2.I.--TO ROMANUS.
Not for many years have the Roman people seen so striking and even so
memorable a spectacle as that provided by the public funeral of
Virginius Rufus, one of our noblest and most distinguished citizens, and
not less fortunate than distinguished. He lived in a blaze of glory for
thirty years. He read poems and histories composed in his honour, and
so enjoyed in life the fame that awaited him among posterity. He held
the consulship three times, so that he might attain the highest
distinction open to a private citizen, as he had declined to lay hands
on the sovereign power. He escaped unscathed from the Emperors, who
were suspicious of his motives and hated him for his virtues; while the
best Emperor of them all, and the one who was his devoted friend, he
left behind him safely installed on the throne, as though his life had
been preserved for this very reason, that he might be honoured with a
public funeral. He was eighty-three years of age when he died,
sublimely calm, and respected by all. He enjoyed good health, for
though his hands were palsied they gave him no pain: only the closing
scenes were rather painful and prolonged, but even in them he won men's
praise. For while he was getting ready a speech, to return thanks to
the Emperor during his consulship, he happened to take up a rather heavy
book. As he was an old man and standing at the time, its weight caused
it to fall from his hands, and while he was stooping to pick it up his
foot slipped on the smooth and slippery floor, and he fell and broke his
collar-bone. This was not very skilfully set for him, and owing to his
old age it did not heal properly. But his funeral was a source of glory
to the Emperor, to the age in which he lived, and even to the Roman
Forum and the rostra. His panegyric was pronounced by Cornelius
Tacitus, and Virginius's good fortune was crowned by this, that he had
the most eloquent man in Rome to speak his praises.
He died full of years, full of honours, full even of the honours he
refused. We shall seek his like in vain; we shall lose in him a living
example of an earlier age. I shall miss him most of all, for my
affection equalled my admiration, not only of his public virtue but of
his private life. In the first place, we came from the same district,
we belonged to neighbouring municipalities, our estates and property lay
alongside, and, moreover, he was left as my guardian and showed me all
the affection of a parent. When I was a candidate for office he
honoured me with his support; in all my elections he left his private
retreat and hastened to escort me in all my entries upon office--though
for years he had ceased to show his friends these attentions,--and on
the day when the priests are accustomed to nominate those they think to
be worthiest of the priesthood he always gave me his nomination. Even
in his last illness, when he was afraid lest he should be appointed one
of the commission of five who were being appointed on the decree of the
Senate to lessen public expenditure, he chose me, young as I am--though
he had a number of friends still surviving who were much older than I
and men of consular rank--to act as his substitute, and he used these
words: "Even if I had a son, I should give this commission to you."
Hence it is that I cannot help but mourn his death on your bosom, as
though he had died before his time; if indeed it is right to mourn at
all in such a case, or speak of death in connection with such a man, who
has rather ceased to be mortal than ceased to live. For he still lives
and will do for all time, and he will acquire a broader existence in the
memories and conversation of mankind, now that he has gone from our
sight.
I wished to write to you on many other subjects, but my whole mind is
given up to and fixed on this one subject of thought. I keep thinking
of Virginius, I dream of him, and, though my dreams are illusory, they
are so vivid that I seem to hear his voice, to speak to him, to embrace
him. It may be that we have other citizens like him in his virtues, and
shall continue to have them, but there is none to equal with him in
glory. Farewell.
2.II.--TO PAULINUS.
I am angry with you; whether I ought to be I am not quite sure, but I am
angry all the same. You know how affection is often biassed, how it is
always liable to make a man unreasonable, and how it causes him to flare
up on even small provocation. But I have serious grounds for my anger,
whether they are just or not, and so I am assuming that they are as just
as they are serious, and am downright cross with you because you have
not sent me a line for such a long time. There is only one way that you
can obtain forgiveness, and that is by your writing me at once a number
of long letters. That will be the only excuse I shall take as genuine;
any others you may send I shall regard as false. For I won't listen to
such stuff as "I was away from Rome," or "I have been fearfully busy."
As for the plea, "I have not been at all well," I hope Providence has
been too kind to let you write that. I am at my country house, enjoying
study and idleness in turns, and both of these delights are born of
leisure-hours. Farewell.
2.III.--TO NEPOS.
Isaeus's reputation--and it was a great one--had preceded him to Rome,
but it was found to fall short of his merits. He has consummate
oratorical power, fluency and choice of expression, and though he always
speaks extempore his speeches might have been carefully written out long
beforehand. He speaks in Greek, and that the purest Attic; his
prefatory remarks are polished, neat and agreeable, and occasionally
stately and sparkling. He asks to be supplied with a number of subjects
for discussion, and allows his audience to choose which they will have
and often which side they would like him to take. Then he rises to his
feet, wraps his gown round him, and begins. Without losing a moment he
has everything at his fingers' ends, irrespective of the subject
selected. Deep thoughts come crowding into his mind and words flow to
his lips. And such words--exquisitely choice! Every now and then there
come flashes which show how widely he has read and how much he has
written. He opens his case to the point; he states his position
clearly; his arguments are incisive; his conclusions are forcible; his
word-painting is magnificent. In a word, he instructs, delights, and
impresses his hearers, so that you can hardly say wherein he most
excels. He makes constant use of rhetorical arguments, his syllogisms
are crisp and finished--though that is not an easy matter to attain even
with a pen. He has a wonderful memory and can repeat, without missing a
single word, even his extempore speeches. He has attained this facility
by study and constant practice, for he does nothing else day or night:
either as a listener or speaker he is for ever discussing. He has
passed his sixtieth year and is still only a rhetorician, and there is
no more honest and upright class of men living. For we who are always
rubbing shoulders with others in the Forum and in the lawsuits of
everyday life, cannot help picking up a good deal of roguery, while in
the imaginary cases of the lecture hall and the schoolroom it is like
fighting with the button on the foil and quite harmless, and is every
whit as enjoyable, especially for men of years. For what can be more
enjoyable for men in their old age than that which gave them the keenest
pleasure in their youth?
Consequently, I look upon Isaeus not only as a wonderfully learned man
but as one who possesses a most enviable lot, and you must be made of
flint and iron if you do not burn to make his acquaintance. So if there
is nothing else to draw you here, if I myself am not a sufficient
attraction, do come to hear Isaeus. Have you never read of the man who
lived at Gades who was so fired by the name and glory of Titus Livius
that he came from the remotest corner of the world to see him, and
returned the moment he had set eyes on him? It would stamp a man as an
illiterate boor and a lazy idler, it would be disgraceful almost for any
one not to think the journey worth the trouble when the reward is a
study which is more delightful, more elegant, and has more of the
humanities than any other. You will say: "But I have here authors just
as learned, whose works I can read." Granted, but you can always read
an author, while you cannot always listen to him. Moreover, as the
proverb goes, the spoken word is invariably much more impressive than
the written one; for however lively what you read may be, it does not
sink so deeply into the mind as what is pressed home by the accent, the
expression, and the whole bearing and action of a speaker. This must be
admitted unless we think the story of Aeschines untrue, when, after
reading a speech of Demosthenes at Rhodes, he is said to have exclaimed
to those who expressed their admiration of it: "Yes, but what would you
have said if you had heard the beast himself?" And yet Aeschines
himself, if we are to believe Demosthenes, had a very striking delivery!
