Letter 42
People say rightly that the human spirit shines on a bright day and turns sallow under heavy clouds. My own mood proves the point: whenever things go well between us, the words flow freely — though at other times my supply of language runs dry.
Joy is a talkative thing, eager to show itself off — and most people have no defense against this affliction. So bear with me as I sing your praises, most distinguished of men, you who devote all your considerable resources to looking after my interests and who maintain our friendship with unwavering devotion.
If genuine loyalty still exists in anyone, I believe it exists in you. Most people make a show of it with words, then abandon it in practice — and that kind of thing is worthless except as conversation filler.
Rightly, then, I count your success as a debt I owe, since you care about me as much now as at the height of our intimacy. But there's one more thing I'd like added to this account between us. Please don't hold it against me that I once took offense. Love breeds frankness. What's freer than friendship? Honest reproach can coexist perfectly well with unbroken harmony.
Just as it's true that I'm thanking you today, so I couldn't have concealed my earlier hurt. People who constantly flatter are the ones whose loyalty is suspect. But why do I keep revisiting what I'd rather you forgot? Be as you've always been — warm in your goodwill toward me. I sense that's something I should hope for rather than need to ask. Farewell.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.
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