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General LettersPart VII
Part VII
LI
To Nonius Maximus
I am deeply afflicted with the news I have received of the death of
Fannius; in the first place, because I loved one so eloquent and refined, in
the next, because I was accustomed to be guided by his judgment - and indeed
he possessed great natural acuteness, improved by practice, rendering him able
to see a thing in an instant. There are some circumstances about his death,
which aggravate my concern. He left behind him a will which had been made a
considerable time before his decease, by which it happens that his estate is
fallen into the hands of those who had incurred his displeasure, whilst his
greatest favourites are excluded. But what I particularly regret is, that he
has left unfinished a very noble work in which he was employed.
Notwithstanding his full practice at the bar, he had begun a history of those
persons who were put to death or banished by Nero, and completed three books
of it. They are written with great elegance and precision, the style is pure,
and preserves a proper medium between the plain narrative and the historical:
and as they were very favourably received by the public, he was the more
desirous of being able to finish the rest. The hand of death is ever, in my
opinion, too untimely and sudden when it falls upon such as are employed in
some immortal work. The sons of sensuality, who have no outlook beyond the
present hour, put an end every day to all motives for living, but those who
look forward to posterity, and endeavour to transmit their names with honour
to future generations by their works - to such, death is always immature, as
it still snatches them from amidst some unfinished design. Fannius, long
before his death, had a presentiment of what has happened: he dreamed one
night that as he was lying on his couch, in an undress, all ready for his
work, and with his desk,^1 as usual in front of him, Nero entered, and placing
himself by his side, took up the three first books of this history, which he
read through and then departed. This dream greatly alarmed him, and he
regarded it as an intimation that he should not carry on his history any
farther than Nero had read, and so the event has proved. I cannot reflect upon
this accident without lamenting that he was prevented from accomplishing a
work which had cost him so many toilsome vigils, as it suggests to me, at the
same time, reflections on my own mortality, and the fate of my writings: and I
am persuaded the same apprehensions alarm you for those in which you are at
present employed. Let us then, my friend, while life permits, exert all our
endeavours, that death, whenever it arrives, may find as little as possible to
destroy. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: In the original, scrinium, a box for holding MSS.]
LII
To Domitius Apollinaris
The kind concern you expressed on hearing of my design to pass the summer
at my villa in Tuscany, and your obliging endeavours to dissuade me from going
to a place which you think unhealthy, are extremely pleasing to me. It is
quite true indeed that the air of that part of Tuscany which lies towards the
coast is thick and unwholesome: but my house stands at a good distance from
the sea, under one of the Apennines, which are singularly healthy. But, to
relieve you from all anxiety on my account, I will give you a description of
the temperature of the climate, the situation of the country, and the beauty
of my villa, which, I am persuaded, you will hear with as much pleasure as I
shall take in giving it. The air in winter is sharp and frosty, so that
myrtles, olives, and trees of that kind which delight in constant warmth, will
not flourish here: but the laurel thrives, and is remarkably beautiful, though
now and then the cold kills it - though not oftener than it does in the
neighbourhood of Rome. The summers are extraordinarily mild, and there is
always a refreshing breeze, seldom high winds. This accounts for the number of
old men we have about; you would see grandfathers and great-grandfathers of
those now grown up to be young men, hear old stories and the dialect of our
ancestors, and fancy yourself born in some former age were you to come here.
The character of the country is exceedingly beautiful. Picture to yourself an
immense amphitheatre, such as nature only could create. Before you lies a
broad, extended plain bounded by a range of mountains, whose summits are
covered with tall and ancient woods, which are stocked with all kinds of game.
