Letter 56
Beshrew me if I think anything more requisite than
silence for a man who secludes himself in order to study! Imagine
what a variety of noises reverberates about my ears! I have lodgings
right over a bathing establishment. So picture to yourself the assortment
of sounds, which are strong enough to make me hate my very powers of hearing!
When your strenuous gentleman, for example, is exercising himself by flourishing
leaden weights; when he is working hard, or else pretends to be working
hard, I can hear him grunt; and whenever he releases his imprisoned breath,
I can hear him panting in wheezy and high-pitched tones. Or perhaps
I notice some lazy fellow, content with a cheap rubdown, and hear the crack
of the pummeling hand on his shoulder, varying in sound according as the
hand is laid on flat or hollow. Then, perhaps, a professional comes
along, shouting out the score; that is the finishing touch. Add to
this the arresting of an occasional roysterer or pickpocket, the racket
of the man who always likes to hear his own voice in the bathroom, or
the enthusiast who plunges into the swimming-tank with unconscionable noise
and splashing. Besides all those whose voices, if nothing else, are
good, imagine the hair-plucker with his penetrating, shrill voice, - for
purposes of advertisement, - continually giving it vent and never holding
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his tongue except when he is plucking the armpits and making his victim
yell instead. Then the cakeseller with his varied cries, the sausageman,
the confectioner, and all the vendors of food hawking their wares, each
with his own distinctive intonation.
So you say: " What iron nerves or deadened
ears, you must have, if your mind can hold out amid so many noises, so
various and so discordant, when our friend Chrysippus is brought to his
death by the continual good-morrows that greet him!" But I assure you that
this racket means no more to me than the sound of waves Or falling water;
although you will remind me that a certain tribe once moved their city
merely because they could not endure the din of a Nile cataract. Words
seem to distract me more than noises; for words demand attention, but noises
merely fill the ears and beat upon them. Among the sounds that din
round me without distracting, I include passing carriages, a machinist
in the same block, a saw-sharpener near by, or some fellow who is demonstrating
with little pipes and flutes at the Trickling Fountain, shouting rather
than singing.
Furthermore, an intermittent noise upsets
me more than a steady one. But by this time I have toughened my nerves
against all that sort of thing, so that I can endure even a boatswain marking
the time in high-pitched tones for his cr
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things outside itself; all outdoors may be bedlam, provided that there
is no disturbance within, provided that fear is not wrangling with desire
in my breast, provided that meanness and lavishness are not at odds, one
harassing the other. For of what benefit is a quiet neighbourhood,
if our emotions are in an uproar?
'Twas night, and all the world was lulled to rest.
This is not true; for no real rest can be found
when reason has not done the lulling. Night brings our troubles to
the light, rather than banishes them; it merely changes the form of our
worries. For even when we seek slumber, our sleepless moments are as harassing
as the daytime. Real tranquillity is the state reached by an unperverted
mind when it is relaxed. Think of the unfortunate man who courts
sleep by surrendering his spacious mansion to silence, who, that his ear
may be disturbed by no sound, bids the whole retinue of his slaves be quiet
and that whoever approaches him shall walk on tiptoe; he tosses from this
side to that and seeks a fitful slumber amid his frettings! He complains
that he has heard sounds, when he has not heard them at all. The
reason, you ask? His soul's in an uproar; it must be soothed, and
its rebellious murmuring checked. You need not suppose that the soul is
at peace when the body is still. Sometimes quiet means disquiet.
We must therefore rouse ourselves to action and busy ourselves with interests
that are good, as often as we are in the grasp of an uncontrollable sluggishness.
