Look through the circle of the fine arts, survey the whole compass of the sciences, and tell me in what branch can the professors acquire a name to vie with the celebrity of a great and powerful orator. His fame does not depend on the opinion of thinking men, who attend to business and watch the administration of affairs; he is applauded by the youth of Rome, at least by such of them as are of a well-turned disposition, and hope to rise by honourable means. The eminent orator is the model which every parent recommends to his children. Even the common people [e] stand at gaze, as he passes by; they pronounce his name with pleasure, and point at him as the object of their admiration. The provinces resound with his praise. The strangers, who arrive from all parts, have heard of his genius; they wish to behold the man, and their curiosity is never at rest, till they have seen his person, and perused his countenance.
VIII. I have already mentioned Eprius Marcellus and Crispus Vibius [a]. I cite living examples, in preference to the names of a former day. Those two illustrious persons, I will be bold to say, are not less known in the remotest parts of the empire, than they are at Capua, or Vercellæ [], where, we are told, they both were born. And to what is their extensive fame to be attributed? Not surely to their immoderate riches. Three hundred thousand sesterces cannot give the fame of genius. Their eloquence may be said to have built up their fortunes; and, indeed, such is the power, I might say the inspiration, of eloquence, that in every age we have examples of men, who by their talents raised themselves to the summit of their ambition.
But I waive all former instances. The two, whom I have mentioned, are not recorded in history, nor are we to glean an imperfect knowledge of them from tradition; they are every day before our eyes. They have risen from low beginnings; but the more abject their origin, and the more sordid the poverty, in which they set out, their success rises in proportion, and affords a striking proof of what I have advanced; since it is apparent, that, without birth or fortune, neither of them recommended by his moral character, and one of them deformed in his person, they have, notwithstanding all disadvantages, made themselves, for a series of years, the first men in the state. They began their career in the forum, and, as long as they chose to pursue that road of ambition, they flourished in the highest reputation; they are now at the head of the commonwealth, the ministers who direct and govern, and so high in favour with the prince, that the respect, with which he receives them, is little short of veneration.
The truth is, Vespasian [c], now in the vale of years, but always open to the voice of truth, clearly sees that the rest of his favourites derive all their lustre from the favours, which his munificence has bestowed; but with Marcellus and Crispus the case is different: they carry into the cabinet, what no prince can give, and no subject can receive. Compared with the advantages which those men possess, what are family-pictures, statues, busts, and titles of honour? They are things of a perishable nature, yet not without their value. Marcellus and Vibius know how to estimate them, as they do wealth and honours; and wealth and honours are advantages against which you will easily find men that declaim, but none that in their hearts despise them. Hence it is, that in the houses of all who have distinguished themselves in the career of eloquence, we see titles, statues, and splendid ornaments, the reward of talents, and, at all times, the decorations of the great and powerful orator.
IX. But to come to the point, from which we started: poetry, to which my friend Maternus wishes to dedicate all his time, has none of these advantages. It confers no dignity, nor does it serve any useful purpose. It is attended with some pleasure, but it is the pleasure of a moment, springing from vain applause, and bringing with it no solid advantage. What I have said, and am going to add, may probably, my good friend Maternus, be unwelcome to your ear; and yet I must take the liberty to ask you, if Agamemnon [a] or Jason speaks in your piece with dignity of language, what useful consequence follows from it? What client has been defended? Who confesses an obligation? In that whole audience, who returns to his own house with a grateful heart? Our friend Saleius Bassus [] is, beyond all question, a poet of eminence, or, to use a warmer expression, he has the god within him: but who attends his levee? who seeks his patronage, or follows in his train? Should he himself, or his intimate friend, or his near relation, happen to be involved in a troublesome litigation, what course do you imagine he would take? He would, most probably, apply to his friend, Secundus; or to you, Maternus; not because you are a poet, nor yet to obtain a copy of verses from you; of those he has a sufficient stock at home, elegant, it must be owned, and exquisite in the kind. But after all his labour and waste of genius, what is his reward?
When in the course of a year, after toiling day and night, he has brought a single poem to perfection, he is obliged to solicit his friends and exert his interest, in order to bring together an audience [c], so obliging as to hear a recital of the piece. Nor can this be done without expence. A room must be hired, a stage or pulpit must be erected; benches must be arranged, and hand-bills distributed throughout the city. What if the reading succeeds to the height of his wishes? 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.