BOOK THREE

1. To Calvisius Rufus

I can’t remember ever passing the time so pleasantly as I did on my recent visit to Spurinna; and, indeed, there is no one whom I would rather take for an example in my old age, if I am spared to live so long, for no way of living is better planned than his. A well-ordered life, especially where the old are concerned, gives me the same pleasure as the fixed course of the planets. A certain amount of irregularity and excitement is not unsuitable for the young, but their elders should lead a quiet and orderly existence; their time of public activity is over, and ambition only brings them into disrepute.

This is the rule strictly observed by Spurinna, and he even maintains a due order and succession in matters which would be trivial were they not part of a daily routine. Every morning he stays in bed for an hour after dawn, then calls for his shoes and takes a three-mile walk to exercise mind and body. If he has friends with him he carries on a serious conversation, if he is alone a book is read aloud, and this is sometimes done when there are friends present, so long as they do not object. Then he sits down, the book is continued, or preferably the conversation; after which he goes out in his carriage accompanied by his wife (a model to her sex) or one of his friends, a pleasure recently mine. There is a special sort of pleasure in being thus singled out and given the entry into a bygone age as he talks of great men and their deeds to give you inspiration, though modesty restrains him from any appearance of laying down the law. After a drive of seven miles he will walk another mile, then sit again or retire to his room and his writing, for he composes lyric verses in both Greek and Latin with considerable success; they are remarkable for their wit, grace, and delicacy, and their charm is enhanced by the propriety of their author. When summoned to his bath (in mid-afternoon in winter and an hour earlier in summer) he first removes his clothes and takes a walk in the sunshine if there is no wind, and then throws a ball briskly for some time, this being another form of exercise whereby he keeps old age at bay. After his bath he lies down for a short rest before dinner, and listens while something light and soothing is read aloud. Meanwhile his friends are quite free to do the same as he does or not, as they prefer. Dinner is brought on in dishes of antique solid silver, a simple meal but well served; he also has Corinthian bronze for general use, which he admires though not with a collector’s passion. Between the courses there is often a performance of comedy, so that the pleasures of the table have a seasoning of letters, and the meal is prolonged into the night, even in summer, without anyone finding it too long amid such pleasant company.

The result is that Spurinna has passed his seventy-seventh year, but his sight and hearing are unimpaired, and he is physically agile and energetic; old age has brought him nothing but wisdom. This is the sort of life I hope and pray will be mine, and I shall eagerly enter on it as soon as the thought of my years permits me to sound a retreat. Meanwhile innumerable tasks fill my time, though here again Spurinna sets me a reassuring example, for he also accepted public offices, held magistracies, and governed provinces as long as it was his duty, and thus his present retirement was earned by hard work. I have set myself the same race and goal, and I bind myself to it now with you as my witness: so, if you see me fail to stop, you can call me to account with this letter of mine and bid me retire when I can do so without being accused of laziness.

2. To Vibius Maximus

I hope I am justified in asking you to do the sort of favour to one of my friends which I should certainly have done for yours had I the same opportunity. Maturus Arrianus is the leading citizen of Altinum,¹ and when I say this I am not referring to his wealth, which is considerable, but to his virtue and justice, his sense of responsibility and wisdom. His is the advice I follow in business, and his the opinion I seek on literary topics, for he is a man of exceptional sincerity, integrity and understanding. He loves me as dearly as you do – I can say no more.

He is incapable of pushing himself forward, and for this reason has remained a member of the order of knights, though he could easily have risen to the highest rank. However, I feel it is my duty to obtain him promotion and advancement, and so I am anxious to improve his position in some way, though he neither expects nor knows of this, and may perhaps not wish it; but it must be a distinction which he will not find a burden. Please grant him something of this kind at your earliest opportunity. I shall be exceedingly grateful to you, and so will he, for, though he would not approach you for this himself, he will receive it as gratefully as if he had set his heart on it.

3. To Corellia Hispulla

My love and admiration (I can’t say which comes first) for your father’s noble sense of duty and high principles are matched by my special affection for yourself on your own account as well as for his sake; and so I must desire your son to take after his grandfather,¹and will make every effort I can to ensure this. I should prefer him to resemble your own father, although on his father’s side, too, fortune has granted him a grandfather who is admired and respected, and a father and uncle whose distinguished reputations are well known. He will grow up to be hire them only if he has been educated from the start on the proper lines, and thus it is most important for him to have the right teacher. Up to the present he has been too young to leave your side, and has had teachers at home where there is little or no opportunity for going astray. Now his studies must be carried farther afield, and we must look for a tutor in Latin rhetoric whose school shall combine a strict training along with good manners and, above all, moral standards; for, as our boy happens to be endowed with striking physical beauty amongst his natural gifts, at this dangerous time of life he needs more than a teacher. A guardian and mentor must be found.

I think then that I cannot do better than to draw your attention to Julius Genitor. The affection I have for him has not blinded my judgement, as it is in fact based on it. He is a man of serious character, quite free from faults: indeed a little too blunt and austere for the licence of our times. On the subject of his eloquence you have many witnesses you may trust, for ability in speaking is obvious and readily recognized whenever it is displayed; whereas there are many deep secrets and hidden places in a man’s personal life. You may rest assured that I answer for these on Genitor’s behalf. Your son will hear nothing from him but what will benefit him, will learn nothing that would have been better left unknown. Genitor will remind him as often as we do of his obligations to his forbears and the great names he must carry on. So with the gods’ good will you may entrust him to a teacher from whom he will learn right principles of conduct before he studies eloquence – for without principles this cannot be properly learned at all.

4. To Caecilius Macrinus

Public opinion and the friends who were with me at the time have apparently approved of my conduct, but even so I very much want to know what you think, for the opinion of someone whose advice I should have liked to ask before making my decision is still of great importance to me now that the matter is settled.

