Letters of Procopius the Sophist

and allows it to flourish, while you, by applying your tongue to the souls of the young, guide them toward the wealth of knowledge, not less than did Pythagoras in olden times when he lived among them, or indeed that famous Plato. I was pondering these things, while you, unbeknownst to me, were not far off, as I learned from the man who delivered your letter to me. At first, indeed, I was stunned, and thought the matter was a hollow illusion, nor did I trust my own eyes; but after I had read the writing, and was convinced that these graces could belong to no one else, can you imagine how delighted I was? For I considered the hopes of seeing you again to be closer at hand; and I rightfully rejoiced if you had returned to your homeland, even if you showed yourself to be a grudging admirer for a short time. You seem to me, for the sake of jest, to be accusing [our land], for as for the air, which you said hangs over our heads, and how the water makes those who drink it remember the sea, and that our bread is casually mixed with barley — I would not deny these things; but you recounted them with less bitterness, sparing your homeland. Yet, my dearest friend, you ought to have been grateful to it, as it has so trained your mind for philosophy that you are now able to scorn the delights of Egypt. Consider how the wise Odysseus inhabited a small and rugged island: for what else had he preferred to those [delights] but Ithaca? Nor did any Spartan, I believe, when considering his country's way of life, disparage Sparta on that account. But I know whence you were induced to make this accusation: you are, my excellent friend, a lover of wealth, and when gain falls short by a little, you cry, "Woe! Woe!" and you celebrate the Nile and its riches: this makes you a stranger, as you yourself say, and [makes you seem] as one having no better a body than Chaerephon. I think, however, that you are also held by love for your bride, and you are ^B struggling with difficulty against such a cruel longing. But may these things happen as they may, beloved Aphrodite, and fare you well; and I wish it may soon be granted to me to greet you as a father of children!

II. TO PYTHIUS

If anyone approaching me were to ask me first, before doing anything else, whether I played the lyre, and were to discourse on harmony, the matter would quickly be made clear, and I would immediately understand that he was a musician. But if his discourse were about arms, and he were to narrate battles and incessantly recount the fortunes of war, would there be need, I ask, to go to God to know that he is a soldier? But why do I say these things? You have already fully grasped it; nevertheless, I will say it: you seem to me to be one in whom the Muses truly dwell; and living as a resident among these goddesses, you lead a life dedicated to them, and it is nothing wonderful that you care for nothing except books, and discourses, and whatever leads ^C the soul toward the better. From that time you became a guest to me and entered into a friendship with me which, I believe, is welcome to you; but I wish that the hope which you placed in us had never failed you! As for that volume which you ask of me, I wish it were in my possession! For you would have had what you desired, and to me it would have been most precious to have been able to grant you a favor; but now I swear, not by the plane tree of Socrates, but by his very words, that I have not yet enjoyed that good, however long I have been desiring it.

and not many days hence, with the help of Hermes and the Muses, it shall be brought from Alexandria; for those who were instructed from there have sent it to me. If this should turn out successfully, you shall see me coming to you of my own accord, just as much as I would have desired to receive it myself.

III. TO DIODORUS.

The ^A fame of your education has filled our ears with the very words we prayed for. For one man recounted your diligence in pleading cases, another marveled at how successfully things turned out for you in the courts, and a third at your benevolence toward those who approached you, except where someone happened to have acted unjustly. I also know this, having heard how, when you saw some who were very powerful but observed no justice, you breathed fiercely against them and poured forth commendable rebukes. ^B Hearing these things, as others related one thing after another, I was as if beside myself with joy, and, taking great pride in the words, I seemed to be praised myself, and I professed my gratitude to those reporting them, just as those who hear their friends being praised are accustomed to do.

While I was having such thoughts and reflections, the noble Orion approached and presented the letter written to him by you; he congratulated me on your friendship, as if he considered it something marvelous that he did not know you were of such a character to me. But I, having learned not only by fame but by experience what sort of disposition you have toward those who ask, even if they are not present, you could not say how much I marveled and called the man himself fortunate for having obtained your diligence in his regard. ^C But when he also demanded letters from me, I called him a fool for wanting to augment your benevolence by the memory of our friendship; for you, who are happily born for virtue, have no need of letters to incite you to it. Yet I did not persuade him; for it seemed he also said something just, namely, that if he is like that on his own, what might he become if he receives letters from you? May you, therefore, be what you were before, and I, in turn, be praised for our friendship; and may the young man not miss out on the hope he has in you, but let those who think they can do great things know that it is proper to be overcome by the just.

IV. TO HIERONYMUS.

I ^D thought, for my part, that the marriage of your sister was unknown to you, and that it was known to all the kin, except to you, whom I believed were still sitting by the Nile; but as it seems, nothing that pertains to luxury escapes your notice, but in some way it acts upon you, and a certain odor of what is being done reaches you from afar; perhaps you even surpass the Homeric Zeus in perceiving libations and the steam of sacrificial meat swirling in the smoke. The Nile has made you thus, and the happy people by it, among whom, inhabiting a pleasant land, you perceive with sharper senses if smoke anywhere ascends. I was on the point of treating your boy harshly because he had sent your letter in a high-handed manner, but by offering me your gifts, he changed my mind at the sight of them and, I know not how, assuaged my anger. I shall not, however, be long in repaying you; for either a daughter has already been born to you, or she will be born.

V. TO THE GRAMMARIANS ALYPIUS AND STEGUS, AND TO HIERIUS THE ROMAN.

^A When the lawgiver Solon saw that the state was excellently ordered by his laws, considering it a terrible thing that the wonder of his wisdom should be confined within the borders of Attica, he traveled to the Egyptians, even though they boasted that they were wiser than all others; he also traveled to Croesus, who luxuriated in wealth as if it were happiness. For to Solon it seemed greater to abound in wisdom than in those riches that the Pactolus sheds over every land it irrigates. Those who saw Solon admired him, and when he departed, they were seized with a longing for him. But the Athenians, among whom he cast the foundation of his students, perhaps even prayed to Athena to return the lawgiver to the city once more; and if for this reason he conceived of his journey—wishing to know how much love the Athenians had for him—I for one would not be surprised, for at the absence of one man alone the Athenians lamented, even though they had other wise men, as is likely; for who among us would we become if we were stripped of the whole essence? And one might have hesitated before as to whether one ought to mention Attica or Italy, but she is now suddenly silent and has been deprived of her distinguishing marks. And it seems she suffers the same fate as Cithaeron, which, having once received ^B the great god, was suddenly left desolate when he departed—and Dionysius is nowhere to be found. Wherefore I shall complain of Apollo, who called our affairs to himself while neglecting them; and I believe the Muses themselves are to be congratulated on the happiness of those places. You, of course, are filled with ancient myths, contemplating what the god suffered through Daphne herself—Daphne, to be sure, being chastity, humanity, and a tree that consoles the lover; and among all men, she has bestowed the goddess’s pledges upon you alone in reality. If, by the friendly grace of Apollo, shady cypresses have sprung up, and abundant water, and the cicadas sing, and the path is strewn with soft grass, and tree stands beside tree, and houses are hidden mid-way by the height of these, and the air is temperate, and the scent is blended, and the shade wards off the heat of the sun, it is for you either to announce these things quickly or to describe them in your writings. Yet I would wish to come to you and see you, so that, beyond the rest, I might hear the oracles as well; for I believe that this too has been granted to you by Daphne.

VI. TO PALLADIUS.

^D I hold that the greatest virtue of those who are powerful is to console the oppressed. For when to power there is added the will to preserve justice, what prevents those things which the laws approve from being brought to completion? But to what purpose is this prologue? Isidorus the Scholastic, who was my friend while he lived—and who, now that he is but a memory, is the same as he was in life; you could tell others how wonderful he showed himself to be—departing from the living, left his house destitute of all support. For she who had been a mother is now childless, on the threshold of old age, and a mother no longer; his wife bears the yoke of widowhood; and as for the children, what is there to say? For they are little girls, already experiencing the miserable lot of orphans, and with their every word, toward all who wish to do them injury—

unless you prevent it—the hopes they cherish tend toward that end. For a certain man, perverse by nature and a neighbor to their house, seized by envy at that proximity, thinks of nothing save how to make their home useless to them. Thus, he has not allowed them to build legally; and holding mutual agreements as nothing, he sets himself up as superior to the laws and those which he himself has agreed to. Therefore, assuming the mind of a judge who sets himself against injustice, be a father to the girls, a son to the mother, and likewise a husband to the woman, and to our eyes, be he whom experience has shown us many times; let them know that there is no lack of aid as long as the guardians of law and justice remain unharmed. ^B And let him know that he is not—long since a friend, and now no less favoring.

VII. TO GESSIUS, THE DISTINGUISHED PHYSICIAN

Receiving your letter in my hands, I seemed to myself to receive the Muses themselves, beside myself with pleasure and unaware of my own state; just as the Delphians, when Apollo arrives as if from the Hyperboreans, are suddenly filled with the god, though previously silent. Such a man was I, marveling at everything: the charm of the words, their harmony with one another, the beauty shining through in all things; and, most important of all, your own character, from which these matters have come forth to us. May many good things come to you, who have provided such a festival for us! A single swallow, as they say, does not make a spring, even if the swallow that arrives first is enough for that; but if I were to add a second, a third, and then many more, still there would be no spring for me, nor would I have that Croesus, nor the Pactolus flowing with gold. I saw your children with pleasure, and I was joined to you again as if by an image; whence I desired both to see more, and, if it is permitted to say such great things, saw them as better than their father—but to one who wishes, it is easy to say whatever one desires, and to imitate Hector. I seem to present to you here your friend Dorotheus, and to say nothing else but to fulfill that hope of his which your account caused to spring up. But if he hopes to have something more through me, it will be up to you not to disappoint his desire. His character and his diligence will bind the young man to you, which, if it were possible to show clearly together with his physical appearance, there would perhaps be no need for my letters; you will first hold him in honor because of me, and afterward, I believe, you will marvel at him for his own sake. I also think that my friend Anastasius looks upon you with kindly eyes, just as he does our whole race. What more must be said to a man who has long been a friend and who is said to be affected with no less benevolence toward me?

