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Marcus Tullius Cicero >> Letters of Cicero
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29 April, from Brundisium.
VI
To His BROTHER QUINTUS (ON HIS WAY TO ROME)
THESSALONICA, 15 JUNE
BROTHER! Brother! Brother! did you really fear that I had been
induced by some angry feeling to send slaves to you without a
letter? Or even that I did not wish to see you? I to be angry with
you! Is it possible for me to be angry with you? Why, one would
think that it was you that brought me low! Your enemies, your
unpopularity, that miserably ruined me, and not I that unhappily
ruined you! The fact is, the much-praised consulate of mine has
deprived me of you, of children, country, fortune; from you I
should hope it will have taken nothing but myself. Certainly on
your side I have experienced nothing but what was honourable and
gratifying: on mine you have grief for my fall and fear for your
own, regret, mourning, desertion. I not wish to see you? The truth
is rather that I was unwilling to be seen by you. For you would not
have seen your brother--not the brother you had left, not the
brother you knew, not him to whom you had with mutual tears
bidden farewell as be followed you on your departure for your
province: not a trace even or faint image of him, but rather what I
may call the likeness of a living corpse. And oh that you had
sooner seen me or heard of me as a corpse! Oh that I could have
left you to survive, not my life merely, but my undiminished rank!
But I call all the gods to witness that the one argument which
recalled me from death was, that all declared that to some extent
your life depended upon mine. In which matter I made an error and
acted culpably. For if I had died, that death itself would have given
clear evidence of my fidelity and love to you. As it is, I have
allowed you to be deprived of my aid, though I am alive, and with
me still living to need the help of others; and my voice, of all
others, to fail when dangers threatened my family, which had so
often been successfully used in the defence of the merest strangers.
For as to the slaves coming to you without a letter, the real reason
(for you see that it was not anger) was a deadness of my faculties,
and a seemingly endless deluge of tears and sorrows. How many
tears do you suppose these very words have cost me? As many as I
know they will cost you to read them! Can I ever refrain from
thinking of you or ever think of you without tears? For when I miss
you, is it only a brother that I miss? Rather it is a brother of almost
my own age in the charm of his companionship, a son in his
consideration for my wishes, a father in the wisdom of his advice!
What pleasure did I ever have without you, or you without me?
And what must my case be when at the same time I miss a
daughter: How affectionate! how modest! how clever! The express
image of my face, of my speech, of my very soul! Or again a son,
the prettiest boy, the very joy of my heart? Cruel inhuman monster
that I am, I dismissed him from my arms better schooled in the
world than I could have wished: for the poor child began to
understand what was going on. So, too, your own son, your own
image, whom my little Cicero loved as a brother, and was now
beginning to respect as an elder brother! Need I mention also how
I refused to allow my unhappy wife--the truest of helpmates--to
accompany me, that there might be some one to protect the wrecks
of the calamity which had fallen on us both, and guard our
common children? Nevertheless, to the best of my ability, I did
write a letter to you, and gave it to your freedman Philogonus,
which, I believe, was delivered to you later on; and in this I repeat
the advice and entreaty, which had been already transmitted to you
as a message from me by my slaves, that you should go on with
your journey and hasten to Rome. For, in the first place, I desired
your protection, in case there were any of my enemies whose
cruelty was not yet satisfied by my fall. In the next place, I dreaded
the renewed lamentation which our meeting would cause: while I
could not have borne your departure, and was afraid of the very
thing you mention in your letter--that you would be unable to tear
yourself away. For these reasons the supreme pain of not seeing
you--and nothing more painful or more wretched could, I think,
have happened to the most affectionate and united of
brothers--was a less misery than would have been such a meeting
followed by such a parting. Now, if you can, though I, whom you
always regarded as a brave man, cannot do so, rouse yourself and
collect your energies in view of any contest you may have to
