Letter 104

[1] I have fled to my villa at Nomentum -- and to escape what, do you suppose? The city? No: a fever, and one that was creeping up on me; it had already laid its hand on me. My physician said it was in its early stages, since my pulse was disturbed and irregular and was upsetting its natural rhythm. So I gave orders at once for the carriage to be made ready; though my Paulina tried to hold me back, I insisted on going out. This was the saying of my master Gallio that I had on my lips: when he had begun to run a fever in Achaia, he boarded ship at once, crying out that the illness belonged not to the body but to the place. [2] I said this to my Paulina, who commends my health to my care. For since I know that her breath of life is bound up in mine, I am beginning, in order to look out for her, to look out for myself. And although old age has made me braver in the face of many things, I am losing this benefit of my years; for it comes into my mind that within this old man there is also a young man, who must be spared. And so, since I cannot prevail upon her to love me more bravely, she prevails upon me to love myself more carefully. [3] For we must give way to honorable affections; and sometimes, even if reasons press us to the contrary, the breath of life must be called back for the sake of one's own people, and held fast at the very lips, even at the cost of torment, since the good man must live not as long as it pleases him but as long as he ought. He who does not value his wife, nor his friend, highly enough to linger longer in life -- who will persist in dying -- is self-indulgent. The mind should command itself this too: whenever the welfare of one's own people demands it, it should not only halt if it wishes to die, but even, if it has begun, break off and lend itself to its own people. [4] It is the mark of a great mind to return to life for another's sake, as great men have often done; but I judge it also a mark of the highest humanity for a man to tend his own old age more attentively -- old age, whose greatest fruit is a more carefree guardianship of oneself and a more spirited use of life -- if he knows that this is sweet, useful, and desirable to one of his own. [5] Besides, this thing holds within it no small joy and reward; for what is more delightful than to be so dear to your wife that on this account you become dearer to yourself? And so my Paulina can charge to my account not only her own fear for me but mine as well. [6] You ask, then, how the plan of departure turned out for me? As soon as I left behind the oppressiveness of the city and that odor of smoking kitchens, which when stirred up pour out, along with the dust, whatever pestilential vapor they have soaked in, I felt my health change at once. How much strength, do you think, was added to me after I reached my vineyards? Once let out to pasture, I fell upon my food. So I have got myself back again; that languor of a faltering and ill-disposed body did not last. I am beginning to study with my whole mind. [7] The place does not contribute much to this, unless the mind makes itself available to itself, a mind which, if it wishes, will have its seclusion in the midst of business; but that man who picks out regions and chases after leisure will find everywhere something to distract him. They say that when a certain man complained that his travels had done him no good, Socrates replied, 'It is no wonder this has happened to you; for you were traveling with yourself.' [8] How well things would go with some men, if they could wander away from themselves! As it is, they oppress themselves, harass, corrupt, and terrify themselves. What good is it to cross the sea and to change cities? If you want to escape the things that press upon you, you must be not in another place but another man. Suppose you have come to Athens, suppose to Rhodes; choose whatever city you please by your own judgment: what does it matter what character that city has? You will bring your own. [9] You will judge riches to be a good: poverty will torment you, which is most wretched, a false poverty. For however much you possess, still, because someone has more, you will think yourself short by just as much as you are surpassed. You will judge public honors to be a good: it will distress you that this man has been made consul, that one re-elected; you will be envious whenever you read someone's name more than once in the calendar of magistrates. The frenzy of ambition will be so great that no one will seem to you behind you if anyone has been ahead of you. [10] You will judge death to be the greatest evil, though there is nothing evil in it except what comes before it, namely the being afraid. Not only dangers but mere suspicions will terrify you; you will be perpetually agitated by empty fears. For what good will it do to Peace itself will supply you with terrors; once the mind has been thrown into confusion, no trust will be placed even in things that are safe -- a mind which, once it has formed the habit of unforeseeing dread, is unfit even for the protection of its own safety. For it does not avoid danger but flees it; and we are more exposed to dangers when our backs are turned. [11] You will judge it the gravest evil to lose one of those you love, though all the while this will be as foolish as weeping because the leaves fall from the trees that please you and adorn your house. Look upon whatever delights you as you would [look upon those leaves]: while they are green, make use of them. Chance will shake one man loose on one day, another on another; but just as the loss of foliage is easy to bear because it grows again, so the loss of those whom you love and whom you reckon to be the delights of life [is easy to bear], because they are made good again even if they are not born anew. [12] 'But they will not be the same.' Neither will you yourself be the same. Every day, every hour changes you; but in others the plundering is more easily seen, while in oneself it is hidden, because