VIII. TO ZACHARY THE BROTHER

As it seems, my dear friend, you never cease from your jests against us; and may you never cease from them, by all the gods! For they make me laugh, what is said in those letters, and I come to you in my thought and seem to approach you and hear you speaking. And so, if the grace found in letters is of concern to you—and it is, indeed—strike again, and it will seem more pleasing to me than if you had made me a Croesus; call me a sophist again, and a lover of applause, and add an eyebrow, and arrogance, and whatever else pleases you. Often, when you call me a sophist, intend—

shall not deny it; though if it be a property of this art to puff one up with vanity, it pertains to you as well as to me, as you partake of the art. I shall, therefore, for the sake of the respect I hold for you, remain silent; perhaps you are a marvelous sophist, though when I see the work I feel I ought to celebrate it in writing. Yet I have passed it over in silence. And you, perhaps, are looking in my letters for flowers, and swallows, and the calm changes of the sea, and beautiful Adonis, and that Aphrodite who loved so strangely, and you are hurt that you do not hear of the rose, whose grace you have long admired. But I shall say no such thing, especially to you, lest you laugh at me again and call me an ignoramus and a sophist.

^B IX. TO EPIPHANIUS. You were certainly powerful in being able to move whomsoever you wished to speak or to keep silent. You seem to me to act in a way similar to someone who, having a lyre and having learned to use it, would either elicit sounds or refrain from striking the chords, quickly prepared for whatever might be thought better, and yet would speak nothing musical, neither he himself nor his lyre. As you were silent ^C and looked to new concerns, we were immediately oppressed with sadness, and we, once very dear friends, and now perhaps only friends, kept silent. But whence comes this sweetness? The laws compel you to raise your eyebrow. Then, because you have assumed the mind of a legislator and seem to yourself to be conducting the affairs of the Romans according to your own judgment, you elevate yourself above us to such a degree. But if there remains to you even a bare trace or memory of our former friendship, would that it had happened long ago! As for me, having heard the sweetness of your tongue along with the swallows, I am uplifted in spirit; the sun seems to shine more brightly upon me, and now spring is truly here for me. But may you be kind to us henceforth, and may you no longer come to me as an enemy, forgetful of our affections.

^D X. TO SOSIANUS. He who is a lover of riches finds nothing pleasant unless he speaks of them or hears others speaking of them; if you offer him gold, he performs the offices of honor for you. So too, in arms, he who has received an excellent shield values it highly, and carrying it hither and thither, is filled more with Mars. But what could you do that would be more pleasing to a good man than to offer him men like himself to see? Therefore, knowing that you are such a person and that you wish to be so, it did not seem right to me that the scholastic Diodorus should be unknown to you; rather, I send him to you and give him to you (you to him, and he to you), thinking to do a favor to you both if you come to know each other by experience; for each will surely praise me, knowing what sort of things I provide for my friends.

XI. TO JOANNES. The most eloquent Diodorus will break the silence between us, asking you to write and delivering my letters to you. For he is my friend, and even before seeing you, he loved you; for our accounts of you stir up a love to see you. For he is a man

^A who is a lover of noble things and assiduously inquires after good men, as if fearing that someone of such character might somehow go unnoticed. And what need is there for me to tell you about him? For having learned this by experience, you would consider any praise less than what is due, and you would call a rhetorician weak, as if he were unable to speak of the things that are actually present.

XII. TO DIODORUS.

XIII. TO ZACHARIAS AND PHILIPPUS.

XIV. TO VICTOR THE BROTHER.

^A of Greece, which he himself had saved, handed them over to the Barbarian, as if he could not endure to be happy to the end. But as for you, in maintaining your own affairs, there is nothing you will not do. Your grace will remain, not the first, perhaps, by Jove, but another in addition to many firsts. One grace from those who have received benefits will be enough for good men: simply to remember that they have received them. May it be my own lot not to forget even those who are willing to do good, even if they do not succeed in the end.

XV. TO DIODORUS

XVI. TO THE SAME

^A, receiving your letter into my hands, I remembered an old happiness; and imagining you were present in your writing, and being moved to say something as if to one present, I spoke some things, and for others I felt as if I were listening to a speaker; and when I could scarcely bring myself to it, I realized that those things were a dream, and that I was deceived. Therefore, write often, so that, lacking the vision, I may delight in dreams; seeing that even an ardent lover, deprived of his beloved, sees a sweet dream and deceives himself. But I fear to say these things, lest you think them true, and filled with pride, should remain silent once again; consider them, therefore, to be false, so that I may always hear you speaking. As for the cousin and kinsman who brings this letter to you—if it is necessary to say anything more—look upon him with favorable eyes, and if need be, providing him with the aid of your tongue, you will seem to me to be granting every favor.

XVII. TO THE SAME

XVIII. TO DOROTHEUS

XIX. TO ZACHARY AND PHILIP, BROTHERS

^A hands it lies that these letters should be sent to us, by which we shall become another Croesus in delights, and we shall appear to possess his wealth and to receive a name like that of the Great King. For he who sees a swallow proclaims that spring is present; but I, hearing your voice, will rejoice more than that Croesus with all his wealth and the great king sitting under the plane tree. For me, ^B the Muses seemed to sing instead of swallows. Yet I shall stop, lest by wishing to bring too much pleasure, I, a sophist, appear bold in my letters, and lest you, laughing together, celebrate that in your customary fashion. Yet, I had a twofold pleasure: to address you both at once; just as those coming to Delphi, when they sang a hymn to Apollo, joined Diana also in his praises—and this pleased the gods more than if each had been praised separately; for since they were siblings, they wished in hymns also to be seen as siblings, ^C and it pleased the gods more than if one took and sang of each by himself; for being siblings, they wished to remain such in the songs as well.

XX. TO ZACHARIAS THE BROTHER

You, for your part, complain that the hours are fleeing from friends; I, however, see that they are about to flee again: why then do you remain silent? For it is not a sufficient apology for some deed to take the blame upon yourself; but he who, being guilty, then blames others—if you take away the pretense of accusing others—accuses himself. Nor should you urge upon me our way of life in Byzantium of living in silence; for every tribe is a witness to me that no one has spoken, and that I have heard nothing. But I wish that I still had a clear tribunal, and an Attic judge, and the splendid figure of Athens: when, of course, rhetoric enjoyed a prosperous lot. But Plato, I might say, did not bear it well that she was doing well: for an accusation would be brought against you immediately; since rhetoric, by which states were established, sins against Greece; and nothing is omitted of those things for which you might wish to accuse her. But grant me leave to be carried away for a little while: for I am already full of anger and reproaches. And first: I will not be silent, judges: for nothing can be worse than when a man speaks ill of that thing from which he derives his own being: it is thus that this excellent fellow, speaking of you, dares to say something against rhetoric, from which he has a blessed life and applause; thus, the verdict having been rendered, the victor is conquered by that which is given to him to win. He also brings forward Plato as a witness, who condemned rhetoric to the worst of evils and inveighed wholly against rhetoricians. Once these things have been taught to the judges by me, I would not add the penalty. Mentioning Polus and Callicles, he adds Plato: for he fabricates them for himself as if in a drama, speaking things which they had composed together; but if not, allow them to speak as Socrates in a comedy. ^D

^A XXI. TO THE SAME. Receive this letter—late, indeed, in coming, yet bold, in that it has arrived from a friend. Do not, therefore, cheat it of its hope, nor despise it, nor knit your brows against it. For it is said that those who love, when they have finally and with difficulty snatched a moment of time, forget their previous sorrows in the pleasure of the present. But if you were to appear harsh toward it, the whole thing would be grievous; yet I will speak—for I fear that another letter may not easily reach you, deeming you insulting and reflecting upon what the former one has suffered.

^A XXII. TO THOMAS THE BROTHER. It seemed to me, upon receipt of your letter, that I should not remain in the same position as before, but rather seize the opportunity and consider this auspicious time a godsend. For behold, I am suddenly among those making a request of you; and you, marveling at the speed, will, I suppose, quote the comic line. But I would have considered it a terrible thing if, while watching the time, I did not ask, so that it might be fitting for you to give and for me to receive. For Aeneas, who presents our letter, is our fellow-citizen, and I desire him to meet with good fortune through you. He is of good birth, his character is free, and he knows the law as his profession. He wishes, however, to enjoy his profession as if it were a divine gift, and to keep his mind free; for he does not think that gain is so sweet if it is not acquired with justice. This may also be learned by experience; for having been set over the rights of certain cities and having taken the office of defender, he so imitated the laws that he even surpassed the nature of the sycophant. No one ever complained of him unjustly or at all; but this perhaps even seemed a mockery to those who ruled before you—for they knew only how to take, while he was not among the givers. Hence he kept his peace, while others did as was customary, in accordance with what they had given. But now he wishes to exercise the same profession, offering you the gift of a just disposition. Does it seem that I am beginning to ask of you what comes by nature? Therefore, if you marvel at the request, honor it with your words.

