kindnesses of his friends; hence he praises my deserts (though he is
really indebted to me) beyond their due. It is true indeed that when the
philosophers were expelled from Rome,[54] I visited him at his house
near the city, and ran the greater risk in paying him that civility, as
it was more noticeable then, I being praetor at the time. I supplied him
too with a considerable sum to pay certain debts he had contracted upon
very honourable occasions, without charging interest, though obliged to
borrow the money myself, while the rest of his rich powerful friends
stood by hesitating about giving him assistance. I did this at a time
when seven of my friends were either executed or banished; Senecio,
Rusticus, and Helvidius having just been put to death, while Mauricus,
Gratilla, Arria, and Fannia, were sent into exile; and scorched as it
were by so many lightning-bolts of the state thus hurled and flashing
round me, I augured by no uncertain tokens my own impending doom. But I
do not look upon myself, on that account, as deserving of the high
praises my friend bestows upon me: all I pretend to is the being clear
of the infamous guilt of abandoning him in his misfortunes. I had, as
far as the differences between our ages would admit, a friendship for
his father-in-law Musonius, whom I both loved and esteemed, while
Artemidorus himself I entered into the closest intimacy with when I was
serving as a military tribune in Syria. And I consider as a proof that
there is some good in me the fact of my being so early capable of
appreciating a man who is either a philosopher or the nearest
resemblance to one possible; for I am sure that, amongst all those who
at the present day call themselves philosophers, you will find hardly
any one of them so full of sincerity and truth as he. I forbear to
mention how patient he is of heat and cold alike, how indefatigable in
labour, how abstemious in his food, and what an absolute restraint he
puts upon all his appetites; for these qualities, considerable as they
would certainly be in any other character, are less noticeable by the
side of the rest of those virtues of his which recommended him to
Musonius for a son-in-law, in preference to so many others of all ranks
who paid their addresses to his daughter. And when I think of all these
things, I cannot help feeling pleasurably affected by those unqualified
terms of praise in which he speaks of me to you as well as to everyone
else. I am only apprehensive lest the warmth of his kind feeling carry
him beyond the due limits; for he, who is so free from all other errors,
is apt to fall into just this one good-natured one, of overrating the
merits of his friends. Farewell.
XXXII -- To CATILIUS SEVERUS
I WILL come to supper, but must make this agreement beforehand, that I
go when I please, that you treat me to nothing expensive, and that our
conversation abound only in Socratic discourse, while even that in
moderation. There are certain necessary visits of ceremony, bringing
people out before daylight, which Cato himself could not safely fall in
with; though I must confess that Julius Cæsar reproaches him with that
circumstance in such a manner as redounds to his praise; for he tells us
that the persons who met him reeling home blushed at the discovery, and
adds, "You would have thought that Cato had detected them, and not they
Cato." Could he place the dignity of Cato in a stronger light than by
representing him thus venerable even in his cups? But let our supper be
as moderate in regard to hours as in the preparation and expense: for we
are not of such eminent reputation that even our enemies cannot censure
our conduct without applauding it at the same time. Farewell.
