Tag: Letters — Division III — Miscellaneous Letters

(Gregory had to carry out his threat. He resigned his responsibility for Nazianzus, and nothing could persuade him to take back his resignation. Bosporius wrote him an urgent letter trying to change his mind, but Gregory replied as follows:)

(S. Gregory had to carry out his threat. He resigned the care of Nazianzus, and nothing would induce him to withdraw his resignation. Bosporius wrote him an urgent letter with this object, but he replied as follows:)

Twice you have tripped me up and deceived me (you know what I mean), and if it was done justly, may the Lord accept from you an odor of sweet savor; if unjustly, may the Lord pardon it. For it is right for me to speak this way about you, since we are commanded to be patient when we are injured. But just as you are in control of your own opinions, so I am in control of mine. That troublesome Gregory will no longer trouble you. I will withdraw to God, who alone is pure and without deceit. I will retreat into myself. This is what I have decided, for stumbling twice over the same stone is something the proverb attributes only to fools.

Twice I have been tripped up by you, and have been deceived (you know what I mean), and, if it was justly, may the Lord smell from you an odour of sweet savour; Genesis 8:21 if unjustly, may the Lord pardon it. For so it is reasonable for me to speak of you, seeing we are commanded to be patient when injuries are inflicted on us. But as you are master of your own opinions, so am I of mine. That troublesome Gregory will no longer be troublesome to you. I will withdraw myself to God, Who alone is pure and guileless. I will retire into myself. This I have determined; for to stumble twice on the same stone is attributed by the proverb to fools alone.

(After Gregory retired from Constantinople, he had accepted responsibility for the Diocese of Nazianzus at the request of the bishops of the province—especially Theodore of Tyana, the Metropolitan, and Bosporius, Bishop of Colonia—and at the urgent appeal of the people. But he very soon discovered that his health was not up to such a great task and that he could not meet its demands. He tried to continue for some time, but finally, finding himself completely unable to carry on, he wrote the following letter to the Metropolitan.)

(On his retirement from Constantinople Gregory had at the request of the Bishops of the Province, and especially of Theodore of Tyana the Metropolitan, and Bosporius Bishop of Colonia (see letters above) and at the earnest solicitation of the people, undertaken the charge of the Diocese of Nazianzus; but he very soon found that his health was not equal to so great a task, and that he could not fulfil its calls upon him. He struggled on for some time, but at length, finding himself quite unequal to it, he wrote as follows to the Metropolitan:)

It is time for me to use these words of Scripture: To whom shall I cry when I am wronged? Who will stretch out a hand to me when I am oppressed? To whom will the burden of this Church pass, in its present evil and paralyzed condition? I protest before God and the Elect Angels that the flock of God is being unrighteously treated by being left without a shepherd or a bishop because I have been laid on the shelf. I am a prisoner to my ill health and have been very quickly removed from the Church because of it, and made quite useless to everybody, every day breathing my last and getting more and more crushed by my duties. If the Province had any other head, it would have been my duty to cry out and protest to it continually. But since Your Reverence is the Superior, it is to you I must look. For, to leave out everything else, you will learn from my fellow priests, Eulalius the Chorepiscopus and Celeusius, whom I have specially sent to Your Reverence, what these robbers who have now got the upper hand are both doing and threatening. To repress them is not in the power of my weakness, but belongs to your skill and strength, since to you, with His other gifts, God has given that of strength also for the protection of His Church. If in saying and writing this I cannot get a hearing, I shall take the only course remaining to me, that of publicly proclaiming and making known that this Church needs a bishop, in order that it may not be injured by my feeble health. What is to follow is a matter for your consideration.

It is time for me to use these words of Scripture, To whom shall I cry when I am wronged? Habakkuk 2:1 Who will stretch out a hand to me when I am oppressed? To whom shall the burden of this Church pass, in its present evil and paralysed condition? I protest before God and the Elect Angels that the Flock of God is being unrighteously dealt with in being left without a Shepherd or a Bishop, through my being laid on the shelf. For I am a prisoner to my ill health and have been very quickly removed thereby from the Church, and made quite useless to everybody, every day breathing my last, and getting more and more crushed by my duties. If the Province had any other head, it would have been my duty to cry out and protest to it continually. But since Your Reverence is the Superior, it is to you I must look. For, to leave out everything else, you shall learn from my fellow priests, Eulalius the Chorepiscopus and Celeusius, whom I have specially sent to Your Reverence, what these robbers who have now got the upper hand, are both doing and threatening. To repress them is not in the power of my weakness, but belongs to your skill and strength; since to you, with His other gifts God has given that of strength also for the protection of His Church. If in saying and writing this I cannot get a hearing, I shall take the only course remaining to me, that of publicly proclaiming and making known that this Church needs a Bishop, in order that it may not be injured by my feeble health. What is to follow is matter for your consideration.

