The Letters of Symmachus, Book I

This is a gift of which not Campania alone may boast; but moreover, at Rome or at Athens, this tongue might be turned into the Greek honor of speech. For what is more elegant than your letter, which I lately received? What more delightful than the admixture of verses? Truly I will tell you, for those wishing to read more it ended too quickly. Would that some sense of them survived! Of those upon whose images we see epigrams inscribed. Such successors will easily praise the labors of their forebears, who have illumined the brightness of a picture with fairer verses. And so I too rejoice that not more with oysters and shellfish is your belly sated, than your breast with eloquence. And since you yourself, by beginning, have loosed my own modesty, receive from me too the elogies of good men of my own age, lately composed.

For since there is nothing I am doing, and, if I do nothing, the sorrowful remembrance of my forebears comes upon me: I have found something we might add to those little books which I had lately dictated. You know that Terentius—not the Comic poet, but that Reatine, the father of Roman learning—seasoned his books of "hebdomads" with an addition of epigrams. That I try, if fortune allows, to imitate. But of what I have first put together, I have sent a few for the time, beseeching you by God, that if anything in these displeases, you amend it. Which is no cause of shame to me. For if anything of yours meets approval, it is my praise too, nor do I blush, in this partnership of life, at such a censor.

Aradius Rufinus. Foremost in genius, foremost by fortune's gift, Of your age, Rufinus, for whom prosperity, and for whom Glory matched sorrow with swelling affairs. The one love of all, and the refuge of the trembling. Under the princes in whose time you flourished, skilled To give spurs to the good, or reins to tyrants.

Valerius Proculus. Among the first whom the glory of forebears did not burden, We shall set Proculus, in grace of life and character Never unworthy of the great Publicolae. To him always was love of truth, and constancy, a simple Worship of the heaven-dwellers; you could not despise him: And though he will be revered, you will not thereafter fear him.

Anicius Julianus. Whose wealth, or nobility, or such great power, To one yielding, did not the single Anicius outshine? Keen in wit, and equally accommodating to all. He was both dear in fellowship, ready to help; For, rich, then exalted in honors, yet greater Than these, he filled eternal Rome with his name.

Petronius Probianus. Let Fortune boast herself in others, whom by no judgment, By her own license alone, she has brought to the Romulean light. You, Probianus, modesty, you, fortunate favor, and you, Italian simplicity of character, and skill, assisted. Wherefore, a constant guest and known to the Augusti, You brought back rewards worthy of great honors.

Verinus. Should I marvel more at your virtue, Verinus, in arms, When as leader you tamed the eastern Armenians with slaughter? Or rather at your eloquence, the charm of your character and life? And (except in your duties, whenever public care was upon you) That you kept your life happily in innocent fields. There is no further work of virtue: for if there were, you would have it.

Eighty persons I do not know if I alone can match. And so I delegate to you epigrams for my father-in-law and my uncle. For even Varro's books are marked by different authors.

I am moved by the greatest gratification, that I perceive my letters do not seem foolish to you: and I hold it a weighty gift that such a judgment concerning my letters exists among you. For to be praised by a praiseworthy man is a rare reward of talent. But as this was a joy to me, so I think that other was added by way of mockery, that if anything in your verses had been unpolished, my pen's care should smooth it. Nay, I would be foolish and worthless indeed, if I did not perceive how far beneath you I am. For what can be corrected either by me, or in you is it right to be? You alone in our age have coined the currency of Latin eloquence on the Tullian anvil. Whatever was charming among the poets, weighty among the orators, faithful in the annals, learned among the grammarians, you alone have drunk in, a rightful heir of the ancient letters. Do not deceive me with words.

I know well the worth of that saying: The sow teaches Minerva. You are supremely versed in epic discipline, no less skilled to blow the pedestrian trumpet. Do you say so indeed? Equally great in oratory and in song, will you falsely claim yourself unworthy of my help? You do not act fairly; nor does false boasting please me. Meanwhile, if you grant me idle ears to use, I will tell what I have done these past days. I was at leisure at Baiae, all witnesses removed. There, after a rumor was brought that the sons of earth were gathering, I took great care that a plebeian fellowship should not sully our sober solitude. And first I withdrew to Naples, then, after a brief interval, to Beneventum. There, received with the utmost cultivation and applause of all, I was celebrated with such honor, that I was already burdened by attentions. For zeal that is not repaid becomes a burden.

And though the city is very great, its individual leading men seemed to me greater than the city, lovers of letters, and admirable in character. A great part reverence God. They vie in wearying private wealth for the adornment of the city. For after the earth shook, almost nothing was left to them, but their broken fortunes found unbroken spirits. Each for himself strives after the office of a good citizen. Night is joined to day for labor. Whence I took the greatest care to depart sooner than I wished: lest either those long devoted to me should long for me from their work, or a doubled occupation should distract them. And so I returned again to the Baian gulf. For Baiae by that time was already silent. Hence I send you the gift of a greeting, and give notice that we shall, God willing, return shortly. May fortune favor this promise. Yet let your indulgence often grant me address, as though we were to be absent longer. Farewell.

You indeed imitate the study of Menippean Varro, but you surpass his genius. For the epigrams which you have lately composed upon our countrymen, I think outshine the elogies of the hebdomads; because these are equally sober, yet not so antiquated. Those, though struck of good metal, knew not how to be brought out on the lathe. And you strive, unless I am mistaken, at harder material. He touched Pythagoras, who first asserted the eternity of souls; he Plato, who persuaded men that there are gods; he Aristotle, who reduced the nature of good speaking to an art; he poor Curius, yet ruling over the wealthy; he the stern Catos, the Fabian clan, the glories of the Scipios, and that whole triumphal senate, with sparing praise. You illumine the ruin of the recent age. It is a difficult thing that honor be added to scant matters. You bid me too append some verses to yours.

Not so did your Flaccus prescribe in those edicts of the poetic art, whose beginning I recall to be this: that a horse's neck not be joined to a human head. So the stubbornness of a duty refused displeases you, as much as the imprudence of a promised work displeases me. We shall speak more of this in person, since I intend this letter to follow, or to be followed by, my coming. Do you carry on what you have begun, and be generous with such skillful eloquence. As I deny you the service of my tongue, so I will lend you that of my ears. Farewell.

Lest we be at all charged with silence—we for whom it is the utmost care to pursue our duty, so that scarcely has there been any stopping-place in so many spots where we have kept holiday from this office—still indeed the dutiful exaction of discourse gladdens the heart. For sweet is the complaint that is born of indulgence. Only be assured easily that this expostulation is more a matter of piety than of justice. Meanwhile you were silent about your withdrawal to Praeneste, of which report gave me notice. How I would wish to steal upon your delights unforeseen! Though the pleasant places of Campania shine forth, yet it is more fitting for me to spend my time with you, and to temper the summer fragrance with the breezes of that region. But my family estate inclines me elsewhere. It must be visited by us at every turn, not that the sum of gains may grow rich, but that the hope of the land may be propped up by voluntary expense.

For this custom has come into our age, that the countryside, which used to nourish, is now itself nourished. But I let these things pass, lest a greeting turned into complaint should lessen the pleasure of duty. Take care for good health, and for more frequent correspondence: which, when we ask it, we ourselves diligently promise. Farewell.

Those are wont to be impatient of delay who hope that some gift is to be conferred upon them. But this we see has recently arisen from you, that being generous with your own affairs, you do not bear the delay of giving. Now lately an estate has come to you by law, of which you have by right made me a gift. Your gain has run to my advantage, and you have imitated fortune with a better wish. For what you had received with sorrow from the goods of a kinswoman, you have handed over with joy. What of this, that you have crowned this liberality with the most ample testimony? Whose honor I prefer to gifts. For he who is helped by wealth without praise seems to obtain rather a necessary gift than a just reward.

Therefore for your judgment I give and hold thanks, as great as can be, that you have done me both honors; and I pray the gods that we may all long enjoy in common what has been given, and that there may be some among us to whom we, by our own judgment, following your example, may hand over the Ostian estate. Farewell.

We are of good cheer, since, mindful of your promise, you have begun the journey. Now haste is needed, that while the season of the year is warm, we may snatch quickly the good things of autumn. For in these months Campania shines with the richness of field and the glory of vineyard. Baiae is tempered by rare rain, by moderate sun; the tables are abundant from the produce of the fields, for which you threaten me with crowds of friends. But I have no aversion to an honorable multitude. And if twice as many as you write should be present, you will have done a good service. There will be no lack of that with which to drive away hunger. For your companions, being sober, care little for the slaughter of fattened beasts. How long do I speak? I dismiss words, I demand the deed. It is the mark of a prudent man to seize the occasion. If anything is lost by delay of the journey, it will be repaid by the delay of leisure. Farewell.

Long now the silent Lucrine waters and the clear Baiana, and Puteoli still crowded, and Bauli silent in its greatness, long for you. You linger at rustic Cures, or at barren Formiae. At last, if it is worth the effort, hasten your way, and mark the better parts of the earth, where one rests deep away from crowds, where there is no measure to the enjoyment of leisure.

Where horned Lyaeus
Covers the heights with vine,
Vulcan, in his seething caverns,
Cooks the middle deep.

Now with much fish do Thetis
and the Baian sisters teem:
the wave is warm, the air is cold,
while together in the dances swims
gleaming Amathusian Dione,
arbiter of the salt sea and of the vapor,
flower of the stars.