XXXIII -- To ACILIUS
THE atrocious treatment that Largius Macedo, a man of praetorian rank,
lately received at the hands of his slaves is so extremely tragical that
it deserves a place rather in public history than in a private letter;
though it must at the same time be acknowledged there was a haughtiness
and severity in his behaviour towards them which shewed that he little
remembered, indeed almost entirely forgot, the fact that his own father
had once been in that station of life. He was bathing at his Formian
Villa, when he found himself suddenly surrounded by his slaves; one
seizes him by the throat, another strikes him on the mouth, whilst
others trampled upon his breast, stomach, and even other parts which I
need not mention. When they thought the breath must be quite out of his
body, they threw him down upon the heated pavement of the bath, to try
whether he were still alive, where he lay outstretched and motionless,
either really insensible or only feigning to be so, upon which they
concluded him to be actually dead. In this condition they brought him
out, pretending that he had got suffocated by the heat of the bath. Some
of his more trusty servants received him, and his mistresses came about
him shrieking and lamenting. The noise of their cries and the fresh air,
together, brought him a little to himself; he opened his eyes, moved his
body, and shewed them (as he now safely might) that he was not quite
dead. The murderers immediately made their escape; but most of them have
been caught again, and they are after the rest. He was with great
difficulty kept alive for a few days, and then expired, having however
the satisfaction of finding himself as amply revenged in his lifetime as
he would have been after his death. Thus you see to what affronts,
indignities, and dangers we are exposed. Lenity and kind treatment are
no safeguard; for it is malice and not reflection that arms such
ruffians against their masters. So much for this piece of news. And what
else? What else? Nothing else, or you should hear it, for I have still
paper, and time too (as it is holiday time with me) to spare for more,
and I can tell you one further circumstance relating to Macedo, which
now occurs to me. As he was in a public bath once, at Rome, a
remarkable, and (judging from the manner of his death) an ominous,
accident happened to him. A slave of his, in order to make way for his
master, laid his hand gently upon a Roman knight, who, turning suddenly
round, struck, not the slave who had touched him, but Macedo, so violent
a blow with his open palm that he almost knocked him down. Thus the bath
by a kind of gradation proved fatal to him; being first the scene of an
indignity he suffered, afterwards the scene of his death. Farewell.
XXXIV -- To NEPOS
I HAVE constantly observed that amongst the deeds and sayings of
illustrious persons of either sex, some have made more noise in the
world, whilst others have been really greater, although less talked
about; and I am confirmed in this opinion by a conversation I had
yesterday with Fannia. This lady is a grand-daughter to that celebrated
Arria, who animated her husband to meet death, by her own glorious
example. She informed me of several particulars relating to Arria, no
less heroic than this applauded action of hers, though taken less notice
of, and I think you will be as surprised to read the account of them as
I was to hear it. Her husband Caecinna Paetus, and her son, were both
attacked at the same time with a fatal illness, as was supposed; of
which the son died, a youth of remarkable beauty, and as modest as he
was comely, endeared indeed to his parents no less by his many graces
than from the fact of his being their son. His mother prepared his
funeral and conducted the usual ceremonies so privately that Paetus did
not know of his death. Whenever she came into his room, she pretended
her son was alive and actually better: and as often as he enquired after
his health, would answer, "He has had a good rest, and eaten his food
with quite an appetite." Then when she found the tears, she had so long
kept back, gushing forth in spite of herself, she would leave the room,
and having given vent to her grief, return with dry eyes and a serene
countenance, as though she had dismissed every feeling of bereavement at
the door of her husband's chamber. I must confess it was a brave
action[55] in her to draw the steel, plunge it into her breast, pluck
out the dagger, and present it to her husband with that ever memorable,
I had almost said that divine, expression, "Paetus, it is not painful."
But when she spoke and acted thus, she had the prospect of glory and
immortality before her; how far greater, without the support of any such
animating motives, to hide her tears, to conceal her grief, and
cheerfully to act the mother, when a mother no more!
Scribonianus had taken up arms in Illyria against Clatidius, where he
lost his life, and Paetus, who was of his party, was brought a prisoner
to Rome. When they were going to put him on board ship, Arria besought
the soldiers that she might be permitted to attend him: "For surely,"
she urged, "you will allow a man of consular rank some servants to dress
him, attend to him at meals, and put his shoes on for him; but if you
will take me, I alone will perform all these offices." Her request was
refused; upon which she hired a fishing-boat, and in that small vessel
followed the ship. On her return to Rome, meeting the wife of
Scribonianus in the emperor's palace, at the time when this woman
voluntarily gave evidence against the conspirators--"What," she
exclaimed, "shall I hear you even speak to me, you, on whose bosom your
husband Scribonianus was murdered, and yet you survive him?"--an
expression which plainly shews that the noble manner in which she put an
end to her life was no unpremeditated effect of sudden passion.
