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.
XI.
To M. FADIUS GALLU5
ROME (MAY)
I HAD only just arrived from Arpinum when your letter was
delivered to me; and from the same bearer I received a letter from
Avianius, in which there was this most liberal offer, that when he
came to Rome he would enter my debt to him on whatever day I
chose. Pray put yourself in my place: is it consistent with your
modesty or mine, first to prefer a request as to the day, and then to
ask more than a year's credit? But, my dear Gallus, everything
would have been easy, if you had bought the things I wanted, and
only up to the price that I wished. However, the purchases which,
according to your letter, you have made shall not only be ratified
by me, but with gratitude besides: for I fully understand that you
have displayed zeal and affection in purchasing (because you
thought them worthy of me) things which pleased yourself--a man,
as I have ever thought, of the most fastidious judgment in all
matters of taste. Still, I should like Damasippus to abide by his
decision: for there is absolutely none of those purchases that I care
to have. But you, being unacquainted with my habits, have bought
four or five of your selection at a price at which I do not value any
statues in the world. You compare your Bacchae with Metellus's
Muses. Where is the likeness? To begin with, I should never have
considered the Muses worth all that money, and I think all the
Muses would have approved my judgment: still, it would have
been appropriate to a library, and in harmony with my pursuits But
Bacchae! What place is there in my house for them? But, you will
say, they are pretty. I know them very well and have often seem
them. I would have commissioned you definitely in the case of
statues known to me, if I had decided on them. The sort of statues
that I am accustomed to buy are such as may adorn a place in a
pala stra after the fashion of gymnasia. What, again, have I, the
promoter of peace, to do with a statue of Mars? I am glad there
was not a statue of Saturn also: for I should have thought these two
statues had brought mc debt! I should have preferred some
representation of Mercury: I might then, I suppose, have made a
more favourable bargain with Arrianus. You say you meant the
table-stand for yourself; well, if you like it, keep it. But if you have
changed your mind I will, of course, have it. For the money you
have laid out, indeed, I would rather have purchased a place of call
at Tarracina, to prevent my being always a burden on my host.
Altogether I perceive that the fault is with my freedman, whom I
had distinctly commissioned to purchase certain definite things,
and also with lunius, whom I think you know, an intimate friend of
Avianius. I have constructed some new sitting-rooms in a
miniature colonnade on my Tusculan property. I want to ornament
them with pictures: for if I take pleasure in anything of that sort it
is in painting. However, if I am to have what you have bought, I
should like you to inform me where they are, when they are to be
fetched, and by what kind of conveyance. For if Damasippus
doesn't abide by his decision, I shall look for some would-be
Damasippus, even at a loss.
As to what you say about the house, as I was going out of town I
intrusted the matter to my daughter Tullia: for it 'vas at the very
hour of my departure that I got your letter. I also discussed the
matter with your friend Nicias, because he is, as you know,
intimate with Cassius. On my return, however, before I got your
last letter, I asked Tullia what she had done. She said that she had
approached Licinia (though I think Cassius is not very intimate
with his sister), and that she at once said that she could venture, in
the absence of her husband (Dexius is gone to Spain), to change
houses without his being there and knowing about it.. I am much
gratified that you should value association with me and my
domestic life so highly, as, in the first place, to take a house which
would enable you to live not only near me, but absolutely with me,
and, in the second place, to be in such a hurry to make this change
of residence. But, upon my life, I do not yield to you in eagerness
for that arrangement. So I will try every means in my power. For I
see the advantage to myself, and, indeed, the advantages to us
both. If I succeed in doing anything, I will let you know. Mind you
also write me word back on everything, and let me know, if you
please, when I am to expect you..
XII
To M. MARIUS (AT CUMAE)
ROME (OCTOBER?)
IF some bodily pain or weakness of health has prevented your
coming to the games, I put it down to fortune rather than your own
wisdom: but if you have made up your mind that these things
which the rest of the world admires are only worthy of contempt,
and, though your health would have allowed of it, you yet were
unwilling to come, then I rejoice at both facts--that you were free
from bodily pain, and that you had the sound sense to disdain what
others causelessly admire. Only I hope that some fruit of your
leisure may be forthcoming, a leisure, indeed, which you had a
splendid opportunity of enjoying to the full, seeing that you were
left almost alone in your lovely country. For I doubt not that in that
study of yours, from which you have opened a window into the
Stabian waters of the bay, and obtained a view of Misenum, you
have spent the morning hours of those days in light reading, while
those who left you there were watching the ordinary farces half
asleep. The remaining parts of the day, too, you spent in the
pleasures which you had yourself arranged to suit your own taste,
while we had to endure whatever had met with the approval of
Spurius Maecius. On the whole, if you care to know, the games
were most splendid, but not to your taste. I judge from my own.