(Written around A.D. 382, this letter recommends his friend George, a deacon of Nazianzus, to the favorable attention of the Archbishop and the Count of the Domestics, or Master of the Imperial Household, because of his personal troubles and concerns.)

(Written about a.d. 382, commending his friend George, a deacon of Nazianzus, to the good offices of the Archbishop and the Count of the Domestics, or Master of the Imperial Household, on account of his private troubles and anxieties.)

People in general make a very good guess about your disposition—or rather, they don't just conjecture, but they readily believe me when I take pride in the fact that you consider me worthy of no small respect and honor. One of these people is my very dear son George, who has suffered many losses and is greatly overwhelmed by his troubles. He can find only one safe harbor: to be introduced to you by me and to obtain some favor from the Most Illustrious Count of the Domestics. Grant them this favor, either for his sake and his need, or if you prefer, for my sake, since I know you have resolved to grant me all favors, and the facts also convince me that this is true of you.

People in general make a very good guess at your disposition — or rather, they do not conjecture, but they do not refuse to believe me when I pride myself on the fact that you deem me worthy of no small respect and honour. One of these people is my very precious son George, who having fallen into many losses, and being very much overwhelmed by his troubles, can find only one harbour of safety, namely, to be introduced to you by us, and to obtain some favour at the hands of the Most Illustrious the Count of the Domestics. Grant them this favour, either to him and his need, or else, if you prefer it, to me, to whom I know you have resolved to grant all favours; and facts also persuade me that this is true of you.

This is what I said as though making a kind of prophecy, when I found you favorable to every request and was making endless use of your kindness, that I fear I shall wear out your goodwill on other people's affairs. For look, a struggle of my own has arrived (if that which concerns my own relatives is mine), and I cannot speak with the same boldness. First, because it is my own matter. For pleading on my own behalf, though it may be more beneficial, is more degrading. And second, I am afraid of excess as something that destroys pleasure and works against everything good. This is the situation, and my guess is all too accurate. Nevertheless, with confidence in God before whom I stand, and in your generosity in doing good, I am bold enough to bring this request.

This is what I said as if by a sort of prophecy, when I found you favourable to every request, and was making insatiable use of your gentleness, that I fear I shall exhaust your kindness upon the affairs of others. For see, a contest of my own has come (if that is mine which concerns my own relations), and I cannot speak with the same freedom. First, because it is my own. For to entreat for myself, though it may be more useful, is more humiliating. And next, I am afraid of excess as destroying pleasure, and opposing all that is good. So matters stand, and I conjecture only too rightly. Nevertheless with confidence in God before Whom I stand, and in your magnanimity in doing good, I am bold to present this petition.

Suppose Nicobulus is the worst of men—though his only crime is that because of me he is envied and enjoys more freedom than he should. And suppose that my present opponent is the most just of men. For I am ashamed to accuse before Your Uprightness someone whom yesterday I was supporting, but I do not know if it will seem just to you that punishment for one man's crimes should be demanded from another, when these crimes were completely foreign to him and he did not even consent to them—from a man who has so disturbed his household and been so upset that he surrendered to his accuser more readily than the accuser wished. Must Nicobulus or his children be reduced to slavery as his persecutors desire? I am ashamed both of the grounds for this persecution and of the timing, if this is to happen while both you are in power and I have influence with you. No, most admirable friend, do not let this be suggested to Your Integrity. Instead, recognizing by the winged swiftness of your mind the malice from which this proceeds, and having respect for me as your admirer, show yourself a merciful judge to those who are being disturbed. For today you are not merely judging between one person and another, but between virtue and vice, and this requires more consideration from those who, like you, are virtuous and skillful governors than it would from an ordinary person. In return for this, you will have from me not only the matter of my prayers, which I know you do not despise as so many people do, but also that I will make your government famous among all to whom I am known.

