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General LettersPart II
Part II
XI
To Septitius Clarus
Ah! you are a pretty fellow! You make an engagement to come to supper and
then never appear. Justice shall be exacted; - you shall reimburse me to the
very last penny the expense I went to on your account; no small sum, let me
tell you. I had prepared, you must know, a lettuce apiece, three snails, two
eggs, and a barley cake, with some sweet wine and snow (the snow most
certainly I shall charge to your account, as a rarity that will not keep).
Olives, beet-root, gourds, onions, and a thousand other dainties equally
sumptuous. You should likewise have been entertained either with an interlude,
the rehearsal of a poem, or a piece of music, whichever you preferred; or
(such was my liberality) with all three. But the oysters, sows`-bellies, sea
- urchins, and dancers from Cadiz of a certain - I know not who, were, it
seems, more to your taste. You shall give satisfaction; how, shall at present
be a secret.
Oh! you have behaved cruelly, grudging your friend, - I had almost said
yourself; - and upon second thoughts I do say so; - in this way: for how
agreeably should we have spent the evening, in laughing, trifling, and
literary amusements! You may sup, I confess, at many places more splendidly;
but nowhere with more unconstrained mirth, simplicity, and freedom: only make
the experiment, and if you do not ever after excuse yourself to your other
friends, to come to me, always put me off to go to them. Farewell.
XII
To Suetonius Tranquillus
You tell me in your letter that you are extremely alarmed by a dream;
apprehending that it forebodes some ill success to you in the case you have
undertaken to defend; and, therefore, desire that I would get it adjourned for
a few days, or, at least, to the next. This will be no easy matter, but I will
try:
" . . . For dreams descend from Jove."
Meanwhile, it is very material for you to recollect whether your dreams
generally represent things as they afterwards fall out, or quite the reverse.
But if I may judge of yours by one that happened to myself, this dream that
alarms you seems to portend that you will acquit yourself with great success.
I had promised to stand counsel for Junius Pastor; when I fancied in my sleep
that my mother-in-law came to me, and, throwing herself at my feet, earnestly
entreated me not to plead. I was at that time a very young man; the case was
to be argued in the four centumviral courts; my adversaries were some of the
most important personages in Rome, and particular favourites of Caesar,^1 any
of which circumstances were sufficient, after such an inauspicious dream, to
have discouraged me. Notwithstanding this, I engaged in the cause, reflecting
that,
[Footnote 1: Domitian.]
"Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws,
And asks no omen but his country`s cause";^2
[Footnote 2: Iliad, xii. 243. Pope.]
for I looked upon the promise I had given to be as sacred to me as my country,
or, if that were possible, more so, The event happened as I wished; and it was
that very case which first procured me the favourable attention of the public,
and threw open to me the gates of Fame. Consider then whether your dream, like
this one I have related, may not presignify success. But, after all, perhaps
you will think it safer to pursue this cautious maxim: "Never do a thing
concerning the rectitude of which you are in doubt"; if so, write me word. In
the interval, I will consider of some excuse, and will so plead your cause
that you may be able to plead it yourself any day you like best. In this
respect, you are in a better situation than I was: the court of the
centumviri, where I was to plead, admits of no adjournment: whereas, in that
where your case is to be heard, though no easy matter to procure one, still,
however, it is possible. Farewell.
XIII
To Romanus Firmus
As you are my townsman, my schoolfellow, and the earliest companion of my
youth; as there was the strictest friendship between my mother and uncle and
your father (a happiness which I also enjoyed as far as the great inequality
of our ages would admit); can I fail (thus biassed as I am by so many and
weighty considerations) to contribute all in my power to the advancement of
your honours? The rank you bear in our province, as decurio, is a proof that
you are possessed, at least, of an hundred thousand sesterces;^1 but that we
may also have the satisfaction of seeing you a Roman knight,^2 I present you
with three hundred thousand, in order to make up the sum requisite to entitle
you to that dignity. The long acquaintance we have had leaves me no room to
apprehend you will ever be forgetful of this instance of my friendship. And I
know your disposition too well to think it necessary to advise you to enjoy
this honour with the modesty that becomes a person who receives it from me;
for the advanced rank we possess through a friend`s kindness is a sort of
sacred trust, in which we have his judgment, as well as our own character, to
maintain, and therefore to be guarded with the greater caution. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: Equal to about $4,000 of our money.]
