius rather in the style of an
abstract inventory, and without any critical appreciation: the chief subjects
were: Mithridates sacrificing his horses to Neptune; an episode from the siege
of Cyzicus; the infant Hercules strangling the serpents; and (an interesting
point) episodes from Jewish history. In the epithalamium of Polemius and
Araneola (Carm. xv. 159ff.) a number of classical episodes are woven by Araneola
on a toga palmata for her father, themes perhaps derived from familiar pictures.

Sidonius refers more than once to encaustic painting (VII. xiv. 5; and Panegyric
of Majorian, 1. 590). The description of the mosaics in the church of Patiens is
difficult (see notes, 54. I, 55. 1, pp. 225-6). But whatever the exact
translation of the author's words may be, it seems certain that no
figure-subjects were depicted, but only ornamental or conventional designs, in
which the colours of blue and green preponderated. As Hodgkin has observed,
their parallels may perhaps be sought in some of the purely decorative designs
in the mosaics of churches at Ravenna.

198. 1 Sidonius says that the sunlight was reflected from the gilded roof,
which, at a period when gold backgrounds were not yet employed in mosaic,
certainly implies the ceiling of painted and gilded wood usual in early
basilicas. It may be noted, however, that he speaks of mosaics covering the
camera, a word which implies vaulting, but is probably here applied to the
concha of the apse (cf. note, 54. 1, p. 226, below). Sir T. G. Jackson,
Byzantine and Romanesque Architecture (Cambridge, 1913), ii. 31, also regards
the church as ceiled. He draws attention once more, as Viollet-le-Duc in an
earlier generation, to the poverty of our information on the churches built in
Gaul before the tenth century. Neither Sidonius nor any other writer gives us a
tithe of the facts which they might so easily have presented.

199. 1 Hist. Franc. II. xiv. In IV. xx Gregory mentions its destruction by fire.
He himself restored it; and as he must have been familiar with its details,
should be regarded as a competent witness.

200. 2 This was a position where inscriptions are known to have been placed (H.
Holtzinger, Die altchristliche Architektur, &c., p. 184).

201. 3 The monastery must have been of the eremitic type, like those of St.
Martin at Marmoutier and Tours, and based on oriental prototypes (cp. p. lxxix
above). The church was completed by Abraham (Petits Bollandistes, vii. 59, 60).

202. 1 For these, cf. note, 6. i, p. 216.

203. 2 He liked the music of birds, to which he refers more than once. He also
mentions without resentment the piping of the local 'Tityri', heard on the hills
near Avitacum.

204. 3 IV. xi, lines 13-15 Psalmorum hic modulator et phonascus | Ante altaria
fratre gratulante | Instructas docuit sonare classes. St. Amabilis of Auvergne
was in early life cantor in the church of St. Mary at Clermont (Chaix, ii. 66).

205. 1 Summus nitor in vestibus, cultus in cingulis, splendor in phaleris. The
lively sexagenarian Germanicus is said to have accentuated his youthful
appearance by wearing 'tight clothes' (IV. xiii. 1). This may refer only to the
tunic; but it is conceivable that the influence of Teutonic or Celtic fashions
may have made itself felt, and that some garment for the leg may be indicated;
or did he wear a buttoned garment? Cf. Fertig, i. 24.

206. 2 The pallium was first distinctive of philosophers, who continued to wear
it after it came into general use, differentiating themselves from the unlearned
by carrying a staff and wearing the hair and beard long. From IV. xi. I we infer
that this costume was still affected by philosophers in Gaul in the middle of
the fifth century.

207. 3 Cf. VIII. vi. 6; and Carm. xv. 145 ff., where Araneola embroidered a toga
palmata for her father; for this garment, cf. Marquardt, Privatleben, p. 549. It
has been noticed above that, even in earlier times, the cumbrous toga was
discarded as soon as possible.

208. 1 II. ii. 2 Endromidatus exterius, intrinsecus fasceatus.

