Letter 115: The fact that you have the power to sway anything with the force of your words, and yet in the courtroom you never...
Libanius→Gaianus, a lawyer|c. 324 AD|Libanius|AI-assisted
education books
To Gaianus. (357)
That you, who by the power of your words can carry everything as you please, should in the courtroom bring a false accusation against no one for the sake of any gold, but should do this to me, and that too for no fee at all, what ought one to make of it?
But indeed, that you have not rightly taken hold of my expression, I shall teach you, beginning a little way back. You came to assist a Phoenician man, the governor of Phoenicia, a man of sense and one who knew well from whom he needed his streams of eloquence. And I, longing to see you, was delighted when I saw you, and after a brief conversation—for you were going off to luncheon—I let you go.
On the next day the courtroom held you, and the schoolroom held me. And having compressed the length of our time together as far as was possible, I ran to your railings, thirsting for the hearing of you, and cutting through the crowd amid the uproar. Then it was not possible to hear you, for you had finished; but concerning you many fine things were said, orators praising an orator—for, winning by much, you did not allow envy.
On the day after that I came again at dawn, but the governor was not yet at work, and the young men were calling me. But you were contending, and again I was hearing you, as you would put it, and I was grieved, and I cried out against the constraint.
What need is there to say much? You obtained your verdict before I obtained my desire. Yet all the same, among those who had been successful I reckoned myself together with the others, just like those to whom it happened to come to Elis but not to see the statue of Zeus, and who, out of shame, claim that they did see it.
This very thing I too had experienced; and around Eubulus, when not a few were sitting—among whom were both I and you—while certain men were making encomiums about you, and the people were looking toward me to see whether I too cast my vote with them and whether I knew the orator, I concealed my misfortune and, as being one of those who had heard, said to them what they wished; but to you, into your ear, I told the truth, that I had not heard you, indicating that you must repay me.
At this you were not at once vexed—at any rate you did not show it—but having gone away you called it an insult, for you did not escape my notice. What then is the thing that holds an insult, if neither to praise is to insult, nor to confess a misfortune?
But we did not spend together as much time as was fitting, and this too you bring as a charge. The loss at any rate is shared. Yet surely it is better for you to accuse my lack of leisure, and for me to accuse yours, and for us to accuse one another.
But, O best and most worthy descendant of Demosthenes, do not judge friendships by this standard, but by the very act of loving; since many who drink together every day would even gladly drink of one another's blood.
But do you, leaving others to be men of Abydos [proverbial for bad character], keep your own ways, and as a proof that you have not changed, furnish this Boethus here, by not allowing him to be in need of many things; for he is also a kinsman of the famous Zenobius, and a friend of ours, and an old man, as you see, and he is being wronged.
**To Gaianus** (357)
That you, who have the power to carry everything by the force of your eloquence, should bring false charges against no one in court for any amount of gold, yet should do precisely this against me — and without even being paid for it — what is one to make of that?
But let me show you that you seized upon my remark unfairly. Let me begin a little further back. You came to assist a Phoenician who was governing Phoenicia — a man of intelligence who knew well what streams he needed. I had been longing to see you, and was delighted when I did. But after a brief conversation — for you had to go to lunch — I let you go.
The next day the court claimed you, and the lecture hall claimed me. I cut the length of my session as short as I could and ran to the barristers' bar, thirsting to hear you, pushing through the crowd with a commotion. But it was no longer possible to hear you, for you had finished. About you, however, I heard much that was fine — orators praising an orator. You left no room for envy, so far did you surpass them all.
On the day after that I came again at dawn, but the governor was not yet in session, and my students were calling for me. You were pleading your case, and once more I heard afterward how you had spoken, and I grieved and cursed the necessity that kept me away.
What need to say more? You won your verdict before I won my desire. Nevertheless, among those who had been present I counted myself — like those who travel to Elis but fail to see the statue of Zeus, yet are too ashamed to admit it and claim they saw it.
This was exactly my own predicament. When a good number of us were sitting around Eubulus — you and I among them — and people began singing your praises and looking toward me to see whether I agreed and whether I had actually heard the orator, I concealed my misfortune and told *them* I was one of those who had heard you. But to *you* I whispered the truth — that I had not heard you — meaning to show that you owed me a performance.
At the time you took no offense at this — or at least you did not show it. But once you left, you called it an insult — you did not escape my notice. Yet what is insulting about it, if neither praising a man is an insult nor confessing one's own bad luck?
"But we did not spend as much time together as we should have" — this too you reproach me with. The loss, at any rate, was shared. But surely it would be better for you to blame my busy schedule, and for me to blame yours, rather than for us to blame each other.
Come now, my excellent and good descendant of Demosthenes, do not judge friendships by such things, but by the love itself. Many men drink together every day who would gladly drink each other's blood.
As for you — let others play the Abydene. Keep to your own character, and as proof that you have not changed, do not make this man Boethus beg at length. He is a kinsman of the great Zenobius, a friend of mine, and an old man, as you can see — and he is being wronged.
That you, who by the power of your words can carry everything as you please, should in the courtroom bring a false accusation against no one for the sake of any gold, but should do this to me, and that too for no fee at all, what ought one to make of it?
But indeed, that you have not rightly taken hold of my expression, I shall teach you, beginning a little way back. You came to assist a Phoenician man, the governor of Phoenicia, a man of sense and one who knew well from whom he needed his streams of eloquence. And I, longing to see you, was delighted when I saw you, and after a brief conversation—for you were going off to luncheon—I let you go.
On the next day the courtroom held you, and the schoolroom held me. And having compressed the length of our time together as far as was possible, I ran to your railings, thirsting for the hearing of you, and cutting through the crowd amid the uproar. Then it was not possible to hear you, for you had finished; but concerning you many fine things were said, orators praising an orator—for, winning by much, you did not allow envy.
On the day after that I came again at dawn, but the governor was not yet at work, and the young men were calling me. But you were contending, and again I was hearing you, as you would put it, and I was grieved, and I cried out against the constraint.
What need is there to say much? You obtained your verdict before I obtained my desire. Yet all the same, among those who had been successful I reckoned myself together with the others, just like those to whom it happened to come to Elis but not to see the statue of Zeus, and who, out of shame, claim that they did see it.
This very thing I too had experienced; and around Eubulus, when not a few were sitting—among whom were both I and you—while certain men were making encomiums about you, and the people were looking toward me to see whether I too cast my vote with them and whether I knew the orator, I concealed my misfortune and, as being one of those who had heard, said to them what they wished; but to you, into your ear, I told the truth, that I had not heard you, indicating that you must repay me.
At this you were not at once vexed—at any rate you did not show it—but having gone away you called it an insult, for you did not escape my notice. What then is the thing that holds an insult, if neither to praise is to insult, nor to confess a misfortune?
But we did not spend together as much time as was fitting, and this too you bring as a charge. The loss at any rate is shared. Yet surely it is better for you to accuse my lack of leisure, and for me to accuse yours, and for us to accuse one another.
But, O best and most worthy descendant of Demosthenes, do not judge friendships by this standard, but by the very act of loving; since many who drink together every day would even gladly drink of one another's blood.
But do you, leaving others to be men of Abydos [proverbial for bad character], keep your own ways, and as a proof that you have not changed, furnish this Boethus here, by not allowing him to be in need of many things; for he is also a kinsman of the famous Zenobius, and a friend of ours, and an old man, as you see, and he is being wronged.
AI-assisted translation - This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.