[Footnote 2: "The equestrian dignity, or that order of the Roman people which
we commonly call knights, had nothing in it analogous to any order of modern
knighthood, but depended entirely upon a valuation of their estates; and every
citizen whose entire fortune amounted to 400,000 sesterces, that is, to about
$16,000 of our money, was enrolled, of course, in the list of knights, who
were considered as a middle order between the senators and common people, yet,
without any other distinction than the privilege of wearing a gold ring, which
was the peculiar badge of their order." Life of Cicero; vol. i., iii. in
note.]
XIV
To Cornelius Tacitus
I have frequent debates with a certain acquaintance of mine, a man of
skill and learning, who admires nothing so much in the eloquence of the bar as
conciseness. I agree with him, that where the case will admit of this
precision, it may with propriety be adopted; but insist that, to leave out
what is material to be mentioned, or only briefly and cursorily to touch upon
those points which should be inculcated, impressed, and urged well home upon
the minds of the audience, is a downright fraud upon one`s client. In many
cases, to deal with the subject at greater length adds strength and weight to
our ideas, which frequently produce their impression upon the mind, as iron
does upon solid bodies, rather by repeated strokes than a single blow. In
answer to this, he usually has recourse to authorities, and produces Lysias^1
amongst the Grecians, together with Cato and the two Gracchi among our own
countrymen, many of whose speeches certainly are brief and curtailed. In
return, I name Demosthenes, Aeschines, Hyperides,^2 and many others, in
opposition to Lysias; while I confront Cato and the Gracchi with Caesar,
Pollio,^3 Caelius,^4 but, above all, Cicero, whose longest speech is generally
considered his best. Why, no doubt about it, in good compositions, as in
everything else that is valuable, the more there is of them, the better. You
may observe in statues, basso-relievos, pictures, and the human form, and even
in animals and trees, that nothing is more graceful than magnitude, if
accompanied with proportion. The same holds true in pleading; and even in
books a large volume carries a certain beauty and authority in its very size.
My antagonist, who is extremely dexterous at evading an argument, eludes all
this, and much more, which I usually urge to the same purpose, by insisting
that those very individuals, upon whose works I found my opinion, made
considerable additions to their speeches when they published them. This I
deny; and appeal to the harangues of numberless orators, particularly to those
of Cicero, for Murena and Varenus, in which a short, bare notification of
certain charges is expressed under mere heads. Whence it appears that many
things which he enlarged upon at the time he delivered those speeches were
retrenched when he gave them to the public. The same excellent orator informs
us that, agreeably to the ancient custom, which allowed only of one counsel on
a side, Cluentius had no other advocate than himself; and he tells us further
that he employed four whole days in defence of Cornelius; by which it plainly
appears that those speeches which, when delivered at their full length, had
necessarily taken up so much time at the bar were considerably cut down and
pruned when he afterwards compressed them into a single volume, though, I must
confess, indeed, a large one. But good pleading, it is objected, is one thing,
just composition another. This objection, I am aware, has had some favourers;
nevertheless, I am persuaded (though I may, perhaps, be mistaken) that, as it
is possible you may have a good pleading which is not a good speech, so a good
speech cannot be a bad pleading; for the speech on paper is the model and, as
it were, the archetype of the speech that was delivered. It is for this reason
we find, in many of the best speeches extant, numberless extemporaneous turns
of expression; and even in those which we are sure were never spoken; as, for
instance, in the following passage from the speech against Verres: "A certain
mechanic - what`s his name? Oh, thank you for helping me to it: yes, I mean
Polyclitus." It follows, then, that the nearer approach a speaker makes to the
rules of just composition, the more perfect will he be in his art; always
supposing, however, that he has his due share of time allowed him; for, if he
be limited of that article, no blame can justly be fixed upon the advocate,
though much certainly upon the judge. The sense of the laws, I am sure, is on
my side, which are by no means sparing of the orator`s time; it is not
conciseness, but fullness, a complete representation of every material
circumstance, which they recommend. Now conciseness cannot effect this, unless
in the most insignificant cases. Let me add what experience, that unerring
guide, has taught me: it has frequently been my province to act both as an
advocate and a judge; and I have often also attended as an assessor.^5 Upon
those occasions, I have ever found the judgments of mankind are to be
influenced by different modes of application, and that the slightest
circumstances frequently produce the most important consequences. The
dispositions and understandings of men vary to such an extent that they seldom
agree in their opinions concerning any one point in debate before them; or, if
they do, it is generally from different motives. Besides, as every man is
naturally partial to his own discoveries, when he hears an argument urged
which had previously occurred to himself, he will be sure to embrace it as
extremely convincing. The orator, therefore, should so adapt himself to his
audience as to throw out something which every one of them, in turn, may
receive and approve as agreeable to his own particular views. I recollect,
once when Regulus and I were engaged on the same side, his remarking to me,
"You seem to think it necessary to go into every single circumstance: whereas
I always take aim at once at my adversary`s throat, and there I press him
closely." (`Tis true, he keeps a tight hold of whatever part he has once fixed
upon; but the misfortune is, he is extremely apt to fix upon the wrong place.)