it does not happen openly. Others are carried off, but we ourselves are stolen from ourselves by stealth. Will you think of none of these things, nor set remedies against your wounds, but rather sow for yourself the causes of anxieties, by hoping for some things and despairing of others? If you are wise, blend the one with the other: neither hope without despair nor despair without hope. [13] What good has travel in itself ever been able to do anyone? It has not moderated pleasures, not curbed desires, not checked fits of anger, not broken the untamed assaults of love, in short has drawn no evils out of the mind. It has not bestowed judgment, has not dispelled error, but, like a boy marveling at unknown things, it has held us for a short time by some novelty of objects. [14] For the rest, it provokes the inconstancy of the mind, which is most diseased of all; the very tossing about makes it more changeable and more fickle. And so the places they had sought most eagerly they abandon still more eagerly, and like birds they fly across and go away more quickly than they had come. [15] Travel will give you acquaintance with peoples, will show you new shapes of mountains, unvisited expanses of plains, and valleys watered by ever-flowing streams; it will set under your observation the singular nature of some river -- whether, like the Nile, it swells with its summer rising, or, like the Tigris, is snatched from sight and, after running a course through hidden ways, is restored at its full size, or, like the Maeander, the exercise and plaything of all the poets, winds in frequent bends and, often brought close to its own channel, is bent away before it can flow into itself. But it will make you neither a better nor a sounder man. [16] One must dwell among studies and among the authorities on wisdom, so that we may learn what has been discovered and seek out what has not yet been found; thus the mind is freed from the most wretched servitude and claimed into liberty. Indeed, as long as you do not know what is to be avoided, what to be sought, what is necessary, what superfluous, what just, what unjust, what honorable, what dishonorable, this will not be traveling but wandering. [17] That rushing about will bring you no help; for you travel together with your passions, and your own evils follow you. Would that they did follow you! They would be farther off; as it is, you carry them, you do not lead them. And so they press upon you everywhere and burn you with equal discomforts. Medicine, not a region, must be sought by the sick man. [18] Someone has broken a leg or dislocated a joint: he does not board a carriage or a ship, but calls in a physician so that the broken part may be set, the dislocated one put back in place. What then? Do you believe that a mind broken and wrenched in so many places can be healed by a change of places? That evil is too great to be cured by being carried about. [19] Travel does not make a physician, nor an orator; no art is learned from a place. What then? Is wisdom, the greatest of all arts, gathered up on a journey? There is no journey, believe me, that can set you beyond your desires, beyond your fits of anger, beyond your fears; or if there were one, the human race would march there in a body. Those evils will press and waste you, as you wander over lands and seas, for just as long as you carry the causes of your evils. [20] Do you wonder that flight does you no good? The things you flee are with you. Mend yourself, then, take the burdens off yourself, and hold your desires within a wholesome limit; root out all wickedness from your mind. If you want to have pleasant travels, heal your companion. Greed will cling to you as long as you live with a greedy and sordid man; arrogance will cling to you as long as you keep company with a proud one; you will never lay aside savagery in the company of a torturer; the fellowships of adulterers will inflame your lusts. [21] If you wish to be stripped of your vices, you must withdraw far from the examples of vice. The greedy man, the corrupter, the savage, the deceitful man, who would do you much harm if they were near you, are inside you. Pass over to better men: live with the Catos, with Laelius, with Tubero. But if it pleases you to live with Greeks too, spend your time with Socrates, with Zeno: the one will teach you to die if it must be, the other to die before it must be. [22] Live with Chrysippus, with Posidonius: these will hand down to you the knowledge of things human and divine, these will bid you be at work and not merely speak cleverly and toss out words for the delight of listeners, but harden your mind and raise it up against threats. For there is one harbor for this tossing and turbulent life: to despise what is to come, to stand confidently and ready to receive the weapons of Fortune full upon the breast, neither hiding nor turning the back. [23] Nature has brought us forth great-souled, and just as she gave ferocity to certain animals, cunning to others, timidity to others, so to us she gave a glorious and lofty spirit, one that seeks where it may live most honorably, not where most safely -- a spirit most like the universe, which it follows and imitates as far as the steps of mortals permit; it pushes itself forward, and believes it is praised and beheld. [24] It is master of all things, above all things; therefore let it submit itself to nothing, let nothing seem heavy to it, nothing such as to bend a man down. -- least of all [are such things to be feared], if a man can look upon them with steady eyes and break through the darkness; day turns to laughter many things held to be terrors in the night. Our Vergil has put it excellently: he said they are terrible not in fact but to look upon -- that is, they seem so, they are not. [25] What, I ask, in those things is so frightful as rumor has spread abroad? What reason is there, I beg you, Lucilius, why a man should fear toil, a mortal death? So often I meet those people who think that whatever they