Thou mayest, moreover, assert that thou didst desire to renounce
thy life of ease, to break the toils in which wealth had enmeshed
thee, and, even though in utter destitution, to escape from such a
whirlpool. This defense was known also to the ancient historians,
and I who follow in their footsteps was not able to pass it over in
silence.[31] But if I concealed my innermost thoughts when defending
thee in public, dost thou suppose that now, when my words are
addressed directly to thee, I shall suppress what my indignation and
love of truth urge me to say? Come now, approach nearer, that no
stranger may overhear on becoming aware that time has not robbed us
of a knowledge of thy doings.
We have (thou must know) a most trustworthy authority, one who,
though writing of men in the highest station, was influenced neither
by fear nor favor, Suetonius Tranquillus. And dost thou know what
he says? That thou didst discourage Nero’s reading of the ancient
orators in order that thou mightest retain him the longer as an
admirer of thine own writings.[32] In other words, thou didst strive
with might and main to be dear to one to whom thou shouldst have
found some means of becoming an object of sovereign contempt and
derision, by either feigning to have, or else really possessing, an
irrepressible tongue. Am I not right? The first cause of all thy
misery was the shallowness of thy aim, not to say its worthlessness.
Though weighed down with years, thou didst pursue the elusive phantom
of glory entirely too joyously, I might almost say childishly. Let
us grant for the moment that it was the advice of another, or an
error on thy part, or even fate that made thee the teacher of that
ungovernable man--for in seeking to excuse our own faults we are wont
to lay the blame on fate. But it was _thy_ fault that thou didst
remain his sponsor. Thou canst not accuse fortune; thy prayers were
answered and thou obtainedst that which thou hadst so ardently longed
for.
But how was it all to end? Ah, thou wretched man! Since thou hadst
endeared thyself to that wild youth to such an extent as to render
it impossible for him to leave thee at will, shouldst thou not at
least have borne with greater resignation the yoke which thou hadst
assumed of thine own accord?[33] Shouldst thou not at least have
refrained from branding the name of thy master with everlasting
infamy?[34] Didst thou not know that tragedy is the most serious of
all compositions, as Naso says?[35] And we all know how biting, how
virulent, and how vehement is the tragedy that thou didst write
against him.[36] Receive my words in good part, O Seneca, and be
calm, for the more impatiently one listens to the truth the more
deeply is he wounded by it. Unless perchance I am wronging thee, and
the contention of some be true, that the author of those tragedies is
not thou, but another bearing the same name. For the Spaniards assert
both that Cordova produced two Senecas,[37] and that the name of
that tragedy (written against Nero) is _Octavia_. In this play there
is a passage that gives rise to the suspicion of authorship.[38] If
we accept the conclusions drawn therefrom, thou wilt be entirely
acquitted of having written the tragedy to avenge the burden of thy
yoke. As far as style is concerned, that other author (whoever he
is) is by no means thy inferior, although he is later than thou in
time and far behind thee in reputation. The more inadequate is the
attack on infamous conduct, the weaker is the intellectual power
of the writer. Indeed, beyond the attack on Nero there is (in my
opinion) no other excuse for the writing of that much-discussed
play. And the attack must be inadequate in this case, for I realize
that no bitterness of either thought or expression could be quite
commensurate with the abominable deeds of that man--if he be worthy
the name of man.
Consider, however, whether it was proper for thee to write of him as
thou didst, when the relationship between you was that of subject
and sovereign, subordinate and superior, teacher and pupil. Was it
fitting that thou shouldst write thus of him whom it was thy custom
to flatter, or rather (not to mince matters) by flattering, deceive?
Re-read the books which thou didst dedicate to him on the subject of
Mercy;[39] recollect the sentiments expressed in the volume which
thou didst address to Polybius on Consolation; finally, run over
thy other works, the fruit of many sleepless nights, provided that
the waters of Lethe have not wiped out all memory of them. Do as I
say, and (I am sure) thou wilt be ashamed of the praises thou didst
lavish upon thy pupil. I for one cannot comprehend thy effrontery in
penning such words of such a man; I cannot read them without a sense
of shame. But thou wilt have recourse to the customary defense, I
know. Thou wilt adduce the youth of the prince and his disposition,
which gave promise of much better results; and thou wilt endeavor to
defend the error of thy choice by his sudden and unexpected change
in life.[40] As if these arguments were unknown to us! But consider
this, how utterly inexcusable it was that a few, unimportant acts of
a charlatan prince, and his murmured hypocritical phrases on duty,
should have warped the mind and judgment of a man of thy discretion,
thy years, thy experience in life, and thy learning. Tell me, pray,
what deed of Nero pleased thee? I mean of course before he plunged
headlong into the abyss of disgraceful crimes--that earlier period
whose deeds some historians record (to use their own words)[41] with
no reproof, others with no inconsiderable amount of praise. Which of
them, I ask, pleased thee? Was it his fondness for contending in the
chariot-race,[42] or for playing on the cithern? We read, in fact,
that he diligently applied himself to these pursuits; that at first
he practiced in secret, in the presence of his slaves and the squalid
poor only, but that later he performed even in public, and, though
a monarch, drove his chariot in sight of all Rome like an ordinary
charioteer; and that, posing as a pre-eminent player, he worshiped
the cithern presented to him as if it had been a divinity.[43] At
last, elated at these successes, and as if not content with the
critical acumen of the Italians, he visited Achaia, and, puffed up
by the adulation of the art-loving Greeks, declared that only they
were worthy of being his listeners.[44] Ridiculous monster, savage
beast![45] Or, perhaps, didst thou consider the following a sure omen
of a good and conscientious ruler, that he consecrated on the Capitol
his first growth of beard, the first molting of his inhuman face?[46]
These surely are acts of thy Nero, O Seneca, and acts performed
by him at an age when the historians still reckoned him among
human beings, and when thou didst strive to set him among the gods
by commendations worthy neither of the one praising nor the one
praised. Indeed, thou didst not hesitate to rank him above that best
of rulers, the deified Augustus.[47] I do not know whether thou
art ashamed of this; I am. But I suppose thou didst deem Nero’s
deeds worthy of greater praise, in that he tortured the Christians,
a truly holy and harmless sect, but (as it seemed to him and to
Suetonius who tells the story) guilty of embracing a new and baneful
superstition.[48] Nero had now become the persecutor and the most
bitter enemy of all righteousness. In all seriousness, however, I
do not entertain such an evil opinion of thee, wherefore I wonder
all the more at thy earlier resolutions. And naturally so, because
the youthful deeds of Nero were too pitiful and vain, whereas his
persecution was execrable and frightful. This must have been thy
opinion, for in one of thy letters to the apostle Paul thou didst not
only intimate, but actually declare it.[49] Nor, I feel sure, couldst
thou have thought otherwise, once thou hadst given a willing ear to
his holy and heavenly teachings, and hadst embraced a friendship so
divinely held out to thee. Would that thou hadst been more steadfast
and that thou hadst not in the end been torn away from him! Would
that, together with that messenger of the Truth, thou hadst chosen
to die for the sake of that same Truth, for the promised reward in
heaven, and in honor of that great apostle!
The impulse of my subject, however, has taken me too far, and I
perceive that I have begun my sowing too late to entertain any hopes
of a good crop. So farewell forever.
_Written in the land of the living, in Cisalpine Gaul, between
the left bank of the greedy Enza and the right bank of the
bridge-shattering Parma, on the Kalends of Sextilis (August 1)
in the year from the birth of Him whom I am uncertain whether
thou didst know or not, the thirteen hundred and forty-eighth._