None the less he acknowledged that the author of the speech delivered it
far better than he had done. All these things point to this, that you
should hear Isaeus, if only to enable you to say that you have heard
him. Farewell.
2.IV.--TO CALVINA.
If your father had owed his other creditors, or any one of them, as much
as he owed to me, there would perhaps have been good reason for you to
hesitate about entering on the inheritance of an estate which even a man
might find burdensome. However, I am now the sole creditor, for as we
are relations I thought it my duty to pay off all those who were--I will
not say importunate--but were rather more particular about getting their
money. When your father was alive, and you were about to be married, I
contributed 100,000 sesterces towards your dower, in addition to the sum
which your father assigned as your wedding portion, out of my pocket--
for it had to be paid out of my money,--so you have ample proof of my
leniency towards you in money matters, and you may boldly rely thereon
and defend the credit and honour of your dead father. Moreover, to show
you that I can be generous with my purse as well as with my advice, I
authorise you to enter as paid whatever sum was owing by your father to
me. You need not be afraid that my generosity will embarrass my
finances. Though my means are modest, though my position is expensive
to keep up and my income is equally small and precarious owing to the
state of the land market, my unemployed capital is increased by my
economical living, and this is the source, as I may call it, from which
I gratify my generosity. I have to husband it carefully lest the source
should dry up if I draw on it too freely; but such caution is reserved
for others. In your case I can easily justify my liberality, even
though it be rather larger than usual. Farewell.
2.V.--TO LUPERCUS.
I have forwarded to you the speech which you have often asked for, and
which I have often promised to send, but not the whole of it. A portion
thereof is still undergoing the polishing process. Meanwhile, I thought
it would not be out of place to submit to your judgment the parts which
seemed to me to be more finished. I hope you will bestow on them the
same critical attention that the writer has given them. I have never
handled any subject that demanded greater pains from me, for whereas in
other speeches I have submitted merely my carefulness and good faith to
men's judgment, in this I submit my patriotism as well. It is out of
that that the speech has grown, for it is a pleasure to sing the praises
of one's native place and at the same time to do what I could to help
its interests and its fame. But be sure you prune even these passages
according to your judgment. For when I think of the fastidiousness of
the general reader and the niceties of his taste, I understand that the
best way to win praise is to keep within moderate limits.
Yet at the same time, though I ask you to show this strictness, I feel
bound to request you to display the opposite quality also and deal
indulgently with many of the passages. For we must make certain
concessions to our young readers, especially if the subject-matter
allows of it. Descriptions of scenery, of which there are more than
usual in this speech, should be treated not in a strict historical
fashion, but with some approach to poetic licence. However, if any one
thinks that I have written more ornately than is warranted by the
serious nature of the subject, the remaining portions of the address
ought to mollify what one may call the austerity of such a man. I have
certainly tried, by varying the character of the style, to get hold of
all sorts and conditions of readers, and though I am afraid that each
individual reader will not find every single passage to his liking, yet
I think I may be pretty confident that the variety of styles will
recommend the whole to all classes. For at a banquet, though we each
one of us taboo certain dishes, yet we all praise the banquet as a
whole, nor do the dishes which our palate declines make those we like
any less enjoyable. I want my speech to be taken in the same spirit,
not because I think I have succeeded in my aim, but because I have tried
to succeed therein, and I believe my efforts will not have been in vain
if only you will take pains now with what I enclose in this letter and
afterwards with the remaining portions.
You will say that you cannot do this sufficiently carefully until you
have gone through the entire speech. That is so; but for the present
you will be able to get a thorough acquaintance with what I send you,
and there are sure to be certain passages that can be altered in part.
For if you were to see the head or any limb of a statue torn from the
trunk, though you might not be able to speak definitely of its symmetry
and proportion to the rest of the body, you would at least be able to
judge whether the part you were looking at was sufficiently well shaped.
That is the only reason why authors send round to their friends
specimens of their speeches, because any part can be judged to be
perfect or not apart from the remainder. The pleasure of speaking with
you has led me farther than I intended, but I will conclude for fear of
exceeding in a letter the limits which I think ought to be set to a
speech. Farewell.
2.VI.--TO AVITUS.
It would be a long story--and it is of no importance--to tell you how I
came to be dining--for I am no particular friend of his--with a man who
thought he combined elegance with economy, but who appeared to me to be
both mean and lavish, for he set the best dishes before himself and a
few others and treated the rest to cheap and scrappy food. He had
apportioned the wine in small decanters of three different kinds, not in
order to give his guests their choice but so that they might not refuse.
He had one kind for himself and us, another for his less distinguished
friends--for he is a man who classifies his acquaintances--and a third
for his own freedmen and those of his guests. The man who sat next to
me noticed this and asked me if I approved of it. I said no. "Then how
do you arrange matters?" he asked. "I set the same before all," I
answered, "for I invite my friends to dine not to grade them one above
the other, and those whom I have set at equal places at my board and on
my couches I treat as equals in every respect." What! even the
freedmen?" he said. "Yes," I replied, "for then I regard them as my
guests at table, not as freedmen." He went on: "It must cost you a
lot." "Not at all," said I. "Then how do you manage it?" "It's easily
done; because my freedmen do not drink the same wine as I do, but I
drink the same that they do." And, by Jove, the fact is that if you
keep off gluttony it is not at all ruinously expensive to entertain a
number of people to the fare you have yourself. It is this gluttony
which is to be put down, to be reduced as it were to the ranks, if you
wish to cut down expenses, and you will find it better to consult your
own moderate living than to care about the nasty things people may say
of you. What then is my point? Just this, that I don't want you, who
are a young man of great promise, to be taken in by the extravagance
with which some people load their tables under the guise of economy.
Whenever such a concrete instance comes in my way it becomes the
affection I bear you to warn you of what you ought to avoid by giving
you an example. So remember that there is nothing you should eschew
more than this new association of extravagance and meanness; they are
abominable qualities when separated and single, and still more so when
you get a combination of them. Farewell.
2.VII.--TO MACRINUS.
