No More Learning

Three hundred thousand sesterces cannot give the
fame of genius. Their eloquence may be said to have built up their
fortunes; and, indeed, such is the power, I might say the inspiration,
of eloquence, that in every age we have examples of men, who by their
talents raised themselves to the summit of their ambition.

But I waive all former instances. The two, whom I have mentioned, are
not recorded in history, nor are we to glean an imperfect knowledge of
them from tradition; they are every day before our eyes. They have
risen from low beginnings; but the more abject their origin, and the
more sordid the poverty, in which they set out, their success rises in
proportion, and affords a striking proof of what I have advanced;
since it is apparent, that, without birth or fortune, neither of them
recommended by his moral character, and one of them deformed in his
person, they have, notwithstanding all disadvantages, made themselves,
for a series of years, the first men in the state. They began their
career in the forum, and, as long as they chose to pursue that road of
ambition, they flourished in the highest reputation; they are now at
the head of the commonwealth, the ministers who direct and govern, and
so high in favour with the prince, that the respect, with which he
receives them, is little short of veneration.

The truth is, Vespasian [c], now in the vale of years, but always open
to the voice of truth, clearly sees that the rest of his favourites
derive all their lustre from the favours, which his munificence has
bestowed; but with Marcellus and Crispus the case is different: they
carry into the cabinet, what no prince can give, and no subject can
receive. Compared with the advantages which those men possess, what
are family-pictures, statues, busts, and titles of honour? They are
things of a perishable nature, yet not without their value. Marcellus
and Vibius know how to estimate them, as they do wealth and honours;
and wealth and honours are advantages against which you will easily
find men that declaim, but none that in their hearts despise them.
Hence it is, that in the houses of all who have distinguished
themselves in the career of eloquence, we see titles, statues, and
splendid ornaments, the reward of talents, and, at all times, the
decorations of the great and powerful orator.


IX. But to come to the point, from which we started: poetry, to which
my friend Maternus wishes to dedicate all his time, has none of these
advantages. It confers no dignity, nor does it serve any useful
purpose. It is attended with some pleasure, but it is the pleasure of
a moment, springing from vain applause, and bringing with it no solid
advantage.
What I have said, and am going to add, may probably, my
good friend Maternus, be unwelcome to your ear; and yet I must take
the liberty to ask you, if Agamemnon [a] or Jason speaks in your piece
with dignity of language, what useful consequence follows from it?
What client has been defended? Who confesses an obligation? In that
whole audience, who returns to his own house with a grateful heart?
Our friend Saleius Bassus [b] is, beyond all question, a poet of
eminence, or, to use a warmer expression, he has the god within him:
but who attends his levee? who seeks his patronage, or follows in his
train? Should he himself, or his intimate friend, or his near
relation, happen to be involved in a troublesome litigation, what
course do you imagine he would take? He would, most probably, apply to
his friend, Secundus; or to you, Maternus; not because you are a poet,
nor yet to obtain a copy of verses from you; of those he has a
sufficient stock at home, elegant, it must be owned, and exquisite in
the kind. But after all his labour and waste of genius, what is his
reward?

When in the course of a year, after toiling day and night, he has
brought a single poem to perfection, he is obliged to solicit his
friends and exert his interest, in order to bring together an audience
[c], so obliging as to hear a recital of the piece. Nor can this be
done without expence. A room must be hired, a stage or pulpit must be
erected; benches must be arranged, and hand-bills distributed
throughout the city. What if the reading succeeds to the height of his
wishes? Pass but a day or two, and the whole harvest of praise and
admiration fades away, like a flower that withers in its bloom, and
never ripens into fruit. By the event, however flattering, he gains no
friend, he obtains no patronage, nor does a single person go away
impressed with the idea of an obligation conferred upon him. The poet
has been heard with applause; he has been received with acclamations;
and he has enjoyed a short-lived transport.