The descending slopes of the mountains are planted with underwood, among which
are a number of little risings with a rich soil, on which hardly a stone is to
be found. In fruitfulness they are quite equal to a valley, and though their
harvest is rather later, their crops are just as good. At the foot of these,
on the mountainside, the eye, wherever it turns, runs along one unbroken
stretch of vineyards terminated by a belt of shrubs. Next you have meadows and
the open plain. The arable land is so stiff that it is necessary to go over it
nine times with the biggest oxen and the strongest ploughs. The meadows are
bright with flowers, and produce trefoil and other kinds of herbage as fine
and tender as if it were but just sprung up, for all the soil is refreshed by
never-failing streams. But though there is plenty of water, there are no
marshes; for the ground being on a slope, whatever water it receives without
absorbing runs off into the Tiber. This river, which winds through the middle
of the meadows, is navigable only in the winter and spring, at which seasons
it transports the produce of the lands to Rome: but in summer it sinks below
its banks, leaving the name of a great river to an almost empty channel:
towards the autumn, however, it begins again to renew its claim to that title.
You would be charmed by taking a view of this country from the top of one of
our neighbouring mountains, and would fancy that not a real, but some
imaginary landscape, painted by the most exquisite pencil, lay before you,
such an harmonious variety of beautiful objects meets the eye, whichever way
it turns. My house, although at the foot of a hill, commands as good a view as
if it stood on its brow, yet you approach by so gentle and gradual a rise that
you find yourself on high ground without perceiving you have been making an
ascent. Behind, but at a great distance, is the Apennine range. In the calmest
days we get cool breezes from that quarter, not sharp and cutting at all,
being spent and broken by the long distance they have travelled. The greater
part of the house has a southern aspect, and seems to invite the afternoon sun
in summer (but rather earlier in the winter) into a broad and proportionately
long portico, consisting of several rooms, particularly a court of antique
fashion. In front of the portico is a sort of terrace, edged with box and
shrubs cut into different shapes. You descend, from the terrace, by an easy
slope adorned with the figures of animals in box, facing each other, to a lawn
overspread with the soft, I had almost said the liquid, Acanthus: this is
surrounded by a walk enclosed with evergreens, shaped into a variety of forms.
Beyond it is the gestatio, laid out in the form of a circus running round the
multiform box-hedge and the dwarf-trees, which are cut quite close. The
whole is fenced in with a wall completely covered by box cut into steps all
the way up to the top. On the outside of the wall lies a meadow that owes as
many beauties to nature as all I have been describing within does to art; at
the end of which are open plain and numerous other meadows and copses. From
the extremity of the portico a large dining-room runs out, opening upon one
end of the terrace, while from the windows there is a very extensive view over
the meadows up into the country, and from these you also see the terrace and
the projecting wing of the house together with the woods enclosing the
adjacent hippodrome. Almost opposite the centre of the portico, and rather to
the back, stands a summer-house enclosing a small area shaded by four plane
- trees, in the midst of which rises a marble fountain which gently plays upon
the roots of the plane-trees and upon the grass-plots underneath them.
This summer-house has a bedroom in it free from every sort of noise, and
which the light itself cannot penetrate, together with a common dining-room
I use when I have none but intimate friends with me. A second portico looks
upon this little area, and has the same view as the other I have just been
describing. There is, besides, another room, which, being situate close to the
nearest plane-tree, enjoys a constant shade and green. Its sides are
encrusted with carved marble as far as the dado, while above the marble a
foliage is painted with birds among the branches, which has an effect
altogether as agreeable as that of the carving, at the foot of which a little
fountain, playing through several small pipes into a vase it encloses,
produces a most pleasing murmur. From a corner of the portico you enter a very
large bedchamber opposite the large dining-room, which from some of its
windows has a view of the terrace, and from others, of the meadow, as those in
the front look upon a cascade, which entertains at once both the eye and the
ear; for the water, dashing from a great height, foams over the marble basin
which receives it below. This room is extremely warm in winter, lying much
exposed to the sun, and on a cloudy day the heat of an adjoining stove very
well supplies his absence. Leaving this room, you pass through a good-sized,
pleasant undressing-room into the cold-bath-room, in which is a large,
gloomy bath: but if you are inclined to swim more at large, or in warmer
water, in the middle of the area stands a wide basin for that purpose, and
near it a reservoir from which you may be supplied with cold water to brace
yourself again, if you should find you are too much relaxed by the warm.
