Letter 79

I am waiting for your letters, in which you will report to me what your tour around the whole of Sicily has shown you that is new, and give me more reliable information about Charybdis itself. For I know perfectly well that Scylla is a rock, and indeed not one that terrifies sailors; but as for Charybdis, I am eager to have written out for me whether it answers to the old tales. And if by chance you have observed it (and it is well worth your observing), make me certain whether it is driven into its whirlpools by one wind only, or whether every storm churns that sea equally; and whether it is true that whatever is snatched away by that strait's vortex is dragged buried for many miles and surfaces again near the shore of Tauromenium. If you write all this out for me, then I shall venture to charge you to climb Aetna as well, in my honor. Some infer that the mountain is being consumed and gradually subsiding from the fact that it used to be visible to sailors at a considerably greater distance. This can happen not because the mountain's height has sunk, but because the fire has faded and is carried up less violently and less abundantly; and for the same reason the smoke too is more sluggish by day. Neither possibility, however, is incredible: neither that a mountain which is devoured should diminish daily, nor that it should remain the same, since it is not the mountain itself that the fire eats up, but rather the fire, conceived in some underground valley, seethes forth and is fed by other matter, finding in the mountain itself not its nourishment but only its passage. In Lycia there is a very famous region (the inhabitants call it Hephaestion), where the ground is pierced with holes in many places, and a harmless fire plays around it without any damage to what grows there. And so the region is rich and grassy, the flames scorching nothing but only glittering with a force subdued and faint. But let us reserve all this, to inquire into it then, when you have written to me how far the snows lie from the very mouth of the mountain, snows that not even summer melts: so safe are they from the neighboring fire. There is no reason, however, why you should charge this trouble to my account; for you were going to indulge your own malady [the itch to write poetry], even if no one had commissioned it. What shall I offer you to keep you from describing Aetna in your poem, and from touching this theme that is a ritual obligation for all poets? Nothing kept Ovid from handling it just because Vergil had already exhausted it; nor did the two of them deter even Cornelius Severus. Besides, this theme has lent itself to all with happy results, and those who went before seem to me not to have snatched away in advance what could be said, but to have opened it up. It makes a great difference whether you approach material that has been used up or material that has merely been broken in: it grows day by day, and what has been discovered does not obstruct what is still to be discovered. Moreover, the last comer's position is the best: he finds the words ready made, which, arranged differently, take on a new face. Nor does he lay hands on them as if they belonged to another; for they are public property. [Jurists deny that anything public can be acquired by use.] Either I do not know you, or Aetna sets your mouth watering: already you long to write something grand and on a level with your predecessors. For your modesty does not allow you to hope for more, so great is it in you that you seem to me likely to draw back the powers of your talent if there were any danger of winning: such is your reverence for those who went before. Among its other goods, wisdom has this one: no one can be outdone by another except while the ascent is going on. When you have reached the summit, all are equal; there is no room for increase, you come to a standstill. Does the sun add anything to its own greatness? Does the moon advance beyond its usual course? The seas do not grow; the universe keeps the same condition and measure. Things that have filled out their proper greatness cannot exalt themselves further: whoever the wise men may be, they will be equal and on a level. Each of them will have his own particular gifts: one will be more affable, another more nimble, another more ready in speaking, another more eloquent; but the thing in question, the thing that makes a man blessed, is equal in them all. Whether your Aetna may slip away and collapse into itself, whether the unremitting force of its fires may bring down that lofty and conspicuous peak visible across the expanses of the vast sea, I do not know: but virtue neither flame nor ruin will bring lower; this is the one majesty that does not know how to be cast down. It can neither be carried further forward nor drawn back; its greatness, like that of the heavenly bodies, is fixed. Toward this let us strive to raise ourselves. Already much of the work is accomplished; or rather, if I am willing to confess the truth, not much. For goodness does not consist in being better than the worst men: who would boast of his eyesight when he can barely make out the daylight? A man for whom the sun shines through a fog, although he may be content for the moment to have escaped the darkness, does not yet enjoy the good of the light. Then our mind will have something to congratulate itself upon, when, sent out from these shadows in which it is tossed about, it has not glimpsed brightness with a thin vision, but has admitted the whole day and been restored to its own heaven, when it has recovered the place it occupied by the lot of its birth. Its own origins call it upward; and it will be there even before it is released from this confinement, once it has scattered its vices and, pure and light, has darted up into divine thoughts. That we are engaged in this, dearest Lucilius, that we press toward it with all our drive, gives me joy, though few may know it, though none may. Glory is the shadow of virtue: it will accompany her even against her will. But just as a shadow sometimes goes before, sometimes follows or lies behind, so glory is sometimes before us and offers herself to be seen, and sometimes is at our back and all the greater the later she comes, once