The Letters of Symmachus, Book IV

My son Flavianus abounds, for the winning of good men's favor, in his own and his father's recommendations. But it concerns the love which I truly owe to my own offspring, that while I perceive nothing lacking to his merits, I should not omit a parent's office. I do therefore what is superfluous, and heap increase upon what is already complete. And I trust that this will avail much toward joining your excellency's affection to my Flavianus: because you understand that what you had bestowed on him by your judgment alone is to be reckoned to me as a benefit. Farewell.

The most respectable man Rufinus, to be reckoned among the choicest part of our order, when he was proceeding to render you the deference owed, believed that he would be doing me an injury unless he took up my greetings as well. He therefore undertakes to convey a salutation from me, which I would send you often, were it easy to find men of like quality. Rare, then, is this correspondence, because such an occasion is rare. Of the man himself I say nothing; for, conscious of his own merit, he flees suspicions of favor, and coming before your judgment does not wish to owe his commendation to a witness rather than to a judge. Farewell.

What the most illustrious order decreed, when consulted by sacred edict concerning the grief of the Africans and the complaints of military men, you will clearly and openly learn from inspection of the records of the curia. But since you have bidden me also to be a familiar reporter of the matter transacted, I will not fail to state briefly what was decreed. When the letters and judgments of our lord Honorius Augustus had been read, and all the pages had been gone through which contained the crimes of Gildo, a like outburst of indignation among good men broke forth. Being therefore consulted in the senate according to ancestral custom (for the authority of judgment could not have stood in the regular order of law), we satisfied the weighty case with devoted votes. After the condemnation of the guilty man there was added a supplication for the food-supply of the Roman people; for we are in fear lest the delay of this intervening time should harm the grain shipments and disturbance arise among the common people.

What I pronounced will come into your hands. You will find both that I asserted the justice of this deed, and that before our lord Arcadius I pleaded the cause of public concord. Farewell.

He who goes to render thanks needs no commendation. And so my son Flavianus, relying on the benefits of your eminence, relieves a parent's care of labor of this kind. It remains for me to write what his own thanksgiving in person will follow up—that nothing is more ready than your virtues to restore the fortunes of men entire. You had already raised up his declining state, and it was thought that you had exhausted what was due; now there has been added to him an honorable summons, which the authority of your testimony assisted. You discover new degrees of benefits, and you think that love which receives no increase is inconstant. O the kindness of a happy nature! What more I could wish for my Flavianus I know not, since you, running ahead of your own accord, make us seem shameless if we still desire anything. Farewell.

I rejoice that I have obtained the travel-warrants with which you have deigned, in the virtue that is yours, to assist my son's praetorship. It remains that you crown what you have granted in the manner of your munificent spirit, and order my household men, sent to Spain for the purchase of chariot-horses, to hasten across at once, since we are pressed by the time of the coming games. But this I dare not ask of you directly—I leave it to your judgment—whether you should direct, by letters sent to friends, that the fulfillment of my wish be assisted. Farewell.

I feel myself in every way unequal to rendering you thanks for my son Flavianus. And since words are easier than deeds, I cannot match the greatness of your benefit with my expressions. For it is not my thanksgiving alone that the honor lost has, with him, returned into favor; the senate and all good men share this among themselves. Wherefore it is a hard thing for the speech of one man to compensate for what the affection of so many has drawn together. You will therefore pardon me for saying little on your behalf. It is a greater thing to restore an honor than to have given it. For the latter fortune allows to happen; the former, humanity alone accomplishes, against fortune itself. The father of princes, now received into heaven, had set forth other examples of clemency beforehand, and had restored to my Flavianus much that had been taken away by misfortunes.

One title of goodness, and the chief one, was reserved for his heir, which our lord Honorius, at the prompting of your greatness, added to his father's benefits, interpreting, namely, that it was time, not will, that had been lacking to the deified prince. Now the works of clemency, interrupted by fate, have been completed by a successor of like disposition. A kind of crowning summit has the gentlest and most modest of princes set upon his father's undertakings; to whom, in return for this favor, I wish for advisers such as you and your like. For those who counsel the highest rulers of the empire to pious and becoming things are the instruments of a good age. Our ruler indeed has a genius from a divine source, and a nature prompt to the pursuit of every virtue; but, if I may use an image, even the best helmsmen are aided not a little by the hands of the rowers.

As for you, both fidelity in warfare and the affection of kinship make you the more devoted friend of his fame. Hence it is that you find on every side ways of winning love for him, and, occupied with greater matters, remind him to look also to private fortunes. Human misfortunes have been put to flight, and nothing sorrowful remains in the senate. To some honor has been restored, to others made whole. Whatever we are individually is owed to one family. But now I will keep within the bounds of a letter; for I fear lest these very words bring distaste to your illustrious modesty, since they cannot match the return of thanks. Rather let those joys reward you which the security of merits brings forth. I would not have you hope, from anyone's words, for repayment of so great a benefit. You know better than others that the reward of a good conscience alone can satisfy those who achieve great things.

One thing, however, I add, as one immoderate, that you continue always to cherish your benefits in my Flavianus. Farewell.

I understand, from the delay and hesitation of the imperial rescript, that something in the matters which my son's praetorian petition comprised is judged incongruous or doubtful. And therefore I owe you once more an account of my requests. As to the horses to be granted for the birthday of our lord Honorius, the invincible prince—although this year the time for that observance has now elapsed—I think my request could not have been faulted. As for the petition concerning the theatrical water-supply and garments of solid silk, this too has often before been granted to others before me, and is thus supported by precedents. As for the amphitheatrical spectacle, which, on account of the capacity of the place, I wish granted for my son's games—the rescripts bear witness that this has not been denied even to the preliminary shows of quaestors, and is not closed by privilege to consuls alone.

Know that the beginning of this matter proceeded from me long ago—not that anything should be added by this to the consular dignity, which recently graced your happy and, indeed, long-owed magistracy (for so preeminent an honor requires no increase of things), but lest the Roman people, being rather eager for such pleasure, should be straitened by the narrowness of a smaller place. For the rest, I do not see what special privilege it holds, since even the census-officers are wont to exhibit, for absent persons, shows there, whose modest scale we wish to emulate. I write this so that I may not seem open to a charge of unfairness or presumption, if something is denied. But I leave it to your most eminent and ever-revered highness to weigh what you judge fitting. For men's opinion will rashly judge, if I do not obtain just requests, since your discernment is accustomed to grant great things. Farewell.

Since the most illustrious order entrusted to me an embassy to your sublime excellency, which both the necessity of the fatherland urged me to undertake, and the aid of your eminence encouraged me to accept—having reached the court, I did not delay to make known to the notice of our lord and prince Honorius, and to your magnificence, the reason for my coming. For upon your judgment's decision hangs the hope of the common mission. I ask, therefore, that having read the petitions of the most illustrious order, copies of which I have enclosed, you deign, among the happy acts of your greatness, to inform my expectation by letter on this matter as well. Farewell.

