Letter 9.16

Your letter delighted me. First I loved your affection, which prompted you to write out of concern lest Silius by his message had caused me some worry. You had written to me about it before, twice in fact with the same text, so that I could easily see you were troubled; and I had written back to you carefully, so as in such a matter and at such a time either to free you from that concern or at least to lighten it. But since in your most recent letter too you show how much this matter concerns you, consider this, my dear Paetus: whatever could be done by art -- for it is no longer enough to fight with counsel; some artifice must be devised -- but still, whatever could be accomplished or achieved in winning and gathering the goodwill of those men, I have pursued with the greatest zeal, and not in vain, as I believe. For I am so treated and so respected by all those who are dear to Caesar that I believe they love me -- though it is not easy to distinguish true love from false unless some occasion arises in which, as gold by fire, so faithful goodwill can be tested by some danger. The other signs are common to both; but I use one argument to believe that I am loved sincerely and truly: that both my fortune and theirs are such that there is no reason for pretense. As for the man in whose power everything rests, I see nothing to fear, except that everything is uncertain once the law has been departed from, and nothing can be guaranteed about what will happen when it depends on another's will, not to say caprice. But still, his own mind has not been offended by me in any matter; for the greatest moderation has been applied by me in this very affair. For just as I once considered it my right to speak freely, since it was through my efforts that freedom existed in the state, so now that it is lost, I say nothing that might offend either his will or that of those who are dear to him. But if I wished to escape the reputation for certain sharp or witty sayings, I would have to throw away my reputation for talent altogether -- which, if I could, I would not refuse. But Caesar himself has a very keen judgment, and just as your brother Servius, whom I judge to have been the most learned of men, could easily say "this verse is not by Plautus, this one is," because his ears were trained in distinguishing types of poets through habitual reading, so I hear that Caesar, having already compiled volumes of bon mots, when something is brought to him as mine that is not mine, customarily rejects it. He does this all the more now because his intimates live with me almost every day; and in varied conversation many things come up that perhaps seem to them, when I say them, neither illiterate nor tasteless. These are reported to him along with the rest of the daily news -- for so he himself has directed. And so if he hears anything else about me, he does not think it worth hearing. Therefore I make no use of your Oenomaus, although you aptly placed the Attian verses. But what is this "envy"? Or what can anyone envy me now? But suppose everything is as you say: I see that those philosophers with whom I alone agree, who seem to me alone to grasp the true nature of virtue, have maintained that a wise man need guarantee nothing except freedom from fault. I seem to myself to be doubly free from this: both because I held the opinions that were most right, and because, seeing there was not sufficient force to maintain them, I did not think I should fight with those who were stronger. Therefore in the duty of a good citizen I am certainly not to be criticized. What remains is that I should say or do nothing foolish or rash against the powerful. This too I think is the mark of a wise man. As for the rest -- what anyone says I said, or how he receives it, or with what loyalty those who constantly attend and respect me live with me -- I cannot guarantee. And so it comes about that I console myself both with the consciousness of my past decisions and with the moderation of the present time, and transfer that simile of Accius not merely to "envy" but to fortune, which I think, feeble and weak, ought to be broken by a firm and serious spirit, "as a wave by a rock." For since Greek records are full of how the wisest men endured tyrannies either at Athens or Syracuse, being in some sense themselves free while their states were enslaved, shall I not think I can maintain my position so as neither to offend anyone's mind nor to break my own dignity? Now I come to your jests, since after the Oenomaus of Accius you have introduced, not an Atellan farce as used to be the custom, but a mime, as is the current fashion. What's this pompilus you tell me about, this denarietus? What cheese-and-fish casserole? My easygoing nature used to put up with those things before; now things have changed. I have Hirtius and Dolabella as pupils in oratory and masters in dining; for I think you have heard -- if all the news reaches you -- that they declaim at my house and I dine at theirs. As for your swearing off generous hospitality for me, there is no need; for in those days, when you were increasing your fortune, your petty earnings made you more tight-fisted. Now, since you lose your goods with such equanimity, there is no reason for you to plan that, when you receive me as your guest, you think you are accepting some payment. And yet this is a lighter blow from a friend than from a debtor. Nor do I seek such dinners as produce great leftovers; let whatever there is be magnificent and elegant. I remember you telling me about Phamea's dinner: let it be earlier, but the rest the same way. But if you persist in inviting me to your mother's dinner, I shall bear that too; for I want to see the nerve that dares set before me those things you describe, or even a polypus resembling the painted Jupiter. Believe me, you will not dare: before my arrival, the fame of my new fine dining will reach you; you will dread it. And there is no reason to place any hope in the hors d'oeuvres, which I have entirely done away with; for I used to be weakened by your olives and sausages. But why do I say these things? Just let me be allowed to come there! As for you -- I want to wipe away your fear -- return to your old cheese-and-fish. I shall bring you only one expense: you will need to heat the bath. Everything else in our usual fashion; those earlier remarks were playful. You have attended to the Selician villa matter carefully and written about it most wittily. And so I think I shall pass on it; for there is salt enough, but too few clowns.

