# The Soul Of A Century/T. Pomponius Atticus

T. POMPONIUS ATTICUS
’Tis true that by the will of God remains Concealed our future life . . . but the knowing man, Like a pilot steering carefully his craft Avoids the dangers of protruding rocks, Of destructive winds, treacherous sandy shoals, And does not take to sail when tempests rage.
My own life’s course, my bosom friend Cornelius Nepos, plans to perpetuate Within his histories; Such picture serves Not merely as remembrance but as an inspiration And example: In such a manner we can will The sum of our life’s experience to our heirs And friends, as carefully collected treasures.
Hence, merely mention the name of Pomponius And every man of Rome will tell you thus: “A prudent man was he” . . . Such praise remains my pride, My best possession (excepting here of course the many favors Shown me by Him, Augustus, and may he rule In health and happiness for many years to come!)
’Tis true that health is but a gift of Gods, And happiness thereof God’s gilded smile Cast down upon us struggling earthly mortals . . . But health and happiness must prudence have To make man’s life an enviable lot. For health and happiness are like two fiery steeds, By prudence held in check and safely guided To one’s set goals . . . .
The gift of prudence Faithfully was given both to Augustus And to Pomponius. (That I dare link my name Boldly to Caesar’s is not a mere bravado Or empty flattery. The noble one himself From time to time discusses my life’s journey And thoughtfully he speaks of by-gone days, And praises me . . . contending oft and on That my deep friendship was one among the jewels Of his own life.)
My friends, my Comrades! From time to time, when by-sone days I travel, The days that seem so endless-distant now, Not by their length of time, but by the number Of incidents that lie between us now . . . . (Why even Cicero and the son of Marius Were once my class-mates . . . and Catallina too I knew, and Sulla-Felix, he who thought me highly Above all other mortals!) My friends . . . If you but gaze into those by-gone days You realize that I have sailed my life Through stormy seas of deeds . . . . always with prudence.
About the time when Sulla and Cinna together Angrily thinned out their ranks of friends, I went to Athens, did not commit myself, (Not knowing the outcome of their fearful anger). Then prudently and at the proper moment I sold my home, and disposed of all possessions:
In stormy times, I knew it was the custom To take one’s life as well as one’s belongings And if you hid yourself in distant comers Your property they’d take . . . . then burdensome becomes The barren life, devoid of earthly treasures. So I sold out, succeeded thus to hide My life and wealth within the shades of science In famous Athens . . . There I was enabled To aid with loans, when the city’s need arose, Or poverty had threatened to invade the homes Of individuals I knew . . . Thus grew my wealth, For money grows and strengthens, the more it travels Like a river’s stream, increasing as it flows. I was soon known as Athen’s benefactor. (Which proves my motives were not based on profit) They offered me the rights of citizenship, Proposed a monument erected to my name . . . But I refused . . . for one, it is not prudent In times of strife to cause the shout of glory About one’s person . . . if you but care to live . . . And secondly, it ill becomes a Roman To change his country in a time of stress, Knowing such times will pass . . . I offered grain When Athenians were starving . . . and friends, At times I could not pass the streets Because the Greek’s affection was so pressing It fairly crushed me, sirs, that is the truth. Later, when Sulla Felix came to Athens, I quickly gained his favor, for I spoke The Grecian tongue as a grammarian. I Homer knew, recited lengthy passages From his famed tragedies, and Felix listened While his freckled hands, carelessly ruffled Through his reddish hair . . . I followed him about Like the very shadow. Then finally when peace returned to Rome I too returned . . . And there I lived, enjoying Cicero’s warm and confidential friendship. (Indeed, my sister soon became his wife). And with Hortensius, Cicero’s rival I too kept friendly, for he is but a fool Who foolishly incites hostilities With his friend’s enemies, yes, he’s a fool Who would deny that it is not a folly, Since enemies are life’s most deadly venom, A chilling shadow cast over pleasing sunshine.
When Caesar and Pompeius later quarreled I did not side with either of the two, But like a scale-tongue, centrally kept pointing . . . I stayed at home and visited but rarely, Shamming an illness, which truly did reside Within my body, for I slept very little And tossed about, with many fears perspiring, And tortured by the influx of my thoughts, Surely that is an illness. If not, what is an illness? Like yonder geese, compelled by heat to migrate, To leave the Orient for cooler climes, Before they reach the mountain-tops of Taurus Where dwell their enemies, the killing eagles. The geese pick up small pebbles in their beaks And carry these across the tops of Taurus, For fear their habitual noisy cackling Might wake the eagles, dozing in the sunshine. Just like the geese one must be very careful In times uncertain, in places wrought with danger. Pompeius once invited me to visit In distant Thracea, I humbly sent him word That I will gladly lend him any moneys That he might need, but he should not insist On my own presence . . . . because I was quite ailing And feared the dangers of a prolonged journey.
Later when Caesar to Rome again returned, (By then Pompeius was in Egypt slain) I went to Caesar . . . We managed well together, And friendly I remained with this rare man.
In self-same way, my prudence always guided My cautious steps, in later wars and storms. I did not side with Anthony, nor Brutus, Though freely loaned I money to the former, The latter too enjoyed my preferred aid, And neither cause could claim my preference. Thus I remained towards Augustus and Anthony When unwise haste drove many of my friends Into abysmal depths of sheer destruction. Yes, even Cicero, for lack of caution Soon met his end . . . how bitterly I wept When told . . . for Tullius I know loved me More dearly than he loved his brother, Quintus. This balance of a prudent man, my comrades,
This has its fault, the only fault I know of. It will not let you offer aid to others, Though they may be your closest bosom friends . . . . I could but witness Cicero’s sad fall.
I do not want to further preach, my comrades, I lived my life . . . Cornelius Nepos Will write it out, employ his style and judgment And we can hope, his logical conclusions Will all explain to us . . . It will appear That prudence is the substance of our whole life. That was my object . . . . I will not detain you, For night advances, and we have passed the time The doctors recommend for good digestion. I know the feast was not the most resplendent, For I believe and often so have said, Not to indulge the stomach. If you do so Your brain will suffer, weep over its poor lot. You have learned all. ’Tis time our aging limbs Were laid to needed rest . . . Live well and hale, My noble friends, my comrades, one and all.
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