confront. I hope, if my hope has anything to go upon, that your
own spotless character and the love of your fellow citizens, and
even remorse for my treatment, may prove a certain protection to
you. But if it turns out that you are free from personal danger, you
will doubtless do whatever you think can be done for me. In that
matter, indeed, many write to me at great length and declare they
have hopes; but I personally cannot see what hope there is, since
my enemies have the greatest influence, while my friends have in
some cases deserted, in others even betrayed me, fearing perhaps
in my restoration a censure on their own treacherous conduct. But
how matters stand with you I would have you ascertain and report
to me. In any case I shall continue to live as long as you shall need
me, in view of any danger you may have to undergo: longer than
that I cannot go in this kind of life. For there is neither wisdom nor
philosophy with sufficient strength to sustain such a weight of
grief. I know that there has been a time for dying, more honourable
and more advantageous; and this is not the only one of my many
omissions; which, if I should choose to bewail, I should merely be
increasing your sorrow and emphasizing my own stupidity. But
one thing I am not bound to do, and it is in fact impossible--remain
in a life so wretched and so dishonoured any longer than your
necessities, or some well-grounded hope, shall demand. For I, who
was lately supremely blessed in brother, children, wife, wealth,
and in the very nature of that wealth, while in position, influence,
reputation, and popularity, I was inferior to none, however,
distinguished--I cannot, I repeat. go on longer lamenting over
myself and those dear to me in a life of such humiliation as this,
and in a state of such utter ruin. Wherefore, what do you mean by
writing to me about negotiating a bill of exchange? As though I
were not now wholly dependent on your means! And that is just
the very thing in which 1 see and feel, to my misery, of what a
culpable act I have been guilty in squandering to no purpose the
money which I received from the treasury in your name, while you
have to satisfy your creditors out of the very vitals of yourself and
your son. However, the sum mentioned in your letter has been paid
to M. Antonius, and the same amount to Caepio. For me the sum at
present in my hands is sufficient for what I contemplate doing. For
in either case--whether I am restored or given up in despair--I shall
not want any more money. For yourself, if you are molested, I
think you should apply to Crassus and Calidius. I don't know how
far Hortensius is to be trusted. Myself, with the most elaborate
presence of affection and the closest daily intimacy, he treated
with the most utter want of principle and thc most consummate
treachery, and Q. Arrius helped him in it: acting under whose
advice, promises, and injunctions, I was left helpless to fall into
this disaster. But this you will keep dark for fear they might injure
you. Take care also--and it is on this account that I think you
should cultivate Hortensius himself by means of Pomponius--that
the epigram on the irs Aurelia attributed to you when candidate for
the aedileship is not proved by false testimony to be yours. For
there is nothing that I am so afraid of as that, when people
understand how much pity for me your prayers and your acquittal
will rouse, they may attack you with all the greater violence.
Messahla I reckon as really attached to you: Pompey I regard as
still pretending only. But may you never have to put these things to
the test! And that prayer I would have offered to the gods had they
not ceased to listen to prayers of mine. However, I do pray that
they may be content with these endless miseries of ours; among
which, after all, there is no discredit for any wrong thing
done--sorrow is the beginning and end, sorrow that punishment is
most severe when our conduct has been most unexceptionable. As
to my daughter and yours and my young Cicero, why should I
recommend them to you, my dear brother? Rather I grieve that
their orphan state will cause you no less sorrow than it does me.
Yet as long as you are uncondemned they will not be fatherless.
The rest, by my hopes of restoration and the privilege of dying in
my fatherland, my tears will not allow me to write! Terentia also I
would ask you to protect, and to write me word on every subject.
Be as brave as the nature of the case admits.
Thessalonica, 13 June.
VII
To ATTICUS (IN EPIRUS)
ROME (SEPTEMBER)
DIRECTLY I arrived at Rome, and there was anyone to whom I
could safely intrust a letter for you, I thought the very first thing I
ought to do was to congratulate you in your absence on my return.
