1. To Annius Severus
I have just come in for a legacy: not a large one, but more welcome than a substantial sum for reasons which I will explain. The donor, Asudius Curianus, had previously been disinherited by his mother, Pomponia Galla, who had then divided her estate between myself, the senator and ex-praetor Sertorius Severus, and several distinguished Roman knights. Curianus had begged me to present him with my share and help him by setting a precedent, on the tacit understanding that he should eventually restore the capital untouched. I replied that it was not my nature to do one thing in public and another in private, nor did I think it honest to make a present of money to a rich and childless man; in short, that I could do him no good by giving him my share, but he would benefit if I waived my claim to it. This I was willing to do only if I was satisfied that he had been unfairly disinherited. He then asked me to hold an inquiry, and after some hesitation I agreed, remarking that as he apparently thought me capable of doing so I saw no reason not to share his opinion, but reminding him that I should not hesitate to pronounce judgement in favour of his mother if that was my honest opinion. He told me to act as I thought fit, as that was sure to be fair. I then invited the support of the two most respected citizens of the day, Corellius and Frontinus, and the three of us took our seats in my room. Curianus put forward his best arguments, and I made a brief reply myself, for there was no one else present to defend the honour of the deceased. Then after withdrawing for consultation I told him our joint decision: namely that we found his mother had a just reason for her displeasure with him.
Subsequently he served a notice on the other heirs, though not on me, of a charge to be brought before the Centumviral Court. As the day fixed for the case approached, my co-heirs were anxious to compromise and settle out of court, not out of any lack of confidence in their cause, but through distrust of the times; they feared the fate they had seen overtake many another – that they might leave the Centumviral Court with a criminal case against them. Some of them, too, could be made to suffer for their friendship with Gratilla and Rusticus.1 They therefore asked me to speak to Curianus, and I met him in the temple of Concord. There I put this question: ‘Would you have any cause for complaint if your mother had left you the statutory fourth part of her estate,2 or if you were made her sole heir, but with so many legacies to be paid out that your share was reduced to a fourth? Then you should be satisfied if you are given a fourth share by your mother’s heirs, after being disinherited yourself However, I will add something to it myself. You must realize that you have brought no action against me, and the two years have elapsed which establish my claim. But to make you more willing to negotiate with the others and prevent your losing anything by showing me special consideration, I am prepared to give you a sum equivalent to my share.’
I have had my reward in reputation as well as a good conscience, for it is this Curianus who has left me a legacy and paid this notable tribute to my conduct – conduct which (unless I flatter myself) was in the best tradition. I have told you this tale since I always talk about all my joys and sorrows as freely to you as I would to myself, and then because I thought it cruel to deny my best friend a pleasure which I was enjoying. Nor am I enough of a philosopher to remain quite indifferent whether what I believe to be a good deed of mine is to win some just reward.
2. To Calpurnius Flaccus
Thank you for the fine field-fares, but being at Laurentum I can’t match them with anything from town, nor can I send you any fish as long as the weather is so bad. So all you will get is a letter which comes empty-handed, nothing but thanks without any of Diomedes’ ingenuity in exchanging gifts.1 However, I know you are kind enough to be all the readier to excuse where an excuse is admittedly undeserved.
3. To Titius Aristo
I have many welcome acts of kindness to thank you for, but you do me a real service by thinking I ought to know that my verses have been the subject of much discussion at your house, a discussion which was prolonged because of difference of opinion. There were some people, you say, who had no criticism to make of the actual poems, but thought I deserved their censure – in a frank and friendly way -for composing and reading them in public. My answer to these critics will probably aggravate the offence. I admit that I do often write verse which is far from serious, for I also listen to comedy, watch farces, read lyric poetry, and appreciate Sotadic2 verse; there are besides times when I laugh, make jokes, and enjoy my fun, in fact I can sum up all these innocent relaxations in a word: ‘I am human.’3 I am not complaining if my character is valued so highly that some people express surprise at my writing on such themes, if they are themselves unaware that the same thing has often been done by serious scholars of blameless reputation. But I am sure that those who realize what famous authors have set me an example can easily be persuaded to let me go astray, so long as I am in their company; for it is an honour to imitate their lighter as well as their more serious work. I am not citing a living author, lest I seem exaggerated in my praises, but surely I need not be afraid that this practice is unsuitable for me, when it was perfectly proper in the case of Cicero, C. Calvus, Asinius Pollio, M. Messala, Q. Hortensius, M. Brutus, L. Sulla, Q. Catulus, Q. Scaevola, Servius Sulpicius, Varro, Torquatus (in fact all the Torquati), C. Memmius, Lentulus Gaetulicus and Annaeus Seneca, and also Verginius Rufus in our own times. If these individuals are not enough, I can quote the deified Julius Caesar and the deified Emperors Augustus and Nerva and Tiberius Caesar. I except Nero, though I know that what is the occasional practice of the vicious is not corrupted thereby, but retains its integrity through being the usual practice of the virtuous. In the latter class Virgil, Cornelius Nepos, and, before their date, Accius and Ennius must rank high: it is true they are not senators, but moral integrity knows no class distinctions.
