you shall hear two or three; for one brings to my mind another. It makes
no difference with which I begin. Verania, the widow of Piso, the Piso,
I mean, whom Galba adopted, lay extremely ill, and Regulus paid her a
visit. By the way, mark the assurance of the man, visiting a lady who
detested him herself, and to whose husband he was a declared enemy! Even
barely to enter her house would have been bad enough, but he actually
went and seated himself by her bed-side and began enquiring on what day
and hour she was born. Being informed of these important particulars, he
composes his countenance, fixes his eyes, mutters something to himself,
counts upon his fingers, and all this merely to keep the poor sick lady
in suspense. When he had finished, "You are," he says, "in one of your
climacterics; however, you will get over it. But for your greater
satisfaction, I will consult with a certain diviner, whose skill I have
frequently experienced." Accordingly off he goes, performs a sacrifice,
and returns with the strongest assurances that the omens confirmed what
he had promised on the part of the stars. Upon this the good woman,
whose danger made her credulous, calls for her will and gives Regulus a
legacy. She grew worse shortly after this; and in her last moments
exclaimed against this wicked, treacherous, and worse than perjured
wretch, who had sworn falsely to her by his own son's life. But
imprecations of this sort are as common with Regulus as they are
impious; and he continually devotes that unhappy youth to the curse of
those gods whose vengeance his own frauds every day provoke.
Velleius Blaesus, a man of consular rank, and remarkable for his immense
wealth, in his last illness was anxious to make some alterations in his
will. Regulus, who had lately endeavoured to insinuate himself into his
good graces, hoped to get something from the new will, and accordingly
addresses himself to his physicians, and conjures them to exert all
their skill to prolong the poor man's life. But after the will was
signed, he changes his character, reversing his tone: "How long," says
he to these very same physicians, "do you intend keeping this man in
misery? Since you cannot preserve his life, why do you grudge him the
happy release of death?" Blaesus dies, and, as if he had overheard every
word that Regulus had said, has not left him one farthing.--And now have
you had enough? or are you for the third, according to rhetorical canon?
If so, Regulus will supply you. You must know, then, that Aurelia, a
lady of remarkable accomplishments, purposing to execute her will,[44]
had put on her smartest dress for the occasion. Regulus, who was present
as a witness, turned to the lady, and "Pray," says he, "leave me these
fine clothes." Aurelia thought the man was joking: but he insisted upon
it perfectly seriously, and, to be brief, obliged her to open her will,
and insert the dress she had on as a legacy to him, watching as she
wrote, and then looking over it to see that it was all down correctly.
Aurelia, however, is still alive: though Regulus, no doubt, when he
solicited this bequest, expected to enjoy it pretty soon. The fellow
gets estates, he gets legacies, conferred upon him, as if he really
deserved them! But why should I go on dwelling upon this in a city where
wickedness and knavery have, for this time past, received, the same, do
I say, nay, even greater encouragement, than modesty and virtue? Regulus
is a glaring instance of this truth, who, from a state of poverty, has
by a train of villainies acquired such immense riches that he once told
me, upon consulting the omens to know how soon he should be worth sixty
millions of sesterces,[45] he found them so favourable as to portend he
should possess double that sum. And possibly he may, if he continues to
dictate wills for other people in this way: a sort of fraud, in my
opinion, the most infamous of any. Farewell.
XXVI -- To CALVISIUS
I NEVER, I think, spent any time more agreeably than my time lately with
Spurinna. So agreeably, indeed, that if ever I should arrive at old age,
there is no man whom I would sooner choose for my model, for nothing can
be more perfect in arrangement than his mode of life. I look upon order
in human actions, especially at that advanced age, with the same sort of
pleasure as I behold the settled course of the heavenly bodies. In young
men, indeed, a little confusion and disarrangement is all well enough:
but in age, when business is unseasonable, and ambition indecent, all
should be composed and uniform. This rule Spurinna observes with the
most religious consistency. Even in those matters which one might call
insignificant, were they not of every-day occurrence, he observes a
certain periodical season and method. The early morning he passes on his
couch; at eight he calls for his slippers, and walks three miles,
exercising mind and body together. On his return, if he has any friends
in the house with him, he gets upon some entertaining and interesting
topic of conversation; if by himself, some book is read to him,
sometimes when visitors are there even, if agreeable to the company.
Then he has a rest, and after that either takes up a book or resumes his
conversation in preference to reading. By-and-by he goes out for a drive
in his carriage, either with his wife, a most admirable woman, or with
some friend: a happiness which lately was mine.--How agreeable, how
delightful it is getting a quiet time alone with him in this way! You
could imagine you were listening to some worthy of ancient times! What
deeds, what men you hear about, and with what noble precepts you are
imbued! Yet all delivered with so modest an air that there is not the
least appearance of dictating. When he has gone about seven miles, he
gets out of his chariot and walks a mile more, after which he returns
home, and either takes a rest or goes back to his couch and writing. For
he composes most elegant lyrics both in Greek and Latin. So wonderfully
soft, sweet, and gay they are, while the author's own unsullied life
lends them additional charm. When the baths are ready, which in winter
is about three o'clock, and in summer about two, he undresses himself
and, if there happen to be no wind, walks for some time in the sun.