Yesterday, on the motion of the Emperor, a triumphal statue was decreed
to Vestricius Spurinna. He is not one of those heroes, of whom there
have been many, who have never stood in battle, never seen a camp, and
never heard the call of the trumpets except at the public shows: no, he
is one of the real heroes who used to win that decoration by the sweat
of their brow, by shedding their blood and doing mighty deeds. For
Spurinna restored by force of arms the king of the Bructeri to his
kingdom, and, after threatening war, subdued that savage race by the
terror of his name, which is the noblest kind of victory. That was the
reward of his valour, and the fact that his son Cottius, whom he lost
while he was away on his duties, was deemed worthy of being honoured
with a statue has solaced his grief for his loss. Young men rarely
attain such distinction, but his father deserved this additional honour,
for it required some considerable solace to heal his bitter wound.
Moreover, Cottius himself had given such striking proofs of his splendid
character that his short and narrow life ought to be prolonged by the
immortality, so to speak, that a statue confers upon him; for his
uprightness, his weight of character, his influence were such that his
virtues served as a spur even to the older men with whom he has now been
placed on an equality by the honour paid to him.
If I understand the matter aright, in conferring that dignity upon him,
regard was had not only to the memory of the dead man and the grief of
his father, but also to the effect it would have upon others. When such
splendid rewards are bestowed upon young men--provided they deserve
them--they will serve to sharpen the inclinations of the rising
generation to the practice of the honourable arts; they will make our
leading men more desirous of bringing up their children, increase the
joy they will have in them if they survive, and provide a glorious
consolation if they lose them. It is for these reasons that I rejoice
on public grounds that a statue has been decreed to Cottius, and on
personal grounds I am equally delighted. My affection for that most
accomplished youth was as strong as is my ungovernable sorrow at his
loss. So I shall find it soothing from time to time to gaze upon his
statue, to look back upon it, to stand beneath it, and to walk past it.
For if the busts of the dead that we set up in our private houses
assuage our grief, how much more soothing should be the statues of our
dead friends erected in the most frequented spots, which recall to us
not only the form and face of our lost ones, but also their dignities
and glory? Farewell.
2.VIII.--TO CANINIUS.
Are you at your books, or are you fishing, or hunting, or doing all
three together? For the latter is possible in the neighbourhood of our
Larian lake. The lake supplies fish in plenty, the woods that girdle
its shores are full of game, and their secluded recesses inspire one to
study. But whether you combine the three at once, or occupy yourself
with either one of them, I cannot say "I grudge you your happiness,"
though I feel annoyed to think that I am debarred from pleasures which I
long for as ardently as an invalid longs for wine, and the baths, and
the fountains. If I cannot unloose the close meshes of the net that
enfolds me, shall I never snap them asunder? Never, I am afraid, for
new business keeps piling up on top of the old, and that without even
the old being got rid of. Every day the entangling chain of my
engagements seems to lengthen by acquiring additional links. Farewell.
2.IX.--TO APOLLINARIS.
I am worried and anxious about the candidature of my friend Sextus
Erucius. I am quite careworn, and feel for my second self, as it were,
a solicitude that I did not feel on my own account. Besides, my honour,
my reputation, my position are all at stake: for it was I who obtained
from our Emperor for Sextus the right to wear the latus clavis, it was I
who secured for him the quaestorship; it was owing to my interest that
he was advanced to the right of standing for the tribunate, and unless
he is elected by the Senate, I am afraid that it will look as if I had
deceived the Emperor. Consequently, I have to do my best to induce all
the senators to take the same favourable view of him that the Emperor
did on my recommendation. If this were not reason sufficient to rouse
my zeal in his behalf, yet I should like to see a young man helped on,
who is of such sterling character, who is of such weight and learning,
and is fully worthy of any and every praise, as indeed are all the
members of his family.
His father, Erucius Clarus, is a man of probity of the old-fashioned
sort, full of learning and an experienced counsel, conducting his cases
with splendid honesty, perseverance, and modesty as well. His uncle is
Caius Septicius, than whom I never met any one more sterling, simple,
frank, and trustworthy. They all see who can shower most affection upon
me, though they all love me equally, and now I can repay the love of all
in the person of young Erucius. So I am button-holing all my friends,
begging them for their support, going round to see them and haunting
their houses and favourite resorts, and I am putting both my position
and influence to the test by my entreaties. I beg of you to think it
worth your while to relieve me of some part of my burden. I will do the
same for you whenever you ask the return favour; nay I will do so even
if you do not ask me. You are a favourite with many, people seek your
society, and you have a wide circle of friends. Do you but give a hint
that you have a wish, and there will be plenty who will make your wish
their desire. Farewell.
2.X.--TO OCTAVIUS.
What an indolent fellow you are, or perhaps I should say how hard-
hearted you are and almost cruel to keep back so long such splendid
volumes of verse! How long will you deprive yourself of the chorus of
praise that awaits you, and us of the pleasure of reading them? Do let
them be borne on the lips of men and circulate through all the wide
regions where the Roman tongue is spoken. People have long been eagerly
looking forward to your publishing them, and you really ought not to
cheat and disappoint them any longer. Some of your verses have become
known, and--no thanks to you--have broken down the barriers you set
round them, and unless you rescue them and include them in the main body
of your work they will one day, like vagrant slaves, find some one else
to claim the ownership of them. Don't lose sight of the fact that you
are but mortal, and that you can only defend yourself from being
forgotten by such a monument as this: all other titles to fame are
fragile and perishable, and come to a sudden end as soon as the breath
is out of your body. You will say, as usual, "Oh! my friends must see
to that for me." Well, I hope you have friends loyal enough, learned
enough, painstaking enough, to be capable and desirous of undertaking
such a responsible task, but I would have you consider whether it is
altogether prudent to expect from other people the toil which you will
not undergo for yourself. However, as to publishing, do as you please,
but at least give some public readings, in order to stir you on to
publishing, and that you may at length see how pleased people will be to
hear you, as I have for a long time been bold enough to anticipate on
your account. For I picture to myself what a run there will be to hear
you, how they will admire your work, what applause is in store for you,
and what a hush of attention. Personally, when I speak or recite I like
a hush quite as much as loud applause, provided that the people are
quiet, because they are keenly interested and eager to hear more. With
such a reward before you so absolutely certain, do not go on chilling
our enthusiasm by that never-ending hesitation of yours, for if it once
gets over a certain line, there is a danger of people giving it another
name and saying you are idle, slothful, or even nervous. Farewell.
2.XI.--TO ARRIANUS.