However, it can be said that I give readings of my work without knowing if these authors did. So I do; but they could rest content with their own judgement, whereas I am too diffident to feel confident that I have done everything I can to what has only my own approval. I have therefore two reasons for reading in public; the reader is made more keenly critical of his own work if he stands in some awe of his audience, and he has a kind of expert opinion to confirm his decision on any doubtful point. He receives suggestions from different members, and, failing this, he can infer their various opinions from their expressions, glances, nods, applause, murmurs and silence, signs which make clear the distinction between their critical judgement and polite assent. And then if any of the company is interested in reading what he has heard, he will realize that I shall have made certain alterations or omissions which may perhaps accord with his opinion, although this was never actually expressed. But now I am arguing this point as if I invited the general public to a lecture hall instead of having my friends in my own room – though if I have many friends to invite this has been a source of pride to many people and a reproach to none.
4. To Julius Valerianus
This is a small matter, but likely to go far. A praetorian senator named Sollers asked the Senate for permission to hold a weekly market on his property. This was opposed by representatives of the town of Vicetia,1 with Tuscilius Nominates acting on their behalf, and the case was adjourned until a subsequent meeting of the Senate. The Vicetians then appeared without anyone to plead for them and said they had been cheated – whether a verbal slip on their part or their genuine opinion I don’t know. Asked by the praetor Nepos whom they had instructed to act for them, they replied, ‘The same as before.’ To the question whether he had taken on the case without a fee, they said that they had given him 6,000 sesterces. Had they paid him a second fee? Yes, another 4,000. Nepos then issued a summons to Nominatus to appear before the court This was as far as the matter went that day, but in my opinion it will not end there, for often a mere touch is enough to set things moving with far-reaching consequences.
That has made you prick up your ears, but now you will have to beg me nicely for a long time before you hear the rest of the story -unless you come to Rome first to find it out, and see things for yourself as a change from reading about them.
5. To Novius Maximus
I have just heard that Gaius Fannius is dead, news which has upset me very much. Not only did I love and admire his good taste and learning, but I could always rely on his judgement; for his natural intelligence had been trained by experience and he was always ready with an accurate opinion. It distresses me, too, that he had the misfortune to die without making a new will, when the old one leaves out some of his dearest friends and benefits people who are now his enemies.
This is hard but not unbearable; much more serious is the fact that he has left his finest work unfinished. Although his career at the bar took up much of his time, he was bringing out a history of the various fates of the people put to death or banished by Nero. His accuracy in research and purity of style (which was midway between the discursive and historical) were evident in the three volumes he had already finished, and he was all the more anxious to complete the series when he saw how eagerly the first books were read by a large public. Death always seems to me cruel and untimely when it comes to those who are engaged on some immortal work, for when people abandon themselves to pleasure and live from day to day, their reasons for living are finished as each day comes to an end; but for those who think of posterity and seek to be remembered in their works, death is always sudden as it always cuts short some unfinished project. Fannius had in fact had a premonition long ago of what has now happened. He dreamed that he was lying on his couch at dead of night, dressed and ready for work, and with his desk in front of him, just as usual; then he fancied that Nero appeared, sat down on the couch, took up the first volume Fannius had published about his crimes, and read it through to the end; then he did the same to the second and third volumes, after which he departed. Fannius was horrified, and inferred that his writing would end at the point where Nero stopped reading; and so it did. When I remember this, I am filled with pity for all the wakeful hours he spent and the trouble he took, all in vain; and I think of my own mortality and what I have written. Doubtless the same thought makes you equally fearful for the work you have in hand, so while life lasts we must see there shall be as little as possible for death to destroy.
6. To Domitius Apollinaris
I am touched by your kind concern when you try to dissuade me from my intention of staying in Tuscany in summer. You think the place is unhealthy, but while it is perfectly true that the Tuscan strip of sea-coast is relaxing and dangerous to the health, my property is some distance away from the sea, and is in fact at the very foot of the Apennines, which are considered the healthiest of mountains. So to rid you of all your fears on my account, let me tell you about the climate, the countryside, and the lovely situation of my house, which will be a pleasure alike for me to tell and you to hear.
The climate in winter is cold and frosty, and so quite impossible for myrtles and olives and any other trees which will only flourish in a continuous mild temperature, but the laurel can grow and does very well; it is sometimes killed off by the cold, but not oftener than in the neighbourhood of Rome. The summer is wonderfully temperate, for there is always some movement of the air, more often a breeze than a real wind. Hence the number of elderly people living there – you can see the grandfathers and great-grandfathers of people who have reached their own manhood, and hear old stories and tales of the past, so that a visit here is like a return to another age.
