envoys persuaded or excited this tribe to revolt?
Or shall I say that the account they gave of the situation influenced the tribe in its decision to revolt? Actually, I think, they gave an impartial account of what they had seen.' Then a murmur goes up from the couches, 'Influenced, Pollio. Use influenced.’ ‘Thank you, friends,' he says, 'you are very kind. Slave, my penknife and pen. I'll change the sentence at once if you'll forgive me.' Then he publishes the book and sends each of the diners a free copy. They say to their friends, chatting at the Public Baths: 'Admirable book, this. Have you read it? Pollio's the greatest historian of our [ii?] age; and not above asking advice in small points of style from men of taste, either. Why, this word influenced I gave him myself.''
Pollio said: 'That's right. My cook's too good. Next time I'll borrow yours and a few dozen bottles of your socalled Falernian wine and then I'll get really honest criticism.'
Sulpicius made a gesture of deprecation: 'Gentlemen, gentlemen, this is becoming personal.'
Livy was already going away. But Pollio grinned at the retreating back and said in a loud voice for his benefit: 'A decent fellow, Livy is, but there's one thing wrong with him. It's a disease called Paduanity.'
This made Livy stop and rum round. 'What's wrong with Padua? I won't hear a word against the place.'
Follio explained to me. 'It's where he was born, you know. Somewhere in the Northern Provinces. There's a famous hot-spring there, of extraordinary properties. You can always tell a Paduan. By bathing in the water of the spring or drinking it--and I'm told that they do both things simultaneously--Paduans are able to believe whatever they like and believe it so strongly that they can make anyone else believe itThat's how the city has got such a wonderful commercial reputation.
The blankets and rugs they make there are really no better than any other sort, in fact rather inferior, because the local sheep are yellow and coarse-fleeced, but to the Paduans they are soft and white as goose- feathers. And they have persuaded the rest of the world that it's so.'
I said, playing up to him: 'Yellow sheep! That's a rarity. How do they get that colour, sir?'
'Why, by drinking the spring-water. There's sulphur in it. All Paduans are yellow. Look at Livy,'
Livy came slowly towards us. 'A joke is a joke, Pollio, and I can take it in good part. But there's also a serious matter in question and that is, the proper writing of history. It may be that I have made mistakes. What historian is free from them? I have not, at least, told deliberate falsehoods: you'll not accuse me of that. Any legendary episode from early historical writings which bears on my theme of the ancient greatness of Rome I gladly incorporate in the story: though it may not be true in factual detail, it is true in spiritIf I come across two versions of the same episode I choose the one nearest my theme, and you won't find me grubbing around Etruscan cemeteries in search of any third account which may flatly contradict both--what good would that do?'
'It would serve the cause of the truth,' said Pollio gently. 'Wouldn't that be something?'
'And if by serving the cause of truth we admit our revered ancestors to have been cowards, liars and traitors?
What
then?'
'I'll leave this boy to answer the question. He's just starting in life. Come on, boy, answer it!'
I said at random: 'Livy begins his history by lamenting modern wickedness and promising to trace the gradual decline of ancient virtue as conquests made Rome wealthy.
He says that he will most enjoy writing the early chapters because he will be able, in doing so, to close his eyes to the wickedness of modern times. But in closing his eyes to modern wickedness hasn't he sometimes closed his eyes to ancient wickedness as well?'
'Well?'
asked
Livy,
narrowing his eyes.
'Well,' I fumbled. 'Perhaps there isn't so much difference really between their wickedness and ours. It may be just a matter of scope and opportunity.'
Pollio said: 'In fact, boy, the Paduan hasn't made you see his sulphur fleeces as snow-white?'
I was very uncomfortable'I have got more pleasure from reading Livy than from any other author,' I repeated.
'Oh, yes,' Pollio grinned, 'that's just what the old man of Cadiz said. But like the old man of Cadiz you feel a little disillusioned now, eh? Lars Porsena and Scasvola and Brutus and company stick in your throat?'
'It's not disillusion, sir. I see now, though I hadn't considered the matter before, that there are two different ways of writing history: one is to persuade men to virtue and the other is to compel men to truth. The first is Livy's way and the other is yours: and perhaps they are not irreconcilable.'
'Why,
boy,
you're an orator,' said Pollio delightedly.
Sulpicius who had been standing on one leg with his foot held in his hand, as his habit was when excited or impatient, and twisting his beard in knots, now summed up: 'Yes, Livy will never lack readers. People love being 'persuaded to ancient virtue' by a charming writer, particularly when they are told in the same breath that modern civilization has made such virtue impossible of attainment. But mere truthtellers--'undertakers who lay out the corpse of history' [to quote poor Catullus' epigram on the noble Pollio]--people who record no more than actually occurred--such men can only hold an audience while they have a good cook and a cellar of Cyprian wine.'
This made Livy really furious. He said, 'Pollio, this talk is idle. Young Claudius here has always been considered dull-witted by his family and friends but I didn't agree with the general verdict until to-day. You're welcome to your disciple. And Sulpicius can perfect his dullness: there's no better teacher of dullness in Rome.' Then he gave us his Parthian shot: Et apud Apollinem istum Pollionis Pollinctorem diutissime poUeat. Which means, though the pun is lost in Greek: 'And may he flourish long at the shrine of that Undertaker Apollo of Pollio's!' Then off he went, snorting.
Pollio shouted cheerfully after him: 'Quod certe pollcitw Pollio.
Pollucibiliter pollebit puer.^ ['Pollio promises you he will; the boy will flourish mightily.']
When we two were alone, Sulpicius having gone off to find a book, Pollio began questioning me.
'Who are you, boy? Claudius is your name, isn't it? You obviously come of good family, but I don’t know you.'
'I am Tiberius Claudius Drusus Nero Germanicus.'
'My God! But Livy's right. You're supposed to be a half-wit.'
'Yes. My family is ashamed of me because I stammer, and I'm lame and usually ill, so I go about very little in society.'
'But dull-witted? You're one of the brightest young fellows I have met for years.'
'You are very kind, sir.'
'Not at all. By God, that was a nasty hit at old Livy about Lars Porsena.
Livy has no conscience, that's the truth. I'm always catching him out. I asked him once if he always had the same trouble as I had in finding the brass tablets he wanted among the litter of the Public Record Office. He said, 'Oh, no trouble at all.' And it turned out that he has never once been there to confirm a single fact!
Tell me, why were you reading my history?'
'I was reading your account of the siege of Perusia. My grandfather, Livia's first husband you know, was there. I'm interested in that period and I'm getting together materials for a life of my father. My tutor Athenodorus referred me to your book: he said it was honest. My former tutor, Marcus Porcius Cato, had once told me that it was a tissue of lies, so I was the more ready to believe Athenodorus.'
'Yes, Cato wouldn't like the book. The Catos fought on the wrong side. I helped to drive his grandfather out of Sicily. But I think you are the first youthful historian I have ever met. History is an old man's game. When are you going to win battles like your father and grandfather?'
'Perhaps in my old age.'
He laughed. 'I don't see why a historian who has made a life-study of military tactics shouldn't be invincible as a commander, given good troops and courage--'
'And good staff-officers,' I put in, remembering Cleon.