Do I seem to you, as it were, drunk with much wantonness, to be losing my wits, and indeed to have given my name over to the poets? I care nothing for this literature: I have practiced rather the office of the place than of my own talent. But if I speak enticing things, hasten your step, so that you too may be glad of things present, and that fortune may favor us in obtaining what we wish. Farewell.

We were in fear lest the rain should hinder you. But that is true which our poet has left written: that filial devotion overcomes a hard journey. Wherefore we await your arrival on the appointed day. May the gods only grant that what you have set your mind upon meet with no hindrances by any pretexts. Farewell.

Is this my fortune, that wherever I turn my step and my course, something to be rebuilt presents itself? Just as now the restoration of the Capuan praetorium forces me into heavy expenses: a part of it is falling into decay through neglect, a part, repaired long ago with careless haste, presents an unseemly and feeble dwelling. Unless prompt care comes to the aid of these things, either a loss of money will be piled up afterward, or ruin. For whoever puts off this work, loses it. Wherefore my mind is set on removing the old age of the buildings. Thus, from a leisure desired and sought after, we have turned aside to a costly business. What we are doing you have heard. In turn, make us know how your health and your affairs prosper, so that we may pass this little time, which we are preparing to spend in Campania, without offense from your silence. Farewell.

Since now our daughter's birthday was approaching, the things you had kindly sent as a gift arrived just in time. These were, to us jointly, both dear and weighty. For if one takes good thought for those absent, one rejoices with all the greater cost. At once, having embraced the letter which accompanied the gifts, we began to be in expectation of when you would write that you must soon set out on the Appian journey. The page announced nothing of this. I question the letter-carrier, whether some sudden turn of affairs had shaken the firmness of your decision. He says the resolve is not at all wavering, but that the plans are being deferred until the Formian delay is furnished with abundant produce, and other such things necessary for use. Then my mind returned from its sickness. I give my word that nothing shall be lacking to the humble table, nothing to the servants, or to the flock.

Lest hereafter there be any denial of this promise, here is a letter to you in the manner of a signed bond. Affection stipulates the pledge. For I will not suffer those to be deceived whom I wish to embrace. Farewell.

It was the censors' business to inspect the works which they had contracted for. This task you wished me to attend to. I have carried out your orders, whether because I ought to be obedient to your word, or because I recognized that the task entrusted to me suited my own inclination. Learn, therefore, how far our care has advanced the house. On the stairs the ornament of marble has been fixed in place; the upper chambers are covered with veneer, of such lightness of work that the joining feigns solidity. You have bought the columns for no more than if they had come to you as a gift. These, cut from Bithynian stone, I judge, if my eyes serve me well. Thus far is what you needed to know. Hereafter we shall add to your knowledge only so much as we shall see contributing to the building. Farewell.

Eloquent joy is wont, and, spurning the narrow bounds of a closed breast, to exult. To you, my friend, prosperity has brought forgetfulness of writing. This could not be for me an example to imitate, whom the heavenly speech of our lord Gratian has filled with good hope and cheerfulness. Of my own accord, then, I have not spared to address one grown slack, whether for duty's sake or for joy's; the one my familiarity with you supplied, the other the public happiness. Now, if there is leisure, allow me to occupy your mind for a while. The first days of the Kalends of January were approaching. A crowded senate, we had come very early into the curia, before the manifest day had dispelled the dimness of night: by chance a rumor was brought that the speech of our longed-for prince had arrived late in the night, and it was true. For the courier stood by, weary from his vigils.

Before the sky yet grew white, we rushed together, lamps lit, that the destinies of a new age might be received. What more? We receive the light for which we had until then been waiting. Tell me, you will say (for that is what is wanted to hear), what did our fathers feel about that speech? Let the nature of things itself answer you, by what acclaim the longed-for devotion was heard. We know how to embrace our own blessings. If you believe it, I still suffer a certain surfeit of that joy of mine. Good Nerva, vigorous Trajan, dutiful Antoninus, innocent Marcus were aided by full measures of duty in their times, which then knew no other customs. Here the praise belongs to the nature of the prince; there, to the gift of an earlier age. Why, with the order reversed, should we think those the examples of the noblest arts, and these the mere traces of a former age?

Let ancient duty guard its own place, and let it be willing to preserve at least these delights for the Roman name. Let no evil eye touch the public happiness. You have heard everything, but only tasted lightly with the mouth. The records of our senate will speak to you more fully. When you find there many replies, judge how much richer was what one man's mind desired than what the applause poured forth. Farewell.

You ask of me longer letters. This is a token of true love toward us. But I, conscious of my own poor talent, prefer to cultivate Laconic brevity rather than to publish the leanness of my infancy over many pages. Nor is it any wonder that the vein of my eloquence has grown thin, since for a long while you have aided it neither with the reading of any poem of yours nor of your prose works. Whence, then, do you demand ample interest of speech from me, to whom you have entrusted no capital of learning? Your Moselle flies through the hands and bosoms of many, consecrated by your divine verses: but it only glides past our lips. Why, I ask, have you wished me to be excluded from that little book? Either you thought me unmusical, incapable of judging it, or else spiteful, unable to praise it. Thus you have detracted greatly either from my talent or from my character. Yet I, against your prohibition, soon reached the secrets of that work.

I would wish to keep silent what I feel: I would wish to be avenged on you by a just silence, but admiration of the writing breaks the sense of the injury. For I know that river, having long since accompanied the standards of eternal emperors, equal to many, unequal to the greatest. Now, unexpectedly, by the dignity of illustrious verses, you have made it greater than the Egyptian Nile-branch, colder than the Scythian Tanais, and more famous than this popular Fucine Lake of ours. I would by no means believe you, telling great things of the Moselle's source and course, were I not certain that you do not lie even in poetry. Where did you find those swarms of yearling fish? As varied in names as in colors, as different in size as in taste; which you have colored with the pigments of this poem beyond the gifts of nature.

And yet, having often sat at your table, when I marveled at many other things then set before us to eat in the praetorium, I never came upon this kind of fish. When were these fish born for you in a book, which never appeared on a platter? Do you think I am joking, and trifling? So may I stand approved before the gods! I join your poem to the books of Maro. But now I will cease, forgetful of my own grievance, to cling to your praises, lest this too be added to your glory, that we admire you even while offended. You may scatter your volumes abroad, and always exclude me: yet we shall enjoy your work, though by the kindness of others. Farewell.

It had almost come about that I should speak with you in curtailed brevity, since matters worthy of mention were lacking: and in a scarcity of things there is no need to indulge in words. But timely came the declamation of Palladius, our rhetorician, and enlarged the page. That it pleased men of the highest rank in letters ought not to remain unknown to you. And so, since such a report suited both my duty and your zeal, scarcely had the gathering been dissolved, and before the trustworthiness of my judgment of the hearing had been tested, I dictated it with my judgment still warm. The new guest of the Athenaeum stirred the Latin assembly by his skill in division, his abundance of invention, the weight of his thoughts, the clarity of his words. I speak from my own opinion: he is as upright in speech as in character. Then our countrymen, who among themselves often disagree on other matters, held a concordant opinion in praise of this man.

I truly believe, and the belief is not empty, that this is the lineage proper to rhetoricians. For a breast full of talent is well known. Nor does face or complexion alone assert descendants worthy of their parents' honor. Nature holds surer pledges of right feeling and right speaking. Heirs are begotten, not written down. What others are taught, this man was born to. These things, my lord, I did not think should be kept silent from you, both because for love of you I count nothing burdensome, and because, in turn, I never regret how much I am valued by you. This I wished done for Palladius, that honorable things should not lie hidden unspoken. Take care to be well; and since the means of writing is at hand for you, apply your will to it. Farewell.

Often I am urged by the speech of your affectionate heart to write also of the letters received, which you sent to me with more than usual care; to which, as each was delivered, I replied at once with equal devotion: because neither the account of correspondence nor the reciprocity of love permitted longer delay. Now too I profess that I do and shall render thanks, that you do not allow the good news to remain hidden from me. These and other things I had already spoken with you in earlier letters as well. But if the couriers have made you aware of my words, things gathered together are no burden. For I would rather deafen your ears by repetition than defraud them by silence. I exult at the honor of my brother Hesperius, yet I am wounded by his silence. For if by the experience of events he has proved himself fond of me, he ought by writing to have anticipated the report, which, long uncertain, presented a wavering trust amid our joys.

He himself, then, ought to have been the messenger of the common good, so that the assurance of a letter might leave nothing to the ambiguity of rumor. But you say he, restrained by modesty, avoided boasting of his own successes. Does anyone blush when speaking of himself to himself? What of the fact that he neglected to bring to me a matter which he knew justly concerned us both? But I, as I complain of these things scrupulously, so I willingly let them go: because it suits neither my love for you to keep silent what grieves me, nor friendship to let the pain inflicted pass beyond due measure. Farewell.

Ambrosius, one of the leading men of the provincial forum, has been sent as a common envoy of Sicily to our lords and princes, furnished with various instructions which seem to concern the public good. If you become his supporter, I think it will come to pass that he will reap the fruit for his labor accordingly. I beg you, therefore, either for the merit of his embassy, or in my name, to look with favor upon this excellent man, who is confident enough that, with your support, an easy path will follow for the advancement of his petitions. Farewell.

Even if I could celebrate your honor with continual letters, I would not seem to myself to be fulfilling my debt as the matter demands: so far am I from reproaching you for the effort of my persistence. But as this befits my modesty, so it belongs to your kindness to sustain our zeal with equal favor. Consider to what end the sum of these words tends. For a long while now you have given us nothing to read. "The care of the praetorium," you will say, "has wholly claimed me for itself." True enough. You rightly hold the highest judgeships. But great fortune does not burden the greatest powers of your talent.