The countryside is very beautiful. Picture to yourself a vast amphitheatre such as could only be a work of nature; the great spreading plain is ringed round by mountains, their summits crowned by ancient woods of tall trees, where there is a good deal of mixed hunting to be had. Down the mountain slopes are timber woods interspersed with small hills of soil so rich that there is scarcely a rocky outcrop to be found; these hills are fully as fertile as the level plain and yield quite as rich a harvest, though it ripens rather later in the season. Below them the vineyards spreading down every slope weave their uniform pattern far and wide, their lower limit bordered by a belt of shrubs. Then come the meadows and cornfields, where the land can be broken up only by heavy oxen and the strongest ploughs, for the soil is so stiff that it is thrown up in great clods at the first ploughing and is not thoroughly broken until it has been gone over nine times. The meadows are bright with flowers, covered with trefoil and other delicate plants which always seem soft and fresh, for everything is fed by streams which never run dry; though the ground is not marshy where the water collects, because of its downward slope, so that any surplus water it cannot absorb is drained off into the river Tiber flowing through the fields. The river is navigable, so that all produce is conveyed to Rome by boat, but only in winter and spring – in summer its level falls and its dry bed has to give up its claim to the title of a great river until the following autumn. It is a great pleasure to look down on the countryside from the mountain, for the view seems to be a painted scene of unusual beauty rather than a real landscape, and the harmony to be found in this variety refreshes the eye wherever it turns.
My house is on the lower slopes of a hill but commands as good a view as if it were higher up, for the ground rises so gradually that the slope is imperceptible, and you find yourself at the top without noticing the climb. Behind it is the Apennine range, though some way off, so that even on a still and cloudless day there is a breeze from the mountains, but one which has had its force broken by the distance so that it is never cutting nor boisterous. It faces mainly south, and so from midday onwards in summer (a little earlier in winter) it seems to invite the sun into the colonnade. This is broad, and long in proportion, with several rooms opening out of it as well as the old-fashioned type of entrance hall.
In front of the colonnade is a terrace laid out with box hedges clipped into different shapes, from which a bank slopes down, also with figures of animals cut out of box facing each other on either side. On the level below there waves – or I might have said ripples – a bed of acanthus. All round is a path hedged by bushes which are trained and cut into different shapes, and then a drive, oval like a racecourse, inside which are various box figures and clipped dwarf shrubs. The whole garden is enclosed by a dry-stone wall which is hidden from sight by a box hedge planted in tiers; outside is a meadow, as well worth seeing for its natural beauty as the formal garden I have described; then fields and many more meadows and woods.
From the end of the colonnade projects a dining-room: through its folding doors it looks on to the end of the terrace, the adjacent meadow, and the stretch of open country beyond, while from its windows on one side can be seen part of the terrace and the projecting wing of the house, on the other the tree-tops in the enclosure of the adjoining riding-ground. Almost opposite the middle of the colonnade is a suite of rooms set slightly back and round a small court shaded by four plane trees. In the centre a fountain plays in a marble basin, watering the plane trees round it and the ground beneath them with its light spray. In this suite is a bedroom which no daylight, voice, nor sound can penetrate, and next to it an informal dining-room where I entertain my personal friends; it looks on to the small courtyard, the colonnade, and the view from the colonnade. There is also another room, green and shady from the nearest plane tree, which has walls decorated with marble up to the ceiling and a fresco (which is no less attractive) of birds perched on the branches of trees. Here is a small fountain with a bowl surrounded by tiny jets which together make a lovely murmuring sound. At the corner of the colonnade is a large bedroom facing the dining-room; some windows look out on to the terrace, others on to the meadow, while just below the windows in front is an ornamental pool, a pleasure both to see and to hear, with its water falling from a height and foaming white when it strikes the marble. This room is very warm in winter when it is bathed in sunshine, and on a cloudy day hot steam from the adjacent furnace-room serves instead. Then you pass through a large and cheerful dressing-room, belonging to the bath, to the cooling-room, which contains a good-sized shady swimming-bath. If you want more space to swim or warmer water, there is a pool in the courtyard and a well near it to tone you up with cold water when you have had enough of the warm. Next to the cooling-room is a temperate one which enjoys the sun’s kindly warmth, though not as much as the hot room which is built out in a bay. This contains three plunging-baths, two full in the sun and one in the shade, though still in the light. Over the dressing-room is built the ball court, and this is large enough for several sets of players to take different kinds of exercise. Not far from the bath is a staircase leading to three rooms and then to a covered arcade. One room looks on to the small court with the four plane trees, another on to the meadow, and the third faces the vineyard and has an uninterrupted view across the sky. The head of the arcade is divided off as a room, from which can be seen the riding-ground, the vineyard, and the mountains. Next to it is another room which has plenty of sun, especially in winter, and then comes a suite which connects the riding-ground with the house.
That is the appearance and lay-out of the front of the house. Down the side is a covered arcade for summer use which is built on higher ground and seems not to look down on but be actually touching the vineyard below; half-way along is a dining-room which receives the fresh breezes blowing down the Apennine valleys. Its broad windows at the back look on to the vineyard, and, so do its folding doors, but through the arcade between, and along the side where there are no windows, there is a private staircase which is used for serving at dinner parties. At the far end is a bedroom with a view of the arcade as pleasant as that of the vineyard. Underneath runs a semi-underground arcade which never loses its icy temperature in summer and is airy enough not to need to admit the outside air. Next to both these arcades begins an open one where the dining-room ends, which is cool before noon but hot during the later part of the day. It leads to two suites, one of four and the other of three rooms, which are alternately sunny or shady as the sun moves round.