Suppose Nicobulus to be the worst of men: — though his only crime is that through me he is an object of envy, and more free than he ought to be. And suppose that my present opponent is the most just of men. For I am ashamed to accuse before Your Uprightness one whom yesterday I was supporting: but I do not know if it will seem to you just that punishment should be demanded for one man's crimes from another, though these were quite strange to him, and had not even his consent; from the man who has so stirred his household and been so upset as to have surrendered to his accuser more readily than the latter wished. Must Nicobulus or his children be reduced to slavery as his persecutors desire? I am ashamed both of the ground of the persecution and of the time, if this is to be done while both you are in power and I have influence with you. Not so, most admirable friend, let not this be suggested to Your Integrity. But recognizing by the winged swiftness of your mind the malice from which this proceeds, and having respect to me your admirer, show yourself a merciful judge to those who are being disturbed — for today you are not merely judging between man and man, but between virtue and vice; and to this more consideration than by an ordinary man must be given by those who are like you in virtue and are skilful governors. And in return for this you shall have from me not only the matter of my prayers, which I know you do not, like so many men, despise; but also that I will make your government famous with all to whom I am known.

Public executioners commit no crime, for they are the servants of the laws, nor is the sword unlawful when we use it to punish criminals. But nevertheless, the public executioner is not a praiseworthy person, nor is the death-dealing sword received with joy. In the same way, I cannot bear to become hated by confirming the divorce with my own hand and tongue. It is far better to be the means of union and friendship than of division and separation from married life. I suppose it was with this in mind that our admirable Governor entrusted me with the inquiry about your daughter, as someone who could not proceed to divorce hastily or without feeling. For he proposed me not as Judge, but as Bishop, and placed me as a mediator in your unhappy circumstances. I beg you therefore to make some allowance for my reluctance, and if the better course prevails, to use me as a servant of your desire: I rejoice in receiving such commands. But if the worse and more cruel course is to be taken, seek someone more suitable for your purpose. I do not have time, for the sake of favoring your friendship (though in all respects I have the highest regard for you), to offend against God, to Whom I must give account of every action and thought. I will believe your daughter (for the truth shall be told) when she can set aside her fear of you and boldly declare the truth. At present her situation is pitiable—for she assigns her words to you, and her tears to her husband.

Public executioners commit no crime, for they are the servants of the laws: nor is the sword unlawful with which we punish criminals. But nevertheless, the public executioner is not a laudable character, nor is the death-bearing sword received joyfully. Just so neither can I endure to become hated by confirming the divorce by my hand and tongue. It is far better to be the means of union and of friendship than of division and parting of life. I suppose it was with this in his mind that our admirable Governor entrusted me with the enquiry about your daughter, as one who could not proceed to divorce abruptly or unfeelingly. For he proposed me not as Judge, but as Bishop, and placed me as a mediator in your unhappy circumstances. I beg you therefore, to make some allowance for my timidity, and if the better prevail, to use me as a servant of your desire: I rejoice in receiving such commands. But if the worse and more cruel course is to be taken, seek for some one more suitable to your purpose. I have not time, for the sake of favouring your friendship (though in all respects I have the highest regard for you), to offend against God, to Whom I have to give account of every action and thought. I will believe your daughter (for the truth shall be told) when she can lay aside her awe of you, and boldly declare the truth. At present her condition is pitiable — for she assigns her words to you, and her tears to her husband.

(Verianus, a citizen of Nazianzus, had been offended by his son-in-law and for this reason wanted his daughter to file for divorce. Olympius referred the matter to the episcopal arbitration of Saint Gregory, who refused to approve the proceeding and wrote the following two letters—the first to the Prefect, the second to Verianus himself.)

(Verianus, a citizen of Nazianzus, had been offended by his son-in-law, and on this account wished his daughter to sue for a divorce. Olympius referred the matter to the Episcopal arbitration of S. Gregory, who refused to countenance the proceeding, and writes the two following letters, the first to the Prefect, the second to Verianus himself.)

Haste is not always worthy of praise. For this reason I have delayed my answer until now regarding the daughter of the most honorable Verianus, both to allow time for setting matters right, and also because I believe that Your Goodness does not approve of the divorce, since you entrusted the inquiry to me, knowing that I am neither hasty nor careless in such matters. Therefore I have held back until now, and I think with good reason. But since we have come nearly to the end of the time allowed, and it is necessary that you should be informed of the result of the examination, I will inform you. The young lady seems to me to be of two minds, divided between reverence for her parents and affection for her husband. Her words are on their side, but her mind, I think rather, is with her husband, as is shown by her tears. You will do what seems right to your justice, and to God who directs you in all things. I would most willingly have given my opinion to my son Verianus that he should overlook much of what is in question, with a view to preventing the divorce, which is entirely contrary to our law, though the Roman law may determine otherwise. For it is necessary that justice be observed—which I pray you may ever both say and do.

