Letter 127: This letter is really a memoir of Marcella (for whom see note on Letter XXIII.) addressed to her greatest friend. After describing her history, character, and favourite studies, Jerome goes on to recount her eminent services in the cause of orthodoxy at a time when, through the efforts of Rufinus, it seemed likely that Origenism would prevail at...

JeromePrincipia|c. 412 AD|jerome
arianismbarbarian invasioneducation booksfamine plaguefriendshipgrief deathhumorillnessimperial politicsmonasticismproperty economicsslavery captivitytravel mobilitywomen
Barbarian peoples/invasions; Theological controversy; Imperial politics

Jerome to Principia, virgin of Christ — greetings.

You have been asking me for a long time, and persistently, to write something in memory of the holy Marcella. Let me say first that your prompting was unnecessary: my own grief and admiration were quite sufficient to compel the pen. If I have delayed — two years have passed since her death — it was not from indifference but from the opposite: a sorrow so complete that it made language seem an impertinence.

I will follow no rhetorical rules here. I will not enumerate her ancestors or trace her lineage through consuls and prefects, though her family history would justify several pages of genealogy. I will praise her only for what was her own, which is worth more: she had the nobility to recognize that lineage is nothing and poverty and humility are everything.

Her father died when she was young; she was widowed after barely a year of marriage. Pressured to remarry — by her mother, by the prefect Cerealis, who was rich, elderly, and childless, and who would have put her in line for a substantial estate — she refused. Not out of mourning for her husband, but because she had read Paul: "A widow is happier if she remains unmarried" (1 Corinthians 7:40). She took that text seriously.

She lived then for decades in her house on the Aventine Hill, in a quasi-monastic community of women that she had gathered around her, reading Scripture, fasting, praying, receiving visitors, writing letters, debating interpretations of difficult passages with bishops and theologians who came to her door. When I arrived in Rome with Epiphanius, she questioned me relentlessly — not to parade her learning but to learn. She was the best kind of student: the kind who asks questions she already knows are hard.

Her particular service to the Church — and I say this deliberately, because the Church in Rome does not recognize it and should — was in the Origenist controversy. When Rufinus's translations began circulating at Rome, and when fashionable households started treating Origen's allegorizing speculation as the latest intellectual excitement, Marcella was the person who read the texts carefully, identified the errors, assembled the evidence, and effectively forced the issue into the open. Bishops who should have acted were sitting on their hands. Marcella acted. She was a woman without official authority who used her social position, her network of correspondents, and her obvious intellectual seriousness to accomplish what the official structure had been too timid to do.

In the year that Alaric's Goths sacked Rome — a year of horrors I will not describe in detail, because you lived through it and need no description — Marcella was in the city. The Goths broke into her house. They demanded money she no longer had, because she had given it all away years before. When they did not believe her, they beat her. She bore it without complaint, asking only that her daughter Principia — you, my dear friend, who read these words — be spared.

She died a few weeks later. Whether it was the beating that killed her, or the sorrow of seeing Rome violated, or simply the accumulated weight of a life fully spent, I cannot say. She died in your arms, and the last thing she said was that she was glad she was dying as poor as she had always wanted to be, and going to Christ without a penny of debt. A life that ends that way is a life that was lived well.

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

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