The design and beauty of the buildings are greatly surpassed by the riding-ground. The centre is quite open so that the whole extent of the course can be seen as one enters. It is planted round with ivy-clad plane trees, green with their own leaves above, and below with the ivy which climbs over trunk and branch and links tree to tree as it spreads across them. Box shrubs grow between the plane trees, and outside there is a ring of laurel bushes which add their shade to that of the planes. Here the straight part of the course ends, curves round in a semicircle, and changes its appearance, becoming darker and more densely shaded by the cypress trees planted round to shelter it, whereas the inner circuits – for there are several – are in open sunshine; roses grow there and the cool shadow alternates with the pleasant warmth of the sun. At the end of the winding alleys of the rounded end of the course you return to the straight path, or rather paths, for there are several separated by intervening box hedges. Between the grass lawns here there are box shrubs clipped into innumerable shapes, some being letters which spell the gardener’s name or his master’s; small obelisks of box alternate with fruit trees, and then suddenly in the midst of this ornamental scene is what looks like a piece of rural country planted there. The open space in the middle is set off by low plane trees planted on each side; farther off are acanthuses with their flexible glossy leaves, then more box figures and names.
At the upper end of the course is a curved dining-seat of white marble, shaded by a vine trained over four slender pillars of Carystian marble. Water gushes out through pipes from under the seat as if pressed out by the weight of people sitting there, is caught in a stone cistern and then held in a polished marble basin which is regulated by a bidden device so as to remain full without overflowing. The preliminaries and main dishes for dinner are placed on the edge of the basin, while the lighter ones float about in vessels shaped like birds or little boats. A fountain opposite plays and catches its water, throwing it high into the air so that it fells back into the basin, where it is played again at once through a jet connected with the inlet. Facing the seat is a bedroom which contributes as much beauty to the scene as it gains from its position. It is built of shining white marble, extended by folding doors which open straight out among the trees; its upper and lower windows all look out into the greenery above and below. A small alcove which is part of the room but separated from it contains a bed, and although it has windows in all its walls, the light inside is dimmed by the dense shade of a flourishing vine which climbs over the whole building up to the roof. There you can lie and imagine you are in a wood, but without the risk of rain. Here too a fountain rises and disappears underground, while here and there are marble chain which anyone tired with walking appreciates as much as the building itself. By every chair is a tiny fountain, and throughout the riding-ground can be heard the sound of the streams directed into it, the flow of which can be controlled by hand to water one part of the garden or another or sometimes the whole at once.
I should have been trying long ago not to say too much, had I not suggested that this letter should take you into every corner of the place. I don’t imagine you will find it tiresome to read about a spot which could hardly tire you on a visit, especially as you have more opportunities if you want an occasional rest, and can take a seat, so to speak, by putting down the letter. Besides, I have been indulging the love I have for all the places I have largely laid out myself or where I have perfected an earlier design. In short (for why should I not state my opinion, right or wrong?) I think a writer’s first duty is to read his title, to keep on asking himself what he set out to say, and to realize that he will not say too much if he sticks to his theme, though he certainly will if he brings in extraneous matter. You know the number of lines Homer and Virgil devote to their descriptions of the arms of Achilles and Aeneas: yet neither passage seems long because both poets are carrying out their original intention. You see too how Aratus traces and tabulates the smallest stars, but because this is his main subject and not a digression his work does not lack proportion. It is the same with me, if I may ‘compare small things with great’. I am trying to set my entire house before your eyes, so, if I introduce nothing irrelevant, it is the house I describe which is extensive, not the letter describing it.
But to return to my starting-point – for I shall justly be censured under my own law if I pursue this digression further – these are my reasons for preferring my home in Tuscany to one in Tusculum, Tibur, or Praeneste.1 And I can add another reason: I can enjoy a pro-founder peace there, more comfort, and fewer cares; I need never wear a formal toga and there are no neighbours to disturb me; everywhere there is peace and quiet, which adds as much to the healthiness of the place as the clear sky and pure air. There I enjoy the best of health, both mental and physical, for I keep my mind in training with work and my body with hunting. My servants too are healthier here than anywhere else; up to the present I have not lost a single one of those I brought here with me – may I be forgiven for saying so, and may the gods continue to make this the pride of the place and a joy to me.
7. To Calvisius Rufus
It is well known that a corporation cannot be made heir to an estate nor receive a preliminary legacy, but Saturninus, who has made me his heir, left a fourth part of his estate to our native town of Comum, and later changed this to a preliminary legacy of 400,000 sesterces. This is null and void from the legal point of view, but clearly valid if one looks to the intention of the deceased. I shudder to think how the legal experts will receive what I am going to say, but this intention carries more weight with me than the law, at any rate as regards the sum Saturninus intended to come to Comum. I have given 1,600,000 sesterces to the town out of my own money, so surely I ought not to grudge it this 400,000, little more than a third of my unexpected inheritance. I am sure you will share my opinion, for you love our birthplace as a loyal citizen should. So next time the town Council meets, I should be grateful if you would make a statement, quite simply and shortly, on the legal question; then add that I am making this offer of 400,000 sesterces in accordance with Saturninus’s instructions. The gift and the generosity are his – I can only be said to comply with his wishes.
