"Look round and round the man you recommend,
For yours will be the shame if he offend," (C.)
is his maxim on this subject (Epistles, I. 18, 76); and he was sure to be especially scrupulous in writing to Tiberius, who, even in his youth—and he was at this time about twenty-two—was so morose and unpleasant in his manners, to say nothing of his ample share of the hereditary pride of the Claudian family, that even Augustus felt under constraint in his company:—
"Septimius only understands, 'twould seem,
How high I stand in, Claudius, your esteem:
For when he begs and prays me, day by day,
Before you his good qualities to lay,
As not unfit the heart and home to share
Of Nero, who selects his friends with care;
When he supposes you to me extend
The rights and place of a familiar friend,
Far better than myself he sees and knows,
How far with you my commendation goes.
Pleas without number I protest I've used,
In hope he'd hold me from the task excused,
Yet feared the while it might be thought I feigned
Too low the influence I perchance have gained,
Dissembling it as nothing with my friends,
To keep it for my own peculiar ends.
So, to escape such dread reproach, I put
My blushes by, and boldly urge my suit.
If then you hold it as a grace, though small,
To doff one's bashfulness at friendship's call,
Enrol him in your suite, assured you'll find
A man of heart in him, as well as mind."
We may be very sure that, among the many pleas urged by Horace for not giving Septimius the introduction he desired, was the folly of leaving his delightful retreat at Tarentum to go once more abroad in search of wealth or promotion. Let others "cross, to plunder provinces, the main," surely this was no ambition for an embryo Pindar or half-developed Aeschylus. Horace had tried similar remonstrances before, and with just as little success, upon Iccius, another of his scholarly friends, who sold off his fine library and joined an expedition into Arabia Felix, expecting to find it an El Dorado. He playfully asks this studious friend (Odes, I. 29), from whom he expected better things—"pollicitus meliora"—if it be true that he grudges the Arabs their wealth, and is actually forging fetters for the hitherto invincible Sabaean monarchs, and those terrible Medians? To which of the royal damsels does he intend to throw the handkerchief, having first cut down her princely betrothed in single combat? Or what young "oiled and curled" Oriental prince is for the future to pour out his wine for him? Iccius, like many another Raleigh, went out to gather wool, and came back shorn. The expedition proved disastrous, and he was lucky in being one of the few who survived it. Some years afterwards we meet with him again as the steward of Agrippa's great estates in Sicily. He has resumed his studies,—
"On themes sublime alone intent,—
What causes the wild ocean sway,
The seasons what from June to May,
If free the constellations roll,
Or moved by some supreme control;
What makes the moon obscure her light,
What pours her splendour on the night."
Absorbed in these and similar inquiries, and living happily on "herbs and frugal fare," Iccius realises the noble promise of his youth; and Horace, in writing to him (Epist., I. 12), encourages him in his disregard of wealth by some of those hints for contentment which the poet never tires of reproducing:—
"Let no care trouble you; for poor
That man is not, who can insure
Whate'er for life is needful found.
Let your digestion be but sound,
Your side unwrung by spasm or stitch,
Your foot unconscious of a twitch;
And could you be more truly blest,
Though of the wealth of kings possessed?"
It must have been pleasant to Horace to find even one among his friends illustrating in his life this modest Socratic creed; for he is so constantly enforcing it, in every variety of phrase and metaphor, that while we must conclude that he regarded it as the one doctrine most needful for his time, we must equally conclude that he found it utterly disregarded. All round him wealth, wealth, wealth, was the universal aim: wealth, to build fine houses in town, and villas at Praeneste or Baiae; wealth, to stock them with statues, old bronzes (mostly fabrications from the Wardour Streets of Athens or Rome), ivories, pictures, gold plate, pottery, tapestry, stuffs from the looms of Tyre, and other articles de luxe; wealth, to give gorgeous dinners, and wash them down with the costliest wines; wealth, to provide splendid equipages, to forestall the front seats in the theatre, as we do opera-boxes on the grand tier, and so get a few yards nearer to the Emperor's chair, or gain a closer view of the favourite actor or dancer of the day; wealth, to secure a wife with a fortune and a pedigree; wealth, to attract gadfly friends, who will consume your time, eat your dinners, drink your wines, and then abuse them, and who will with amiable candour regale their circle by quizzing your foibles, or slandering your taste, if they are even so kind as to spare your character. "A dowried wife," he says (Epistles, I. 6),
"Friends, beauty, birth, fair fame,
These are the gifts of money, heavenly dame;
Be but a moneyed man, persuasion tips
Your tongue, and Venus settles on your lips." (C.)
And to achieve this wealth, no sacrifice was to be spared—time, happiness, health, honour itself. "Rem facias, rem! Si possis recte, si non, quocunque modo rem:"—