Letter 63
I am grieved to hear that your friend Flaccus
is dead, but I would not have you sorrow more than is fitting. That
you should not mourn at all I shall hardly dare to insist; and yet I know
that it is the better way. But what man will ever be so blessed with
that ideal steadfastness of soul, unless he has already risen far above
the reach of Fortune? Even such a man will be stung by an event like
this, but it will be only a sting. We, however, may be forgiven for
bursting into tears, if only our tears have not flowed to excess, and if
we ha
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we have lost a friend, nor let them overflow. We may weep, but
we must not wail.
Do you think that the law which I lay down
for you is harsh, when the greatest of Greek poets has extended the privilege
of weeping to one day only, in the lines where he tells us that even Niobe
took thought of food? Do you wish to know the reason for lamentations
and excessive weeping? It is because we seek the proofs of our bereavement
in our tears, and do not give way to sorrow, but merely parade it.
No man goes into mourning for his own sake. Shame on our ill-timed
folly! There is an element of self-seeking even in our sorrow.
"What," you say, "am I to forget my friend?
It is surely a short-lived memory that you vouchsafe to him, if it is to
endure only as long as your grief; presently that brow of yours will be
smoothed out in laughter by some circumstance, however casual. It
is to a time no more distant than this that I put off the soothing of every
regret, the quieting of even the bitterest grief. As soon as you
cease to observe yourself, the picture of sorrow which you have contemplated
will fade away; at present you are keeping watch over your own suffering.
But even while you keep watch it slips away from you, and the sharper it
is, the more speedily it comes to an end.
Let us see to it that the recollection of
those whom we have lost becomes a pleasant memory to us. No man reverts
with pleasure to any subject which he will not be able to reflect upon
without pain. So too it cannot but be that the names of those whom
we have loved and lost come back to us with a sort of sting; but there
is a pleasure even in this sting. For, as my friend Attalus used
to say: "The remembrance of lost friends is pleasant in the same
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way that certain fruits have an agreeably acid taste, or as in extremely
old wines it is their very bitterness that pleases us. Indeed, after
a certain lapse of time, every thought that gave pain is quenched, and
the pleasure comes to us unalloyed." If we take the word of Attalus for
it, "to think of friends who are alive and well is like enjoying a meal
of cakes and honey; the recollection of friends who have passed away gives
a pleasure that is not without a touch of bitterness. Yet who will
deny that even these things, which are bitter and contain an clement of
sourness, do serve to arouse the stomach?" For my part, I do not agree
with him. To me, the thought of my dead friends is sweet and appealing.
For I have had them as if I should one day lose them; I have lost them
as if I have them still.
Therefore, Lucilius, act as befits your own
serenity of mind, and cease to put a wrong interpretation on the gifts
of Fortune. Fortune has taken away, but Fortune has given.
Let us greedily enjoy our friends, because we do not know how long this
privilege will be ours. Let us think how often we shall leave them
when we go upon distant journeys, and how often we shall fail to see them
when we tarry together in the same place; we shall thus understand that
we have lost too much of their time while they were alive. But will
you tolerate men who are most careless of their friends, and then mourn
them most abjectly, and do not love anyone unless they have lost him?
The reason why they lament too unrestrainedly at such times is that they
are afraid lest men doubt whether they really have loved; all too late
they seek for proofs of their emotions. If we have other friends,
we surely deserve ill at their hands and think ill of them, if
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they are of so little account that they fail to console us for the loss
of one. If, on the other hand, we have no other friends, we have
injured ourselves more than Fortune has injured us; since Fortune has robbed
us of one friend, but we have robbed ourselves of every friend whom we
have failed to make. Again, he who has been unable to love more than
one, has had none too much love even for that one. If a man who has lost
his one and only tunic through robbery chooses to bewail his plight rather
than look about him for some way to escape the cold, or for something with
which to cover his shoulders, would you not think him an utter fool?