For I knew, to speak candidly, that though in giving me advice you
had not been more courageous or far-seeing than myself, nor--
considering my devotion to you in the past--too careful in
protecting me from disaster, yet that you--though sharing in the
first instance in my mistake, or rather madness, and in my
groundless terror--had nevertheless been deeply grieved at our
separation, and had bestowed immense pains, zeal, care, and
labour in securing my return. Accordingly, I can truly assure you of
this, that in the midst of supreme joy and the most gratifying
congratulations, the one thing wanting to fill my cup of happiness
to the brim is the sight of you, or rather your embrace; and if I ever
forfeit that again, when I have once got possession of it, and if,
too, I do not exact the full delights of your charming society that
have fallen into arrear in the past, I shall certainly consider myself
unworthy of this renewal of my good fortune.
In regard to my political position, I have resumed what I thought
there would be the utmost difficulty in recovering--my brilliant
standing at the bar, my influence in the senate, and a popularity
with the loyalists even greater than I desired. In regard, however,
to my private property--as to which you are well aware to what an
extent it has been crippled, scattered, and plundered--I am in great
difficulties, and stand in need, not so much of your means (which I
look upon as my own), as of your advice for collecting and
restoring to a sound state the fragments that remain. For the
present, though I believe everything finds its way to you in the
letters of your friends, or even by messengers and rumour, yet I
will write briefly what I think you would like to learn from niy
letters above all others. On the 4th of August I started froui
Dyrrarhium, the very day on which the law about me was carried. I
arrived at Brundisium on the 5th of August. There my dear
Tulhiola met me on what was her own birthday, which happened
also to be the name-day of the colony of Brundisium and of the
temple of Safety, near your house. This coincidence was noticed
and celebrated with warm congratulations by the citizens of
Brundisium. On the 8th of August, while still at Brundisium, I
learnt by a letter from Quintus that the law had been passed at the
comitia centuriata with a surprising enthusiasm on the part of all
ages and ranks, and with an incredible influx of voters from Italy. I
then commenced my journey, amidst the compliments of the men
of highest consideration at Brundisium, and was met at every point
by legates bearing congratulations. My arrival in the
neighbourhood of the city was the signal for every soul of every
order known to my nomenclator coming out to meet me, except
those enemies who could not either dissemble or deny the fact of
their being such. On my arrival at the Porta Capena, the steps of
the temples were already thronged from top to bottom by the
populace; and while their congratulations were displayed by the
loudest possible applause, a similar throng and similar applause
accompanied me right up to the Capitol, and in the forum and on
the Capitol itself there was again a wonderful crowd. Next day, in
the senate, that is, the 5th of September, I spoke my thanks to the
senators. Two days after that--there having been a very heavy rise
in the price of corn, and great crowds having flocked first to the
theatre and then to the senate-house, shouting out, at the
instigation of Clodius, that the scarcity of corn was my
doing--meetings of the senate being held on those days to discuss
the corn question, and Pompey being called upon to undertake the
management of its supply in the common talk not only of the
plebs, but of the aristocrats also, and being himself desirous of the
commission, when the people at large called upon me by name to
support a decree to that effect, I did so, and gave my vote in a
carefully-worded speech. The other consulars, except Messalla and
Afranius, having absented themselves on the ground that they
could not vote with safety to themselves, a decree of the senate
was passed in the sense of my motion, namely, that Pompey should
be appealed to to undertake the business, and that a law should be
proposed to that effect. This decree of the senate having been
publicly read, and the people having, after the senseless and
new-fangled custom that now prevails, applauded the mention of
my name, I delivered a speech. All the magistrates present, except
one praetor and two tribunes, called on me to speak. Next day a
full senate, including all the consulars, granted everything that
Pompey asked for. Having demanded fifteen legates, he named me
first in the list, and said that he should regard me in all things as a
second self. The consuls drew up a law by which complete control
over the corn-supply for five years throughout the whole world
was given to Pompey. A second law is drawn up by Messius,
granting him power over all money, and adding a fleet and army,
and an imperium in the provinces superior to that of their
governors. After that our consular law seems moderate indeed: that
of Messius is quite intolerable. Pompey professes to prefer the
former; his friends the latter. The consulars led by Favonius
murmur: I hold my tongue, the more so that the pontifices have as
yet given no answer in regard to my house. If they annul the
consecration I shall have a splendid site. The consuls, in
accordance with a decree of the senate, will value the cost of the
building that stood upon it; but if the pontifices decide otherwise,
they will pull down the Clodian building, give out a contract in
their own name (for a temple), and value to me the cost of a site
and house. So our affairs are
"For happy though but ill, for ill not worst."
