No More Learning

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.

Bassus, it is true, has lately received from Vespasian a present of
fifty thousand sesterces. Upon that occasion, we all admired the
generosity of the prince. To deserve so distinguished a proof of the
sovereign's esteem is, no doubt, highly honourable; but is it not
still more honourable, if your circumstances require it, to serve
yourself by your talents? to cultivate your genius, for your own
advantage? and to owe every thing to your own industry, indebted to
the bounty of no man whatever? It must not be forgotten, that the
poet, who would produce any thing truly excellent in the kind, must
bid farewell to the conversation of his friends; he must renounce, not
only the pleasures of Rome, but also the duties of social life; he
must retire from the world; as the poets say, "to groves and grottos
every muse's son. " In other words, he must condemn himself to a
sequestered life in the gloom of solitude.


X. The love of fame, it seems, is the passion that inspires the poet's
genius: but even in this respect, is he so amply paid as to rival in
any degree the professors of the persuasive arts? As to the
indifferent poet, men leave him to his own [a] mediocrity: the real
genius moves in a narrow circle. Let there be a reading of a poem by
the ablest master of his art: will the fame of his performance reach
all quarters, I will not say of the empire, but of Rome only? Among
the strangers who arrive from Spain, from Asia, or from Gaul, who
enquires [b] after Saleius Bassus?
Should it happen that there is one,
who thinks, of him; his curiosity is soon satisfied; he passes on,
content with a transient view, as if he had seen a picture or a
statue.

In what I have advanced, let me not be misunderstood: I do not mean to
deter such as are not blessed with the gift of oratory, from the
practice of their favourite art, if it serves to fill up their time,
and gain a degree of reputation. I am an admirer of eloquence [c]; I
hold it venerable, and even sacred, in all its shapes, and every mode
of composition. The pathetic of tragedy, of which you, Maternus, are
so great a master; the majesty of the epic, the gaiety of the lyric
muse; the wanton elegy, the keen iambic, and the pointed epigram; all
have their charms; and Eloquence, whatever may be the subject which
she chooses to adorn, is with me the sublimest faculty, the queen of
all the arts and sciences. But this, Maternus, is no apology for you,
whose conduct is so extraordinary, that, though formed by nature to
reach the summit of perfection [d], you choose to wander into devious
paths, and rest contented with an humble station in the vale beneath.

Were you a native of Greece, where to exhibit in the public games [e]
is an honourable employment; and if the gods had bestowed upon you the
force and sinew of the athletic Nicostratus [f]; do you imagine that I
could look tamely on, and see that amazing vigour waste itself away in
nothing better than the frivolous art of darting the javelin, or
throwing the coit? To drop the allusion, I summon you from the theatre
and public recitals to the business of the forum, to the tribunals of
justice, to scenes of real contention, to a conflict worthy of your
abilities. You cannot decline the challenge, for you are left without
an excuse. You cannot say, with a number of others, that the
profession of poetry is safer than that of the public orator; since
you have ventured, in a tragedy written with spirit, to display the
ardour of a bold and towering genius.

And for whom have you provoked so many enemies? Not for a friend; that
would have had alleviating circumstances. You undertook the cause of
Cato, and for him committed yourself. You cannot plead, by way of
apology, the duty of an advocate, or the sudden effusion of sentiment
in the heat and hurry of an unpremeditated speech. Your plan was
settled; a great historical personage was your hero, and you chose
him, because what falls from so distinguished a character, falls from
a height that gives it additional weight. I am aware of your answer:
you will say, it was that very circumstance that ensured the success
of your piece; the sentiments were received with sympathetic rapture:
the room echoed with applause, and hence your fame throughout the city
of Rome. Then let us hear no more of your love of quiet and a state of
security: you have voluntarily courted danger.