‘Then, if you are only a statesman, do not pretend to act as a philosopher. I speak to you frankly, as one Stoic to another.’ Seneca said nothing. It was evident that he felt deeply hurt by the bluntness of Cornutus, who paused for a moment, regarding him with a look of pity. Then he continued. ‘If it pains you to hear the truth I will be silent; but if you wish me to speak without reserve, you are committing two fatal errors. You dream of controlling passion by indulging it. You are conceding liberty in one set of vices in the vain hope of saving Nero from another. But all vices are inextricably linked together. And you have committed a second mistake, not only by addressing your pupil in language of personal flattery, but also by inflating him with a belief in his own illimitable power.’[10] ‘Nero is Emperor,’ answered Seneca curtly, ‘and, after all, he can do whatever he likes.’ ‘Yet even as Emperor he can be told the truth,’ replied Cornutus. ‘I for one ventured to offend him yesterday.’ ‘In what way?’ ‘Your nephew Lucan was belauding Nero’s fantastic verses, and said he wished Nero would write four hundred volumes. “Four hundred!” I said; “that is far too many.” “Why?” said Lucan; “Chrysippus, whom you are always praising, wrote four hundred.” “Yes,” I answered, “but they were of use to mankind!” Nero frowned portentously, and I received warning looks from all present; but if a true man is to turn flatterer to please an Emperor, what becomes of his philosophy?’ ‘Yes,’ sighed Seneca: ‘but _your_ pupil Persius is a youth of the sweetest manners and the purest heart; whereas Nero is--Nero.’ ‘A finer young Roman than Persius never lived,’ replied the Stoic, ‘but if I had encouraged Persius in the notion that vice was harmless, Persius might have been--Nero.’ ‘Cornutus,’ said the statesman--and as he said it he sighed deeply --‘your lot is humbler and happier than mine. I do not follow, but I assent; I am crushed by an awful weight of uncertainty, and sometimes life seems a chaos of vanities. I wish to rise to a loftier grade of virtue, but I am preoccupied with faults. All I can require of myself is, not to be equal to the best, but only to be better than the bad.’[11] ‘He who aims highest,’ said the uncompromising freedman, ‘will reach the loftiest ideal. And surely it is hypocrisy to use fine phrases when you do not intend to put your own advice into practice.’ Seneca was always a little touchy about his style, and he was now thoroughly angry, for he was not accustomed to be thus bluntly addressed by one so immeasurably beneath him in rank. ‘Fine phrases!’ he repeated, in a tone of deep offence. ‘It pleases you to be rude, Cornutus. Perhaps the day will come when the “fine phrases” of Seneca will still be read, though the name of Cornutus, and even of Musonius, is forgotten.’