Adjoining the cold bath is one of a medium degree of heat, which enjoys the
kindly warmth of the sun, but not so intensely as the hot bath, which projects
farther. This last consists of three several compartments, each of different
degrees of heat; the two former lie open to the full sun, the latter, though
not much exposed to its heat, receives an equal share of its light. Over the
undressing-room is built the tennis-court, which admits of different kinds
of games and different sets of players. Not far from the baths is the
staircase leading to the enclosed portico, three rooms intervening. One of
these looks out upon the little area with the four plane-trees round it, the
other upon the meadows, and from the third you have a view of several
vineyards, so that each has a different one, and looks towards a different
point of the heavens. At the upper end of the enclosed portico, and indeed
taken off from it, is a room that look out upon the hippodrome, the vineyards,
and the mountains; adjoining is a room which has a full exposure to the sun,
especially in winter, and out of which runs another connecting the hippodrome
with the house. This forms the front. On the side rises an enclosed portico,
which not only looks out upon the vineyards, but seems almost to touch them.
From the middle of this portico you enter a dining-room cooled by the
wholesome breezes from the Apennine valleys: from the windows behind, which
are extremely large, there is a close view of the vineyards, and from the
folding doors through the summer portico. Along that side of the dining-room
where there are no windows runs a private staircase for greater convenience in
serving up when I give an entertainment; at the farther end is a sleeping -
room with a lookout upon the vineyards, and (what is equally agreeable) the
portico. Underneath this room is an enclosed portico resembling a grotto,
which, enjoying in the midst of summer heats its own natural coolness, neither
admits nor wants external air. After you have passed both these porticoes, at
the end of the dining-room stands a third, which, according as the day is
more or less advanced, serves either for winter or summer use. It leads to two
different apartments, one containing four chambers, the other, three, which
enjoy by turns both sun and shade. This arrangement of the different parts of
my house is exceedingly pleasant, though it is not to be compared with the
beauty of the hippodrome,^1 lying entirely open in the middle of the grounds,
so that the eye, upon your first entrance, takes it in entire in one view. It
is set round with plane-trees covered with ivy, so that, while their tops
flourish with their own green, towards the roots their verdure is borrowed
from the ivy that twines round the trunk and branches, spreads from tree to
tree, and connects them together. Between each plane-tree are planted box -
trees, and behind these stands a grove of laurels which blend their shade with
that of the planes. This straight boundary to the hippodrome alters its shape
at the farther end, bending into a semicircle, which is planted round, shut in
with cypresses, and casts a deeper and gloomier shade, while the inner
circular walks (for there are several), enjoying an open exposure, are filled
with plenty of roses, and correct, by a very pleasant contrast, the coolness
of the shade with the warmth of the sun. Having passed through these several
winding alleys, you enter a straight walk, which breaks out into a variety of
others, partitioned off by box-row hedges. In one place you have a little
meadow, in another the box is cut in a thousand different forms, sometimes
into letters, expressing the master`s name, sometimes the artificer`s, whilst
here and there rise little obelisks with fruit-trees alternatively
intermixed, and then on a sudden, in the midst of this elegant regularity, you
are surprised with an imitation of the negligent beauties of rural nature. In
the centre of this lies a spot adorned with a knot of dwarf plane-trees.