^A XXIII. TO THE SAME. I saw your letter with pleasure, as is fitting, but since I lacked the ability to praise it according to its merit, I was very near to returning the same letter to you, with its writing changed. For through those to whom you sent my praises in writing, I seemed to hear your own; and you seemed to me to be doing something similar to one who would marvel at Thersites when compared with Nereus, the most beautiful man who came beneath Ilium. Hence, a sense of shame overwhelmed me at these praises; though not so as to prevent me from rejoicing in the matter, for the letter, by means of which it ostensibly praised my own, was itself adorned and stirred the friend to a greater longing. For if, by sending envoys, I am praised, what must I be when I arrive myself? Therefore, since it is nobler to give than to receive, the person who is to give fulfills the principle of virtue more than he who has asked. The most eloquent Aeneas sings as if he had already received; for since he has already come to know us by experience, he reckons what is to be as equal to what has already been done; but if, before...

receiving it, he calls out, what would he be if he had obtained what he desired? And sometimes, when recounting your affairs, he will surely add that one ought to double the favors even with speed; and as for the excellent Megas, if it were possible to transform him into a rhetorician in a single day, we would not need a second day. ^A

XXIV. TO THE BROTHERS ZACHARIAS AND PHILIPPUS

I loved the admirable Julian in other ways as well, for he is capable of being drawn toward labors that turn out well beyond his desire; but I was much more delighted that an occasion for your letters has arisen for me. For if I were ever to get hold of him, I think I would be at Cinyras; ^B yet he requests nothing difficult, but wishing me to be present there also, he hopes this may come about through you, which I certainly do as well. But I could do nothing as I am not present; as for the consistorian, I do not know what it is; for he spreads my reputation throughout the Roman world; but through you I find the name pleasing, and I would wish it to be truly divine; and I respect a designation whose function I have been ignorant of. But if your fortune has been elevated to something greater, still remain as you have known yourself in your former works, so that I may not call you a boastful consistorian.

XXV. TO ZACHARIAS

My country, with God added as well, has looked upon us with kindly eyes; for it brought forward friends such as I was praying to see; ^C but after a brief interval, it drew theaters to me and stirred up applause, and a certain rumor ran before me, celebrating me through all mouths, so that I seem even to grow young again; and my mind was lifted up by the applause, and I had something sophistical to offer quite artlessly, as you yourself might say. Do you therefore scoff at such things; but I will not endure not being illustrious, and elevating my pride, and following the law of my own art. These things, then, have been said by me in jest, so that I might provide you with material for scoffing, as is your custom; for you delight me when you scoff, know well, more than others do when they shower me with many praises. ^D

XXVI. TO BROTHER PHILIPPUS

Lo, I send you other letters again; what has befallen you I do not know, but you are silent again; for if you say that you have no leisure, but your art brings you profit in every way, it is strange, I think, very strange, if you do not offer yourself to us for even a brief moment throughout the whole year; yet I rejoice with you in your business. But if you are silent because you are wealthy and not because of your art, I congratulate you on that account; yet I would not wish for you to become so wealthy that you are lifted up above us, and no longer see those who were once your dearest friends; and certainly we have panted for letters from you, and we look out to the sea, no less than Phyllis, calling upon that unjust Demophon who knew not how to correspond to love; who, since he was recently a bridegroom and was increasing his love for Phyllis, had gone away, abandoning the bridal chamber; yet she, likewise, was increasing her own hopes in return, giving expectations that he would return again; but as he did not return, she cried out at once, and did not see Phyllis in turn; but Phyllis, turned toward the sea, was weeping, and counting the merchant ships, lest by chance one of them should be bringing Demophon. But as for our own affairs,

I think it is more serious: for the one did not wish to come forward even then, and you, though far away, do not send letters.

XXVII. TO CONSTANTINUS

XXVIII. TO ULPIUS

XXIX. TO SOSIANUS

XXX. TO ULPIUS

who are most dear—of whom I often longed to hear—he brought no message. Still, he himself offered a sufficient defense, for he alleged the reason of his flight was that he carried no letters; and I granted pardon to him as he blushed at this. I said to myself, ^B however, what great things time knows how to take away and change. For when noble Ulpius was a sharer in our former fortune, he was and seemed a friend, and it would never have come into my mind that he could be changed; but when he was exalted, became magnificent, and turned out "great," he is intolerable while enjoying good fortune and forgets those who were his friends before. Let him just enjoy his good fortune, and we will bear being looked down upon with moderation. Saying these and such like things, I was gathering many accusations against you. But when someone came and delivered the letter from you, first of all, before opening it, I kissed the inscription many times; then, happening upon the letters and finding the cause of the delay, I rejoiced not a little, and I repented of the words I had previously uttered. Rather, I said: "Alas, how much more humans suspect (than is true)! For neither time nor fortune changed our admirable Ulpius, but he is of good mind, and he acknowledges me as a benefactor; but still, do not bring us again, by being silent, to the necessity of accusation."

XXXI. TO SILANUS.

XXXII. TO PHILIP MY BROTHER.

^A or names, I raised my eyebrows and felt youthful, uplifted by the fortune of those things seen, and what was formerly dear to me seemed like nonsense; for where you were captivated by these things, I could not easily say how I would have escaped not suffering these things, if a certain reflection had not occurred to me, that opinion and fortune are not the same, O best of men; but the latter is carried along, just as it seems good to itself, and it changes often and laughs at our affairs; but of the former, it behoves the wise man to be master, and neither to rise up when it is exalted, nor to be changed along with it when it falls.

XXXIII. TO ZACHARIAS THE BROTHER

^B I have received the friend and brother who had escaped, one who reproaches me and thinks that we have nothing to say; for what pray do you say? We are rhetoricians and fathers of many daughters; for so it seemed good to call these letters. But if you said these things long ago, now certainly it is no longer so; but you are some sort of revilers, and you despise the law of love. But if any one were poetic, I would certainly invoke Apollo and the Muses: "Give to me," saying that you call them children, and not appear to deem the beloved things unjust. But now I shall imitate something poetic, and I swear a great oath together, and let the gods be witnesses, that our affairs are not as is spoken of somewhere; but rather, there is respect and memory of the dearest ones in our friendship; what then, you say, is this silence? I fear lest some unjust fortune might revel over my own offspring, and I hasten my own to you, to carry them at another time; and perhaps the hands of strangers brought these, who were ignorant of who these were and whence; but since I was unlucky in these things, ^C I seemed and am judged to be inconsiderate; and so, who would be annoyed by telling of the others? But yesterday perhaps and a while ago one was sent to you, telling of my struggles; and now, as it seems, some stranger wanders about, desolate; but might it come at some time to your hands, and might I be gladdened by hearing it; but I was pleased by receiving your gifts, no less than Ulysses seeing the generosity of Alcinous; for there, the receiving was only one thing, but with us both; because you do give, and I receive.

XXXIV. TO EPIPHANIUS

Do you still remain silent? Are we still among those cast aside? And has nothing of our old loves come into your mind? You are cruel and implacable; ^D recall the memory to me, as you will no longer snatch away hope similar to this from us; but you wept, alas! and you hardly refrained; you agree to write, almost even before stepping upon the earth; but now those things are held, you are silent only; but there is no word from us; if you will be silent still, I shall cry out something tragic, saying "Io, Zeus," and friendship and words; you have been wronged, and I have been wronged; but the one doing wrong was once called a friend; for now, no longer.

XXXV. TO JOANNES

If silence demonstrates that a friendship has been deceived, it is necessary that it always consist up to words; since if it is proven by the absence of these, it remains to consider the malevolent friend, who only always would speak. But

let us not be such judges of friendship; for what prevents one, even when silent, from seeing one’s friends in memory? This is something ^A that now exists for us and will never cease. Let us, rather, consider that it is not given to all to act just as each wishes; for external cares of life and the uncertainty of the future sometimes prevail over reason—the one acts, but the other deliberates and is persuaded. Thus, for me, since I entered upon teaching, there have been continuous struggles, and cares concerning these things have pressed upon me from the beginning, and they have not left me even until now. One ought to have been mindful of these things, rather than to suspect, for trivial reasons, that we were good toward friendship—and now already we have ceased. But, O Zeus, and Loves, and all who watch over friendship, persuade my accusers! Never did I fall into forgetfulness of them, but I converse with them in my mind, and I seem to be speaking and to hear those who speak; and as if I could be ignorant of them, I would also have to forget myself. ^B

XXXVI. TO THE BROTHERS ZACHARIAS AND PHILIPPUS

With what desire I have labored—how could I express this in words, unless perhaps you yourselves have happened to suffer similarly? For one who has suffered is better suited to judge, and I am persuaded that you are such, and that you preserve the law of friendship and of nature, from the things you write and the counsel you provide in your letters. To me, however, similarly pierced by grief, it often happens that I say something of this sort: "Would that I were Perseus, and might appear winged, cleaving the air, and carried over the sea, so that I might, in whatever way possible, be with you and enjoy your love." This is indeed contrary to nature, but such is the resolve ^C of those who do not desire to wander easily beyond what is natural, nor to sow what naturally happens. But if it were granted to me again to speak in myths, I have often even envied Abaris—being a Scythian and a barbarian, but wise in other respects, and if you wish, fortunate—in that, having an arrow swifter than thought, he could betake himself to whomever he wished, and the length of the road caused Abaris no sadness. But why do I seek things so far beyond nature? Only letters are left to us for consolation; let Perseus and Abaris be surrendered to poets and myths. ^D

XXXVII. TO EPIPHANIUS

If you remain silent while I am speaking, but you write while I am silent, I fear as I write that it is necessary either to speak with the silent or to hear those who are silent. And yet, men conceived of sending letters, as is fitting, so that they might preserve a likeness of those present for the absent, and might speak in the letters just as if they were conversing. When I recognized your letter, I wept for joy, and I seemed to hear you present, just as you were accustomed to be; and drawing a sweet breath, I said: "This is a most friendly voice." But I beseech you, by that very love and that voice—if you still know it anywhere and remember it—do not remove your presence from me in your letters, nor snatch away this sole consolation, lest perhaps I might one day envy those who have not even begun to love, and to whom it does not happen to groan, having suffered such things.

