I have meditated over the quality of what you say of Rome, but
I cannot analyze it or describe it accurately. Yet I may say that others
talk of Rome as holy ground, but you alone make me feel that the soil
inside the Pomoerium is holy ground: others talk of the grandeur of Rome;
you make me realize its grandeur: others prate of their love for Rome:
you, saying little, make me tingle with a subtly communicated sense of how
you love Rome: others babble of how life away from Rome is not life, but
merely existence; of how any dwelling out of Rome is exile, of how they
long for Rome; you, by some sorcery, make me not only feel how you long
for Rome, but have awakened in me a longing for Rome. I have never been
out of this colony of Africa, not even into Mauretania. A man as rich as I
and of equestrian rank can afford to travel, to visit all the interesting
parts of the Empire, to live where he likes, anywhere in Italy or even in
Rome.
"I have never wanted to leave this colony: I love every bit of it and
especially my residences and estates. I have been satisfied here. When my
friends argued with me and tried to persuade me to travel and especially
to visit Rome, I never was convinced by their arguments. I have a dread of
sea-voyaging, a dread accentuated by the death of poor Libo.
Pages:
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720