Has forgetfulness of me so seized your lofty spirit, that you allow me to be so long deprived of your conversation? Or do you think that the neglect of a familiar duty can be endured by me with equanimity? Nay, come, as is the way of your virtues, and celebrate the friendship of letters, and at the same time consider how much richer and more prompt a care ought to be returned by me for your letters, a care which is shown continually even when I am silent. Farewell.

I have often sent you letters, which I believe indeed have been suppressed. For when could I have thought that a man so most observant of friendship, and endowed with so many virtues of soul, would deny me the honor of your office? Let this be the fault of those who lacked fidelity in delivering the letters. Now a desirable event has provided a trustworthy bearer for my writings. Therefore, with the diligence which the faithfulness of the departing traveler promises, I renew toward you the observance of greeting. Your replies will make it so that the use of the pen, resumed late through modesty, I shall exercise frequently, provoked by an exchange. Farewell.

You continue to honor my consulship with your generosity, and, like a public father, you call forth imperial bounty even for future magistrates. With what words, then, am I to celebrate you, who, conspicuous already by right in the height of honors, furnish also the equipment of praetorian games? For you consider that in every age even the duties of private persons ought to be matched. Thus you always add fervor to our lord Honorius, the Augustus of divine lineage, in doing good, and you teach the invincible prince to spur on senatorial moderation with gifts. To him, on my behalf, you alone of all can render thanks, since you were before this the author of the benefit. I, in my son's games, when the Roman arena is filled with the running of leopards, will bear witness as to whom the more rightful applause and the joyful acclaim of voices are owed. I would proceed further, were it not that your noble modesty, equal to your other virtues, avoids the burdens of praise.

I will therefore be sparing of words, in deference to your singular reserve. But let your most exalted highness hold this settled: that my gratitude, though sparing in speech, overflows in spirit. Farewell.

I report that I have returned to my homeland, not yet in possession of health. But if your arrival should smile upon me, I hope that good health will soon return into harmony with me. Farewell.

When we wished to unite our children by the bond of marriage, our first thought on this matter consulted your magnificence, so that the auspice of the happy undertaking might be taken from the public father. God has granted fulfillment to the nuptial vows. Now the honor of receiving the wedding-gift is owed to your eminence both by custom and by love. We beg that you graciously bring hand and mind to receive our attention. For our festivities still lack this crowning joy—that he who before all others deigned to be the author of the alliance formed through our children may likewise remain its approver. Farewell.

That suspicion does not fall upon you, that you might be believed to have been deliberately neglectful of friendship. You have a spirit tenacious of loyalty, and, as circumspect caution marks your admission of friendships, so firm constancy marks your keeping of them. Wherefore I never thought myself an example numbered among the others to whom you granted the consular gift at the beginning of the year; and now I believe more has been bestowed on me than on the rest. For what a general offering gave to them, a special care has restored to us. In this matter I ought not even to be angry with those who wished me to be deprived of the earlier honor; for otherwise it could not have come about that I should twice deserve what another's fraud had withheld. Your favor, therefore, shall stand ever fixed in my heart, and the memory of your constant service shall be diminished by no forgetfulness, whether error or deceit brought this about.

You have taught all that nothing crafty can further be devised to destroy friendships which they see growing through their own snares. Farewell.

I count among my chief joys your letters, witnesses indeed of a brotherly spirit and interpreters of true devotion. The more often I take them up, the more eagerly and abundantly I desire them. For satiety of good things is hard to attain; and pleasant things stir the mind most keenly precisely when they seem to be fulfilling it. Write, therefore, as you do, more often, and do not fear that you will find ungrateful the one whom you see so desirous both of your love and of your conversation. Farewell.

I am indeed too sick at heart, and, under so great a grief, unequal to fulfilling my duties. But never will fortune have such license over me that, overcome by mourning, I should pass over your honor in silence. Rather, I make remedies for my wound with the soothing balm of letters. Which, though they be too weak for the greatness of my grief, yet bring me the most efficacious medicine of your conversation. See what I look for? The service, if it should seem good, owed to friendship, will profit a sick spirit. Farewell.

Falsely do you boast to me of your zeal for hunting, since your letters breathe the thyme of eloquence. Do not try to lift my eyebrows at me—the signs of leisure are one thing, of business another. The countryman smells of earth and herbs; the panting glutton belches wine; seasickness follows the sailor; you friends of the Muses belch forth the flower of Helicon. What trackings of hares, what birthdays of dogs, what hunting-festivals do you falsely claim to me? Do you think I can be drawn away from the pursuit of books into those arts which you claim for yourself? Not even in my earliest years, when age would have allowed it, did I care to raise Amyclaean or Molossian hounds. Far be it from me to wish for such things now, as my years incline toward old age, since my beard, growing whiter, was falling beneath the shears.

But suppose I should sometimes wish to take rustic pleasures. Which of the leading men of the senate, pray, enjoys such felicity of leisure that amid the cares of the fatherland he may find respite in woodland work? You have learned not long since of the grain complaints of the great city. There followed a scarcity of oil; and still the outcry over the harvest continues: hence we, the men of the curia weary of these matters, have sent envoys to beg for remedies; and there is hope that the most clement and divine prince will provide healing aid to the petitions. Meanwhile the city rings with the murmuring of those in distress. You, meanwhile, my friend, go hunting, and vex those already too anxious by boasting of your pleasures. But how can it be that I should believe that a man so great and so distinguished as you finds leisure to search out the lairs of hares?

Whence then comes it, that in the very same letter in which you proclaim the feast-days and working-days of your dogs, you also demand of me a history? True pursuits cannot be disguised. For you confess, unwillingly, amid your playful fictions, the malady of reading. I shall not go further afield. You ask that the ancient records of the Gauls be delivered into your hands. Turn over the closing pages of the Paduan writer, in which the deeds of Caesar are set forth; or, if Livy does not satisfy your desire, take the Diary of C. Caesar, culled from my little library, that it might be sent to you as a gift. This will teach you the origins, the geography, the battles, and whatever there was in the customs or laws of the Gauls. I shall strive, if fortune favor the wish, to gather also the account of the German wars by Pliny the Younger.

For the present, be content with the trust of the work offered; and let our brother Minervius, the most learned judge—and kindest—of my writings (why should I say “judge,” whom I would rather call an applauder?), be also your companion in reading: though I know this is by no means to be asked of you. For a fair and mutual love allows nothing of a good thing to be divided between you two. Farewell.

One must begin from prosperous things; wherefore, in the prologue, so to speak, of my letter I speak of health and well-being. Thereupon I add the petition of my own people. Flavianus, a man of distinction, our common pledge, having long struggled against the harshness of fortune, but by the kindness of the divine prince restored to tranquility, has been ordered to pay his father's tax obligation, grievously increased by an assessment of prices. Nor does the estate derived from those sources suffice for so great a burden. Do, then, if there is any help in you, see that a pious moderation of the times spare the afflicted household: otherwise the goods restored by indulgence will be diminished by the continuation of the exaction. It is hoped that the young Augustus will follow his father's good deeds; to whom, just as the succession of empire came from his father, the most distinguished man, so too may the imitation of his goodness. Farewell.

