Letter 5.12

I have often tried to say this to you in person, but a kind of almost rustic embarrassment has stopped me. Now that I am not in your presence, I will speak more boldly. A letter does not blush. I am burning with an unbelievably strong desire, and one I do not think I need to be ashamed of, that my name should appear prominently and often, with praise, in a history written by you. You have often shown me that you meant to do this, but I hope you will forgive my impatience. The style of your writing, though I had always expected the greatest things from it, has surpassed my hopes. It has so taken hold of me, or rather so set my imagination on fire, that I am eager for my achievements to be placed in your history as soon as possible. It is not only the thought of being spoken of by future generations that makes me snatch at what seems a hope of immortality. I also want, while I am still alive, to enjoy the authoritative expression of your judgment, or a sign of your kindness toward me, or the charm of your genius. I know, as I write this, how heavy the burden is in the part of history you have undertaken and by now have begun to write. But because I saw that your history of the Italian and civil wars was almost finished, and because you told me you were already beginning the remaining parts of your work, I decided not to lose my chance through failing to make a suggestion. Please consider whether you prefer to weave your account of me into the main course of your history, or whether, as many Greek writers have done, you would rather separate the civil conspiracy from the public and foreign wars. Callisthenes separated the Phocian War, Timaeus the war of Pyrrhus, Polybius the war of Numantia, from their larger narratives. For my reputation, I do not see that it matters much. For my impatience, it matters a great deal that you not wait until you reach the proper place, but take up that whole question and that whole period at once. And if your whole mind is fixed on one episode and one person, I can imagine how much fuller your material will be and how much more carefully worked out. I know very well how little modesty I show: first, in laying so heavy a burden on you, for your engagements may well prevent you from granting my request; second, in asking you to display me to advantage. What if, in your judgment, those events do not deserve such praise? Yet once a man has crossed the boundary of modesty, he had better put a bold face on it and be openly shameless. So I ask you again and again, directly: praise my actions more warmly than perhaps you feel, and in that respect neglect the strict laws of history. I also ask you, in view of that personal affection about which you wrote in one of your introductions in such gratifying and explicit terms, not to fight against it. Yield to your affection for me a little more than truth may justify. If I can persuade you to undertake this, I am convinced you will have material worthy of your genius and your abundance of language. From the beginning of the conspiracy to my return from exile, it seems to me that a moderate-sized monograph could be made. In it you could use your special knowledge of civil disturbances, whether in unraveling the causes of revolution or in proposing remedies for evils. You could blame what you think deserves blame and establish the justice of what you approve by explaining the principles on which it rests. If you think it right to speak more freely, as you generally do, you could bring out the treachery, intrigues, and plots of many people against me. My reversals of fortune will supply your composition with much variety, and variety has a charm of its own. It holds readers strongly when you are the writer. Nothing is better suited to interest a reader than changing circumstances and the turns of fortune. Though such things are unwelcome to us while we experience them, they make very pleasing reading afterward, for the calm recollection of a past sorrow has its own charm. For those who have had no trouble themselves and look on another's misfortunes without suffering, pity itself is a source of pleasure. Who is not moved, and at the same time delighted, by the death of Epaminondas at Mantinea? He did not allow the spear to be drawn from his body until he had been told that his shield was safe; then, despite the agony of the wound, he died calmly and with glory. Whose attention is not caught and held by the exile and return of Themistocles? A bare chronological record has little charm, hardly more than the entries in the official calendar. But the uncertain and shifting fortunes of a distinguished man