209. 1 IV. xx. 1. The Teutonic princes and nobles became very fond of wearing
silk in later times; but the mention of it here is interesting from the
comparatively early date (perhaps A. D. 470) at which the letter was written.
Cf. what has been said above of the silk textiles of oriental style used by
contemporary Gallo-Romans. The excavation of Frankish graves has abundantly
illustrated the fondness of the Franks for gold ornaments, a taste which was
shared by all the Teutonic peoples, notably the Goths. The whole passage is so
important for the student of early Teutonic archaeology that it is worth while
to give the original words: pedes primi perone saetoso tales adusque
vinciebantur; genua crura suraeque sine tegmine; praeter hoc vestis alia stricta
versicolor, vix appropinquans poplitibus exertis; manicae sola brachiorum
principia celantes; viridantia saga limbis marginata puniceis; penduli ex humero
gladii balleis supercurrentibus strinxerant clausa bullatis latera rhenonibus. .
. . For Visigothic and Burgundian weapons and personal ornaments, see Barrière
Flavy, Les arts industriels des peuples barbares de la Gaule, vol. 1; Feuvrier
et Févret, Les cimetières bourgondes de Chaussin et de Wriande, 1902.

210. 1 Cf. above, p. xxxiii, also I. ii. The Greeks had a similar notion that
the use of furs was a barbaric habit.

211. 2 The Gothic princes do not seem to have allowed their hair to grow so long
as to fall on their shoulders as the Merovingians did (Lindenschmit, Handbuch
der deutschen Altertumskunde, i. 330). The Gallo-Roman Germanicus had his hair
cut 'wheel-fashion', whatever that may mean (IV. xiii. I crinis in rotae
specimen accisus): perhaps the effect was similar to that of the male coiffure
on late Roman diptychs and on tombs of the fifteenth century, as exemplified by
the monuments of English knights whose hair is cut across the forehead, as if a
basin had been used by the barber.

212. 1 The hood is said by Cassian to have been adopted in imitation of
children's dress, to suggest innocence and simplicity (Inst. Coen. I, ch. iii).

213. 2 The none too serious sportmanship of Namatius may perhaps be compared to
that of the younger Pliny, who sat by the net armed, not with a boar-spear, but
with his tablets, and recommended Tacitus to do the same, providing himself in
addition with a luncheon-basket and a bottle of wine (Ep. I. vi).

214. 3 The peasants set night-lines in the lake at Avitacum, where fish were
plentiful and of good quality (II. ii. 12); in other places Sidonius alludes to
streams containing good fish. Beyond the fact that Euric had ships on the
Atlantic to protect his shores from the attack of the swift myoparones of the
Saxons (VIII. vi. 13), we learn nothing of naval matters: Sidonius enters into
no particulars as to the style of the ships or the tactics pursued. His
reference in the Poems to the Vandal raiders has been already noticed (p. xci
above).

215. 1 On the Ticino and Po in Italy there was a service of 'packet' boats
(cursoriae) (I. v. 3). Such services were kept up in Italy under Theodoric the
Great. Cf. Cassiodorus, Varias, II. xxi, IV. xv, where the crews (dromonarii)
are in question.

216. 2 In this there was a board (tabula) used both with dice and men, as
appears to have been the case with Theo-doric's game (see note, 5.1, p. 216). A
tabula, with 'men' of two colours, is again mentioned as one of the attractions
on the river-boat in which the luxurious Trygetius is to travel (VIII. xii. 5).

217. 3 Pyrgi (V. xvi. 6); fritiili (II. ix. 4). But in the second of these
passages tesserae are mentioned as well as the dice-boxes; and in the first
there is also a tabula, so that perhaps in neither case have we to do with mere
hazard. Cf. I; V. xvii.

218. 1 There were regular grounds, sphaeristeria, at all considerable villas.
Pliny had them at both his principal country-houses (Ep. II. xvii; V. vi).

219. 2 It may have been the harpastum ( a(rpasto&n). See note 73- 2, p. 239.

220. 3 Majorian held them at Arles (I. xi. 10). Cf. Carm. xxiii. 268.

221. 4 Papyrus was the common material for letters; it was not adapted for use
on both sides, as parchment was (cf. Marquardt, Privatleben, pp. 807 ff.).