I have refrained from writing officially to the Council for two reasons: I remembered that our close friendship obliges you to act for me as you would for yourself, just as your wise judgement enables you to do so, and I was afraid that a letter might seem lacking in the restraint which you will have no difficulty in keeping in a speech. There the tone is set by the expression, gestures and voice of the speaker, whereas a letter lacks such recommendations and is liable to wilful misinterpretation.
8. To Titinius Capito
Your suggestion that I should write history has often been made, for a good many people have given me the same advice. I like the idea: not that I feel at all sure of being successful – it would be rash in an amateur – but because the saving of those who deserve immortality from sinking into oblivion, and spreading the fame of others along with one’s own, seem to me a particularly splendid achievement. Nothing attracts me so much as that love and longing for a lasting name, man’s worthiest aspiration, especially in one who is aware that there is nothing in him to blame and so has no fear if he is to be remembered by posterity. So day and night I wonder if ‘I too may rise from earth’; that would answer my prayer, for ‘to hover in triumph on the lips of man’1 is too much to hope. ‘Yet O if I could – ‘2 but I must rest content with what history alone seems able to guarantee. Oratory and poetry win small favour unless they reach the highest standard of eloquence, but history cannot fail to give pleasure however it is presented. Humanity is naturally inquisitive, and so factual information, plain and unadorned, has its attraction for anyone who can enjoy small talk and anecdote.
In my case family precedent is an additional incentive to work of this kind. My uncle, who was also my father by adoption, was a historian of scrupulous accuracy, and the philosophers say that it is an excellent thing to follow in the footsteps of one’s forbears, provided that they trod an honest path. Why then do I delay? I have acted in certain important and complicated cases, and I intend to revise my speeches (without building too many hopes on them) so that all the work I put into them will not perish with me for want of this last attention. For, if one looks to posterity, anything left unfinished might as well not have been begun. You will tell me that I can rewrite my speeches and write history at the same time. I wish I could, but both are such great undertakings that it will be more than enough to carry out one. I was eighteen when I began my career at the bar, and it is only now, and still only dimly, that I begin to realize the true qualities of the orator. What would happen if I shouldered a new burden in addition to the old? It is true that oratory and history have much in common, but they differ in many of the points where they seem alike. Both employ narrative, but with a difference: oratory deals largely with the humble and trivial incidents of everyday life, history is concerned with profound truths and the glory of great deeds. The bare bones of narrative and a nervous energy distinguish the one, a fulness and a certain freedom of style the other. Oratory succeeds by its vigour and severity of attack, history by the ease and grace with which it develops its theme. Finally, they differ in vocabulary, rhythm and period-structure, for, as Thucydides says,1 there is all the difference between a ‘lasting possession’ and a ‘prize essay’: the former is history, the latter oratory. For these reasons I am not inclined to mix two dissimilar subjects which are fundamentally opposed in the very quality to which each owes its prominence, lest I am swept away in the resultant confusion and treat one in the manner proper to the other. And so, to keep to my own language, for the time being I apply for an adjournment.
You can, however, be considering now what period of history I am to treat. Is it to be ancient history which has had its historians? The material is there, but it will be a great labour to assemble it. Or shall it be recent times which no one has handled? I shall receive small thanks and give serious offence, for beside the fact that there is much more to censure than to praise in the serious vices of the present day, such praise as one gives, however generous, is considered grudging, and however restrained one’s blame it is said to be excessive. But I have enough courage of my convictions not to be deterred by such considerations. All I ask of you is to prepare the way for what you want me to do and to choose me a subject; or another good reason for delay and hesitation may arise when I am ready to start at last.
9. To Sempronius Rufus
I had gone down to the Basilica Julia to listen to the speeches in a case where I had to appear for the defence at the next hearing. The court was seated, the presiding magistrates had arrived and counsel on both sides were coming and going; then there was a long silence, broken at last by a message from the praetor. The court adjourned and the case was suspended, much to my delight, for I am never so well prepared as not to be glad of a delay. The reason for this one was a short edict published by the praetor Nepos, who is dealing with the case, in which he warned both prosecution and defence that he would strictly enforce all the provisions of the senatorial decree appended: ‘All persons bringing cases before the court are hereby required to state on oath before their case is heard that they have neither paid, promised, nor guaranteed any sum to any person for his legal assistance.’ By these words, and a great many more, the buying and selling of counsels’ services were expressly forbidden; but permission was given, after a case was settled, for clients to give their counsel a sum not exceeding 10,000 sesterces. This action of Nepos’s had raised doubts in the mind of the president of the Centumviral Court, and, in order to consider whether to follow his example, he gave us our unexpected holiday.
Meanwhile the edict is the subject of praise or criticism throughout the city. Many people are saying that “We have found someone to set the crooked straight, but were there no praetors before him? Who is he to correct public morals?’ The other party says that Nepos has done well; he has learnt the law before taking up office, reads the Senate’s decrees, puts a check on disgraceful bargaining, and will not allow a noble profession to sell its services in this scandalous way. So everyone talks, but events will have to show which view will prevail. Right and wrong intentions are praised and blamed only insofar as their results are good or bad – that is the generally accepted practice, though it is none the less unfair. Hence it generally happens that the self-same actions are variously ascribed to zeal, conceit, independence, or folly.
