Letter 4

UnknownHesperius, son-in-law|c. 482 AD|ruricius limoges
education bookshumor
From: Ruricius, aristocrat (later bishop of Limoges)
To: Hesperius, his son-in-law
Date: ~482 AD
Context: A playful, rhetorically dazzling reply to Hesperius's letter, in which Ruricius insists that his son-in-law's praise of his writing is absurdly misplaced — like a farmer making barren soil look productive through sheer skill.

Ruricius to his most devoted son and always magnificent Hesperius.

I received the letter from my kindred spirit, sprinkled with as much grace as eloquence, as much love as charm, as much wit as sweetness — a letter in which nothing was lacking in either delight or substance. Though it excels in every art of expression and reasoning, it seems to depart from itself in one respect only: its judgment. For while my little page was suited not for praise but — through its inept rusticity — for censure, you rush to attribute greater merit than it deserves. In following either the course of rhetoric or the impulse of affection, you have strayed from the standard of fair judgment.

I believe your accomplished self descended to this not from any fault of ignorance but by deliberate design, and for a threefold reason: to display on thin material the sharpness of your intellect, the fluency of your speech, and the abundance of your language. Just as on barren and idle soil the skill of the farmer shows itself more clearly — when he either tames the rebellion of stubborn clods with repeated strikes of the plow, or enriches soil too dry with a scattering of manure, so that the industry of the farmer produces the abundance of fruit that the nature of the soil denies — so too you have enriched the poverty of my letter with the richness of your eloquence.

The result is that if you suppress my letter, it can be praiseworthy when you are the one speaking; but if you produce it, it will cause embarrassment — to me for the false praise, and to you for the error of judgment. And so, since you chose to make my ignorance a product of your own modesty, take care that your recommendation does not endanger your reputation when I fail to live up to it. So if you trust my advice at all, if you consult both our interests, hide this volume — unworthy of memory, most worthy of oblivion — if you wish both to preserve for me the reputation of an orator (at your discretion) and for yourself the character of a sound judge.

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

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