XVIII

1. Draw yourself, then, out of the crowd, dearest Paulinus, and, tossed as you have been, at last withdraw into a quieter harbor. Think how many storms you have gone through, how many gales you have met — some private, some public, turned against yourself. Your virtue has been shown long enough through hard and troubled proofs: try what it can do in leisure. The greater part of your life, certainly the better part, has been given to the republic: take some of your time for yourself too.

2. Nor do I call you to a dull or idle quiet, or to drowning whatever lively nature is in you in sleep and the pleasures dear to the crowd. That is not repose: you will find greater works than any you have actively handled, to carry on withdrawn and unafraid.

3. You indeed administer the affairs of the whole world as carefully as if they were another's, as diligently as if they were your own, as religiously as if they were the public's. In office you win love, though love's opposite is hard to avoid there; but believe me, it is better to know the account of one's own life than of the public corn.

4. Recall that vigor of mind, so capable of the greatest things, from a service honorable indeed, but little fitted for the blessed life; and consider that from your earliest years, with all that culture of liberal studies, you did not strive so that many thousands of measures of corn might be well entrusted to you. You promised something greater and deeper of yourself. There will never be lacking men of proven thrift and laborious service: slow oxen are the better beasts for carrying burdens than noble horses, whose generous speed did any man ever burden with a heavy load?

5. Consider, besides, how much anxiety it is to lay upon yourself so great a mass: when you have to do with a hungry people, the matter brooks no reason, is not softened by fairness, is not bent by any prayer. Only the other day, within those few days in which Gaius perished — if the dead have any feeling — how bitterly he bore it, that the Roman people, surviving him, must have at best seven or eight days of food!

6. While he joined bridge to bridge with ships and played with the strength of empire, the last of evils beset even those he besieged: want of food. He all but fell by famine and ruin — the collapse of all things that follows famine — in imitation of a mad, foreign, and unlucky-proud king.

7. What a spirit, then, must those have had to whom the care of the public corn was entrusted — stone, iron, fire, with a Gaius to be faced! With the deepest dissimulation they covered a great evil lying hidden in their midst, and with reason: certain sicknesses must be cured while the sick are ignorant; for many, the knowledge of their disease was a cause of death.

1. So pull yourself out of the crowd, dearest Paulinus, and — after all that tossing — finally retreat into a quieter harbor. Think how many storms you've been through, how many gales hit you — some private, some turned on you by the state itself. Your virtue has been proven long enough through hard and restless tests: try what it can do in peace. Most of your life — certainly the better part — was given to the republic. Take some of your time for yourself too.

2. I'm not calling you to dull, lazy quiet, or to drown what's lively in you in sleep and the pleasures the crowd loves. That's not rest. You'll find greater work than anything you've handled so far, working withdrawn and unafraid.

3. You run the affairs of the whole world as honestly as if they were someone else's, as diligently as if they were your own, as reverently as if they were the public's. In that office you win love — though love's opposite, hatred, is hard to avoid there. Still, believe me: better to understand the account of your own life than the public grain supply.

4. Recall that vigor of mind, built for the greatest things, and call it back from a service that honors you but barely fits the blessed life. Think: from your earliest years, with all your education, you didn't work so that thousands of bushels of grain would be safely stored under your watch. You promised yourself something bigger and deeper. The world will never run short of careful, hardworking clerks: slow oxen carry heavy loads better than thoroughbred horses — and who ever crushed a thoroughbred's gift of speed under a pack?

6. Think, too, how much worry comes with that kind of weight: when your business is a hungry people, there's no reasoning with it, no softening it with fairness, no bending it with prayer. Just the other day, in the few days when Gaius fell — if the dead feel anything — how bitterly he took it that the Roman people, outliving him, had seven or eight days of food left at best!

7. While he linked ship to ship and made bridges and played with the power of empire, the last of all evils was besieging the besieged themselves: famine. He nearly died of hunger and collapse — the ruin of everything that follows famine — imitating a mad, foreign, ill-fated, arrogant king.

7. What a spirit those men must have had, given the care of the grain supply — stone walls, iron, fire, and a Gaius to deal with! With total self-control they hid a great evil growing inside the state, and wisely: some sicknesses must be treated while the patient knows nothing; for many, learning their diagnosis is what kills them.