I replied, it might possibly happen that what he called the throat was, in
reality, the knee or the ankle. As for myself, said I, who do not pretend to
direct my aim with so much precision, I test every part, I probe every
opening; in short, to use a vulgar proverb, I leave no stone unturned. And as,
in agriculture, it is not my vineyards or my woods only, but my fields as
well, that I look after and cultivate, and (to carry on the metaphor) as I do
not content myself with sowing those fields simply with corn or white wheat,
but sprinkle in barley, pulse, and the other kinds of grain; so, in my
pleadings at the bar, I scatter broadcast various arguments like so many kinds
of seed, in order to reap whatever may happen to come up. For the disposition
of your judges in as hard to fathom as uncertain, and as little to be relied
on as that of soils and seasons. The comic writer Eupolis,^6 I remember,
mentions it in praise of that excellent orator, Pericles, that -
"On his lips Persuasion hung,
And powerful Reason rul`d his tongue:
Thus he alone could boast the art
To charm at once, and pierce the heart."
[Footnote 1: An elegant Attic orator, remarkable for the grace and lucidity of
his style, also for his vivid and accurate delineations of character.]
[Footnote 2: A graceful and powerful orator, and friend of Demosthenes.]
[Footnote 3: A Roman orator of the Augustan age. He was a poet and historian
as well, but gained most distinction as an orator.]
[Footnote 4: A man of considerable taste, talent, and eloquence, but
profligate and extravagant. He was on terms of some intimacy with Cicero.]
[Footnote 5: The praetor was assisted by ten assessors, five of whom were
senators, and the rest knights. With these he was obliged to consult before he
pronounced sentence. M.]
[Footnote 6: A contemporary and rival of Aristophanes.]
But could Pericles, without the richest variety of expression, and merely
by the force of the concise or the rapid style, or both (for they are very
different), have thus charmed and pierced the heart?
To delight and to persuade require time and great command of language;
and to leave a sting in the minds of the audience is an effect not to be
expected from an orator who merely pinks, but from him, and him only, who
thrusts in. Another comic poet,^7 speaking of the same orator, says,
"His mighty words like Jove`s own thunder roll;
Greece hears, and trembles to her inmost soul."
[Footnote 7: Aristophanes, Ach. 531.]
But it is not the close and reserved; it is the copious, the majestic,
and the sublime orator, who thunders, who lightens, who, in short, bears all
before him in a confused whirl. There is, undeniably, a just mean in
everything; but he equally misses the mark who falls short of it, as he who
goes beyond it; he who is too limited, as he who is too unrestrained. Hence it
is as common a thing to hear our orators condemned for being too jejune and
feeble as too excessive and redundant. One is said to have exceeded the bounds
of his subject, the other not to have reached them. Both, no doubt, are
equally in fault, with this difference, however, that in the one the fault
arises from an abundance, in the other, from a deficiency; an error, in the
former case, which, if it be not the sign of a more correct, is certainly of a
more fertile genius. When I say this, I would not be understood to approve
that everlasting talker^8 mentioned in Homer, but that other^9 described in
the following lines:
"Frequent and soft, as falls the winter snow,
Thus from his lips the copious periods flow."
[Footnote 8: Thersites. Iliad, ii. v. 212.]
[Footnote 9: Ulysses. Iliad, iii. v. 222.]
Not but that I extremely admire him,^10 too, of whom the poet says,
"Few were his words, but wonderfully strong."
[Footnote 10: Menelaus. Iliad, iii. v. 214.]
