Letter 3

UnknownHesperius, son-in-law|c. 481 AD|ruricius limoges
education booksimperial politics
From: Ruricius, aristocrat (later bishop of Limoges)
To: Hesperius, his son-in-law
Date: ~481 AD
Context: Ruricius sends his son or grandson to Hesperius for education, deploying a dazzling rhetorical set-piece about the power of love to overcome his own literary inadequacy — a classic example of Gallo-Roman aristocratic letter-writing as cultural performance.

Ruricius to his most devoted son and always magnificent Hesperius.

The path to writing to you, which my lack of skill had blocked, has been opened by love — and by that sovereign power over all things, devotion. Through it the rigid are bent, the stony softened, the swollen calmed, the rough smoothed, the gentle stirred, the savage tamed, the tame made fierce, the peaceful kindled, the dull sharpened, the barbarous made to rule, and the monstrous pacified. Working its purpose even in me, it has unlocked my speechless mouth and drawn me out of the safe retreat of silence into the public arena of fearsome judgment. In a life already old, it compels me to undertake something new — so that I, who until now had followed that ancient maxim that it is often better to be silent than to speak, preferring to hide my ignorance behind the veil of modest silence rather than shamelessly expose it in unpolished speech, must now forget my habits and my roughness alike. As if suddenly transformed from Arion into Orpheus, I am willing to assault your most eloquent ears with my babbling mouth — not so much paying you a service as doing you an injury, since I am attempting what I do not know and presuming what I have never done.

But you will forgive, I trust, one who comes out of the compulsion of a necessary necessity, because what love claims for itself by natural right in mortal hearts is something a breast that shares the same passion understands. So let me not drag out my excuses until this letter grows so long that my rough words produce not merely inadequacy but actual tedium from their disordered abundance.

I commend to you our pledge, your charge, whose care you took on when you received him. To you I have entrusted my hope for posterity, the comfort of my present life, and — if God wills it — the relief of my future one. To you alone I have committed all my wishes. I chose you as the one to draw out and shape noble gems, to sift gold, to discover hidden water. You know how to restore precious stones buried in rock to their proper splendor — stones that in such confusion of matter would lose their nobility if they had no one to identify them. Gold too, mixed with common sand, unless it is washed with water and refined by fire through the skill of the craftsman, cannot retain either its shine or its worth. Even the sealed veins of flowing springs and the channel of a stream buried under earth — unless the seeker's diligence uncovers them with care — the water will not flow. So too the still-keen edge of young minds, besieged by the cloud of ignorance like a rough crust of rust, cannot shine on its own unless it is polished by the constant file of a teacher. It is now your task, entirely yours, to satisfy both your own reputation and our shared hope.

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

Related Letters