produce wonder, suspense, joy, sorrow, hope, and fear; and if they end in a glorious death, the imagination receives the highest delight that reading can give. For this reason it would suit my wishes better if you decided to separate, from the continuous history of events, what I might call the drama of my actions and fortunes. It includes varied episodes and changing scenes, both of policy and of circumstance. Nor am I afraid of seeming to set traps for your favor through flattery when I say that I want to be praised and honored by you above all writers. You are not a man who can be ignorant of his own powers, or fail to know that those who withhold admiration from you should be counted jealous rather than that those who praise you should be counted flatterers. Nor am I so senseless as to wish to be dedicated to eternal fame by someone who, in dedicating me, does not also win for himself the glory due to genius. Alexander did not want Apelles to paint him and Lysippus to sculpt him above all others merely from personal liking; he thought their art would be a glory both to them and to himself. Those artists made images of a body known to strangers. Yet even without such images, distinguished men would have remained distinguished. The Spartan Agesilaus, who would not allow a portrait or statue of himself to be made, deserves to be cited as much as those who took trouble over such representations; a single pamphlet by Xenophon praising that king has proved more effective than all their portraits and statues. It will therefore add more to my present delight and to the honor of my memory to find my way into your history than into someone else's. I will profit not only from the writer's genius, as Timoleon did from Timaeus and Themistocles from Herodotus, but also from the authority of a man of the most distinguished and established character, well known and of first rank in the conduct of the greatest public affairs. I will seem to have gained not only the fame which Alexander, at Sigeum, said Homer had bestowed on Achilles, but also the serious testimony of a great and distinguished man. I like that saying of Hector in Naevius: he rejoices not only that he is praised, but that he is praised by one who has himself been praised. If I fail to obtain this from you, which is to say, if something prevents you, for I cannot believe you would refuse me, I may be forced to do what certain people have often criticized: write my own praise. Many distinguished men have done the same. But you will see the drawbacks. When men write about themselves, they must speak more cautiously about what deserves praise and omit what calls for blame. Such writing also has less credibility and less weight. Many people mock it, saying that the heralds at public games are more modest: after they have crowned the other winners and proclaimed their names loudly, when their own turn comes, they call in another herald so they will not announce their own victory with their own voice. I want to avoid all this, and if you undertake my cause, I will avoid it. That is why I ask this favor. You may well ask why, when you have often assured me that you intend to record with the utmost care the policy and events of my consulship, I now make this request with such urgency and so many words. The reason is that burning desire I mentioned at the beginning: I want something prompt. I am fluttering with impatience for people to learn what I am from your books while I am still alive, and for me to enjoy in my lifetime my little share of glory. Please write to me, if it is not troublesome, what you plan to do about this. If you undertake the subject, I will put together notes of all the events. If you postpone me to a later time, I will discuss the matter with you. Meanwhile, do not relax your efforts. Polish thoroughly what you already have under way, continue it, and continue to love me.

CVIII (Fam. V, 12) 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 shown 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 desire 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; Timaeus , 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 show 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 show 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, thought he 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 Epa minondas 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 continuous 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, for 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 books, 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 some 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.