XXXVIII. TO THE BROTHERS ZACHARIAS AND PHILIPPUS

I have previously recommended a certain person to you by means of my former letter: not knowing him precisely, but by those [qualities] from which he was formed, this one I judge...

the first letter: not knowing him accurately, but judging him to be from those things which he feigned—that which he was not; for he was hidden, having made good use of a pretense, but he was of such a character as experience showed him to be. For, setting out from Gaza, and being about to sail, he lodged with one of his friends, as is natural until a voyage might be made; but having been trusted by the law of friendship, and having received this favor alongside many others, he broke into the house of the one who had taken him in, and stripped him of the wealth he possessed; and that he might escape suspicion, there was a key to his deceptions made ready for him—having opened it with this, and having taken what he found, he again replaced the chest in its original condition. But when he himself had barely set sail, and called for the need of his possessions to those who appeared to be lying there, the scene came to light, and it was impossible to contradict the evidence. Such gifts Menelaus also received from his host, having had Helen taken in place of some repayment; I was induced to write such things, so that, having been trusted by you, he might not do other such things to the one who trusted him; and the one who suffered will lament you, but you will certainly myself.

XXXIX. TO ATHENODORUS

XL. TO SOSIANUS

XLI. TO NEPHALIUS

I believe, if you request it, the bishops under your authority will defer, and he will either have his service or at least his sustenance. Yet you must know that even if he receives no benefit, he will not cease his chatter; but if he should happen to receive some favor, how is it not likely that he will herald the grace? For he will expend, I think, his innate chatter on remaining in that grace.

XLII. TO PALLADIUS

XLIII. TO NESTORIUS

is the second; but it would be for you to consider, if I accusing myself so much while believing that I am being injured, what sort of state I would be in if I had actually suffered it? ^B

XLIV. TO STEPHANUS

You are still silent, you who dwell in Daphne, near that loquacious and prophetic water. But I, for my part, again look out for the ships, always hovering over the future. And they arrive, a second and a third, and show nothing else than that our hopes were in vain. Investigating the cause of your silence, I fluctuate in doubt from every side. For if I have saddened you in any way (although I have not saddened you in the least), let the winds carry this away as I depart; I nonetheless undergo a greater punishment for my offenses, if I do not hear you speaking. If by chance, as if being more delicate, you say that you were unable to speak to the point, we, having become judges of this, blame this excuse. But perhaps I am already guessing the matter, although I have not drunk from your fountain at Daphne. You will say, blushing, that I am one who has transgressed my promise and disregarded the agreements, and that I have had this very book for three or four years, though I had promised not to keep it for even three months. If you say this on the grounds that you are annoyed, you shall not hold onto your reputation for very long, and if you have accepted the silence as a sign of modesty, you shall not enjoy a good reputation for very long. I attribute the matter to fate: you indeed gave us the book, for which I have not yet paid the price; but it was uncertain whether it was being sold or given out of sheer liberality. ^C Otherwise, I have brought no detriment to your interests, neither in so far as the possession of the book is uncertain, nor in so far as you ought to learn something from it. Nevertheless, with no attention at all given to these things, although I would have performed the matter for you with many others if you had permitted it to be done. Yet it is none the less a wonder if you should put an end to the delay; but if you should on the contrary prolong it, the matter will bring me this benefit, that I shall judge everyone to be untrustworthy; for how could I trust, having suffered such things from you? Not such is the most wise John, who, having received one book from me, sent me a second not very long after; he preferred to seem gracious rather than to possess the book. And do not tell me that I kept it because I did not want to lack it; for I am persuaded of this, and affirm it with a great oath. But you should not have intertwined delays, since the same thing signifies depriving one from day to day as it does to return it with difficulty. But for our friendship's sake, do not wait for a second letter, nor anything else than what this letter sent to you requires. ^D

XLV. TO DIODORUS

He who brings you this letter will not now for the first time experience your benevolence; but remembering the first still, he will take a second experience, and, as I think, perhaps even a better one. For he enjoyed the first, being one who is soon to be called our kinsman; but he will receive the second when he comes for business: but he who honored him who was to come, how will you regard him already seen? For, as I hope, you will move the treasuries of the laws immediately; and...

neither shall I be convicted of falsehood, nor will he have hoped in vain.

^A XLVI. TO ZACHARIA AND PHILIPPUS, BROTHERS. Your letters both showed your goodwill toward us, and were not lacking in wise judgment; each appeared pure when placed beside the other. For you did not wish us to have you simply because you desired it, but believed that unless advantage were also present, the sight would be superfluous; nor, terrified by the uncertainty of the future, did you refuse to return to our city. But the mode of your counsel was futile, and suited to a rhetorical imagination, neither boldly exhorting us, nor yet suspicious of dissuasion. As for me, I am so far from loving noise and business and envying the happiness of others, that although I have not fared here according to my wish, I have nevertheless endured for so long a time; and now, since it is announced to me that you are about to do what is fitting, I do not consider it ^B timely simply to glimpse the imperial city through empty hopes, I who love tranquility and hold it as my only happiness, and who departed to Byzantium for the application of my mind, that I might find a way to escape from business at last and enjoy a more divine life. Furthermore, by not loving business, I choose what is taught: for nothing should be chosen which God does not approve; and whatever does not come to pass is shown not to have the command of God; just as if something should happen, it has pleased God entirely (apart from accidents) that it should happen; so, if anything of those things which are announced to me should happen, it is right that I stand as I ought, but I have grounds for contradiction: if indeed these are mere words, and the necessity of things not coming to pass should arrive, it shows the will of God, as if ordering you to go: for unless this were so, in what should I have to rest?

^C XLVII. TO DIODORUS. I thought you had completed the gathering of the martyrs among us, and were with difficulty giving us the happy sight of you. But you (although you justly tremble at a specter seen in dreams, and fearing the omen, justly call the day unlucky) labor under such hatred that on that account you do not wish to see even your friends, and you show that time has increased your anger rather than destroyed it. Long ago I always used to predict to you what has now come to pass: for seeing you turning away from those who were troublesome to you, alas! I often used to say that it would come to pass that, once separated from us, you would no longer wish to see us. ^D Not even Achilles was so long angry with the Achaeans, but after he afflicted them with his absence, he at last gave way as was fitting, and was changed. I give thanks, therefore, to fate that you do not have Thetis for a mother, for long ago you would have sought and obtained our ruin.

XLVIII. TO IRENAEUS. The family of Zonnani brought about my goodwill, first you, and after the experience of the young men, their nature; for being united in friendship to yours through you, the final...

^A result is that these youths have inspired love in me by themselves. For their zeal commends them first, and nature knows not how to repress zeal. Thus, even if you had not warned me beforehand, I would have been certain that they were related to you, recognizing their nature by their character. Happy is your family, that it knows how to produce such fruit. Know, therefore, that these young men are in great favor with me; if I have the strength to respond to their good intentions, let it be placed in the hands of the gods.

XLIX. TO ZACHARIAS AND PHILIPPUS. ^B The fine John will seek your goodwill, both on account of his family and because of his association with me. For he is the son of Leontius, whose father was the brother of Dionysius, the husband of our grandmother, who is perhaps known to you (so that, if you have known him, I may recall his memory to you). But if this reasoning does not hold, you have altogether regarded as a familiar friend our table companion, who has participated in the circle of those around me. Will you not, therefore, receive the young man well, to whom, for all sorts of reasons, goodwill is owed? For I remain silent about his character, which inspires modesty in all who see him; does he not know how to observe propriety before speaking, adapting his speech to the circumstances, and possessing an intelligence superior to his age? The good-for-nothing Theodorus, having promised us money, has retreated from the agreement; perhaps he would have regretted it, if he had been truthful in his promises and brought his words to completion.

L. TO THE SAME. ^C Another letter to you, and another piece of business. I seem not to know how to set a limit to my petitions, but to always let the later requests precede the earlier ones. And, in all probability, you laugh among yourselves, saying that it would be better for me to be silent than to pursue you with frequent letters. But nevertheless, even if I provide you with annoyance and laughter, I will not be able to be silent, just as if you were to say that it is the nature of the art to speak always, even when speaking beyond the skill. And this, when the matter now at hand concerns my needs. For the select men here, by a common decree, deem me worthy of the highest office—a ^D matter easily granted—with the power to provide me with a better livelihood; they also ask that the ancient allowances be confirmed for those who have received them, and that the title be simply transferred. This awaits your zeal. In bringing this matter to an end, you will do a great favor both to me and to those who solicit you through me. If, however, you neglect this, I will happen to suffer a double woe: both the failure to reach my hope, and the failure to reach it through you. The former brings about shame, the latter loss. But we shall be fortunate in every way, with God assenting from above, with you serving the need, and with the highest authority decreed for me.

LI. TO THE SAME. The swiftness of your zeal has moved me to such admiration that we count the days from when we sent the decrees, and we discover that you have almost conquered time. So great a thing it is for good friends to be deeply concerned, who consider it a gain, whatever they might provide for one another for the sake of cheerfulness. And to surpass the needs of what was requested, and to provide more than what the petitioner wanted...

shows how much goodwill you have! Do not you, therefore, cease doing such things, nor let me be puffed up by these things.