For, to begin with, as a special honour to the occasion, those actors
had come back to the stage who, I thought, had left it for their
own. Indeed, your favourite, my friend Aesop, was in such a state
that no one could say a word against his retiring from the
profession. On beginning to recite the oath his voice failed him at
the words "If I knowingly deceive." Why should I go on with the
story? You know all about the rest of the games, which hadn't
even that amount of charm which games on a moderate scale
generally have: for the spectacle was so elaborate as to leave no
room for cheerful enjoyment, and I think you need feel no regret at
having missed it. For what is the pleasure of a train of six hundred
mules in the "Clytemnestra," or three thousand bowls in the
"Trojan Horse," or gay-colored armour of infantry and cavalry in
some battle? These things roused the admiration of the vulgar; to
you they would have brought no delight. But if during those days
you listened to your reader Protogenes, so long at least as he read
anything rather than my speeches, surely you had far greater
pleasure than any one of us. For I don't suppose you wanted to see
Greek or Oscan plays, especially as you can see Oscan farces in
your senate-house over there, while you are so far from liking
Greeks, that you generally won't even go along the Greek road to
your villa Why, again, should I suppose you to care about missing
the athletes, since you disdained the gladiators? in which even
Pompey himself confesses that he lost his trouble and his pains.
There remain the two wild-beast hunts, lasting five days,
magnificent--nobody denies it--and yet, what pleasure can it be to
a man of refinement, when either a weak man is torn by an
extremely powerful animal, or a splendid animal is transfixed by a
hunting spear? Things which, after all, if worth seeing, you have
often seen before; nor did I, who was present at the games, see
anything the least new. The last day was that of the elephants, on
which there was a great deal of astonishment on the part of the
vulgar crowd, but no pleasure whatever. Nay, there was even a
certain feeling of compassion aroused by it, and a kitid of belief
created that that animal has soniethirig in common with mankind.
However, for my part, during this day, while the theatrical
exhibitions were on, lest by chance you should think me too
blessed, I almost split my lungs in defending your friend Caninius
Gallus. But if the people were as indulgent to me as they were to
Aesop, I would, by heaven, have been glad to abandon my
profession and live with you and others like us. The fact is I was
tired of it before, even when both age and ambition stirred me on,
and when I could also decline any defence that I didn't like; but
now, with things in the state that they are, there is no life worth
having. For, on the one hand, I expect no profit of my labor; and,
on the other, I am sometimes forced to defend men who have been
no friends to me, at the request of those to whom I am under
obligations. Accordingly, I am on the look-out for every excuse for
at last managing my life according to my own taste, and I loudly
applaud and vehemently approve both you and your retired plan of
life: and as to your infrequent appearances among us, I am the
more resigned to that because, were you in Rome, I should be
prevented from enjoying the charm of your society, and so would
you of mine, if I have any, by the overpowering nature of my
engagements; from which, if I get any relief--for entire release I
don't expect--I will give even you, who have been studying
nothing else for many years, some hints as to what it is to live a
life of cultivated enjoyment. Only be careful to nurse your weak
health and to continue your present care of it, so that you may be
able to visit my country houses and make excursions with me in
my litter. I have written you a longer letter than usual, from
superabundance, not of leisure, but of affection, because, if you
remember, you asked me in one of your letters to write you
something to prevent you feeling sorry at having missed the
games. And if I have succeeded in that, I am glad: if not, I yet
console myself with this reflexion, that in future you will both
come to the games and come to see me, and will not leave your
hope of enjoyment dependent on my letters.
XIII
To His BROTHER QUINTUS (IN THE COUNTRY)
ROME (FEBRUARY)
YOUR note by its strong language has drawn out this letter. For as
to what actually occurred on the day of your start, it supplied me
with absoutely no subject for writing. But as when we are together
we are never at a loss for something to say, so ought our letters at
times to digress into loose chat. Well then, to begin, the liberty of
the Tenedians has received short shrift, no one speaking for them
except myself, Bibulus, Calidius, and Favonius. A complimentary
reference to you was made by the legates from Magnesia and
Sipylum, they saying that you were the man who alone had resisted
the demand of L. Sestius Pansa. On the remaining days of this
business in the senate, if anything occurs which you ought to
know, or even if there is nothing, I will write you something every
day. On the 12th I will not fail you or Pomponius. The poems of
Lucretius are as you say-- with many flashes of genius, yet very
technical. But when you return, . . . if you succeed in reading the
Empedoclea of Sallustius, I shall regard you as a hero, yet scarcely
human.
XLV
To His BROTHER QUINTUS (IN BRITAIN)
ARPINUM AND ROME, 28 SEPTEMBER