Letter 54: Procopius swears that friendship remains, even if his letters have gone astray.

What can I become when I have a lover and brother accusing me, convinced that I have nothing to say? What do you say? That I am a rhetor and father of many daughters, since I seemed to call my letters by that name. "But that was long ago," you say. "Now it is no longer so." Now I am some insolent man, dishonoring the ordinance of love. If I were a poet, I would surely call on Apollo and the Muses, saying, "Grant me the power to speak and persuade, and not to show that the beloved is unjust." As it is, I will at least imitate something poetic and swear a great oath, with the gods as witnesses, that my affairs are not as they are said to be. I still feel reverence for friendship and remember those dearest to me. Then why the silence, you ask? I fear that some unjust fortune is making a raid on my offspring and carrying my daughters, my letters, now one way and now another as they hurry toward you. Perhaps foreign hands have taken them, not knowing who they are or where they come from. Yet because I was unlucky with them, I seemed ungrateful and am put on trial. Why distress anyone by speaking of the others? But yesterday or the day before one was sent to you, telling of my contests, and now, it seems, she wanders abroad and abandoned. May she someday come into your hands, and may I rejoice when I hear of it. I was pleased to receive your roses, no less than Odysseus when he saw the generosity of Alcinous. There, the pleasure lay only in receiving; for me there are both pleasures, because you give and I receive.

Ζαχαρίᾳ ἀδελφῷ Τίς ἂν γενοίμην ἐραστὴν καὶ ἀδελφὸν κατηγοροῦντα λαβών, καὶ μηδὲν ἔχειν οἰόμενον ὅ τι καὶ λέξωμεν; τί γὰρ δὴ φής; ῥήτορες ἡμεῖς καὶ θυγατέρων πατέρες πολλῶν· τὰς γὰρ ἐπιστολὰς οὕτως ὀνομάζειν ἐδόκει. «ἀλλ' ἦν», φής, «πάλαι ταῦτα· νῦν γὰρ οὐκέτι», ἀλλ' ὑβρισταί τινες ἡμεῖς καὶ θεσμὸν ἀτιμάζοντες ἔρωτος. ἀλλ' εἰ μὲν ἦν τις ποιητικός, τὸν Ἀπόλλω δήπου καὶ τὰς Μούσας ἐκάλουν ἄν, «δοίητέ μοι» λέγων «εἰπεῖν καὶ πεῖσαι καὶ μὴ ἄδικον φανῆναι τὰ παιδικά». νυνὶ δὲ μιμήσομαι γοῦν τι ποιητικὸν «καὶ ἐπὶ μέγαν ὅρκον ὁμοῦμαι, θεοὶ δ' ἐπιμάρτυρες ἔστων», μὴ οὕτως ἔχειν τὰ καθ' ἡμᾶς ὥς που καὶ λέγεται, ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἔτι φιλίας ἡμῖν αἰδὼς καὶ μνήμη φιλτάτων. τίς οὖν, φής, ἡ σιγή; δέδοικα μή τις ἄδικος τύχη ταῖς ἐμαῖς ἐπικωμάζῃ γοναῖς, καὶ πρὸς σὲ τὰς ἐμὰς παῖδας ἐπειγομένας ἄλλην ἄλλοτε φέρῃ· καί που ξένων ταύτας ἠνέγκαντο χεῖρες, ἀγνοούντων τίνες αὗται καὶ πόθεν. ἀλλὰ γὰρ ἀτυχῶν ἐπὶ ταύταις καὶ ἀγνώμων ἐδόκουν καὶ κρίνομαι. τὰς μὲν οὖν ἄλλας τί ἂν ἀνιῷτό τις λέγων; ἀλλὰ χθές που καὶ πρῴην ἐστάλη τις ὡς σέ, τοὺς ἐμοὺς ἀγῶνας διηγουμένη, καὶ νῦν, ὡς ἔοικε, ξένη τις πλανᾶται καὶ ἔρημος. ἀλλ' ἥκοι ποτὲ χεῖρας εἰς σάς, καὶ εὐφραινοίμην ἀκούσας. τὰ δὲ σὰ ῥόδα λαβὼν ἥσθην ἐπὶ τούτοις οὐχ ἧττον ἢ Ὀδυσσεὺς τὴν Ἀλκίνου φιλοτιμίαν ὁρῶν· ἐκεῖ μὲν γὰρ τὸ λαβεῖν εἶχε μόνον τὴν ἡδονήν, παρ' ἡμῖν δὲ ἄμφω, ὅτι σὺ μὲν δίδως, ἐγὼ δὲ λαμβάνω.