Moreover, when Thrasea, her son-in-law, was endeavouring to dissuade her
from her purpose of destroying herself, and, amongst other arguments
which he used, said to her, "Would you then advise your daughter to die
with me if my life were to be taken from me?" "Most certainly I would,"
she replied, "if she had lived as long, and in as much harmony with you,
as I have with my Paetus." This answer greatly increased the alarm of
her family, and made them watch her for the future more narrowly; which,
when she perceived, "It is of no use," she said, "you may oblige me to
effect my death in a more painful way, but it is impossible you should
prevent it." Saying this, she sprang from her chair, and running her
head with the utmost violence against the wall, fell down, to all
appearance, dead; but being brought to herself again, "I told you," she
said, "if you would not suffer me to take an easy path to death, I
should find a way to it, however hard." Now, is there not, my friend,
something much greater in all this than in the so-much-talked-of
"Paetus, it is not painful," to which these led the way? And yet this
last is the favourite topic of fame, while all the former are passed
over in silence. Whence I cannot but infer, what I observed at the
beginning of my letter, that some actions are more celebrated, whilst
others are really greater. Farewell.
XXXV -- To SEVERUS
I WAS obliged by my consular office to compliment the emperor[56] in the
name of the republic; but after I had performed that ceremony in the
senate in the usual manner, and as fully as the time and place would
allow, I thought it agreeable to the affection of a good subject to
enlarge those general heads, and expand them into a complete discourse.
My principal object in doing so was, to confirm the emperor in his
virtues, by paying them that tribute of applause which they so justly
deserve; and at the same time to direct future princes, not in the
formal way of lecture, but by his more engaging example, to those paths
they must pursue if they would attain the same heights of glory. To
instruct princes how to form their conduct, is a noble, but difficult
task, and may, perhaps, be esteemed an act of presumption: but to
applaud the character of an accomplished prince, and to hold out to
posterity, by this means, a beacon-light as it were, to guide succeeding
monarchs, is a method equally useful, and much more modest. It afforded
me a very singular pleasure that when I wished to recite this panegyric
in a private assembly, my friends gave me their company, though I did
not solicit them in the usual form of notes or circulars, but only
desired their attendance, "should it be quite convenient to them," and
"if they should happen to have no other engagement." You know the
excuses generally made at Rome to avoid invitations of this kind; how
prior invitations are usually alleged; yet, in spite of the worst
possible weather, they attended the recital for two days together; and
when I thought it would be unreasonable to detain them any longer, they
insisted upon my going through with it the next day. Shall I consider
this as an honour done to myself or to literature? Rather let me suppose
to the latter, which, though well-nigh extinct, seems to be now again
reviving amongst us. Yet what was the subject which raised this uncommon
attention? No other than what formerly, even in the senate, where we had
to submit to it, we used to grudge even a few moments' attention to. But
now, you see, we have patience to recite and to attend to the same topic
for three days together; and the reason of this is, not that we have
more eloquent writing now than formerly, but we write under a fuller
sense of individual freedom, and consequently more genially than we used
to. It is an additional glory therefore to our present emperor that this
sort of harangue, which was once as disgusting as it was false, is now
as pleasing as it is sincere. But it was not only the earnest attention
of my audience which afforded me pleasure; I was greatly delighted too
with the justness of their taste: for I observed, that the more nervous
parts of my discourse gave them peculiar satisfaction. It is true,
indeed, this work, which was written for the perusal of the world in
general, was read only to a few; however, I would willingly look upon
their particular judgment as an earnest of that of the public, and
rejoice at their manly taste as if it were universally spread. It was
just the same in eloquence as it was in music, the vitiated ears of the
audience introduced a depraved style; but now, I am inclined to hope, as
a more refined judgment prevails in the public, our compositions of both
kinds will improve too; for those authors whose sole object is to please
will fashion their works according to the popular taste. I trust,
however, in subjects of this nature the florid style is most proper; and
am so far from thinking that the vivid colouring I have used will be
esteemed foreign and unnatural that I am most apprehensive that censure
will fall upon those parts where the diction is most simple and
unornate. Nevertheless, I sincerely wish the time may come, and that it
now were, when the smooth and luscious, which has affected our style,
shall give place, as it ought, to severe and chaste composition. -- Thus
have I given you an account of my doings of these last three days, that
your absence might not entirely deprive you of a pleasure which, from
your friendship to me, and the part you take in everything that concerns
the interest of literature, I know you would have received, had you been
there to hear. Farewell.