I had obtained leave of absence from my post in the Treasury and hurried out to my place in Tuscany¹ in order to lay the foundation stone of a temple which was to be built at my expense; at that moment the representatives of the province of Baetica (who had come to lodge a complaint against the conduct of their late governor, Caecilius Classicus) applied to the Senate for my services as their counsel. My Treasury colleagues, the best of men and most loyal of friends, tried to beg me off and excuse me by pleading the official duties we share. The Senate then passed the resolution – highly complimentary to me -that my services should be granted the province provided that I expressed my willingness in person. The representatives were brought in again, this time in my presence, and made their request a second time, appealing to my professional honour which they had experienced in the case against Baebius Massa,² and pleading that they had a claim on my patronage. There followed the open acclamation which usually indicates that a resolution is going to be passed; after which I begged leave to withdraw my opinion that I had given just reason for excusing myself. This was received with general approval, both for the meaning of my words and the modesty which prompted them.

I was in fart impelled to take this course not only by the unanimous feeling in the Senate, much though that influenced me, but by certain lesser considerations which could not be ignored. I recalled how our fathers needed no official direction to instigate prosecutions to avenge the wrongs of individual foreigners; which made it all the more disgraceful to neglect the rights of a whole people with whom I had ties of hospitality. Besides, when I remembered the dangers I had faced when acting for the Baetici on an earner occasion, I felt that I ought to maintain my credit with them for my former service by adding a new one. It is generally agreed that past benefits cease to count unless confirmed by later ones; for, if a single thing is denied people who have every reason to be grateful, the denial is all they remember.

An additional influence was the fact that Classicus was now dead, which removed the most painful feature in this type of case – the downfall of a senator. I saw then that I should win the same gratitude for taking on the case as if he were alive, but without incurring ill-will. Finally I calculated that, if I discharged this duty for the third time, it would be easier for me to excuse myself if later faced by a defendant whom I felt I ought not to prosecute. All duties have their limits, and permission to be freed from them is best gained by previous compliance. These then are the reasons for my decision; it remains for you to give your opinion one way or the other, bearing in mind that you will please me just as much by frankness if you disapprove as by your encouragement if I have your support.

5. To Baebius Macer

I am delighted to hear that your close study of my uncle’s books has made you wish to possess them all. Since you ask me for a complete list, I will provide a bibliography, and arrange it in chronological order, for this is the sort of information also likely to please scholars.

Throwing the Javelin from Horseback – one volume; a work of industry and talent, written when he was a junior officer in the cavalry.

The Life of Pomponius Secundus¹ – two volumes. My uncle was greatly loved by him and felt he owed this homage to his friend’s memory.

The German Wars – twenty volumes, covering all the wars we have ever had with the Germans. He began this during his military service in Germany, as the result of a dream; in his sleep he saw standing over him the ghost of Drusus Nero, who had triumphed far and wide in Germany and died there. He committed his memory to my uncle’s care, begging him to save him from the injustice of oblivion.

The Scholar – three volumes divided into six sections on account of their length, in which he trains the orator from his cradle and brings him to perfection.

Problems in Grammar – eight volumes; this he wrote during Nero’s last years when the slavery of the times made it dangerous to write anything at all independent or inspired.

A Continuation of the History of Aufidius Bassus – thirty-one volumes.

A Natural History – thirty-seven volumes, a learned and comprehensive work as full of variety as nature itself.

You may wonder how such a busy man was able to complete so many volumes, many of them involving detailed study; and wonder still more when you learn that up to a certain age he practised at the bar, that he died at the age of fifty-five, and throughout the intervening years his time was much taken up with the important offices he held and his friendship with the Emperors. But he combined a penetrating intellect with amazing powers of concentration and the capacity to manage with the minimum of sleep.

From the feast of Vulcan¹ onwards he began to work by lamplight, not with any idea of making a propitious start but to give himself more time for study, and would rise half-way through the night; in winter it would often be at midnight or an hour later, and two at the latest. Admittedly he fell asleep very easily, and would often doze and wake up again during his work. Before daybreak he would visit the Emperor Vespasian (who also made use of his nights) and then go to attend his official duties. On returning home, he devoted any spare time to his work. After something to eat (his meals during the day were light and simple in the old-fashioned way), in summer when he was not too busy he would often lie in the sun, and a book was read aloud while he made notes and extracts. He made extracts of everything he read, and always said that there was no book so bad that some good could not be got out of it. After his rest in the sun he generally took a cold bath, and then ate something and had a short sleep; after which he worked till dinner time as if he had started on a new day. A book was read aloud during the meal and he took rapid notes. I remember that one of his friends told a reader to go back and repeat a word he had mispronounced. ‘Couldn’t you understand him?’ said my uncle. His friend admitted that he could. ‘Then why make him go back? Your interruption has lost us at least ten lines.’ To such lengths did he carry his passion for saving time. In summer he rose from dinner while it was still light, in winter as soon as darkness fell, as if some law compelled him.

This was his routine in the midst of his public duties and the bustle of the city. In the country, the only time he took from his work was for his bath, and by bath I mean his actual immersion, for while he was being rubbed down and dried he had a book read to him or dictated notes. When travelling he felt free from other responsibilities to give every minute to work; he kept a secretary at his side with book and notebook, and in winter saw that his hands were protected by long sleeves, so that even bitter weather should not rob him of a working hour. For the same reason, too, he used to be carried about Rome in a chair. I can remember how he scolded me for walking; according to him I need not have wasted those hours, for he thought any time wasted which was not devoted to work. It was this application which enabled him to finish all those volumes, and to leave me 160 notebooks of selected passages, written in a minute hand on both sides of the page, so that their number is really doubled. He used to say that when he was serving as procurator in Spain he could have sold these notebooks to Larcius Licinus for 400,000 sesterces, and there were far fewer of them then.