Great generals, when they see that their men are mutinous, check them by
some sort of labour
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or keep them busy with small forays. The much occupied man has
no time for wantonness, and it is an obvious commonplace that the evils
of leisure can be shaken off by hard work. Although people may often
have thought that I sought seclusion because I was disgusted with politics
and regretted my hapless and thankless position, yet, in the retreat
to which apprehension and weariness have driven me, my ambition sometimes
develops afresh. For it is not because my anibition was rooted out
that it has abated, but because it was wearied or perhaps even put out
of temper by the failure of its plans. And so with luxury, also,
which sometimes seems to have departed, and then when we have made a profession
of frugality, begins to fret us and, amid our economies, seeks the pleasures
which we have merely left but not condemned. Indeed, the more stealthily
it comes, the greater is its force. For all unconcealed vices are
less serious; a disease also is farther on the road to being cured when
it breaks forth from concealment and manifests its power. So with
greed, ambition, and the other evils of the mind, - you may be sure that
they do most harm when they are hidden behind a pretence of soundness.
Men think that we are in retirement, and yet
we are not. For if we have sincerely retired, and have sounded the
signal for retreat, and have scorned outward attractions, then, as I remarked
above, no outward thing will distract us; no music of men or of birds
can interrupt good thoughts, when they have once become steadfast and sure.
The mind which starts at words or at chance sounds is unstable and has
not yet withdrawn into itself; it contains within itself an element of
anxiety and rooted fear,
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and this makes one a prey to care, as our Vergil says:\
I, whom of yore no dart could cause to flee,
Nor Greeks, with crowded lines of infantry.
Now shake at every sound, and fear the air,
Both for my child and for the load I bear.
This man in his first state is wise; he blenches neither at the brandished
spear, nor at the clashing armour of the serried foe, nor at the din of
the stricken city. This man in his second state lacks knowledge fearing
for his own concerns, he pales at every sound; any cry is taken for the
battle-shout and overthrows him; the slightest disturbance renders him
breathless with fear. It is the load that makes him afraid. Select
anyone you please from among your favourites of Fortune, trailing their
many responsibilities, carrying their many burdens, and you will behold
a picture of Vergil's hero, "fearing both for his child and for the load
he bears."
You may therefore be sure that you are at peace with yourself,
when no noise readies you, when no word shakes you out of yourself, whether
it be of flattery or of threat, or merely an empty sound buzzing about
you with unmeaning din, "What then?" you say, "is it not sometimes a simpler
matter just to avoid the uproar?" I admit this. Accordingly, I shall
change from my present quarters. I merely wished to test myself and
to give myself practice. Why need I be tormented any longer, when
Ulysses found so simple a cure for his comrades even against the songs
of the Sirens? Farewell.
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Latin / Greek Original
[1] Peream si est tam necessarium quam videtur silentium in studia seposito. Ecce undique me varius clamor circumsonat: supra ipsum balneum habito. Propone nunc tibi omnia genera vocum quae in odium possunt aures adducere: cum fortiores exercentur et manus plumbo graves iactant, cum aut laborant aut laborantem imitantur, gemitus audio, quotiens retentum spiritum remiserunt, sibilos et acerbissimas respirationes; cum in aliquem inertem et hac plebeia unctione contentum incidi, audio crepitum illisae manus umeris, quae prout plana pervenit aut concava, ita sonum mutat. Si vero pilicrepus supervenit et numerare coepit pilas, actum est. [2] Adice nunc scordalum et furem deprensum et illum cui vox sua in balineo placet, adice nunc eos qui in piscinam cum ingenti impulsae aquae sono saliunt. Praeter istos quorum, si nihil aliud, rectae voces sunt, alipilum cogita tenuem et stridulam vocem quo sit notabilior subinde exprimentem nec umquam tacentem nisi dum vellit alas et alium pro se clamare cogit; iam biberari varias exclamationes et botularium et crustularium et omnes popinarum institores mercem sua quadam et insignita modulatione vendentis.