Therefore turn your attention also to those things which bring no trouble to the busy, in such a way that they often console the very troubles themselves. Farewell.

Those who are left destitute of confidence in their own standing take my letters for use as recommendation. Now it is otherwise. For I have given a letter to my brother Potitus on this condition, that he himself present it as a recommendation. For he is, no less than I, among the leading men of your friends: and when he has made you enjoy his presence, I fear my excuse may not be forgivable. But if your placability has been well proven to me by experience, I think it will come to pass, not that you will reproach me, who stayed behind, by comparison with another who comes, but that you will rather receive him the more warmly for both our sakes. Farewell.

I rejoice greatly that the new year receives you as consul. But now a brief word must suffice. For I shall attest more fully my congratulation of this sort concerning you in a second letter. Another matter must for the present occupy my speech. Patroinus, a man of senatorial rank, preparing a journey at your invitation, thought it would serve his interest if he could rely on my testimony. I thought that nothing would accrue to him through me: and yet I did not wish to be wanting, knowing that nothing could be added to your judgment toward him if I wrote, yet that something would be lacking to my own duty if I kept silent. One thing, therefore, I wish you to be asked and persuaded of: that he obtain thanks for the labor he has undertaken, beyond that reward which will come to him from your sight, your company, and your honor. Farewell.

Well and wisely did our ancestors, as was the manner of that age, place the temples of Honor and Virtue joined together with twin fronts; devising, as we see in you, that there the rewards of honor should be, where the merits of virtue are. But indeed on account of these, the worship of the Muses is turned to a sacred spring; because the path to attaining magistracies is often advanced by letters. These are the ancestral institutions that stand as arguments for your consulship: for whom gravity of character and the antiquity of learning have brought forth the badge of the curule chair. Many hereafter will strive after good arts, and true praises, and pure letters. But if we do not know that great Alexander, whose fortune flowed beyond his wish, that he stirred nothing for his own Stagirite, except that from the Aetolian spoils a captive cloak was given as a gift to Quintus Ennius—this alone tarnishes Fulvius.

Indeed neither did the second Africanus pay Panaetius, nor Rutilius pay Opillus, nor Pyrrhus pay Cineas, nor Mithridates of Pontus pay his own Metrodorus, the price of the liberal disciplines. But now the most learned emperor, both generous with wealth and with honors, as though he had brought you rewards for interest, so he repays beyond the measure of the loan. In this so great joy of mine, with what words shall I dissolve the fact that I cannot be present? I fear too much lest, misinterpreting my excuse, you believe too little how greatly I rejoice for you. I wished to come swiftly before your eyes: but, worn out in strength, which sickness has long exhausted, I avoided long journeys and harsh lodgings, then the onset of cold and the shortening of days, and whatever else is apt to bring harm. If I am regarded by you with a sincere mind, I ask that you be fair to me, and take these pleas in good part.

Perhaps we may obtain your old favor still: for now, let it suffice that we struggle free of offense.

I rejoice that I am worth more to you than others: since you are so disposed as to look after my affairs of your own accord, and do not wait for petitions, but follow only the report of my wish. I have received four travel-warrants—an immense favor you grant for my comings and goings. May the gods reward you for so great a kindness: and since to your goods, perfected and raised to the summit, nothing can be added, may they will that what they have given remain safe and your own. Farewell.

After your long silence I longed no less than I hoped for longer letters. For human affairs are varied by such turns, that abundance follows want. That expectation held me in vain: since a short page, recently set out from you, reached my hands. It was indeed sprinkled with Attic wit and fragrant with thyme; but too sparingly, so that it removed distaste rather than broke hunger. What then? If I were to set before you sumptuous dinners and a Salian banquet, and then offer feasts and viscera on a meager dish? Consider what the Greek saying speaks of this. By small nourishments, you say, though we are defended from death, yet we are not advanced to robust health. Do you think I will be silent about your occupations? You are quaestor, I remember: a partaker of the royal council, I know: add to this a thousand other things. It never happens that labor wears down your talent, that care bends your kindness, that use exhausts your eloquence.

If you will never distinguish your daily business with rest, at least indulge in no sleep before dawn, so that some time may be given to friendly duties. Or does it seem too little an example to you in the comic poet, when he says: How I wish it were the custom to give attention to friends even by night! But why do I, poor in speech, murmur on longer? I must imitate your recent letter, as I do the rest of your character: perhaps, being busy, you decline longer letters. I rightly conjecture that this is so. For I see how unwilling you are to read much, you who scarcely have leisure to dictate a little. Farewell.

If you have that natural love of the natural history which Pliny elaborated, behold for you the little books, of which a ready supply was at hand: in which, as I suppose, a copyist careless of accuracy will displease your rich learning. But the neglect of correction will not be held against me. For I preferred to be approved by you for the speed of my gift, rather than for the scrutiny of another's work. Farewell.

Although the praise of sons by their parents is generally true, yet somehow it suffers a diminution of its own worth, while it is judged to look to the favor of persons. I ask, therefore, uncertain in mind, what words I ought now especially to take up concerning the honorable man Thalassius, your son-in-law. If I touch sparingly upon the graces of his character, I shall be reckoned as one envious: if I pursue them justly, I shall be next to a flatterer. I shall therefore imitate the restraint of Sallust's testimony. You have a man worthy of you, and through you of a consular family; whom fortune found greater than the honor of his father by her favors, and whom correction of soul and holiness have equaled to his honors. Farewell.

I use with you the confidence which you have granted. You have long been sparing of letters, but I will not imitate the example: since I know that in a man placed at the height of honors, and therefore attending to many great matters, it is not so much zeal that is lacking as opportunity. For such is the nature of things, that what is neglected apart from industry is said to deserve forgiveness. Yet I, secure as ever in your love, do not refuse the customary duty: I shall count it a matter of the greatest thanks and honor, if my friend, who will deliver this letter to you, should receive some fruit in return for such great devotion to us. Farewell.

You ask to know what I am doing. I wait daily for letters, such as your present position now promises me, and as your love has always shown. Indeed I am glad of present circumstances, since I know that no place is left for my ill-wisher, and moreover that a deserved fortune is promised to you, for whom I always wish well. Therefore, since things have so turned out that anxious matters are changed: let us reap the fruit of your desired conversation, which may increase my spirit, and show that, in keeping with our former great intimacy, you very much desire me. Farewell.

You act in accordance with our mutual devotion and the antiquity of our friendship, in that you affirm your honor to be my strength. The saying agrees with the trustworthiness of your character, nor will time ever prove you unlike such writings: only let generous fortune second your prosperous wishes. It is prudent to speak little of these things, lest longer flatteries corrupt the dignity of truth. If you need to know anything about me, my brother Claudius, both devoted to your service and acquainted with my concerns, will explain it. Farewell.

I care nothing for the rest, the ignoble crowd, who feign philosophy by pride and dress. Our age has produced few (and among these especially my friend Baraccus) whose genuine wisdom inclined toward antiquity. Do you dare, you will say, to judge of philosophers? It is permitted to look upon the virtues of others. For both the Olympian Jove of Phidias, and the heifer of Myron, and the Caryatids of Polyclitus, a great part of men unskilled in that art have admired. The nature of understanding lies more generously open. Otherwise, illustrious things would be approved by few, if the good sense of each person did not reach even to those unequal to it. Grant me, then, the office of witness concerning Baraccus, and embrace the friendship of a prudent man: whose testing will soon make you believe as easily all that I know, since you will see that not even in what I do not know is there falsehood. Farewell.

Behold for you a rustic, scarcely freed from urban business: who wishes, for the sake of our friendship, that you forgive the fault of delays. For it was not flight from labor that indulged rest. It is hard to leave this place, once you have come: so much so that, if you wished to contemplate the majesty of our city, it would seem you had returned too soon. But I am not troubled about this, since you are of such a placid disposition among your other virtues, that you take lighter faults in good part. It is more fitting to beg this earnestly, that you have as much care for writing in your mind, as you deem me worthy of love. Farewell.

Pure joy was granted me by the writings of your learning, which I received while stationed at Capua. There was indeed in them a wit smeared with Tullian honey, and a praise of my style not so much true as flattering. What then should I marvel at more, uncertain in my judgment I hesitate, the ornaments of your mouth or of your heart. For so far do you surpass others in eloquence, that it is fearsome to write back: so kindly do you approve our efforts, that it delights one not to keep silent. If I should proclaim more about you, I would seem to be scratching in return, and more an imitator of you in speech than an approver. At the same time, since you yourself do nothing for the sake of display, it must be feared that to praise in you what is native good may seem to praise what is affected.

Yet know this one thing from us with unquestionable truth, that there is no mortal whom I love more than you: so bound have you held me by honorable love. But in this you seem to me too excessively modest, that you accuse the betrayer of your little book. For it is easier to hold burning embers in the mouth, than to keep secret a brilliant work. Once a poem has set out from you, you have laid down all your right over it. A speech made public is a free thing. Or do you fear the poisons of a rival reader, lest your little book be scorched by the bite of a hard tooth? To you alone, in this respect, favor has given nothing, nor has envy taken anything away. To every ungrateful, malicious, and honest person alike you are worthy of praise. Therefore banish henceforth these empty fears, and indulge your pen, that you may often be betrayed. Surely assign some didactic or protreptic poem also to our name.