After this he has a good brisk game of tennis: for by this sort of
exercise too, he combats the effects of old age. When he has bathed, he
throws himself upon his couch, but waits a little before he begins
eating, and in the meanwhile has some light and entertaining author read
to him. In this, as in all the rest, his friends are at full liberty to
share; or to employ themselves in any other way, just as they prefer.
You sit down to an elegant dinner, without extravagant display, which is
served up in antique plate of pure silver. He has another complete
service in Corinthian metal, which, though he admires as a curiosity, is
far from being his passion. During dinner he is frequently entertained
with the recital of some dramatic piece, by way of seasoning his very
pleasures with study; and although he continues at the table, even in
summer, till the night is somewhat advanced, yet he prolongs the
entertainment with so much affability and politeness that none of his
guests ever finds it tedious. By this method of living he has preserved
all his senses entire, and his body vigorous and active to his seventy-
eighth year, without showing any sign of old age except wisdom. This is
the sort of life I ardently aspire after; as I purpose enjoying it when
I shall arrive at those years which will justify a retreat from active
life. Meanwhile I am embarrassed with a thousand affairs, in which
Spurinna is at once my support and my example: for he too, so long as it
became him, discharged his professional duties, held magistracies,
governed provinces, and by toiling hard earned the repose he now enjoys.
I propose to myself the same career and the same limits: and I here give
it to you under my hand that I do so. If an ill-timed ambition should
carry me beyond those bounds, produce this very letter of mine in court
against me; and condemn me to repose, whenever I enjoy it without being
reproached with indolence. Farewell.
XXVII -- To BAEBIUS MACER
IT gives me great pleasure to find you such a reader of my uncle's works
as to wish to have a complete collection of them, and to ask me for the
names of them all. I will act as index then, and you shall know the very
order in which they were written, for the studious reader likes to know
this. The first work of his was a treatise in one volume, "On the Use of
the Dart by Cavalry"; this he wrote when in command of one of the
cavalry corps of our allied troops, and is drawn up with great care and
ingenuity. "The Life of Pomponius Secundus,"[46] in two volumes.
Pomponius had a great affection for him, and he thought he owed this
tribute to his memory. "The History of the Wars in Germany," in twenty
books, in which he gave an account of all the battles we were engaged in
against that nation. A dream he had while serving in the army in Germany
first suggested the design of this work to him. He imagined that Drusus
Nero[47] (who extended his conquest very far into that country, and
there lost his life) appeared to him in his sleep, and entreated him to
rescue his memory from oblivion. Next comes a work entitled "The
Student," in three parts, which from their length spread into six
volumes: a work in which is discussed the earliest training and
subsequent education of the orator. "Questions of Grammar and Style," in
eight books, written in the latter part of Nero's reign, when the
tyranny of the times made it dangerous to engage in literary pursuits
requiring freedom and elevation of tone. He has completed the history
which Aufidius Bassus[48] left unfinished, and has added to it thirty
books. And lastly he has left thirty-seven books on Natural History, a
work of great compass and learning, and as full of variety as nature
herself. You will wonder how a man as busy as he was could find time to
compose so many books, and some of them too involving such care and
labour. But you will be still more surprised when you hear that he
pleaded at the bar for some time, that he died in his sixty-sixth year,
that the intervening time was employed partly in the execution of the
highest official duties, partly in attendance upon those emperors who
honoured him with their friendship. But he had a quick apprehension,
marvellous power of application, and was of an exceedingly wakeful
temperament. He always began to study at midnight at the time of the
feast of Vulcan, not for the sake of good luck, but for learning's sake;
in winter generally at one in the morning, but never later than two, and
often at twelve.[49] He was a most ready sleeper, insomuch that he would
sometimes, whilst in the midst of his studies, fall off and then wake up
again. Before day-break he used to wait upon Vespasian' (who also used
his nights for transacting business in), and then proceed to execute the
orders he had received. As soon as he returned home, he gave what time
was left to study. After a short and light refreshment at noon
(agreeably to the good old custom of our ancestors) he would frequently
in the summer, if he was disengaged from business, lie down and bask in
the sun; during which time some author was read to him, while he took
notes and made extracts, for every book he read he made extracts out of,
indeed it was a maxim of his, that "no book was so bad but some good
might be got out of it." When this was over, he generally took a cold
bath, then some light refreshment and a little nap. After this, as if it
had been a new day, he studied till supper-time, when a book was again
read to him, which he would take down running notes upon. I remember
once his reader having mis-pronounced a word, one of my uncle's friends
at the table made him go back to where the word was and repeat it again;
upon which my uncle said to his friend, "Surely you understood it?" Upon
his acknowledging that he did, "Why then," said he, "did you make him go
back again? We have lost more than ten lines by this interruption." Such
an economist he was of time! In the summer he used to rise from supper
at daylight, and in winter as soon as it was dark: a rule he observed as
strictly as if it had been a law of the state. Such was his manner of
life amid the bustle and turmoil of the town: but in the country his
whole time was devoted to study, excepting only when he bathed. In this
exception I include no more than the time during which he was actually
in the bath; for all the while he was being rubbed and wiped, he was
employed either in hearing some book read to him or in dictating
himself. In going about anywhere, as though he were disengaged from all
other business, he applied his mind wholly to that single pursuit. A
shorthand writer constantly attended him, with book and tablets, who, in
the winter, wore a particular sort of warm gloves, that the sharpness of
the weather might not occasion any interruption to my uncle's studies:
and for the same reason, when in Rome, he was always carried in a chair.