themselves cannot do cannot be done, and who say that we speak of things greater than human nature can sustain. [26] But how much better I think of them! They too can do these things, but they are unwilling. In the end, whom have these tasks ever failed when he attempted them? To whom did they not appear easier in the doing? It is not because things are hard that we do not dare; it is because we do not dare that they are hard. [27] If, however, you want an example, take Socrates, a long-suffering old man, buffeted through all hardships, yet unconquered both by poverty, which his household burdens made heavier for him, and by toils, including those of military service which he endured. Among these he was tried at home -- whether by a wife savage in her ways and impudent of tongue, or by children unteachable and more like their mother than their father; [and as for the public sphere] he lived either in war or under tyranny or under a freedom more savage than wars and tyrants. [28] War was waged for twenty-seven years; after the fighting was finished, the state was handed over for punishment to thirty tyrants, of whom most were his enemies. At the very last came a condemnation carried through under the gravest charges: he was accused of violating religion and of corrupting the youth, whom he was said to have turned against the gods, against their fathers, against the state. After this came prison and poison. These things had so failed to move the mind of Socrates that they did not even move his expression. Oh, that wonderful and singular glory! Right up to the end no one saw Socrates either more cheerful or more downcast; he was unchanging amid such great changeableness of Fortune. [29] Do you want another example? Take this man, the more recent Marcus Cato, with whom Fortune dealt both more savagely and more stubbornly. Though she stood against him in all places, and at the last even in death, he nevertheless showed that a brave man can live in spite of Fortune and die in spite of her. His whole life was passed either amid civil wars or under a state already conceiving civil war; and you may say that he, no less than Socrates, devoted himself to liberty in the midst of slavery -- unless perhaps you think that Gnaeus Pompey and Caesar and Crassus were allies of liberty. [30] No one saw Cato changed, though the republic was changed so many times; he showed himself the same in every condition: in the praetorship, in defeat at the polls, under accusation, in his province, on the speaker's platform, in the army, in death. Finally, in that panic of the republic, when on the one side was Caesar, propped up by ten most warlike legions and all the auxiliaries of foreign nations, and on the other side Gnaeus Pompey, one man enough against all comers, when some leaned toward Caesar, others toward Pompey, Cato alone formed a party also for the republic. [31] If you are willing to embrace in your mind the image of that time, you will see on the one side the common people and the whole mob roused for revolution, on the other the nobles and the equestrian order, all that was sacred and select in the state, and two left in the middle: the republic and Cato. You will marvel, I say, when you observe -- for he condemns each, he disarms each. [32] He casts this verdict concerning both: he says that, if Caesar wins, he will die, if Pompey, he will go into exile. What did he have to fear, who had appointed for himself, whether defeated or victorious, what could have been appointed by his most enraged enemies? And so he perished by his own decree. [33] You see that men can endure toil: he led an army on foot through the midst of the deserts of Africa. You see that thirst can be borne: on the parched hills, dragging the remnants of a defeated army with no baggage, he bore the lack of water in his breastplate and, whenever there was a chance of water, drank last of all. You see that honor and disgrace can be despised: on the very day he was defeated at the elections, he played ball in the assembly-place. You see that the power of one's superiors can go unfeared: he provoked at once both Pompey and Caesar, when no one dared to offend the one except so as to win over the other. You see that death can be despised as much as exile: he pronounced upon himself both exile and death, and meanwhile war. [34] We can therefore have spirit enough against such things, if only we are willing to draw our neck out from under the yoke. But first of all, pleasures must be spat out: they unnerve and effeminate us and demand much, while much must be demanded of Fortune. Next, wealth must be scorned: it is the hire-money of slavery. Let gold and silver and whatever else burdens prosperous houses be left behind: liberty cannot be had for free. If you value it highly, all else must be valued cheaply. Farewell.

I have run off to my villa at Nomentum, for what purpose, do you suppose? To escape the city? No; to shake off a fever which was surely working its way into my system. It had already got a grip upon me. My physician kept insisting that when the circulation was upset and irregular, disturbing the natural poise, the disease was under way. I therefore ordered my carriage to be made ready at once, and insisted on departing, in spite of my wife Paulina’s efforts to stop me; for I remembered my master Gallio’s words, when he began to develop a fever in Achaia and took ship at once, insisting that the disease was not of the body but of the place. That is what I remarked to my dear Paulina, who always urges me to take care of my health. I know that her very life-breath comes and goes with my own, and I am beginning, in my solicitude for her, to be solicitous for myself. And although old age has made me braver to bear many things, I am gradually losing this boon that old age bestows. For it comes into my mind that in this old man there is a youth also, and youth needs tenderness. Therefore, since I cannot prevail upon her to love me any more heroically, she prevails upon me to