Yet, if the choice were given me, I should give the preference to that
style resembling winter snow, that is, to the full, uninterrupted, and
diffusive; in short, to that pomp of eloquence which seems all heavenly and
divine. But (it is replied) the harangue of a more moderate length is most
generally admired. It is: - but only by indolent people; and to fix the
standard by their laziness and false delicacy would be simply ridiculous. Were
you to consult persons of this cast, they would tell you, not only that it is
best to say little, but that it is best to say nothing at all. Thus, my
friend, I have laid before you my opinions upon this subject, and I am willing
to change them if not agreeable to yours. But should you disagree with me,
pray let me know clearly your reasons why. For, though I ought to yield in
this case to your more enlightened judgment, yet, in a point of such
consequence, I had rather be convinced by argument than by authority. So if I
don`t seem to you very wide of the mark, a line or two from you in return,
intimating your concurrence, will be sufficient to confirm me in my opinion:
on the other hand, if you should think me mistaken, let me have your
objections at full length. Does it not look rather like bribery, my requiring
only a short letter if you agree with me; but a very long one if you should be
of a different opinion? Farewell.
XV
To Paternus
As I rely very much upon the soundness of your judgment, so I do upon the
goodness of your eyes: not because I think your discernment very great (for I
don`t want to make you conceited), but because I think it as good as mine:
which, it must be confessed, is saying a great deal. Joking apart, I like the
look of the slaves which were purchased for me on your recommendation very
well; all I further care about is, that they be honest: and for this I must
depend upon their characters more than their countenances. Farewell.
XVI
To Catilius Severus^1
[Footnote 1: Great-grandfather of the Emperor M. Aurelius.]
I am at present (and have been a considerable time) detained in Rome,
under the most stunning apprehensions. Titus Aristo,^2 whom I have a singular
admiration and affection for, is fallen into a long and obstinate illness,
which troubles me. Virtue, knowledge, and good sense shine out with so
superior a lustre in this excellent man that learning herself, and every
valuable endowment, seem involved in the danger of his single person. How
consummate his knowledge, both in the political and civil laws of his country!
How thoroughly conversant is he in every branch of history or antiquity! In a
word, there is nothing you might wish to know which he could not teach you. As
for me, whenever I would acquaint myself with any abstruse point, I go to him
as my storehouse. What an engaging sincerity, what dignity in his
conversation! how chastened and becoming is his caution! Though he conceives,
at once, every point in debate, yet he is as slow to decide as he is quick to
apprehend; calmly and deliberately sifting and weighing every opposite reason
that is offered, and tracing it, with a most judicious penetration, from its
source through all its remotest consequences. His diet is frugal, his dress
plain; and whenever I enter his chamber, and view him reclined upon his couch,
I consider the scene before me as a true image of ancient simplicity, to which
his illustrious mind reflects the noblest ornament. He places no part of his
happiness in ostentation, but in the secret approbation of his conscience,
seeking the reward of his virtue, not in the clamorous applauses of the world,
but in the silent satisfaction which results from having acted well. In short,
you will not easily find his equal, even among our philosophers by outward
profession. No, he does not frequent the gymnasia or porticoes,^3 nor does he
amuse his own and others` leisure with endless controversies, but busies
himself in the scenes of civil and active life. Many has he assisted with his
interest, still more with his advice, and withal in the practice of
temperance, piety, justice, and fortitude, he has no superior. You would be
astonished, were you there to see, at the patience with which he bears his
illness, how he holds out against pain, endures thirst, and quietly submits to
this raging fever and to the pressure of those clothes which are laid upon him
to promote perspiration. He lately called me and a few more of his particular
friends to his bedside, requesting us to ask his physicians what turn they
apprehended his distemper would take; that, if they pronounced it incurable,
he might voluntarily put an end to his life; but if there were hopes of a
recovery, how tedious and difficult soever it might prove, he would calmly
wait the event; for so much, he thought, was due to the tears and entreaties
of his wife and daughter, and to the affectionate intercession of his friends,
as not voluntarily to abandon our hopes, if they were not entirely desperate.