222. 1 Possibly shorthand was used on such occasions. Shorthand was certainly
employed by copyists of manuscripts; and in the episode of Sidonius' chase after
the mysterious book by Lupus, which Riochatus had concealed from him, shorthand
writers were used to make excerpts on the spot (IX. ix. 8 Tribuit et quoddam
dictare celeranti scribarum sequacitas saltuosa compendium, qui comprehendebant
signis quod litteris non tenebant): Exceptores were of great service in the
Church, and Ennodius in his life of Epiphanius relates that the Bishop of Pavia
in his youth was an expert in tachygraphy. For the class of civil servants named
exceptores see Hodgkin, The Letters of Cassiodorus, p. 110.

223. 2 Mme de Sévigné records the same thing as occurring at Grignan in Provence
during her visit to her daughter, the Comtesse de Grignan.

224. 1 It would seem from III. xii. 5 that the tomb of Apollinaris was to be a
flat slab, and therefore unlike the large structural tombs erected by the
earlier Romans, and perhaps exemplified in Lyons by the Conditorium of Syagrius,
mentioned in V. xvii. 4. This Conditorium was perhaps one of the monuments
lining the high road, which ran close to the church; but the grave of Sidonius'
ancestor would appear to have been in a crowded cemetery. It is a rather curious
fact that Sidonius and his father should have allowed the remains of the elder
Apollinaris to lie unmarked until the traces of the mound above it were almost
obliterated.

225. 1 From the phrase used in III. ii, angustiae mansionum, we may infer that
the accommodation was not luxurious. In Italy, as we should expect from the
continuance of the river service, the Cursus publicus was maintained under the
Ostrogoths as the references in the Variae of Cassiodorus show (e.g. I. xxix;
IV. xlvii).

226. 2 e.g. VIII. xi, lines 41 ff. of the poem: Ne, si destituor domo negata,
Maerens ad madidas eam tabernas, Et claudens gemmas subinde nares Profiter
fumificas gemam culinas, &c., &c.

227. 1 On education in the fifth century, see Dill, pp. 338 ff. The principal
academic centres in Gaul were now Bordeaux, Toulouse, Narbonne, Arles, Lyons,
Clermont (Arverni), and Vienne. The first had been the most important, prior to
the Visigothic occupation.

228. 1 As already observed, the most original work in philosophy was done by
ecclesiastics like Claudianus Mamertus and Faustus. Sidonius had perhaps more
than a smattering of philosophy. Several passages indicate his general
information, and one of his letters (VII. xiv) contains long passages in the
sententious style of Seneca. In certain Gallic circles there was an interest in
Platonism (Collegium Conplatonicorum, IV. xi. 1), and there were real
enthusiasts for abstract thought, but the spirit which governed much
philosophizing of the day was evidently that of Martianus Capella.

229. 2 Cf. Cassiodorus, Varias, IV. xxii, xxiii, where Theodoric orders the
trial of two Romans of rank, Basilius and Praetextatus, for practising magical
arts.

230. 1 IX. xiii. If Sidonius translated Philostratus, and did not merely
transcribe him, he must himself have been an adequate Greek scholar.

231. 2 Carm. xxiii. 100 ff.

232. 3 Cf. IX. xxi, and Dill, p. 347.

233. 4 V. xiii.

234. 5 Horace, like Cicero, was 'caned into' Sidonius and his schoolmates at
Lyons (IV. i; V. iv).

235. 1 R. Bitschofsky, De C. Sollii Apollinaris Sidonii studiis Statianis.

236. 2 Cicero seems to have been regarded as hopelessly beyond imitation. This
appears to be the real sense of the remark in I. i, which irritated Petrarch
(see note, I. i, p. 215).

237. 3 I. 1; IV. xxii. In IX. i. 1 Sidonius states that Firminus has called him
a second Pliny.

238. 4 A list of the quotations from Latin authors in Sidonius, or obvious loans
from them, is given by Mommsen, Monumenta Germaniae Historica (Auctores
Antiquissimi], viii, pp. 352 ff.

239. 1 Cf. above, p. lxxvi. The address of Sidonius at Bourges (VII. ix. 5)
shows what skilful rhetoric could still accomplish.

240. 2 The oration of the young Burgundio on Julius Caesar is a case in point
(IX. xiv). Sidonius promises to attend with a claque of applauding supporters
(IX. xiv). This at least was a sensible subject: those of 'school declamations'
were often far-fetched or absurd (cf. Dill, p. 370). On the Declamatio, cf.
Nettleship, Lectures and Essays, 2nd series, 112, 113.