cherish myself more carefully. For one must indulge genuine emotions; sometimes, even in spite of weighty reasons, the breath of life must be called back and kept at our very lips even at the price of great suffering, for the sake of those whom we hold dear; because the good man should not live as long as it pleases him, but as long as he ought. He who does not value his wife, or his friend, highly enough to linger longer in life—he who obstinately persists in dying—is a voluptuary. The soul should also enforce this command upon itself whenever the needs of one’s relatives require; it should pause and humour those near and dear, not only when it desires, but even when it has begun, to die. It gives proof of a great heart to return to life for the sake of others; and noble men have often done this. But this procedure also, I believe, indicates the highest type of kindness: that although the greatest advantage of old age is the opportunity to be more negligent regarding self-preservation and to use life more adventurously, one should watch over one’s old age with still greater care if one knows that such action is pleasing, useful, or desirable in the eyes of a person whom one holds dear. This is also a source of no mean joy and profit; for what is sweeter than to be so valued by one’s wife that one becomes more valuable to oneself for this reason? Hence my dear Paulina is able to make me responsible, not only for her fears, but also for my own. So you are curious to know the outcome of this prescription of travel? As soon as I escaped from the oppressive atmosphere of the city, and from that awful odour of reeking kitchens which, when in use, pour forth a ruinous mess of steam and soot, I perceived at once that my health was mending. And how much stronger do you think I felt when I reached my vineyards! Being, so to speak, let out to pasture, I regularly walked into my meals! So I am my old self again, feeling now no wavering languor in my system, and no sluggishness in my brain. I am beginning to work with all my energy. But the mere place avails little for this purpose, unless the mind is fully master of itself, and can, at its pleasure, find seclusion even in the midst of business; the man, however, who is always selecting resorts and hunting for leisure, will find something to distract his mind in every place. Socrates is reported to have replied, when a certain person complained of having received no benefit from his travels: “It serves you right! You travelled in your own company!” O what a blessing it would be for some men to wander away from themselves! As it is, they cause themselves vexation, worry, demoralization, and fear! What profit is there in crossing the sea and in going from one city to another? If you would escape your troubles, you need not another place but another personality. Perhaps you have reached Athens, or perhaps Rhodes; choose any state you fancy, how does it matter what its character may be? You will be bringing to it your own. Suppose that you hold wealth to be a good: poverty will then distress you, and,—which is most pitiable,—it will be an imaginary poverty. For you may be rich, and nevertheless, because your neighbour is richer, you suppose yourself to be poor exactly by the same amount in which you fall short of your neighbour. You may deem official position a good; you will be vexed at another’s appointment or re-appointment to the consulship; you will be jealous whenever you see a name several times in the state records. Your ambition will be so frenzied that you will regard yourself last in the race if there is anyone in front of you. Or you may rate death as the worst of evils, although there is really no evil therein except that which precedes death’s coming—fear. You will be frightened out of your wits, not only by real, but by fancied dangers, and will be tossed for ever on the sea of illusion. What benefit will it be to Have threaded all the towns of Argolis, A fugitive through midmost press of foes? For peace itself will furnish further apprehension. Even in the midst of safety you will have no confidence if your mind has once been given a shock; once it has acquired the habit of blind panic, it is incapable of providing even for its own safety. For it does not avoid danger, but runs away. Yet we are more exposed to danger when we turn our backs. You may judge it the most grievous of ills to lose any of those you love; while all the same this would be no less foolish than weeping because the trees which charm your eye and adorn your home lose their foliage. Regard everything that pleases you as if it were a flourishing plant; make the most of it while it is in leaf, for different plants at different seasons must fall and die. But just as the loss of leaves is a light thing, because they are born afresh, so it is with the loss of those whom you love and regard as the delight of your life; for they can be replaced even though they cannot be born afresh. “New friends, however, will not be the same.” No, nor will you yourself remain the same; you change with every day and every hour. But in other men you more readily see what time plunders; in your own case the change is hidden, because it will not take place visibly. Others are snatched from sight; we ourselves are being stealthily filched away from ourselves. You will not think about any of these problems, nor will you apply remedies to these wounds. You will of your own volition be sowing a crop of trouble by alternate hoping and despairing. If you are wise, mingle these two elements: do not hope without despair, or despair without hope. What benefit has travel of itself ever been able to give anyone? No restraint upon pleasure, no bridling of desire, no checking of bad temper, no crushing of the wild assaults of passion, no opportunity to rid the soul of evil. Travelling cannot give us judgment, or shake off our errors; it merely holds our attention for a moment by a certain novelty, as children pause to wonder at something