Make trial of my silence, which, though I wish to show it to you, yet I do not dare to promise. I know what itch there is to send forth a work that is approved. For in a certain way he who first announces the good sayings of another lays claim to a share in the praise. For this reason, in comedies indeed the writers bore the highest glory: yet Roscius and Ambivius and the other actors did not lack fame. Therefore spend your leisure on such a task, and sustain our hunger with new volumes. But if, fleeing from boastfulness, you fear a chattering informer, grant me also silence, so that I may safely pretend that what you have written is my own. Farewell.

Only now do I understand how honeyed a thing speech is, how soothing, and how persuasive eloquence. You have persuaded me that the composition of my letter delivered to you at Capua was not without polish. But this lasted no longer than while I read your page, which led me, gaping after its blandishments, as if steeped in the juice of nectar. For when I set the little paper down and question myself, then it tastes of pure wormwood, and I detect cups smeared round with honey. But if, as I often do, I return to your letter, again I am enticed; and once more that sweetest, that flowery breath of your discourse, when the reading is set aside, vanishes, and prevents the weight of testimony from being in the sweetness. This delights me only so long as it is seen, like an airy gilding of foil, or a painted cloud; in the manner of that little creature the chameleon, which takes its color from what lies beneath it.

I feel one thing from your letter, another from my own conscience. And do you dare to deem me worthy of the praise of the most eloquent men? You, I say, tell me this, who have set yourself beyond the emendation of all men. No one shines so brightly that, compared to you, he does not seem tarnished. Who approaches so nearly the charm of Aesop, the sophistic conclusions of Socrates, the enthymemes of Demosthenes, or the richness of Tully, or the propriety of our own Maro? Who so aims at single excellences, as you fulfill them all? For what else are you than a perfection gathered from every genius of the good arts? These things, my lord, my son Symmachus, I do not fear may seem said of you more flatteringly than truly. And you have experienced the faithfulness of my mind and my words, when we both lived at court, at different ages: where you, a recruit, earned the rewards of old service, while I, already a veteran, still practiced my apprenticeship.

At court I was true to you: do not think that I speak from a distance in contrived fashion. At court, I say, which opens men's faces but conceals their minds, you felt that I was to you both parent and friend, and, if anything is dearer than both, dearer still. But let us leave these matters; lest this recollection seem to approach that fear of Sosia. This too, which almost escaped me, with what affection did you add, that I should send some didactic little work, or a protreptic discourse? Shall I teach you, who am still in need of teaching, if I were of an age to learn? Or shall I stir you, who are vigorous and alert? By the same effort I might also exhort the Muses to sing; and the seas to flow forth; and the breezes to blow; and the fires to burn: and if anything happens by nature even against our will, I would be a superfluous instigator urging it on.

It is enough that one error has occurred, that something of mine was made public against my will, which by good fortune fell into the hands of friends. For if it had happened otherwise, not even you could persuade me that I could please. Let these be the answers to your letter. The rest, which you are eager to know, I will abbreviate: my letter is already long enough as it is. Yet I commend to you Julianus, a familiar friend of our household, if you think anything should be asked concerning us; and at the same time I urge you, once you have learned the reason for his coming, to help the endeavor which you have partly already fostered. Farewell.

They say that snails, when they thirst for air, and nothing melts down to them from the sky, live on their own moisture. This is what happens to me, who, deprived of the pasture of your eloquence, am still sustained by my own dew. You have long put off the task of writing, and I fear lest perhaps a father's affection is being closed against us. If opinion holds me in error, cause the care of answering to take precedence over your other business. Farewell.

I carry on a task full of labor, who persist in addressing so often one who is silent. Yet unless I continue to press on, and wrest some letter from you, forgetfulness will grow. Whether then you judge this diligence of mine dutiful, or troublesome, my resolve stands: to render its due honor famous through correspondence: so utterly is there no falling away in me of my old love for you. And deservedly: for nowhere have I invested the labor of friendship so well. Therefore I complain of your silence. For it is the more tender affection that makes complaint the more ready to arise. The mind of one who loves is soft, and keenly sensitive to every touch of pain. If you handle it too carelessly, it soon wilts, like a rose; if you hold it too roughly, it bruises, like lilies. I recall having read that filial devotion is often wounded even by a look. What then would that most severe of judges have decided concerning continued silence and the neglected duty of writing?

You will weigh these things more carefully with yourself. It was a matter of scruple for me to conceal what was paining me. For as I am ever in suspense in my mind concerning you, so with the utmost effort I await the enjoyment of your like-mindedness. Farewell.

Long at leisure in the retreats of Campania, I lacked opportunity for writing. Therefore for a while the duty of my discourse toward you grew cool. But when I brought my foot back to my homeland, my old diligence in resuming the duty returned. Therefore I render you the due honor of a greeting, asking for both things: that just pardon be granted for the previous silence, and that a like return answer my present attentiveness. Farewell.

I interrupt your occupations with the persistence of correspondence. For I myself am nourished by such a duty, and I believe your journeying is refreshed by such comforts. Your letters, in turn, I await; I do not demand them. For it would be an injury to strongly press for what you may hope for, lest what is voluntary should seem extorted. I indeed congratulate my brother Innocentius, that he obtained your friendship before I wrote; because his commendation has begun to be easier for me, coming from one you have already approved, than it would have been had he been unknown. And so I ask this one favor: that he who already strives toward his own improvement may be loved the more fully for the sake of our testimony. Farewell.

Not without reason do they proclaim: the minds of men shine in a clear day, and grow faint when a cloud gathers. My own mind gives proof by its example. For as often as I write to you, a store of words comes readily to me according to my wish, of which at other times I have a want. For joy indeed is a talkative thing, and a displayer of itself: so much so that against this malady the greater part of mankind takes no precaution. Suffer me then, as I speak of what pertains to your praises, most esteemed of all men that are on earth; you who from the highest resources strive in watchfulness on behalf of my affairs, and who persevere in friendship with steadfast diligence. If ever loyalty was serious in anyone, I think it is in you: a thing which most display in word but abandon in deed—a kind of loyalty good for nothing but talk.

Deservedly do I reckon your advancements as gain to myself, since I am, close beside you, an object of great care, just as much as I ever was. Yet something remains which I would wish added to this zeal of yours toward me. I do not want you to remember that I was once vexed in spirit against you. Love nourishes trust. What is so free as friendship? To affairs there is commonly attached a remonstrance without any stain upon concord. So it is true that, while today I give you thanks, I could not conceal that which grieved me. Empty of good faith are those who flatter continually. But why do I unravel these things at greater length, which I wish you to forget? Be, as you are, kindly disposed toward me in will: a thing which I feel is to be hoped for from you rather than asked. Farewell.

It is falsely believed that fortune is ignorant of judgment. She indeed, mindful of the past, attentive to the present, and prudent as to the future, repays to you whatever she has bestowed on others. She is therefore neither vain nor erratic: from her we know others have gained a household, you a reward. Who (you will say) gave you knowledge of the honor done me? The celebrity of report, to which, when it tells a true thing, immediate credence is given. Or should I have waited for your letter on this matter, which modesty was delaying? By no means; since patience is difficult in the face of joys. I therefore perform, as you see, your own part, and what I ought to have learned from you I have preferred, in a manner, to announce to you myself. But I do not want this haste of my letter to hinder your own office of writing.

Pretend that I do not know what I am now writing, and grant it to me as though it were fresh news, which I shall welcome again with gladness though repeated. Farewell.

I know indeed that my letter will reach you late, whether on account of your occupations, which will hold you for a while under arms, or because my brother Gorgonius, an admirer of your virtues, will linger for a long rest among the Picentes. Yet whatever this circumstance may be, I did not think the duty should be omitted. Perhaps it is uncertain whether this writing will come in due time into your hands. I, however, so far as it will be allowed through those who travel, shall not spare the effort of this rightful duty. Farewell.

Not as one new or unknown, but as one already proven by fidelity and diligence of service, I readily commend to you my friend the holy Victor, whom to this day no fault of conduct has darkened; but the license of fortune (sometimes discoloring even the best of men) has for a while broken down his hopes, which the blessedness of the age will restore intact, if you look with favorable regard upon the innocence of a suppliant. Farewell.

I am doing a thing consonant both with your character and with my own zeal, in procuring for a most excellent man the friendship of every good person: as now there is delivered to you by me a candidate of philosophy, whose modesty even his first appearance shows; his other good qualities long acquaintance will disclose. I should not wish this man to be loved by you unless he deserved to be approved. But if I judge rightly, he will soon deserve it, and therefore I make no further careful request concerning him. For he ought not to be bound by my prejudgment, whose judgment I await. This rather I wish you to be asked: that you persevere in your diligence toward me. In pressing this request, I fear you may think me unjust, in asking of you what you are about to grant of your own accord. Farewell.

You have made up for your long silence with a double letter. For you have given two letters at once, embracing my longing with a fuller measure of attention. From this I have perceived that it was not the will that had been lacking to you until now, but the bearer. For it could not otherwise have happened that you would defraud me so long of the honor of your discourse. Deservedly does my devotion to you increase day by day, and my affection grows with just increase. For we see it thus established by experience, that a friendship well placed advances daily through the very trial of it. But on this point I ought to spare further words. For I need not say what I would rather have you feel. I have learned indeed from your letters how greatly you long for the completion of your public office, and I confess I am amazed that you feel such distaste for an administration whose desirable fruits the love of all men promises.

Is there anything more tenacious than glory, which adds praise to pleasure? But nonetheless care shall not be lacking that you may obtain it: only console your absence with a just love of your province. Farewell.