When you consider the extent of his reading and writing I wonder if you feel that he could never have been a public official nor a friend of the Emperor, but on the other hand, now that you know of his application, that he should have achieved more? In fact his official duties put every possible obstacle in his path; and yet there was nothing which his energy could not surmount. So I cannot help smiling when anyone calls me studious, for compared with him I am the idlest of men. And yet perhaps I am not, seeing that so much of my time is taken up with official work and service to my friends. Any one of your life-long devotees of literature, if put alongside my uncle, would blush to feel themselves thus enslaved to sleep and idleness.

I have let my letter run on, though I intended only to answer your question about the books left by my uncle. However, I feel sure that reading these details will give you as much pleasure as the actual books, and may even spur you on to the ambition of doing more than read them, if you can produce something similar yourself.

6. To Annius Severus

Out of a sum of money I have inherited I have just bought a Corinthian bronze statue, only a small one, but an attractive and finished piece of work as far as I can judge – though in general my judgement is limited, and certainly very much so here. But this is a status that I feel even I can appreciate, for being nude it does not hide any defects it may have nor fail to reveal its merits. It represents a standing figure of an old man; the bones, muscles, sinews, and veins and even the wrinkles are clear and lifelike, the hair is sparse and receding from a broad brow, its face is lined and neck thin, and it has drooping shoulders, a flat chest and hollow stomach. The back view, within its limits, gives the same impression of age. The bronze appears to have the true colour of a genuine antique; in fact every detail is such as to hold the attention of an artist as well as delight the amateur, and that is what persuaded me to buy it, novice though I am.

However, my intention was not to keep it in my house (I have not any Corinthian bronzes there yet) but to place it in some public position in my native town, preferably in the temple of Jupiter; it is clearly a gift well worthy of a temple and a god. Will you then carry out a commission for me as you always do, and give immediate orders for a pedestal to be made? Choose what marble you like, and have it inscribed with my name and official titles if you think they should appear too. I will send you the statue as soon as I can find someone who will not find it a trouble, or I will bring it myself, which you will like better, for I have it in mind to pay you a visit if my official duties permit. Your smile at this promise to come will change to a frown when I add that it will only be for a few days; the work which is still keeping me here will not let me be away for longer.

7. To Caninius Rufus

The news has just come that Silius Italicus has starved himself to death in his house near Naples. Ill-health was the reason, for he had developed an incurable tumour which wore him down until he formed the fixed resolve to escape by dying; though he had been fortunate in life and enjoyed happiness up to the end of his days, apart from the loss of the younger of his two sons. The elder and more gifted he left well established in his career and already of consular rank. Italicus had damaged his reputation under Nero – it was believed that he had offered his services as an informer – but he had maintained his friendship with Vitellius with tact and wisdom, won fame for his conduct as governor of Asia, and removed the stigma of his former activities by his honourable retirement. He ranked as one of our leading citizens without exercising influence or incurring ill-will; he was waited on and sought after, and spent many hours on his couch in a room thronged with callers who had come with no thought of his rank; and so passed his days in cultured conversation whenever he could spare time from his writing. He took great pains over his verses,¹ though they cannot be called inspired, and frequently submitted them to public criticism by the readings he gave. Latterly his increasing age led to his retirement from Rome; he made his home in Campania and never left it again, not even on the arrival of the new Emperor: an incident which reflects great credit on the Emperor for permitting this liberty, and on Italicus for venturing to avail himself of it. He was a great connoisseur; indeed he was criticized for buying too much. He owned several houses in the same district, but lost interest in the older ones in his enthusiasm for the later. In each of them he had quantities of books, statues, and portrait busts, and these were more to him than possessions – they became objects of his devotion, particularly in the case of Virgil, whose birthday he celebrated with more solemnity than his own, and at Naples especially, where he would visit Virgil’s tomb as if it were a temple. In this peaceful atmosphere he completed his seventy-fifth year, surrounded by attentions though not really an invalid. He was the last consul to be appointed by Nero, and the last to die of all the consuls Nero appointed; and also remarkable is the fact that not only did the last ofNero’s consuls die in him but it was during his consulship that Nero perished.

The thought of this fills me with pity for human frailty; nothing is so short and fleeting as the longest of human lives. It must seem to you only the other day that Nero died, yet not one of those who held consulships in his time is alive today. I suppose I should not find this remarkable when only recently Lucius Piso, father of the Piso who was so criminally put to death in Africa by Valerius Festus, used to say that none of those he had called on to speak when he was consul could still be seen in the Senate. So narrow are the limits set to life, even in a large community, that it seems to me that the Persian king should be forgiven, or even admired for his famous tears; for it is said that after Xerxes had reviewed his vast army, he wept to think of the end awaiting so many thousands in so short a time.¹

All the more reason then why we should prolong all our passing moments, uncertain though they are, not perhaps by action, since here the opportunity no longer rests with us, but at any rate by literary work. Since we are denied a long life, let us leave something to bear witness that at least we have lived. I know you need no incentive, but my affection prompts me to spur on a willing horse, as you do for me in return. ‘Rivalry is good’² when friends stimulate each other by mutual encouragement to desire immortal fame.