In regard to money matters I am, as you know, much embarrassed.
Besides, there are certain domestic troubles, which I do not intrust
to writing. My brother Quintus I love as he deserves for his
eminent qualities of loyalty, virtue, and good faith. I am longing to
see you, and beg you to hasten your return, resolved not to allow
me to be without the benefit of your advice. I am on the threshold,
as it were, of a second life. Already certain persons who defended
me in my absence begin to nurse a secret grudge at me now that I
am here, and to make no secret of their jealousy. I want you very
much.
VIII
To HIS BROTHER QUINTUS (IN SARDINIA)
ROME, 12 FEBRUARY
I HAVE already told you the earlier proceedings; now let me
describe what was done afterwards. The legations were postponed
from the 1st of February to the 13th. On the former day our
business was not brought to a settlement. On the 2nd of February
Milo appeared for trial. Pompey came to support him. Marcellus
spoke on being called upon by me. We came off with flying
colours. The case was adjourned to the 7th. Meanwhile (in the
senate), the legations having been postponed to the 13th, the
business of allotting the quaestors and furnishing the outfit of the
praetors was brought before the house. But nothing was done,
because many speeches were interposed denouncing the state of
the Republic. Gaius Cato published his bill for the recall of
Lentulus, whose son thereon put on mourning. On the 7th Milo
appeared. Pompey spoke, or rather wished to speak. For as soon as
he got up Clodius's ruffians raised a shout, and throughout his
whole speech he was interrupted, not only by hostile cries, but by
personal abuse and insulting remarks. However, when lie had
finished his speech--for he shewed great courage in these
circumstances, he was not cowed, he said all he had to say, and at
times had by his commanding presence even secured silence for
his words--well, when he had finished, up got Clodius. Our party
received him with such a shout--for they had determined to pay
him out--that he lost all presence of mind, power of speech, or
control over his countenance. This went on up to two o
clock--Pompey having finished his speech at noon--and every kind
of abuse, and finally epigrams of the most outspoken indecency
were uttered against Clodius and Clodia. Mad and livid with rage
Clodius, in the very midst of the shouting, kept putting questions
to his claque: "Who was it who was starving the commons to
death?" His ruffians answered, "Pompey." "Who wanted to be sent
to Alexandria ?" They answered, "Pompey." "Who did they wish to
go ?" They answered, "Crassus." The latter was present at the time
with no friendly feelings to Milo. About three o clock, as though at
a given signal, the Clodians began spitting at our men. There was
an outburst of rage. They began a movement for forcing us from
our ground. Our men charged: his ruffians turned tail. Clodius was
pushed off the rostra: and then we too made our escape for fear of
mischief in the riot. The senate was summoned into the Curia:
Pompey went home. However, I did not myself enter the
senate-house, lest I should be obliged either to refrain from
speaking on matters of such gravity, or in defending Pompey (for
he was being attacked by Bibulus, Curio, Favonius, and Servilius
the younger) should give offence to the loyalists. The business was
adjourned to the next day. Clodius fixed the Quirinalia (17th of
February) for his prosecution. On the 8th the senate met in the
temple of Apollo, that Pompey might attend. Pompey made an
impressive speech. That day nothing was concluded. On the 9th in
the temple of Apollo a degree passed the senate "that what had
taken place on the 7th of February was treasonable." On this day
Cato warmly inveighed against Pompey, and throughout his speech
arraigned him as though he were at the bar. He said a great deal
about me, to my disgust, though it was in very laudatory terms.
When he attacked Pompey's perfidy to me, he was listened to in
profound silence on the part of my enemies. Pompey answered
him boldly with a palpable allusion to Crassus, and said outright
that "he would take better precautions to protect his life than
Africanus had done, whom C. Carbo had assassinated."