You nave buried one whom you loved; look about
for someone to love. It is better to replace your friend than to
weep for him. What I am about to add is, I know, a very hackneyed
remark, but I shall not omit it simply because it is a common phrase: a
man ends his grief by the mere passing of time, even if he has not ended
it of his own accord. But the most shameful cure for sorrow, in the
case of a sensible man, is to grow weary of sorrowing. I should prefer
you to abandon grief, rather than have grief abandon you; and you should
stop grieving as soon as possible, since, even if you wish to do so, it
is impossible to keep it up for a long time. Our forefathers have
enacted that, in the case of women, a year should be the limit for mourning;
not that they needed to mourn for so long, but that they should mourn no
longer. In the case of men, no rules are laid down, because to mourn
at all is not regarded as honourable. For all that, what woman can
you show me, of all the pathetic females that could scarcely be dragged
away from the funeral-pile or torn from the corpse, whose tears have lasted
a whole month?
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Nothing becomes offensive so quickly as grief; when fresh, it finds
someone to console it and attracts one or another to itself; but after
becoming chronic, it is ridiculed, and rightly. For it is either
assumed or foolish.
He who writes these words to you is no other
than I, who wept so excessively for my dear friend Annaeus Serenus that,
in spite of my wishes, I must be included among the examples of men who
have been overcome by grief. To-day, however, I condemn this act
of mine, and I understand that the reason why I lamented so greatly was
chiefly that I had never imagined it possible for his death to precede
mine. The only thought which occurred to my mind was that he was
the younger, and much younger, too, - as if the Fates kept to the order
of our ages!
Therefore let us continually think as much
about our own mortality as about that of all those we love. In former
days I ought to have said: "My friend Serenus is younger than I; but what
does that matter? He would naturally die after me, but he may precede
me." It was just because I did not do this that I was unprepared when Fortune
dealt me the sudden blow. Now is the time for you to reflect, not
only that all things are mortal, but also that their mortality is subject
to no fixed law. Whatever can happen at any time can happen to-day.
Let us therefore reflect, my beloved Lucilius, that we shall soon come
to the goal which this friend, to our own sorrow, has reached. And
perhaps, if only the tale told by wise men is true and there is a bourne
to welcome us, then he whom we think we have lost has only been sent on
ahead. Farewell.
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Latin / Greek Original
[1] Moleste fero decessisse Flaccum, amicum tuum, plus tamen aequo dolere te nolo. Illud, ut non doleas, vix audebo exigere; et esse melius scio. Sed cui ista firmitas animi continget nisi iam multum supra fortunam elato? illum quoque ista res vellicabit, sed tantum vellicabit. Nobis autem ignosci potest prolapsis ad lacrimas, si non nimiae decucurrerunt, si ipsi illas repressimus. Nec sicci sint oculi amisso amico nec fluant; lacrimandum est, non plorandum. [2] Duram tibi legem videor ponere, cum poetarum Graecorum maximus ius flendi dederit in unum dumtaxat diem, cum dixerit etiam Niobam de cibo cogitasse? Quaeris unde sint lamentationes, unde immodici fletus? per lacrimas argumenta desiderii quaerimus et dolorem non sequimur sed ostendimus; nemo tristis sibi est. O infelicem stultitiam! est aliqua et doloris ambitio. [3] 'Quid ergo?' inquis 'obliviscar amici?' Brevem illi apud te memoriam promittis, si cum dolore mansura est: iam istam frontem ad risum quaelibet fortuita res transferet. Non differo in longius tempus quo desiderium omne mulcetur, quo etiam acerrimi luctus residunt: cum primum te observare desieris, imago ista tristitiae discedet. Nunc ipse custodis dolorem tuum; sed custodienti quoque elabitur, eoque citius quo est acrior desinit. [4] Id agamus ut iucunda nobis amissorum fiat recordatio. Nemo libenter ad id redit quod non sine tormento cogitaturus est, sicut illud fieri necesse est, ut cum aliquo nobis morsu amissorum quos amavimus nomen occurrat; sed hic quoque morsus habet suam voluptatem. [5] Nam, ut dicere solebat Attalus noster, 'sic amicorum defunctorum memoria iucunda est quomodo poma quaedam sunt suaviter aspera, quomodo in vino nimis veteri ipsa nos amaritudo delectat; cum vero intervenit spatium, omne quod angebat exstinguitur et pura ad nos voluptas venit'. [6] Si illi credimus, 'amicos incolumes cogitare melle ac placenta frui est: eorum qui fuerunt retractatio non sine acerbitate quadam iuvat. Quis autem negaverit haec acria quoque et habentia austeritatis aliquid stomachum excitare?' [7] Ego non idem sentio: mihi amicorum defunctorum cogitatio dulcis ac blanda est; habui enim illos tamquam amissurus, amisi tamquam habeam.