Beyond these stands an acacia, smooth and bending in places, then again
various other shapes and names. At the upper end is an alcove of white marble,
shaded with vines and supported by four small Carystian columns. From this
semicircular couch, the water, gushing up through several little pipes, as
though pressed out by the weight of the persons who recline themselves upon
it, falls into a stone cistern underneath, from whence it is received into a
fine polished marble basin, so skilfully contrived that it is always full
without ever overflowing. When I sup here, this basin serves as a table, the
larger sort of dishes being placed round the margin, while the smaller ones
swim about in the form of vessels and water-fowl. Opposite this is a
fountain which is incessantly emptying and filling, for the water which it
throws up to a great height, falling back again into it, is by means of
consecutive apertures returned as fast as it is received. Facing the alcove
(and reflecting upon it as great an ornament as it borrows from it) stands a
summer-house of exquisite marble, the doors of which project and open into a
green enclosure, while from its upper and lower windows the eye falls upon a
variety of different greens. Next to this is a little private closet (which,
though it seems distinct, may form part of the same room), furnished with a
couch, and notwithstanding it has windows on every side, yet it enjoys a very
agreeable gloom, by means of spreading vine which climbs to the top, and
entirely overshadows it. Here you may lie and fancy yourself in a wood, with
this only difference, that you are not exposed to the weather as you would be
there. Here too a fountain rises and instantly disappears - several marble
seats are set in different places, which are as pleasant as the summer-house
itself after one is tired out with walking. Near each set is a little
fountain, and throughout the whole hippodrome several small rills run
murmuring along through pipes, wherever the hand of art has thought proper to
conduct them, watering here and there different plots of green, and sometimes
all parts at once. I should have ended before now, for fear of being too
chatty, had I not proposed in this letter to lead you into every corner of my
house and gardens. Nor did I apprehend your thinking it a trouble to read the
description of a place which I feel sure would please you were you to see it;
especially as you can stop just when you please, and by throwing aside my
letter, sit down, as it were, and give yourself a rest as often as you think
proper. Besides, I gave my little passion indulgence, for I have a passion for
what I have built, or finished, myself. In a word (for why should I conceal
from my friend either my deliberate opinion or my prejudice?), I look upon it
as the first duty of every writer to frequently glance over his title-page
and consider well the subject he has proposed to himself; and he may be sure,
if he dwells on his subject, he cannot justly be thought tedious, whereas if,
on the contrary, he introduces and drags in anything irrelevant, he will be
thought exceedingly so. Homer, you know, has employed many verses in the
description of the arms of Achilles, as Virgil has also in those of Aeneas,
yet neither of them is prolix, because they each keep within the limits of
their original design. Aratus, you observe, is not considered too
circumstantial, though he traces and enumerates the minutes stars, for he does
not go out of his way for that purpose, but only follows where he subject
leads him. In the same way (to compare small things with great), so long as,
in endeavouring to give you an idea of my house, I have not introduced
anything irrelevant or superfluous, it is not my letter which describes, but
my villa which is described, that is to be considered large. But to return to
where I began, lest I should justly be condemned by my own law, if I continue
longer in this digression, you see now the reasons why I prefer my Tuscan
villa to those which I possess at Tusculum, Tiber, and Praeneste.^2 Besides
the advantages already mentioned, I enjoy here a cozier, more profound and
undisturbed retirement than anywhere else, as I am at a greater distance from
the business of the town and the interruption of troublesome clients. All is
calm and composed; which circumstances contribute no less than its clear air
and unclouded sky to that health of body and mind I particularly enjoy in this
place, both of which I keep in full swing by study and hunting. And indeed
there is no place which agrees better with my family, at least I am sure I
have not yet lost one (may the expression be allowed!^3) of all those I
brought here with me. And may the gods continue that happiness to me, and that
honour to my villa. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: The hippodromus, in its proper signification, was a place, among
the Grecians, set apart for horse-racing and other exercises of that kind. But
it seems here to be nothing more than a particular walk to which Pliny perhaps
gave that name from its bearing some resemblance in its form to the public
places so called. M.]
[Footnote 2: Now called Frascati, Tivoli, and Palestrina, all of them situated
in the Campagna di Roma, and at no great distance from Rome. M.]
[Footnote 3: "This is said in allusion to the idea of Nemesis supposed to
threaten excessive prosperity." Church and Brodribb.]