10. To Suetonius Tranquillus
Do please release my hendecasyllables from their promise – they were guarantors to our friends for the appearance of your work, and every day brings in some new request and demand; so they now run the risk of being served with a writ to produce it. I know I am very slow to publish my own work, but you outdo even my doubts and hesitations. So bestir yourself, or else beware lest I drag those books out of you by the fury of my iambics, since my hendecasyllables failed to entice them with honeyed words! The work is already finished and perfect; revision will not give it further polish but only dull its freshness. Please let me see your name published and hear that my friend’s books are being copied, read and sold. In view of our warm friendship, it is only fair that you should let me have the same pleasure from you as you enjoy in me.
11. To Calpurnius Fabatus, his wife’s grandfather
Thank you for your letter telling me about your dedication of a handsome public colonnade in your own name and that of your son, followed on the next day by your promise of a sum of money for the decoration of the doors, thus making your second act of generosity the consummation of the first. I am glad of this, primarily on account of your own reputation, from which I have some reflected glory through my connexion with you; I am glad too to see my father-in-law’s memory perpetuated in such a fine monument, and, finally, the enrichment of our native place is a source of pleasure to me whoever it is who honours her, but especially so when that person is you.
It remains for me to pray that the gods will continue to grant you this generous spirit and as many years as possible in which to employ it, for I am sure that once you have carried out your recent undertaking you will begin on another: generosity cannot stand still when once set in motion, and its beauty shines out the more it is exercised.
12. To Terentius Scaurus
I invited some friends to hear me read a short speech which I am thinking of publishing, just enough of an audience to make me nervous, but not a large one, as I wanted to hear the truth. I have in fact a double motive for these readings, hoping to gain both a stimulus by my anxiety to succeed and criticism where any faults have escaped my notice through being my own. Here I succeeded, and found people to give me the benefit of their advice; I also noticed for myself some corrections to be made, and, now that these are done, I am sending you the result. The title will tell you the subject and the text will explain everything else, for it ought by now to be intelligible without any introduction. I should be grateful for your opinion on the speech as a whole and in detail, for I shall be the more careful to withhold it or determined to publish, whichever way you pronounce judgement
13. To Julius Valerianus
I have just had your request for the result of the summons issued by Nepos to Tuscilius Nominatus,1 which I promised I would let you know if you asked for it.
Nominatus came before the court and made his own defence. No one brought any charge, for the representatives of Vicetia did not press theirs – they were in fact now ready to defend him. His line of defence was that it was his courage not his sense of duty which had failed him when he came to make his speech. He had arrived with good intentions and had even been seen in the Senate, but then he had been alarmed by talking to his friends and had left the court. They had advised him not to be too persistent in opposing the wishes of a senator (and especially in the Senate) who was no longer fighting the case on account of the proposed market, but because his influence, reputation and position were at stake; otherwise Nominatus would make himself more unpopular than on the last occasion. (He had in fact received some applause as he went out, but not from many people.) He went on to weep and beg for leniency, and indeed, throughout his speech, he was careful to give the impression that he was not defending his conduct but appealing for mercy; as a practised speaker he knew that this was safer and more likely to win favour.
He was acquitted on a proposal of the consul-elect, Afranius Dexter, to the effect that though Nominatus would have done better to complete the case for the Vicetians in the same spirit as he had undertaken it, his negligence was without fraudulent intent and no punishable offence could be proved against him. He should then be discharged on condition that he returned his fee to the Vicetians. Everyone agreed except Fabius Aper, who proposed that Nominatus should be forbidden to conduct a case for five years, and he stuck stoutly to his opinion although he could not persuade anyone to support him. He even quoted the statute on senatorial procedure, and insisted that Dexter (who had been the first to put forward the contrary motion) should state on oath that his proposal was in the interests of the State. His demand was in order, but it met with a good deal of protest, as it appeared to be accusing Dexter of corrupt practice. But before a vote could be taken, Nigrinus, the tribune of the people, read out a well-phrased statement of great importance. In this he complained that counsel sold their services, faked lawsuits for money, settled them by collusion, and made a boast of the large regular incomes to be made by robbery of their fellow-citizens. He quoted the relevant paragraphs of the law, reminded the Senate of its decrees, and ended by saying that our noble Emperor should be asked to remedy these serious evils himself, since the law and the Senate’s decrees were fallen into contempt. After a few days the Emperor issued a decree, which was firm but moderate in tone. It is published in the official records, so you can read it.
How glad I am that I have always kept clear of any contracts, presents, remunerations, or even small gifts for my conduct of cases! It is true that one ought to shun dishonesty as a shameful thing, not because it is illegal; but, even so, it is a pleasure to find an official ban on a practice one would never have permitted oneself. Perhaps I shall lose some of the credit and reputation I won from my resolve – in fact I am sure to do so, when everyone is compelled to behave as I did of my own free will – but meanwhile I am enjoying my friends’ teasing, when they hail me as a prophet or pretend that this measure is directed against my own robberies and greed.