LII. TO HIERONYMUS

You, my good friend, having departed from us, were bound to write to us first, and to let us know, who are longing to hear, whether Poseidon was favorable to you and smoothed the sea for your ship; whether things in Alexandria have prospered for you; whether you have crossed the great Nile happily; whether you are flourishing in your residence; whether myriads of coins remain; and whether your house abounds in Egyptian gifts. These things you ought to have written, and to have fulfilled the promises by which you vowed that you would send letters and never forget your friends. But you, in fact, despise me even when I write, deigning not to reply to my letters; and, indeed, I am already sending you a second. If you should still keep silent, perhaps we will add a third, until a sense of shame for your actions overtakes you, and we are fortunate enough to hear your voice.

LIII. TO AGAPETUS

^B You are, then, a skilled hand at snatching up an expected accusation and hurling against others the charges which one would justly have brought against you. For you once dwelt in Alexandria, yet having left it you kept silent, and for your part you concealed even your presence. But happily, fame, which allows nothing good to be hidden, revealed you were there, and I was wondering why you were silent. If you were thinking, I said, of properly observing that sacred silence of Pythagoras, well, it is not the place of a rhetorician to be silent. But if you were finding the land that had received you hateful and an abyss, as if despised by the gods, you ought to have sought consolation from your friends. ^C Hence, I admitted none of these excuses, but rather said that you had become arrogant and now counted your old friends as nothing; although I myself was living in your region, and it lacked little that I should have your brother as a tutor—one who did not know how to laugh. Pondering these things with myself, I would not have expected you to suddenly become my accuser. For this reason, I looked upon your letters with a smile, and I marveled that rhetoric provides such power that I, who once had indicted your words, was forced to run to my own defense. Those sacred sophistical teachings do not even spare men of the same art, but, as they say, send owls to Athens. ^D Therefore, my "children" (for so you used to call my discourses) are afraid to come to you, for you know how to detect even hidden flaws.

LIV. TO DOROTHEUS

While I was already prepared to reply to your first letter, you yourself anticipated me by sending a second; so eager are you to win even in your letters! But you will ask, what was the time, or what the delay in writing? It is not possible for a man to do whatever he wishes, but it is necessary to yield and be subject to necessity and to obey the occasion; and it does not grant whatever one wants, but whatever is necessary to measure out for the occasion. For this reason, then, until now I have been silent against my will, and for this I was distressed, even though I have always marveled at your zeal when you were among us, and at your goodwill toward me which persisted even after your departure, and the hatred that arose against you, and the ancient malice of fortune. You, like a wise man, were advancing...

to speak more worthily, and having bidden farewell to trifling about these matters, you preferred to be outdone by all, that you might gain the Muses; but I pray that you may more quickly enjoy the love of the Muses, and may take as much as you might desire; and may the preceding accusation render you—if indeed it was true—the wiser, but if false, the happier; so that your life henceforth may undergo no false accusation, but you may appear again as the man you were before: for thus, with the ends united, the middle is destroyed, being struck from both sides.

LV. TO STEPHANUS

LVI. TO SABINUS

LVII. TO HIERONYMUS

wish to bring back the ancient music ^A even if he should bring back into the Muse of Terpander the music that has fallen into the petty themes and vulgar trifling of songs. But from where, I ask you by the god of friendship, do you seem to yourself to be dignified, if you utter some word of the Attics and happen upon some of those who praise it, as if it has been established from ancient times that it is permissible to be filled with the words from the crossroads and to parade these on the rostrum? Why, then, do you, a young man sitting down, think you contribute something great to Aristides the Great in the way of praise, if you speak as he does? Or because Polemon purged ancient rhetoric of Asiatic imposture? If fortune had granted you to exist at that time, you perhaps would have brought an accusation against him, I think, on the grounds that, ignoring common usage, he wanted to be an arrogant boaster by returning to the ancient Muse. But would that a Spartan table were in force again even now, and that we had a diet, as once the Persians did, of barley-cake, water, and cress! ^B Yet who would allow these things to flourish even now in the land that has received you? Not because of an excess of endurance, but because the land with difficulty produces just so much for its inhabitants. But nevertheless, you yourself, having learned Egyptian sensuality, abandon your ancestral customs—you who dictate that customs should be preserved, even more than is fitting. As for calling me a braggart because I happened to write your name after my own, this is appropriate for someone who does not know well that what is first in order is not always first in value, and it is not appropriate for one who teaches that which is Demosthenic, in which children are wont to exercise themselves, namely, that action, although posterior in order to delivery and gesture, is nevertheless prior in efficacy and better. But if you argue that such a formula ^C is altogether arrogant, there is room to include in the disease of pride along with me those also who formerly used such a subscription: leaving aside others, I will cite Socrates and Plato, who elevated philosophy so high. But you have grasped at arrogance from there, and do not move against yourself the sword of the proverb. For when these things had long been established, as soon as you stepped off the merchant ship, the boys of the Egyptians were sending you off with a certain barbaric shout; and there was a festival no less than when a favorable flood once gave them the Apis; and as you were lifted up in your mind over these things, you called me—dwelling in a small city—vulgar; and my fatherland and wife and child himself seemed to you common; and somewhere you thought me prattling philosophy, because I was not possessed by a loud din of an unintelligible voice—O Zeus!—and a barbaric tongue; and what is most important, you called yourself blessed if they showed you a house full of bread and meat. ^D You see on how small a matter you were puffed up, you who now accuse me of arrogance; and I say these things, by the gods! not because I wish to correct your words (for I do not judge this to be part of my philosophy), but because I wish, if I can, to show you a more moderate tongue. But so that you may not be shocked at the force of my words—far be it that you should reproach such things to us; for I adjure your Nile and the Graces that favor you, I have offered your letter as a rational spectacle, and it was read aloud in the middle of Gaza to everyone; and I, indeed, was delighted as a boaster by the...

public mockery; you, however, were called fortunate in those words.

LVIII. TO ORION

^A Always holding you in my memory, I fancy that you are almost present with me, and I account all things to be present. As I remember you, everything pleasant comes into my mind: the stability of your character, your zeal for learning, the moderation of your intellect, and, above all, that wisdom which suppresses the irrational impulses of youth. Sometimes I ponder with myself: if you have appeared such a one to us all who see you, what would you be if left to yourself? For I think you will surpass yourself by struggling against yourself, so that to us who are absent, it may be evident that you have cultivated virtue for its own sake, since you show such respect even when we are not looking on. ^B Yet, even though you inhabit a licentious city and have many examples of debauchery, for this very reason you resist pleasures with all the more intense emulation. For what athlete, coming to Olympia while priding himself on victory, would suggest that the magnitude of the contest is but an easy occasion? Would he not, rather, increase his training and confirm his previous efforts with greater ones? By closing your senses, and remaining inflexible to every sound and sight, you show that wisdom knows not how to be vanquished by the scarcity of evils, but instead seeks out things more worthy. ^C Indeed, even if you were to encounter Sirens or Circe who transforms all things, you would prevail as a new Ulysses, provided you use the "moly"—which is, I think, that reason with which you are endowed—by tethering yourself to virtue and thus swimming past many soul-snatching pleasures.

LIX. TO APOLLONIUS

The most pious Martyrius, rich indeed in virtue but poor in fortune, is in need of your assistance. I have the greatest experience, as he says, from previous occasions; but he easily persuaded me, for I know how you stretch out a hand to all who are in need of being raised up and who call for your aid. For finding among us only such things as can neither supply his strength nor prevent his death, he looks to you, thinking that in this one thing lies deliverance from his evils. ^D Receive him, therefore, with zeal, turning a benevolent eye both to me and to yourself and to the man who is found in necessity. For he kept saying confidently that if you should receive a letter from me, there is nothing you would not easily grant. When I smiled and asked him how he knew this, he was ready to offer himself as a surety for the future. Fulfill, therefore, his hopes, lest, should necessity press upon him again, he should offer himself as a surety for the future that I would obtain nothing from you.

LX. TO NEPHALIUS

Your letter already summons us to the feast, tells us that a home is being prepared for us, and makes all that it contains common property. Your discourse brings me excellent news, and your benevolence stirs in me the greatest admiration; and I seem to have joined the gathering, having received the proportion of your letter. But there are many obstacles hindering me from departing from here; you

however, fare well, and overcome your troubles, and remember not only present things. But if you raise up those who are downcast with writings, this is more honorable than the good fortune of Polycrates. For many simple people have unsettled our ears, saying that some terrible thing has happened to you; saying that you, practically nailed down, have disappeared; spreading these tales, they brought forward witnesses, whom they claimed had come from there; one told another, and the rumor spread through all. But as soon as I received the letter from you, which was so far removed from that unjust rumor that it invited friends to a celebration, I immediately became overjoyed, and having the proof of the lie, I proclaimed it everywhere: so that those who were formerly most bold could barely blush and lower their eyes to the ground; and they grumbled at fortune, I think, that you had not remained forgotten for a longer time. ^B

LXI. TO SILANUS

The noble Macarius, enjoying my benevolence for the sake of his zeal and character, brought me your letter; and I, recognizing the script at first glance, and kissing the address, did not immediately care to penetrate into the writing itself. ^C And immediately the swan sang into my ears, and as if trusting its wings to the wind, gave itself to all the sweetest accents; but I recognized that your nightingale was truly a maiden of Athens, and had become a bird, and preserves the Attic melody: under such a figure do humane letters depict the letter itself. I, however, delighted by this, drew a great breath, and summoned to memory our former happiness, how we met with one another by the Nile, how fortune allowed me to enjoy you securely, how I was afflicted when I lost you, and how I rejoice in having now recovered you; for through your letter I seem already to possess you, and I confessed my gratitude to him who brought it to me. "How happy, O boy," I said, "is the family you have!" And I reproached him because he did not reveal that he belonged to you. What shall I do? How can I provide for him as much as I wish? If you measure the favor by good will, there is nothing that he will not receive from us. But when I heard that you are bearing the marriage yoke, I prayed that I might see your children proclaiming you as their father to those who see them. ^D