You have brightened my day with your letter, which bears witness that the diligence of our friendship flourishes still in you. Much pleasure has flowed into my breast. And indeed I had resolved to anticipate your act of courtesy by writing first, had I learned that you had come to Milan. For I had assigned this task to your brother, whom I would not yield to you in affection, that he should announce your arrival promptly. But he, delayed by some sort of collusion in the report, allowed you the first place in opening the greeting. Nor do I take it ill that with you the favor of a brother takes precedence. Meanwhile I must answer your inquiry, by which you ask to know with what pursuits I spend my life. While my son is being initiated into Greek letters, I have again joined myself to his studies as though his fellow-pupil. For affection bids us become boys again, so that the sweetness of letters may be instilled into our children through shared labor.

Your affairs are not in the bud but in the fruit; your most eloquent young son, as I have heard by report, presses hard upon his father with the very heels of eloquence. O happy you, my friend, if you are surpassed! My own training still labors to produce its flower, nor can effort be commanded in an only child. And so, amid sheer fear and diligence, the slow progress of my pledge grows up. Clearly, I think, I have satisfied your inquiries. Now in turn I desire to learn the course of your affairs. Easy enough, if you think me worthy of your letters, is the abundance of travelers, since you make use of the couriers stationed at court through your brother. Farewell.

After the deadly famine of our city, once the grain supply had been restored to tranquility, I had gone down to the coast of Campania. It happened that Martianus, your close friend and, through you, mine as well, was present, bringing your letter: which, when I had run through with joyful eyes, increased for me the charm of the shores I was frequenting. For it often happens that from favorable occurrences the honor and pleasure of places grows, and bears the marks of affection. For no one cultivates friendship more ardently than he who grows angry at neglect. I wish you to take this in such a way that the case for my own dutifulness remains intact: for I acknowledge no fault of a care toward you grown cold.

What of the fact that recently, with our mutual brother as witness—the one embraced by the magistracy of the city—I sent you a double greeting by letter? Must I also answer for the reliability of travelers? Consider how rare or hidden are men's journeys into distant parts; add the faithlessness of those who fail their commissions. You will not accuse the negligence of one absent, I hope, if you consider that in sending letters an occasion belonging to another is required, and in delivering them, the faithfulness of another. But why do I strive to assert my diligence toward you by these testimonies? I believe our friend Martianus himself has faithfully reported to you how great is the memory and the praise of you that lives in my mouth and heart. Indeed, what you may think of my writings, or of my silence, I do not ask: since it is less to address you frequently than to speak of you continually. Why then do you demand writings, which are often ill to be trusted?

What is spoken of one absent is freer, is truer. So, as you wish, boast of the frequency of your pen; I surpass your service in judgment. Farewell.

A twin message alike has come into my hands from you, while you continue to cultivate our friendship with manifold acts of duty. By which example, although every affection is measured not by gift but by manner, I return to you two letters, of which our brother Eusebius, part of my heart, will deliver one, and the young man Martyrius, of excellent character, will deliver the other. And at the same time I urge you to remember to match the faithfulness of this repayment, when in turn the interest of frequent pages begins to press upon you. Farewell.

A certain scruple has hitherto restrained me from being the first to send a letter. For a certain ancient custom has established this manner: that the greeting of those whom a long journey removes from their own hearth should return first. I therefore render, and hold, abundant thanks, having been forestalled by your act of courtesy, by which I have learned that, your illness dispelled, you are in better health, and that my hand has in some manner been unsealed for writing. For which I wish you better progress still. For although according to your character and birth you have attained the summit of honors, fortune has not yet restored to you the full reward and the merit you are owed. Which, even if it has bestowed great things upon you, will never equal your merit. Now I return to the customary forms of speech, by which, duly paying the office of greeting, I ask for a mutual gift in return. For you understand that the minds of those who write are stirred by reciprocity. Farewell.

There survive in the records of Sallust the letter of Africanus which Jugurtha, after the destruction of Numantia, carried to Micipsa as witness to his own distinction. This letter I think should now be committed word for word to paper in the name of our brother Florentinus: because both men shone with equal glory in their own affairs, and thus the same honor of testimony befits the virtue of each. And Scipio indeed gave that letter willingly to the king of Numidia: we yield so great an ornament to you unwillingly. It must be confessed, indeed, that it was for your sake that we allowed it to depart.

Concerning myself, if by the claim of friendship you ask to be informed, the bearer of my questions will be the arbiter of my affairs. Only trust my letter that I am well, and that I cherish diligence toward you, which a rival faithfulness promises me in return concerning you. Farewell.

I have longed for your letter as many were arriving, whom I had presumed would bring me word of you. But when that hope disappointed my expectation, I made it my own effort to address you unbidden, that by the example of my duty I might provoke you to a similar care. I beg, then, that you not allow the vigor of our friendship to languish, and its offices to grow cold, which I impatiently require; although I know that your diligence toward me, even when you refrain from writing, is contained in a faithful mind. Farewell.

I overflow with the fullest joy, when I see that an equal honor is not denied to my epistolary offices; and therefore I am the more spurred on to the love of exercising my pen. For it is not right that zeal should grow torpid, which an equal kindness rewards with a like return of favor. I would wish to say more; but your modesty ought not be burdened by too great an excess of praise. Farewell, and, as you do, keep friendship as an example. We, though unequal in elegance of speech, will strive to be equal in constancy of devotion. Farewell again.

You often accuse me of being slothful in writing. I know not which grieves me more. A discourse omitted seems to charge friendship with neglect; one too sparing, charges dullness. Yet I would rather you find fault with my talent than with my character: for so long as I am mindful of myself, you cannot charge it with forgetfulness of you. You have likewise reproached me for associating your brothers with you in the greeting to be given. I am indeed poor of speech and sparing of paper. But you ought not to hold against me as a fault what is plainly seen in my embrace of them. But the law of our household bids that the authority of a greater number prevail with me. What if I should invite the three of you together to the joyfulness of a table? Would you not wish to be received on the same couch with your brothers? And do not begrudge it if, being a debtor for a single letter, I in some manner practice upon you a threefold rate of interest.

For nothing is paid to me by each of you separately on behalf of the other. Or why do you demand my services be divided, you who are joined together to reproach me? Farewell.

It is plain to all that human wits are quick to find fault. But you, who are numbered among rare good things, forgo pursuing what is easier by nature; and accept the defense of my long silence, which abounds in many pleas of justice; if you consider that near the Rhine, from which region both our excellent prince and the most powerful magistrate are now absent, none of our party has meanwhile had occasion to travel that way. It might chance that some man, unknown to me, would undertake so long a journey for a private matter of mine. You have greater opportunity of those journeying to Rome. First, because to the common head of the empire men gather from every nation; then because the varied desires or necessities of all follow the most clement prince, who dwells in that region. And yet, though many occasions offer you couriers, you likewise refrain from the pen, nor are you pressed by any demand from me.

