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General LettersPart V
Part V
XXXI
To Julius Genitor
It is just like the generous disposition of Artemidorus to magnify the
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,^1 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 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.
[Footnote 1: Domitian banished the philosophers not only from Rome, but Italy,
as Suetonius (Dom. c. x.) and Aulus Gellius (Noct. Att. b. xv., cxi. 3, 4, 5)
inform us; among these was the celebrated Epictetus. M.]
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 Caesar 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 granddaughter 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^1 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!
[Footnote 1: The following is the story, as related by several of the ancient
historians: Paetus, having joined Scribonianus, who was in arms, in Illyria,
against Claudius, was taken after the death of Scribonianus, and condemned to
death. Arria, having, in vain, solicited his life, persuaded him to destroy
himself, rather than suffer the ignominy of falling by the executioner`s
hands; and, in order to encourage him to an act, to which, it seems, he was
not particularly inclined, she set him the example in the manner Pliny
relates. M.]
Scribonianus had taken up arms in Illyria against Claudius, 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.
XXXV
To Severus
I was obliged by my consular office to compliment the emperor^1 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.
[Footnote 1: Trajan.]
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 subagents, 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^1 myself, and there are none upon the
estate. For the rest, the price, you must know, is three millions of
sesterces.^2 It has formerly gone for five millions, 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.
[Footnote 1: The Romans used to employ their criminals in the lower offices of
husbandry, such as ploughing, &c. Plin. H. N. 1. 18, 3. M.]
[Footnote 2: About $100,000.]
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 Esquiliae,^3 but to approach
it with respect.
[Footnote 3: One of the famous seven hills upon which Rome was situated. M.]
"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."^4
[Footnote 4: Mart. lx. 19.]
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 granddaughter^5 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,^6 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.
[Footnote 5: Calpurnia, Pliny`s wife.]
[Footnote 6: Now Citta di Castello.]
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,^1 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 vainglory 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.
[Footnote 1: The Romans had an absolute power over their children, of which no
age or station of the latter deprived them.]
XL
To Catius Lepidus
I often tell you that there is a certain force of character about
Regulus: it is wonderful how he carries through what he has set his mind to.
He chose lately to be extremely concerned for the loss of his son: accordingly
he mourned for him as never man mourned before. He took it into his head to
have an immense number of statues and pictures of him; immediately all the
artisans in Rome are set to work. Canvas, wax, brass, silver, gold, ivory,
marble, all exhibit the figure of the young Regulus. Not long ago he read,
before a numerous audience, a memoir of his son: a memoir of a mere boy!
However, he read it. He wrote likewise a sort of circular letter to the
several Decurii, desiring them to choose out one of their order who had a
strong, clear voice, to read this eulogy to the people; it has been actually
done. Now had his force of character, or whatever else you may call a fixed
determination in obtaining whatever one has a mind for, been rightly applied,
what infinite good it might have effected! The misfortune is, there is less of
this quality about good people than about bad people, and as ignorance begets
rashness, and thoughtfulness produces deliberation, so modesty is apt to
cripple the action of virtue, whilst confidence strengthens vice. Regulus is a
case in point: he has a weak voice, an awkward delivery, an indistinct
utterance, a slow imagination, and no memory; in a word, he possesses nothing
but a sort of frantic energy: and yet, by the assistance of a flighty turn and
much impudence, he passes as an orator. Herennius Senecio admirably reversed
Cato`s definition of an orator, and applied it to Regulus: "An orator," he
said, "is a bad man, unskilled in the art of speaking." And really Cato`s
definition is not a more exact description of a true orator than Senecio`s is
of the character of this man. Would you make me a suitable return for this
letter? Let me know if you, or any of my friends in your town, have, like a
stroller in the marketplace, read this doleful production of Regulus`,
"raising," as Demosthenes says, "your voice most merrily, and straining every
muscle in your throat." For so absurd a performance must excite laughter
rather than compassion; and indeed the composition is as puerile as the
subject. Farewell.
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