No More Learning

Curiatius Maternus [a] gave a public reading of his tragedy of
Cato. On the following day a report prevailed, that the piece had
given umbrage to the men in power. The author, it was said, had
laboured to display his favourite character in the brightest colours;
anxious for the fame of his hero, but regardless of himself. This soon
became the topic of public conversation. Maternus received a visit
from Marcus Aper [b] and Julius Secundus [c], both men of genius, and
the first ornaments of the forum. I was, at that time, a constant
attendant on those eminent men. I heard them, not only in their scenes
of public business, but, feeling an inclination to the same studies, I
followed them with all the ardour of youthful emulation. I was
admitted to their private parties; I heard their debates, and the
amusement of their social hours: I treasured up their wit, and their
sentiments on the various topics which they had discussed in
conversation. Respected as they were, it must, however, be
acknowledged that they did not escape the malignity of criticism. It
was objected to Secundus, that he had no command of words, no flow of
language; and to Aper, that he was indebted for his fame, not to art
or literature, but to the natural powers of a vigorous understanding.
The truth is, the style of the former was remarkable for its purity;
concise, yet free and copious; and the latter was sufficiently versed
in all branches of general erudition. It might be said of him, that he
despised literature, not that he wanted it. He thought, perhaps, that,
by scorning the aid of letters, and by drawing altogether from his own
fund, his fame would stand on a more solid foundation.


III. We went together to pay our visit to Maternus.
Upon entering his
study, we found him with the tragedy, which he had read on the
preceding day, lying before him. Secundus began: And are you then so
little affected by the censure of malignant critics, as to persist in
cherishing a tragedy which has given so much offence? Perhaps you are
revising the piece, and, after retrenching certain passages, intend to
send your Cato into the world, I will not say improved, but certainly
less obnoxious. There lies the poem, said Maternus; you may, if you
think proper, peruse it with all its imperfections on its head. If
Cato has omitted any thing, Thyestes [a], at my next reading, shall
atone for all deficiencies. I have formed the fable of a tragedy on
that subject: the plan is warm in my imagination, and, that I may give
my whole time to it, I now am eager to dispatch an edition of Cato.
Marcus Aper interposed: And are you, indeed, so enamoured of your
dramatic muse, as to renounce your oratorical character, and the
honours of your profession, in order to sacrifice your time, I think
it was lately to Medea, and now to Thyestes? Your friends, in the mean
time, expect your patronage; the colonies [b] invoke your aid, and the
municipal cities invite you to the bar. And surely the weight of so
many causes may be deemed sufficient, without this new solicitude
imposed upon you by Domitius [c] or Cato. And must you thus waste all
your time, amusing yourself for ever with scenes of fictitious
distress, and still labouring to add to the fables of Greece the
incidents and characters of the Roman story?


IV. The sharpness of that reproof, replied Maternus, would, perhaps,
have disconcerted me, if, by frequent repetition, it had not lost its
sting. To differ on this subject is grown familiar to us both. Poetry,
it seems, is to expect no quarter: you wage an incessant war against
the followers of that pleasing art; and I, who am charged with
deserting my clients, have yet every day the cause of poetry to
defend. But we have now a fair opportunity, and I embrace it with
pleasure, since we have a person present, of ability to decide between
us; a judge, who will either lay me under an injunction to write no
more verses, or, as I rather hope, encourage me, by his authority, to
renounce for ever the dry employment of forensic causes (in which I
have had my share of drudgery), that I may, for the future, be at
leisure to cultivate the sublime and sacred eloquence of the tragic
muse.


V.