So is this a law for governors now -- that they must not write to their friends simply because they are governing? If such a law has been laid down and written, then follow it and keep your silence. But if no law forbids it, where does the silence come from? Tell me. I think I've found the answer: the sheer volume of your business has overwhelmed you, and the care of public affairs leaves no room for attending to private ones.
I'd rather convince myself of this than believe you've forgotten your friends on account of your office -- you, whom I hear power has made more moderate, not less. You differ from your former self only in accomplishing more, since your character is the same -- though there are those who say it's actually better.
Januarius will report to you about me -- that I'm unwell, unless he decides to lie so as not to cause you grief. I'm always wrestling with one wave or another. This is the price I pay for the god of friendship: something has come to seem more precious to me than my friends.
But what I can tell you about Januarius himself is this: in a difficult administration he proved himself an honest man. He alone won praise from those who got quick results and from those who had to wait alike -- so much charm did he blend into his delays. In departing, he grieves the better sort of people, because while he was present he gave no one cause for grief.
When I asked favors of him, he was so far from refusing that if I ever paused in asking, he called the omission an insult and reproached me for it. He treated your successes as his own and mine alike -- any good news he learned, he came running to tell me, his face announcing his delight. I would say more if I were writing to someone who didn't know the man, but you know him well.
**To Aristainetus** (357 or 358)
Is this too, then, a law for governors — that they must not write to their friends, since they are governing? If such a law has indeed been laid down and written, then abide by it and keep your silence. But if no law forbids it, where does the silence come from? Tell me. For I think I have found the answer: the sheer volume of business has overwhelmed you, and the care of public affairs leaves no room for attending to private ones.
I would rather persuade myself of this than believe that you have forgotten your friends on account of your office — you, whom I hear have been made more moderate by power and differ from your former self only in accomplishing more, since your character is the same, though there are those who say it is even better.
Januarius, then, will report to you about me — that I am unwell, unless he chooses to deceive you so as not to cause you grief. For I am always wrestling with one wave or another. This is the penalty I pay to the god of friendship: that something has come to seem more precious to me than my friends.
But what I can tell you about Januarius himself is this: in a difficult administration he proved himself an honest man. He alone won praise from those who obtained what they needed quickly and from those who obtained it slowly alike — so much charm did he blend into his delays. And so, in departing, he grieves the better sort of people, because while he was present he gave no one cause for grief.
When I made requests of him, he was so far from refusing that if ever I paused in asking, he called the omission an insult and reproached me for it. Regarding your successes as his own and mine alike, whatever good news he learned he would come running to me and announce it, his face proclaiming his delight. I would say more if I were writing to someone who did not know the man, but as it is, you know him well.
So is this a law for governors now -- that they must not write to their friends simply because they are governing? If such a law has been laid down and written, then follow it and keep your silence. But if no law forbids it, where does the silence come from? Tell me. I think I've found the answer: the sheer volume of your business has overwhelmed you, and the care of public affairs leaves no room for attending to private ones.
I'd rather convince myself of this than believe you've forgotten your friends on account of your office -- you, whom I hear power has made more moderate, not less. You differ from your former self only in accomplishing more, since your character is the same -- though there are those who say it's actually better.
Januarius will report to you about me -- that I'm unwell, unless he decides to lie so as not to cause you grief. I'm always wrestling with one wave or another. This is the price I pay for the god of friendship: something has come to seem more precious to me than my friends.
But what I can tell you about Januarius himself is this: in a difficult administration he proved himself an honest man. He alone won praise from those who got quick results and from those who had to wait alike -- so much charm did he blend into his delays. In departing, he grieves the better sort of people, because while he was present he gave no one cause for grief.
When I asked favors of him, he was so far from refusing that if I ever paused in asking, he called the omission an insult and reproached me for it. He treated your successes as his own and mine alike -- any good news he learned, he came running to tell me, his face announcing his delight. I would say more if I were writing to someone who didn't know the man, but you know him well.
AI-assisted translation — This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.