241. 1 Ausonius taught Gratian rhetoric, and the emperor made splendid provision
not only for him, but for all his relations. Gaul had a special reputation for
rhetoric; the blending of the Latin and Celtic strains appears to have been
favourable to the art.

242. 2 In the passage relating to education in the Panegyric on Anthemius (Carm.
i. 156 ff.) there is no mention of the Bible or of Christian works.

243. 1 VI. xii.

244. 2 VI. i. 6; VII. i. 3; VIII. xiv. 3; IX. viii. 2, A single letter has
allusions to Lazarus, Pharaoh, Babylon, and Assur. All this is in complete
contrast with the old indulgence in mythological allusion; it is the language of
another world.

245. 3 VIII. xiii. 4.

246. 4 IX. ix. 12.

247. 5 VII. ix.

248. 6 Ibid. St. Luke is also quoted in VI. i. 2.

249. 7 Claudianus Mamertus, Preface to the De Statu Animae; Gennadius, De
Script. Eccl. c. 92.

250. 1 Yet he credits himself with facility rather than talent: Scribendi magis
est facilitas quam facultas (III. vii).

251. 2 Casaubon said: Sidonius . . . in re Latinitatis improbus intestabilisque
(cf. Germain, p. 114).

252. 3 Appreciations of Sidonius' style will be found in all writers who deal
with his works. The substance of their criticisms is contained in the severe
judgement of the Benedictines: Sa diction est dure, ses phrases obscures; en un
mot, sa prose est insupportable (Hist. litt, de la France, ii, p. 570).

253. 1 He was asked by Prosper of Orleans to write on events in the war with
Attila (VIII. xv), and by Leo on the later history of Gaul (IV. xxii); in each
case he refused, either from disinclination, a sense of incapacity, or from
worldly wisdom. In his reply to Leo he gives his reasons why a cleric should not
turn historian. In this case Sidonius may have been doubly impressed by the need
for caution, as Leo may have been the mouthpiece of Euric.

254. 2 The Poems, especially the Panegyrics, are as rich in historical fact and
allusion as the Letters.

255. 1 Cf. Baret, pp. 68 ff. Sidonius is the sole authority for the tradition
that Horace was saved after Philippi by the intervention of Maecenas (Pref. to
the Panegyric of Majorian), and that Crispus was poisoned by Constantine (V.
viii). He alone relates the attacks of Euric on Auvergne, the war waged by Leo I
against the Huns (Panegyric of Anthemius, 1. 236), the victory of Aëtius and
Majorian over Cloio (Panegyric of Majorian, 1. 212), and the campaign of Euric
against Auvergne (Letters, passini). All that we know of the life of Bishop
Patiens is derived from him; so is our knowledge of the priests Constantius and
Claudianus Mamertus; Prosper of Orleans is only mentioned in his pages, and he
has preserved the names of numerous Gallo-Roman philosophers and poets otherwise
unrecorded or hardly known. The names of Ragnahild and Sigismer are given only
by him. He has clone similar service in his literary allusions. We can infer
from IV. xii. 1 that the Epitrepontes of Menander, of which we have now
recovered a great part, was preserved intact in his time. Through him we learn
of works now wholly lost, e. g. an account of Julius Caesar by Livy, a history
of Caesar by Juventius Martialis, and the Ephemerides of Caesar's lieutenant,
Balbus (all IX. xi). He also mentions works of Palaemon and Junius Gallio,
brother of Seneca, which are no longer extant (V. x). An epigram attributed by
him to Symmachus does not occur in the works of that author as we now possess
them (VII. x. 1).

256. 1 VII. ii. 1; IV. x. Cf. VIII. xvi Nos opuscula sermone condidimus arido
exili, certe maxima ex parte vulgato.

257. 2 IX. iii.

258. 3 Cf. VIII. ii; and III. iii, where he uses the phrase: Sermonis Celtici
squama. The Latin language stood in a more impregnable position than the
pessimists supposed. Not only was it the most efficient instrument of expression
in law, theology, and the sciences, but it was indispensable as the language of
diplomacy between the varions Teutonic courts. Probably most of the principal
barbarians could speak it, at any rate among the Visigoths. Cf. Germain, p. 133.

