Libanius→Aristainetus; and separately to Silanus|libanius
To Aristainetus.
So Aristainetus has become just one of the crowd -- the man who used to be one of the wise! Now you measure letters by the cubit and the span, and if you do not receive a long one, you feel wronged and abused. But I thought you knew that the proper measure of a speech is its subject matter -- and surely the law governing rhetoric covers the epistolary form as well.
On that occasion, the brevity of my letter was determined by the messenger himself, who was able to report my affairs to you in detail. If I had given a full account, I would have insulted the messenger. Besides, Gymnasius was not a stranger to you, and if I had needed to describe who he was, I would have done so -- but laziness in letter-writing held me back.
So what is this about "profane" and "closing the doors"? You see how you wrote at length and beautifully to Strategius -- length was required by the subject. My letter to you was short. Sometimes long ones have come from me too: longer when the subjects were many, shorter when they were not. There was no need.
But let me tell you how your letter to him fell into my hands. Strategius was returning from Chalcedon, and I -- as is my habit -- was waiting outside the city. He greeted me and at once said he had a letter from you and would let me read it. This was said cheerfully, as an honor to both you and me. Nebridius was listening, traveling alongside him. When I got home and he handed it over, I read it -- not so much long as beautiful. I praised it; he beamed.
As for Olympius, I owe him deep gratitude for reporting the truth about my situation to you -- our side, and the two who are seething, and those who are jumping for joy, and those who are weeping. I cannot express the pleasure that gives me. And you should feel the same, if it matters to you not to be deceived about my affairs.
But you claim to love my speeches while refusing to pay for them -- and that is unjust. I am not asking for gold, but for books of the ancients, which you promised long ago as a gift and now will not even exchange.
So Aristainetus has become just one of the crowd -- the man who used to be one of the wise! Now you measure letters by the cubit and the span, and if you do not receive a long one, you feel wronged and abused. But I thought you knew that the proper measure of a speech is its subject matter -- and surely the law governing rhetoric covers the epistolary form as well.
On that occasion, the brevity of my letter was determined by the messenger himself, who was able to report my affairs to you in detail. If I had given a full account, I would have insulted the messenger. Besides, Gymnasius was not a stranger to you, and if I had needed to describe who he was, I would have done so -- but laziness in letter-writing held me back.
So what is this about "profane" and "closing the doors"? You see how you wrote at length and beautifully to Strategius -- length was required by the subject. My letter to you was short. Sometimes long ones have come from me too: longer when the subjects were many, shorter when they were not. There was no need.
But let me tell you how your letter to him fell into my hands. Strategius was returning from Chalcedon, and I -- as is my habit -- was waiting outside the city. He greeted me and at once said he had a letter from you and would let me read it. This was said cheerfully, as an honor to both you and me. Nebridius was listening, traveling alongside him. When I got home and he handed it over, I read it -- not so much long as beautiful. I praised it; he beamed.
As for Olympius, I owe him deep gratitude for reporting the truth about my situation to you -- our side, and the two who are seething, and those who are jumping for joy, and those who are weeping. I cannot express the pleasure that gives me. And you should feel the same, if it matters to you not to be deceived about my affairs.
But you claim to love my speeches while refusing to pay for them -- and that is unjust. I am not asking for gold, but for books of the ancients, which you promised long ago as a gift and now will not even exchange.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.