unfamiliar. Besides, it irritates us, through the wavering of a mind which is suffering from an acute attack of sickness; the very motion makes it more fitful and nervous. Hence the spots we had sought most eagerly we quit still more eagerly, like birds that flit and are off as soon as they have alighted. What travel will give is familiarity with other nations: it will reveal to you mountains of strange shape, or unfamiliar tracts of plain, or valleys that are watered by ever-flowing springs, or the characteristics of some river that comes to our attention. We observe how the Nile rises and swells in summer, or how the Tigris disappears, runs underground through hidden spaces, and then appears with unabated sweep; or how the Maeander, that oft-rehearsed theme and plaything of the poets, turns in frequent bendings, and often in winding comes close to its own channel before resuming its course. But this sort of information will not make better or sounder men of us. We ought rather to spend our time in study, and to cultivate those who are masters of wisdom, learning something which has been investigated, but not settled; by this means the mind can be relieved of a most wretched serfdom, and won over to freedom. Indeed, as long as you are ignorant of what you should avoid or seek, or of what is necessary or superfluous, or of what is right or wrong, you will not be travelling, but merely wandering. There will be no benefit to you in this hurrying to and fro; for you are travelling with your emotions and are followed by your afflictions. Would that they were indeed following you! In that case, they would be farther away; as it is, you are carrying and not leading them. Hence they press about you on all sides, continually chafing and annoying you. It is medicine, not scenery, for which the sick man must go a-searching. Suppose that someone has broken a leg or dislocated a joint: he does not take carriage or ship for other regions, but he calls in the physician to set the fractured limb, or to move it back to its proper place in the socket. What then? When the spirit is broken or wrenched in so many places, do you think that change of place can heal it? The complaint is too deep-seated to be cured by a journey. Travel does not make a physician or an orator; no art is acquired by merely living in a certain place. Where lies the truth, then? Can wisdom, the greatest of all the arts, be picked up on a journey? I assure you, travel as far as you like, you can never establish yourself beyond the reach of desire, beyond the reach of bad temper, or beyond the reach of fear; had it been so, the human race would long ago have banded together and made a pilgrimage to the spot. Such ills, as long as you carry with you their causes, will load you down and worry you to skin and bone in your wanderings over land and sea. Do you wonder that it is of no use to run away from them? That from which you are running, is within you. Accordingly, reform your own self, get the burden off your own shoulders, and keep within safe limits the cravings which ought to be removed. Wipe out from your soul all trace of sin. If you would enjoy your travels, make healthy the companion of your travels. As long as this companion is avaricious and mean, greed will stick to you; and while you consort with an overbearing man, your puffed-up ways will also stick close. Live with a hangman, and you will never be rid of your cruelty. If an adulterer be your club-mate, he will kindle the baser passions. If you would be stripped of your faults leave far behind you the patterns of the faults. The miser, the swindler, the bully, the cheat, who will do you much harm merely by being near you, are within you. Change therefore to better associations: live with the Catos, with Laelius, with Tubero. Or, if you enjoy living with Greeks also, spend your time with Socrates and with Zeno: the former will show you how to die if it be necessary; the latter how to die before it is necessary. Live with Chrysippus, with Posidonius: they will make you acquainted with things earthly and things heavenly; they will bid you work hard over something more than neat turns of language and phrases mouthed forth for the entertainment of listeners; they will bid you be stout of heart and rise superior to threats. The only harbour safe from the seething storms of this life is scorn of the future, a firm stand, a readiness to receive Fortune’s missiles full in the breast, neither skulking nor turning the back. Nature has brought us forth brave of spirit, and, as she has implanted in certain animals a spirit of ferocity, in others craft, in others terror, so she has gifted us with an aspiring and lofty spirit, which prompts us to seek a life of the greatest honour, and not of the greatest security, that most resembles the soul of the universe, which it follows and imitates as far as our mortal steps permit. This spirit thrusts itself forward, confident of commendation and esteem. It is superior to all, monarch of all it surveys; hence it should be subservient to nothing, finding no task too heavy, and nothing strong enough to weigh down the shoulders of a man. Shapes dread to look upon, of toil or death are not in the least dreadful, if one is able to look upon them with unflinching gaze, and is able to pierce the shadows. Many a sight that is held a terror in the night-time, is turned to ridicule by day. “Shapes dread to look upon, of toil or death”: our Vergil has excellently said that these shapes are dread, not in reality, but only “to look upon"—in other words, they seem terrible, but are not. And in these visions what is there, I say, as fear-inspiring as rumour has proclaimed? Why, pray, my dear Lucilius, should a man fear toil, or a mortal death? Countless cases occur to my mind of men who think that what they themselves are unable to do is impossible, who maintain that we utter words which are too big for man’s nature to carry out. But how much more highly do I think of these men! They can do these things, but