LIII
To Calvisius
It is certain the law does not allow a corporate city to inherit any
estate by will, or to receive a legacy. Saturninus, however, who has appointed
me his heir, had left a fourth part of his estate to our corporation of Comum;
afterwards, instead of a fourth part, he bequeathed four hundred thousand
sesterces.^1 This bequest, in the eye of the law, is null and void, but,
considered as the clear and express will of the deceased, ought to stand firm
and valid. Myself, I consider the will of the dead (though I am afraid what I
say will not please the lawyers) of higher authority than the law, especially
when the interest of one`s native country is concerned. Ought I, who made them
a present of eleven hundred thousand sesterces out of my own patrimony, to
withhold a benefaction of little more than a third part of that sum out of an
estate which has come quite by a chance into my hands? You, who like a true
patriot have the same affection for this our common country, will agree with
me in opinion, I feel sure. I wish therefore you would, at the next meeting of
the Decurii, acquaint them, just briefly and respectfully, as to how the law
stands in this case, and then add that I offer them four hundred thousand
sesterces according to the direction in Saturninus` will. You will represent
this donation as his present and his liberality; I only claim the merit of
complying with his request. I did not trouble to write to their senate about
this, fully relying as I do upon our intimate friendship and your wise
discretion, and being quite satisfied that you are both able and willing to
act for me upon this occasion as I would for myself; besides, I was afraid I
should not seem to have so cautiously guarded my expressions in a letter as
you will be able to do in a speech. The countenance, the gesture, and even the
tone of voice govern and determine the sense of the speaker, whereas a letter,
being without these advantages, is more liable to malignant misinterpretation.
Farewell.
[Footnote 1: About $16,000.]
LIV
To Marcellinus
I write this to you in the deepest sorrow: the youngest daughter of my
friend Fundanus is dead! I have never seen a more cheerful and more lovable
girl, or one who better deserved to have enjoyed a long, I had almost said an
immortal, life! She was scarcely fourteen, and yet there was in her a wisdom
far beyond her years, a matronly gravity united with girlish sweetness and
virgin bashfulness. With what an endearing fondness did she hang on her
father`s neck! How affectionately and modestly she used to greet us, his
friends! With what a tender and deferential regard she used to treat her
nurses, tutors, teachers, each in their respective offices! What an eager,
industrious, intelligent reader she was! She took few amusements, and those
with caution. How self-controlled, how patient, how brave she was under her
last illness! She complied with all the directions of her physicians; she
spoke cheerful, comforting words to her sister and her father; and when all
her bodily strength was exhausted, the vigour of her mind sustained her. That
indeed continued even to her last moments, unbroken by the pain of a long
illness, or the terrors of approaching death; and it is a reflection which
makes us miss her, and grieve that she has gone from us, the more. Oh,
melancholy, untimely loss, too truly! She was engaged to an excellent young
man; the wedding-day was fixed, and we were all invited. How our joy has
been turned into sorrow! I cannot express in words the inward pain I felt when
I heard Fundanus himself (as grief is ever finding out fresh circumstances to
aggravate its affliction) ordering the money he had intended laying out upon
clothes, pearls, and jewels for her marriage, to be employed in frankincense,
ointments, and perfumes for her funeral. He is a man of great learning and
good sense, who has applied himself from his earliest youth to the deeper
studies and the fine arts, but all the maxims of fortitude which he has
received from books, or advanced himself, he now absolutely rejects, and every
other virtue of his heart gives place to all a parent`s tenderness. You will
excuse, you will even approve, his grief, when you consider what he has lost.
He has lost a daughter who resembled him in his manners, as well as his
person, and exactly copied out all her father. So, if you should think proper
to write to him upon the subject of so reasonable a grief, let me remind you
not to use the rougher arguments of consolation, and such as seem to carry a
sort of reproof with them, but those of kind and sympathizing humanity. Time
will render him more open to the dictates of reason: for as a fresh wound
shrinks back from the hand of the surgeon, but by degrees submits to, and even
seeks of its own accord, the means of its cure, so a mind under the first
impression of a misfortune shuns and rejects all consolations, but at length
desires and is lulled by their gentle application. Farewell.
