Letter 102.11

Since I last wrote to you, nothing has happened worth writing about or worth your knowing in any way. We have spent our days almost entirely in the same pattern: the same theater, the same dislike of it, the same longing for you. Why do I say "the same"? No, it is renewed every day and grows stronger. What Laberius says of love, in his own manner and style - "your love grows as quickly as a leek and as firmly as a palm" - I transfer to my longing for you. I would like to write more to you, but nothing comes to mind. Wait: something has just occurred to me. We have been listening here to writers of panegyric - Greeks, of course - but astonishing creatures. I am so far removed from Greek literature that my own Caelian hill is as far from the land of Greece; yet compared with them I could hope to rival even Theopompus, whom I hear was the most eloquent of the Greeks. These men, as Caecilius says, with their "learning unharmed," have almost driven me, a living Oscan, to write in Greek. The climate of Naples is pleasant enough, but violently changeable. Every few moments it becomes colder, warmer, or harsher. First, midnight is warm, like Laurentum. Then cockcrow is rather chilly, like Lanuvium. The hush of night, morning, and daybreak until sunrise are icy, just like Algidus. After that the forenoon is sunny, like Tusculum; then noon is blazing, like Puteoli. But once the sun has gone off to bathe in Ocean, the air at last becomes milder, like Tibur. It stays that way through evening and the first sleep of night, until, as Marcus Porcius says, "dead night plunges down." But why am I piling up these Masurian trifles when I promised to write only a few words? Farewell, most kindly teacher, most distinguished consul, and miss me as much as you love me.

Naples , 143 A.D. to his own consul and master, greeting. 1. Since my last letter to you nothing has happened worth writing of, or the knowledge of which would be of the slightest interest to you. For we have passed whole days more or less in the same occupations: the same theatre, the same dislike of it, the same longing for you—the same, do I say? nay, one that is daily renewed and increases and, as Laberius, after his own manner and in his own peculiar style, says of love, Your love as fast as amy onion grows, as firm as any palm. This then that he says of love, I apply to my longing for you. I should like to write you a longer letter, but nothing suggests itself. 2. Stay, I have just thought of something. We have been listening to panegyrists here, Greeks, of course, but wondrous creatures, so much so that I, who am as far removed from Greek literature as is my native Caelian hill from the land of Greece, could nevertheless hope, matched with them, to be able to rival even Theopompus, the most eloquent, as I hear, of all the Greeks. So I, who am all but a living barbarian, have been impelled to write in Greek by men, as Caecilius says, of unimpaired ignorance . 3. The climate of Naples is decidedly pleasant, but violently variable. Every two minutes it gets colder or warmer or rawer. To begin with, midnight is warm, as at Laurentum; then, however, the cock-crow watch chilly, as at Lanuvium; soon the hush of night and dawn and twilight till sunrise cold, for all the world like Algidus; anon the forenoon sunny, as at Tusculum; following that a noon as fierce as at Puteoli; but, indeed, when the sun has gone to his bath in Ocean, the temperature at last becomes more moderate, such as we get at Tibur; this continues the same during the evening and first sleep of night, until, as M. Porcius says, the dead of night falls swiftly down . But why do I string together these Masurian banalities, when I started with saying I should write a few words only? So farewell, most kindly of masters, most honourable of consuls, and let your love be the measure of your longing for me.

ad M. Caesarem 2.11 [30 Hout; 1.140 Haines] M. Aurelius Caesar consuli suo et magistro salutem 1 Postquam ad te proxime scripsi, postea nihil opera pretium, quod ad te scriberetur, aut quod cognitum ad aliquem modum juvaret. Nam διὰ τῶν αὐτῶν fere dies tramisimus: Idem theatrum, idem odium, idem desiderium tuum. Quid dico ‘idem’? Immo id cottidie novatur et gliscit et, quod ait Laberius de amore, suo modo καὶ ἐπὶ ἰδίᾳ μούσῃ, “amor tuus tam cito crescit quam porrus, tam firme quam palma”. Hoc igitur ego ad desiderium verto, quod ille de amore ait. Volo ad te plura scribere, sed nihil suppetit. 2 Ecce, quod in animum venit: Encomiographos istic audimus, Graecos scilicet, sed miros mortales, ut ego, qui a Graeca litteratura tantum absum, quantum a terra Graecia mons Caelius meus abest, tamen me sperem illis conparatum etiam Theopompum aequiparare posse; nam hunc audio apud Graecos disertissimum natum esse. Igitur paene me Opicum animantem ad Graecam scripturam perpulerunt “homines”, ut Caecilius ait, “incolumi scientia”. 3 Caelum Neapolitanum plane commodum, sed vehementer varium. In singulis scripulis horarum frigidius aut tepidius aut torridius fit. Jam primum media nox tepida, Laurentina; tum autem gallicinium frigidulum, Lanuvinum; jam conticinium atque matutinum atque diluculum usque ad solis ortum gelidum, ad Algidum maxime; exin antemeridie apricum, Tusculanum; tum meridies fervida, Puteolana; atenim ubi sol lautum ad Oceanum profectus, fit demum caelum modestius, quod genus Tiburtinum. Id vespera et concubia nocte, “dum se intempesta nox”, ut ait M. Porcius, “praecipitat”, eodem modo perseverat. 4 Sed quid ego, me qui paucula scripturum promisi, deliramenta Masuriana congero? Igitur vale, magister benignissime, consul amplissime, et me quantum amas, tantum desidera.