For my own security makes it so that I do not doubt I am loved even by one who is silent. Let not, then, the trust of our friendship depend upon letters. Their intervals are the work of chance. But the faith of mutual affection resents the tongue's assertion. Besides, you ask for lengthy letters, as though about to make trial of how much I have advanced in writing in my grey old age. Always, indeed, like withering streams, I have shunned wider banks, that brevity might conceal a feigned poverty. Now the heavy years too have drunk up whatever was still dripping from my breast. Besides, there is no material at hand to extend what I write. You know my leisure, of which to speak at large with you is tiresome to us both. To great affairs belong many words. Let the same measure hold for our speech as holds for our fortune. I would rather, in the manner of the Aborigines, write my message upon the wood or bark of the tree of eternal salvation.

Let Egypt weave her rolls of papyrus for libraries and the forum. Let it suffice, at times, for the celebration of friendship; if you are well, it is well. I hope that these very exchanges of greeting, which you complain are too brief, may remain long between us while we are apart. Farewell.

I hope, as I have heard by report, that you will come to the neighboring parts. It may chance that what I have learned is true. I, however, have pressed upon the faithfulness of our brother Minervius two small orations of mine, either to be delivered to you in person, or to be sent to my homeland. I ought to be sparing in this letter. For in those which you will undertake to read, your greedy affection will be satisfied. Yet I remind you, lest your estimation of me be changed by the title of a single oration. For a rejected censure weighs upon us at first, from the mere inspection of the subject. But when you have read what was said, you will return to my view with your judgment. This part, which was rejected by the storm of the times, the authority of our whole order preferred above all; lest, under a specious name, doors be thrown open to those accustomed to seek unrestrained license.

You will find several assertions of utility and honor within the very body of the oration. My concern desires your judgment on both works. Farewell.

You know that the fault of silence is alike between us: and therefore it is unjustly charged to me as a fault, since it is common to both. And yet a defence is at hand for me: because neither do the departures of travelers become known; and you do not remain in the same abode: you exchange home either for Trier out of civic duty, or for the five provinces for the pleasure of leisure. For me there is a continual station at Rome; and there is now a greater reason for staying, since the care of your eminent brother's presence holds me, and his glory delights me. You could therefore have joined your letters in one route, so that brother and one to be reckoned equal to a brother might receive them together. I rejoice that this has been attended to by you, even if late. Yet even while you refrained from writing, I never thought any diminution of your diligence toward me had occurred.

For such is the security of true friendship, that it takes the measure of mutual love from its own faithfulness. It irks me to say more in this vein. Wherefore I pass to that part of your discourse which seems to touch upon a desire for my orations. You say that our writings have come into your hands, our brother Minervius being the betrayer, who does not refrain from my trifles out of a curiosity for letters rather than a just delight. If you have so much leisure that you seek out even some insipid things to wipe away tedium, I will produce whatever I have labored over with my pen; secure of the pardon which the affection of your mind promises me. I had almost passed over what I ought to have accused in the foremost place. Has the simple use of our letters so perished, that you prefer to your pages the blandishments of the present age?

Let us return, then, to unadorned titles of names; and when greeting is given or returned, let us think nothing more honored or more pleasing than our own names themselves. Let my letter, at any rate, be an example to you: which if you disdain to emulate, I shall seem both to be marked with arrogance, and to be joined to the rest, among whom there is great suspicion in words, no refinement in meaning. Farewell.

Milan summoned you, as it did me, the same consul having called us. I hoped that a matter of vows would bring us together. But when you were absent through illness, I bore with great grief the loss of a joy most eagerly awaited. Now, the consular festivities having been finished beyond the magnanimity of all, I am returning to Rome; whither the most eminent magistrate, with his son-in-law confirming it, promised he would come at once. How I would wish, if health also returns entirely, that you would compensate for the earlier pardon by your arrival, and by one journey both render voluntary duty to the senate, and pay what is owed to the consul. But whence may I hope for so much, since it has been vain even to hope for lighter things? How long will you prefer the toga to hunting? Farewell.

I wish that the debt of love between us should grow daily. But I wish to owe nothing to your letters, which are often reproached to me, as if I were slothful. Therefore, your two letters not having been delivered to me at the same time, I reply with an equal number, but in one joint dispatch. We are well, as much as an age declining toward old age allows. Rarely is our estate visited, but rarer still is the practice of reading. To you it is granted to do both very much—to live in the country and to be learned. Hence it is that you address me frequently: because all time, that it may be sought out by your talent, is claimed for leisure. But my boldness shall not yield to your confidence.

Though you may drink deep of the monuments of the ancients, and commit to pages things worthy to be learned by heart, still I will importune, with my parched words, the writings of him whom I must read out of love and judgment, so that I may make up for the losses of those I neglect. Farewell.

You take delight in my letters. I believe it. Hence it is that you demand them often and ardently. But I do not at once deserve the mark of sloth, if I cannot satisfy the greediness of your love for me. Or do you think the memory of friendship slips away through silence? Beware of supposing such things of minds whose judgments are eternal. For faithfulness carries very great weight, and being bound by a voluntary oath, it does not need the reminder of the pen. Has not this been written by me to you always? And yet you do not abandon your inveterate complaint. What if it is better to be silent for a long time? Do you not see that oracles which spoke of old have ceased, and no writings are read in the Cumaean cave, that Dodona no longer speaks through its leaves, and that no song is heard from the Delphic vents?

Suffer, then, that a little man fashioned by Prometheus' hand should cease to commit to papyrus what for a long time now is not read on the leaves of seers. Yet do not suppose that silence has been announced to you by me. I will keep, in writing, as great a measure of time as we are distant from each other in place. Do you too conquer impatience by reason, which does not allow that my letters should be brought to you daily, dwelling as you are in the neighborhood of the Rhine, from our Tiber. Farewell.

Great indeed are the fruits which I gather from your letters. But they become more abundant while they pass through the hands of our common brothers. For each one adds something of his own to your writings. To you, then, I credit whatever I gather from the mouths of all. But consider in turn with how much labor I must answer the variety of so many lofty minds. For you are equals, and yet not alike. Therefore they bring me no less difficulty in repaying than sweetness in receiving. Nature has laid down this law for all human joys, that cares follow pleasure. The first day of a child born gladdens the parents; soon dutiful fears chase away the brief gladness. Honor is joyful at its outset, then the heat of labors enters the mind. It would be tedious, were I to go on weaving similar things. I must also take heed as to what is lawful to say of so great a man. You have sworn rashly.