It is an old saying: that the arts are nourished by honor. The experience of our own age has confirmed it. For no man known in war, or distinguished at home, has felt his industry go without its reward. Thus, when fruit is bestowed upon the worthy, hope is prepared for those who take up the same path. I therefore swell with joy, both on account of others, to whom their skillful life secures fortune, and especially on account of my brother Julianus, whom I wish to be so loved by you, as I am confident he can be approved. You know indeed how rare in that dust of the forum is the kinship of an eloquent tongue with a good heart, while either a modest character is contracted through diffidence, or an eloquent one grows arrogant through success. These qualities flourished together in my intimate and closely bound friend in such a union, that neither did he wither through the check of modesty, nor did he overflow to the detriment of his good name.

Never has he corrupted the ornaments of his tongue for hire. Rightful in origin and modest in fortune, he has exchanged wealth for good faith, and profit for praise. This man I gladly place in your hand, or rather in your heart. For it is my chief concern that good men should enrich your friendship. That you wish the same, I have found by experience. For nature always rejoices in her equals, and everything that is alike is akin to itself. But lest by prolonged testimony I incur the suspicion of a mere praiser, I beg that you yourself judge of him by a more careful examination. Thus, when you have approved his character, you will have made trial of my judgment. Farewell.

Your indulgence toward me deserves that I not allow to remain hidden from you what has lately been a matter of praise to me. I believe that rumor has already made known to you that the senate, by frequent votes and finally by sending envoys, has, with unprecedented honor, summoned my father—who was paying off in the country and in retirement the wrong done to his lost house—to return. On this occasion, as soon as the day afforded him opportunity to speak among his colleagues, he gave thanks to the senate with that gravity of eloquence for which he is known. It was then the Calends, by which the year is opened. A short while after, when I had promised to Trigeius's son, a candidate for the praetorship, and a friend of mine, the service of pleading his case, a scruple came upon my mind, that on the occasion of this appointed duty I should discharge the office still owed by me to my father—but, as I have said, already discharged by him to the senate.

Therefore on the fifth day before the Ides of January I spoke before that most distinguished order; and when these words come into your hands, you will from your own judgment conjecture the opinions of the rest. Since I was uncertain of your own judgment, I thought it best to conceal the opinions of others, lest I should seem to press you with the prejudgment of so great an order. Farewell.

I have been increased in joy, that your health has returned into favor with you. For your soundness of body is always the sum of my wishes. Now, if by the will of the gods your restored strength has renewed the vigor of your mind, cause your letters to be increased with many pages. I hate the parsimony of good words. Brevity of writing indeed is nearer to disdain than to duty. I do not want letters that merely drip from the top of the mouth. I ask for those which do not know how to dry up; which are brought forth from the innermost spring of the heart. I recall that Spartan brevity was once counted a praise. But I deal with you by Roman laws, and, if you will, by Attic ones too: to which eloquence brought such glory that the Laconians seem to have directed their pursuits in the opposite direction from no other motive than fear of comparison. I would wish for more; but I must be measured according to your own manner.

At the same time there is the caution that too much talk should not offend you. Set then a limit to my own custom, while I obey yours. From which you may understand that you have been brought to such a pitch of envy and condition, that you would seem to wish few words written by me, unless you have written many in reply. Farewell.

I could have made my letter brief, since my brother seemed likely to satisfy you more fully with his own words than I with my writing. But honorable duties are to be reckoned of greater value than much leisure. Therefore there is no need for me to keep silent, so that the honor of friendship may be credited to me; nor is everything to be entrusted to letters, so that something may be left for him to relate. Receive, nonetheless, the heads of the matter, and the summaries of the affairs, by which my brother, once reminded, may pursue what has been sought more fully. It was agreed among the priests that we should hand over into the keeping of the citizens, with public homage, the presence of the gods. For the kindness of a superior, unless it is kept with careful guard, is lost. Therefore the heavenly honor has been made far more splendid than it was before. You seem to me to be waiting for everything that remains.

My Titianus will discharge the account, to whom the task of relating whatever you wish has been entrusted. The imperial edict, if it is not already known, the same reporter will explain to you. You have also recovered your statues, amid almost the same acclamations of the people by which you had lost them. Do you laugh? And well may you laugh heartily. I refrain from more, lest, in briefly touching upon better things, I should seem to linger too long on lesser ones. Farewell.

The cause of our silence is different, but the effect is one. Me the care of my pontifical office hinders, you the negligence of Baian leisure. For relaxation of mind makes one no less sluggish than occupation does. Nor is it strange, if that shore claims you wholly for itself; since it is certain that even Hannibal himself, unconquered in war, surrendered his hand to Campania. Not the allurement of that sky or soil could equal the lotus that holds fast its visitors, and the persuasive cups of Circe, and the triple song of half-winged maidens. Nor do I contend that you are keeping fat holidays, or think that pleasures have broken your virtue. But while you read to yourself, write to yourself, and, weary of city affairs, tame your great spirit in solitude, you perform no duties of friendship whatsoever. Why not seize the pen, and return like honor to my affection for you? Unless you would rather test the authority of a pontiff. We have many matters to deliberate in our college.

Who has granted you this truce from public duty? You shall feel the right of a priest, unless you fulfill the right of a friend. Farewell.

Good gods, how nothing is safe and certain for man! Surely for the sake of relieving your spirit you had withdrawn to Baiae. What eye cast its spell upon your intended repose? Thus a shared anxiety over Paulina brought you to the utmost point of concern for her welfare. Or is your fear on her behalf so great, that every discomfort of hers is reckoned as the equivalent of danger? Whichever it is, one may contemplate in mind what hardships of days, what vigils of nights you have endured. We are born to this condition, that we should more often meet with adversities. Pleasures flee away, and the enjoyment of every good thing is as brief in its use as it is slight in its perception. But let these matters be left to the disputations of philosophers. Now let us persuade our minds to a more cheerful frame, since the peace of the gods has once more set our Paulina's health upon solid ground. Farewell.

You ask, as a citizen born for the common good, what is reported as nearest the truth concerning our anxious affairs. From certain informants we have learned favorable things. Then a suspicion arising from much silence has given occasion for anxious rumors. But I have no regard for opinions of that kind, which are put forth without an author. I am exceedingly troubled in mind that, despite manifold sacrifices, often repeated through each of the several powers, the Spoletine portent is still not expiated in the name of the state. For scarcely did the eighth sacrifice propitiate Jupiter, and the eleventh offering, made with manifold victims to Public Fortune, was performed in vain. You understand in what state we stand. Now the resolution is to summon my colleagues into assembly. I will see that you know, if the divine remedies bring about any advance. Farewell.

I indeed, secure in friendship, make light of it and take it in good part, if anything is offended in me by one who loves me. But your character, which lacks nothing for praise, is disfigured by negligence of duty. You suppose I am complaining that you write nothing; and you prepare to refute a falsehood, because you remember having written something. But truly I should be troubled but little in mind if you were silent, in the same measure as I am now, when you have sent to me and to my father one single, and that quite short, letter. Do we both seem to you so unworthy as not to merit separate pages each? You will say, it mattered for the sake of honor that you should be joined with my father. There are other things which I wish to have either shared or equal with him; but let love be shown to me in my own name. Refrain, then, from letters that are like an edict.

Let all that fastidiousness cease, from which springs a concern for brevity. But it is a caution not to speak long on these matters, lest the prolixity of my complaint be more troublesome to you than the brevity of your letter is to me. For the rest, I beseech the gods that you may revisit us as soon as possible, full of joy. It will be easy then to repay the scantiness of your writings with abundance of talk. Farewell.

I had resolved to linger yet longer abroad; but news of our failing native land changed my plans, since amid so many evils my own security seemed to me a discredit. Besides, the administration of the sacred pontifical office demands of me care and attendance at the stated month. For my mind does not allow me to be sufficient as a colleague amid so great a negligence of the priests. This delegation of divine service was once a simple matter; now, to be absent from the altars is a way of currying favor among Romans. How long will Etruria detain you both? Already we complain that there is something which is preferred so long to the citizens. Though the condition of the countryside be milder, he cannot well enjoy leisure who fears for his own who are absent. Farewell.

That my speech pleased you gives me no less joy than that the better part of the human race, the senate, heard it with favorable esteem. You added the weight of an oath, and swore to good words, being one who knew that the judgments of those who love come under suspicion of partiality. For where friendship is certain, there the credit of praise is more uncertain. Therefore, secure in your judgment, I do not trouble myself over the opinions of others. What if you had been present as a hearer of such good will? Indeed I should, as they say, have touched the vaults above with my finger. Perhaps on another occasion we shall have a more desired abundance of your presence. Now we enjoy the testimony of your letter; then we shall enjoy the aid of your favor. Farewell.

You boast of leisure and hunting. This is indeed a pleasant boast, but one uttered by you more in jest than in earnest. For your times of relaxation, free from public business, you gladly spend in ruminating over the books of the ancients. To others, then, you will offer such words, who have not known you from earlier acquaintance. As for me, from the flavor of the letters you grant me, I conjecture the daily nourishment of your wit, along with the pursuits which you tend night and day with such care. Unless perhaps you have taken up continual residence with Apollo in the woods, like that shepherd Hesiod, whom the family of the Muses crowned with the poetic laurel. For whence comes this novelty of thought, this antiquity of language in your letters, if you affect only knotted nets, or feathered scarecrows, and keen-scented dogs, and every art of the chase, forgetful of your betters? Wherefore, when you write, remember to set a limit to your eloquence.

