And what wonder that you, a silly, ignorant fellow, were thus imposed upon and appeared in public holding your head high and imitating the gait and dress and glance of the man whom you delighted to make yourself resemble? Even Pyrrhus of Epirus, a marvellous man in other ways, was once, they say, so spoiled by toadies after the self-same fashion that he believed he was like the famous Alexander. Yet (to borrow a phrase from the musicians) the discrepancy was a matter of two octaves; for I have seen the portrait of Pyrrhus. But in spite of that he had acquired the conviction that he was a perfect replica of Alexander’s beauty. To be sure, I have been uncomplimentary to Pyrrhus in comparing you with him in this matter, but what followed would be quite in character with you. When Pyrrhus was in this state of mind and had this conviction about himself, everyone without exception concurred with him and humoured him until an old foreign woman in Larissa told him the truth and cured him of drivelling. Pyrrhus showed her portraits of Philip, Perdiccas, Alexander, Cassander and other kings, and asked her whom he resembled, quite certain that she would fix upon Alexander; but, after delaying a good while, she said, “Batrachion, the cook’: and as a matter of fact there was in Larissa a cook called Batrachion who resembled Pyrrhus.

As for you, I cannot say which of the profligates that hang about the actors in the pantomimes you resemble; I do know very well, however, that everyone thinks you are still downright daft over that likeness. It is no wonder, then, since you are such a failure at likenesses, that you want to make yourself resemble men of learning, believing those who praise you so.

But why do I talk beside the point? The reason for your craze about books is patent, even if I in my blindness failed to see it long ago. It is a bright idea on your part (you think so, anyhow), and.you base no slight expectations upon the thing in case the emperor, who is a scholar and holds learning in especial esteem, should find out about it; if he should hear that you are buying books and making a large collection, you think you will soon get all you want from him.

But do you suppose, you rotter, that he is so steeped in mandragora as to hear that and yet not know how you pass your time during the day, what your drinking bouts are like, how you spend your nights, and in whose company? Do not you know that a monarch has many eyes and ears? And your doings are so conspicuous that even the blind and the deaf may know of them; for if you but speak, if you but bathe in public—or, if you choose, don’t even do that—if your servants but bathe in public, do you not think that all your nocturnal arcana will be known at once? Answer me this question: if Bassus, that literary man who belonged to your following, or Battalus the fluteplayer, or the cinaedus Hemitheon of Sybaris, who wrote those wonderful regulations for you, which say that you must use cosmetics and depilatories and so forth—if one of those fellows should to-day walk about with a lion’s skin on his back and a club in his hand, what do you suppose those who saw him would think? That he was Heracles? Not unless they were gravel-blind; for there are a thousand things in their appearance that would give the lie to their costume; the gait, the glance, the voice, the thin neck, the white lead and mastich and rouge that you beautify yourselves with; in short, to quote the proverb, it would be easier to conceal five elephants under your arm than a single cinaedus. Then if the lion’s skin would not have hidden such as they, do you suppose that you will be undetected behind a book? Impossible: the other earmarks of your sort will betray and reveal you.

You are completely unaware, it seems to me, that good expectations are not to be sought from the booksellers but derived from one’s self and one’s daily life. Do you expect to find public advocates and character-witnesses in the scribes Atticus and Callinus? No: you will find them heartless fellows, bent upon ruining you, if the gods so will it, and reducing you to the uttermost depths of poverty. Even now you ought to come to your senses, sell these books to some learned man, and your new house along with them, and then pay the slave dealers at least a part of the large sums you owe them.

For mark this, you have had a tremendous passion for two things, the acquisition of expensive books and the purchase of well-grown, vigorous slaves, and you are showing great zeal and persistence in the thing; but being poor, you cannot adequately manage both. See now what a precious thing advice is! I urge you to drop what does not concern you, cultivate your other weakness, and buy those menials of yours, so that your household may not be depleted and you may not for that reason have to send out for free men, who, if they do not get all they want, can safely go away and tell what you do after your wine. For instance, only the other day a vile fellow told a most disgraceful story about you when he came away, and even showed marks. I can prove by those who were there at the time that I was indignant and came near giving him a thrashing in my anger on your behalf, especially when he called upon one after another to corroborate his evidence and they all told the same story. In view of this, my friend, husband and save your money so that you may be able to misconduct yourself at home in great security; for who could persuade you now to change your ways? When a dog has once learned to gnaw leather, he cannot stop.

Cf. ut canis a corio nunquam absterrebitur uncto.Horace, Satires, ii. 5,83.