envy has withdrawn. How long Democritus seemed to be raving! Fame scarcely received Socrates. How long the state ignored Cato! It spurned him and did not understand him until it had destroyed him. Rutilius' innocence and virtue would lie hidden, had it not suffered injury: in the very moment of being violated, it shone forth. Did he not give thanks to his lot and embrace his exile? I am speaking of those whom Fortune illuminated even while harassing them: how many men's progress came to notice only after themselves! How many fame did not receive but unearthed! You see how greatly Epicurus is admired, not only by the more learned, but even by this crowd of the ignorant: yet he was unknown to Athens itself, near which he had lain hidden. And so, having outlived his friend Metrodorus by many years, in a certain letter, after he had sung of his own friendship and of Metrodorus in grateful remembrance, he added this at the very end: that among such great goods nothing had harmed him and Metrodorus, namely that famous Greece had held them not only unknown but almost unheard of. Was he not then discovered only after he had ceased to be? Did not his reputation blaze forth? Metrodorus too confesses this in a certain letter, that he and Epicurus were not sufficiently known; but that after them, those who chose to walk in the same footsteps would have a great and ready-made name. No virtue stays hidden, and to have stayed hidden is no loss to virtue itself: there will come a day that publishes what has been concealed and pressed down by the malice of its own age. He is born for few who thinks only of the people of his own time. Many thousands of years, many peoples, will come after: look to them. Even if envy has decreed silence upon all who live with you, there will come those who judge without offense and without favor. If there is any reward of virtue from fame, not even this perishes. The talk of those who come after will indeed mean nothing to us; yet, even when we do not feel it, posterity will honor us and keep us in remembrance. To no one has virtue, alive or dead, failed to return its thanks, provided he has followed her in good faith, provided he has not adorned and painted himself up, but has been the same man whether he seemed prepared on advance notice or caught unprepared and on the sudden. Pretence accomplishes nothing; a surface laid lightly over the outside deceives few; truth is the same in every part of itself. The things that deceive have nothing solid in them. A lie is thin: it shows through if you inspect it carefully. Farewell.

I have been awaiting a letter from you, that you might inform me what new matter was revealed to you during your trip round Sicily, and especially that you might give me further information regarding Charybdis itself. I know very well that Scylla is a rock—and indeed a rock not dreaded by mariners; but with regard to Charybdis I should like to have a full description, in order to see whether it agrees with the accounts in mythology; and, if you have by chance investigated it (for it is indeed worthy of your investigation), please enlighten me concerning the following: Is it lashed into a whirlpool by a wind from only one direction, or do all storms alike serve to disturb its depths? Is it true that objects snatched downwards by the whirlpool in that strait are carried for many miles under water, and then come to the surface on the beach near Tauromenium? If you will write me a full account of these matters, I shall then have the boldness to ask you to perform another task,—also to climb Aetna at my special request. Certain naturalists have inferred that the mountain is wasting away and gradually settling, because sailors used to be able to see it from a greater distance. The reason for this may be, not that the height of the mountain is decreasing, but because the flames have become dim and the eruptions less strong and less copious, and because for the same reason the smoke also is less active by day. However, either of these two things is possible to believe: that on the one hand the mountain is growing smaller because it is consumed from day to day, and that, on the other hand, it remains the same in size because the mountain is not devouring itself, but instead of this the matter which seethes forth collects in some subterranean valley and is fed by other material, finding in the mountain itself not the food which it requires, but simply a passage-way out. There is a well-known place in Lycia—called by the inhabitants “Hephaestion”—where the ground is full of holes in many places and is surrounded by a harmless fire, which does no injury to the plants that grow there. Hence the place is fertile and luxuriant with growth, because the flames do not scorch but merely shine with a force that is mild and feeble. But let us postpone this discussion, and look into the matter when you have given me a description just how far distant the snow lies from the crater,—I mean the snow which does not melt even in summer, so safe is it from the adjacent fire. But there is no ground for your charging this work to my account; for you were about to gratify your own craze for fine writing, without a commission from anyone at all. Nay, what am I to offer you not merely to describe Aetna in your poem, and not to touch lightly upon a topic which is a matter of ritual for all poets? Ovid could not be prevented from using this theme simply because Vergil had already fully covered it; nor could either of these writers frighten off Cornelius Severus. Besides, the topic has served them all with happy results, and those who have gone before seem to me not to have forestalled all that could be said, but merely to have opened the way. It makes a great deal of difference whether you approach a subject that has been exhausted, or one where the ground has merely been broken; in the latter case, the topic grows day by day, and what is already discovered does not hinder new discoveries. Besides, he who writes last has the best of the bargain; he finds already at hand words which, when marshalled in a different way, show a new face. And he is not pilfering them, as if they belonged to someone else, when he uses them, for they are common property. Now if Aetna does