Let what you say be rustic and unpolished, that you may be believed a huntsman. Farewell.

You have given great comfort to my sorrow. For, as rumor had already given you notice, wounded by the death of my brother, I am continually tormented by grief of mind. Yet no small relief have I received amid present cares, in that I have learned that you fare well, according to our shared wishes. It remains that you deign to devote frequent attention to duties of this kind, which you perceive to bring a certain remedy for misfortune and grief. Farewell.

I know that what you urge is the mark of a true and genuine love. But reconciliation requires as its author the very one who was chief in the unjust disagreement, lest he who, as though having suffered nothing, seeks again the friendships he had renounced, be thought to have deserved blame. Wherefore I do not refuse the concord that is offered. Setting aside consideration of fortune, let him return into favor who caused the offense. As for you, for the sake of our friendship I congratulate you enough, whose labor will contribute to the public welfare; of which I shall speak more sparingly for the present. For a matter which concerns all is never content with a single witness; and it is highly fitting for me so to bear your glory in mind, that I not be thought forgetful of due modesty. Farewell.

Even for you, occupied with public business, a short letter removes the tedium of reading, and the continuity of my duty has exhausted whatever seemed worth writing. Rightly then, having tasted a greeting, I compress my letter frugally into necessary brevity. For one thing is the profession of love, another the display of the tongue; and therefore to me the work of compliance has always been more ancient than that of speech. We shall seem abundant enough, if we are judged abundantly diligent. Farewell.

For the present, I offer as much as seemed sufficient for the rendering of friendship's due, having regard both for your occupations and for the haste of the courier. On another occasion I shall not lack either the occasion or the care for a longer letter. May the gods only prosper what is desired, and set the welfare of the Republic upon solid ground! Then the will shall be readier, both to write things which you may gladly receive, and to read things which you may write back at leisure of mind. Farewell.

Let your mind be equable, and patient of the duty imposed upon you. It often happens that proven virtue is renewed for fresh labors. What then? Do you think it was gladly done by Gaius Atilius, when he exchanged the fasces for the plough, and, a farmer, halted his panting oxen in the midst of the sowing? Whoever is of good stuff is claimed for the public good. Set aside for now those musings on your happy leisure. How well I was raising up urban works with new pediments! Where is our country estate—that one so fruitful in autumn's abundance, or that other sunny in winter? Or the one which in spring first sheds its roses upon the ground, or the one which grows cool beneath the summer sun by grove and spring? But why have I strayed from my purpose? While making a remedy for your complaints, I have unwittingly suggested things to be missed.

Be, as you are, patient of every care, and render the service owed to the princes, who have regarded rather the account of your merit than of your inclination. Farewell.

You urge that we cultivate the good of friendship by frequent letters. The exhortation pleases me, as an invitation to piety. And, to confess the truth, this wish of yours is an honor to me; for love demands the greater share. But as to what you say, that I rather, being free from public affairs, ought to bear such a vigil, I disagree that it is fair. First of all, because, being a man of unrestrained leisure, I take no trouble to inquire into the movements of travelers: your own rank either finds conveyance for letters, or creates it. Then, because idle disuse dulls my wit. For you, ever active, the practice of speaking has long since been lightened by use. Therefore, the greater your abundance for writing, the more deserving am I of pardon for my rarity. Do I seem sufficiently fortified by these reasons for the future? I would have you remember that whatever discourse you receive from me is a mark of compliance, not of leisure. Farewell.

I know that you make your choice not by fortunes but by merits. Romanus, my close friend, even now attends upon courtly duties, as an officer of the sacred treasury. But he has cultivated the instruments of probity in the exercise of his office. Wherefore that dignity is common to very many, but honesty is equal among few. This I thought worth mentioning, so that you too might judge him by the standard of his life, not by the rank of his service. Put him to the test in the greatest affairs; put him to the test in serious matters or in light ones. You will find in the man a hidden fidelity, an open religion, an unconstrained prudence, a generous modesty. For him I have wished this done, that the credit of my testimony may shine forth, and that a friend of refined probity may be added to you. Farewell.

You say that you are hindered by manifold necessities from diligently addressing your dearest friends. Let assertion of a known fact cease. For even we who are far away feel your cares and vigils through the abundance and plenty of our common fatherland. You have thus changed your duty, not denied it. For the safety of the citizens has rightly been to you, as it ought to have been, of more account than the mere act of greeting. Now indeed we both long for and demand your letters, with a plentiful harvest gathered in for the expense of the coming winter—although I know that this part does not yet seem to you altogether safe. For love of country is never secure, and however great remedies it seeks out, it always thinks that thing to be impending which it has feared. Farewell.

Full of good hope, after you gave me notice of your coming, I add a certain spur to my haste; and for this matter I implore your assistance, that as an encourager you may hasten our parents' zeal. The memory of your kindness will stand firm with me, nor will it ever be silent, if you attend to the affairs entrusted to your brothers. Farewell.

Let those speak at length who must speak for persons unknown or unrelated. This labor need not be mine, since our common brother Saturus receives our letter—which I have not offered for the sake of commending him, but have sent forth as made out of our love toward you. Farewell.

Perhaps you wonder that a bishop is commended by me. It was the cause, not the sect, that persuaded me to this. For Clemens, performing the office of a good man, protected Caesarea, which is his native city, by procuring peace with the greatest princes. You will have heard how, in the barbarian rebellion, how much gold and silver, private and public, sacred and profane, was torn asunder by the plundering of the enemy in the sack of Mauretania. It happened at that time that even the deposit of the treasury was seized under the law of war—which the chief men of the city, whom flight had left behind, demanded back on the ground of treasury right. A wretched and bitter condition it was, had not the sorrow of the times moved the concern of Clemens; whom I would say has served no less the reputation of the age than the security of the citizens. For what but ill will would the treasury have gained, if wealth were demanded from a destitute municipality?

You have the order of the matter. What remains is for you to strive, that your favorable breath may fill the sails of what has been sought. Farewell.

You ask to know what we think of those who provoke us. I would not have you expect the counsel of one who is angry. Do not labor toward the harm of him whom you see abounding in faults; he will himself furnish causes, which you would not seem to have wished for. But enough has been said of him. I will go where affection leads me. It is amazing how much you both are lacking in letters, and you do not fear that we should reproach you for the reason of your silence. What will winter do, which will delay travel both by land and by sea? Consider the necessity of your duty, the burden of our anxiety, and take up that diligence which you in turn demand of us. Farewell.

Gelasius, for whom I wish this done, has taken up the care of the imperial household, a charge which has brought him some measure of dignity, though he has more honor in his character. He has practiced medicine among the first men of our age. Thence a path of merit was opened to him. For the leading men of the court, whom he had benefited by aiding their health, he had rather as witnesses than as patrons. Far be it that you should have need of his art, since the other honorable qualities of this most upright man can plead his cause on his behalf. Therefore love Gelasius, who has long since been pleasing to me, and, with me as your surety, will be pleasing to you. Farewell.

I would commend to you Anysius, a praiseworthy man, had he not come into my friendship through your introduction. Since, therefore, there is nothing that my speech can win for him, I count it as a kindness if your holy mind's affection should increase toward him. For where the beginnings of love have already been anticipated, there is room for a further favor, that its increase be sought. Farewell.

Rufus, the pontifical treasurer, pursues before you the instructions of the college, to which above all others the care of retaining the Vaganensian forest-district has been entrusted. Grant, I beg you, that the aid of your honor may seem divinely offered, and remember that you are the overseer of both priesthoods. Whatever public vigor or private diligence demands, carry out at my request. Public utility will greatly advance your favor. You have the sum of my petition. As for particulars, either the sequence of the memorandum will indicate them to you, or Rufus will explain them; to whom you will render prompt effect, so that upon his return he may take up the office which has been sequestered for a little while. Farewell.

My brother Acutianus could have obtained in his own name what he asks, since he is no less familiar to you than to me. But it fell within my office that I should lend him my voluntary service. Moreover, the justice of what is requested aids his desire. For he asks that his brothers, Nichasius and Rogatianus, who are managing a common business, either be remitted to the adjudication of the consular governor of Numidia, or—what is dearer to him—that he would rather, with you above all as judge, be freed as soon as possible from the trouble of the suit. Wherefore, if his cause carries great weight with you, and does not diverge from the laws, and my intervention tips the scale of your favor, it is right to strive that the wish of this excellent man may proceed according to his desire. Farewell.

The petition of our brothers Romanus and Magnus, which I have undertaken to further, is just; for it is of great concern to them that the men of the most distinguished lady Euticia should be supported by the protection of the judges. You understand that these are persons to whom this favor is owed more from their own merit than from my letters. Nor should you wonder that they themselves were unwilling to write about this matter, since regard for me made them prefer to use my recommendation instead. Farewell.

My office undertakes to commend Caecilianus, an honorable man, appointed defender of Laurentium Lavinarium. Even if the other honorable qualities of his life afforded him no recommendation, my intervention ought to acquire your favor for him. Love, then, a man pleasing to me, and one who dutifully attends to the advantages of his city out of religious scruple. We shall take it as a sign of your love if you assist those to whom he has entrusted his household business. Farewell.

We do not refuse effort to the desires of friends, so long as we believe what is asked to be just—as has now happened to me, who, since Bassus is well-regarded by excellent men, did not think he should be abandoned by my recommendation. Provided, then, my judgment is preserved, since I have trusted good men, a longer span of days will reveal to you the man’s merit. It is enough for me if the first approach gives him a fuller hope. Farewell.

