(_Fam._, XXIV, 9)
Long ago the thought entered my mind of addressing letters of
familiar intercourse to certain far-off masters of eloquence,
embracing in the number those who had been the rare ornaments of
the Latin tongue. I should not wish, therefore, to pass thy name
over in silence, the more so that, according to the testimony of
great writers, thy fame was second to none. Since, however, thy
reputation has come down to us stripped almost bare of facts, it must
be substantiated by the writings of others rather than of thyself, a
fact which I deservedly number among the shameful losses of our age.
I shall have, therefore, but little to say to thee.
I congratulate thee in that thou didst enjoy the honors of a
consulship as well as those of a triumph;[79] I congratulate thee for
the praises bestowed upon thy lofty intellect and polished eloquence,
and for thy many other endowments of body and mind and fortune.[80]
I give thee special congratulations, however, for having lived under
the best of princes, who cherished most dearly both letters and
virtues, and who was a competent judge of thy deeds. O happy thou,
who didst fill the just measure of thy life while Augustus was still
reigning, bringing an illustrious life to a peaceful close at thy
Tusculan villa and in the eightieth year of thine age.[81] Thou didst
escape the bloody hands of Tiberius, into which the orator Asinius
Gallus fell, thy ill-fated offspring who, as we read, was killed
by him with dreadful suffering.[82] Fortunate indeed was it that
a timely death overtook thee, seeing toward what great misery thy
destiny was already beginning to urge thee. Death saved thine eyes
from witnessing such a sad spectacle at least. Only a few years more
and, to thy great sorrow, thou wouldst have shared the fate of thy
son, or wouldst have been compelled to look on.[83] His death must
have diminished thy happiness in no slight degree--if it be true (as
some thinkers claim) that the dead are affected by the lot of the
living.
The laws of true friendship forbid me to conceal or pass over a
certain thing in silence--for friendship binds me to the names and
ashes of the illustrious dead of every age no less effectually than
if they were alive. The thing, therefore, which greatly distressed
me in thee was, that thou didst resolve to be such a very bitter
and severe critic (not to say censurer) of Marcus Tullius.[84] In
all justice thou shouldst have been the first to praise and exalt
his name in thy writings. If thy defense is that thou hadst a right
to freedom of thought, I shall answer that I do not deny thee
such freedom, even though I do not agree with thy conclusions. I
maintain, however, that thou shouldst have made more sparing use
of thy freedom. Such counsel comes too late now, I know. Yet thou
canst easily obtain indulgence from others[85] since thou didst so
often exercise the same freedom against him who was then ruling the
universe.[86]
It is rather difficult, I grant thee, for fortune’s favorite to
curb the mind and the tongue. The seriousness of purpose consonant
with thy great age and learning compels me to exact from thee
careful consideration in all matters. Furthermore, it obliges me to
censure thee for thy actions more severely than I should either thy
son, who held the same opinions as thou because he followed in thy
footsteps,[87] or Calvus and others of the same party.[88]
I am not so forgetful of myself as to deny thee the exercise of the
same privilege in the case of a contemporary (whom thou couldst
both see and know) that I have enjoyed, after so many centuries, in
the case of a man of such reputation and so far removed from me in
time. No one is perfect. Who, then, shall forbid thee, a man of such
eminence, to call attention to anything reprehensible in the ways of
thy neighbor, when even I who am so far removed have found things
to criticise in his writings? But the moment thou dost attack his
reputation for eloquence, the moment thou dost endeavor to wrest from
him his supremacy in the field of oratory--a supremacy bestowed upon
him from heaven and granted to him without dispute and by the common
consent of nearly the entire world--that moment see to it that thou
be not inflicting too palpable an injury.
Beware, and with thee let Calvus beware, that you do not enter upon
an ill-matched struggle against Cicero for the palm in oratory. It
is a very easy task for us to watch the contest as spectators. But
the crown of victory has long since been awarded.[89] You have been
conquered. Vain are your struggles and obstructions! The ruffling
of your own pride prevents you from seeing the truth. In my opinion
you would have been great men, had you been able to acknowledge a
greater than yourselves. But man, in his pride, is raised by false
opinions to higher levels than those to which he rightfully belongs;
and from this high station truth then causes him to sink to a lower
level than he might justly have deserved. Many have lost their own
reward of glory in hungering after that of others.
It was envy, perchance, that prompted your actions, for those of
your companions who envied Cicero were as numerous as those who were
blinded by their pride. If so, again am I more vexed at thee than at
Calvus, for the latter had some cause, in fact had good cause, not
merely for envying Cicero but for hating him.[90] I know of not the
slightest cause for hatred in thy case. And therefore it seems all
the more a pity to me that envy, which is wont to creep along the
ground, should have seized upon so lofty an intellect as was thine.
Farewell forever. Of the Greek orators, give greetings to Isocrates,
Demosthenes, and Aeschines; of the Romans, to Crassus and Antonius,
and indeed to Corvinus Messala and Hortensius, provided that the
former of these last two, now that he is rid of the encumbrances of
the flesh, has regained the memory which he lost two years before
departing hence,[91] and that the latter has not lost his.
_In a suburb of Milan, on the first of August of this last age the
thirteen hundred and fifty-third year._