[3] 'O te' inquis 'ferreum aut surdum, cui mens inter tot clamores tam varios, tam dissonos constat, cum Chrysippum nostrum assidua salutatio perducat ad mortem.' At mehercules ego istum fremitum non magis curo quam fluctum aut deiectum aquae, quamvis audiam cuidam genti hanc unam fuisse causam urbem suam transferendi, quod fragorem Nili cadentis ferre non potuit. [4] Magis mihi videtur vox avocare quam crepitus; illa enim animum adducit, hic tantum aures implet ac verberat. In his quae me sine avocatione circumstrepunt essedas transcurrentes pono et fabrum inquilinum et serrarium vicinum, aut hunc qui ad Metam Sudantem tubulas experitur et tibias, nec cantat sed exclamat: [5] etiam nunc molestior est mihi sonus qui intermittitur subinde quam qui continuatur. Sed iam me sic ad omnia ista duravi ut audire vel pausarium possim voce acerbissima remigibus modos dantem. Animum enim cogo sibi intentum esse nec avocari ad externa; omnia licet foris resonent, dum intus nihil tumultus sit, dum inter se non rixentur cupiditas et timor, dum avaritia luxuriaque non dissideant nec altera alteram vexet. Nam quid prodest totius regionis silentium, si affectus fremunt?
Falsum est: nulla placida est quies nisi quam ratio composuit; nox exhibet molestiam, non tollit, et sollicitudines muta. Nam dormientium quoque insomnia tam turbulenta sunt quam dies: illa tranquillitas vera est in quam bona mens explicatur. [7] Aspice illum cui somnus laxae domus silentio quaeritur, cuius aures ne quis agitet sonus, omnis servorum turba conticuit et suspensum accedentium propius vestigium ponitur: huc nempe versatur atque illuc, somnum inter aegritudines levem captans; quae non audit audisse se queritur. [8] Quid in causa putas esse? Animus illi obstrepit. Hic placandus est, huius compescenda seditio est, quem non est quod existimes placidum, si iacet corpus: interdum quies inquieta est; et ideo ad rerum actus excitandi ac tractatione bonarum artium occupandi sumus, quotiens nos male habet inertia sui impatiens. [9] Magni imperatores, cum male parere militem vident, aliquo labore compescunt et expeditionibus detinent: numquam vacat lascivire districtis, nihilque tam certum est quam otii vitia negotio discuti. Saepe videmur taedio rerum civilium et infelicis atque ingratae stationis paenitentia secessisse; tamen in illa latebra in quam nos timor ac lassitudo coniecit interdum recrudescit ambitio. Non enim excisa desit, sed fatigata aut etiam obirata rebus parum sibi cedentibus. [10] Idem de luxuria dico, quae videtur aliquando cessisse, deinde frugalitatem professos sollicitat atque in media parsimonia voluptates non damnatas sed relictas petit, et quidem eo vehementius quo occultius. Omnia enim vitia in aperto leniora sunt; morbi quoque tunc ad sanitatem inclinant cum ex abdito erumpunt ac vim sui proferunt. Et avaritiam itaque et ambitionem et cetera mala mentis humanae tunc perniciosissima scias esse cum simulata sanitate subsidunt. [11] Otiosi videmur, et non sumus. Nam si bona fide sumus, si receptui cecinimus, si speciosa contempsimus, ut paulo ante dicebam, nulla res nos avocabit, nullus hominum aviumque concentus interrumpet cogitationes bonas, solidasque iam et certas. [12] Leve illud ingenium est nec sese adhuc reduxit introsus quod ad vocem et accidentia erigitur; habet intus aliquid sollicitudinis et habet aliquid concepti pavoris quod illum curiosum facit, ut ait Vergilius noster:
[13] Prior ille sapiens est, quem non tela vibrantia, non arietata inter <se> arma agminis densi, non urbis impulsae fragor territat: hic alter imperitus est, rebus suis timet ad omnem crepitum expavescens, quem una quaelibet vox pro fremitu accepta deiecit, quem motus levissimi exanimant; timidum illum sarcinae faciunt. [14] Quemcumque ex istis felicibus elegeris, multa trahentibus, multa portantibus, videbis illum 'comitique onerique timentem'. Tunc ergo te scito esse compositum cum ad te nullus clamor pertinebit, cum te nulla vox tibi excutiet, non si blandietur, non si minabitur, non si inani sono vana circumstrepet. [15] 'Quid ergo? non aliquando commodius est et carere convicio?' Fateor; itaque ego ex hoc loco migrabo. Experiri et exercere me volui: quid necesse est diutius torqueri, cum tam facile remedium Ulixes sociis etiam adversus Sirenas invenerit Vale.