Since the gods have given you such power that you can be of use to my friends and connections, I trust that for Romanus, an excellent man, with whom I have long had intimacy, there is under your protection a ready store of good hope. For he is aided by two recommendations, of which you have long had care: the prerogative of my testimony, and the awareness of his own merit. For I dare to judge diligently that he is worthy of your regard, and, not to speak at length, one whose friendship you will not find burdensome. I have observed in him a tranquility of mind and a diligence in duty. No one employs a more ready fidelity toward friends. Believe, I beg, if you grant me anything, that this is so. If your mind hesitates, I urge you to examine it. Farewell.

There is something in the complaints of my daughter Fasgamia which, I confess, has happened to my liking. For unless she had asked that letters would be useful to her, there would have been no occasion for writing. I therefore offer first the greeting which pertains to my duty. The remaining part of the page will concern the case of a most distinguished lady, who laments that some lands have been snatched from her by your men. Being aware of your position and merit, I suppose this was committed by servile daring, unknown to you; and therefore I have promised my daughter the ease of correction, if a familiar complaint should bring this kind of injury to your attention. I ask, then, that you order the state of the violated possession to be restored. But if there is any controversy, let it be deferred to the presence of our pledge i.e. Mutual bond of friendship, who, secure in your justice, refuses other judges. Farewell.

As often as testimonials are brought forward for men known in military service, it is fitting to make an effort of brevity in words, since there is no need to dwell on things already known. I know you do everything approved on behalf of Caesarius. That you should hold him in regard is something I ought rather to hope for than to ask. If you require anything further, we shall discuss it in other letters. Now I must restrain my talkativeness, since it seems that satisfaction has been given both to his wish, and to your honor, and to my duty. Farewell.

It is the nature of things that those who stammer speak the more; for they affect abundance out of shame at their deficiency. This example applies to me, who have a great impatience to write, though eloquence fails me. Since, then, two are traveling together at the same time, I did not think it fitting to duty that a double occasion should be dispatched with a single letter. It will be your judgment whether I am more rightly called garrulous or diligent. Farewell.

To attend to the requests of friends is the office of good character, especially if equity does not oppose what is asked. I shall briefly explain to what this preamble tends. I esteem Sabinianus, a most distinguished man, as much as those whom I hold in highest regard. I by no means allow the burden of guardianship to be imposed on him by force, on behalf of his brother’s children. For he wards off the injustice by two privileges: the maturity of his age, and the number of his own children. Though this matter is confirmed by public records, it has not yet turned the stubborn petitioner from his fixed obstinacy. Now, since with fortune favoring, hope in this business rests upon a good outcome, I ask that you be willing to act, by the virtue in which you excel, on his behalf—whether the favor is to be granted for my sake, or the prerogative of law is to be preserved for your own glory. Farewell.

You alone still remain, out of the foremost men of letters, whose approval of my style I would wish, greedy as I am for praise. The matter has turned out as I wished: I use the witness I want. Now I must cry out with the voice of the comic youth: Who today is more fortunate than I, and so full of charm? Unless perhaps love of me has bent your pen toward favor. For it often happens that affection breaks the severity of judgment, and we judge the deeds and words of friends with that same indulgence with which most of us love even our own faults. But these things would rightly be said, were it not that the estimation of the best men, to whom my discourse was read, agrees with you—not that the authority of your judgment is sought from the consensus of others, but because a verdict from which no one dissents is not open to suspicion. Yet I shall see whether your good faith or your love wrote that letter.

To me, in either case, the honor is equally great: whether you judge so magnificently of me that you seem to have indulged me, or whether you are so attentive to me that you cannot judge otherwise. Farewell.

You hold, whether by presumption or by certain knowledge, how of old my regard for your praise has been. For that reason I allow nothing to happen that would tarnish the grace of your actions. My brother Priscianus, to be reckoned among the foremost of philosophers for learning and honor, obtains, by authority of the senate, the emoluments of a salary. Concerning his allowance a doubt is said to have arisen. If the goodwill of the leading men had not already granted him some advantage, your learning ought to bear fruit for him. For you know that the good arts are nourished by honor, and that this is a mark of a flourishing commonwealth, that ample rewards be paid to the professors of the disciplines. I ask, therefore, that neither his advantage be diminished by this disturbance, nor the authority of assessment be taken away from the most distinguished order. It concerns your fame and glory that you should seem to have had doubts about the philosopher’s salary for the sake of confirming rather than denying his advantage. Farewell.

Here is my second letter to you, and still an exchange is owed for the first. You will say that the labor of writing has long been hindered by the business of travel, and perhaps you will allege many other reasons besides. For love of you I shall not begrudge this indulgence. But by that same love I ask that, when there is leisure, the delay of necessary silence be made up by a voluntary act of duty. Farewell.

I believe that Vitalianus, a most distinguished man, asked for a letter more for the sake of my duty than for his own assistance. For since nothing further can accrue to him toward winning your love, it seems he only sought this, that through this favor my reconciliation with you might come more abundantly. Take, then, this hastily gleaned greeting; if you respond with more generous eloquence, you will, by the example of your abundance, provoke the leanness of my talent. Farewell.

I am indeed vehemently impatient of your silence, which sort of complaint is familiar to those who love. But I confess my longing has been satisfied by your most recent letter. And so I give thanks, and beg you earnestly to indulge frequently in writing. For these duties alone produce no weariness from constancy. Farewell.

It is a sign of devotion that you charge me with silence. But I would have you believe it was the fault of misfortune, not of will, that I have long abstained from the duty of writing. Nor do I think you unaware how fortune has raged against us, which has deprived me of a most loving and excellent brother. Accordingly, if a longer span of days removes the sense of so great a grief, the usual care will be given to familiar letters. Farewell.

As often as I take up your discourses, a certain image of your presence passes before my eyes; and so I gain the more abundant pleasure, since I perceive a living monument both of your duty and of my merit. But that this diligence of yours toward me might persist the more readily, I myself have also taken up the care of sending discourse, having often found that devotion of a dutiful mind is provoked by the incentive of reciprocity. Farewell.

At last, restored to good health, which until now had been at odds with me, I now share with you a fellowship of well-being, whom I avoided making a partner of my past anxiety—though I know that even at that time, when illness restrained my duty, no one was withheld from an office of this kind. It remains that you reward me with an exchange of regard. For that will both prove your care and supply aid to my recovery. Farewell.

Whether this page is still to be delivered to you now settled at Milan, I hold in doubt. Yet I believed it would be a fault against the faith of friendship if I withheld the mutual honor of letters to you. Without hesitation, then, I have committed to chance this customary and simple word of greeting; and if it should come into your hands, see to it, I beg, that the return of your discourse shows that my letter has arrived. Farewell.

If the means for writing were often at hand, the will would never be lacking to the duty. Clear and certain proof of this is that, as soon as a trustworthy occasion through a mutual friend presented itself, I gladly took up the office of writing. For I understood that the letter would be more pleasant to you if a friend more familiar to you had delivered it—one who will faithfully convey not only the letter, but also a report of my doings. Farewell.

I shall never be sparing when it comes to complying with your wish. I know how much you desire my discourse. Therefore I have resolved with myself to omit nothing in offering letters, and not to wait for a reply, lest I become slower to write. But as I myself have feared that it would be a disgrace to me were I to be silent, so I would have you take care not to kindle the fault of a neglected friendship. That you will attend to this I hold as certainly established; for considering your character no less than my own merit, I cannot be distrustful of your love.

Not with a splendor of eloquence unknown to us have you addressed us; but your recent oration, suited to great matters and fitted to the majesty of the writing, has increased the glory which you had already sought through your teaching office. For besides the ornaments of speech with which nature has enriched you, you have sounded something similar, and plainly agreeable to the ears of the fathers, in the gravity of your thoughts and the propriety of your words. In short, even those whose taste is rather stale do not deny that your eloquence suits the senate house more than the theater. But those whom the loftier buskin carries, and whom the scaffolding of elaborate structures delights, have praised with equal accord neither a somber solidity nor a wanton charm alone. For these are the seasonings of your mouth and heart, that you neither bristle with severity nor indulge in wantonness of charm; but, fixed and steady by reason, you clothe matters in their true colors.

I do not wish, then, that you should wait for my judgment, lest I err through affection. What various minds have felt, the matter itself has made known. For it was in the nature of things that each should love what suited him, and praise according to the quality of his own talent. Therefore follow your happy beginnings, and in all things rival yourself. For us, it is enough, as testimony of our devotion, that we have not kept silent about the judgment of the rest. Farewell.

Although I am forestalled by love, lest I be niggardly of duty toward you; yet now more gladly than often at other times do I take up the task of writing. First, because the departure of our brother Marius ought not to lack some provision for the road. Then, because I thought my letter would carry a bit more commendation, if it were delivered to you through him whom you love so devotedly and passionately. For it commonly happens that a cheerful bearer adorns even trifling matters. There was also another reason why the ardor of my zeal grew warm; because I thought it fitting to congratulate you concerning the praise of such a man, who from a suburban province brings back as much of public longing as he leaves behind of example. I will not say this out of flattery, being as I am unskilled in fawning. There thrives in him a kindred vein of spirit.

And the more for this reason does it happen that we bear his departure with impatience, we who seemed to enjoy the presence of both in one. I am afraid to prolong my testimony, lest I be judged to have indulged his praise more than modesty. For those whose mind is honorable have a weak brow. Do you, from a few words, conjecture more, things which it was not fitting now to hint at, but which I shall not be loath to write through another. Farewell.