I know you are always delighted when the Senate behaves in a way
befitting its rank, for though your love of peace and quiet has caused
you to withdraw from Rome, your anxiety that public life should be kept
at a high level is as strong as it ever was. So let me tell you what
has been going on during the last few days. The proceedings are
memorable owing to the commanding position of the person most concerned;
they will have a healthy influence because of the sharp lesson that has
been administered; and the importance of the case will make them famous
for all time.
Marius Priscus, on being accused by the people of Africa, whom he had
governed as proconsul, declined to defend himself before the Senate and
asked to have judges assigned to hear the case. Cornelius Tacitus and
myself were instructed to appear for the provincials, and we came to the
conclusion that we were bound in honesty to our clients to notify the
Senate that the charges of inhumanity and cruelty brought against
Priscus were too serious to be heard by a panel of judges, inasmuch as
he was accused of having received bribes to condemn and even put to
death innocent persons. Fronto Catius spoke in reply, and urged that
the prosecution should be confined within the law dealing with
extortion: he is wonderfully skilled at drawing tears, and throughout
his speech he filled his sails with a breeze of pathos. Then a hubbub
arose, and there were loud exclamations of applause and dissent; some
held that a trial of the case by the Senate was barred by law; others
declared that the Senate was quite competent and entitled to deal with
it, and argued that the law should punish the whole guilt of the
defendant. At length Julius Ferox, the consul-designate, a man of
honour and probity, gave it as his opinion that judges should be
assigned for the time being, and that those who were said to have bribed
Priscus to punish innocent persons should be summoned to Rome. This
proposal not only carried the day, but it was the only one that was
numerously supported in spite of the previous fierce dissension, for it
has often been remarked that though partisanship and pity lead men to
make very keen and heated attacks in the first instance, they gradually
sober down under the influence of further consideration and reason.
Hence it comes about that no one cares to make the point, when the other
people are sitting still, which a number of persons may be anxious to
make if an uproar is going on all round them; for when you get away from
the throng a quiet consideration of the subject at issue makes clear all
the points that were lost sight of in the throng of speakers.
Well, the witnesses who were summoned came to Rome, viz., Vitellius
Honoratus and Flavius Martianus. Honoratus was charged with having
bribed Priscus to the tune of three hundred thousand sesterces to exile
a Roman knight and put seven of his friends to death; Martianus was
accused of having given Priscus seven hundred thousand sesterces to
sentence a single Roman knight to still more grievous punishment, for he
was beaten with rods, condemned to the mines, and then strangled in
prison. Honoratus--luckily for him--escaped the investigation of the
Senate by dying; Martianus was brought before them when Priscus was not
present. Consequently Tuccius Cerealis, a man of consular rank, pleaded
senatorial privileges and demanded that Priscus should be informed of
the attendance of Martianus, either because he thought that Priscus by
being present would have a better chance of awakening the compassion of
the Senate or to increase the feeling against him, or possibly, and I
think this was his real motive, because strict justice demanded that
both should defend themselves against a charge that affected them both,
and that both should be punished if they could not rebut the accusation.
The subject was postponed to the next meeting of the Senate, and a very
august assembly it was. The Emperor presided in his capacity as consul;
besides, the month of January brings crowds of people to Rome and
especially senators, and moreover the importance of the case, the great
notoriety it had obtained, which had been increased by the delays that
had taken place, and the ingrained curiosity of all men to get to know
all the details of an unusually important matter, had made everybody
flock to Rome from all quarters. You can imagine how nervous and
anxious we were in having to speak in such a gathering and in the
presence of the Emperor on such an important case. It was not the first
time that I had pleaded in the Senate, and there is nowhere where I get
a more sympathetic hearing, but then the novelty of the whole position
seemed to afflict me with a feeling of nervousness I had never felt
before. For in addition to all that I have mentioned above I kept
thinking of the difficulties of the case and was oppressed by the
feeling that Priscus, the defendant, had once held consular rank and
been one of the seven regulators of the sacred feasts, and was now
deprived of both these dignities. So I found it a very trying task to
accuse a man on whom sentence had already been passed, for though the
shocking offences with which he was charged weighed heavily against him,
he yet was protected to a certain extent by the commiseration felt for a
man already condemned to punishment that one might have thought final.
However, as soon as I had pulled myself together and collected my
thoughts, I began my address, and though I was nervous I was on the best
of terms with my audience. I spoke for nearly five hours, for, in
addition to the twelve water-clocks--the largest I could get--which had
been assigned to me, I obtained four others. And, as matters turned
out, everything that I thought before speaking would have proved an
obstacle in the way of a good speech really helped me during my address.
As for the Emperor, he showed me such kind attention and consideration--
for it would be too much to call it anxiety on my behalf--that he
frequently nodded to my freedman, who was standing just behind me, to
give me a hint not to overtax my voice and lungs, when he thought that I
was throwing myself too ardently into my pleading and imposing too great
a burden on my slender frame. Claudius Marcellinus answered me on
behalf of Martianus, and then the Senate was dismissed and met again on
the following day. For there was no time to begin a fresh speech, as it
would have had to be broken off by the fall of night. On the following
day, Salvius Liberalis, a man of shrewd wit, careful in the arrangement
of his speeches, with a pointed style and a fund of learning, spoke for
Marius, and in his speech he certainly brought out all he knew.
Cornelius Tacitus replied to him in a wonderfully eloquent address,
characterised by that lofty dignity which is the chief charm of his
oratory. Then Fronto Catius made another excellent speech on Marius's
behalf, and he spent more time in appeals for mercy than in rebutting
evidence, as befitted the part of the case that he had then to deal
with. The fall of night terminated his speech but did not break it off
altogether, and so the proceedings lasted over into the third day. This
was quite fine and just like it used to be for the Senate to be
interrupted by nightfall, and for the members to be called and sit for
three days running.
Cornutus Tertullus, the consul-designate, a man of high character and a
devoted champion of justice, gave as his opinion that the seven hundred
thousand sesterces which Marius had received should be confiscated to
the Treasury, that Marius should be banished from Rome and Italy, and
that Martianus should be banished from Rome, Italy, and Africa. Towards
the conclusion of his speech he added the remark that the Senate
considered that, since Tacitus and myself, who had been summoned to
plead for the provincials, had fulfilled our duties with diligence and
fearlessness, we had acted in a manner worthy of the commission
entrusted to us. The consuls-designate agreed, and all the consulars
did likewise, until it was Pompeius Collega's turn to speak. He
proposed that the seven hundred thousand sesterces received by Marius
should be confiscated to the Treasury, that Martianus should be banished
for five years, and that Marius should suffer no further penalty than
that for extortion--which had already been passed upon him. Opinion was
largely divided, and there was possibly a majority in favour of the
latter proposal, which was the more lenient or less severe of the two,
for even some of those who appeared to have supported Cornutus changed
sides and were ready to vote for Collega, who had spoken after them.