LV
To Spurinna
Knowing, as I do, how much you admire the polite arts, and what
satisfaction you take in seeing young men of quality pursue the steps of their
ancestors, I seize this earliest opportunity of informing you that I went to -
day to hear Calpurnius Piso read a beautiful and scholarly production of his,
entitled the Sports of Love. His numbers, which were elegiac, were tender,
sweet, and flowing, at the same time that they occasionally rose to all the
sublimity of diction which the nature of his subject required. He varied his
style from the lofty to the simple, from the close to the copious, from the
grave to the florid, with equal genius and judgment. These beauties were
further recommended by a most harmonious voice; which a very becoming modesty
rendered still more pleasing. A confusion and concern in the countenance of a
speaker imparts a grace to all he utters; for diffidence, I know not how, is
infinitely more engaging than assurance and self-sufficiency. I might
mention several other circumstances to his advantage, which I am the more
inclined to point out, as they are exceedingly striking in one of his age, and
are most uncommon in a youth of his quality: but not to enter into a farther
detail of his merit, I will only add that, when he had finished his poem, I
embraced him very heartily, and being persuaded that nothing is a greater
encouragement than applause, I exhorted him to go on as he had begun, and to
shine out to posterity with the same glorious lustre, which was reflected upon
him from his ancestors. I congratulated his excellent mother, and particularly
his brother, who gained as much honour by the generous affection he manifested
upon this occasion as Calpurnius did by his eloquence; so remarkable a
solicitude he showed for him when he began to recite his poem, and so much
pleasure in his success. May the gods grant me frequent occasions of giving
you accounts of this nature! for I have a partiality to the age in which I
live, and should rejoice to find it not barren of merit. I ardently wish,
therefore, our young men of quality would have something else to shew of
honourable memorial in their houses than the images^1 of their ancestors. As
for those which are placed in the mansion of these excellent youths, I now
figure them to myself as silently applauding and encouraging their pursuits,
and (what is a sufficient degree of honour to both brothers) as recognizing
their kindred. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: None had the right of using family pictures or statues but those
whose ancestors or themselves had borne some of the highest dignities. So that
the jus imaginis was much the same thing among the Romans as the right of
bearing a coat of arms among us. Ken. Antiq. M.]
LVI
To Paulinus
As I know the humanity with which you treat your own servants, I have
less reserve in confessing to you the indulgence I shew to mine. I have ever
in my mind that line of Homer`s -
"Who swayed his people with a father`s love":
and this expression of ours, "father of a family." But were I harsher and
harder than I really am by nature, the ill state of health of my freedman
Zosimus (who has the stronger claim upon my tenderness, in that he now stands
in more especial need of it) would be sufficient to soften me. He is a good,
honest fellow, attentive in his services, and well-read; but his chief
talent, and indeed his distinguishing qualification, is that of a comedian, in
which he highly excels. His pronunciation is distinct, correct in emphasis,
pure, and graceful: he has a very skilled touch, too, upon the lyre, and
performs with better execution than is necessary for one of his profession. To
this I must add, he reads history, oratory, and poetry, as well as if these
had been the sole objects of his study. I am the more particular in
enumerating his qualifications, to let you see how many agreeable services I
receive from this one servant alone. He is indeed endeared to me by the ties
of a long affection, which are strengthened by the danger he is now in. For
nature has so formed our hearts that nothing contributes more to incite and
kindle affection than the fear of losing the object of it: a fear which I have
suffered more than once on his account. Some years ago he strained himself so
much by too strong an exertion of his voice, that he spit blood, upon which
account I sent him into Egypt;^1 from whence, after a long absence, he lately
returned with great benefit to his health. But having again exerted himself
for several days together beyond his strength, he was reminded of his former
malady by a slight return of his cough, and a spitting of blood. For this
reason I intend to send him to your farm at Forum-Julii,^2 having frequently
heard you mention it as a healthy air, and recommend the milk of that place as
very salutary in disorders of his nature. I beg you would give directions to
your people to receive him into your house, and to supply him with whatever he
may have occasion for: which will not be much, for he is so sparing and
abstemious as not only to abstain from delicacies, but even to deny himself
the necessaries his ill state of health requires. I shall furnish him towards
his journey with what will be sufficient for one of his moderate requirements,
who is coming under your roof. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: The Roman physicians used to send their patients in consumptive
cases into Egypt, particularly to Alexandria. M.]