not make your mouth water, I am mistaken in you. You have for some time been desirous of writing something in the grand style and on the level of the older school. For your modesty does not allow you to set your hopes any higher; this quality of yours is so pronounced that, it seems to me, you are likely to curb the force of your natural ability, if there should be any danger of outdoing others; so greatly do you reverence the old masters. Wisdom has this advantage, among others,—that no man can be outdone by another, except during the climb. But when you have arrived at the top, it is a draw; there is no room for further ascent, the game is over. Can the sun add to his size? Can the moon advance beyond her usual fulness? The seas do not increase in bulk. The universe keeps the same character, the same limits. Things which have reached their full stature cannot grow higher. Men who have attained wisdom will therefore be equal and on the same footing. Each of them will possess his own peculiar gifts: one will be more affable, another more facile, another more ready of speech, a fourth more eloquent; but as regards the quality under discussion,—the element that produces happiness,—it is equal in them all. I do not know whether this Aetna of yours can collapse and fall in ruins, whether this lofty summit, visible for many miles over the deep sea, is wasted by the incessant power of the flames; but I do know that virtue will not be brought down to a lower plane either by flames or by ruins. Hers is the only greatness that knows no lowering; there can be for her no further rising or sinking. Her stature, like that of the stars in the heavens, is fixed. Let us therefore strive to raise ourselves to this altitude. Already much of the task is accomplished; nay, rather, if I can bring myself to confess the truth, not much. For goodness does not mean merely being better than the lowest. Who that could catch but a mere glimpse of the daylight would boast his powers of vision? One who sees the sun shining through a mist may be contented meanwhile that he has escaped darkness, but he does not yet enjoy the blessing of light. Our souls will not have reason to rejoice in their lot until, freed from this darkness in which they grope, they have not merely glimpsed the brightness with feeble vision, but have absorbed the full light of day and have been restored to their place in the sky,—until, indeed, they have regained the place which they held at the allotment of their birth. The soul is summoned upward by its very origin. And it will reach that goal even before it is released from its prison below, as soon as it has cast off sin and, in purity and lightness, has leaped up into celestial realms of thought. I am glad, beloved Lucilius, that we are occupied with this ideal, that we pursue it with all our might, even though few know it, or none. Fame is the shadow of virtue; it will attend virtue even against her will. But, as the shadow sometimes precedes and sometimes follows or even lags behind, so fame sometimes goes before us and shows herself in plain sight, and sometimes is in the rear, and is all the greater in proportion as she is late in coming, when once envy has beaten a retreat. How long did men believe Democritus to be mad! Glory barely came to Socrates. And how long did our state remain in ignorance of Cato! They rejected him, and did not know his worth until they had lost him. If Rutilius had not resigned himself to wrong, his innocence and virtue would have escaped notice; the hour of his suffering was the hour of his triumph. Did he not give thanks for his lot, and welcome his exile with open arms? I have mentioned thus far those to whom Fortune has brought renown at the very moment of persecution; but how many there are whose progress toward virtue has come to light only after their death! And how many have been ruined, not rescued, by their reputation? There is Epicurus, for example; mark how greatly he is admired, not only by the more cultured, but also by this ignorant rabble. This man, however, was unknown to Athens itself, near which he had hidden himself away. And so, when he had already survived by many years his friend Metrodorus, he added in a letter these last words, proclaiming with thankful appreciation the friendship that had existed between them: “So greatly blest were Metrodorus and I that it has been no harm to us to be unknown, and almost unheard of, in this well-known land of Greece.” Is it not true, therefore, that men did not discover him until after he had ceased to be? Has not his renown shone forth, for all that? Metrodorus also admits this fact in one of his letters: that Epicurus and he were not well known to the public; but he declares that after the lifetime of Epicurus and himself any man who might wish to follow in their footsteps would win great and ready-made renown. Virtue is never lost to view; and yet to have been lost to view is no loss. There will come a day which will reveal her, though hidden away or suppressed by the spite of her contemporaries. That man is born merely for a few, who thinks only of the people of his own generation. Many thousands of years and many thousands of peoples will come after you; it is to these that you should have regard. Malice may have imposed silence upon the mouths of all who were alive in your day; but there will come men who will judge you without prejudice and without favour. If there is any reward that virtue receives at the hands of fame, not even this can pass away. We ourselves, indeed, shall not be affected by the talk of posterity; nevertheless, posterity will cherish and celebrate us even though we are not conscious thereof. Virtue has never failed to reward a man, both during his life and after his death, provided he has followed her loyally, provided he has not decked himself out or painted himself up, but has been always the same, whether he appeared before men’s eyes after being announced, or suddenly and without preparation. Pretence accomplishes nothing. Few are deceived by a mask that is easily drawn over the face. Truth is the same in every part. Things which deceive us have no real substance. Lies are thin stuff; they are transparent, if you examine them with care. Farewell.

