(_Fam._, XXIV, 6)
Thy rare integrity, thine activity, and the great splendor of thy
name urge me to love and in fact revere thee. There are some,
indeed, whom we love even after their death, owing to the good and
righteous deeds that live after them; men who mold our character
by their teaching and comfort us by their example when the rest of
mankind offends both our eyes and our nostrils; men who, though they
have gone hence to the common abode of all (as Plautus says in the
Casina[50]), nevertheless continue to be of service to the living.
Thou, however, art of no profit to us, or, at best, of only small
profit. But the fault is not thine--it is due to Time, which destroys
all things. All thy works are lost to us of today. And why not? ’Tis
only of gold that the present age is desirous; and when, pray, is
anyone a careful guardian of things despised?
Thou didst dedicate thyself to the pursuit of knowledge with
incredible zeal and incomparable industry, and yet thou didst not
for that reason abandon a life of action. Thou didst distinguish
thyself in both directions, and deservedly didst become dear to
those supremely eminent men, Pompey the Great and Julius Caesar.
Thou didst serve as a soldier under the one; to the other thou didst
address works worthy of admiration and full of the most varied
learning[51]--a most remarkable fact when we consider that they were
composed ’mid the widely conflicting duties of war and of peace.
Thou art deserving of great praise not only for thy genius and for
thy resolve to keep both mind and body in unremitting activity,
but also for having had the power and the wish to be of service
both to thy age and to all succeeding ages. But alas, thy works,
conceived and elaborated with such great care, have not been deemed
worthy of passing down to posterity through our hands. Our shameless
indifference has undone all thine ardor. Never has there been a
father ever so thrifty but that an extravagant son has been able to
squander within a short time the accumulated savings of years.
But why should I now enumerate thy lost works? Each title is a
stigma upon our name. It is better, therefore, to pass them over
in silence; for probing only opens the wound afresh, and a sorrow
once allayed is renewed by the memory of the loss incurred. But how
incredible is the power of fame! The name lives on, even though
the works be buried in oblivion. We have practically nothing of
Varro[52], yet scholars unanimously agree that Varro was most
learned.[53] Thy friend Marcus Cicero does not fear to make this
unqualified assertion in those very books in which he maintains that
nothing is to be asserted as positive. It is as if the splendor of
thy name had dazzled him; as if, in speaking of thee, he had lost
sight of the principles of his school.[54] Some there are who would
accept this testimony of Cicero only within the narrow bounds of
Latin literature, with whom therefore thou, O Varro, passest as the
most learned of the Romans.[55] But there are some who include Greek
literature as well, particularly Lactantius, a Roman most famous both
for his eloquence and his piety, who does not hesitate to declare
that no man has ever been more learned than Varro, not even among the
Greeks.[56]
Among thy countless admirers, however, two stand out pre-eminently:
one is he whom I have already mentioned, thy contemporary, thy
fellow-citizen, and thy fellow-disciple, Cicero, with whom thou didst
exchange numerous literary productions, thus devoting thy leisure
moments to a useful occupation, in obedience to the precepts of
Cato.[57] And if Cicero’s works were more long-lived than thine,
it must be accounted for by the charm of his style.[58] The second
of thy pre-eminent admirers is a most holy man, and one endowed
with a divine intellect, St. Augustine, African by birth, in speech
Roman. Would that thou hadst been able to consult him when writing
thy books on divine matters! Thou wouldst surely have become a
very great theologian, seeing that thou hadst so accurately and so
carefully laid down the principles of that theology with which thou
wert acquainted. It has been written of thee that thou wert such an
omnivorous reader as to cause wonder that thou couldst find any time
for writing, and that thou wert so prolific a writer as to make it
scarcely credible to us that anyone could even have read all that
thou didst write.[59] And yet, that I may withhold nothing concerning
the present condition of thy works, I shall say that there is not one
extant, or at best they are only in a very fragmentary state. But I
remember having seen some a long time ago,[60] and I am tortured by
the memory of a sweetness tasted only with the tip of the tongue, as
the saying goes. I am of the opinion that those very books on human
and divine matters, which greatly increased the reputation of thy
name, are still perchance in hiding somewhere, in search of which I
have worn myself out these many years. For there is nothing in life
more distressing and consuming than a constant and anxious hope ever
unfulfilled.
But enough of this. Be of good cheer. Treasure the moral comfort
deriving from thy uncommon labors, and grieve not that mortal things
have perished. Even while writing thou must have known that thy
work was destined to perish; for nothing immortal can be written
by mortal man. Forsooth, what matters it whether our work perish
immediately or after the lapse of a hundred thousand years, seeing
that at some time it must necessarily die? There is, O Varro, a long
line of illustrious men whose works were the result of an application
equal to thine own, and who have not been a whit more fortunate than
thou. And although not one of them was thy peer, yet thou shouldst
follow their example and bear thy lot with greater equanimity. Let
me enumerate some of this glorious company, for the mere utterance
of illustrious names gives me pleasure.[61] The following occur
to me: Marcus Cato the censor, Publius Nigidius, Antonius Gnipho,
Julius Hyginus, Ateius Capito, Gaius Bassus, Veratius Pontificalis,
Octavianus Herennius, Cornelius Balbus, Masurius Sabinus, Servius
Sulpitius, Cloacius Verus, Gaius Flaccus, Pompeius Festus, Cassius
Hemina, Fabius Pictor, Statius Tullianus, and many others whom it
would be tedious to enumerate, men once illustrious and now mere
ashes blown hither and thither by every gust of wind. With the
exception of the first two, their very names are scarcely known
today. Pray greet them in my name, but alas, with thy lips. I do
not send greetings to the Caesars Julius and Augustus and several
others of that rank, even though they were devoted to letters and
very learned, and though I know that thou wert very intimate with
some of them. It will be better, I am sure, to leave the sending of
such greetings to the emperors of our own age, provided they are not
ashamed of their predecessors, whose care and courage built up an
empire which they have overturned. Farewell forever, O illustrious
one.
_Written in the land of the living, in the capital of the
world, Rome, which was thy fatherland and became mine, on the
Kalends of November, in the year from the birth of Him whom I
would thou hadst known, the thirteen hundred and fiftieth._