Fac ergo, mi Lucili, quod aequitatem tuam decet, desine beneficium fortunae male interpretari: abstulit, sed dedit. [8] Ideo amicis avide fruamur quia quamdiu contingere hoc possit incertum est. Cogitemus quam saepe illos reliquerimus in aliquam peregrinationem longinquam exituri, quam saepe eodem morantes loco non viderimus: intellegemus plus nos temporis in vivis perdidisse. [9] Feras autem hos qui neglegentissime amicos habent, miserrime lugent, nec amant quemquam nisi perdiderunt? ideoque tunc effusius maerent quia verentur ne dubium sit an amaverint; sera indicia affectus sui quaerunt. [10] Si habemus alios amicos, male de iis et meremur et existimamus, qui parum valent in unius elati solacium; si non habemus, maiorem iniuriam ipsi nobis fecimus quam a fortuna accepimus: illa unum abstulit, nos quemcumque non fecimus. [11] Deinde ne unum quidem nimis amavit qui plus quam unum amare non potuit. Si quis despoliatus amissa unica tunica complorare se malit quam circumspicere quomodo frigus effugiat et aliquid inveniat quo tegat scapulas, nonne tibi videatur stultissimus? Quem amabas extulisti: quaere quem ames. Satius est amicum reparare quam flere.
[12] Scio pertritum iam hoc esse quod adiecturus sum, non ideo tamen praetermittam quia ab omnibus dictum est: finem dolendi etiam qui consilio non fecerat tempore invenit. Turpissimum autem est in homine prudente remedium maeroris lassitudo maerendi: malo relinquas dolorem quam ab illo relinquaris; et quam primum id facere desiste quod, etiam si voles, diu facere non poteris. [13] Annum feminis ad lugendum constituere maiores, non ut tam diu lugerent, sed ne diutius: viris nullum legitimum tempus est, quia nullum honestum. Quam tamen mihi ex illis mulierculis dabis vix retractis a rogo, vix a cadavere revulsis, cui lacrimae in totum mensem duraverint? Nulla res citius in odium venit quam dolor, qui recens consolatorem invenit et aliquos ad se adducit, inveteratus vero deridetur, nec immerito; aut enim simulatus aut stultus est.
[14] Haec tibi scribo, is qui Annaeum Serenum carissimum mihi tam immodice flevi ut, quod minime velim, inter exempla sim eorum quos dolor vicit. Hodie tamen factum meum damno et intellego maximam mihi causam sic lugendi fuisse quod numquam cogitaveram mori eum ante me posse. Hoc unum mihi occurrebat, minorem esse et multo minorem - tamquam ordinem fata servarent! [15] Itaque assidue cogitemus de nostra quam omnium quos diligimus mortalitate. Tunc ego debui dicere, 'minor est Serenus meus: quid ad rem pertinet? post me mori debet, sed ante me potest'. Quia non feci, imparatum subito fortuna percussit. Nunc cogito omnia et mortalia esse et incerta lege mortalia; hodie fieri potest quidquid umquam potest. [16] Cogitemus ergo, Lucili carissime, cito nos eo perventuros quo illum pervenisse maeremus; et fortasse, si modo vera sapientium fama est recipitque nos locus aliquis, quem putamus perisse praemissus est. Vale.