decline to do them. To whom that ever tried have these tasks proved false? To what man did they not seem easier in the doing? Our lack of confidence is not the result of difficulty; the difficulty comes from our lack of confidence. If, however, you desire a pattern, take Socrates, a long-suffering old man, who was sea-tossed amid every hardship and yet was unconquered both by poverty (which his troubles at home made more burdensome) and by toil, including the drudgery of military service. He was much tried at home, whether we think of his wife, a woman of rough manners and shrewish tongue, or of the children whose intractability showed them to be more like their mother than their father. And if you consider the facts, he lived either in time of war, or under tyrants, or under a democracy, which is more cruel than wars and tyrants. The war lasted for twenty-seven years; then the state became the victim of the Thirty Tyrants, of whom many were his personal enemies. At the last came that climax of condemnation under the gravest of charges: they accused him of disturbing the state religion and corrupting the youth, for they declared that he had influenced the youth to defy the gods, to defy the council, and to defy the state in general. Next came the prison, and the cup of poison. But all these measures changed the soul of Socrates so little that they did not even change his features. What wonderful and rare distinction! He maintained this attitude up to the very end, and no man ever saw Socrates too much elated or too much depressed. Amid all the disturbance of Fortune, he was undisturbed. Do you desire another case? Take that of the younger Marcus Cato, with whom Fortune dealt in a more hostile and more persistent fashion. But he withstood her, on all occasions, and in his last moments, at the point of death, showed that a brave man can live in spite of Fortune, can die in spite of her. His whole life was passed either in civil warfare, or under a political regime which was soon to breed civil war. And you may say that he, just as much as Socrates, declared allegiance to liberty in the midst of slavery—unless perchance you think that Pompey, Caesar, and Crassus were the allies of liberty! No one ever saw Cato change, no matter how often the state changed: he kept himself the same in all circumstances—in the praetorship, in defeat, under accusation, in his province, on the platform, in the army, in death. Furthermore, when the republic was in a crisis of terror, when Caesar was on one side with ten embattled legions at his call, aided by so many foreign nations, and when Pompey was on the other, satisfied to stand alone against all comers, and when the citizens were leaning towards either Caesar or Pompey, Cato alone established a definite party for the Republic. If you would obtain a mental picture of that period, you may imagine on one side the people and the whole proletariat eager for revolution—on the other the senators and knights, the chosen and honoured men of the commonwealth; and there were left between them but these two—the Republic and Cato. I tell you, you will marvel when you see Atreus’ son, and Priam, and Achilles, wroth at both. Like Achilles, he scorns and disarms each faction. And this is the vote which he casts concerning them both: “If Caesar wins, I slay myself; if Pompey, I go into exile.” What was there for a man to fear who, whether in defeat or in victory, had assigned to himself a doom which might have been assigned to him by his enemies in their utmost rage? So he died by his own decision. You see that man can endure toil: Cato, on foot, led an army through African deserts. You see that thirst can be endured: he marched over sun-baked hills, dragging the remains of a beaten army and with no train of supplies, undergoing lack of water and wearing a heavy suit of armour; always the last to drink of the few springs which they chanced to find. You see that honour, and dishonour too, can be despised: for they report that on the very day when Cato was defeated at the elections, he played a game of ball. You see also that man can be free from fear of those above him in rank: for Cato attacked Caesar and Pompey simultaneously, at a time when none dared fall foul of the one without endeavouring to oblige the other. You see that death can be scorned as well as exile: Cato inflicted exile upon himself and finally death, and war all the while. And so, if only we are willing to withdraw our necks from the yoke, we can keep as stout a heart against such terrors as these. But first and foremost, we must reject pleasures; they render us weak and womanish; they make great demands upon us, and, moreover, cause us to make great demands upon Fortune. Second, we must spurn wealth: wealth is the diploma of slavery. Abandon gold and silver, and whatever else is a burden upon our richly-furnished homes; liberty cannot be gained for nothing. If you set a high value on liberty, you must set a low value on everything else. Farewell.

[1] In Nomentanum meum fugi -- quid putas? urbem? immo febrem et quidemsubrepentem; iam manum mihi iniecerat. Medicus initia esse dicebat motisvenis et incertis et naturalem turbantibus modum. Protinus itaque pararivehiculum iussi; Paulina mea retinente exire perseveravi. Illud mihi inore erat domini mei Gallionis, qui cum in Achaia febrem habere coepisset, protinus navem escendit clamitans non corporis esse sed loci morbum. [2]Hoc ego Paulinae meae dixi, quae mihi valetudinem meam commendat. Nam cumsciam spiritum illius in meo verti, incipio, ut illi consulam, mihi consulere. Et cum me fortiorem senectus ad multa reddiderit, hoc beneficium aetatisamitto; venit enim mihi in mentem in hoc sene et adulescentem esse cuiparcitur. Itaque quoniam ego ab illa non inpetro ut me fortius amet, <ame> inpetrat illa ut me diligentius amem. [3] Indulgendum est enim honestisadfectibus; et interdum, etiam si premunt causae, spiritus in honorem suorumvel cum tormento revocandus et in ipso ore retinendus est, cum bono