259. 1 I. xi. 5 and 12.

260. 1 The rusty sword or rusty armour is used more than once in different
comparisons (cf. VI. vi. i).

261. 2 Fortunae nauseantis vomitu exsputus (I. vii. 12).

262. 1 ii, p. 97. Cf. the description of the parasite (III. xiii).

263. 2 It need hardly be said that Sidonius is at his worst when he believed
himself at his best. His calculated effects are almost all tedious in form and
redolent, not (to use a phrase of his own) of the Muses, but of the rhetor's
lamp. Among such show-pieces are (in addition to the description of the
parasite): the reply to the complaint of Claudianus Mamertus (IV. iii), the
letter on Claudianus Mamertus' death (IV. xi), that on the informers at
Chilperic's court (V. vii), that with the disquisition on necessary affinity
between the cultured (VII. xiv). Even the letters on Theodoric (I. ii) and
Petronius Maximus (II. xiii) are not free from these defects.

264. 3 Johnson, Lives of the Poets: Life of Cowley.

265. 4 For instance, the translator will be confronted by sentences like the
following: Nam cum viderem quae tibi pulchra sunt non te videre, ipsam eo
tempore desiderii tui impatientiam desideravi (IV. xx. 3).

266. 1 Sidonii temeritatem admirari vix sufficio, nisi forte temerarius ipse
sim, qui temerarium ilium dicam, dum sales eius, seu tarditatis meae, seu illius
styli obice, seu fortassis (nam unumquodque possibile est) scripturae vitio, non
satis intelligo (Preface to Epistulae ad fam.).

267. 2 See Preface, p. iv.

268. 3 The word is Baret's, p. 106.

269. 4 Giraldus of Ferrara (quoted by Baret), who says that both in prose and
verse Sidonius strikes him as having something of the Gaul and the barbarian: in
utroque dicendi genere, Gallianum nescio quid et barbarum redolere videtur. (De
poet. hist. Dialog, v; in Opera, ii, p. 114.) Sidonius would himself have borne
any reproach rather than this. For the lifelong guardian of pure Latin in Gaul,
the contemner of the Celtica squama, to be told that his own style smacked of
barbarism, would have been a blow too grievous for endurance. His zealous
interest in Latinity and his uneasiness at the indifference of certain fellow
nobles to correct diction, deserved a better reward (II. x; III. iii. 2; IV.
xvii; VIII. ii). Discussing the influence of Celtic dialect, Fertig asks what
kind of Latin the middle classes spoke, if even nobles were so careless? (Part
iii, p. 24). It is perhaps significant that Sidonius himself insists on his
preference for current words, and on his avoidance of archaisms or far-fetched
terminology (VIII. xvi).

270. 1 p. 99; pp. 115 ff.

271. 2 But after Diocletian, such epithets as 'your sublimity', 'your
magnificence', became the common mode of addressing great officials of State.

272. 3 The word papa is applied to bishops throughout.

273. 1 Sidonius tends to avoid the deeper subjects which occupy the thoughts of
Jerome and Augustine. But in the ordinary field of life his range is very wide.

274. 2 Cf. Dill, Book ii, ch. 2. The successors of Sidonius as representatives
of the art of letter-writing in Gaul, Ruricius of Limoges and Avitus of Vienne,
both share his defects of over-elaboration and tumidity. Cassiodorus, the
Italian, writing in the first half of the sixth century is no improvement; he
has been described as 'concealing commonplaces within fold after fold of
verbosity '.

275. 1 Though, as Sir A. Geikie has once more demonstrated (The Love of Nature
among the Romans, 1913), several of the great writers had a true passion for
natural beauty, yet, taking Latin literature as a whole, we find the spectacular
aspect of nature rather too prominent; landscape and 'scenery' are the same
thing.

276. 1 Though Pliny nicknamed his villas on Lake Como 'Tragedy' and 'Comedy',
because one was on a high rock, the other on a low. Yet here again the Stage
intrudes on Nature.

