W hether the Greeks of old ever wrote anything so good,1 verily let those see to it who know; for myself, if I may say so, nowhere have I noticed in M. Porcius an invective so perfect as your praise. Oh, if my Lord could be praised enough, surely he had been enough praised by you. This work is not done in these days. Easier were it for one to rival Pheidias, easier Apelles, easier, in fine, Demosthenes himself or Cato himself, than this perfect and finished fork. Never have I read anything so refined, so classical, so polished, so Latin. Oh, happy you to be gifted with such eloquence! Oh, happy I to be in the hands of such a master! What reasoned thoughts! What orderly arrangement! What elegance! What wit! What beauty! What diction! What brilliance! What subtlety! What charm! What practised skill! What everything! My life on it, but some day you ought to have the wand2 placed in your hand, the diadem round your brow, the tribunal under your feet: then the henild should summon all of us—why do I say us? I mean all your learned folk and your eloquent—one by one you should wave them along with your wand and admonish them with the words of your lips. For myself I never had any fear of these admonitions; I have more reasons than enough for setting foot in your school.3
I am writing this to you in the utmost haste, for what need of a longer letter from me when I send you so gracious a one of my Lord's? Farewell, then, glory of Roman eloquence, pride of your friends, a man of mark,4 most delightful of men, most honourable consul, master most sweet.
In future be chary of telling so many fibs, especially in the Senate, about me. This speech of yours is "awfully"5 well written. Oh, if I could only kiss your head for every heading of it! You have absolutely put everyone else in the background. With this speech before our eyes, vain is our study, vain our toil, vain our efforts. Fare ever well, sweetest of masters.
Fronto to Domitia Lucilla
143 A.D.
To the mother of Caesar.