On the Shortness of Life Chapter 12

Quaeris fortasse, quos occupatos vocem ? Non est quod me solos putes dicere, quos a basilica immissi demum canes eiciunt, quos aut in sua vides turba speciosius elidi aut in aliena contemptius, quos officia domibus suis e vocant, ut alienis foribus inlidant, aut hasta praetoris infami lucro et quandoque suppuraturo exercet. Quorundam otium occupatum est; in villa aut in lecto suo, in media solitudine, quamvis ab omnibus recesserint, sibi ipsi molesti sunt ; quorum non otiosa vita dicenda, est, sed desidiosa occupatio. Illum tu otiosum vocas qui Corinthia, paucorum furore pretiosa, anxia suptilitate concinnat et maiorem dierum partem in aeruginosis lamellis consumit? Qui in ceromate (nam, pro facinus ! ne Romanis quidem vitiis laboramus) spectator puerorum rixantium sedet ? Qui iumentorum suorum greges in aetatium et colorum paria diducit ? Qui athletas novissimos pascit? Quid? illos otiosos vocas, quibus apud tonsorem multae horae transmittuntur, dum decerpitur, si quid proxima nocte subcrevit, dum de singulis capillis in consilium itur, dum aut disiecta coma restituitur aut deficiens hinc atque illinc in frontem compellitur ? Quomodo irascuntur, si tonsor paulo neglegentior fuit, tamquam virum tonderet ! Quomodo excandescunt, si quid ex iuba sua decisum est, si quid extra ordinem iacuit, nisi omnia in anulos suos reciderunt! Quis est istorum qui non malit rem publicam turbari quam comam suam ? Qui non sollicitior sit de capitis sui decore quam de salute ? Qui non comptior esse malit quam honestior ? Hos tu otiosos vocas inter pectinem speculumque occupatos ? Quid illi, qui in componendis, audiendis, discendis canticis operati sunt, dum vocem, cuius rectum cursum natura et optimum et simplicissimum fecit, in flexus modulationis inertissimae torquent, quorum digiti aliquod intra se carmen metientes semper sonant, quorum, cum ad res serias, etiam saepe tristes adhibiti sunt, exauditur tacita modulatio ? Non habent isti otium, sed iners negotium. Convivia me hercules horum non posuerim inter vacantia tempora, cum videam, quam solliciti argentum ordinent, quam diligenter exoletorum suorum tunicas succingant, quam suspensi sint, quomodo aper a coeo exeat, qua celeritate signo dato glabri ad ministeria discurrant, quanta arte scindantur aves in frusta non enormia, quam curiose infelices pueruli ebriorum sputa detergeant. Ex his elegantiae lauti- tiaeque fama captatur et usque eo in omnes vitae secessus mala sua illos secuntur,ut nec bibant sine ambitione nec edant. Ne illos quidem inter otiosos numeraverim,qui sella se et lectica huc et illuc ferunt et ad gestationum suarum, quasi deserere illas non liceat, horas occurrunt, quos quando lavari debeant, quando natare, quando cenare, alius admonet ; usque eo nimio delicati animi languore solvuntur, ut per se scire non possint, an esuriant! Audio quendam ex delicatis - si modo deliciae vocandae sunt vitam et consuetudinem humanam dediscere - , cum ex balneo inter manus elatus et in sella positus esset, dixisse inter- rogando : " Iam sedeo ? " Hunc tu ignorantem, an sedeat, putas scire an vivat, an videat, an otiosus sit ? Non facile dixerim, utrum magis miserear, si hoc ignoravit, an si ignorare se finxit. Multarum quidem rerum oblivionem sentiunt, sed multarum et imitantur. Quaedam vitia illos quasi felicitatis argumenta delectant ; nimis humilis et contempti hominis videtur scire quid facias. I nunc et mimos multa mentiri ad exprobrandam luxuriam puta. Plura me hercules praetereunt quam fingunt et tanta incredibilium vitiorum copia ingenioso in hoc unum saeculo processit, ut iam mimorum arguere possimus neglegentiam. Esse aliquem, qui usque eo deliciis interierit ut an sedeat alteri credat ! Non est ergo hic otiosus, aliud illi nomen imponas; aeger est, immo mortuus est ; ille otiosus est, cui otii sui et sensus est. Hic vero semivivus, cui ad intellegendos corporis sui habitus indice opus est, quomodo potest hic ullius temporis dominus esse ?