Haste is not always praiseworthy. For this reason I have deferred my answer until now about the daughter of the most honorable Verianus, both to allow for time setting matters right, and also because I conjecture that Your Goodness does not approve of the divorce, inasmuch as you entrusted the enquiry to me, whom you knew to be neither hasty nor uncircumspect in such matters. Therefore I have refrained myself till now, and, I venture to think, not without reason. But since we have come nearly to the end of the allotted time, and it is necessary that you should be informed of the result of the examination I will inform you. The young lady seems to me to be of two minds, divided between reverence for her parents and affection for her husband. Her words are on their side, but her mind, I rather think, is with her husband, as is shown by her tears. You will do what commends itself to your justice, and to God who directs you in all things. I should most willingly have given my opinion to my son Verianus that he should pass over much of what is in question, with a view not to confirm the divorce, which is entirely contrary to our law, though the Roman law may determine otherwise. For it is necessary that justice be observed — which I pray you may ever both say and do.

What does extensive experience, especially experience of good, do for people? It teaches kindness and makes them favorably disposed toward those who ask them for help. There is no better teacher of compassion than having previously received goodness oneself. This has happened to me among others. I have learned compassion through the things I have suffered. And do you see my greatness of soul when I myself need your gentleness in my own affairs? I intercede for others and do not fear that I might use up all your kindness on other people's concerns. I am writing in this way on behalf of the Presbyter Leontius—or, if I may describe him this way, the former Presbyter. If he has suffered enough for what he has done, let us stop there, so that excess does not become injustice. And if there is still some balance of punishment due, and the consequences of his crime have not yet equaled his offense, still remit it for our sake and God's, and for the sake of the sanctuary and the general assembly of the priests, among whom he was once counted, even though he has now shown himself unworthy of them, both by what he has done and by what he has suffered. If I can prevail with you, that will be best; but if not, I will bring to you a more powerful intercessor, she who is the partner of both your rule and your good reputation.

What does much experience, and experience of good do for men? It teaches kindness, and inclines them to those who entreat them. There is no such education in pity as the previous reception of goodness. This has happened to myself among others. I have learned compassion by the things which I have suffered. And do you see my greatness of soul when I myself need your gentleness in my own affairs? I intercede for others, and do not fear lest I should exhaust all your kindness on other men's concerns. I am writing thus on behalf of the Presbyter Leontius — or, if I may so describe him, the ex-Presbyter. If he has suffered sufficiently for what he has done, let us stop there, lest excess become injustice. And if there is still any balance of punishment due, and the consequences of his crime have not yet equalled his offense, yet remit it for our sake and God's, and that of the sanctuary, and the general assembly of the priests, among whom he was once numbered, even though he has now shown himself unworthy of them, both by what he has done and by what he has suffered. If I can prevail with you it will be best; but if not, I will bring to you a more powerful intercessor, her who is the partner both of your rule and of your good fame.

Though my desire to meet you is strong, and the need of those petitioning through me is great, my illness makes this impossible. Therefore I am bold enough to put my appeal in writing. Show respect for our gray hair, which you have already often honored through good actions. Show respect also for my illness, which my labors for God have partly caused—if I may boast a little. For this reason, spare the citizens who look to me because I speak to you with some freedom. And spare also the others who are under my care. Public affairs will suffer no harm through mercy, since you can accomplish more through fear than others can through punishment. May you, as your reward for this, find such a Judge as you show yourself to be toward those petitioning you and toward me, their intercessor.

Though my desire to meet you is warm, and the need of your petitioners is great, yet my illness is invincible. Therefore I am bold to commit my intercession to writing. Have respect to our gray hair, which you have already often reverenced by good actions. Have respect also to my infirmity, to which my labours for God have in part contributed, if I may swagger a little. For this cause spare the citizens who look to me because I use some freedom of speech with you. And spare also the others who are under my care. For public affairs will suffer no damage through mercy, since you can do more by fear than others by punishment. May you, as your reward for this, obtain such a Judge as you show yourself to your petitioners and to me their intercessor.

(The people of Nazianzus had somehow lost their civic rights, and Olympius had signed the order taking away the city's official status. This led to something like a revolt by some of the younger citizens, and Olympius decided to punish this by completely destroying the place. Gregory was once again prevented by illness from appearing in person before the governor, but he defended his native city (using its official Latin name of Diocæsarea) in the following letters so successfully that he persuaded Olympius to pardon the uprising.)