I recollect his once taking me to task for walking. "You need not," he
said, "lose these hours." For he thought every hour gone that was not
given to study. Through this extraordinary application he found time to
compose the several treatises I have mentioned, besides one hundred and
sixty volumes of extracts which he left me in his will, consisting of a
kind of common-place, written on both sides, in very small hand, so that
one might fairly reckon the number considerably more. He used himself to
tell us that when he was comptroller of the revenue in Spain, he could
have sold these manuscripts to Largius Licinus for four hundred thousand
sesterces,[50] and then there were not so many of them. When you
consider the books he has read, and the volumes he has written, are you
not inclined to suspect that he never was engaged in public duties or
was ever in the confidence of his prince? On the other hand, when you
are told how indefatigable he was in his studies, are you not inclined
to wonder that he read and wrote no more than he did? For, on one side,
what obstacles would not the business of a court throw in his way? and
on the other, what is it that such intense application might not effect?
It amuses me then when I hear myself called a studious man, who in
comparison with him am the merest idler. But why do I mention myself,
who am diverted from these pursuits by numberless affairs both public
and private? Who amongst those whose whole lives are devoted to literary
pursuits would not blush and feel himself the most confirmed of
sluggards by the side of him? I see I have run out my letter farther
than I had originally intended, which was only to let you know, as you
asked me, what works he had left behind him. But I trust this will be no
less acceptable to you than the books themselves, as it may, possibly,
not only excite your curiosity to read his works, but also your
emulation to copy his example, by some attempts of a similar nature.
Farewell.
XXVIII -- To ANNIUS SEVERUS
I HAVE lately purchased with a legacy that was left me a small statue of
Corinthian brass. It is small indeed, but elegant and life-like, as far
as I can form any judgment, which most certainly in matters of this
sort, as perhaps in all others, is extremely defective. However, I do
see the beauties of this figure: for, as it is naked the faults, if
there be any, as well as the perfections, are the more observable. It
represents an old man, in an erect attitude. The bones, muscles, veins,
and the very wrinkles, give the Impression of breathing life. The hair
is thin and failing, the forehead broad, the face shrivelled, the throat
lank, the arms loose and hanging, the breast shrunken, and the belly
fallen in, as the whole turn and air of the figure behind too is equally
expressive of old age. It appears to be true antique, judging from the
colour of the brass. In short, it is such a masterpiece as would strike
the eyes of a connoisseur, and which cannot fail to charm an ordinary
observer: and this induced me, who am an absolute novice in this art, to
buy it. But I did so, not with any intention of placing it in my own
house (for I have nothing of the kind there), but with a design of
fixing it in some conspicuous place in my native province; I should like
it best in the temple of Jupiter, for it is a gift well worthy of a
temple, well worthy of a god. I desire therefore you would, with that
care with which you always perform my requests, undertake this
commission and give immediate orders for a pedestal to be made for it,
out of what marble you please, but let my name be engraved upon it, and,
if you think proper to add these as well, my titles. I will send the
statue by the first person I can find who will not mind the trouble of
it; or possibly (which I am sure you will like better) I may myself
bring it along with me: for I intend, if business can spare me that is
to say, to make an excursion over to you. I see joy in your looks when I
promise to come; but you will soon change your countenance when I add,
only for a few days: for the same business that at present keeps me here
will prevent my making a longer stay. Farewell.