virovivendum sit non quamdiu iuvat sed quamdiu oportet: ille qui non uxorem, non amicum tanti putat ut diutius in vita commoretur, qui perseverabitmori, delicatus est. Hoc quoque imperet sibi animus, ubi utilitas suorumexigit, nec tantum si vult mori, sed si coepit, intermittat et <se>suis commodet. [4] Ingentis animi est aliena causa ad vitam reverti, quodmagni viri saepe fecerunt; sed hoc quoque summae humanitatis existimo, senectutem suam, cuius maximus fructus est securior sui tutela et vitaeusus animosior, attentius <curare>, si scias alicui id tuorum esse dulce, utile, optabile. [5] Habet praeterea in se non mediocre ista res gaudiumet mercedem; quid enim iucundius quam uxori tam carum esse ut propter hoctibi carior fias? Potest itaque Paulina mea non tantum suum mihi timoreminputare sed etiam meum. [6] Quaeris ergo quomodo mihi consilium profectionis cesserit? Ut primumgravitatem urbis excessi et illum odorem culinarum fumantium quae motaequidquid pestiferi vaporis sorbuerunt cum pulvere effundunt, protinus mutatamvaletudinem sensi. Quantum deinde adiectum putas viribus postquam vineasattigi? in pascuum emissus cibum meum invasi. Repetivi ergo iam me; nonpermansit marcor ille corporis dubii et male cogitantis. Incipio toto animostudere. [7] Non multum ad hoc locus confert nisi se sibi praestat animus, qui secretum in occupationibus mediis si volet habebit: at ille qui regioneseligit et otium captat ubique quo distringatur inveniet. Nam Socraten querenticuidam quod nihil sibi peregrinationes profuissent respondisse ferunt, 'non inmerito hoc tibi evenit; tecum enim peregrinabaris'. [8] O quam benecum quibusdam ageretur, si a se aberrarent! Nunc premunt se ipsi, sollicitant, corrumpunt, territant. Quid prodest mare traicere et urbes mutare? si visista quibus urgueris effugere, non aliubi sis oportet sed alius. Puta venissete Athenas, puta Rhodon; elige arbitrio tuo civitatem: quid ad rem pertinetquos illa mores habeat? tuos adferes. [9] Divitias iudicabis bonum: torquebitte paupertas, quod est miserrimum, falsa. Quamvis enim multum possideas, tamen, quia aliquis plus habet, tanto tibi videris defici quanto vinceris. Honores iudicabis bonum: male te habebit ille consul factus, ille etiamrefectus; invidebis quotiens aliquem in fastis saepius legeris. Tantuserit ambitionis furor ut nemo tibi post te videatur si aliquis ante tefuerit. [10] Maximum malum iudicabis mortem, cum <in> illa nihil sitmali nisi quod ante ipsam est, timeri. Exterrebunt te non tantum periculased suspiciones; vanis semper agitaberis. Quid enim proderit Ipsa pax timores sumministrabit; ne tutis quidem habebitur fides consternatasemel mente, quae ubi consuetudinem pavoris inprovidi fecit, etiam ad tutelamsalutis suae inhabilis est. Non enim vitat sed fugit; magis autem periculispatemus aversi. [11] Gravissimum iudicabis malum aliquem ex his quos amabisamittere, cum interim hoc tam ineptum erit quam flere quod arboribus amoeniset domum tuam ornantibus decidant folia. Quidquid te delectat aeque vide+ut videres+: dum virent, utere. Alium alio die casus excutiet, sed quemadmodumfrondium iactura facilis est quia renascuntur, sic istorum quos amas quosqueoblectamenta vitae putas esse damnum, quia reparantur etiam si non renascuntur. [12] 'Sed non erunt idem. ' Ne tu quidem idem eris. Omnis dies, omnis horate mutat; sed in aliis rapina facilius apparet, hic latet, quia non exaperto fit. Alii auferuntur, at ipsi nobis furto subducimur. Horum nihilcogitabis nec remedia vulneribus oppones, sed ipse tibi seres sollicitudinumcausas alia sperando, alia desperando? Si sapis, alterum alteri misce:nec speraveris sine desperatione nec desperaveris sine spe. [13] Quid per se peregrinatio prodesse cuiquam potuit? Non voluptatesilla temperavit, non cupiditates refrenavit, non iras repressit, non indomitosamoris impetus fregit, nulla denique animo mala eduxit. Non iudicium dedit, non discussit errorem, sed ut puerum ignota mirantem ad breve tempus rerumaliqua novitate detinuit. [14] Ceterum inconstantiam mentis, quae maximeaegra est, lacessit, mobiliorem levioremque reddit ipsa iactatio. Itaquequae petierant cupidissime loca cupidius deserunt et avium modo transvolantcitiusque quam venerant abeunt. [15] Peregrinatio notitiam dabit gentium, novas tibi montium formas ostendet, invisitata spatia camporum et inriguasperennibus aquis valles; alicuius fluminis <singularem ponet> sub observationenaturam, sive ut Nilus aestivo incremento tumet, sive ut Tigris eripiturex oculis et acto per occulta cursu integrae magnitudinis redditur, siveut Maeander, poetarum omnium exercitatio et ludus, implicatur crebris anfractibuset saepe in vicinum alveo suo admotus, antequam sibi influat, flectitur:ceterum neque meliorem faciet neque saniorem. [16] Inter studia versandumest et inter auctores sapientiae ut quaesita discamus, nondum inventa quaeramus;sic eximendus animus ex miserrima servitute in libertatem adseritur. Quamdiuquidem nescieris quid fugiendum, quid petendum, quid necessarium, quidsupervacuum, quid iustum, quid iniustum, quid honestum, quid inhonestumsit, non erit hoc peregrinari sed errare. [17] Nullam tibi opem feret istediscursus; peregrinaris enim cum adfectibus tuis et mala te tua sequuntur. Utinam quidem sequerentur! Longius abessent: nunc fers illa, non ducis. Itaque ubique te premunt et paribus incommodis urunt. Medicina aegro, nonregio quaerenda est. [18] Fregit aliquis crus aut extorsit articulum: nonvehiculum navemque conscendit, sed advocat medicum ut fracta pars iungatur, ut luxata in locum reponatur. Quid ergo? animum tot locis fractum et extortumcredis locorum mutatione posse sanari? Maius est istud malum quam ut gestationecuretur. [19] Peregrinatio non facit medicum, non oratorem; nulla ars locodiscitur: quid ergo? sapientia, ars omnium maxima, in itinere colligitur? Nullum est, mihi crede, iter quod te extra cupiditates, extra iras, extrametus sistat; aut si quod esset, agmine facto gens illuc humana pergeret. Tamdiu ista urguebunt mala macerabuntque per terras ac maria