But when the House divided, those who stood near the seats of the
consuls began to cross over to the side of Cornutus. Then those who
were allowing themselves to be counted as supporters of Collega also
crossed over, and Collega was left with a mere handful. He complained
bitterly afterwards of those who had led him to make the proposal he
did, especially of Regulus, who had failed to support him in the
proposal that he himself had suggested. But Regulus is a fickle fellow,
rash to a degree, yet a great coward as well.
Such was the close of this most important investigation; but there is
still another bit of public business on hand of some consequence, for
Hostilius Firminus, the lieutenant of Marius Priscus, who was implicated
in the matter, had received a very rough handling. It was proved by the
accounts of Martianus and a speech he made in the Council of the Town of
Leptis that he had engaged with Priscus in a very shady transaction,
that he had bargained to receive from Martianus 50,000 denarii and had
received in addition ten million sesterces under the head of perfume
money--a most disgraceful thing for a soldier, but one which was not at
all inconsistent with his character as a man with well-trimmed hair and
polished skin. It was agreed on the motion of Cornutus that the case
should be investigated at the next meeting of the Senate, but at that
meeting he did not put in an appearance, either from some accidental
reason or because he knew he was guilty.
Well, I have told you the news of Rome, you must write and tell me the
news of the country. How are your shrubs getting on, your vines and
your crops, and those dainty sheep of yours? In short, unless you send
me as long a letter I am sending you, you mustn't expect anything more
than the scrappiest note from me in the future. Farewell.
2.XII.--TO ARRIANUS.
As for the bit of public business which, as I told you in my last
letter, arose out of the case of Marius Priscus, I don't know whether it
has been thoroughly pruned, but it certainly has been trimmed. When
Firminus was called before the Senate he replied to the charges brought
against him. What they were you know. The two consuls-designate
thereupon expressed their opinions as to the sentence and disagreed with
one another. Cornutus Tertullus proposed that he should be degraded
from his rank as senator; Acutius Nerva urged that when the provinces
were allotted Firminus's claim should not be allowed, and his
suggestion, as being the least severe, carried the day, though on the
whole I think it is the harsher and more vindictive of the two. For
what could be more wretched than to be cut off and debarred from all the
privileges of senatorship, and yet not to be freed from its toil and
trouble? What position can be more trying for a man with such a stain
on his name than not to be allowed to hide himself from public view, but
to have to show himself in a position of eminence to the gaze and
pointing fingers of the world? Moreover, can you imagine anything, from
the point of view of the public interest, less congruous or becoming
than that a member of the Senate who has been branded by that body
should keep his seat among them, that he should retain equal rank with
the very persons who branded him, that after being debarred from holding
a governorship for disgraceful conduct as one of an embassy he should
sit in judgment on other governors, and that after being found guilty of
peculation he should pronounce the condemnation or acquittal of others?
However, the majority approved this proposal, for votes are merely
counted and are not weighed according to merit, and there is no other
way possible in a public council. Yet in such cases this presumed
equality of opinions is really most unequal, for all are equal in the
right to vote though the judgment of the voters is a very unequal
quantity. I have fulfilled my promise and made good my word contained
in the earlier letter I sent you, which I reckon you will by this time
have received, for I entrusted it to a fleet and conscientious messenger
who must have reached you unless he has been hindered on the road. It
now rests with you to recompense me for both these epistles with the
very fullest letter that can be sent from where you are staying.
Farewell.
2.XIII.--TO PRISCUS.
I know you are only too pleased to seize an opportunity for doing me a
service, and for my own part I would rather be in your debt than in that
of any one else. So, for both these reasons, I have decided to choose
you of all people as the one from whom to ask a favour which I am very
anxious to have granted me. You are in command of a magnificent army,
which gives you abundant material for conferring favours, and, moreover,
has provided you with ample time during which you have advanced the
interests of your own friends. Now give my friends a turn, please.
There are not many of them, though you doubtless wish there were. But I
am too modest to ask favours for more than one or two. Indeed there is
only one, and that is Voconius Romanus. His father held a distinguished
position in the equestrian order; his stepfather, or rather his second
father, an even more distinguished place, for Voconius took the name of
the latter out of his regard for him, while his mother belonged to one
of the leading families of Hither Spain. You know how sound and weighty
the opinion of that province is--well, Voconius was quite recently its
flamen. When we were students he and I were close and intimate friends;
we spent our days together in Rome and in the country; he was my
companion both in moments of work and play. You could not imagine a
more trusty friend or a more delightful companion. He has wonderful
conversational powers, and a remarkably sweet face and expression, and
besides this he possesses a lofty intellect and is shrewd, pleasant,
ready, and a clever advocate. The letters he writes are so good as to
make you think the Muses speak Latin. I have the greatest affection for
him, and he has the same for me. When we were both young I did all that
I possibly could as a young man to advance him, and just lately I
induced our excellent Emperor to grant him the privileges attached to
the parentage of three children. That is a favour he bestows but
sparingly and after careful choice, yet he acceded to my request as
though the choice were his own. There is no better way by which I may
keep up my services to him than by adding to their number, especially as
he, the recipient, shows himself so grateful to me that by accepting
former favours he earns others to come. I have told you what kind of a
man he is, how thoroughly I esteem him and how dear he is to me, and I
now ask you to use your wits and splendid opportunities for his
advancement. Above all, give him your regard, for though you shower
upon him your richest dignities you can give him nothing more valuable
than your friendship. It was to assure you that he is worthy of even
your closest intimacy that I have briefly set before you his tastes, his
character and his whole life. I would spin out my request to greater
length, but I know that you would rather I did not press you further and
the whole of this letter is nothing but a request. For the best way of
asking a favour is to give good reason for asking it. Farewell.
2.XIV.--TO MAXIMUS.
Yes, you are quite right; my time is fully taken up by cases in the
Centumviral Court, but they give me more worry than pleasure, for most
of them are of a minor and unimportant character. Only rarely does a
case crop up that can be described as a cause celebre, owing either to
the distinguished position of the persons in the suit or to the
magnitude of the interests involved. Add to this that there are very
few with whom I care to plead; all the other advocates are bumptious,
and for the most part young men of no standing, who come over here to do
their declamations with such utter want of respect and modesty that I
think our friend Atilius just hit the nail on the head when he said that
mere boys begin their forensic career with cases in the Centumviral
Court, just as they begin with Homer in the schools. For here as there
they make their first beginnings on the hardest subjects. Yet, by
Heaven, before my time--to use an old man's phrase--not even the
highest-born youths had any standing here, unless they were introduced
by a man of consular rank.
Such was the respect with which this noble profession was regarded, but
now modesty and respect are thrown to the winds and one man is as good
as another. So far from being introduced, they burst their way in.