XXIX -- To CANINIUS RUFUS
I HAVE just been informed that Silius Italicus[51] has starved himself
to death, at his villa near Naples. Ill-health was the cause. Being
troubled with an incurable cancerous humour, he grew weary of life and
therefore put an end to it with a determination not to be moved. He had
been extremely fortunate all through his life with the exception of the
death of the younger of his two sons; however, he has left behind him
the elder and the worthier man of the two in a position of distinction,
having even attained consular rank. His reputation had suffered a little
in Nero's time, as he was suspected of having officiously joined in some
of the informations in that reign; but he used his interest with
Vitellius, with great discretion and humanity. He acquired considerable
honour by his administration of the government of Asia, and, by his good
conduct after his retirement from business, cleared his character from
that stain which his former public exertions had thrown upon it. He
lived as a private nobleman, without power, and consequently without
envy. Though he was frequently confined to his bed, and always to his
room, yet he was highly respected, and much visited; not with an
interested view, but on his own account. He employed his time between
conversing with literary men and composing verses; which he sometimes
read out, by way of testing the public opinion: but they evidence more
industry than genius. In the decline of his years he entirely quitted
Rome, and lived altogether in Campania, from whence even the accession
of the new emperor[52] could not draw him. A circumstance which I
mention as much to the honour of Cæsar, who was not displeased with that
liberty, as of Italicus, who was not afraid to make use of it. He was
reproached with indulging his taste for the fine arts at an immoderate
expense. He had several villas in the same province, and the last
purchase was always the especial favourite, to the neglect of all the
rest, These residences overflowed with books, statues, and pictures,
which he more than enjoyed, he even adored; particularly that of Virgil,
of whom he was so passionate an admirer that he celebrated the
anniversary of that poet's birthday with more solemnity than his own, at
Naples especially where he used to approach his tomb as if it had been a
temple. In this tranquillity he passed his seventy-fifth year, with a
delicate rather than an infirm constitution.
As he was the last person upon whom Nero conferred the consular office,
so he was the last survivor of all those who had been raised by him to
that dignity. It is also remarkable that, as he was the last to die of
Nero's consuls, so Nero died when he was consul. Recollecting this, a
feeling of pity for the transitory condition of mankind comes over me.
Is there anything in nature so short and limited as human life, even at
its longest? Does it not seem to you but yesterday that Nero was alive?
And yet not one of all those who were consuls in his reign now remains!
Though why should I wonder at this? Lucius Piso (the father of that Piso
who was so infamously assassinated by Valerius Festus in Africa) used to
say, he did not see one person in the senate whose opinion he had
consulted when he was consul: in so short a space is the very term of
life of such a multitude of beings comprised! so that to me those royal
tears seem not only worthy of pardon but of praise. For it is said that
Xerxes, on surveying his immense army, wept at the reflection that so
many thousand lives would in such a short space of time be extinct. The
more ardent therefore should be our zeal to lengthen out this frail and
transient portion of existence, if not by our deeds (for the
opportunities of this are not in our power) yet certainly by our
literary accomplishments; and since long life is denied us, let us
transmit to posterity some memorial that we have at least LIVED. I well
know you need no incitements, but the warmth of my affection for you
inclines me to urge you on in the course you are already pursuing, just
as you have so often urged me. "Happy rivalry" when two friends strive
in this way which of them shall animate the other most in their mutual
pursuit of immortal fame. Farewell.
XXX -- To SPURINNA AND COTTIA[53]
I DID not tell you, when I paid you my last visit, that I had composed
something in praise of your son; because, in the first place, I wrote it
not for the sake of talking about my performance, but simply to satisfy
my affection, to console my sorrow for the loss of him. Again, as you
told me, my dear Spurinna, that you had heard I had been reciting a
piece of mine, I imagined you had also heard at the same time what was
the subject of the recital, and besides I was afraid of casting a gloom
over your cheerfulness in that festive season, by reviving the
remembrance of that heavy sorrow. And even now I have hesitated a little
whether I should gratify you both, in your joint request, by sending
only what I recited, or add to it what I am thinking of keeping back for
another essay. It does not satisfy my feelings to devote only one little
tract to a memory so dear and sacred to me, and it seemed also more to
the interest of his fame to have it thus disseminated by separate
pieces. But the consideration, that it will be more open and friendly to
send you the whole now, rather than keep back some of it to another
time, has determined me to do the former, especially as I have your
promise that it shall not be communicated by either of you to anyone
else, until I shall think proper to publish it. The only remaining
favour I ask is, that you will give me a proof of the same unreserve by
pointing out to me what you shall judge would be best altered, omitted,
or added. It is difficult for a mind in affliction to concentrate itself
upon such little cares. However, as you would direct a painter or
sculptor who was representing the figure of your son what parts he
should retouch or express, so I hope you will guide and inform my hand
in this more durable or (as you are pleased to think it) this immortal
likeness which I am endeavouring to execute: for the truer to the
original, the more perfect and finished it is, so much the more lasting
it is likely to prove. Farewell.
XXXI -- To JULIUS GENITOR