14. To Pontius Allifanus
I had left Rome for a visit to my native town when news reached me that Cornutus Tertullus had accepted the office of Curator of the Aemilian Road. Words cannot express my delight, for both our sakes; for although he is known to be far removed from any feelings of ambition, the unsolicited offer of this post cannot fail to give him pleasure, and I am better pleased with the duties assigned to me1 now that I see Cornutus in a similar position. To be in the same rank as a good citizen is as welcome as a promotion. And is there anyone who can equal Cornutus in merit and integrity, anyone who is a more perfect example of the ancient virtues in ever)’ way? His character is known to me not from the splendid reputation he so justly deserves, but from the close personal experience of many years. Together we have admired and still admire almost every man or woman who is an example to our generation, and this association has been a close bond of intimacy between us. Another link was forged in our public relations; as you know, Cornutus was my colleague as a Treasury official and as consul, as if in answer to my prayers. It was then that I knew him to the full for the great man he is; I followed him as my teacher and honoured him as a parent, for his was the ripe wisdom not of years but of experience. For these reasons I congratulate myself no less than him, for public as well as personal considerations. Now at last men’s merits bring them official recognition instead of the dangers of the past.
I could let my letter run on indefinitely to give free expression to my joy, but I must turn to what I was doing when the news reached me. I was staying with my wife’s grandfather and aunt, meeting friends I had long wished to see; I was going the round of my few acres, hearing the peasants’ complaints and looking over the accounts – unwillingly and superficially I must admit, for I am devoted to literary documents of a very different order. I had also begun to make preparations for my return, for I am restricted by the shortness of my leave, especially now that the news of Cornutus’s duties is a reminder of my own. I trust that your Campania will let you return about the same time, so that I shall not lose a day of your company once I am back in Rome.
15. To Arrius Antoninus
It is only when I try to imitate your verse that I fully realize its excellence, for my halting efforts fall short of the original just as an artist’s copy can never be more than a poor version of a wholly beautiful model. That is why I urge you to produce as much as possible for all of us to try to emulate even though none or very few will be successful.
16. To Aefulanus Marcellinus
I am writing to you in great distress: our friend Fundanus has lost his younger daughter. I never saw a girl so gay and lovable, so deserving of a longer life or even a life to last for ever. She had not yet reached the age of fourteen, and yet she combined the wisdom of age and dignity of womanhood with the sweetness and modesty of youth and innocence. She would cling to her father’s neck, and embrace us, his friends, with modest affection; she loved her nurses, her attendants and her teachers, each one for the service given her; she applied herself intelligently to her books and was moderate and restrained in her play. She bore her last illness with patient resignation and, indeed, with courage; she obeyed her doctors’ orders, cheered her sister and father, and by sheer force of will carried on after her physical strength had failed her. This will power remained with her to the end, and neither the length of her illness nor fear of death could break it. So she has left us all the more sad reasons for lamenting our loss. Hers is a truly tragic and untimely end – death itself was not so cruel as the moment of its coming. She was already engaged to marry a distinguished young man, the day for the wedding was fixed, and we had received our invitations. Such joy, and now such sorrow! No words can express my grief when I heard Fundanus giving his own orders (for one heart-rending detail leads to another) for the money he had intended for clothing, pearls and jewels to be spent on incense, ointment and spices. He is indeed a cultivated man and a philosopher who has devoted himself from youth to higher thought and the arts, but at the moment he rejects everything he has so often heard and professed himself: he has cast off all his other virtues and is wholly absorbed by his love for his child. You will forgive and even admire him if you think of what he has lost – a daughter who resembled him in character no less than in face and expression, and was her father’s living image in every way.
If then you write anything to him in his very natural sorrow, be careful not to offer any crude form of consolation which might suggest reproof; be gentle and sympathetic. Passage of time will make him readier to accept this; a raw wound shrinks from a healing hand but later permits and even seeks help, and so the mind rejects and repels any consolation in its first pangs of grief, then feels the need of comfort and is calmed if this is kindly offered.
17. To Vestricius Spurinna
I know your interest in the liberal arts and your pleasure when any of our young men of good family do anything worthy of their ancestry, so I am hastening to give you my news. Today I was among the audience to which Calpurnius Piso read his poem on theLegends of the Stars, a scholarly treatment of a splendid theme, written in flowing elegiac couplets whose delicate flexibility could rise to grandeur when required. He showed an appropriate versatility in raising or lowering his tone, and the same talent whether he descended from the heights to a lower level, rose to complexity from simplicity or moved between a lighter and more serious approach to his subject. His unusually pleasant voice was a further asset, and gained much itself from his modesty, his blushes, and anxious expression, which always add charm to a reading – for some reason shyness suits an author better than confidence. To cut short my story (though I should like to say more, as these qualities are so becoming in the young and rare in the upper classes), after the recital I gave him a warm and prolonged embrace, the most stimulating kind of encouragement, and urged him by my congratulations to complete the task he had begun and pass on to posterity the torch his ancestors had handed to him. I also congratulated his excellent mother and his brother who, as a member of the audience, won as much credit for his brotherly affection as Piso did for his eloquent reading, for the concern he showed during the recital and his delight afterwards were most striking.
