De Consideratione

1. If I knew better, most loving Eugenius, how you received what I have already sent, I should proceed to the rest of my work with corresponding confidence or caution; or I might, of course, stop altogether. But since the distance which separates us renders such knowledge impossible, you must not be surprised if, as I approach (with some misgiving, I confess) the middle of my subject, my discourse flows less freely in its divided channel. Having fully treated the first part of consideration in the former books, I now take in hand the task of adding my views on the things around you. They, too, are really under you, but the nearer they are the greater is their importunity. For being before your very eyes they allow no pretence of carelessness or forgetfulness. They more furiously drive you; they more tumultuously mob you; there is reason to fear they may carry you away altogether. I do not doubt that you have learnt from your own experience what watchful and earnest consideration is required when things are so. Moreover, if careful and timely consideration does not step in, your vexation will be boundless, and your anxiety unceasing. You will not have a moment to spare, nor a free place in your heart; the labour will be greater, the profit less. I have in mind those things which come upon you daily from the city, from the court, from your own church. These things, I say, are around you; your clergy and your people, whose own bishop you are, and to whom you therefore owe a debt of special care. So are they, too, who day by day assist you, the elders of the people, the judges of the world; they, too, who belong to your household and sit at your table, your chaplains, gentlemen of the bedchamber, and inferior clergy appointed in their different offices to do you service. These are your more intimate acquaintance; they more frequently knock, disturb, and vex you.¹ These are they who are not afraid to wake the beloved before she wishes to be awakened.