LXII. TO DIODORUS

What has happened to you, O man of many tongues, who used to cry out loudly against the silent? You have been convicted of the very things you were reproaching, and without knowing it, you were accusing yourself, and you have been caught, ensnared in your own nets. The proverb has happened to you: "Reproaching what you yourself have done, you accuse yourself, and are caught by your own wings." Therefore, if this had been fitting, I would have sent your letter back to you entirely: for perhaps you would have known that you were an accuser as if you yourself were not the guilty party, and now you are acting as if you had reproached nothing. But in this you sinned most, that, desiring to put on very beautiful shoes and ones more fitting to the feet, as the use of comedy demands, you sent these rustic letters devoid of a name and a greeting; and yet you were more proud of them than

that Crœsus, who bestowed his wonderful bricks upon the Pythian. It is clear that you have long been procuring these things about the . . . worker, and always awaiting and watching for the right moment, so that when the festival arrived, I might take them and approach those who see the ostentation of riches. Hence, learning of your passion, I went forth like Homer’s Ajax, stepping with a mighty stride, ^A and I trampled the earth, turning the spectator toward my feet; and if anyone did not wish to look, I considered him an arrogant fellow and forced him to see the end. ^B And with no one asking whence I had obtained the scene, I shouted: "Diodorus gave it!" But while from everyone else there came to me the mockery of foolishness, to you there came the commemoration of benevolence. Such was the fruit I gathered from your specimen, having nearly walked upon my own head, so that your gift might provide a beautiful spectacle.

LXIII. TO EPIPHANIUS

I imagine that you are greatly wondering why I am now beginning to write; if you ask the cause of this, here it is. Strategius is campaigning against you with his words, and he proceeds with a great deal of abuse, unfolding a long accusation, and he has made my house the court where his case is to be judged. ^C And, as is the way with skilled rhetoricians, what is greatest is that he is not satisfied with the present charges alone, but he mixes old with new, and stirs up ancient tales. He brings the whole city of Alexandria as a witness against you, narrating horse races, the obsession with dice, and vulgar dialogues about horses, and many other things that occur to his tongue. He even says today that you are carried by horses, that you always sit by those capable of racing, and that you have been raised by the art of sycophants to gratify your belly. I could not say at once all that he has dripped into my ears time and time again; the cause, he says, is this: "I am naked, so far as he is concerned; a single garment remained to me for my burial, and through him it has been lost. For, in order to make a linen garment, as he said, taking it as a model and pattern for the hands of his own maidservants to weave, he did not notice that he had made me more naked than Irus; much time has passed," he says, "and my hope is always deferred." If, therefore, it is your concern to make his tongue milder ^D and to set my ears free, send the garment as quickly as possible; if not, I cannot say what he will say, for even having nothing to charge you with, he puts his whole life into his chatter; but if he should happen to state something just, you might say that his soul resides in his tongue.

LXIV. TO GESSIUS THE PHYSICIAN

I was glad that you yourselves, in turn, recommended in your letter the excellent Dorotheus, whom I had previously recommended to you by letter. For what could be a greater proof that our letters have met with the hoped-for success? When he came to us, he would say nothing without trying to make you most dear to me, delighting in the memory of your favors; he kept you constantly on his lips, as well-disposed, as excellent, as one who is near to Asclepius in both tongue and hand. And thus the severity of the medical art was tempered by the graces of your tongue; while he was saying these things, I was taking in those

praises before I heard them recounted—and ^A I was saying to him, smiling, "You are bringing owls to Athens!" ^B He was the more contentious, and thinking he was bringing me something new, he found it had long been stored up with me. Then he gladly fell silent from that point on, having voiced his thanks to the gods that he had obtained such a master, about whom it is possible to say everything and yet report nothing new. But do you, for your part, devote yourself entirely to the young man, who, even if he possessed nothing else, certainly knows how to be mindful of his benefactors.

LXV. TO ANTIOCHUS.

How much I was deceived in my hope regarding you! For I thought that, having barely been freed from your medicinal regimen, you would thereafter come to us—either to give yourself to philosophy according to your promises, or at least to see us. But you are weaving delays, yearning for Alexandria and clinging as if to the land of the Lotus-eaters. But for my part, for your sake, let the city of the Macedonian rejoice in its many charms and in the beauty of the Nile and the sea. If, however, the Muses also dwell in this city, you have me as an admirer; but let these things be for the purpose of seeking the tranquility and philosophy ^B that we have so often hoped for among us. Therefore, casting aside other things as mere trifles, imitate Odysseus as he looked toward the true Ithaca. And let nothing hinder you—neither lotus, nor Circe, nor Calypso. But by as much as you hasten toward greater prizes than the rest, by that much may you surpass the son of Laertes.

LXVI. TO STEPHANUS.

Nothing, it seems, do you see except gold; and this very thing exalts you and makes you proud, and has filled your imagination with golden images. For since I wrote to you to excuse my delay, saying that circumstances do not provide everything for us, but rather that necessity measures what is needed—by necessity I meant not a lack of wealth, ^C but that state to which we are led by fortune—you, leaping entirely into thoughts of gold, seemed to feel pity for me as one in need, and sought to console me by contrasting philosophy with riches, just as if I were groaning because I do not abound in the talents of Croesus. This sound do your ears whisper to you, and you seem to hear all men speaking of gold. For what, by Zeus, induced you to such benevolence? Or how could I have excused myself for the delay in writing by pleading a lack of money? As if it were required that he who sends a letter should be overflowing with much gold! Indeed, if anything else is true, writing is something autonomous and ^D free from the tyranny of Plutus. Therefore, your mind seems to be suffering from a passion, for an inclination toward one thing converts all things into it, and keeps the hearing deceived. And I fear that if I speak of a lyre or name a horse, you will again seem to hear "gold," and while seeking to console others, you yourself will be in need of someone to heal you. I was compelled to play games with you like this, and to insert into my letter the laughter which I suppressed while reading your epistle. But you, abating your passion a little, write hereafter a wiser letter.

LXVII. TO DIODORUS.

The most reverent Timotheus is invited to quietude by his own character, but troublesome fortune, exerting force,

^A compels him to go to you. For his father has been cast into poverty, while his brothers, both in number and in age, weigh upon him; for being many and of tender years, they look to their father's hands for their sustenance. Hence there are many creditors, all of whom are indulgent except one. But this man profits from misfortune; for the house which fortune had barely left for them, already mortgaged to so many creditors, this man alone seeks to appropriate for himself, although it exceeds the money owed to him; while it is required that he either bring a buyer and take from the total price what is his due, or accept a part of the house corresponding to his debt. But he considers the urgent need of the buyers as a godsend, and is harsher than fortune itself. But do you lend your tongue to the needy for his aid, ensuring him a lenient judge; but let the persecutor experience a just necessity (one milder than his own spirit) either to wait for a buyer or to take the part of the house that the debt requires: that we may admire both your protection and the judge's sentence.

LXVIII. TO NONNUS

LXIX. TO HIERONYMUS AND THEODORUS

LXX. TO HERMEAS

^A And yet, may you enjoy your own self, and may your city enjoy your foresight; for me, it is a heavy thing to have taken from you an example of how to despise one's fatherland. For if you exert every effort to adorn the land that bore you, how would it be right for me not to do the things for which I have praised you as you perform them? Indeed, to arrogate to myself a place in which another has prospered seems to me foreign to a rational state of mind. But may you be fortunate, most excellent man, in your disposition toward me and toward the city itself. ^A

LXXI. TO ORION I think it superfluous to write to a man who is already dreaming of his return to you, in order that he might sing the marriage hymn and become the bridegroom of a beautiful maiden. For it is just for a lover to delight in the praises of his beloved, for the sake of whom, though absent in body, you leap with love in your heart. You have been inspired toward us, and the present signs of human happiness seem to you but slight. The city alone seems to be the place of your delights, and perhaps more venerable than Byzantium. I fear that, as your longing overflows, you might, without even bidding your friends farewell, suddenly set out toward us, complaining of the length of the voyage. But these are the words of one joking. May you one day return, with wise counsel, hastening toward the procreation of children. ^B

LXXII. TO ANATOLIUS Many are the noble things for me that educate the young man: first and greatest, the letters of your piety; then, a good father, who from his first experience is inclined toward indulgence; and in addition to these, the law of the discipline, demanding an exact accounting if I should overlook any of the proper things. Soon, the zeal of the young man also will provide no small part. For the rest, we must ask for help from God, by which alone it is possible for our purpose to reach its end. ^C

LXXIII. TO DOROTHEUS You are indeed skilled at bestowing wings upon whomever you wish and showing him standing on high. For, winged by your letters, I seemed to be everywhere—just as you say, by repute—and I traversed all the cities that men inhabit, and I traveled even to the barbarians, carried by a light mind, and every nation seemed to crown me for my eloquence. To speak in one word, because of your letter, I did not know what I was becoming, until some god snatched away your wings. Having barely ceased my wandering, I said, "Why do I suffer these things?" Consider the writer, reflect upon the goodwill, and marvel at how much the desire of friendship knows how to persuade. It induces the existence of that which is not, and causes one to consider false things as true. From this, I think one is insatiable in praises, and although he speaks all things easily, those things still seem less than the advantages at hand. The measure of your praises is your own mind, which considers nothing sufficient for praise. But for the sake of our friendship, cease writing such things to a small man who looks to himself and blushes at his own letters. ^D

LXXIV. TO PANCRATIUS

LXXV. TO GESSIUS THE IATROSOPHIST

LXXVI. TO PHILIP

^A and at last you have known the arrows of lovers; your nymph is beautiful, they say, by the Graces, so that she can lead her lover away from philosophy. May you be a father of sons genuinely virtuous, as the comedy says; and may we sooner see among you a boy who by his countenance proclaims his father, especially if he be most similar to him in kindness, magnanimity, and other virtues.