I pray the gods to give me more news like this to send you; for I believe in this generation, and am anxious for it not to prove barren and outworn. Still less do I want our noble families to have no distinction in their homes other than family portraits; though these, I think, must now be silently congratulating and encouraging these two young men and doing them both the honour of acknowledging them as descendants.
18. To Calpurnius Macer
All is well with me since it is with you. You have your wife and son with you, and all the pleasures of the sea, streams, woods and fields are yours, along with your lovely house; which I know must be lovely, when it was the retreat of the man1 who was so fortunate before he rose to the supreme good fortune. I am in my home in Tuscany, hunting and writing, either in turn or both at once, but I’m not yet ready to pronounce judgement on which I find harder to do.
19. To Valerius Paulinus
I have noticed your kindness to your household, so will frankly confess my indulgence to mine. I always have in mind the phrase of Homer’s: ‘he was gentle as a father’,2 and also our own ‘father of the household’; but, even if I were harsh and unfeeling by nature, my heart would be softened by the illness of my freedman Zosimus, whose claim to sympathy is all the stronger now that he needs it so much. He is an honest fellow, obliging and educated, marked out by his talent for acting, where he has great success. His delivery is clear and intelligent, his acting correct and balanced, and he plays the lyre well, better than an actor need do. He also reads speeches, history, and poetry so well that it might be his sole accomplishment. I have told you all this in detail so that you may better realize all the pleasant services I receive from Zosimus which no one else can give me. I have moreover long felt for him an affection which has increased with the dangers he has come through; for it seems a law of nature for nothing to excite and intensify love so much as the fear of losing its object, and this has happened to me more than once in his case.
Some years ago he was exerting himself during a passionate performance when he began to spit blood. I then sent him to Egypt, and after a long stay there he recently returned with his health restored. Now after demanding too much of his voice for several days on end he has had a slight return of his cough as a reminder of the old trouble, and once again has brought up blood. I think the thing to do is to send him to your place at Forum Julii,3 for I have often heard you say that the air is healthy there and the milk excellent for treating this kind of case. Please write to your people and ask them to receive him on the estate and in your home, and to meet the expenses of anything he may need. This will not be much, for he is abstemious and moderate in his habits to the point of frugally denying himself not only delicacies but even essentials for his health. I will see that he has sufficient money for his journey to you when he sets out.
20. To Cornelius Ursus
The Bithynians again! It is no time since their case against Julius Bassus,1 but they have brought another one against the governor Varenus Rufus – the Varenus they had previously demanded and accepted to conduct their case against Bassus. Summoned before the Senate, they applied for time to collect evidence. Then Varenus also requested the right himself to call witnesses from the province in his defence. The Bithynians objected, so the case was heard at once. I appeared for Varenus, not without success: whether my speech was good or bad will be seen when it is published. In a speech as delivered chance is the dominant factor either way, for much can be gained or lost by the speaker’s memory, voice and gestures, the occasion and the good or bad impression made by the defendant; whereas the written speech is quite free from influence one way or the other, and owes nothing to chance, whether lucky or not. I was opposed by one of the Bithynians, Fonteius Magnus, whose words were many and arguments few, for, like most Greeks, he mistakes volubility for fulness of expression; they all pour out a torrent of long monotonous periods without taking breath. Hence Julius Candidus’s frequent witticism that eloquence and loquacity are two different things. Scarcely anyone has the gift of eloquence – or no one if we are to believe Marcus Antonius – but what Candidus calls loquacity is common to many people and the special gift of every impudent rascal.
The following day Homullus defended Varenus with considerable subtlety, spirit and elegance, and Nigrinus made a concise, impressive and well-phrased speech in reply. The consul elect, Acilius Rufus, then moved that the Bithynians should be given permission to collect their evidence, but he passed over Varenus’s application in silence, which was tantamount to a refusal. The consular Cornelius Priscus proposed to grant the petitions of both parties, and his motion was carried by a majority. So we won our point, not one mentioned in law or covered by precedent, but none the less just. Why it was I shall not say by letter, for I want you to ask for the speech. If Homer is right, and ‘Men praise most the song which rings newest in their ears’1 I must be careful not to talk too much, or my letter will nip in the bud the bloom of novelty which is my speech’s chief attraction.
21. To Pompeius Saturninus
I received your letter with mixed feelings, for it was a mixture of good and bad news. It is good news that you are kept in Rome (against your will, you will say, but it is not against mine) and that you intend to give a reading as soon as I arrive. Thank you for waiting for me. It was sad, however, to hear that Julius Valens is lying seriously ill -though perhaps not so sad if one considers what a blessing it would be for him to be released as quickly as possible from an incurable disease. But it is more than sad, it is tragic that Julius Avitus should have died, and died at sea on his way home from the province where he had been quaestor, far from his loving brother, his mother, and his sisters. All this cannot affect him now that he is dead, but must have done while he was dying; and it affects those he leaves behind, as does the thought that a young man of such promise has died in early youth when he might have attained the highest honours had his gifts been allowed to mature. Think of his ardent love of literature and all he read and wrote: all of which has died with him, leaving nothing for posterity. But I must not give way to my grief, for anything becomes disproportionate if unchecked. I will end this letter, and with it the tears it has brought to my eyes.