A true hero`s resolution this, in my estimation, and worthy the highest
applause. Instances are frequent in the world, of rushing into the arms of
death without reflection and by a sort of blind impulse; but deliberately to
weigh the reasons for life or death, and to be determined in our choice as
either side of the scale prevails, shows a great mind. We have had the
satisfaction to receive the opinion of his physicians in his favour: may
heaven favour their promises and relieve me at length from this painful
anxiety. Once easy in my mind, I shall go back to my favourite Laurentum, or,
in other words, to my books, my papers and studious leisure. Just now, so much
of my time and thoughts are taken up in attendance upon my friend, and anxiety
for him, that I have neither leisure nor inclination for any reading or
writing whatever. Thus you have my fears, my wishes, and my after plans. Write
me in return, but in a gayer strain, an account not only of what you are and
have been doing, but of what you intend doing too. It will be a very sensible
consolation to me in this disturbance of mind, to be assured that yours is
easy. Farewell.
[Footnote 2: An eminent lawyer of Trajan`s reign.]
[Footnote 3: The philosophers used to hold their disputations in the gymnasia
and porticoes, being places of the most public resort for walking, &c. M.]
XVII
To Voconius Romanus
Rome has not for many years beheld a more magnificent and memorable
spectacle than was lately exhibited in the public funeral of that great,
illustrious, and no less fortunate man, Verginius Rufus. He lived thirty years
after he had reached the zenith of his fame. He read poems composed in his
honour, he read histories of his achievements, and was himself witness of his
fame among posterity. He was thrice raised to the dignity of consul, that he
might at least be the highest of subjects, who^1 had refused to be the first
of princes. As he escaped the resentment of those emperors to whom his virtues
had given umbrage and even rendered him odious, and ended his days when this
best of princes, this friend of mankind,^2 was in quiet possession of the
empire, it seems as if Providence had purposely preserved him to these times,
that he might receive the honour of a public funeral. He reached his
eighty-fourth year, in full tranquillity and universally revered, having
enjoyed strong health during his lifetime, with the exception of a trembling
in his hands, which, however, gave him no pain. His last illness, indeed, was
severe and tedious, but even that circumstance added to his reputation. As he
was practising his voice with a view of returning his public acknowledgments
to the emperor, who had promoted him to the consulship, a large volume he had
taken into his hand, and which happened to be too heavy for so old a man to
hold standing up, slid from his grasp. In hastily endeavouring to recover it,
his foot slipped on the smooth pavement, and he fell down and broke his
thigh-bone, which, being clumsily set, his age as well being against him, did
not properly unite again. The funeral obsequies paid to the memory of this
great man have done honour to the emperor, to the age, and to the bar. The
consul Cornelius Tacitus^3 pronounced his funeral oration, and thus his good
fortune was crowned by the public applause of so eloquent an orator. He has
departed from our midst, full of years, indeed, and of glory; as illustrious
by the honours he refused as by those he accepted. Yet still we shall miss him
and lament him, as the shining model of a past age; I, especially, shall feel
his loss, for I not only admired him as a patriot, but loved him as a friend.
We were of the same province, and of neighbouring towns, and our estates were
also contiguous. Besides these accidental connections, he was left my
guardian, and always treated me with a parent`s affection. Whenever I offered
myself as a candidate for any office in the state, he constantly supported me
with his interest; and although he had long since given up all such services
to friends, he would kindly leave his retirement and come to give me his vote
in person. On the day on which the priests nominate those they consider most
worthy of the sacred office,^4 he constantly proposed me. Even in his last
illness, apprehending the possibility of the senate`s appointing him one of
the five commissioners for reducing the public expenses, he fixed upon me,
young as I am, to bear his excuses, in preference to so many other friends,
elderly men too, and of consular rank, and said to me, "Had I a son of my own,
I would entrust you with this matter." And so I cannot but lament his death,
as though it were premature, and pour out my grief into your bosom; if indeed
one has any right to grieve, or to all it death at all, which to such a man
terminates his mortality, rather than ends his life. He lives, and will live
on for ever; and his fame will extend and be more celebrated by posterity, now
that he is gone from our sight. I had much else to write to you, but my mind
is full of this. I keep thinking of Verginius: I see him before me: I am for
ever fondly yet vividly imagining that I hear him, am speaking to him, embrace
him. There are men amongst us, his fellow-citizens, perhaps, who may rival him
in virtue; but not one that will ever approach him in glory. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: "Verginius Rufus was governor of Upper Germany at the time of the
revolt of Julius Vindex in Gaul, A.D. 68. The soldiers of Verginius wished to
raise him to the empire, but he refused the honour, and marched against
Vindex, who perished before Vesontio. After the death of Nero, Verginius
supported the claims of Galba, and accompanied him to Rome. Upon Otho`s death,
the soldiers again attempted to proclaim Verginius emperor, and in consequence
of his refusal of the honour, he narrowly escaped with his life." (See Smith`s
Dict. of Greek and Rom. Biog., &c.)]