(The people of Nazianzus had in some way incurred the loss of civic rights; and the Order for the forfeiture of the title of City had been signed by Olympius. This led to something like a revolt on the part of a certain number of the younger citizens: and this Olympius determined to punish by the total destruction of the place. S. Gregory was again prevented by sickness from appearing in person before the Governor: but he pleaded the cause of his native city (using its official Latin name of Diocæsarea) in the following letters so successfully as to induce Olympius to pardon the outbreak.)

Again an opportunity for kindness, and again I am bold enough to put my request about such an important matter into a letter. My illness makes me this bold, since it does not even allow me to go out, and it does not permit me to make a proper visit to you. What then is my appeal? Please receive it from me gently and kindly. The death of a single person, who exists today and tomorrow will not exist and will not return to us, is certainly a dreadful thing. But it is much more dreadful for a city to die, which kings founded, time built up, and a long series of years has preserved. I am speaking of Diocaesarea, once a city, no longer a city, unless you grant it mercy. Imagine that this place now falls at your feet through me: let it have a voice, let it be clothed in mourning and have its hair cut off as in a tragedy, and let it speak to you in words such as these:

Again an opportunity for kindness: and again I am bold enough to commit to a letter my entreaty about so important a matter. My illness makes me thus bold, for it does not even allow me to go out, and it does not permit me to make a fitting entrance to you. What then is my Embassy? Pray receive it from me gently and kindly. The death of a single man, who today is and tomorrow will not be and will not return to us is of course a dreadful thing. But it is much more dreadful for a City to die, which Kings founded, and time compacted, and a long series of years has preserved. I speak of Diocæsarea, once a City, a City no longer, unless you grant it mercy. Think that this place now falls at your feet by me: let it have a voice, and be clothed in mourning and cut off its hair as in a tragedy, and let it speak to you in such words as these:

Give me a hand when I'm lying in the dust. Help me in my weakness. Don't add the weight of your hand to what time has already done, and don't destroy what the Persians have left me. It's more honorable for you to build up cities than to tear down those that are suffering. Be my founder, either by adding to what I have or by keeping me as I am. Don't let it be that until your time in office I was a city, but after you I am one no longer. Don't give people in the future a reason to speak badly of you—that you received me counted among the cities but left me as an uninhabited place that was once a city, recognizable only by mountains, cliffs, and forests.

Give a hand to me that lie in the dust: help the strengthless: do not add the weight of your hand to time, nor destroy what the Persians have left me. It is more honourable to you to raise up cities than to destroy those that are distressed. Be my founder, either by adding to what I possess, or by preserving me as I am. Do not suffer that up to the time of your administration I should be a City, and after you should be so no longer: do not give occasion to after times to speak evil of you, that you received me numbered among cities, and left me an uninhabited spot, which was once a city, only recognizable by mountains and precipices and woods.

Let the City of my imagination speak and plead these things to your mercy. But please accept some advice from me as your friend: certainly punish those who have rebelled against the edict of your authority. On this matter I am not bold enough to say much, although this rash act was not, they say, planned by everyone, but was only the irrational anger of a few young men. But set aside the greater part of your anger and use broader reasoning. They were grieving for their mother's execution; they could not bear to be called citizens yet have no political rights; they went mad; they broke the law; they threw away their own safety; the unexpectedness of the disaster robbed them of reason. Is it really necessary that because of this the city should cease to be a city? Surely not. Most excellent one, do not write the order for this to happen. Instead, respect the petition of all citizens and statesmen and men of rank—for remember the disaster will affect everyone equally—even if the greatness of your authority keeps them silent, sighing as it were in secret. Respect also my gray hair, for it would be terrible for me to have had a great city and now have none at all, and for the temple we have built to God and our love for its decoration to become a dwelling for beasts after your administration. It is not a terrible thing if some statues were thrown down—though in itself it would be—but I would not have you think I am speaking of this when all my concern is for more important matters. What is dreadful is if an ancient city is to be destroyed along with them—a city that has splendidly endured, as I, who am honored by you and am supposed to have some influence, have lived to see. But this is enough on such a subject, for if I speak any longer I will not find anything stronger than your own reasoning, by which this nation is governed—and may more and greater nations be governed by it too, and with greater authority. However, Your Magnanimity must know this about those who have fallen before your feet: they are completely wretched and despairing, and they have not taken part in any disorder with those who have broken the law, as I am assured by many who were present at the time. Therefore consider what you think best, both for your own reputation in this world and your hopes in the next. We will endure whatever you decide—not without grief, certainly—but we will endure it, for what else can we do? If the worse decision prevails, we will be indignant and will shed a tear over our city that has ceased to exist.