For you complain that letters are committed to perishable paper, and you have bound to an oath an enormous judgment. Are you making sport of me, that what I say to you rather carelessly you think should be transferred to wax-tablets of stylus-wood, or to lime-wood diptychs, lest the easy decay of old age corrupt the writings of papyrus? And indeed the divination of the Martian seers was inscribed on perishable bark. The Cumaean warnings took to woven linens. You even bid my letters be poured into silken volumes, after the Persian fashion. Great are the weights of your authority, nor can I think it a matter of favor that you allege it under oath: but when I look again upon myself, my confidence falters, and conscience contradicts the testimony. Thus what the person of the judge makes credible, the diffidence of the hearer rejects. Therefore you alone will remove the ambiguities, if henceforth you bid your love to speak more sparingly of my praises. Farewell.

You have stolen upon my modesty by writing first: I would have you believe I am bound to you by this gift as by a pledge. But I do not bear that you should seem, as it were, to stand as a new caller at the doors of friendship. Long ago I received your virtues, equal to your brother's, into the possession of my heart. You have also grown, by a legitimate share, into the succession of your father's intimacy with me, although the fulness of my love has accrued to each of you individually: because the goods of the mind, even though they are thought to be scattered among many, nevertheless benefit each one fully and undivided. Besides, when you were serving as a soldier of Palatine eloquence, I extended the right hand of friendship to you. Wherefore, bound by so many and so great pledges, let us not reckon the age of our affection by the novitiate of our correspondence.

For as the mind is swifter than letters, so it was earlier to love than to write. Farewell.

After the assertion of travelers made it known publicly that you had come to Milan, I hoped for your letters from nearby; but when my expectation was disappointed, and no reward of hope followed, I claimed for my own work the duty I had presumed of you. Besides, the honorable man my brother Bassus increased the occasion for writing, who, having been torn from us for a little while, ought to be transferred by me into your heart. I have added another page, to be delivered to your brother, whenever chance shall favor his return to his homeland. He has already sprinkled us with the flowers of his eloquence, and had committed to me, in pleasant leisure, the ancient records of the Gauls to be copied out. It has happened as I wished, that through you both may be rendered to him: the honor of my letter, and the fruit of the history he sought. Farewell.

Paulus, my friend, has for a long time served in the sacred treasury, but he is not to be regarded by you according to the rank of his service. For by the uprightness of his character he surpasses the modesty of his office. And do not despise the man, if you examine the number of his years of service. His modesty makes his advancement slower, which causes him to remain within the bounds of the merit of his rank. Yet he does not regret having stood long. For he has been reserved for your judgment, under which to emerge is the greatest reward of delay. Since, then, the integrity of his life and the length of his service plead in his favor, it is fitting that, with me as intercessor and you as sponsor, he should attain the fruits that are owed him. Farewell.

Gaudentius, my friend, has fled into the bosom of your patronage, a man worthy to be loved in every respect. His lineage is senatorial; his mind and modesty are nobler than his origin and stock. If you do not think my testimony tinged with the dye of favor, receive him to be loved. A long inspection of his services of respect will make you judge that I have said too little. Farewell.

Love Flavianus, my lord and son, as much as you interpret me to wish; and if it can be done, enter into a contest with me over love for him. I shall rejoice if you win. But let this be proved to me only when he himself begins to esteem you beyond the measure of my own diligence. For if friendship consists of mutual services, it will be easy for me to measure your affection from his mind. Farewell.

If you consider how great is the rarity of the innocent, you will love Desiderius, my son, to be counted among the choice few. That my judgment concerning him is not mistaken you will determine, when he comes under your examination. Meanwhile I ask that through me the sanctuary of your friendship be opened to him, and that you lend a kindly ear to him as he sets forth the just claims of his cases. If you shall have taken good counsel for him in anything, my pledge will be discharged, which has faithfully assured him of hope in your beneficence. Farewell.

In the settling of our friend Rusticus's business, I owed you a wish fulfilled; my son Caecilianus provided the assistance. It is not, then, for my modesty to seize the credit for another's labor. Let us both alike claim as our due what your care ordained should be done, but which my health could not carry out. Farewell.

I know what you feel about me: but, certain of your judgment, I now refuse to be praised. Emulate, at any rate, what I silently admire in you, since true reverence carries more weight. Let us leave the flatteries of words to new friends among themselves. Let alternating praises delight them, as far as building trust in a bond. Let our affection be hidden away in the innermost shrine of our hearts. The very dwelling of the heart is in secret. Thence let your care regard me. But it is not my place to give a model for writing letters; I wish only that you consider this: since you are most generous in praising, it seems to me too little that I am praised by you, unless I am obliged the more. Besides, I want to know why the old-fashioned custom, preserved in the names set at the head of our letters, has been absent from the body of your letter. Let others delight in being raised up by a title of loftiness.

I refuse the appellation of magnificence, unless perchance you think me shameless, because I do not offer the same embellishments to your honor. Feigned love submits itself to such words. The cultivation of friendship is free-born. Let plain white garments, not embroidered robes, clothe our trust. Why should I need so lofty a degree of reverence? I would rather be loved by a brother than looked up to. Farewell.

Eusebius, my most intimate friend, likewise an old soldier of the private treasury, has long, hindered by illness, failed in his duty to you. I must ask you not to let him be noted among the idle. But the obtaining of pardon will not stand, unless, being made propitious, you add to it some further kindness. I ask, therefore, that he be bidden to devote his diligence to the collecting of public debts throughout Etruria, so that he may remove by some recommendation of labor the fault of long absence. Farewell.

A greeting proceeding from you always indeed creates joy in me, but especially that which is entrusted to be brought by intimate friends. For he adds to your writings things worthy of inquiry, and reports of you to the ear what may have been lacking to reading. So now your friend Sebastianus, after your letter had been delivered, when I inquired whether all was proceeding as you wished, presented to me an image of your presence. The same man will now report to you whatever you may wish to know of my leisure, for he found me lingering in the Laurentine woods, given over to rural quiet. For what should I pursue more, I who sometimes mend a health broken down, who often shun crowds, who always cherish the innocence of letters? Farewell.

I have no confidence in my pen or my talent. But your kindness provokes my daring. I have sent, therefore, to your learning two little orations of mine: one of which, concerning the son of Polybius, arose out of a recent affair; the other, prepared by me long ago when the matter was being handled in the senate house, has now come forth, increased with fuller work: its subject is a rejected censorship, which then the authority of the whole senate put to flight. Do not marvel that so grave an order spurned the office of magistracy. In our oration you will find no light causes for the avoidance of this power. Farewell.

I owe it to commend to you men of tried worth, because it is a special gift that they should be inserted among your friendships. Receive, then, I ask, men easily of the highest rank by birth and character, and deem them, at their very first meeting, worthy of an intimacy of the inner chamber. A common embassy of the provincials of Campania has been entrusted to them. The business abounds in justice; my care commends the persons. You see there are two grounds for exercising kindness toward them: for which, publicly, the fairness of their petitions intervenes, and privately, a not ungracious commender. Farewell.