277. 1 Germain, in defence of Sidonius' humour, cites the letter to Graecus on
Amantius (VI. viii), and the letter to Trygetius (VIII. xii). The former is
probably the best which our author achieved in this field. In the second, as in
that to Namatius, there is a certain straining after effect which tires the
reader and defeats the humorist's end. We may add the remarks about doctors (II.
xii) and incompetent sportsmen (VIII. vi). Cf. also IV. xviii; IX. vii.

278. 2 In many ways Sidonius recalls the Seigneur de Balzac (Jean-Louis de Guez,
b. 1594, d. 1654), just as much as Voiture. The following passage from Balzac's
letter to Corneille acknowledging a copy of 'Cinna' will illustrate the
affinity: Votre Cinna guérit les malades; il fait qtie les paralytiques battent
des mains; il rend la parole à un muet . . . S'il était vrai qu'en quelqu'une de
ses parties vous eussiez senti quelque faiblesse, ce serait un secret entre vos
Muses et vous, car je vous assure que Personne ne l'a reconnue.

279. 1 The poems were published at the request of Magnus Felix. The fact that
the panegyric of Anthemius is placed first, out of its historical sequence, is
in favour of the date mentioned above.

280. 2 Fertig, Part ii, p. 15.

281. 1 Cf. the often quoted lines: Has inter clades et funera mundi | Mors
vixisse fuit.

282. 2 Carm. XI. xv.

283. 1 Baret, p. 102; Germain, pp. 112, 113.

284. 2 Ep. xxxviii.

285. 3 Hist. Franc. II. xxii.

286. 4 Ennodius, in his In Natali S. Epiphanii, adapts four lines from the
Panegyric on Anthemius, v. 69 ff.

287. 5 The portrait of Attila (Get. c. 24, 25) is indebted to the Panegyric of
Avitus.

288. 6 In the excerpts from mediaeval writers (Elogia Veterum) at the beginning
of his edition.

289. 7 See Baret, p. 105.

290. 1 Sidonius had critics, and apparently sharp ones. Cf. I. i; III. xiv; IV.
xxii; VIII. i; IX. iv. But his attitude to criticism is sane: namque aut minimum
ex hisce metuendum est, aut per omnia omnino conticescendum,

291. 2 Unless it is excelled by the poem to Consentius (Carm. xxiii), of which
Dill says that he is ashamed to transcribe the absurdities (p. 362). Cf. also
IV. iii. 22; VIII. i, x, xi, xiii; IX. iii, vii.

292. 1 We may remember, too, that even Mme de Sévigné once compared her
daughter's style to that of Tacitus.

293. 2 That such indiscriminate eulogy was really a convention, and not natural
to Sidonius, is shown by his readiness at all times to speak a frank word in
season (IV. iv, xiv; V. xix; VII. vii). His practice did not contradict his
theory that outspokenness is generally best (VII. xviii).

294. 3 Incandui (VII. xiv. i).

295. 1 Cf. V. iii, vi, ix, xii.

296. 1 Condicionis humanae per omnia memor (IV. xi. 4).

297. 2 Hist. franc. II. xxii.

298. 3 In his judgements of Origen and Apollonius of Tyana (II. ix. 5; VIII.
iii. 4) we mark a distinct freedom of judgement.

299. 4 In his earlier life he could enjoy good cheer, and evidently appreciated
the refinements of luxury.

300. 1 Cf. his remarks on friendship (V. iii; IX. xiv), on happiness (VI. xii),
and prudence (IV. vi).

301. 1 See the Summary by Dr. P. Mohr, Praefatio to the Teubner edition, pp.
iii-vi; and Lutjohann and Löwe in Mon. Germ. Hist. VIII (Auct. Antiq.), pp.
vi-xiv.

302. 1 Chaix, ii, p. 272.

303. 2 Petronius had the privilege of revising this book, but, like those which
had preceded, it appeared under the auspices of Constantius.

304. 3 Chaix, ii, p. 306.

305. 4 The number was imposed upon him as a professed admirer and imitator of
Pliny. Cf. note, 176. i, p. 250.