Accordingly, important events appear to me to be in the wind. For
Pompey understands what is going on, and imparts to me that plots
are being formed against his life, that Gaius Cato is being
supported by Crassus, that money is being supplied to Clodius, that
both are backed by Crassus and Curio, as well as by Bibulus and
his other detractors: that he must take extraordinary precautions to
prevent being overpowered by that demagogue--with a people all
but wholly alienated, a nobility hostile, a senate ill-affected, and
the younger men corrupt. So he is making his preparations and
summoning men from the country. On his part, Clodius is rallying
his gangs: a body of men is being got together for the Quirinalia.
For that occasion we are considerably in a majority, owing to the
forces brought up by Pompey himself: and a large contingent is
expected from Picenum and Gallia, to enable us to throw out
Cato's bills also about Milo and Lentulus.
On the 10th of February an indictment was lodged against Sestius
for bribery by the informer Cn. Nerius, of the Pupinian tribe, arid
on the same day by a certain M. Tullius for riot. He was ill. I went
at once, as I was bound to do. to his house, and put myself wholly
at his service: and that was more than people expected, who
thought that I had good cause for being angry with him. The result
is that my extreme kindness and grateful disposition are made
manifest both to Sestius himself and to all the world, and I shall be
as good as my word. But this same informer Nerius also named
Cn. Lentulus Vatia and C. Cornelius to the commissioners. On the
same day a decree passed the senate "that political clubs and
associations should be broken up, and that a law in regard to them
should be brought in, enacting that those who did not break off
from them should be liable to the same penalty as those convicted
of riot."
On the 10th of February I spoke in defence of Bestia on a charge of
bribery before the praetor Cn. Domitius, in the middle of the
forum and in a very crowded court; and in the course of my speech
I came to the incident of Sestius, after receiving many wounds in
the temple of Castor, having been preserved by the aid of Bestia.
Here I took occasion to pave the way beforehand for a refutation of
the charges which are being got up against Sestius, and I passed a
well-deserved encomium upon him with the cordial approval of
everybody. He was himself very much delighted with it. I tell you
this because you have often advised me in your letters to retain the
friendship of Sestius. I am writing this on the 12th of February
before daybreak; the day on which I am to dine with Pomponius on
the occasion of his wedding.
Our position in other respects is such as you used to cheer my
despondency by telling me it would be--one of great dignity and
popularity: this is a return to old times for you and me effected, my
brother, by your patience, high character, loyalty, and, I may also
add, your conciliatory manners. The house of Licinius, near the
grove of Piso, has been taken for you. But, as I hope, in a few
months time, after the 1st of July, you will move into your own.
Some excellent tenants, the Lamiae, have taken your house in
Carinie. I have received no letter from you since the one dated
Olbia. I am anxious to hear how you are and what you find to
amuse you, but above all to see you yourself as soon as possible.
Take care of your health, my dear brother, and though it is winter
time, yet reflect that after all it is Sardinia that you are in.
13 February.
IX
To ATTICUS (RETURNING FROM EPIRUS)
ANTIUM (APRIL)
IT will be delightful if you come to see us here. You will find that
Tyrannio has made a wonderfully good arrangement of my books,
the remains of which are better than I had expected. Still, I wish
you would send me a couple of your library slaves for Tyrannio to
employ as gluers, and in other subordinate work, and tell them to
get some fine parchment to make title-pieces, which you Greeks, I
think, call "sillybi." But all this is only if not inconvenient to you.
In any case, be sure you come yourself, if you can halt for a while
in such a place, and can persuade Pilia to accompany you. For that
is only fair, and Tulia is anxious that she should come. My word!
You have purchased a fine troop! Your gladiators, I am told, fight
superbly. If you had chosen to let them out you would have cleared
your expenses by the last two spectacles. But we will talk about
this later on. Be sure to come, and, as you love me, see about the
library slaves.
X
To L. LUCCEIUS
ARPINUM (APRIL)
I HAVE often tried to say to you personally what I am about to
write, but was prevented by a kind of almost clownish bashfulness.