I saw at Rome our son Protadius, to whose commendation nothing was lacking from the ornaments of your family except your letters. When I had longed for these, he answered that the journey to the nearer Gaul had been enjoined upon him by his father-in-law, while you were engaged far off. I did not gladly accept the young man's excuse; the rest of his character I approved. This is enough for a father's ears, to whom I do not wish the testimony of a brief trial to seem in my favor as a matter of partiality. At the same time I fear lest I detract something from your love for your son; for it is not fitting that he be helped in your sight through the intercession of another's advocacy. Farewell.

To some we grant letters out of courtesy. These, however, I give to my lord and brother Bassus, who does not differ from his sister in fairness; nay rather he is fortified by the aids of the law. For he demands that a runaway slave of his be brought to him, for the tracking down of whom neither the authority of an imperial rescript nor the vigor of the count of Africa has been able to avail: since the man, conscious of a bold crime, has by flight into hiding escaped the punishment hanging over him. Since, then, the praiseworthy count of Africa is said to have given you a public letter concerning his deed and wickedness, it will be a mark of your justice and kindness to invoke the divine judgment in our favor, lest an innocent household be further terrified by the deadly contrivances of a worthless slave. Farewell.

Both while I dwelt at Milan I performed the observance of greeting toward you; and now, the journey retraced, I have not refused diligent attention to the duty of correspondence. You expect, I believe, that I should ask in return the favor of a letter. That, plainly, is promised not by my urging, but by your own affection. Let those exact the return of the pen who do not deserve the return of the heart. Farewell.

Long have you delayed giving me the report I asked concerning your brother's arrival; I suppose, so that the honor of a greeting might come first. I recognize this pious collusion, yet I do not believe it, and of my own accord I, alone, summon two into the contest of familiar letters. Leisure, you will say, affords you this confidence in your duties. What then, that the honor of the quaestorship and the practice of drafting sacred constitutions has trained you the more? But with him I share the condition of private life. And would that the watchfulness of a good prince might claim his labor too for itself. It must be borne: both of you may please me by your devotion, even if in letters both of you should fail me. Farewell.

I find by experience that you are doing everything for the welfare of Flavianus, a most distinguished man, my ward. From this hope arises in me, and my spirit rises up, that his remaining troubles can be healed with you as physician. For though by the clemency of the deified emperor he has obtained great things, he is still, so to speak, strangled by one knot of misfortune; namely, that this man of slender means, and now heavily drained by the loss of his patrimony, is ordered to pay the assessed value of his father's consolation-gift. Therefore through you and men like you the impending ruin ought to be removed. Nor is the matter difficult to obtain. For what imperial kindness has remitted to many who suffer from ill will toward them, will, when asked in the father's name, be relaxed with much fairer pardon. This concession will also profit the glory of the times, if what was lacking in the benefits of the prince a pious successor shall add. Farewell.

I cannot embrace in words how many joys one single day has brought me together. You recognize, I believe, the cause, of which you were the author. For the third distinction of your writing brought to a climax the twin letters of our common brothers. And so, as the choice among good things is difficult, I hesitated a little as to which page I should read first; so great in me was the longing for each one severally. Presently I ran through them all with a quick reading, lest by lingering I delay the inspection of what remained. Nor did reading once suffice, so that whatever my first eagerness had merely skimmed, a repeated reading might impress upon me. There was in the words of each a varied charm of expression, in which alone the letters differed. For one mind had dictated them all. I could in good faith add greater things. But your ears, though they rejoice in the praises of your brothers, yet through modesty do not bear the sharing of glorious testimony.

It remains that I answer briefly to you, who demand my return under a certain invitation of the curia. About the Ides of November, if only events favor my plans, I am preparing to hasten back into your sight. If the day of my promise seems late, I do not wish the embassy of the senate to be delayed on my account, which has long since been entrusted to illustrious men and furnished with instructions, and requires no addition either of persons or of petitions. It is fitting, therefore, to stand by what has been arranged, nor is it right that, after the example of the recent dissension, things already confirmed should be overturned by fresh negotiations. These things, as you write, you yourself had already seen before I did, so that the more must one adhere to the decisions, which your authority commends to me, and my assent to you. Farewell.

You have come by effort to that rank of office in which you ought to assist the fortune of my friend Benedictus, whom, though liable to no crime, the unfairness of fortune has driven from his position and deprived of his office. For him, to win your favor, not only his own integrity but also my commendation ought to open the way. For I believe my letters have such weight with you that it would be right to hope for success, even if I asked for difficult things. This I thought worth mentioning, so that you may understand what we feel about your disposition and friendship, and how much your justice ought both to profit and to assist this man. Farewell.

You excuse yourself for having until now been silent. This fault is shared. For me too a long illness has kept back from the exchange of letters. I think you shuddered, when you read bitter news about me. Return to a happier state of mind: for by God's favor I have restored my health. Let, then, an easy pardon for the cessation of correspondence be granted on both sides. Let us mutually forgive each other what both of us have failed in. But why do you whisper to me of the meager supplies from Africa? Far be it that this present year should imitate the fortune of the years before. Providence will, I hope, block off the sad paths of misfortune, by informing the sacred ears and by the correction of the judges concerned with the shipment of food supplies. Nor does the season shut out hope. For the sea still lies open to lawful voyages, and autumn does not yet plunge headlong into winter.

It is pleasing nonetheless that amid these things you grow anxious, and by pious fear you forestall the necessity. A better outcome will reward your care, and the fruit of your praise will bring it about that afterward it will be sweet to you to have feared. Farewell.

The greeting spoken to me by you I repay with equal honor. I would wish that the practice of alternating letters might often come to both of us. But since distances do not allow this to fall out according to our common wish, let the account of patience make amends. Certainly there ought to be ready between us mutual pardon for delay. You will not excuse yourself with the same ease for the fact that I learned of the marriage of our son Minervius rather from the report of others than from your own letters. Or did you fear that I would demand of you a gold coin struck in commemoration? My modesty could have kept silent about the loss of the customary gift. But love does not know how to forgive the denial of joy. And yet, since I am of a gentle mind toward my own, I promise you remission of this offense, if in the matter of the grandson received you have anticipated the swiftness of messengers with a letter. Farewell.

EPIST. LVI. Here ends the letter to florentinus. Here begins one addressed jointly to the brothers minervius, PROTADIUS, And florentinus.

Both your concord and my weakness during these days make me join you together in the greeting of a single page. This will be either commendable on account of the fellowship of your mutual love, or to be pardoned on account of the present state of my health. For you will judge the exhaustion of my strength, when you see that even in the signing of this letter a labored hand is at work. To this add that the pious hastening home to hearth and father of our son Nemesius asked for a testimony about myself more of solemn duty than of satisfaction. The matter demands that, after my greeting is given, I bear witness to his most flourishing character. But I fear lest I seem to be putting my labor on display; which would have profited the young man more in the fine arts, had not his brother's misfortune broken the course of both.

Yet this I would say with the most sincere good faith: that the happiness derived from one of his two parents is indeed diminished, but that this one can, by the joy he gives his own, make up for both. Farewell to you all.