vagum quamdiumalorum gestaveris causas. [20] Fugam tibi non prodesse miraris? tecumsunt quae fugis. Te igitur emenda, onera tibi detrahe et [emenda] desideriaintra salutarem modum contine; omnem ex animo erade nequitiam. Si vis peregrinationeshabere iucundas, comitem tuum sana. Haerebit tibi avaritia quamdiu avarosordidoque convixeris; haerebit tumor quamdiu superbo conversaberis; numquamsaevitiam in tortoris contubernio pones; incendent libidines tuas adulterorumsodalicia. [21] Si velis vitiis exui, longe a vitiorum exemplis recedendumest. Avarus, corruptor, saevus, fraudulentus, multum nocituri si propea te fuissent, intra te sunt. Ad meliores transi: cum Catonibus vive, cumLaelio, cum Tuberone. Quod si convivere etiam Graecis iuvat, cum Socrate, cum Zenone versare: alter te docebit mori si necesse erit, alter antequamnecesse erit. [22] Vive cum Chrysippo, cum Posidonio: hi tibi tradent humanorumdivinorumque notitiam, hi iubebunt in opere esse nec tantum scite loquiet in oblectationem audientium verba iactare, sed animum indurare et adversusminas erigere. Unus est enim huius vitae fluctuantis et turbidae portuseventura contemnere, stare fidenter ac paratum tela fortunae adverso pectoreexcipere, non latitantem nec tergiversantem. [23] Magnanimos nos naturaproduxit, et ut quibusdam animalibus ferum dedit, quibusdam subdolum, quibusdampavidum, ita nobis gloriosum et excelsum spiritum quaerentem ubi honestissime, non ubi tutissime vivat, simillimum mundo, quem quantum mortalium passibuslicet sequitur aemulaturque; profert se, laudari et aspici credit. [24]<Dominus> omnium est, supra omnia est;itaque nulli se rei summittat, nihil illi videatur grave, nihil quod virum incurvet. minime quidem, si quis rectis oculis intueri illa possit et tenebras perrumpere;multa per noctem habita terrori dies vertit ad risum. egregie Vergilius noster non re dixit terribiles esse sed visu, id estvideri, non esse. [25] Quid, inquam, in istis est tam formidabile quamfama vulgavit? quid est, obsecro te, Lucili, cur timeat laborem vir, mortemhomo? Totiens mihi occurrunt isti qui non putant fieri posse quidquid facerenon possunt, et aiunt nos loqui maiora quam quae humana natura sustineat. [26] At quanto ego de illis melius existimo! ipsi quoque haec possunt facere, sed nolunt. Denique quem umquam ista destituere temptantem? cui non facilioraapparuere in actu? Non quia difficilia sunt non audemus, sed quia non audemusdifficilia sunt. [27] Si tamen exemplum desideratis, accipite Socraten, perpessiciumsenem, per omnia aspera iactatum, invictum tamen et paupertate, quam gravioremilli domestica onera faciebant, et laboribus, quos militares quoque pertulit. Quibus ille domi exercitus, sive uxorem eius moribus feram, lingua petulantem, sive liberos indociles et matri quam patri similiores +sivere+ aut in bellofuit aut in tyrannide aut in libertate bellis ac tyrannis saeviore. [28]Viginti et septem annis pugnatum est; post finita arma triginta tyrannisnoxae dedita est civitas, ex quibus plerique inimici erant. Novissime damnatioest sub gravissimis nominibus impleta: obiecta est et religionum violatioet iuventutis corruptela, quam inmittere in deos, in patres, in rem publicamdictus est. Post haec carcer et venenum. Haec usque eo animum Socratisnon moverant ut ne vultum quidem moverint. <O> illam mirabilem laudemet singularem! usque ad extremum nec hilariorem quisquam nec tristioremSocraten vidit; aequalis fuit in tanta inaequalitate fortunae. [29] Vis alterum exemplum? accipe hunc M. Catonem recentiorem, cumquo et infestius fortuna egit et pertinacius. Cui cum omnibus locis obstitisset, novissime et in morte, ostendit tamen virum fortem posse invita fortunavivere, invita mori. Tota illi aetas aut in armis est exacta civilibusaut +intacta+ concipiente iam civile bellum; et hunc licet dicas non minusquam Socraten +inseruisse dixisse+ nisi forte Cn. Pompeium et Caesaremet Crassum putas libertatis socios fuisse. [30] Nemo mutatum Catonem totiensmutata re publica vidit; eundem se in omni statu praestitit, in praetura, in repulsa, in accusatione, in provincia, in contione, in exercitu, inmorte. Denique in illa rei publicae trepidatione, cum illinc Caesar essetdecem legionibus pugnacissimis subnixus, totis exterarum gentium praesidiis, hinc Cn. Pompeius, satis unus adversus omnia, cum alii ad Caesarem inclinarent, alii ad Pompeium, solus Cato fecit aliquas et rei publicae partes. [31]Si animo conplecti volueris illius imaginem temporis, videbis illinc plebemet omnem erectum ad res novas vulgum, hinc optumates et equestrem ordinem, quidquid erat in civitate sancti et electi, duos in medio relictos, rempublicam et Catonem. Miraberis, inquam, cum animadverteris utrumque enim inprobat, utrumque exarmat. [32] Hanc fert de utroque sententiam:ait se, si Caesar vicerit, moriturum, si Pompeius, exulaturum. Quid habebatquod timeret qui ipse sibi et victo et victori constituerat quae constitutaesse ab hostibus iratissimis poterant? Perit itaque ex decreto suo. [33]Vides posse homines laborem pati: per medias Africae solitudines pedesduxit exercitum. Vides posse tolerari sitim: in collibus arentibus sineullis inpedimentis victi exercitus reliquias trahens inopiam umoris loricatustulit et, quotiens aquae fuerat occasio, novissimus bibit. Vides honoremet notam posse contemni: eodem quo repulsus est die in comitio pila lusit. Vides posse non timeri potentiam superiorum: et Pompeium et Caesarem, quorumnemo alterum offendere audebat nisi ut alterum demereretur, simul provocavit. Vides tam mortem posse contemni quam exilium: et exilium sibi indixit etmortem et interim bellum. [34] Possumus itaque adversus ista tantum habereanimi, libeat modo subducere iugo collum. In primis autem respuendae voluptates:enervant et effeminant et multum petunt, multum autem a fortuna petendumest. Deinde spernendae opes: auctoramenta sunt servitutum. Aurum et argentumet quidquid aliud felices domos onerat relinquatur: non potest gratis constarelibertas. Hanc si magno aestimas, omnia parvo aestimanda sunt. Vale.