[1] Expecto epistulas tuas quibus mihi indices circuitus Siciliae totius quid tibi novi ostenderit, et omnia de ipsa Charybdi certiora. Nam Scyllam saxum esse et quidem non terribile navigantibus optime scio: Charybdis an respondeat fabulis perscribi mihi desidero et, si forte observaveris (dignum est autem quod observes), fac nos certiores utrum uno tantum vento agatur in vertices an omnis tempestas aeque mare illud contorqueat, et an verum sit quidquid illo freti turbine abreptum est per multa milia trahi conditum et circa Tauromenitanum litus emergere. [2] Si haec mihi perscripseris, tunc tibi audebo mandare ut in honorem meum Aetnam quoque ascendas, quam consumi et sensim subsidere ex hoc colligunt quidam, quod aliquanto longius navigantibus solebat ostendi. Potest hoc accidere non quia montis altitudo descendit, sed quia ignis evanuit et minus vehemens ac largus effertur, ob eandem causam fumo quoque per diem segniore. Neutrum autem incredibile est, nec montem qui devoretur cotidie minui, nec manere eundem, quia non ipsum <ignis> exest sed in aliqua inferna valle conceptus exaestuat et aliis pascitur, in ipso monte non alimentum habet sed viam. [3] In Lycia regio notissima est (Hephaestion incolae vocant), foratum pluribus locis solum, quod sine ullo nascentium damno ignis innoxius circumit. Laeta itaque regio est et herbida, nihil flammis adurentibus sed tantum vi remissa ac languida refulgentibus. [4] Sed reservemus ista, tunc quaesituri cum tu mihi scripseris quantum ab ipso ore montis nives absint, quas ne aestas quidem solvit; adeo tutae sunt ab igne vicino. Non est autem quod istam curam inputes mihi; morbo enim tuo daturus eras, etiam si nemo mandaret. [5] Quid tibi do ne Aetnam describas in tuo carmine, ne hunc sollemnem omnibus poetis locum adtingas? Quem quominus Ovidius tractaret, nihil obstitit quod iam Vergilius impleverat; ne Severum quidem Cornelium uterque deterruit. Omnibus praeterea feliciter hic locus se dedit, et qui praecesserant non praeripuisse mihi videntur quae dici poterant, sed aperuisse. [6] [Sed] Multum interest utrum ad consumptam materiam an ad subactam accedas: crescit in dies, et inventuris inventa non obstant. Praeterea condicio optima est ultimi: parata verba invenit, quae aliter instructa novam faciem habent. Nec illis manus inicit tamquam alienis; sunt enim publica. [Iurisconsulti negant quicquam publicum usu capi.] [7] Aut ego te non novi aut Aetna tibi salivam movet; iam cupis grande aliquid et par prioribus scribere. Plus enim sperare modestia tibi tua non permittit, quae tanta in te est ut videaris mihi retracturus ingenii tui vires, si vincendi periculum sit: tanta tibi priorum reverentia est. [8] Inter cetera hoc habet boni sapientia: nemo ab altero potest vinci nisi dum ascenditur. Cum ad summum perveneris, paria sunt; non est incremento locus, statur. Numquid sol magnitudini suae adicit? numquid ultra quam solet luna procedit? Maria non crescunt; mundus eundem habitum ac modum servat. [9] Extollere se quae iustam magnitudinem implevere non possunt: quicumque fuerint sapientes, pares erunt et aequales. Habebit unusquisque ex iis proprias dotes: alius erit affabilior, alius expeditior, alius promptior in eloquendo, alius facundior: illud de quo agitur, quod beatum facit, aequalest in omnibus. [10] An Aetna tua possit sublabi et in se ruere, an hoc excelsum cacumen et conspicuum