[Footnote 2: Frejus, in Provence, the southern part of France. M.]
LVII
To Rufus
I went into the Julian^1 court to hear those lawyers to whom, according
to the last adjournment, I was to reply. The judges had taken their seats, the
decemviri^2 were arrived, the eyes of the audience were fixed upon the
counsel, and all was hushed silence and expectation, when a messenger arrived
from the praetor, and the Hundred are at once dismissed, and the case
postponed: an accident extremely agreeable to me, who am never so well
prepared but that I am glad of gaining further time. The occasion of the
court`s rising thus abruptly was a short edict of Nepos, the praetor for
criminal causes, in which he directed all persons concerned as plaintiffs or
defendants in any cause before him to take notice that he designed strictly to
put in force the decree of the senate annexed to his edict. Which decree was
expressed in the following words: All Persons Whosoever That Have Any Lawsuits
Depending Are Hereby Required And Commanded, Before Any Proceedings Be Had
Thereon, To Take An Oath That They Have Not Given, Promised, Or Engaged To
Give, Any Fee Or Reward To Any Advocate, Upon Account Of His Undertaking Their
Cause. In these terms, and many others equally full and express, the lawyers
were prohibited to make their professions venal. However, after the case is
decided, they are permitted to accept a gratuity of ten thousand sesterces.^3
The praetor for civil causes, being alarmed at this order of Nepos, gave us
this unexpected holiday in order to take time to consider whether he should
follow the example. Meanwhile the whole town is talking, and either approving
or condemning this edict of Nepos. We have got then at last (say the latter
with a sneer) a redresser of abuses. But, pray, was there never a praetor
before this man? Who is he then who sets up in this way for a public reformer?
Others, on the contrary, say, "He has done perfectly right upon his entry into
office; he has paid obedience to the laws; considered the decrees of the
senate, repressed most indecent contracts, and will not suffer the most
honourable of all professions to be debased into a sordid lucre traffic." This
is what one hears all around one; but which side may prevail, the event will
shew. It is the usual method of the world (though a very unequitable rule of
estimation) to pronounce an action either right or wrong, according as it is
attended with good or ill success; in consequence of which you may hear the
very same conduct attributed to zeal or folly, to liberty or licentiousness,
upon different several occasions. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: A court of justice erected by Julius Caesar in the forum, and
opposite to the basilica Aemilia.]
[Footnote 2: The decemviri seem to have been magistrates for the
administration of justice, subordinate to the praetors, who (to give the
English reader a general notion of their office) may be termed lords chief
justices, as the judges here mentioned were something in the nature of our
juries. M.]
[Footnote 3: About $400.]
LVIII
To Arrianus
Sometimes I miss Regulus in our courts. I cannot say I deplore his loss.
The man, it must be owned, highly respected his profession, grew pale with
study and anxiety over it, and used to write out his speeches though he could
not get them by heart. There was a practice he had of painting round his right
or left eye,^1 and wearing a white patch^2 over one side or the other of his
forehead, according as he was to plead either for the plaintiff or defendant;
of consulting the soothsayers upon the issue of an action; still, all this
excessive superstition was really due to his extreme earnestness in his
profession. And it was acceptable enough being concerned in the same cause
with him, as he always obtained full indulgence in point of time, and never
failed to get an audience together; for what could be more convenient than,
under the protection of a liberty which you did not ask yourself, and all the
odium of the arrangement resting with another, and before an audience which
you had not the trouble of collecting, to speak on at your ease, and as long
as you thought proper? Nevertheless Regulus did well in departing this life,
though he would have done much better had he made his exit sooner. He might
really have lived now without any danger to the public, in the reign of a
prince under whom he would have had no opportunity of doing any harm. I need
not scruple therefore, I think, to say I sometimes miss him: for since his
death the custom has prevailed of not allowing, nor indeed of asking, more
than an hour or two to plead in, and sometimes not above half that time. The
truth is, or advocates take more pleasure in finishing a cause than in
defending it; and our judges had rather rise from the bench than sit upon it:
such is their indolence, and such their indifference to the honour of
eloquence and the interest of justice! But are we wiser than our ancestors?