LXXVII. TO HIERONYMUS

LXXVIII. TO DIODORUS

LXXIX. TO MARCELLUS

a man who is a friend to God and full of every virtue, whom neither arrival from Egypt, however recent, nor most pleasant solitude, nor the obstacle of the sea, nor long journeys could persuade to neglect the promises made to you—knowing but one virtue, namely, the fulfillment of promises, and in all things showing himself to be of equal character—he now looks entirely to you. Moreover, it is announced that he will soon come to us. I readily believe this, drawing upon my experience of the promises made to you. It remains then for him to be kept by you; and it would be fitting not to wish to coerce a man who fears nothing so much as the necessity of overstepping what has been enjoined. Send the man quickly, therefore, to recount your humanity towards me.

LXXX. SABINO.

You, for your part, hold poverty up to me as a reproach, and wealth seems to you the most excellent thing; and what is greatest of all, I am an Irus in your eyes, and one almost in need of daily necessities. And indeed what would you not say, having fallen away from both virtue and philosophy, pitying things which ought to be admired, and thinking that he who is high and light, and not borne downward by the weight of matter, is deprived of some great things? For you measure happiness by the belly, and being devoted to the opinions of men, you involve yourself in things that may not be spoken of, and you disturb the courts of law. You neglect the business of the common people, but you beat at the doors of the rich. If someone knows only how to set a table, he wins your admiration. You have magnificent feasts, elaborate garments, a haughty gait, and a gaze cast here and there; you are all ears everywhere, like Midas, if some little woman might speak, admiring your tent. But how long, ensnared by a long slumber, like some Endymion, will you fail to rise to virtue? Cease at last to gape at the little body, and to nourish the prison within yourself. Cease to dream of gold, and to conjure up mountains of silver again and again, and to turn over in your mind many dignities. You are to your friends such as you are to no one. But flee to us, if it seems good to you. Revere poverty as a common deity, and acknowledge her as a lover; for she encompasses you even more than she does us, and she has promised to love you further.

LXXXI. TO DOROTHEUS.

Had I not learned by experience, I would never have believed that I would suffer such affliction from your departure. For from the moment you left me and went away, I have not ceased to return to you in my mind, tracing out in myself ports and sea, and many times saying (as I prayed): "Hear me, O Neptune, who encircles the earth," that you might grant him a second sea. I marked the days of the voyage on my fingers, and I was so entirely taken up with you that when I would try to call out to someone, I often inadvertently named him Dorotheus. He would laugh, but I, missing the mark, would be vexed. Know, if you are unaware, how great a love-potion you have cast upon me: often, when I saw someone coming from afar, by the gods, I thought I saw you, my mind’s desire deceiving my eyes. I have only now been freed from this error, having received your letters, which bring the remedy for my love.

LXXXII. TO STEPHANUS

^A Everything through which one learns to recognize good men proclaims your brilliance. Yet, as the testimony of those who have experienced it shows, the word is surpassed by deeds, and seems to come after the facts. Your concern for me—which you have always shown, to my very great honor—I value now more than ever, since it has happened that such a man is at so short a distance from me. Though he used simple letters, I could not but respond to his command; so great is the trouble that weighs upon me, afflicted as I am by your departure, longing for the virtue of your whole life, and for all that which fame declared in advance, confirmed by experience. The result was that I was very near to coming as I was, without even saying goodbye to my own family. But a certain thought occurred to me, urging me on: that one should not despise the fatherland in which one first saw the sun, and that it is better to preserve what is just toward it than to possess gold; and I should not despise the many strangers present here on my account. ^B

LXXXIII. TO PETRUS

The excellent Epiphanius, to whom you attribute great benevolence in your letters, is bound to me in friendship. He shows great diligence in all things, not displaying the traits of a young man, but wholly given up to his studies and intent upon reflection. This is an argument that the calumny against him was manufactured, and that what was long ago announced appears false; for such things belong to those who are idle and whose minds, from irrational leisure, are carried toward what they should not be. He who obeys the precepts of Isocrates and spends the leisure of his life in hearing discourses gives no ground to a slanderer to calumniate him deservedly; for even if he himself is silent, he has a life that invites praise. Would that the young man might apply himself even more to his studies, and that our hope regarding him might not be frustrated. ^C

LXXXIV. TO THE BROTHERS ZACHARIAS AND PHILIPPUS

The admirable Timotheus, who brings this letter, is the reason for writing to you both at this time. Born of a gentle and most tranquil father, he carries his progenitor within himself, manifesting the modesty of his character in his countenance; for he blushes readily, whether someone praises him or merely wishes to look upon him. For this reason, he has come to the imperial city and requires your authority to provide him with ready assistance in whatever matters you are able. By doing this, you will be pleasing to good men, to whom nothing is better known than the cultivation of virtue. ^D

LXXXV. TO THE SAME

The present year, it seems, will bring frequent requests from us, though they are just and have an excusable pretext; for if one is possessed of a good mind and is Greek in character, he would rather perform a kindness than receive one previously. Such is the need of the present: Nilus, a most celebrated man who has consecrated his life to God, resides in the city while his mother is anxious for him, nursing at once his old age and the infirmity arising from it. Know, however, that he is no less than many who live in solitude...

for the sake of piety, and is celebrated. But having acquired a house, which has high ground adjoining it, he suffers from a certain wicked neighbor who, having devised some windows against all right and law, while professing for the present that there would be no obstacle to building as one might wish, now that the word has come to the deed, puts forth the windows as an impediment, as if demanding justice because he was overlooked in these innovations. Seeing himself thrust from his rights on all sides, he determines to worm his way into power, and it is the greatest thing for a man who has always determined to act justly. For he pushes himself upon that great Nestorius, confident because the man is not present. Using his connections to form an alliance, he has feigned a sale upon himself toward some wrongdoing, and for the sake of injustice has taken material, and attempts to slander the praises given against him from all sides. But having learned these things through you, he will forbid the one committing the injustice by threats, through a man who honors what is just. ^B

PZ. ORION. ...I shall favor your education if it is right to write letters for the sake of writing. And saying these things, I have admired you for your goodwill toward the man, not even... from what you know, you will rejoice; but I kept silence and blushed, having nothing wise to write. For as it seems to most wise Plato, it is not possible to know virtue for one who does not hasten toward virtue through actions. And that which one cannot know, I would be ashamed to speak of; and doing so would be just like someone who does not know music even in a dream, and then says he is an Orpheus, subduing the beasts with his lyre; but if he had to touch the strings, the boasting is laughter at once, and everything is easily refuted. How then am I considered by your uncle as one not naturally gifted? You said something to him often, in the law of friendship magnifying me; but he, not observing the affection, but thinking the words are from deeds, demands that I become such as you have fashioned me in your speech, and as one collecting the reckoning for your lie. And I refute your words, not being able to be a teacher of virtue; but since my letter is to you, you seem to wonder again, so that you do not prove yourself a liar.

PH. DIODORUS. You have filled my house with the rags of Euripides, having sent rhythmic verses, as it pleases you to call them, and uncultivated slippers, and Iphicratian ones, at which even the general Iphicrates would have groaned greatly, as they do not even bear the sign of Attica. For they do not afford any grace or the hunger of the Hymettian bee, nor do they clamor to the sight for Attica, in which are Marathon and Salamis, and men who are lovers of liberty and spirit—no, by Zeus, they are not perfected by the Muse among you; for your affairs... but let one be of good speech: let me not chance to utter something. Your gifts are such; for when our own affairs succeed, there is naturally little care for things outside. For those things are carried by a different current.

TO PHILIP MY BROTHER. The one bringing this letter to you I longed for in other ways, but not least because, ever mindful of your good deeds, he has become for me the cause of this letter to you, asserting it is terrible if he should appear to you destitute of letters from me. But do you at least set one letter against ours, and release the silence for five years, following the Pythagoreans. For we have become like the bronze pot of Dodona, wanting to stir you toward speech.

TO EVAGRIUS. As for one who desires greatly and has resolved to crown his childhood games with victory over everyone. For as in your letters I not only conquered the present, but—what it is not right to say—even Demosthenes was defeated, and Thucydides held second place, and sweet Herodotus was ranked with them; as I was such in the speeches, I smiled to myself and said, "Nothing is more violent than the power of Eros." For the dearest man, having become captive to the goodwill toward us, was ignorant of my affairs, and suffers something similar to how someone might expose the pointed-headed man in Homer—what else but Thersites?—as the first of the Hellenes to be seen, perhaps better even than Nireus, who came under Ilium as the most beautiful man. For it is the greatest praise for me if I should seem to have known those whom I have defeated before you as judge. Whence, having admired your goodwill, I attributed the speeches to the Erotes, having excused myself [regarding] the one from Paeania, if desire persuades men to say as much as they want to say, and especially those who pride themselves on the strength of words. But I shall turn to a prayer and a moderate one: May you be happy, dearest one, and may you conquer by the laws all that you have conquered by your words.

TO NILO. You were therefore terrible at making small things great and displaying an invincible tongue in whatever you want. For you have fabricated so many praises against me, and reported them so easily, as no one could easily have said, starting from the truth. And you seem to me to have poured out with such a tongue, perhaps wanting to show what you were secretly being. For you think perhaps that it remained unknown, while present, how much of a Muse you raised up, starting from the orators.

