The Soul Of A Century/T. Pomponius Atticus

by Josef Svatopluk Machar

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.