Chapter 41

104 But who ever heard that anything at all had been taken from Varro’s property? And no one had more people concerned for his safety. What if Caesar even wrote to you, telling you to give it back? What words can do justice to such shamelessness? Put away for a moment those swords we see. You will soon understand that Caesar’s auction gives one sort of claim, your own brazenness and recklessness quite another. For it is not only the owner who will keep you out of that house: any friend, neighbor, guest-friend, or agent will do it. And how many days you spent in that villa in the most disgraceful revelry! From the third hour of the day there was drinking, gambling, vomiting. Poor house itself, held by so different a master—though how was he its master?—but still, held by one so different! Marcus Varro meant it to be a retreat for his studies, not his lusts.

105 What conversations there used to be in that villa! What thoughts, what writings! The laws of the Roman people, the records of our ancestors, the whole range of wisdom and learning. But with you as tenant—for owner you were not—everything rang with drunken shouting, the floors swam with wine, the walls were soaked; freeborn boys mingled with boys for hire, prostitutes with married women. People came to pay their respects from Casinum, Aquinum, Interamna. No one was admitted. Quite rightly: in so disgraceful a man the insignia of high office were losing all distinction.

106 As he left there for Rome and approached Aquinum, a very large crowd came out to meet him, for it is a populous town. He, however, passed through the town borne like a dead man in a closed litter. What folly, people of Aquinum! At least your homes stood along his road. What of the people of Anagnia? They were off the road, yet came down to greet this fellow as if he were a consul. Incredible to relate, but everyone agreed that not one greeting was returned—especially remarkable since he had two men from Anagnia with him, Mustela and Laco, one the leader of the swords, the other of the drinking cups.

104 Who ever heard that any of Varro’s property had been confiscated? Nobody’s safety mattered to more people. And what if Caesar even wrote telling you to give it back? What words could do justice to such shamelessness? Put away those swords we can see, just briefly. You’ll soon understand the difference between Caesar’s auction and your own brazen recklessness. The owner won’t be the only one to keep you out of that house. Any friend, neighbor, guest, or agent will do it. But how many days you spent partying there so disgracefully! Drinking, gambling, and vomiting started at the third daylight hour. That poor house! What a different master it had—though how was he its master? Still, what a different man held it! Marcus Varro wanted a retreat for his studies, not for sexual pleasures.

105 What discussions that house once heard! What thoughts took shape there! What works were written there! They covered the Roman people’s laws, records of our ancestors, and every branch of wisdom and learning. But with you as lodger—not owner—the whole place rang with drunks shouting. Wine flooded the floors and soaked the walls. Freeborn boys mixed with boys for hire. Prostitutes mingled with married women. People came from Casinum, Aquinum, and Interamna to pay their respects. Nobody got in. Quite right, too. On such a disgraceful man, the badges of official rank were losing their meaning.

106 He left there for Rome and approached Aquinum. It’s a well-populated town, so a very large crowd came out to meet him. But they carried him through town in a covered litter, like a corpse. Foolish people of Aquinum! Still, they lived along his route. What about the people of Anagnia? They lived off the route, but came down to greet him as though he were a consul. It’s hard to believe, but everyone agreed: he didn’t greet a single person back. And he even had two men from Anagnia with him, Mustela and Laco. One led the armed men; the other led the drinking.