Read again the course of the manner hitherto disguised, with me presiding as the champion of familiar duties, who first broke our common agreement. Nor do I ask letters in proportion to your number, although this exchange the love of each of you severally owes me. It is a mark of great indulgence that you should discharge, by an alternating repayment, the loan which I alone extend to you. Farewell to you all.

I gather from your letters a yearly harvest of joy. This return, these riches, Spain pays to me. And so, when winter is driven back and the sea-lanes for ships open, I entrust to the winds your pages, which this year, though frequent, still renders late. For autumn was already departing when your men reached the Tiber. Hence it happened that they lingered with us for lack of navigation. I urge you, then, out of your fairness, to take their delay in good part. Although first, in my own name, pardon must be asked, because I have neglected the right of choice which you gave me over four chariot-horses. I would have you believe this abstinence was not out of disdain. But because I found none of them lively under the yoke or gentle in back, my selection, not being spurred on by their merits, yielded to circumstance as it fell out.

It seems a fitting time to court your diligence with entreaties, that for the praetorian office of my son horses distinguished in appearance and in speed be provided. Twice before now, by the splendor of a public spectacle, we have come into men's mouths. It seems that expectation, which has grown by these precedents, must be satisfied. Wherefore I commend to your affection the cause of our reputation, which must for a while bend the strictness of your character and the seriousness of your mind toward the ears of the populace; the price will be furnished from my household, to be paid, at your discretion, to the owners of noble four-horse teams. I ask of your friendship only the care of selection. This is easy to do, since Spain is rich in horse-stock, and a great number of herds affords abundance for your examination. Farewell.

I am indeed an excessive demander of your conversation. I do not charge you with the intervals of your silence, but I suspect that something of our friendship is lost through the rarity of your address; though I know that the seat of devotion is in the heart, and the relief of longing proceeds from the mouth. My earlier letters, then, held more the longing for your discourse than a reproof of your silence: and therefore you need not labor to give me assurance of your affection: for I take my judgment of your mind from my own; since no one is a truer appraiser of another's love than he who takes the example from his own. This being so, since in a matter already clear it irks me to be lengthy, I announce to you that my son has been designated to the urban praetorship. You understand what this notice means. Noble chariot-teams must be prepared.

And we shall send the price this coming summer, but let the selection already run ahead of the need: for in such matters longer diligence avails much. Therefore gird yourself, that the second magistracy of my son may surpass the magnificence once shown in his quaestorship, for which, through you, illustrious fame was won. For the truest and greatest advance of praise is whenever what follows surpasses what went before. Farewell.

The praetorship of my son, if fortune favors the word, the coming year awaits. I must prepare noble chariot-horses; you must attend to procuring them: so that the expectation of the Roman people may be answered by my money and your care. You remember I have asked this of you in frequent letters. Now I must use words of reminder, not of repetition: and yet, though your goodwill toward us requires no soliciting, my wishes press me so much that I press anxious entreaties upon your ears as though I were a new petitioner. For I must guard the reputation of precedents, which, after the consular munificence of our house and my son's quaestorian office, promises nothing mediocre concerning us. This, then, is the sum of my request: that your diligence make me equal to my past glory. My household will unhesitatingly pay whatever prices your fairness deems right. It will be your kindness either to supply from your own resources, or to select from the herds of others, whatever generous stock Spain produces for the chariot contest.

Amid all this I do not fear that you think me eager for a plebeian sort of praise. For you know, by your own wisdom, that narrow minds do not befit the magistracies of a great city. This too your Tully teaches, condemning extravagance in private affairs, but approving magnificence in public ones. Wherefore, from your utmost resources, assist the splendid coloring of the Roman year; you will come to share in popular favor, if through your kindness a more celebrated fame should come to us. Farewell.

Let your friend Tuentius take his sleep on whichever ear he pleases. For high rank asks nothing of a poor man. Poverty itself may perhaps be burdensome to many; yet it has an exemption from another's burden. Add, if you please, to his security the privilege of his priesthood, and the manifold defenses of one man. It seems to me that an exhausted fortune is a stronger remedy than all the exemptions granted. But I would have you know that the investigators of senatorial land will straightway be present, and that a fuller pardon may be hoped for Tuentius, if the examination of his poverty should confirm its truth. Meanwhile, let him go about freely, safe by virtue of his previous proceedings. Nothing will be changed after the judgment given in his favor by the illustrious man Felix, provided only that the diligence of the inquiry confirm the straitened circumstances of the senator, long since alleged.

Now I must chide you as a friend, for having, though you skirted the neighboring routes, thought it too long to turn your reins toward us. Spain would have granted Rome the pardon for the delay. For she knows how to yield her own desires to the parent of all the provinces. Nor is she so grudging as to be unwilling to show us her own good things. Wherefore, cheated of your favor, we earnestly beg the second fruits of friendship, that whenever chance affords opportunity, we may at least read of him whom we had rather have seen. Farewell.

And our friendship is on the lips of many; and the praise of your horses has traveled far. Hence it happens that the magistrates of each their own homeland seek the aid of my recommendation, drawn by the fame of your studs. For this reason the leading men of the Antiochenes, sent to purchase four-horse teams, wished to be assisted with you by the conciliation of my word. Grant, I beg, to men long on their travels, both a just kindness in the choosing and in the price; which may confirm to men who followed a flattering opinion, that they hoped truly, both from your zeal and from my merit. Farewell.

Let it be allowed to say: we are not in want of a supply of curule horses, but the delay of the praetorship spurs us to the desire of a more generous gift. If then (as usual) the execution of my commission is sweet to you, I wish that four four-horse teams from the herd of the Laudaciani, such as your selection may pick out as the flower, be brought to me, as soon as the spring sailing shall have opened the sea. I will repay in kind the price which your letter shall have signified to those sent. Though I ought not to have promised this, since the faith of friendship requires no written bond. I believe you wonder why I do not rather ask from your own herds, which surpass even the noblest of the Iberians in nobility. The city suffers a distaste for a uniform spectacle, whose satiety I must overcome by variety. Let it be for your diligence alone to apply judgment, and to match the praise of your own from other stables.

For when a friend's business is at stake, you ought to think those also your own which you shall have chosen. Farewell.

No bearer of your letters ever returns to you empty of the same office, yet you charge us with restlessness, and go so far as to reproach us with your own diligent constancy. You do this after the manner of lovers, among whom the thirst for such offices, even when they abound, is great. Nor do you ask only for letters; you also bid our little unpublished speeches be brought into your hands: a thing which seems to show what judgment you hold of those you have already received. For no desire would advance to a second gift, if the former displeased. I have therefore sent, out of the more recent ones, five in number, to which public favor has already given confidence. But after the verdict of the toga-clad nation, I still hang in suspense awaiting your judgment, which I wish you to deliver under oath, since it is fitting that faith be bound by an oath, whenever friendship comes under suspicion of partiality. Farewell.