XXXVI -- To CALVISIUS RUFUS
I MUST have recourse to you, as usual, in an affair which concerns my
finances. An estate adjoining my land, and indeed running into it, is
for sale. There are several considerations strongly inclining me to this
purchase, while there are others no less weighty deterring me from it.
Its first recommendation is, the beauty which will result from uniting
this farm to my own lands; next, the advantage as well as pleasure of
being able to visit it without additional trouble and expense; to have
it superintended by the same steward, and almost by the same sub-agents,
and to have one villa to support and embellish, the other just to keep
in common repair. I take into this account furniture, housekeepers,
fancy-gardeners, artificers, and even hunting-apparatus, as it makes a
very great difference whether you get these altogether into one place or
scatter them about in several. On the other hand, I don't know whether
it is prudent to expose so large a property to the same climate, and the
same risks of accident happening; to distribute one's possessions about
seems a safer way of meeting the caprice of fortune, besides, there is
something extremely pleasant in the change of air and place, and the
going about between one's properties. And now, to come to the chief
consideration:--the lands are rich, fertile, and well-watered,
consisting chiefly of meadow-ground, vineyard, and wood, while the
supply of building timber and its returns, though moderate, still, keep
at the same rate. But the soil, fertile as it is, has been much
impoverished by not having been properly looked after. The person last
in possession used frequently to seize and sell the stock, by which
means, although he lessened his tenants' arrears for the time being, yet
he left them nothing to go on with and the arrears ran up again in
consequence. I shall be obliged, then, to provide them with slaves,
which I must buy, and at a higher than the usual price, as these will be
good ones; for I keep no fettered slaves[57] myself, and there are none
upon the estate. For the rest, the price, you must know, is three
millions of sesterces.[58] It has formerly gone over five millions,[59]
but owing, partly to the general hardness of the times, and partly to
its being thus stripped of tenants, the income of this estate is
reduced, and consequently its value. You will be inclined perhaps to
enquire whether I can easily raise the purchase-money? My estate, it is
true, is almost entirely in land, though I have some money out at
interest; but I shall find no difficulty in borrowing any sum I may
want. I can get it from my wife's mother, whose purse I may use with the
same freedom as my own; so that you need not trouble yourself at all
upon that point, should you have no other objections, which I should
like you very carefully to consider: for, as in everything else, so,
particularly in matters of economy, no man has more judgment and
experience than yourself. Farewell.
XXXVII -- To CORNELIUS PRISCUS
I HAVE just heard of Valerius Martial's death, which gives me great
concern. He was a man of an acute and lively genius, and his writings
abound in equal wit, satire, and kindliness. On his leaving Rome I made
him a present to defray his travelling expenses, which I gave him, not
only as a testimony of friendship, but also in return for the verses
with which he had complimented me. It was the custom of the ancients to
distinguish those poets with honours or pecuniary rewards, who had
celebrated particular individuals or cities in their verses; but this
good custom, along with every other fair and noble one, has grown out of
fashion now; and in consequence of our having ceased to act laudably, we
consider praise a folly and impertinence. You may perhaps be curious to
see the verses which merited this acknowledgment from me, and I believe
I can, from memory, partly satisfy your curiosity, without referring you
to his works: but if you should be pleased with this specimen of them,
you must turn to his poems for the rest. He addresses himself to his
muse, whom he directs to go to my house upon the Esquiline,[60] but to
approach it with respect.