Their audiences follow them as if they were actors, bought and paid to
do so; the agent is there to meet them in the middle of the basilica,
where the doles of money are handed over as openly as the doles of food
at a banquet; and they are ready to pass from one court to another for a
similar bribe. So these hirelings have been rather wittily dubbed
Zophokleis--from their readiness to call bravo,--and they have also been
given the Latin name of Laudicaeni--from their eagerness to applaud for
the sake of getting a dinner. Yet this disgraceful practice gets worse
from day to day, in spite of the terms of opprobrium applied to it in
both languages. Yesterday two of my own nomenclators--young men, I
admit, about the age of those who have just assumed the toga--were
enticed off to join the claque for three denarii apiece. Such is the
outlay you must make to get a reputation for eloquence! At that price
you can fill the benches, however many there are, you can collect a
great throng of bystanders and obtain thunders of applause as soon as
the conductor gives the signal. For a signal is absolutely necessary
for people who do not understand and do not even listen to the speeches,
and many of these fellows do not listen at all, though they applaud as
heartily as any. If you happen to be crossing through the basilica and
wish to know how any one is speaking, there is no need for you to mount
to the Bench or listen. It is perfectly safe to guess on the principle
that he is speaking worst who gets the most applause.
Largius Licinius was the first to introduce this new fashion of
procuring an audience, but he went no further than asking people to go
and hear him. At least I remember that Quintilian, my old tutor, used
to tell me so. He told the story thus: "I was in attendance on
Domitius Afer when he was pleading in the Centumviral Court in the
deliberate and measured style with which he conducted all his cases. He
happened to hear from a neighbouring court the sound of extravagant and
unusual applause. Wondering what it could mean, he stopped, and then
resumed where he had broken off as soon as quiet was restored. Again
the shouts came, again he stopped, and after a short period of quiet it
began again for the third time. In the end he inquired who was
speaking, and was told that it was Licinius. At that he discontinued
his case, exclaiming: 'Centumvirs, this is death to our profession.'"
Indeed, it was beginning to go to the bad in other ways when Afer
thought that it had already gone to the bad, but it is now practically
ruined and destroyed, root and branch. I am ashamed to tell you what an
affected delivery these people have and with what unnatural cheering
their speeches are greeted. Their sing-song style only wants clapping
of hands, or rather cymbals and drums, to make them like the priests of
Cybele, for as for howlings--there is no other word to express the
unseemly applause in the theatres--they have enough and to spare. It is
only a desire to save my friends and my age that has induced me to go on
practising so long, for I am afraid people would think that if I retired
my object was not to shun these indecent scenes but to escape hard work.
Yet I am making fewer appearances than usual, and that is the beginning
of gradually ceasing to attend altogether. Farewell.
2.XV.--TO VALERIANUS.
How does your old Marsian property treat you? And your new purchase?
Do you like the estate now that it is your own? It is rarely one does,
for we never find things as nice when we have obtained them as when we
wished to obtain them. My mother's property is giving me considerable
trouble, but I like it because it was my mother's, and besides, I have
put up with so much that I am now hardened. If people go on complaining
long enough, they end in being ashamed to complain further. Farewell.
2.XVI.--TO ANNIANUS.
You, with your usual watchfulness on my behalf, advise me that the
codicils of Acilianus, who left me heir to half his estate, may be
treated as though they were non-existent, because they are not confirmed
by the will. I was quite aware of the law on the subject, for even
those who know nothing else know as much as that. But I have made a law
of my own for such cases, which leads me to treat as valid the wishes of
a dead man, even though they are not legally binding upon me. It is
beyond question that the codicils in question were drawn up by Acilianus
in his own hand. So, even though they are not confirmed by the will, I
shall carefully carry out their intentions as though they were,
especially as there is no loophole for an informer to meddle in the
matter. For if there were any reason to be afraid of the money I have
given being confiscated, I ought to act with perhaps greater hesitation
and caution; but since an heir is at perfect liberty to give away what
has reverted to him under an inheritance, there is no reason why I
should not abide by my own law, which does not clash with the
regulations of the State. Farewell.
2.XVII.--TO GALLUS.
You are surprised, you say, at my infatuation for my Laurentine estate,
or Laurentian if you prefer it so. You will cease to wonder when you
are told the charms of the villa, the handiness of its site, and the
stretch of shore it commands. It is seventeen miles distant from Rome,
so that after getting through all your business, and without loss or
curtailment of your working hours, you can go and stay there. It can be
reached by more than one route, for the roads to Laurentium and Ostia
both lead in the same direction, but you must branch off on the former
at the fourth, and on the latter at the fourteenth milestone. From both
of these points onward the road is for the most part rather sandy, which
makes it a tedious and lengthy journey if you drive, but if you ride it
is easy going and quickly covered. The scenery on either hand is full
of variety. At places the path is a narrow one with woods running down
to it on both sides, at other points it passes through spreading meadows
and is wide and open. You will see abundant flocks of sheep and many
herds of cattle and horses, which are driven down from the high ground
in the winter and grow sleek in a pasturage and a temperature like those
of spring.
The villa is large enough for all requirements, and is not expensive to
keep in repair. At its entrance there is a modest but by no means mean-
looking hall; then come the cloisters, which are rounded into the
likeness of the letter D, and these enclose a smallish but handsome
courtyard. They make a fine place of refuge in a storm, for they are
protected by glazed windows and deep overhanging eaves. Facing the
middle of the cloisters is a cheerful inner court, then comes a dining-
room running down towards the shore, which is handsome enough for any
one, and when the sea is disturbed by the south-west wind the room is
just flecked by the spray of the spent waves. There are folding doors
on all sides of it, or windows that are quite as large as such doors,
and so from the two sides and the front it commands a prospect as it
were of three seas, while at the back one can see through the inner
court, the cloisters, the courtyard, then more cloisters and the hall,
and through them the woods and the distant hills. A little farther
back, on the left-hand side, is a spacious chamber; then a smaller one
which admits the rising sun by one window and by another enjoys his last
lingering rays as he sets, and this room also commands a view of the sea
that lies beneath it, at a longer but more secure distance. An angle is
formed by this chamber and the dining-room, which catches and
concentrates the purest rays of the sun. This forms the winter
apartments and exercise ground for my household. No wind penetrates
thither except those which bring up rain-clouds and only prevent the
place being used when they take away the fine weather. Adjoining this
angle is a chamber with one wall rounded like a bay, which catches the
sun on all its windows as he moves through the heavens. In the wall of
this room I have had shelves placed like a library, which contains the
volumes which I not only read, but read over and over again. Next to it
is a sleeping chamber, through a passage supported by pillars and fitted
with pipes which catch the hot air and circulate it from place to place,
keeping the rooms at a healthy temperature. The remaining part of this
side of the villa is appropriated to the use of my slaves and freedmen,
most of the rooms being sufficiently well furnished for the reception of
guests.