Now that I am not in your presence I shall speak out more boldly: a
letter does not blush. I am inflamed with an inconceivably ardent
desire, and one, as I think, of which I have no reason to be
ashamed, that in a history written by you my name should be
conspicuous and frequently mentioned with praise. And though
you have often shewn me that you meant to do so, yet I hope you
will pardon my impatience. For the style of your composition,
though I had always entertained the highest expectations of it, has
yet surpassed my hopes, and has taken such a hold upon me, or
rather has so fired my imagination, that I was eager to have my
achievements as quickly as possible put on record in your history.
For it is not only the thought of being spoken of by future ages that
makes me snatch at what seems a hope of immortality, but it is
also the desre of fully enjoying in my lifetime an authoritative
expression of your judgment, or a token of your kindness for me,
or the charm of your genius. Not, however, that while thus writing
I am unaware under what heavy burdens you are labouring in the
portion of history you have undertaken, and by this time have
begun to write. But because I saw that your history of the Italian
and Civil Wars was now all but finished, and because also you told
me that you were already embarking upon the remaining portions
of your work, I determined not to lose my chance for the want of
suggesting to you to consider whether you preferred to weave your
account of me into the main context of your history, or whether, as
many Greek writers have done--Callisthenes, the Phocian War;
Timeus, the war of Pyrrhus; Polybius, that of Numantia; all of
whom separated the wars I have named from their main
narratives--you would, like them, separate the civil conspiracy
from public and external wars. For my part, I do not see that it
matters much to my reputation, but it does somewhat concern my
impatience, that you should not wait till you come to the proper
place, but should at once anticipate the discussion of that question
as a whole and the history of that epoch. And at the same time, if
your whole thoughts are engaged on one incident and one person, I
can see in imagination how much fuller your material will be, and
how much more elaborately worked out. I am quite aware,
however, what little modesty I display, first, in imposing on you so
heavy a burden (for your engagements may well prevent your
compliance with my request), and in the second place, in asking
you to shew me off to advantage. What if those transactions are
not in your judgment so very deserving of commendation? Yet,
after all, a man who has once passed the border-line of modesty
had better put a bold face on it and be frankly impudent. And so I
again and again ask you outright, both to praise those actions of
mine in warmer terms than you perhaps feel, and in that respect to
neglect the laws of history. I ask you, too, in regard to the personal
predilection, on which you wrote in a certain introductory chapter
in the most gratifying and explicit terms--and by which you shew
that you were as incapable of being diverted as Xenophon's
Hercules by Pleasure--not to go against it, but to yield to your
affection for me a little more than truth shall justify. But if I can
induce you to undertake this, you will have, I am persuaded, matter
worthy of your genius and your wealth of language. For from the
beginning of the conspiracy to my return from exile it appears to
me that a moderate-sized monograph might be composed, in which
you will, on the one hand, be able to utilize your special
knowledge of civil disturbances, either in unravelling the causes of
the revolution or in proposing remedies for evils, blaming
meanwhile what you think deserves denunciation, and establishing
the righteousness of what you approve by explaining the principles
on which they rest: and on the other hand, if you think it right to be
more outspoken (as you generally do), you will bring out the
perfidy, intrigues, and treachery of many people towards me. For
my vicissitudes will supply you in your composition with much
variety, which has in itself a kind of charm, capable of taking a
strong hold on the imagination of readers, when you are the writer.