per vasti maris spatia detrahat adsidua vis ignium, nescio: virtutem non flamma, non ruina inferius adducet; haec una maiestas deprimi nescit. Nec proferri ultra nec referri potest; sic huius, ut caelestium, stata magnitudo est. Ad hanc nos conemur educere. [11] Iam multum operis effecti est; immo, si verum fateri volo, non multum. Nec enim bonitas est pessimis esse meliorem: quis oculis glorietur qui suspicetur diem? Cui sol per caliginem splendet, licet contentus interim sit effugisse tenebras, adhuc non fruitur bono lucis. [12] Tunc animus noster habebit quod gratuletur sibi cum emissus his tenebris in quibus volutatur non tenui visu clara prospexerit, sed totum diem admiserit et redditus caelo suo fuerit, cum receperit locum quem occupavit sorte nascendi. Sursum illum vocant initia sua; erit autem illic etiam antequam hac custodia exsolvatur, cum vitia disiecerit purusque ac levis in cogitationes divinas emicuerit. [13] Hoc nos agere, Lucili carissime, in hoc ire impetu toto, licet pauci sciant, licet nemo, iuvat. Gloria umbra virtutis est: etiam invitam comitabitur. Sed quemadmodum aliquando umbra antecedit, aliquando sequitur vel a tergo est, ita gloria aliquando ante nos est visendamque se praebet, aliquando in averso est maiorque quo serior, ubi invidia secessit. [14] Quamdiu videbatur furere Democritus! Vix recepit Socraten fama. Quamdiu Catonem civitas ignoravit! respuit nec intellexit nisi cum perdidit. Rutili innocentia ac virtus lateret, nisi accepisset iniuriam: dum violatur, effulsit. Numquid non sorti suae gratias egit et exilium suum complexus est? De his loquor quos inlustravit fortuna dum vexat: quam multorum profectus in notitiam evasere post ipsos! quam multos fama non excepit sed eruit! [15] Vides Epicurum quantopere non tantum eruditiores sed haec quoque inperitorum turba miretur: hic ignotus ipsis Athenis fuit, circa quas delituerat. Multis itaque iam annis Metrodoro suo superstes in quadam epistula, cum amicitiam suam et Metrodori grata commemoratione cecinisset, hoc novissime adiecit, nihil sibi et Metrodoro inter bona tanta nocuisse quod ipsos illa nobilis Graecia non ignotos solum habuisset sed paene inauditos. [16] Numquid ergo non postea quam esse desierat inventus est? numquid non opinio eius enituit? Hoc Metrodorus quoque in quadam epistula confitetur, se et Epicurum non satis enotuisse; sed post se et Epicurum magnum paratumque nomen habituros qui voluissent per eadem ire vestigia. [17] Nulla virtus latet, et latuisse non ipsius est damnum: veniet qui conditam et saeculi sui malignitate conpressam dies publicet. Paucis natus est qui populum aetatis suae cogitat. Multa annorum milia, multa populorum supervenient: ad illa respice. Etiam si omnibus tecum viventibus silentium livor indixerit, venient qui sine offensa, sine gratia iudicent. Si quod est pretium virtutis ex fama, nec hoc interit. Ad nos quidem nihil pertinebit posterorum sermo; tamen etiam non sentientes colet ac frequentabit. [18] Nulli non virtus et vivo et mortuo rettulit gratiam, si modo illam bona secutus est fide, si se non exornavit et pinxit, sed idem fuit sive ex denuntiato videbatur sive inparatus ac subito. Nihil simulatio proficit; paucis inponit leviter extrinsecus inducta facies: veritas in omnem partem sui eadem est. Quae decipiunt nihil habent solidi. Tenue est mendacium: perlucet si diligenter inspexeris. Vale.