I, Claudius - Robert Graves [60]
I said, playing up to him: "Yellow sheep! That's a rarity. How do they get that colour, sir?"
"Why, by drinking the spring-water. There's sulphur in it. All Paduans are yellow. Look at Livy,"
Livy came slowly towards us. "A joke is a joke, Pollio, and I can take it in good part. But there's also a serious matter in question and that is, the proper writing of history. It may be that I have made mistakes. What historian is free from them? I have not, at least, told deliberate falsehoods: you'll not accuse me of that. Any legendary episode from early historical writings which bears on my theme of the ancient greatness of Rome I gladly incorporate in the story: though it may not be true in factual detail, it is true in spiritIf I come across two versions of the same episode I choose the one nearest my theme, and you won't find me grubbing around Etruscan cemeteries in search of any third account which may flatly contradict both—what good would that do?"
"It would serve the cause of the truth," said Pollio gently. "Wouldn't that be something?"
"And if by serving the cause of truth we admit our revered ancestors to have been cowards, liars and traitors?
What then?"
"I'll leave this boy to answer the question. He's just starting in life. Come on, boy, answer it!"
I said at random: "Livy begins his history by lamenting modern wickedness and promising to trace the gradual decline of ancient virtue as conquests made Rome wealthy.
He says that he will most enjoy writing the early chapters because he will be able, in doing so, to close his eyes to the wickedness of modern times. But in closing his eyes to modern wickedness hasn't he sometimes closed his eyes to ancient wickedness as well?"
"Well?" asked Livy, narrowing his eyes.
"Well," I fumbled. "Perhaps there isn't so much difference really between their wickedness and ours. It may be just a matter of scope and opportunity."
Pollio said: "In fact, boy, the Paduan hasn't made you see his sulphur fleeces as snow-white?"
I was very uncomfortable"I have got more pleasure from reading Livy than from any other author," I repeated.
"Oh, yes," Pollio grinned, "that's just what the old man of Cadiz said. But like the old man of Cadiz you feel a little disillusioned now, eh? Lars Porsena and Scasvola and Brutus and company stick in your throat?"
"It's not disillusion, sir. I see now, though I hadn't considered the matter before, that there are two different ways of writing history: one is to persuade men to virtue and the other is to compel men to truth. The first is Livy's way and the other is yours: and perhaps they are not irreconcilable."
"Why, boy, you're an orator," said Pollio delightedly.
Sulpicius who had been standing on one leg with his foot held in his hand, as his habit was when excited or impatient, and twisting his beard in knots, now summed up: "Yes, Livy will never lack readers. People love being 'persuaded to ancient virtue' by a charming writer, particularly when they are told in the same breath that modern civilization has made such virtue impossible of attainment. But mere truthtellers—'undertakers who lay out the corpse of history' [to quote poor Catullus' epigram on the noble Pollio]—people who record no more than actually occurred—such men can only hold an audience while they have a good cook and a cellar of Cyprian wine."
This made Livy really furious. He said, "Pollio, this talk is idle. Young Claudius here has always been considered dull-witted by his family and friends but I didn't agree with the general verdict until to-day. You're welcome to your disciple. And Sulpicius can perfect his dullness: there's no better teacher of dullness in Rome." Then he gave us his Parthian shot: Et apud Apollinem istum Pollionis Pollinctorem diutissime polleat. Which means, though the pun is lost in Greek: "And may he flourish long at the shrine of that Undertaker