8. To Suetonius Tranquillus

You give proof of your high regard for me by the delicacy with which you frame your request that I should transfer to your, relative Caesennius Silvanus the military tribunate which I obtained for you from the distinguished senator Neratius Marcellus. For myself, I should have been delighted to see you as tribune, but I shall be equally pleased if Silvanus owes his office to you. If one has thought a man worthy of promotion it is, I think, illogical to begrudge him the right to show his family feeling, seeing that this does him more honour than any official tide. I see too that as the performance of services is as laudable as the deserving of them, you will win praise on both accounts if you give up to someone else what you merited yourself, and I realize that some credit will be reflected on me, too, if as a result of your action it is known that my friends are free either to hold the office of tribune themselves or to give it away. Your wish is thus excellent in every way and shall be granted. Your name is not yet entered on the lists, so it is easy for me to substitute that of Silvanus; and I hope that your service will please him as much as mine pleases you.

9. To Cornelius Minicianus

At last I can give you a full account of all the trouble I have had over the public action brought by the province of Baetica, a most complicated case which after several hearings ended in a variety of sentences: the reason for which you shall hear.

Caecilius Classicus had been governor of Baetica in the same year that Marius Priscus was in Africa. His rapacity during this time was matched by his brutality, for he was a scoundrel who made no secret of his evil ways. It so happened that Priscus came from Baetica and Classicus from Africa; hence the joke current among the Baetici (for exasperation often breaks out into wit) – ‘I got as bad as I gave’. However, Priscus was brought to trial by a single city along with several private individuals, whereas Classicus was attacked by the entire province. He forestalled the trial by his death, which might have been accidental or self-inflicted; there was much general suspicion but no definite proof, for, though it seemed likely that he intended to die since he could not defend himself, it is surprising that he should have died to escape the shame of condemnation for deeds which he was not ashamed to do. Nevertheless, the Baetici continued with their action after his death. (This was legally permissible, but the practice had lapsed, and was revived on this occasion after a long interval.) In addition to Classicus, they extended their charges to his friends and accomplices, demanding an individual investigation in each case.

I appeared for the Baetici, supported by Lucceius Albinus, a fluent and elegant orator whom I have long admired; since our association on this occasion I have come to feel a warm affection for him. The will to succeed implies some reluctance to share success, and especially where forensic oratory is concerned; but in our case there was no rivalry nor competition. We both put the needs of the case before personal considerations in a combined effort, for we felt that the importance of the issue and its outcome demanded that we did not assume such responsibility in a single speech from each of us. It looked as though we should run short of time and lose our breath and voice if we dealt with so many accusations and defendants collectively, and then the large number of names and charges might exhaust the attention of the magistrates and possibly leave them in confusion. Moreover, the combined influence of the individuals concerned might procure for each the effect of the whole, and, finally, the influential might make scapegoats of the humble, and so escape at their expense. (Privilege and self-interest are most likely to triumph when they can be concealed behind a mask of severity.) We also had in mind the well-known example of Sertorius,¹ when he set the strongest and the weakest of his soldiers to pull off the horse’s tail -you know the rest of the story – and concluded that we too could deal with the large number of defendants if we took them one by one.

We decided that the first essential was to prove Classicus guilty; this would give us the best approach to his allies and accomplices, who could not be convicted unless he was. We coupled two of them with Classicus from the start, Baebius Probus and Fabius Hispanus, both formidable opponents through their influence, and Hispanus also for his fluent tongue. It was easy to make short work of Classicus. He had left accounts in his own hand of his receipts for every business deal and court case, and he had even sent a bragging letter to his mistress in Rome (these are his actual words): ‘Hurrah, hurrah, I’m coming to you a free man – I’ve sold up half the Baetici and raised four million!’

Over Hispanus and Probus we had to sweat. Before I dealt with the charges against them I believed it was essential to establish the fact that the carrying out of orders was a chargeable offence; otherwise it would have been useless to prove they had done so. Their defence was in fart not to deny the charge, but to plead compulsion, saying that as provincials they were terrorized into carrying out any order of the governor. Claudius Restitutus, who replied for the defence, is a practised speaker who is alert and ready for anything unexpected, but he now says that he never felt so dumbfounded and bewildered as when he saw all the points he was most relying on for his defence anticipated and torn out of his grasp. The result of our policy was that the Senate decreed that all possessions owned by Classicus before his provincial appointment should be set aside and given to his daughter, that the remainder be handed over to the people he had robbed, and, further, that the money he had paid to his creditors should be recalled, Hispanus and Probus were banished for five years, so serious did their conduct now seem, though at first it had been doubtful whether it was indictable at all.

A few days later we charged Claudius Fuscus, the son-in-law of Classicus, and Stilonius Priscus who had served under him as tribune of a cohort, with varying success: Priscus was banished from Italy for two years, and Fuscus was acquitted.

At the third hearing we thought it best to group several defendants together, fearing that if the trial were prolonged too far the presiding magistrates would be bored and tired and consequently their strict administration of justice would begin to flag. Moreover, there remained only people of less importance whom we had deliberately kept back until then, apart from Classicus’s wife who was strongly suspected, though it did not look as though there was proof enough to convict her. Classicus’s daughter, who had also been included in the charge, emerged quite free from suspicion. So when I reached her name at the end of my speech, as there was no longer the same danger of weakening the whole case as there was at the beginning, I felt that the only just course was to refrain from pressing a charge against an innocent person: and I said so openly in many ways. I first asked the representatives of the province if they had instructed me to make any special charge which they were confident could be substantiated, and then I appealed to the Senate for guidance whether I ought to direct all my powers of oratory against an innocent woman, like a knife at her throat. Finally, I brought the whole subject to this conclusion. ‘If I am asked whether I am judging this case, my answer is No, but I cannot forget that I should have been amongst the judges, had I not been chosen to conduct the prosecution.’