For nothing is better fitted to interest a reader than variety of
circumstance and vicissitudes of fortune, which, though the
reverse of welcome to us in actual experience, will make very
pleasant reading: for the untroubled recollection of a past sorrow
has a charm of its own. To the rest of the world, indeed, who have
had no trouble themselves, and who look upon the misfortunes of
others without any suffering of their own, the feeling of pity is
itself a source of pleasure. For what man of us is not delighted,
though feeling a certain compassion too, with the death-scene of
Epaminondas at Mantinea? He, you know, did not allow the dart to
be drawn from his body until he had been told, in answer to his
question, that his shield was safe, so that in spite of the agony of
his wound he died calmly and with glory. Whose interest is not
roused and sustained by the banishment and return of
Themistocles? Truly the mere chronological record of the annals
has very little charm for us--little more than the entries in the fasti:
but the doubtful and varied fortunes of a man, frequently of
eminent character, involve feelings of wonder, suspense, joy,
sorrow, hope, fear: if these fortunes are crowned with a glorious
death, the imagination is satisfied with the most fascinating delight
which reading can give. Therefore it will be more in accordance
with my wishes if you come to the resolution to separate from the
main body of your narrative, in which you embrace a continuance
history of events, what I may call the drama of my actions and
fortunes: for it includes varied acts, and shifting scenes both of
policy and circumstance. Nor am I afraid of appearing to lay snares
for your favour by flattering suggestions, when I declare that I
desire to be complimented and mentioned with praise by you
above all other writers. For you are not the man to be ignorant of
your own powers, or not to be sure that those who withhold their
admiration of you are more to be accounted jealous, than those
who praise you flatterers. Nor, again, am I so senseless as to wish
to be consecrated to an eternity of fame by one who, in so
consecrating me, does not also gain for himself the glory which
rightfully belongs to genius. For the famous Alexander himself did
not wish to be painted by Apelles, and to have his statue made by
Lysippus above all others, merely from personal favour to them,
but because he thought that their art would be a glory at once to
them and to himself. And, indeed, those artists used to make
images of the person known to strangers: but if such had never
existed, illustrious men would yet be no less illustrious. The
Spartan Agesilaus, who would not allow a portrait of himself to be
painted or a statue made, deserves to be quoted as an example
quite as much as those who have taken trouble about such
representations: for a single pamphlet of Xenophon's in praise of
that king has proved much more effective than all the portraits and
statues of them all, And, moreover, it will more redound to my
present exultation and the honour of my memory to have found my
way into your history, than if I had done so into that of others, in
this, that I shall profit not only by the genius of the writer--as
Timoleon did by that of Timaeus, Themistocles by that of
Herodotus--but also by the authority of a man of a most illustrious
and well-established character, and one well known and of the first
repute for his conduct in the most important and weighty matters
of state; so that I shall seem to have gained not only the fame
which Alexander on his visit to Sigeum said had been bestowed on
Achilles by Homer, but also the weighty testimony of a great and
illustrious man. For I like that saying of Hector in Naevius, who
not only rejoices that he is "praised," but adds, "and by one who
has himself been praised." But if I fail to obtain my request from
you, which is equivalent to saying, if you are by some means
prevented--for I hold it to be out of the question that you would
refuse a request of mine--I shall perhaps be forced to do what
certain persons have often found fault with, write my own
panegyric, a thing, after all, which has a precedent of many
illustrious men. But it will not escape your notice that there are the
following drawbacks in a composition of that sort: men are bound,
when writing of themselves, both to speak with greater reserve of
what is praiseworthy, and to omit what calls for blame. Added to
which such writing carries less conviction, less weight; many
people, in fine, carp at it, and say that the heralds at the public
games are more modest, far after having placed garlands on the
other recipients and proclaimed their names in a loud voice, when
their own turn comes to be presented with a garland before the
games break up, they call in the services of another herald, that
they may not declare themselves victors with their own voice. I
wish to avoid all this, and, if you undertake my cause, I shall avoid
it: and, accordingly, I ask you this favour. But why, you may well
ask, when you have already often assured me that yOu intended to
record in your book with the utmost minuteness the policy and
events of my consulship, do I now make this request to you with
such earnestness and in so many words? The reason is to be found
in that burning desire, of which I spoke at the beginning of my
letter, for something prompt: because I am in a flutter of
impatience, both that men should learn what I am from your book,
while I am still alive, and that I may myself in my lifetime have
the full enjoyment of my little bit of glory. What you intend doing
on this subject I should like you to write me word, if not
troublesome to you. For if you do undertake the subject, I will put
together sonic notes of all occurrences: but if you put me off to
some future time, I will talk the matter over with you. Meanwhile,
do not relax your efforts, and thoroughly polish what you have
already on the stocks, and--continue to love me.
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