But as for our own affairs, even you yourself would praise them, so much do you indulge your belly. For being a glutton, and having made a practice of filling your stomach, and measuring great happiness by foods, if you hunt down anything sweet anywhere, you immediately extend your tongue, just as a certain Ajax does his great shield; and the time is witness in which you snatched the pastry from others, straightway sending it all down to your mouth.

^B XVIII. To Kyriakos. How much thanks children owe to their fathers, it is not possible to know at its worth, unless one is himself a father of children; for he will know through the love which he has towards his children, entirely what kind of men they were who begat him. But those who are dedicated to the Muses and who, even before trial, discern the truth by reason—whence it behooves you to have become such toward those who bore you, who perhaps contribute more to benevolence than others—these also have moved me to this present letter, asking for a paternal reward from you: that you do not shame yourself into being such as they themselves desire, and [such as] God may bring to an end. For then even death to them will be flowing, knowing what kind of successor to his race he has left behind.

XIX. To the brothers Zacharias and Philippos. He who has taken this letter to you is by nature the son of a good father, who honors virtuous things and is known for all justice; having frequented the school of Hermes, the young man demonstrated both the strength of his nature and most eager zeal; and now he has ascended to the King, wishing to study the laws, so that he may come forth an orator, bearing the constitution in his body and having his speeches projected by his tongue. It was by no means just to pass over in silence his arrival to you, for you, who deem those completed by me to be as sons, will show no ordinary kindness toward him.

XX. ^C The most learned Perios, who has been appointed by us as spokesperson for the Italians, and who is adorned by good character more than by learning, I did not think I should pass over in silence as he goes to you. For it is good to always enjoy you when you are absent. But a second voyage, they say, is to converse with the absent through letters. Yet happy indeed are they to whom you administer justice, as if hanging, like a certain tripod, from your voice, and seeing a truly common spectacle: justice returning to them, which time had previously obscured. It is superfluous to say that you will do well in those things which he needs who has brought this letter to you; for he whose life is words, how will he not honor the fathers of words when he sees them? Let him come, therefore, announcing what we pray to hear: that you surpass your fame by your works, and that you give more than those who receive desire.

XXI. To Nephalius. You, indeed, bewail your poverty in a multitude of letters, but I despise riches and those who are wealthy, even though I am constrained by amazing poverty (thus, indeed, does the mind, not money, accomplish poverty and wealth) and driven here and there by fortune. Cease, therefore, to lament pusillanimously among us. For a crowd of a myriad evils has—I do not know how—fallen to the lot of the life of men; and one is harassed by poverty, another is drawn out by the passions of the soul, for another the body is disposed toward ill, and another weeps for not having a child, while one bewails those he has. And what need is there to speak of the loss of wives and children, things which experience has provided for you to know not as you ought? It would be a long task for the discourse to go about what lies before the view, and what life shows us in its works, God so conducting our affairs—as it seems to me—that having fallen into a multitude of unwelcome things, we might by no means cling to those things on earth, which have nothing stable or immovable, but leaving behind the place of calamities, we might hasten toward another life, having flown up in our understanding to heaven itself, even if the body is forced still to remain, ^D and let us not weep for him who has departed and appeared scarcely free from the bonds here. For I praise him who said—whoever he was, the father of this saying—that it is best for those on earth not to be born from the beginning, and having been born, as quickly as possible to cross the gates of Hades. Which the stage, having snatched up, says we ought to do when going to the assembly: to weep for him who is born, for the evils he is coming into. Why, then, do we still weep, having sent out our dearest ones safely from the turmoil of life, before they have come into trial of the evils here? And why do we wish contrary to what seems to us to be divine, when it is necessary to judge as good whatever seems best to Him? Such truly was he who has emulated that great Pythagoras, who indeed, to one who said in a prayer, "May God grant you whatever you happen to wish," replied: "Speak words of good omen; rather, I would wish what He gives." For having often prayed for many things to happen to us, and then not having received them, we have come to know from the events that it did not happen as was necessary; and many things, although I had attained them according to my mind, I blamed fortune a little later for the fact that they had even happened. Thus, indeed, do men, looking toward small things, not have a character that is sufficient, and we have remained ignorant of things which would have been of profit once and for all. Wherefore it is necessary to yield wisely to the Better One who conducts our affairs, even if the decrees are unknown to us.

To Musaeus. The most learned Palladius came bringing your letter, like a whole gold, and even if he had brought me the talents of Croesus, I would not have looked upon him with such favorable eyes.

[GREEK COLUMN] ...of it; therefore cease to lament before us pusillanimously, and consider nothing great, unless it leads to virtue; for whatever is not of this kind is foreign, and pulls one toward deception. Whence those who know how to be wise, casting aside these things as a sort of drunkenness and babbling, and leaving the earth to the earth, traverse the heaven with an uplifted mind, having swum across the senses and matter and the place of error as if it were some cruel sea. ^B 12. TO NESTORIUS. Are you still silent? Are you still becoming heavier than fate? For as long as one has deprived us of you, you in turn have begrudged us even a few syllables, not even imitating this common trait of friends; but I pine for you even when you are not present, and I rejoice in remembering you; and now that I have found an occasion, I do not know how to preserve silence, when it is appropriate to address you. But if you have not altogether cast off from yourself this trait of our homeland, that is, the remaining in those things in which I formerly instructed you, return most of all to those who pine for you; but if not, at least imitate your aspect in your actions; and you will persuade [me] that my teaching has in no way been conquered by the abyss of that region; so much do I exalt towards a man who holds fast to the disposition of a master. ^C 13. TO ZOSIMUS AND MACARIUS. Those who have arrived from the most wise Babylas have related to me eagerly those things which I pray to hear, but which I knew of even before they spoke; for from the fact that you, who frequented me in the study of speech, had adorned yourselves with a sobriety of ways and the rest of the virtues, it was quite manifest that, as you went off to attend to the laws, you would remain the same yourselves; and that you would become somehow more competitive in running upward toward what is better; and if these things prepare pleasure for me, what must one say (and let this be said with God), when you, having been assigned to the courts and pouring out equity with a wise tongue, subdue those who are present by your experience, and those who are absent at a distance by your reputation? For with these things being noised abroad, Polycrates is of little account to me for prosperity; and Croesus with his many talents will seem as nothing to me. ^D 14. TO ZECHARIAH, MY BROTHER. Who those are who carry this letter, I do not know; but that they admire you, I define them as all too close [to me]. For these, having seen me, and having come into the realization of a kindred character, guessed just what was the case; and having spoken somewhat among themselves and made one another judges of the matter, [concluded] that I have been established as the brother of the most beloved one; since they were carried along toward one and the same opinion, having run forward together, they both addressed me and looked upon me with benevolent eyes; and they held you in every kind of admiration, calling you a righteous judge and whatever is august, [putting you] perhaps even lower than your merit, yet it was clear that they wished to say more than they were able to announce, indicating that their opinion concerning you was greater than their tongue could express. I, for my part, was crowned by them with many praises; for afterwards I made your encomia, and I gave the present letter as a reward to those who were asking for it.

LETTER 15. TO ORION. I would not have thought that I would suffer such an accusation from you, nor that it would be blameless to remain silent regarding things unknown, to wherever part of the earth or sea you may have arrived. But it seems you chose to accuse me rather than defend yourself—fleeing a future charge, as it were. For it was your place first to have reported that I have traversed a vast sea; that, sailing past the islands, I sighted the Hellespont, escorted by wonders from either continent; and having passed the Propontis, I arrived at the Bosporus itself, where I saw a city presenting a paradoxical sight to those sailing in. For, lying upon the neck of the land, it looks out upon Asia, which is set before Europe, and, defining the Pontus, it transmits its wonders to the rest of the sea—along with all those things that they who have gazed upon such places are wont to babble about in their lack of refinement, startling our hearing. If we had kept silent when you were writing such things, then we would have reasonably been subject to criticism. But now, you are keeping silent and have disregarded the law of seafarers, and you begin by moving your tongue against me in a forensic manner. Nevertheless, send word only, and we shall submit to your written complaints. Wise, indeed, was he who spoke these words: "The wise man, even if he dwells far off from the land, even if I have not seen him with my eyes, I judge to be a friend." Some such feeling as this, my good sir, has seized me—ignorant though I am of your appearance, yet I am terribly possessed by a longing for it. But thanks to the reputation by which even separated things are joined, and things far away seem to be present—for seeing you through this very thing quite often, and being suffused in my bare intellect by your zeal for the highest things, and joined to you by an incorporeal love, I have no great need of bodily tokens. Nay, having received your letter sent from Alexandria, I felt that I possessed you yourself. For the character of your words, and your dread of not making divine matters the proof of your friendship toward me, did not refute the previous reputation, but showed you to be just as I expected to see you. And you perform these things while frequenting the courts according to the law of your art, and you are able to remain sober in such a drunkenness of affairs. May it arrive at an end, as you expected to obtain. For this is the goal for the wise: a return to their own origin. For it is difficult to leave behind the multitude that is within us, and to return well to that from which we have drifted away. ^B 16. TO SOSSIANUS. A certain very pious man has come to us, having suffered much from a most wicked brother, deeming it a moderate judgment if he could with difficulty obtain those things of which he has been deprived. Whence, through me, he flees for refuge to your authority, which is able to prevail with the judge and to provide for him those who have great power to assist, and to cut off the expenses of the tribunal—for with difficulty is he able, out of the contributions of others, to suffice for his own nourishment. But do you also see to it that the verdict be rendered for him promptly; for he asks for a simple thing: to dissolve the complaints brought against him by the oath of his adversary. For this great solicitousness of yours, your most gracious tongue, flowing with a free impulse toward justice...