CDLXX (Fam. IX, 16) TO L. PAPIRIUS PAETUS (AT NAPLES) TUSCULUM (JULY) I was charmed with your letter, in which, first of all, what I loved was the tenderness which prompted you to write, in alarm lest Silius should by his news have caused me any anxiety. About this news, not only had you written to me before — in fact twice, one letter being a duplicate of the other-showing me clearly that you were upset, but I also had answered you in full detail, in order that I might, as far as such a business and such a crisis admitted, free you from your anxiety, or at any rate alleviate it. But since you show in your last also how anxious you are about that matter-make up your mind to this, my dear Paetus : that whatever could possibly be accomplished by art — for it is not enough nowadays to contend with mere prudence, a sort of system must be elaborated-however, whatever could be done or effected towards winning and securing the goodwill of those men I have done, and not, I think, in vain. For I receive such attentions, such politenesses from all Caesar 's favourites as make me believe myself beloved by them. For, though genuine love is not easily distinguished from feigned, unless some crisis occurs of a kind to test faithful affection by its danger, as gold in the fire, there are other indications of a general nature. But I only employ one proof to convince me that I am loved from the heart and in sincerity-namely, that my fortune and theirs is of such a kind as to preclude any motive on their part for pretending. In regard, again, to the man who now possesses all power, I see no reason for my being alarmed: except the fact that, once depart from law, everything is uncertain; and that nothing can be guaranteed as to the future which depends on another man's will, not to say caprice. Be that as it may, personally his feelings have in no respect been wounded by me. For in that particular point I have exhibited the greatest self-control. For, as in old times I used to reckon that to speak without reserve was a privilege of mine, since to my exertions the existence of liberty in the state was owing, so, now that that is lost, I think it is my duty to say nothing calculated to offend either his wishes or those of his favourites. But if I want to avoid the credit of certain keen or witty epigrams, I must entirely abjure a reputation for genius, which I would not refuse to do, if I could. But after all Caesar himself has a very keen critical faculty, and, just as your cousin Servius — whom I consider to have been a most accomplished man of letters — had no difficulty in saying: “This verse is not Plautus 's, this is — ”because he had acquired a sensitive ear by dint of classifying the various styles of poets and habitual reading, so I am told that Caesar , having now completed his volumes of bons mots, if anything is brought to him as mine, which is not so, habitually rejects it. This he now does all the more, because his intimates are in my company almost every day. Now in the course of our discursive talk many remarks are let fall, which perhaps at the time of my making them seem to them wanting neither in literary flavour nor in piquancy. These are conveyed to him along with the other news of the day: for so he himself directed. Thus it comes about that if he is told of anything besides about me, he considers that he ought not to listen to it. Wherefore I have no need of your Oenomaus , though your quotation of Accius 's verses was very much on the spot. But what is this jealousy, or what have I now of which anyone can be jealous? But suppose the worst. I find that the philosophers, who alone in my view grasp the true nature of virtue, hold that the wise man does not pledge himself against anything except doing wrong; and of this I consider myself clear in two ways, first in that my views were most absolutely correct; and second because, when I found that we had not sufficient material force to maintain them, I was against a trial of strength with the stronger party. Therefore, so far as the duty of a good citizen is concerned, I am certainly not open to reproach. What remains is that I should not say or do anything foolish or rash against the men in power: that too, I think, is the part of the wise man. As to the rest — what this or that man may say that I said, or the light in which he views it, or the amount of good faith with which