On the other side of the building there is a nicely decorated chamber,
then another room which would serve either as a large bed-chamber or a
moderate sized dining-room, as it enjoys plenty of sunshine and an
extensive sea-view. Behind this is an apartment with an ante-room,
suitable for summer use because of its height, and for winter use owing
to it sheltered position, for it is out of reach of all winds. Another
room with an ante-room is joined to this by a common wall. Next to it
is the cold bath room, a spacious and wide chamber, with two curved
swimming baths thrown out as it were from opposite sides of the room and
facing one another. They hold plenty of water if you consider how close
the sea is. Adjoining this room is the anointing room, then the
sweating room, and then the heating room, from which you pass to two
chambers of graceful rather than sumptuous proportions. Attached to
these is a warm swimming bath which everybody admires, and from it those
who are taking a swim can command a view of the sea. Close by is the
tennis court, which receives the warmest rays of the afternoon sun; on
one side a tower has been built with two sitting rooms on the ground
floor, two more on the first floor, and above them a dining-room
commanding a wide expanse of sea, a long stretch of shore, and the
pleasantest villas of the neighbourhood. There is also a second tower,
containing a bedroom which gets the sun morning and evening, and a
spacious wine cellar and store-room at the back of it. On the floor
beneath is a sitting-room where, even when the sea is stormy, you hear
the roar and thunder only in subdued and dying murmurs. It looks out
upon the exercise ground, which runs round the garden.
This exercise ground has a border of boxwood, or rosemary where the box
does not grow well--for box thrives admirably when it is sheltered by
buildings, but where it is fully exposed to wind and weather and to the
spray of the sea, though it stands at a great distance therefrom, it is
apt to shrivel. On the inside ring of the exercise ground is a pretty
and shady alley of vines, which is soft and yielding even to the bare
foot. The garden itself is clad with a number of mulberry and fig-
trees, the soil being specially suitable for the former trees, though it
is not so kindly to the others. On this side, the dining-room away from
the sea commands as fine a view as that of the sea itself. It is closed
in behind by two day-rooms, from the windows of which can be seen the
entrance to the villa from the road and another garden as rich as the
first one but not so ornamental.
Along its side stretches a covered portico, almost long enough for a
public building. It has windows on both sides, most of them facing the
sea; those looking on the garden are single ones, and less numerous than
those on the other side, as every alternate window was left out. All
these are kept open when it is a fine day and there is no wind; when the
wind is high, the windows only on the sheltered side are opened and no
harm is done. In front of the portico is a terrace walk that is
fragrant with violets. The portico increases the warmth of the sun by
radiation, and retains the heat just as it keeps off and breaks the
force of the north wind. Hence it is as warm in front as it is cool
behind. In the same way it checks the south-west winds, and similarly
with all winds from whatever quarter they blow--it tempers them and
stops them dead. This is its charm in winter, but in summer it is even
greater, for in the mornings its shade tempers the heat of the terrace
walk, and in the afternoon the heat of the exercise ground and the
nearest part of the garden, the shadows falling longer and shorter on
the two sides respectively as the sun rises to his meridian and sinks to
his setting. Indeed, the portico has least sunshine when the sun is
blazing down upon its roof. Consequently it receives the west winds
through its open windows and circulates them through the building, and
so never becomes oppressive through the stuffy air remaining within it.
At the head of the terrace and portico successively is a garden suite of
rooms, my favourite spot and well worthy of being so. I had them built
myself. In this is a sunny chamber which commands the terrace on one
side, the sea on another, and the sun on both; besides an apartment
which looks on the portico through folding doors and on the sea through
a window. In the middle of the wall is a neat recess, which by means of
glazed windows and curtains can either be thrown into the adjoining room
or be cut off from it. It holds a couch and two easy-chairs, and as you
lie on the couch you have the sea at your feet, the villa at your back,
and the woods at your head, and all these views may be looked at
separately from each window or blended into one prospect. Adjoining is
a chamber for passing the night in or taking a nap, and unless the
windows are open, you do not hear a sound either of your slaves talking,
or the murmur of the sea, or the raging of the storms; nor do you see
the flashes of the lightning or know that it is day. This deep
seclusion and remoteness is due to the fact that an intervening passage
separates the wall of the chamber from that of the garden, and so all
the sound is dissipated in the empty space between. A very small
heating apparatus has been fitted to the room, which, by means of a
narrow trap-door, either diffuses or retains the hot air as may be
required. Adjoining it is an ante-room and a chamber projected towards
the sun, which the latter room catches immediately upon his rising, and
retains his rays beyond mid-day though they fall aslant upon it. When I
betake myself into this sitting-room, I seem to be quite away even from
my villa, and I find it delightful to sit there, especially during the
Saturnalia, when all the rest of the house rings with the merry riot and
shouts of the festival-makers; for then I do not interfere with their
amusements, and they do not distract me from my studies.
The convenience and charm of the situation of my villa have one drawback
in that it contains no running water, but I draw my supply from wells or
rather fountains, for they are situated at a high level. Indeed, it is
one of the curious characteristics of the shore here that wherever you
dig you find moisture ready to hand, and the water is quite fresh and
not even brackish in the slightest degree, though the sea is so close
by. The neighbouring woods furnish us with abundance of fuel, and other
supplies we get from a colony of Ostia. The village, which is separated
only by one residence from my own, supplies my modest wants; it boasts
of three public baths, which are a great convenience, when you do not
feel inclined to heat your own bath at home, if you arrive unexpectedly
or wish to save time. The shore is beautified by a most pleasing
variety of villa buildings, some of which are close together, while
others have great intervals between them. They give the appearance of a
number of cities, whether you view them from the sea or from the shore
itself, and the sands of the latter are sometimes loosened by a long
spell of quiet weather, or--as more often happens--are hardened by the
constant beating of the waves. The sea does not indeed abound with fish
of any value, but it yields excellent soles and prawns. Yet our villa
provides us with plenty of inland produce and especially milk, for the
herds come down to us from the pastures whenever they seek water or
shade.
Well, do you think that I have just reasons for living here, for passing
my time here, and for loving a retreat for which your mouth must be
watering, unless you are a confirmed town-bird? I wish that your mouth
did water! If it did, the many great charms of my little villa would be
enhanced in the highest degree by your company. Farewell.
2.XVIII.--TO MAURICUS.