are we more equitable than the laws which grant so many hours and days and
adjournments to a case? were our forefathers slow of apprehension, and dull
beyond measure? and are we clearer of speech, quicker in our conceptions, or
more scrupulous in our decisions, because we get over our causes in fewer
hours than they took days? O Regulus! it was by zeal in your profession that
you secured an advantage which is but rarely given to the highest integrity.
As for myself, whenever I sit upon the bench (which is much oftener than I
appear at the bar), I always give the advocates as much time as they require:
for I look upon it as highly presuming to pretend to guess, before a case is
heard, what time it will require, and to set limits to an affair before one is
acquainted with its extent; especially as the first and most sacred duty of a
judge is patience, which constitutes an important part of justice. But this,
it is objected, would give an opening to much superfluous matter: I grant it
may; yet is it not better to hear too much than not to hear enough? Besides,
how shall you know that what an advocate has farther to offer will be
superfluous, until you have heard him? But this, and many other public abuses,
will be best reserved for a conversation when we meet; for I know your
affection to the commonwealth inclines you to wish that some means might be
found out to check at least those grievances, which would now be very
difficult absolutely to remove. But to return to affairs of private concern: I
hope all goes well in your family; mine remains in its usual situation. The
good which I enjoy grows more acceptable to me by its continuance; as habit
renders me less sensible of the evils I suffer. Farewell.
[Footnote 1: This silly piece of superstition seems to have been peculiar to
Regulus, and not of any general practice; at least it is a custom of which we
find no other mention of antiquity. M.]
[Footnote 2: We gather from Martial that the wearing of these was not an
unusual practice with fops and dandies. See Epig. ii. 29, in which he
ridicules a certain Rufus, and hints that if you were to strip off the
`splenia`" (plasters) "from his face, you would find out that he was a branded
runaway slave." Church and Brodribb.]
LIX
To Calpurnia^1
[Footnote 1: His wife.]
Never was business more disagreeable to me than when it prevented me not
only from accompanying you when you went into Campania for your health, but
from following you there soon after; for I want particularly to be with you
now, that I may learn from my own eyes whether you are growing stronger and
stouter, and whether the tranquillity, the amusements, and plenty of that
charming country really agree with you. Were you in perfect health, yet I
could ill support your absence; for even a moment`s uncertainty of the welfare
of those we tenderly love causes a feeling of suspense and anxiety: but now
your sickness conspires with your absence to trouble me grievously with vague
and various anxieties. I dread everything, fancy everything, and, as is
natural to those who fear, conjure up the very things I most dread. Let me the
more earnestly entreat you then to think of my anxiety, and write to me every
day, and even twice a day: I shall be more easy, at least while I am reading
your letters, though when I have read them, I shall immediately feel my fears
again. Farewell.
LX
To Calpurnia
You kindly tell me my absence very sensibly affects you, and that your
only consolation is in conversing with my works, which you frequently
substitute in my stead. I am glad that you miss me; I am glad that you find
some rest in these alleviations. In return, I read over your letters again and
again, and am continually taking them up, as if I had just received them; but,
alas! this only stirs in me a keener longing for you; for how sweet must her
conversation be whose letters have so many charms! Let me receive them, how -
ever, as often as possible, notwithstanding there is still a mixture of pain
in the pleasure they afford me. Farewell.
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