So ended these complicated proceedings; of the persons involved, some were acquitted, but the majority were convicted and banished, either for a fixed period or for life. In its decree passing sentence, the Senate gave the fullest expression to its appreciation of Albinus and myself, for our thorough and scrupulous handling of the case and for our perseverance, the only just and adequate reward for our labours. You can imagine how tired we are after so much continuous speaking, debating and cross-examining of all the witnesses and supporting or refuting their replies; and how difficult and unpleasant it has been to have to say no to the confidential questions of the friends of the many defendants, and then to have to face their open attacks in court. I will quote one of the answers I gave when some of the magistrates were protesting on behalf of a highly influential defendant: ‘His innocence will not be affected if I am allowed to finish my speech.’ From this you can guess at the opposition and hostility we incurred, though admittedly not for long. Honesty offends those it thwarts for a time, but afterwards these are the people from whom it wins respect.

I can’t do more to bring you to the scene of action. You may say that this is too much and that you never expected such a long letter -then don’t ask again for news of what is happening in Rome, and remember that a letter cannot really be called long when it deals with so many days and inquiries, and all the defendants involved in so many cases. I think myself that I have kept my account short and accurate – no, that was rash: I have just remembered too late something I left out, and you must have it although out of place. (This is one of Homer’s devices, and many writers imitate him; it can be very effective, though that was not my own intention.)

A witness who was either annoyed at being compelled to appear to give evidence, or had been suborned by one of the defendants to damage the case, charged Norbanus Licinianus (one of the representatives of Baetica who had been commissioned to collect evidence) with collusion in the case against Casta, the wife of Classicus. It is laid down by law that the trial of an accused shall be concluded before a charge of collusion with his accuser is investigated, doubtless because the honesty of the latter can best be judged from his handling of the case. However, Norbanus gained no protection from this legal provision, and none from his position as delegate nor his commission to prepare the case; he was swept away by the general indignation against his other misdemeanours and the fact that like many others he had profited by the reign of Domitian, and had in fact been chosen by his province to collect evidence on this occasion not for his honesty and reliability but for his hatred of Classicus (who had previously banished him). He asked for time and a statement of the charges against him, but both his requests were refused. He was obliged to defend himself on the spot, and did so with considerable promptitude, though the man’s thoroughly bad and worthless character makes me wonder whether his reply showed courage or merely impudence. There were many other charges against him more damaging than that of collusion: indeed, two senators (the consulars Pomponius Rufus and Libo Frugi) produced the damning evidence that he had appeared in court in Domitian’s time in support of the prosecution of Salvius Liberalis. He was found guilty and sentenced to banishment on an island. In charging Casta, therefore, I particularly emphasized the collusion for which her accuser had been convicted, but without success. On the contrary, the result was quite without precedent – the defendant was acquitted although her accuser was convicted of collusion with her.

You may be wondering what we were doing meanwhile. We explained to the Senate that, as it was from Norbanus that we had received our instructions on behalf of the province, if he was found guilty of collusion we must begin again with fresh ones; so while his trial was on, we remained seated. Afterwards Norbanus attended every day of the trial and kept up his courage – or impudence – to the end.

I am trying to think whether I have left anything out this time, and again I nearly did. On the last day Salvius Liberalis made a violent attack on the remaining delegates for not having brought to trial all the persons about whom their province had given them instructions, and, being a forceful and eloquent speaker, he put them in a perilous position. I undertook their defence, and found them honest men and most grateful to me; in fact they say they owe their escape from disaster entirely to me.

This is the end of this letter, really the end – I won’t add another syllable even if I think of something else I have forgotten.

10. To Vestricius Spurinna and Cottia

I didn’t mention when I was last with you that I had written something about your son, because, in the first place, I had not written it with the idea of telling you, but to give expression to my own feelings of love and grief, and then because I knew from what you had told me yourself that you, Spurinna, had heard that I had given a public reading, and I assumed that you had also heard what its subject was. I was anxious too not to upset you during a national holiday by reviving the memory of your tragic loss.

Even now I am still in some doubt whether to send you only the passages I read, as you ask, or to add what I was intending to keep back to present on another occasion. A single composition is quite inadequate for my sentiments, if I am to do justice to the memory of one I loved and revered so much, and his fame will be more widespread if it is published abroad by degrees. But while debating whether to show you all I have written so far, or to withhold something until later, I have come to see that honesty and friendship alike constrain me to send everything; especially as you assure me that nothing shall leave your hands until I have made up my mind about publication.

One thing remains: please be equally honest about telling me if you think there are any additions, alterations, or omissions to be made. It is difficult for you to concentrate on this at a time of sorrow, I know; but, nevertheless, if a sculptor or painter were working on a portrait of your son, you would indicate to him what features to bring out or correct; and so you must give me guidance and direction as I, too, am trying to create a likeness which shall not be short-lived and ephemeral, but one you think will last for ever. It is more likely to be long-lived the more I can attain to truth and beauty and accuracy in detail.

11. To Julius Genitor

The natural generosity of our friend Artemidorus always makes him enlarge on his friends’ services, and so he is spreading an account of my merits which is not untrue, but more than I deserve. It is true that, when the philosophers were expelled from Rome,¹ I went to see him in his house outside the city, and as I was praetor at that time the visit involved some risk for the attention it attracted. He was also in need of a considerable sum at the time to pay off his debts contracted in honourable causes; I raised the money and lent it to him without interest, when certain of his rich and influential friends hesitated to do so. I did this at a time when seven of my friends had been put to death or banished – Senecio, Rusticus, and Helvidius were dead, and Mauricus, Gratilla, Arria, and Fannia were in exile – so that I stood amidst the flames of thunderbolts dropping all round me, and there were certain clear indications to make me suppose a like end was awaiting me.