"Go, wanton muse, but go with care, Nor meet, ill-tim'd, my Pliny's ear;
He, by sage Minerva taught, Gives the day to studious thought, And plans
that eloquence divine, Which shall to future ages shine, And rival,
wondrous Tully! thine. Then, cautious, watch the vacant hour, When
Bacchus reigns in all his pow'r; When, crowned with rosy chaplets gay,
Catos might read my frolic lay."<a href="#linknote-61"
name="linknoteref-61" id="linknoteref-61">[61]</a>
Do you not think that the poet who wrote of me in such terms deserved
some friendly marks of my bounty then, and of my sorrow now? For he gave
me the very best he had to bestow, and would have given more had it been
in his power. Though indeed what can a man have conferred on him more
valuable than the honour of never-fading praise? But his poems will not
long survive their author, at least I think not, though he wrote them in
the expectation of their doing so. Farewell.
XXXVIII -- To FABATUS (HIS WIFE'S GRANDFATHER)
You have long desired a visit from your grand-daughter[62] accompanied
by me. Nothing, be assured, could be more agreeable to either of us; for
we equally wish to see you, and are determined to delay that pleasure no
longer. For this purpose we are already packing up, and hastening to you
with all the speed the roads will permit of. We shall make only one,
short, stoppage, for we intend turning a little out of our way to go
into Tuscany: not for the sake of looking upon our estate, and into our
family concerns, which we can postpone to another opportunity, but to
perform an indispensable duty. There is a town near my estate, called
Tifernum-upon-the-Tiber,[63] which, with more affection than wisdom, put
itself under my patronage when I was yet a youth. These people celebrate
my arrival among them, express the greatest concern when I leave them,
and have public rejoicings whenever they hear of my preferments. By way
of requiting their kindnesses (for what generous mind can bear to be
excelled in acts of friendship?) I have built a temple in this place, at
my own expense, and as it is finished, it would be a sort of impiety to
put off its dedication any longer. So we shall be there on the day on
which that ceremony is to be performed, and I have resolved to celebrate
it with a general feast. We may possibly stay on there for all the next
day, but shall make so much the greater haste in our journey afterwards.
May we have the happiness to find you and your daughter in good health!
In good spirits I am sure we shall, should we get to you all safely.
Farewell.
XXXIX -- To ATTIUS CLEMENS
REGULUS has lost his son; the only undeserved misfortune which could
have befallen him, in that I doubt whether he thinks it a misfortune.
The boy had quick parts, but there was no telling how he might turn out;
however, he seemed capable enough of going right, were he not to grow up
like his father. Regulus gave him his freedom,[64] in order to entitle
him to the estate left him by his mother; and when he got into
possession of it, (I speak of the current rumours, based upon the
character of the man,) fawned upon the lad with a disgusting shew of
fond affection which in a parent was utterly out of place. You may
hardly think this credible; but then consider what Regulus is. However,
he now expresses his concern for the loss of this youth in a most
extravagant manner. The boy had a number of ponies for riding and
driving, dogs both big and little, together with nightingales, parrots,
and blackbirds in abundance. All these Regulus slew round the funeral
pile. It was not grief, but an ostentatious parade of grief. He is
visited upon this occasion by a surprising number of people, who all
hate and detest the man, and yet are as assiduous in their attendance
upon him as if they really esteemed and loved him, and, to give you my
opinion in a word, in endeavouring to do Regulus a kindness, make
themselves exactly like him. He keeps himself in his park on the other
side the Tiber, where he has covered a vast extent of ground with his
porticoes, and crowded all the shore with his statues; for he unites
prodigality with excessive covetousness, and vain-glory with the height
of infamy. At this very unhealthy time of year he is boring society, and
he feels pleasure and consolation in being a bore. He says he wishes to
marry,--a piece of perversity, like all his other conduct. You must
expect, therefore, to hear shortly of the marriage of this mourner, the
marriage of this old man; too early in the former case, in the latter,
too late. You ask me why I conjecture this? Certainly not because he
says so himself (for a greater liar never stepped), but because there is
no doubt that Regulus will do whatever ought not to be done. Farewell.
XL -- To CATIUS LEPIDUS