those who continually seek me out and pay me attention may be acting — for these things I cannot be responsible. The result is that I console myself with the consciousness of my uprightness in the past and my moderation in the present, and apply that simile of Accius 's not to jealousy, but to fortune, which I hold — as being inconstant and frail — ought to be beaten back by a strong and manly soul, as a wave is by a rock. For, considering that Greek history is full of examples of how the wisest men endured tyrannies either at Athens or Syracuse , when, though their countries were enslaved, they themselves in a certain sense remained free — am I to believe that I cannot so maintain my position as not to hurt anyone's feelings and yet not blast my own character? I now come to your jests, since as an afterpiece to Accius 's Oenomaus , you have brought on the stage, not, as was his wont, an Atellan play but, according to the present fashion, a mime. What's all this about a pilot-fish, a denarius, and a dish of salt fish and cheese? In my old easy-going days I put up with that sort of thing: but times are changed. Hirtius and Dolabella are my pupils in rhetoric, but my masters in the art of dining. For I think you must have heard, if you really get all news, that their practice is to declaim at my house, and mine to dine at theirs. Now it is no use your making an affidavit of insolvency to me: for when you had some property, petty profits used to keep you a little too close to business; but as things are now, seeing that you are losing money so cheerfully, all you have to do, when entertaining me, is to regard yourself as accepting a “composition”; and even that loss is less annoying when it comes from a friend than from a debtor. Yet, after all, I don't require dinners superfluous in quantity: only let what there is be first-rate in quality and recherche. I remember you used to tell me stories of Phamea's dinner. Let yours be earlier, but in other respects like that. But if you persist in bringing me back to a dinner like your mother's, I should put up with that also. For I should like to see the man who had the face to put on the table for me what you describe, or even a polypus-looking as red as Iupiter Miniatus. Believe me, you won't dare. Before I arrive the fame of my new magnificence will reach you: and you will be awestruck at it. Yet it is no use building any hope on your hors d'oeuvre. I have quite abolished that: for in old times I found my appetite spoilt by your olives and Lucanian sausages. But why all this talk? Let me only get to you. By all means — for I wish to wipe away all fear from your heart — go back to your old cheese-and-sardine dish. The only expense I shall cause you will be that you will have to have the bath heated. All the rest according to my regular habits. What I have just been saying was all a joke. As to Selicius 's villa, you have managed the business carefully and written most wittily. So I think I won't buy. For there is enough salt and not enough savour. 246

XVI. Scr. in Tusculano mense Quinctili (ante VII. Kal. Sext.) a.u.c. 708. CICERO PAETO SAL. Delectarunt me tuae litterae, in quibus primum amavi amorem tuum, qui te ad scribendum incitavit verentem, ne Silius suo nuntio aliquid mihi sollicitudinis attulisset; de quo et tu mihi antea scripseras, bis quidem eodem exemplo, facile ut intelligerem te esse commotum, et ego tibi accurate rescripseram, ut quoquo modo in tali re atque tempore aut liberarem te ista cura aut certe levarem; sed, quoniam proximis quoque litteris ostendis, quantae tibi curae sit ea res, sic, mi Paete, habeto: quidquid arte fieri potuerit—non enim iam satis est consilio pugnare: artificium quoddam excogitandum est—, sed tamen, quidquid elaborari aut effici potuerit ad istorum benevolentiam conciliandam et colligendam, summo studio me consecutum esse, nec frustra, ut arbitror; sic enim color, sic observor ab omnibus iis, qui a Caesare diliguntur, ut ab iis me amari putem; tametsi non facile diiudicatur amor verus et fictus, nisi aliquod incidat eiusmodi tempus, ut, quasi aurum igni, sic benevolentia fidelis periculo aliquo perspici possit, cetera sunt signa communia; sed ego uno utor argumento, quamobrem me ex animo vereque arbitrer diligi, quia et nostra fortuna ea est et illorum, ut simulandi causa non sit. De illo autem, quem penes est omnis potestas, nihil