However, I do not believe I deserve the exaggerated reputation in these matters which Artemidorus gives me: I have not disgraced myself, but that is all. For I greatly admired his father-in-law Gaius Musonius, and loved him as much as our difference in age permitted; and when I was serving as military tribune in Syria I was on terms of close intimacy with Artemidorus himself. In fact the first sign I showed of having any judgement was that apparently I appreciated a man who was a true sage, or the nearest approach to one. Of all those who call themselves philosophers today, you will scarcely find one with his sincerity and integrity. I am saying nothing about his physical endurance in winter and summer, how he shrinks from no hardship and permits himself no indulgence in food and drink, nor licence in look or thought. All this may be important in another person, but for him it means little in comparison with his other virtues; which won him the honour of being chosen by Gaius Musonius from suitors of every rank to be his son-in-law.

As I recall these events I am indeed happy to think of the high tribute he pays me generally, and especially in your hearing, but at the same time I fear he may go too far; for (to return to the point I started from) his generosity puts no check on him. This is his only fault, albeit a good fault, in one otherwise so wise: he has too high an opinion of his friends.

12. To Catilius Severus

I will come to dinner, but only on condition that it is simple and informal, rich only in Socratic conversation, though this too must be kept within bounds; for there will be early-morning callers to think of. Cato himself could not escape reproach on meeting them, chough Caesar’s adverse comment is tinged with admiration. The passers-by whom Cato met when drunk, blushed when they discovered who he was, and (says Caesar) You would have thought they had been found out by Cato, not Cato by them’. What better tribute to Cato’s prestige than to show him still awe-inspiring when drunk! But our dinner must have a limit, in time as well as in preparations and expense; for we are not the sort of people whom even our enemies cannot blame without a word of praise.

13. To Voconius Romanus

I am sending at your request the text of the speech in which I recently expressed my thanks to our noble Emperor for my consulship;¹ I intended to do so in any case. I should like you to bear in mind that the nobility of the theme brings its own difficulties. In other speeches there is novelty, if nothing else, to hold the attention of the reader, but here everything is common knowledge and has been said before; consequently the reader has time and freedom to concentrate on the delivery without distractions, and if he forms his opinion by this alone he is not easily satisfied. I would prefer him to give equal attention to the arrangement, the transitions and figures of speech, for, although a powerful imagination and the gift of forceful expression are sometimes to be found in the uneducated, no one can display skill in arrangement and variety of figures except the trained expert. Nor should one always be searching for the elevated and the sublime, for a speech needs to lower as well as to raise its tone: just as in a picture, light is best shown up by shadow. But there is no need for me to say this to anyone of your attainments. I ought rather to ask you to mark any alterations you think should be made, for, if I have your criticisms of some points, I shall be more ready to believe that you like the rest of the speech.

14. To Publius (?) Acilius

This horrible affair demands more publicity than a letter – Larcius Macedo, a senator and ex-praetor, has fallen a victim to his own slaves. Admittedly he was a cruel and overbearing master, too ready to forget that his father had been a slave, or perhaps too keenly conscious of it. He was taking a bath in his house at Formiae¹ when suddenly he found himself surrounded; one slave seized him by the throat while the others struck his face and hit him in the chest and stomach and -shocking to say – in his private parts. When they thought he was dead they threw him on to the hot pavement, to make sure he was not still alive. Whether unconscious or feigning to be so, he lay there motionless, thus making them believe that he was quite dead. Only then was he carried out, as if he had fainted with the heat, and received by his slaves who had remained faithful, while his concubines ran up, screaming frantically. Roused by their cries and revived by the cooler air he opened his eyes and made some movement to show that he was alive, it being now safe to do so. The guilty slaves fled, but most of them have been arrested and a search is being made for the others. Macedo was brought back to life with difficulty, but only for a few days; at least he died with the satisfaction of having revenged himself, for he lived to see the same punishment meted out as for murder. There you see the dangers, outrages, and insults to which we are exposed. No master can feel safe because he is kind and considerate; for it is their brutality, not their reasoning capacity, which leads slaves to murder masters.

But let us change the subject. What news is there? None, or I would give you it, for I still have space, and today’s holiday gives me time to continue. I will only put in a detail in connexion with Macedo which I have fortunately just remembered. He was in one of the public baths in Rome when a remarkable incident occurred which events have proved to be an omen. One of Macedo’s slaves lightly touched a Roman knight to ask him to let them pass; the man turned round and struck not the slave who had touched him, but Macedo himself such a violent blow that he nearly knocked him down. So the baths have been the scene successively of insult to Macedo and then of his death.

15. To Silius Proculus

You want me to read through some of your poems while I am away on holiday, to see if they are worth publishing, and, in begging me to spend on your work any odd moments I can spare from my own, you can cite a precedent to support your plea; Cicero, you say, was wonderfully generous about encouraging the talent of poets.

But there was no need of prayers and entreaties – I have a profound regard for poetry and the warmest affection for yourself, and so I will gladly apply myself to doing what you ask. However, I see no reason why I should not say here and now that it is a splendid work and ought not to remain unpublished, to judge from the passages I have heard you read; unless I was carried away by your style of reading, which has very great charm and skill. But I feel sure that I am not seduced by the pleasures of the ear to the extent of losing all my critical powers; my sting may perhaps be dulled and lack a little of its sharpness, but it cannot be entirely pulled out. This then is my considered opinion on the work as a whole, and I will judge the parts after I have read them.

16. To Maecilius Nepos

I think I have remarked that the more famous words and deeds of men and women are not necessarily their greatest. I was strengthened in this opinion by a conversation I had yesterday with Fannia,¹ granddaughter of the famous Arria who sustained and encouraged her husband by her example at the time of his death. She told me several things about her grandmother which were quite as heroic though less well known, and I think they will make the same impression on you as you read them as they did on me during their telling.