For a long time, my brother, I marveled that you indulged in silence. That circumstance greatly increased my grief, because I myself was by no means neglecting the observance of writing. As soon as I received your letter, joy entered my mind, complaint departed. For friendship is quickly healed by a service. You too had so smeared the page with the honey of your most learned mouth, that any offense was as it were submerged in a draught of Lethe. Turning my pen about, then, I confess gratitude, I who was meditating an expostulation, adding this request, that you never persist in ceasing to write. But if there is nothing to write, it will be enough for me to congratulate you on your continued welfare. Farewell.

Sweet is the contest of duty; and therefore we have both rightly taken care that we not be outdone by turns. I rejoice, then, that we are equal, not only in affection of minds, but also in the exchange of letters. Yet I shall take care hereafter that the scale and balance of my devotion tip the heavier, lest it seem some collusion of indolence for it always to be reckoned in equal measure. Therefore I shall write more often, provided the opportunity of travelers does not fail one who so desires. Thus it will come to pass both that I myself may aspire to the praise of diligence, and that I may, by my persistence, press you, though occupied with public cares, to repay our exchanges. Farewell.

I ought not commend the holy Zeno, whom I know to belong to your clientage and friendship. But in him there is such great uprightness of character that I cannot keep silent his praises. And so I ask that you deign to cherish more readily this man, deservedly acceptable to all good men for his diligence, even at my entreaty; you will thereby do a service both to your own reputation, which ought to be celebrated on the lips of all, and to my intervention, so that he may perceive that this letter has been of profit to him. Farewell.

Let the unknown be praised, so that the splendor of testimony may shed light upon their merits, which lie hidden. For me, at present, I must forbear from writing of this kind, lest I labor in vain if I should attest, concerning my brother Palladius—tried and proven by all good men—his eloquence and learning. Then too, caution is needed, lest a plea unequal to so great a man neither match him to whom it is offered, nor deface my own effort by its unworthiness. I therefore desist from this role, and wish only this one thing to be impressed upon you: that the eloquence of Palladius deserves that we should teach what has been denied to the city; that his amiability deserves that we should rejoice in what has been summoned. Farewell.

That I sent you no letter, when the speech to be read before the assembly of the fathers was entrusted to me by the eternal princes, I know was not due to any disdain of yours. For good and well-tested friendships are secure enough in estimation, even should duty lapse. For this reason I avoided returning like for like, fearing lest what you had done unwillingly, I, being offended, should be thought to have repaid. For the condition of an accidental silence is far different from a deliberate one. The same thing indeed is neglected: yet it matters greatly whether one who omits it does so as though occupied, or as though disdainful. But of this I have said enough. Now, if you love me—or rather, because you love me (for I trust that what I bestow will be returned)—let my joy be made known among the unconquered princes, who entrusted divine letters to a human voice; whose victories the senate heard from the storehouse of my mouth.

Bring to mind what day it was that dawned, on which, as though setting forth from the midst of the battle-line itself, I was the first to pour the saving news into the ears and minds of all. Once, when the Roman state had won the glory of military renown, the twin Pollux-brothers, at the pool of Juturna, made known the favorable turn of the battle. For the faithful record of ancient volumes relates that they, with panting horses, covered in sweat and dust, leaving the report of war behind their backs, sought to be the first messengers of victory. The same honor now, by sacred judgment, has been conferred upon me. Thus, as much favor as the Castors won, so much have the princes bestowed. These things you will pursue on my behalf more copiously and elegantly, in proportion as you are the better with your tongue, before the author of this benefit.

You have the sum of my wish; and if you breathe into it any commendation, to the other ornaments of your mind will be added the glory of this present service. Farewell.

The zeal which I display in the writing of orations you have increased with the reward of praise. For it is an old saying, that arts are nourished by honor. But what honor is so full as the palm of eloquence? Therefore, although I understand that you are deceived by love of me; nevertheless I shall mark the title of your illustrious testimony with a white pebble, after the manner of the ancients. For it was not from a barren mouth that praise was bestowed upon me, but the fruit of sound judgment smiled upon me from the store of eloquence. I am wary of indulging in the words of your praise, lest we be thought to be striving in mutual flattery. Farewell, and, as you are attentive to me, persevere in your devoted observance. Farewell.

Since my letters are welcome to you, they shall come more frequently. For I do not labor for you to reply, since it seems to demand an injury of duty, when a devoted spirit promises services of its own accord. Farewell.

For a long time now no honor has been done me by your letters. I would complain of your silence, if I doubted your devotion. But because friendship, trusted by experience and proven by evidence, is free from the danger of suspicion. I understand indeed that the diligence of your writing has been checked by public occupations: but I beg you, restore the intermitted service. The gratitude for the duty rendered will stand firm with me, as though no fault of denial had preceded it. Farewell.

Whenever I have occasion to bear testimony to a friend before you, I restrain the effort of speaking overmuch. For what need is there of oratory, where devotion itself is at work? I bring to you, then, concerning my familiar friend Pontiganus, a bare but faithful judgment; whom, had I not approved him worthy of our love, I would by no means hand over to yours. His mind is open, his life looks toward praise. You know surely that I am never more inclined to favor than to truth. You will confirm the trustworthiness of all this, when you find more in him yourself. Farewell.

Late consolations renew grief, and therefore we ought to offer mutual silence to our misfortunes, lest the wounds of fortune, which draw a scar with the passing of time, grow raw again when handled untimely. Rather let discourse be turned to those things which may exhort you to care for your health. For every internal pain of the body grows worse with the injury of winter: and unless you take a journey in sunny days and healthful breezes, I fear greatly lest neglect increase the ailment. Now those things which you believed suited to remedy, or which experience of use has recommended to us, I have sent to you; setting it among the chief of my wishes, that you may forestall the necessity of such remedies by spontaneous health: or, if any remnants of the illness remain, that they may be wiped away by these prayers. But you will render sufficient service to our common friendship, if you remove without delay, by a more favorable report, the anxiety which has arisen in me from your illness. Farewell.

I see, most illustrious consul, how great an honor your love lays upon me. You bid me come to you, and enjoy in person the joy of your magistracy. How can I refuse this, unless you shall have pardoned me with the same devotion with which you have called me? For what am I to do, uncertain of fortune, hindered on the one hand by the long-established observance of honor, and on the other by grief for a lost brother? Two unlike roles are offered to me at once. How can it come to pass that we clothe one face with contrary feelings? Accordingly, being fair-minded, grant me pardon for this burden. Let fortunate friends attend your curule chair with a joyful train. Let whatever friend is untouched by fate be present at your auspices. Allow me meanwhile, whether by time or by reason, to digest my raw grief. What of this too, that I must also console my parents in our common mourning?

Whose distress will be doubled, if to it is joined the care of my so untimely journey. Be, then, ready to pardon. Certainly, if you think there is fault to be found in my absence, be angry rather at my fortune. It has laid its hand upon me, it has drawn me back against my will. Let it not persuade you—being, as it is, an unruly goddess—that I was unwilling to set out. Farewell.

That you were staying at Milan, report had brought to me before your letter, that report which suffers nothing concerning conspicuous men to remain unknown. But what does it profit those who long for you, that, having come so near to us, you are denied us? I bore the distant separation from you more easily. For the hope of your presence, denied by so great an interval, ceased. Now you disturb our expectation by the very ease of proximity. Nor can the intervention of the Alps excuse you to your colleagues; for the more just was their occasion for complaint, the worse is your case for pardon. But there must be a limit set to my grief. At least let your letters hereafter frequent Rome, sweeter than the honeycombs of Hybla or Hymettus; the receiving of which delights me at the greatest profit, but the paying back wearies me. Farewell.

Whatever service you have bestowed upon those present seems to have been rendered as a duty. We who, through various occupation, were absent from your consulship, have been favored with the honor of friendship, not the reward of presence. I give you, then, abundant thanks for the consular offering, but by a good disposition of mind, greater thanks still. And were it not that your modesty set a limit to my words, I would range more widely. And so my speech for now will be sparing, but my memory more ample. Farewell.

It is indeed the mark of your virtue to aid with protection all who shine forth in service at the Palace. But a special care is owed by me to that excellent man Romanus, for the sake of a friendship which has grown between us over a long span of years. Wherefore, if you attribute anything to my testimony, do not doubt that he is worthy whom you should love, and whom you should reward with the greatest services. Certainly, should you deign to hold an examination concerning him, you will pronounce that my letter has fallen short of what you will find overflowing in his merits. Farewell.

Lest you think me altogether idle, I entrust to your learning, as a witness of my late-night labors, a little book, wherein lately I obtained in the senate the favorable votes of the citizens. You see with what prejudgment I forestall the severity of your most weighty examination. I do not plead the merit of my own style, but the verdict of the order. My cause is common to me and to my authors alike. All will know either the agreement of your opinion concerning us, or the insult to their own. Farewell.

I am reckoned to be able to do something through friendships. From this arises the hope which promises to Theophilus, a most illustrious man, your help through my word. What we wish, then, for his advantage is plain. Bring it about, I beg you, that trust placed in me may not seem to have been in vain. Farewell.

Alexander, a most distinguished man, having obtained a governorship, thinks that increase is added to his honor if he should gain your favor. Wherefore he has chosen me as the interpreter of his wish, knowing that my letters carry such weight with you, that this commendation may be reckoned as of the greatest testimony. Farewell.