Perhaps you will ask me whom I mean by “busy men”? you need not think that I allude only to those who are hunted out of the courts of justice with dogs at the close of the proceedings, those whom you see either honourably jostled by a crowd of their own clients or contemptuously hustled in visits of ceremony by strangers, who call them away from home to hang about their patron’s doors, or who make use of the praetor’s sales by auction to acquire infamous gains which some day will prove their own ruin. Some men’s leisure is busy: in their country house or on their couch, in complete solitude, even though they have retired from all men’s society, they still continue to worry themselves: we ought not to say that such men’s life is one of leisure, but their very business is sloth. Would you call a man idle who expends anxious finicking care in the arrangement of his Corinthian bronzes, valuable only through the mania of a few connoisseurs? and who passes the greater part of his days among plates of rusty metal? who sits in the palaestra (shame, that our very vices should be foreign) watching boys wrestling? who distributes his gangs of fettered slaves into pairs according to their age and colour? who keeps athletes of the latest fashion? Why, do you call those men idle, who pass many hours at the barber’s while the growth of the past night is being plucked out by the roots, holding councils over each several hair, while the scattered locks are arranged in order and those which fall back are forced forward on to the forehead? How angry they become if the shaver is a little careless, as though he were shearing a _man_! what a white heat they work themselves into if some of their mane is cut away, if some part of it is ill-arranged, if all their ringlets do not lie in regular order! who of them would not rather that the state were overthrown than that his hair should be ruffled? who does not care more for the appearance of his head than for his health? who would not prefer ornament to honour? Do you call these men idle, who make a business of the comb and looking-glass? what of those who devote their lives to composing, hearing, and learning songs, who twist their voices, intended by Nature to sound best and simplest when used straightforwardly, through all the turns of futile melodies: whose fingers are always beating time to some music on which they are inwardly meditating; who, when invited to serious and even sad business may be heard humming an air to themselves? - such people are not at leisure, but are busy about trifles. As for their banquets, by Hercules, I cannot reckon them among their unoccupied times when I see with what anxious care they set out their plate, how laboriously they arrange the girdles of their waiters’ tunics, how breathlessly they watch to see how the cook dishes up the wild boar, with what speed, when the signal is given, the slave-boys run to perform their duties, how skilfully birds are carved into pieces of the right size, how painstakingly wretched youths wipe up the spittings of drunken men. By these means men seek credit for taste and grandeur, and their vices follow them so far into their privacy that they can neither eat nor drink without a view to effect. Nor should I count those men idle who have themselves carried hither and thither in sedans and litters, and who look forward to their regular hour for taking this exercise as though they were not allowed to omit it: men who are reminded by some one else when to bathe, when to swim, when to dine: they actually reach such a pitch of languid effeminacy as not to be able to find out for themselves whether they are hungry. I have heard one of these luxurious folk - if indeed, we ought to give the name of luxury to unlearning the life and habits of a man - when he was carried in men’s arms out of the bath and placed in his chair, say inquiringly, “Am I seated?” Do you suppose that such a man as this, who did not know when he was seated, could know whether he was alive, whether he could see, whether he was at leisure? I can hardly say whether I pity him more if he really did not know or if he pretended not to know this. Such people do really become unconscious of much, but they behave as though they were unconscious of much more: they delight in some failings because they consider them to be proofs of happiness: it seems the part of an utterly low and contemptible man to know what he is doing. After this, do you suppose that playwrights draw largely upon their imaginations in their burlesques upon luxury: by Hercules, they omit more than they invent; in this age, inventive in this alone, such a number of incredible vices have been produced, that already you are able to reproach the playwrights with omitting to notice them. To think that there should be any one who had so far lost his senses through luxury as to take some one else’s opinion as to whether he was sitting or not? This man certainly is not at leisure: you must bestow a different title on him: he is sick, or rather dead: he only is at leisure who feels that he is at leisure: but this creature is only half alive, if he wants some one to tell him what position his body is in. How can such a man be able to dispose of any time?