Arria’s husband, Caecina Paetus, was ill, so was their son, and it was thought that neither could recover. The son died, a most beautiful boy with an unassuming manner no less remarkable, and dear to his parents for reasons beyond the fact that he was their son. Arria made all the preparations for his funeral and took her place at the ceremony without her husband knowing; in fact whenever she entered his room she pretended that their son was still alive and even rather better, and, when Paetus kept asking how the boy was, she would answer that he had had a good sleep and was willing to take some food. Then when the tears she had held back for so long could no longer be kept from breaking out, she left the room; not till then did she give way to her grief. Her weeping over, she dried her eyes, composed her face, and returned as if she had left the loss of her child outside the room. It was a glorious deed, I know, to draw a dagger, plunge it into her breast, pull it out, and hand it to her husband with the immortal, almost divine words: ‘It does not hurt, Paetus.’ But on that well-known occasion she had fame and immortality before her eyes. It was surely even more heroic when she bad no hope of any such reward, to stifle her tears, hide her grief, and continue to act the mother after she had lost her son.

At the time of the revolt against Claudius raised by Scribonianus in Illyricum,² Paetus had joined his party, and after Scribonianus’s death was being brought as a prisoner to Rome. He was about to board ship when Arria begged the soldiers to take her with him. ‘This is a senator of consular rank,’ she insisted, ‘and of course you will allow him a few slaves to serve his meals, dress him and put on his shoes; all of which I can do for him myself’ Her request was refused. She then hired a small fishing smack, and the great ship sailed with her following in her tiny boat.

Again, when she came before Claudius and found the wife of Scribonianus volunteering to give evidence of the revolt, ‘Am I to listen to you,’ she cried, ‘who could go on living after Scribonianus died in your arms?’ This proves that her determination to die a glorious death was not a sudden impulse. Indeed, when her son-in-law Thrasea was trying to persuade her not to carry out her resolve, in the course of his argument he asked her whether if he ever had to die she would wish her daughter to die with him. ‘If she lives as long and happily with you,’ she said, ‘as I have with Paetus – yes.’ This answer increased the anxiety felt for her by her family and she was watched even more carefully. Perceiving this, ‘It is no good, she said. ‘You can make me choose a painful death, but you cannot make it impossible.’ With these words she leaped out of her chair and dashed her head against the wall opposite, so that she fell senseless from the violent blow. When she came round, ‘I told you,’ she said, ‘that I should find a hard way to die if you denied me an easy one.’

Surely you think these words greater than the well-known ‘It does not hurt, Paetus’ which was their culmination? And yet this is widely famous, while the earlier sayings are not known at all. Hence the inference with which I began this letter, that the words and deeds which win fame are not always the greatest

17. To Julius Servianus¹

I have had no letter from you for such a long time – is it because all goes well? Or is the reason that all is well but you are too busy: or, if not actually busy, have you little or no opportunity to dispatch a letter? Please end my anxiety – I can’t bear it. Do so even if you have to send a special messenger. I will pay his expenses and give him something for himself, as long as he brings me the news I want. I am well myself, if ‘well’ is the right word for living in such a state of worry and suspense, expecting and fearing to hear any moment that a dear friend has met with one of the accidents which can befall mankind.

18. To Vibius Severus

My acceptance of the consulship brought with it the official duty of addressing a vote of thanks to the Emperor in the name of the State. After doing so in the Senate in the usual manner befitting the place and occasion, I thought it my proper duty as a loyal citizen to give the same subject a fuller and more elaborate treatment in a written version. I hoped in the first place to encourage our Emperor in Ills virtues by a sincere tribute, and, secondly, to show his successors what path to follow to win the same renown, not by offering instruction but by setting his example before them. To proffer advice on an Emperor’s duties might be a noble enterprise, but it would be a heavy responsibility verging on insolence, whereas to praise an excellent ruler and thereby shine a beacon on the path posterity should follow would be equally effective without appearing presumptuous.

One thing has given me a great deal of pleasure. When I had decided to give a reading of the speech to my friends, I did not invite them by note or programme, but simply asked them to come ‘if convenient’ or if they ‘really had time’ (though as a matter of fact no one in Rome ever finds it convenient or really has time to attend public readings); the weather too was particularly bad, but nevertheless they attended two days running, and, when discretion would have put an end to the reading, they made me continue for a third day. Am I to look upon this as a tribute to myself or to the art of oratory? I hope the latter, as it is now enjoying a revival after almost dying out. And what was the subject which held their interest? A speech of thanks, which even in the Senate we used not to be able to endure without being bored after the first minute, can now find a reader and an audience willing to listen for three days on end, not through any improvement in our standard of eloquence, but because greater freedom of speech makes writing more of a pleasure. This is yet another tribute to our Emperor: a type of speech which used to be hated for its insincerity has become genuine and consequently popular today. But I much admired the critical sense as well as the enthusiasm of my audience, noticing that the least elaborate passages pleased them most. I have not forgotten that only a few friends have heard me read what I have written for the general public; but even so, my delight in their keen attentiveness makes me hopeful that popular opinion will coincide with theirs. I am also encouraged to hope that we may now have an audience in the theatre which will teach the players to perform properly, instead of encouraging the bad performances of the past. Every author who writes to please his public models his work on what he sees has given pleasure, and I personally am convinced that for this type of subject I did right to employ a livelier style, for a concise and terser manner is more likely to appear strained and artificial than the passages I wrote in a happier and more buoyant mood. Nevertheless, I still pray that some day the time will come – and I wish it had already – when these winning phrases, even where they are securely established, will withdraw their charms to make way for strict simplicity.

These then are my doings during the last three days. I wanted you to know them so that you could enjoy from afar the same pleasure as you would have had here, both on my account and for the cause of oratory.