306. 1 Pliny seems to have acted on the same principle: his letters in like
manner are not chronological. This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003.
All material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 12: PREFACE TO THE ONLINE EDITION
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915): Preface to the online
edition

Sidonius Apollinaris was a Roman aristocrat of the 5th century AD. Born around
431 AD, he held estates in Gaul. He pursued an official career under the
emperors Avitus (a kinsman), Majorian, and Anthemius, rising to be Prefect of
Rome. But all these emperors were murdered in turn by the sinister Ricimer, a
barbarian general holding the highest office in the state, that of Patrician, or
Prime Minister. Ricimer ostensibly governed in the Roman interest. In reality he
pursued no interest but his own, and his murder of the capable Majorian ensured
the collapse of the empire. As Roman rule weakened, the barbarians occupied more
and more of Gaul. Sidonius had returned to Gaul under Anthemius. Like so many
other aristocrats, he had reluctantly become Bishop in his local town, Clermont
in Arvernia. The advancing Visigoths under their king Euric moved into the
region; Sidonius helped organise resistance,since none of the Roman forces paid
for from the crushing taxation of the time were available to defend them. But
after enduring a siege, he found to his appalled horror that the imperial
government was plotting to betray the Arvernians, some of their strongest
supporters. (His outraged letter to Bishop Graecus, one of the go-betweens, is
included in this edition). And so it proved. Sidonius himself was imprisoned by
Euric.

States prepared to sell their own allies to appease an advancing enemy have
little prospect of survival. In less than a dozen years, Roman rule had ceased
everywhere in the West; the consequence of its rulers placing themselves in the
power of those whose loyalties were ultimately non-Roman. Sidonius lived long
enough to outlive the last emperor, Julius Nepos. He died, sometime after 480,
and is canonised as a saint.

Sidonius left two works; a set of 24 Carmina or Poems, and 9 books of Letters.
This translation, in two volumes contains only the letters; both are available
in the Loeb text. The Poems include verse panegyrics of all three emperors, and
have considerable historical value.

Dalton included an introduction of almost 200 pages; nearly a third of the book.
It seems permissable to wish that he had included the poems instead. This
preface has been written so that the general reader may orient himself first.

Roger Pearse 24th January 2003

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in
the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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  CHAPTER 13: TITLE PAGE AND PREFACE
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Sidonius Apollinaris, Letters. Tr. O.M. Dalton (1915) pp. i- vii; Title page and
preface THE LETTERS OF SIDONIUS TRANSLATED, WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES, BY O.
M. DALTON, MA. IN TWO VOLUMES VOLUME I

OXFORD AT THE CLARENDON PRESS

1915 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS LONDON EDINBURGH GLASGOW NEW YORK TORONTO MELBOURNE
BOMBAY HUMPHREY MILFORD M.A.

PUBLISHER TO THE UNIVERSITY

PREFACE

IT is somewhat remarkable that the complete letters of Sidonius have never been
translated into English. Though their style is often tiresome, though many of
them seem at first sight to add little of moment to the sum of existing
knowledge, yet the nine books, regarded as a whole, are still in many ways the
richest source of information on Roman provincial life during the last years of
the Empire in the West. And as a whole they should be read. Even the best
selection is liable to omit what is really necessary for a full comprehension of
the author and his view of life; omissions which singly appear unimportant have
a cumulative power in creating false ideas; they distort the perspective,
confuse the values, and invert the relative significance of parts. Where a
writer's work does not crush by bulk, or enervate by dullness, it is generally
best to let the whole produce its due organic effect, unmarred by the
subtractions of an editor. In the present case, the bulk is not excessive, for
there are not much more than a hundred letters; and the dull places are easily
escaped by every bonus arbiter et artifex lector 1, experienced in the process
of winnowing grain from chaff. |iv

If the question of rendering the whole or part were the only trouble with which
he had to contend, the translator of Sidonius might rid himself of all anxiety.
But he must always be haunted by doubts as to his success in conveying in every
case the sense of a confessedly difficult writer, often ambiguous in phrase, and
sometimes recalling to the tired mind that creature of the sea which conceals
itself at will in a cloud of its own ink. I cannot hope to have avoided error
where scholars of eminence have admitted their uncertainties;2 and there are yet
many passages the true sense of which lies beyond my divination.