No, you could not have given me a pleasanter commission than to find a
teacher of rhetoric for your brother's children. For, thanks to you, I
go to school again, and, as it were, enjoy once more the happiest days
of my life. I sit among young people, as I used to do, and I can judge
what authority I have among them owing to my literary pursuits. Just
recently in a full class-room, before a number of members of our order,
the boys were joking among themselves quite loudly; the moment I entered
they were quiet as mice. I should not mention the incident except that
it redounded more to their credit than to mine, and that I wish you to
feel sure that your brother's sons can attend the lectures to their
advantage. Moreover, when I have heard all the lectures, I will write
and tell you what I think about each one of them, and so--as far as I
can by a letter--I will make you think that you have heard them all
yourself. I owe this to you, and I owe it to the memory of your brother
to deal loyally by him and take this interest, especially on such an
important subject. For what can touch you more closely than that these
children--I should say your children, but that you love them more than
if they were your own--should be found worthy of such a father and such
an uncle as yourself. Even if you had not asked me to look after them,
I should have done so on my own account. I do not forget that in
choosing a public teacher one is apt to give offence, but on behalf of
your brother's sons I must risk giving offence and even incurring
animosity with as little compunction as a parent would in looking after
his own children. Farewell.
2.XIX.--TO CERIALIS.
You urge me to recite my speech before a company of my friends. I will
do so, because you ask me to, but I am exceedingly doubtful of the
wisdom of the step. For I cannot help remembering that speeches which
are recited lose all their spirit and passion and almost the right to
the name of speeches--which are properly enhanced and fired by the bench
of judges, the crowds of supporters, the waiting for the verdict, the
reputation of the various counsel, and the divided partisanship of the
audience. Besides all this, there are the gestures of the pleader, his
moving to and fro, even his hurried strides, and every movement of his
body which corresponds to some thought passing through his mind. Hence
it is that those who plead sitting down, although they have practically
the same environment as those who plead standing, are not so impressive
and telling just because they happen to be seated. But when a man
recites a speech, his eyes and hands--which are the most important aids
to expression--are otherwise occupied, and so it is no wonder that the
attention of the audience becomes languid, when there are no external
graces to charm them and no thrills to stimulate them. Moreover, the
address I am talking about is a fighting speech and full of contentious
matter, and Nature has so ordained it that we think, if a subject has
given us trouble to write, it will give an audience trouble to listen to
it. How few conscientious listeners there are who prefer a stiff,
closely-reasoned argument to honeyed and sonorous eloquence! It is
wrong, I know, that there should be a difference of taste between judge
and listener, but there is such a difference and it constantly crops up.
The audience want one thing and the judges another, whereas, on the
contrary, a listener ought to be impressed just by those points which
would make most impression on him if he were judge. However, it is
possible that in spite of these difficulties the speech may be
recommended by a certain novelty--a novelty that is quite Roman,--for
though the Greeks have a custom which does bear a remote resemblance to
it, it is really quite different. For just as it was their practice, in
showing that a law was opposed to earlier laws, to prove that it was so
by comparing it with the others, so I had to show that my accusation was
covered by the law against extortion by comparing it with other laws as
well as by proving it from the law itself. Such a subject, though far
from having any charm for the ears of the man in the street, ought to be
as interesting to the learned as it is uninteresting to the unlearned.
But if I make up my mind to recite the speech, I shall invite all the
learned people to hear it. However, please think it over by all means
and tell me whether you still consider that I ought to recite it; place
on either side all the considerations I have raised, and choose the
conclusion which has the weight of argument in its favour. It is from
you, not from me, that a reason will be required; my apology will be
that I did as I was told. Farewell.
2.XX.--TO CALVISIUS.
Get ready your penny and I will tell you a golden story, nay, more than
one, for the new one has reminded me of some old tales, and it does not
matter with which I begin. Verania, the wife of Piso, was lying very
ill--I mean the Piso who was adopted by Galba. Regulus paid her a
visit. First mark the impudence of the man in coming to see the
invalid, for he had been her husband's bitter enemy and she loathed and
detested him. However, that might pass if he had only called, but he
actually sat down beside her on the couch and asked her on what day and
at what hour she had been born. On being told he puts on a grave look,
fixes his eyes hard, moves his lips, works his fingers and makes his
reckoning, but says nothing. Then after keeping the poor lady on the
tenter-hooks, wondering what he would say, he exclaims: "You are
passing through a critical time, but you will pull through. Still, just
to reassure you, I will go and consult a soothsayer with whom I have
often had dealings." He goes off at once; offers the sacrifice and
swears that the appearance of the entrails corresponds with the warning
of the stars. She, with all the credulity of an invalid, calls for her
tablets and writes down a legacy for Regulus; subsequently she grows
worse and exclaims as she dies, "What a rascal, what a lying and worse
than perjured wretch, thus to have sworn falsely on the head of his
son!"
That is Regulus's trick, and he has recourse to the scandalous device
constantly, for he calls down the anger of the gods, whom he daily
outrages, upon the head of his luckless son. Velleius Blaesus, the rich
Consular, was stricken with the illness which carried him off, and was
desirous of changing his will. Regulus, who was capable of hoping for
anything from an alteration of the will because he had lately begun to
haunt him on the chance of a legacy, begged and prayed of the doctors to
prolong Blaesus's life by hook or by crook. But when the will was
signed he took quite a different line. He changed his tone and said to
the same doctors: "How long do you intend to torture the poor man? Why
do you grudge him an easy death when you cannot give him life?" Blaesus
dies, and, as though he had heard every word, he leaves Regulus not a
brass farthing. Two stories are quite enough. Or do you ask for a
third, on the rhetoricians' principle? Well, I have one for you. When
Aurelia, a lady of great means, was about to make her will, she put on
for the occasion her most handsome tunics. When Regulus came to witness
the signing he said, "I beg you to leave me these." Aurelia thought the
man was joking, but he was serious and pressed the matter. Well, to cut
the story short, he compelled the poor woman to open the tablets and
leave to him the tunics she was wearing at the time. He watched her as
she wrote, and looked to see whether she had written it rightly.
Aurelia still lives, but he forced her to make that legacy as if she had
been on the point of death. Yet this is the fellow who receives
inheritances and legacies as though he deserved them.
But why do I worry myself when I live in a country where villainy and
rascality have long been getting not less but far more handsome rewards
than modesty and virtue? Look at Regulus, for example, who, from being
a pauper and without a shilling, has now become such a rich man by sheer
villainy that he once told me that, when he was consulting the omens as
to how soon he would be worth sixty millions of sesterces, he found
double sets of entrails, which were a token that he would be worth 120
millions. So he will too, if only he goes on, as he has begun,
dictating wills which are not their own to the very people who are
making their wills, which is about the most disgraceful kind of forgery
imaginable. Farewell.