[Footnote 2: Nerva.]
[Footnote 3: The historian.]
[Footnote 4: Namely, of augurs. "This college, as regulated by Sylla,
consisted of fifteen, who were all persons of the first distinction in Rome;
it was a priesthood for life, of a character indelible, which no crime or
forfeiture could efface; it was necessary that every candidate should be
nominated to the people by two augurs, who gave a solemn testimony upon oath
of his dignity and fitness for that office." Middleton`s Life of Cicero, p.
147. M.]
XVIII
To Nepos
The great fame of Isaeus had already preceded him here; but we find him
even more wonderful than we had heard. He possesses the utmost readiness,
copiousness, and abundance of language: he always speaks extempore, and his
lectures are as finished as though he had spent a long time over their written
composition. His style is Greek, or rather the genuine Attic. His exordiums
are terse, elegant, attractive, and occasionally impressive and majestic. He
suggests several subjects for discussion, allows his audience their choice,
sometimes to even name which side he shall take, rises, arranges himself, and
begins. At once he has everything almost equally at command. Recondite
meanings of things are suggested to you, and words - what words they are!
exquisitely chosen and polished. These extempore speeches of his show the
wideness of his reading, and how much practice he has had in composition. His
preface is to the point, his narrative lucid, his summing up forcible, his
rhetorical ornament imposing. In a word, he teaches, entertains, and affects
you; and you are at a loss to decide which of the three he does best. His
reflections are frequent, his syllogisms also are frequent, condensed, and
carefully finished, a result not easily attainable even with the pen. As for
his memory, you would hardly believe what it is capable of. He repeats from a
long way back what he has previously delivered extempore, without missing a
single word. This marvellous faculty he has acquired by dint of great
application and practice, for night and day he does nothing, hears nothing,
says nothing else. He has passed his sixtieth year and is still only a
rhetorician, and I know no class of men more single-hearted, more genuine,
more excellent than this class. We who have to go through the rough work of
the bar and of real disputes unavoidably contract a certain unprincipled
adroitness. The school, the lecture-room, the imaginary case, all this, on
the other hand, is perfectly innocent and harmless, and equally enjoyable,
especially to old people, for what can be happier at that time of life than to
enjoy what we found pleasantest in our young days? I consider Isaeus then, not
only the most eloquent, but the happiest, of men, and if you are not longing
to make his acquaintance, you must be made of stone and iron. So, if not upon
my account, or for any other reason, come, for the sake of hearing this man,
at least. Have you never read of a certain inhabitant of Cadiz who was so
impressed with the name and fame of Livy that he came from the remotest corner
of the earth on purpose to see him, and, his curiosity gratified, went
straight home again. It is utter want of taste, shows simple ignorance, is
almost an actual disgrace to a man, not to set any high value upon a
proficiency in so pleasing, noble, refining a science. "I have authors," you
will reply, "here in my own study, just as eloquent." True: but then those
authors you can read at any time, while you cannot always get the opportunity
of hearing eloquence. Besides, as the proverb says, "The living voice is that
which sways the soul"; yes, far more. For notwithstanding what one reads is
more clearly understood than what one hears, yet the utterance, countenance,
garb, aye, and the very gestures of the speaker, alike concur in fixing an
impression upon the mind; that is, unless we disbelieve the truth of
Aeschines` statement, who, after he had read to the Rhodians that celebrated
speech of Demosthenes, upon their expressing their admiration of it, is said
to have added, "Ah! what would you have said, could you have heard the wild
beast himself?" And Aeschines, if we may take Demosthenes` word for it, was
not mean elocutionist; yet, he could not but confess that the speech would
have sounded far finer from the lips of its author. I am saying all this with
a view to persuading you to hear Isaeus, if even for the mere sake of being
able to say you have heard him. Farewell.
