Letter 112

I desire, by Hercules, that your friend be moulded, as you wish, and trained; but he is caught when very hard, or rather, what is more troublesome, he is caught when very soft and broken by a long and evil habit. Let me give you an illustration from our own craft.

Not every vine endures grafting; if it is old and worn away, if it is weak and slender, it will either not receive the slip, or not nourish it, nor join it to itself nor pass over into its quality and nature. And so we are wont to cut it off above the ground, so that, if it has not responded, a second fortune may be tried, and, sought again, it may be grafted below the ground.

This man, of whom you write and whom you commend, has no strength; he has indulged his vices. He has at once both withered and hardened. He cannot receive reason, he cannot nourish it. "But he himself desires it." Do not believe it. I do not say that he lies to you; he thinks he desires it. Luxury has upset his stomach; soon he will be reconciled with it.

"But he says he is offended by his own life." I would not deny it. For who is not offended? Men both love and hate their own vices at the same time. We shall, then, pass our verdict on him when he has made us believe that luxury is now hateful to him; as it is, they are on bad terms with each other. Farewell.