Appelles-tu homme de loisir l’amateur qui va classant avec une inquiète minutie ces vases de Corinthe dont la manie de quelques curieux fait tout le prix ; celui qui consume la majeure partie de ses jours au milieu de vieux métaux enrouillés ; ou cet autre qui au gymnase (car, ô ignominie ! les vices qui nous travaillent ne sont plus même romains) va, pour contempler les jeunes combattants, s’installer au lieu même où ils se frottent d’huile ; ou celui qui assortit par couples ses troupeaux de vainqueurs, selon la couleur et l’âge ; ou celui qui se charge de nourrir les athlètes les plus en renom ? Appelles-tu hommes de loisir ceux qui passent tant d’heures chez le barbier à se faire enlever le moindre poil qui aura commencé à poindre pendant la nuit ; à tenir conseil sur chaque cheveu ; à rétablir une mèche déplacée, ou à ramener de ci et de là leur chevelure sur un front dégarni ! Quelle indignation, si le barbier a omis quelque mince détail, oubliant que ce n’est pas un homme qu’il rase ! Quelle fureur, si le rasoir a entamé leur crinière, si rien dépasse la ligne ordonnée, si chaque mèche ne retombe pas toute dans son anneau spécial ! Est-il un de ces êtres qui n’aimât mieux voir bouleverser l’État que sa chevelure, qui n’ait plus grand souci de l’ajustement de sa tête que de ce qui peut la sauver, qui ne choisisse d’être un homme bien coiffé plutôt qu’un honnête homme ? Appelles-tu gens de loisir ceux qui partagent tous leurs moments entre le peigne et le miroir ? Et ces autres, qui composent, écoutent ou récitent des chansons, grave besogne, où ils se torturent pour plier le ton naturel de leur voix, le meilleur comme aussi le plus simple, aux inflexions d’une langoureuse mélodie ? Leurs doigts battent incessamment la mesure d’un air qu’ils ont dans la tête : prennent-ils part aux actes les plus sérieux, les plus tristes même, tu les entends qui fredonnent entre leurs dents. Ces-gens-là Ces gens-là sont non pas oisifs, mais oiseusement occupés. Il n’est point jusqu’à leurs repas, j’ose le dire, qu’on puisse leur compter comme heures de loisir, quand on voit avec quelle sollicitude ils disposent leur argenterie ; quelle importance ils mettent à ce que les tuniques de leurs Ganymèdes soient relevées avec grâce ; comme ils sont soucieux de voir en quel état le sanglier va sortir des mains du rôtisseur, et avec quelle célérité leurs valets aux membres bien lisses courront, le signal donné, chacun à leur tâche ; avec quel art l’oiseau sera découpé en tranches de la requise, avec quel empressement de malheureux esclaves essuieront les rebutantes sécrétions de l’ivresse . Tout cela pour atteindre à une renommée de bon goût et de magnificence ; et cette maladie les poursuit tellement dans tous les détails de la vie, qu’ils ne boivent ni ne mangent sans y mettre de la prétention. Tu ne compteras pas sans doute parmi les hommes de loisir ceux que l’on transporte de côté et d’autre en chaise ou en litière, qui ont leurs heures pour se faire promener et se croiraient coupables de les manquer ; qui ne se baignent en grande ou en petite eau, qui ne mangent que sur l’avis d’un autre, et dont l’âme alanguie est tellement énervée par l’extrême mollesse, qu’ils ne peuvent savoir par eux-mêmes s’ils ont faim. J’ai ouï dire qu’un de ces délicats (si toutefois désapprendre la vie humaine et ses habitudes doit s’appeler délicatesse), enlevé du bain à bras d’hommes et déposé sur un siége, fit cette question : « Suis-je assis ? » Il ignore s’il est assis ! Crois-tu qu’il sache bien s’il existe, s’il voit, s’il se repose ? Était-ce ignorance réelle ou affectée ? J’aurais peine à dire laquelle est le plus pitoyable. Ces sortes de gens sans doute sont fort sujets aux distractions ; mais fort souvent ils les simulent. Ils ont des travers favoris qu’ils regardent comme l’enseigne du bonheur. Il est pour eux trop simple et trop ignoble de savoir ce qu’ils font. Ose dire maintenant que nos mimes exagèrent trop souvent la satire de notre mollesse. À coup sûr ils omettent beaucoup plus qu’ils n’inventent ; et nos incroyables excès se sont si fort multipliés dans ce siècle, qui n’a de génie que pour le vice, que l’on peut accuser la scène de n’en pas dire assez. Grands dieux ! avoir perdu dans la mollesse la conscience de son être au point de s’en rapporter à d’autres pour savoir si l’on est assis !