Letter 600.7

Greetings, my most excellent master. 1. Go on, threaten as much as you like and bring your charges in massed battalions of arguments: you will still never drive away your lover—I mean myself; nor shall I proclaim that I love Fronto any the less, nor love him any the less, because you maintain that it is precisely those who are not in love who deserve to be helped and lavished upon. By Hercules, I am so utterly lost in love of you that I am not deterred by that doctrine of yours, and if you make yourself more available and ready for those others, the non-lovers, I will nevertheless love you, and go on loving you. As for the density of your ideas, the sharpness of your invention, and the felicity of your rivalry, I do not wish to say that you have far surpassed those Atticists, so pleased with themselves and so given to challenge [the self-styled Attic stylists, champions of pure Greek prose]—and yet I cannot help saying it. For I am in love, and I judge that this much at least ought truly to be granted to lovers: that they should rejoice the more in the victory of their beloveds. We have won, then, we have won, I say. Is it [...] more excellent to debate beneath paneled ceilings than beneath plane trees, within the pomerium than outside the walls, without delights than with Lais herself standing close at hand or sharing one's home [Lais, the famous courtesan, invoked here as the emblem of pleasure]? I cannot cast my net to decide which of the two I should guard against more: the doctrine that an orator of this present age has pronounced about Lysias, or the one my master has pronounced about Plato. 3. This much, indeed, I shall not rashly swear to: if there ever really was that Phaedrus of yours, if he was ever apart from Socrates, then Socrates burned no more with longing for Phaedrus than I have burned, throughout these days—days, do I say? months, I mean—with desire for the sight of you. Your letter brought this about, lest that man should be a Dion who does not love so greatly unless he is at once seized with love of you. 4. Farewell, my greatest treasure beneath the sky, my glory. It is enough to have had such a master. My Lady mother sends you her greetings.

my best of masters. 1. Go on, threaten as much as you please and attack me with hosts of arguments, yet shall you never drive your lover, I mean me, away; nor shall I the less assert that I love Fronto, or love him the less, because you prove with reasons so various and so vehement that those who are less in love must be more helped and indulged. So passionately, by Hercules, am I in love with you, nor am I frightened off by the law you lay down, and even if you shew yourself more forward and facile to others, who are non-lovers, yet will I love you while I have life and health. For the rest, having regard to the close packing of ideas, the inventive subtilties, and the felicity of your championship of your cause, I hardly like, indeed, to say that you have far outstripped those Atticists, so self-satisfied and challenging, and yet I cannot but say so. For I am in love and this, if nothing else, ought, I think, verily to be allowed to lovers, that they should have greater joy in the triumph of their loved ones. Ours, then, is the triumph, ours, I say. Is it . . . . preferable to talk philosophy under ceilings rather than under plane-trees, within the city bounds than without its walls, scorning delights than with Lais herself sitting at our side or sharing our home? Nor can I "make a cast" which to beware of more, the law which an orator of our time has laid down about this Lais, or my master's dictum about Plato. 2. This I can without rashness affirm: if that Phaedrus of yours ever really existed, if he was ever away from Socrates, Socrates never felt for Phaedrus a more passionate longing than I for the sight of you all these days: days do I say? months I mean . . . . unless he is straightway seized with love of you. Farewell, my greatest treasure beneath the sky, my glory. It is enough to have had such a master. My Lady mother sends you greeting.

additamentum 7 [249 Hout; 1.30 Haines] Have mi magister optime. 1 Ave perge, quantum libet, comminare et argumentorum globis criminare: Numquam tu tamen erasten tuum, me dico depuleris; nec ego minus amare me Frontonem praedicabo minusque amabo, quo tu tam variis opitulandum ac largiendum esse. Ego hercule te ita amore depereo neque deterreor isto tuo dogmate ac, si magis eris alieis non amantibus opportunus et promptus, ego tamen amabo atque usque amabo. 2 Ceterum quod ad sensuum densitatem, quod ad inventionis argutiam, quod ad aemulationis tuae felicitatem adtinet, nolo quicquam dicere te multo placentis illos sibi et provocantis Atticos antevenisse, ac tamen nequeo quin dicam. Amo enim et hoc denique amantibus vere tribuendum esse censeo, quod victoris τῶν ἐρωμένων magis gauderent. Vicimus igitur, vicimus, inquam. Num . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . praestabilius sub laquearibus quam sub platanis, intra pomerium quam extra murum, sine delicieis quam ipsa Lai proxime adsistente habitanteve disputari? Nequeo retejaclari, utra re magis caveam, quod de Lysia orator saeculi hujus dogma tulerit an quod magister meus de Platone. 3 Illud equidem non temere adjuravero: Si quis iste re vera Phaeder fuit, si umquam is a Socrate afuit, non magis Socraten Phaedri desiderio quam me per istos dies (‘dies’ dico? ‘menses’, inquam) tui adspectus cupidine arsisse. Tua epistula haec fecit, ne ille Diona esset quin tantum amet nisi confestim tuo amore corripitur. 4 Vale, mihi maxima res sub caelo, gloria mea. Sufficit talem magistrum habuisse. Domina mater te salutat.