This let the City of my imagination do and say to your mercy. But deign to receive an exhortation from me as your friend: certainly chastise those who have rebelled against the Edict of your authority. On this behalf I am not bold to say anything, although this piece of audacity was not, they say, of universal design, but was only the unreasoning anger of a few young men. But dismiss the greater part of your anger, and use a larger reasoning. They were grieved for their Mother's being put to death; they could not endure to be called citizens, and yet to be without political rights: they were mad: they committed an offense against the law: they threw away their own safety: the unexpectedness of the calamity deprived them of reason. Is it really necessary that for this the city should cease to be a city? Surely not. Most excellent, do not write the order for this to be done. Rather respect the supplication of all citizens and statesmen and men of rank — for remember the calamity will touch all alike — even if the greatness of your authority keeps them silent, sighing as it were in secret. Respect also my gray hair: for it would be dreadful to me, after having had a great city, now to have none at all, and that after your government the Temple which we have raised to God, and our love for its adornment, is to become a dwelling for beasts. It is not a terrible thing if some statues were thrown down — though in itself it would be so — but I would not have you think that I am speaking of this, when all my care is for more important things: but it is dreadful if an ancient city is to be destroyed with them — one which has splendidly endured, as I, who am honoured by you, and am supposed to have some influence, have lived to see. But this is enough upon such a subject, for I shall not, if I speak at greater length, find anything stronger than your own reasons, by which this nation is governed — and may more and greater ones be governed by them too, and that in greater commands. This however it was needful that Your Magnanimity should know about those who have fallen before your feet, that they are altogether wretched and despairing, and have not shared in any disorder with those who have broken the law, as I am certified by many who were then present. Therefore deliberate what you may think expedient, both for your own reputation in this world, and your hopes in the next. We will bear what you determine — not indeed without grief — but we will bear it: for what else can we do? If the worse determination prevail, we shall be indignant, and shall shed a tear over our City that has ceased to be.

Again I write when I ought to come, but I gain confidence to do so from you yourself, O judge of spiritual matters (to put first things first), and corrector of the commonwealth—and both by Divine Providence. You have also received as the reward of your piety that your affairs would prosper according to your will, and that you alone should find attainable what is out of reach for everyone else. For wisdom and courage conduct your government: the one discovering what needs to be done, and the other easily carrying out what has been discovered. And the greatest of all is the purity of your hands with which everything is directed. Where is your ill-gotten gold? There never was any. It was the first thing you condemned to exile as an invisible tyrant. Where is ill will? It is condemned. Where is favoritism? Here you do bend somewhat (for I will accuse you a little), but it is in imitating the Divine Mercy, which at the present time your soldier Aurelius entreats from you through me. I call him a foolish fugitive, because he has placed himself in our hands, and through ours in yours, sheltering himself under our gray hair and our priesthood (for which you have often professed your veneration) as if it were under some imperial image. See, this sacrificing and bloodless hand leads this man to you—a hand which has written often in your praise, and will I am sure write yet more, if God continues your term of government—yours, I mean, and that of your colleague Themis.

Again I write when I ought to come: but I gain confidence to do so from yourself, O Umpire of spiritual matters (to put the first thing first), and Corrector of the Commonweal — and both by Divine Providence: who have also received as the reward of your piety that your affairs would prosper to your mind, and that you alone should find attainable what to every one else is out of reach. For wisdom and courage conduct your government, the one discovering what is to be done, and the other easily carrying out what has been discovered. And the greatest of all is the purity of your hands with which all is directed. Where is your ill-gotten gold? There never was any; it was the first thing you condemned to exile as an invisible tyrant. Where is illwill? It is condemned. Where is favour? Here you do bend somewhat (for I will accuse you a little), but it is in imitating the Divine Mercy, which at the present time your soldier Aurelius entreats of you by me. I call him a foolish fugitive, because he has placed himself in our hands, and through ours in yours, sheltering himself under our gray hair and our Priesthood (for which you have often professed your veneration) as if it were under some Imperial Image. See, this sacrificing and unbloodstained hand leads this man to you; a hand which has written often in your praise, and will I am sure write yet more, if God continue your term of government — yours, I mean, and that of your colleague Themis.