video, quod timeam, nisi quod omnia sunt incerta, cum a iure discessum est, nec praestari quidquam potest, quale futurum sit, quod positum est in alterius voluntate, ne dicam libidine; sed tamen eius ipsius nulla re a me offensus est animus; est enim adhibita in ea re ipsa summa a nobis moderatio; ut enim olim arbitrabar esse meum libere loqui, cuius opera esset in civitate libertas, sic ea nunc amissa nihil loqui, quod offendat aut illius aut eorum, qui ab illo diliguntur, voluntatem; effugere autem si velim nonnullorum acute aut facete dictorum famam, fama ingenii mihi est abiicienda, quod, si possem, non recusarem; sed tamen ipse Caesar habet peracre iudicium, et, ut Servius, frater tuus, quem litteratissimum fuisse iudico, facile diceret: "hic versus Plauti non est, hic est," quod tritas aures haberet notandis generibus poetarum et consuetudine legendi, sic audio Caesarem, cum volumina iam confecerit *pofyegm­tvn, si quod afferatur ad eum pro meo, quod meum non sit, reiicere solere; quod eo nunc magis facit, quia vivunt mecum fere quotidie illius familiares; incidunt autem in sermone vario multa, quae fortasse illis, cum dixi, nec illitterata nec insulsa esse videantur; haec ad illum cum reliquis actis perferuntur—ita enim ipse mandavit—: sic fit, ut, si quid praeterea de me audiat, non audiendum putet. Quamobrem Oenomao tuo nihil utor; etsi posuisti loco versus Attianos; sed quae est "invidia?" aut quid mihi nunc invideri potest? Verum fac esse omnia: sic video philosophis placuisse iis, qui mihi soli videntur vim virtutis tenere, nihil esse sapientis praestare nisi culpam, qua mihi videor dupliciter carere, et quod ea senserim, quae rectissima fuerunt, et quod, cum viderem praesidii non satis esse ad ea obtinenda, viribus certandum cum valentioribus non putarim; ergo in officio boni civis certe non sum reprehendendus. Reliquum est, ne quid stulte, ne quid temere dicam aut faciam contra potentes; id quoque puto esse sapientis; cetera vero, quid quisque me dixisse dicat aut quomodo ille accipiat aut qua fide mecum vivant ii, qui me assidue colunt et observant, praestare non possum. Ita fit, ut et consiliorum superiorum conscientia et praesentis temporis moderatione me consoler et illam Attii similitudinem non [modo] iam ad "invidiam," sed ad fortunam transferam, quam existimo levem et imbecillam ab animo firmo et gravi "tamquam fluctum a saxo frangi" oportere. Etenim, cum plena sint monumenta Graecorum, quemadmodum sapientissimi viri regna tulerint vel Athenis vel Syracusis, cum servientigbus suis civitatibus fuerint ipsi quodammodo liberi, ego me non putem tueri meum statum sic posse, ut neque offendam animum cuiusquam nec frangam dignitatem meam? Nunc venio ad iocationes tuas, quoniam tu secundum Oenomaum Attii, non, ut olim solebat, Atellanam, sed, ut nunc fit, mimum introduxisti. Quem tu mihi pompilum, quem denarium narras? quam tyrotarichi patinam? facilitate mea ista ferebantur antea; nunc mutata res est: Hirtium ego et Dolabellam dicendi discipulos habeo, coenandi magistros; puto enim te audisse, si forte ad vos omnia perferuntur, illos apud me declamitare, me apud illos coenitare. Tu autem quod mihi bonam copiam eiures, nihil est; tum enim, cum rem augebas, quaesticulus te faciebat attentiorem, nunc, cum tam aequo animo bona perdas, non est, quod eo sis consilio, ut, cum me hospitio recipias, aestimationem te aliquam putes accipere; et tamen haec levior estplaga ab amico quam a debitore. Nec tamen eas coenas quaero, ut magnae reliquiae fiant; quod erit, magnificum sit et lautum. Memini te mihi Phameae coenam narrare: temperius fiat, cetera eodem modo. Quod si perseveras me ad matris tuae coenam revocare, feram id quoque; volo enim videre animum, qui mihi audeat ista, quae scribis, apponere aut etiam polypum miniati Iovis similem. Mihi crede, non audebis: ante meum adventum fama ad te de mea nova lautitia veniet; eam extimesces. Neque est, quod in promulside spei ponas aliquid, quam totam sustuli; solebam enim antea debilitari oleis et lucanicis tuis. Sed quid haec loquimur? liceat modo isto venire. Tu vero—volo enim abstergere animi tui metum—ad tyrotarichum antiquum redi. Ego tibi unum sumptum afferam. quod balneum calfacias oportebit; cetera more nostro: superiora illa lusimus. De villa Seliciana et curasti diligenter et scripsisti facetissime: itaque puto me praetermissurum; salis enim satis est, sannionum parum.