XIX
To Avitus
It would be a long story, and of no great importance, to tell you by what
accident I found myself dining the other day with an individual with whom I am
by no means intimate, and who, in his own opinion, does things in good style
and economically as well, but according to mine, with meanness and
extravagance combined. Some very elegant dishes were served up to himself and
a few more of us, whilst those placed before the rest of the company consisted
simply of cheap dishes and scraps. There were, in small bottles, three
different kinds of wine; not that the guests might take their choice, but that
they might not have any option in their power; one kind being for himself, and
for us; another sort for his lesser friends (for it seems he has degrees of
friends), and the third for his own freedmen and ours. My neighbour,^1
reclining next me, observing this, asked me if I approved the arrangement. Not
at all, I told him. "Pray then," he asked, "what is your method upon such
occasions?" "Mine," I returned, "is to give all my visitors the same
reception; for when I give an invitation, it is to entertain, not distinguish,
my company; I place every man upon my own level whom I admit to my table."
"Not excepting even your freedmen?" "Not excepting even my freedmen, whom I
consider on these occasions my guests, as much as any of the rest." He
replied, "This must cost you a great deal." "Not in the least." "How can that
be?" "Simply because, although my freedmen don`t drink the same wine as
myself, yet I drink the same as they do." And, no doubt about it, if a man is
wise enough to moderate his appetite, he will not find it such a very
expensive thing to share with all his visitors what he takes himself. Restrain
it, keep it in, if you wish to be a true economist. Your will find temperance
a far better way of saving than treating other people rudely can be. Why do I
say all this? Why, for fear a young man of your high character and promise
should be imposed upon by this immoderate luxury which prevails at some
tables, under the specious notion of frugality. Whenever any folly of this
sort falls under my eye, I shall, just because I care for you, point it out to
you as an example you ought to shun. Remember, then, nothing is more to be
avoided that this modern alliance of luxury with meanness; odious enough when
existing separate and distinct, but still more hateful where you meet with
them together. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: The ancient Greeks and Romans did not sit up at the table as we
do, but reclined round it on couches, three and sometimes even four occupying
one couch; at least this latter was the custom among the Romans. Each guest
lay flat upon his chest while eating, reaching out his hand from time to time
to the table, for what he might require. As soon as he had made a sufficient
meal, he turned over upon his left side, leaning on the elbow.]
XX
To Macrinus
The senate decreed yesterday, on the emperor`s motion, a triumphal statue
to Vestricius Spurinna: not as they would to many others, who never were in
action, or saw a camp, or heard the sound of a trumpet, unless at a show; but
as it would be decreed to those who have justly bought such a distinction with
their blood, their exertions, and their deeds. Spurinna forcibly restored the
king of the Bructeri^1 to his throne; and this by the noblest kind of victory;
for he subdued that warlike people by the terror of the mere display of his
preparation for the campaign. This is his reward as a hero, while, to console
him for the loss of his son Cottius, who died during his absence upon that
expedition, they also voted a statue to the youth; a very unusual honour for
one so young; but the services of the father deserved that the pain of so
severe a wound should be soothed by no common balm. Indeed Cottius himself
evinced such remarkable promise of the highest qualities that it is but
fitting his short, limited term of life should be extended, as it were, by
this kind of immortality. He was so pure and blameless, so full of dignity,
and commanded such respect, that he might have challenged in moral goodness
much older men, with whom he now shares equal honours. Honours, if I am not
mistaken, conferred not only to perpetuate the memory of the deceased youth,
and in consolation to the surviving father, but for the sake of public example
also. This will rouse and stimulate our young men to cultivate every worthy
principle, when they see such rewards bestowed upon one of their own years,
provided he deserve them: at the same time that men of quality will be
encouraged to beget children and to have the joy and satisfaction of leaving a
worthy race behind, if their children survive them, or of so glorious a
consolation, should they survive their children. Looking at it in this light
then, I am glad, upon public grounds, that a statue is decreed Cottius: and
for my own sake too, just as much; for I loved this most favoured, gifted
youth, as ardently as I now grievously miss him amongst us. So that it will be
a great satisfaction to me to be able to look at this figure from time to time
as I pass by, contemplate it, stand underneath, and walk to and fro before it.
For if having the pictures of the departed placed in our homes lightens
sorrow, how much more those public representations of them which are not only
memorials of their air and countenance, but of their glory and honour besides!
Farewell.
[Footnote 1: A people of Germany.]
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