19. To Calvisius Rufus

As usual, I am calling upon your expert advice on a matter of property. The estate adjoining my own¹ is for sale; the land runs in and out of mine, and, though there are many attractions tempting me to buy, there are some no less important reasons why I should not. The primary attraction is the obvious amenity if the properties were joined, and after that the practical advantage as well as the pleasure of being able to visit the two together without making more than one journey. Both could be put under the same steward and practically the same foremen, and it would only be necessary to maintain and furnish one house, so long as the other was kept in repair. In this account I include the cost of furniture, household staff, gardeners, workmen, and also hunting gear; for it makes a considerable difference whether one keeps all these in one place or distributes them between several. On the other hand I am afraid it may be rash to expose a property of such a size to the same uncertainties of weather and general risks, and it might be safer to meet the hazards of fortune by having estates in different localities; and then change of place and air is very enjoyable, and so is the actual travelling between one’s possessions.

But the chief point for consideration is this. The land is fertile, the soil rich and well watered, and the whole made up of fields, vineyards, and woods which produce enough to yield a steady income if not a very large one. But this natural fertility is being exhausted by poor cultivation. The last owner on more than one occasion sold up the tenants’ possessions, so that he temporarily reduced their arrears but weakened their resources for the future, and consequently their debts mounted up again. They will have to be set up and given a good type of slave, which will increase the expense; for nowhere do I employ chained slaves myself, and no one uses them there.

It remains for you to know the purchase price: three million sesterces. It used at one time to be five million, but this scarcity of tenants and the general bad times have reduced the income from the land and brought down its value. You will want to know if I can easily raise this three million. It is true that nearly all my capital is in land, but I have some investments and it will not be difficult to borrow. I can always have money from my mother-in-law, whose capital I am able to use as freely as my own. Don’t let this worry you if you can dispose of the other points. I hope you will give them your full attention, for as regards the administration of large sums of money, as in everything else, you have abundant experience and wisdom.

20. To Maesius Maximus

You must have often read about the fierce controversy roused by the Ballot Act,¹ and the mixed praise and blame it brought its proposer; yet today the merits of the act have won the unanimous approval of the Senate. On the day of the recent elections everyone demanded voting-papers, for on the last occasions when we had publicly recorded our votes aloud we had certainly exceeded the disorders of the people’s assemblies. No regard was paid to a time-limit in speaking, to the courtesy of not interrupting, nor even the propriety of remaining seated. On all sides rose the din of opposing cries: everyone rushed forward with his candidate and crowds mingled with small groups of people in the centre of the floor in disgraceful confusion. So far had we departed from our parents’ procedure, where everything was calmly conducted in a restrained and orderly manner so as to maintain the honour and dignity of the House.

There are still some of the older generation living who have often told me about their election procedure: the name of the candidate was read out and received in complete silence, after which he spoke on his own behalf, gave an account of his career and produced references to his character, either the commanding officer under whom he had served in the army or the governor whose quaestor he had been, and both if he could. He then called upon some of the electors supporting his candidature, who said a few sober words in his favour which carried more weight than entreaties. Sometimes the candidate would raise objections to his opponent’s origin, age or character, and the Senate would hear him with strict attention. The result was that merit prevailed more often than mere popularity. But now that these practices have broken down through excessive personal influence, recourse was had to the secret ballot as a remedy, and, being a new and unaccustomed measure, for the time being it has proved successful. Yet I am afraid that as time goes on the remedy will breed its own abuses, with the risk of wanton irresponsibility finding a way in. Very few people are as scrupulously honest in secret as in public, and many are influenced by public opinion but scarcely anyone by conscience. It is too soon, though, to speak of the future; for the moment, thanks to the written vote, we are going to elect our public officials from the candidates who best deserve the honour. We have been called upon to pronounce an opinion in our elections with no more warning than is given at a summary trial, and have shown ourselves uncorrupted.

I have told you this primarily to give you some genuine news, and then to be able to talk a little about political matters; a subject which gives us fewer opportunities than in the old days, so none must be missed. Besides, hasn’t the time come to give up the commonplace ‘How are you? I hope you are well’? Our letters ought to contain something which rises above the trivialities and limitations of personal interests. Everything today, it is true, depends on the will of one man who has taken upon himself for the general good all our cares and responsibilities; yet mindful of our needs he sees that streams flow down to us from his fount of generosity so that we can draw on them ourselves and dispense them by letter to our absent friends.

21. To Cornelius Priscus

I am distressed to hear that Valerius Martial is dead. He was a man of great gifts, with a mind both subtle and penetrating, and his writings are remarkable for their combination of sincerity with pungency and wit. I had made him a present of his travelling expenses when he retired from Rome, in recognition of our friendship and the verses he wrote about me. It was the custom in the past to reward poets who had sung the praises of cities or individuals with gifts of office or money, but in our day this was one of the first things to fall out of fashion along with many other fine and honourable practices; for, now that we do nothing to merit a poet’s tribute, it seems foolish to receive one.

You will want to know the verses which won my gratitude, and I would give you the reference had I not some of them by heart. If you like these, you can look up the others in his published works. The poet is addressing the Muse, telling her to seek my house on the Esquiline and approach it with respect:¹

Muse, do not knock at his learned door drunk, and at time ill-chosen; All the hours of his working day he devotes to crabbed Minerva, While he prepares for the Hundred Court the speeches which after ages Judge to be worthy of taking place by those of the son of Arpinum. Wait till the lamps burn late and low, when Bacchus is ruling the revels, Safer the night, when the brow is crowned with the rose and the hair drips perfume; This is your hour, when the puritans’ frown can relax with a smile for my verses.

Was I right then to part on such friendly terms from the author of these verses about me? Am I right to mourn his death now as one of my dearest friends? He gave me of his best, and would have given me more had he been able, though surely nothing more can be given to man than a tribute which will bring him fame and immortality. You may object that his verses will not be immortal; perhaps not, but he wrote them with that intention.