I had long been in expectation of your letters, uncertain in mind what so long a delay might mean. But when you rendered me possessor of the desired gift, care turned into joy. And indeed nature has so arranged it, that the complaint of a long-sought office departs, if we obtain what was wished. Therefore with great outlay of gratitude I rejoice that the pledge of our bond has been restored to me. You will grant that I be not disappointed of this expectation, since you have preserved your diligence toward me by unbroken affection. Farewell.

I shall see what the justice of the times, what the goodness of our cause, what your care, if indeed I am dear to your heart, can accomplish. As for me, in my brother Eusebius, a man of most illustrious rank, I embrace the pledge of the moderation he has kept toward us, and I cherish his uprightness in mind, and commend it in speech. And though he does not seek reward for his good purpose, yet we wish to discharge an honorable life through your friendship. You will do a thing then as acceptable to my wish as it is consonant with your character, if that most prudent man notes that whatever he bestows on me, he has conferred it upon the favor of all good men. Farewell.

It is both fitting to the clemency of the times, and familiar to your holy disposition, to relieve those in need of help. Hence a confidence has arisen in me of interceding for our brother Steminatius, from whom envy of fortune long ago took away everything, save the love of good men. Nor indeed can it be doubted what he deserves from every good man, he who was lately summoned by our unconquered princes, lest he be freed through indulgence: and he has changed his sad fate more by honor than by pardon, and was not so much rescued as sought after. Whence a sure hope arises that our prince too, venerable for his mildness, following the example of a just father and a loving brother, will grant better supplements to his fortune, if only your recommendation aids the plea of the exhausted senator.

For he asks two things easy to do, but great for the glory of him who grants them: to be restored to the senate by sacred testimony, and to be freed from want by the recovery of a modest sum of silver. That your favor, together with that of the other nobles who urge you, may advance these things, concerns the good of the age, to which pious deeds bring perpetual praise. Farewell.

Even if a domestic and friendly petition were absent, public vigor could not fail a just desire. For what is so proper to justice, as that a cheat of a most illustrious and praiseworthy woman, my mother, be deprived of the effect of his cunning, lest he mock another's advantages, relying on the help of the province's patrons? Whose shamelessness has driven the matron, though shunning lawsuits, to fly for judgment to the praetorian summit. Now the matter in question is of this sort. A very few months ago, that man leased from my mother the granaries at Aquileia, and Ceresfield (unknown to her because of the distance of the journey), for a slight rent; and he so abused them, that though for a short time, he is said to have deliberately brought ruin upon those very places. When she often met with him, that he should give up the lease, she was repeatedly foiled by the man's contempt and by the intervention of certain persons.

Now, needy of help, she desires a twofold benefit of your favor. First, that the most shameless tenant be expelled from the detention of the places. Then, that having taken an estimate of the worsened property, he acknowledge the expense of just restoration. Since therefore we ask what is fair, I believe it will come to pass that your favor will smile upon my petition and upon my mother's interests. Farewell.

Kindly, as is your custom, you aided our return journey by sending an attendant, whom, having advanced to the upper parts of the Apennines, I dismissed with the added service of a letter, so that the gratitude which I cannot match in deeds, I might at least compensate with the honor of words. What remains of the journey, I hope, with God's leave first invoked, will be accomplished without hardship. For less troublesome are those things which promise a near hope of arriving. Farewell.

At my departure you deigned to entrust to me a care befitting our friendship, that I should not keep silent about matters suited to your reputation and your acts. The occasion demanding it, then, I discharge what was enjoined upon me. For I see that the accounting of the basilica and the bridge has rightly indeed been entrusted to Bonosus, a man of praesidial rank: to whom both vigilance remains sufficient to mark the boundaries of the winding public account, and good faith to pursue whatever the examination shall discover. But I fear lest the matter entrusted grow cold through trickeries, the man he received as partner in the inquiry working against it. And so I do not allow you to remain ignorant that the matter is being brought to this, that a great loss of public expense is being cloaked by the zeal of contention. For what does that partnership mean, especially in an inquiry which seems to bind the inquirer himself?

Wherefore correction must be applied to this part alone, and the sum of the inquiry referred to the one man whom you shall have chosen of your own accord, with the aid of your own staff added; so that the lesser officials may be compelled to reveal the good faith of what has been supplied or brought in. The outcome will prove how much your care has provided for the public interest, when, expenses being restrained from new increase, the sum of what remains shall satisfy the completion of the works. Farewell.

I am filled with the greatest joy as often as you write, and most of all when the bitterness of complaint is absent. Now your pen departs from its usual pleasantness. For it falsely charges a certain unfairness upon my ward, with whom you have some dispute over boundaries. And so I suppressed the letter written to him against the law of friendship, lest just resentment offend one so devoted to you. Now there was a boundary dispute in Sicily between his mother and your agent: which was settled not, as you write, by Venustus, but by another governor. Therefore in both persons the error of the one suggesting it, once uncovered, removed that reproach from my ward. Consider, out of your singular modesty, to which side satisfaction is chiefly owed. And I say nothing of the present state of affairs, which ought to have tempered you in writing. Add that pecuniary causes ought not to be pressed even to the harm of friendships. But why say more on this?

Hereafter I hope to deserve a calmer tone from you, and to gather, together with the constancy of your old regard for me, an affection extended also toward my own. Farewell.

Frequent experience shows, and clear proofs of your spirit attest, that examples of true friendship are to be taken from you. For no one bestows firmer constancy upon the duties of intimacy, especially amid so great a mass of public cares, which might dull another's zeal, did not brotherly affection overcome the clamoring necessities. Wherefore the only thing that suits modesty, I yield to your most excellent devotion, and modestly acknowledge myself unequal to returning the like. Nor do I fear that your diligence will grow slack under such praise; rather I hope your benevolence (if anything can be added to a full measure) will be more generous still, since it is the way of good men to heap up kind endeavors, whose gratitude they feel does not perish. Farewell.

I do what humanity urges, that I join men of good fruit to your friendship. One of these is Felix, honorable in rank and in military experience. If you bestow any affection upon him, it will pertain to my own gratitude. Farewell.

I wondered what the matter was, that you, most attentive to our friendship, so long refrained from writing letters. But the tenor of your letter showed that you had avoided being the messenger of sad matters, which neither the loyalty of friendship nor the common cause allowed to be contained by longer silence. For it is generally useful to bring into public notice what one wishes to see corrected, so that by the announcement of coming danger, the care of all may be moved to take counsel. By great necessity, then, you have declared the want of the coming year. For what hope remains, when in the African provinces not even the threshing of the grain has answered even to modest sustenance, and the coming year awaits seed supplied from other lands? Rightly, therefore, the anxiety of the provincials has fled for refuge to the providence of the eternal princes.

Meanwhile, while a greater relief is sought from them, let your humanity cherish the exhausted, and, as one who shares in another's grief, persuade the suffering that whatever the province has endured has happened to yourself as well. As for me, I am well, though my sick spirit knows not the good of health: but that I may gain some comfort, I beg you to write more indulgently, and to invite me to reply by the example of your own constancy. Farewell.