IX. TO PUBLIUS VERGILIUS MARO
(Fam., XXIV, 11)
O illustrious Maro, bright luminary of eloquence and second hope of the Latian tongue,[101] fortunate Mantua rejoices in so great a son as thou, rejoices in having brought to light an ornament to the Roman name that will continue to adorn it throughout the centuries. What region of earth or what circle of Avernus arrests thee now? Does a swarthy Apollo play for thee on a harsh and grating lyre, and do the sable sisters now inspire thy verses? Dost thou soothe the Elysian groves with thy tender song, or dost thou dwell upon a Tartarean Helicon? And, O fairest of bards, does Homer, who was of one mind with thee, roam about in thy company? Orpheus and the other poets wander alone o’er the meadows, singing the praises of Phoebus—all except those whom a self-inflicted and violent death, or servile homage to a cruel lord has banished to other regions. Among them there is no place for Lucan, whom a cruel emperor drove to a wished-for death. His fear of torture and his abhorrence of a shameful death proved victorious, and he ordered the physician to open his veins.[102] A similar death took off Lucretius,[103] whose savage fury (they say) compels him to dwell in far other regions than thou, Vergil.
And so, who are thy present companions? What life dost thou live? These are the questions I should gladly hear thee answer. And how near the truth were thy earthly dreams and imaginings? Hast thou been welcomed by the wandering Aeneas, and hast thou passed through the ivory portal by which he found exit?[104] Or, rather, dost thou dwell in that quiet region of heaven which receives the blessed, where the stars smile benignly upon the peaceful shades of the illustrious? Wert thou received thither after the conquest of the Stygian abodes and the plundering of the Tartarean regions, on the arrival of that Highest King who, victorious in the great struggle, crossed the unholy threshold with pierced feet, and, irresistible, beat down the unyielding bars of hell with His pierced hands, and hurled its gates from their horrid-sounding hinges? All this should I like to learn from thee.
If the shade of anyone lately of this world of ours should perchance visit thee in the silent world, receive from him news which I have intrusted to him. Learn from him the present condition of three cities dear to thee, and the treatment which has been accorded to thy three works.
Parthenope is in grief. Widowed, she mourns the death of King Robert. One day has robbed her of the fruits of many years, and now her people are held in suspense and are threatened with an uncertain fate.[105] The sins of the few are visited upon an innocent population. Mantua, best of cities, is ceaselessly tossed by the disturbances of her neighbors; but, shielding herself behind her great-souled leaders,[106] she scorns to submit her unconquered head to the yoke, rejoicing in her own compatriot lords and ignorant of the rule of the stranger. It is in this city that I have composed what thou art now reading. It is here that I have found the friendly repose of thy rural fields. I constantly wonder by what path thou wert wont to seek the unfrequented glades in thy strolls, in what fields wert wont to roam, what streams to visit, or what recess in the curving shores of the lake, what shady groves and forest fastnesses. Constantly I wonder where it was that thou didst rest upon the sloping sward, or that, reclining in thy moments of fatigue, thou didst press with thy elbow upon the grassy turf or upon the marge of a charming spring. Such thoughts as these, O Vergil, bring thee vividly before my eyes.
Thou hast heard the fortune of thy native city, hast heard also what degree of peace hovers about thy grave. But what is taking place in Rome, our common mother—this, O Vergil, pray do not seek to know.[107] Believe me, ’tis better not to know. Lend thine ear, therefore, to more pleasing news and learn of the great success of thy works. Learn that Tityrus, though older, continues to blow upon the slender reed-pipe; that thy small holding is still joyful with its crops, thanks to thy fourfold work; that Aeneas lives, and gives pleasure with his song throughout the world. Yea, Aeneas lives, notwithstanding that death, envious of thy great and noble beginnings, overtook thee as thou wert so earnestly endeavoring to raise him to the skies. The Fates were on the point of fastening their clutches upon the unhappy Aeneas. Condemned by thine own lips, he was about to depart from us when once again the mercy of Augustus snatched him from these second flames, him who seemed destined to be destroyed by fire.[108] Augustus was not moved by the dejected spirits of his dying friend, and justly will he be praised by all succeeding generations for having disregarded thy last wishes. Farewell forever, O beloved one; and pray greet in my behalf thy elders, Homer and the Ascraean.