It would have been possible indefinitely to expand the notes at the end of
volume ii; but they have been purposely abridged, that Sidonius may speak for
himself with as little interruption as possible. A general, knowledge in the
reader of Roman history and mythology has been assumed; for instance, notes are
not inserted to explain who Sulla or Julius Caesar were; Aganippe and Hippocrene
are not defined; nor is the legend of Triptolemus related at length.
Philological discussions have been omitted, and explanations confined to points
essential to the comprehension of the text; it seemed more convenient that the
Introduction should give in a consecutive form many facts which notes could only
have given in isolation; and I have endeavoured in this part of the book to
supply an abstract of the conditions obtaining in |v southern Gaul as they are
revealed to us in the Letters. Biographical matter is also for the most part
removed from the notes; an alphabetic list of correspondents, friends and
contemporaries, whose names occur in the Letters, will be found on p. clx, with
such cardinal facts in their history as have been ascertained. Names of places
have been rendered, as a rule, by their modern equivalents, which seem to make
the geography more immediately intelligible, especially to those acquainted with
central and southern France. Where an ancient form is consecrated by general
use, or seems demanded by the nature of the context, it has been purposely
retained.

Like every other writer on Sidonius, I must express deep obligations to the
earlier scholars who have edited the Letters, or described the period with which
they are concerned, from Savaron and Sirmond, to Chaix, Fertig, and Mommsen, to
Germain, Baret, Hodgkin, and Dill. To the learned Jesuit Sirmond, who edited
Sidonius with an erudition worthy of the century of Ducange, and to the Abbé
Chaix, whose long and careful study is indispensable to every student, the debt
is greatest of all. The edition of Grégoire and Collombet has sometimes received
adverse criticism; but though compelled to differ from many of their renderings,
I have often found their volumes useful, and consulted them with advantage. For
the literary and local history of Gaul in the fifth century, the monumental
Histoire littéraire de la France of the Benedictines remains indispensable; the
same may be said of Tillemont's sixteenth volume. Nor should |vi any writer
occupied with the Gaul of Sidonius' day forget the work of Fauriel, of Amédée
Thierry and Ampère. Sir W. Dill's sketch of Roman life in the fifth century has
constantly rendered invaluable service. Though frequently consulting the text of
Lütjohann in the great edition in Vol. VII of the Monumenta Germaniae Historica,
I have mainly used that of Mohr in the Teubner Series; thanks are due to Messrs.
B. G. Teubner & Co. for courteously permitting the use of their edition.

Something has been said in the Introduction on the style of Sidonius (p. cxxi),
enough perhaps to indicate the problems which it presents to the interpreter. I
have endeavoured to keep in mind the sane view ot Dryden, that the translator's
first duty is to grasp the sense as thoroughly as possible, in order that it may
flow naturally into a new expression, and escape 'tedious transfusion' by
copying word for word. A literal transfusion of Sidonius at his worst would be
tedious indeed; it would defeat its own end, since we read him for his meaning,
and no longer for his Latinity. I have felt it necessary to render his
antitheses, and reproduce his puns wherever translation is reasonably possible;
but where there is no obvious English equivalent for a gratuitous and pointless
contrast, I have often spared my readers, not going out of the way to accentuate
what may be fairly called his curiosa infelicitas, his love of puerile
dexterity. Fortunately, however, he does not always go on stilts, and many
letters, especially those written later in life, move simply, from
starting-point to goal. His 'style' is not always with him; |vii it is indeed
somewhat of a theatrical costume, and separable from his real self. When a busy
life compelled him to be direct, he wrote without pretence, and can be
translated in the same unpretentious manner. To all admirers of his character,
the use of this stylus rusticans is a real relief; were he always tricked out in
his finery, he would inspire in the world of letters the same amused contempt
which the elderly fop Germanicus aroused among his less affected neighbours at
Chantelle (IV. xiii).

I am indebted to my colleague Mr. G. F. Hill for very kindly reading through the
proofs.

British Museum,

1914.

[Footnotes have been renumbered and moved to the end] 1. 1 II. ii. 19.

2. 1 Ceterum non tam emendatoris indigere Sidonium quam interpretis in dies
magis me perspexisse libere profiteor (Mohr, Praefatio, p. vii). This text was
transcribed by Roger Pearse, 2003. All material on this page is in the public
domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using the Scholars Press SPIonic font, free from here.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts


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Source: https://sermonindex.net/books/writings-sidonius-apollinaris/
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