XII. Scr. in Arpinati mense Aprili (circ. Idus) a.u.c. 698. M. CICERO S. D. L. LUCCEIO Q. F. Coram me tecum eadem haec agere saepe conantem deterruit pudor quidam paene subrusticus, quae nunc expromam absens audacius, epistula enim non erubescit. Ardeo cupiditate incredibili neque, ut ego arbitror, reprehendenda, nomen ut nostrum scriptis illustretur et celebretur tuis; quod etsi mihi saepe ostendisti te esse facturum, tamen ignoscas velim huic festinationi meae; genus enim scriptorum tuorum etsi erat semper a me vehementer exspectatum, tamen vicit opinionem meam meque ita vel cepit vel incendit, ut cuperem quam celerrime res nostras monumentis commendari tuis; neque enim me solum commemoratio posteritatis ad spem quandam immortalitatis rapit, sed etiam illa cupiditas, ut vel auctoritate testimonii tui vel indicio benevolentiae vel suavitate ingenii vivi perfruamur. Neque tamen, haec cum scribebam, eram nescius, quantis oneribus premerere susceptarum rerum et iam institutarum; sed, quia videbam Italici belli et civilis historiam iam a te paene esse perfectam, dixeras autem mihi te reliquas res ordiri, deesse mihi nolui, quin te admonerem, ut cogitares, coniunctene malles cum reliquis rebus nostra contexere an, ut multi Graeci fecerunt, Callisthenes Phocium bellum, Timaeus Pyrrhi, Polybius Numantinum, qui omnes a perpetuis suis historiis ea, quae dixi, bella separaverunt, tu quoque item civilem coniurationem ab hostilibus externisque bellis seiungeres. Equidem ad nostram laudem non multum video interesse, sed ad properationem meam quiddam interest non te exspectare, dum ad locum venias, ac statim causam illam totam et tempus arripere, et simul, si uno in argumento unaque in persona mens tua tota versabitur, cerno iam animo, quanto omnia uberiora atque ornatiora futura sint. Neque tamen ignoro, quani impudenter faciam, qui primum tibi tantum oneris imponam—potest enim mihi denegare occupatio tua—, deinde etiam, ut ornes me, postulem. Quid, si illa tibi non tanto opere videntur ornanda? Sed tamen, qui semel verecundiae fines transierit, eum bene et naviter oportet esse impudentem. Itaque te plane etiam atque etiam rogo, ut et ornes ea vehementius etiam, quam fortasse sentis, et in eo leges historiae negligas gratiamque illam, de qua suavissime quodam in prooemio scripsisti, a qua te flecti non magis potuisse demonstras quam Herculem Xenophontium illum a Voluptate, eam, si me tibi vehementius commendabit, ne aspernere amorique nostro plusculum etiam, quam concedet veritas, largiare. Quod si te adducemus, ut hoc suscipias, erit, ut mihi persuadeo, materies digna facultate et copia tua; a principio enim coniurationis usque ad reditum nostrum videtur mihi modicum quoddam corpus confici posse, in quo et illa poteris uti civilium commutationum scientia vel in explicandis causis rerum novarum vel in remediis incommodorum, cum et reprehendes ea, quae vituperanda duces, et, quae placebunt, exponendis rationibus comprobabis, et, si liberius, ut consuesti, agendum putabis, multorum in nos perfidiam, insidias, proditionem notabis. Multam etiam casus nostri varietatem tibi in scribendo suppeditabunt plenam cuiusdam voluptatis, quae vehementer animos hominum in legendo tuo scripto retinere possit; nihil est enim aptius ad delectationem lectoris quam temporum varietates fortunaeque vicissitudines: quae etsi nobis optabiles in experiendo non fuerunt, in legendo tamen erunt iucundae, habet enim praeteriti doloris secura recordatio delectationem; ceteris vero nulla perfunctis propria molestia, casus autem alienos sine ullo dolore intuentibus etiam ipsa misericordia est iucunda. Quem enim nostrum ille moriens apud Mantineam Epaminondas non cum quadam miseratione delectat? qui tum denique sibi evelli iubet spiculum, posteaquam ei percontanti dictum est clipeum esse salvum, ut etiam in vulneris dolore aequo animo cum laude moreretur. Cuius studium in legendo non erectum Themistocli fuga redituque retinetur? etenim ordo ipse annalium mediocriter nos retinet quasi enumeratione fastorum: at viri saepe excellentis ancipites variique casus habent admirationem exspectationem, laetitiam molestiam, spem timorem; si vero exitu notabili concluduntur, expletur animus iucundissima lectionis voluptate. Quo mihi acciderit optatius, si in hac sententia fueris, ut a continentibus tuis scriptis, in quibus perpetuam rerum gestarum historiam complecteris, secernas hanc quasi fabulam rerum eventorumque nostrorum; habet enim varios actus mutationesque et consiliorum et temporum. Ac non vereor, ne assentatiuncula quadam aucupari tuam gratiam videar, cum hoc demonstrem, me a te potissimum ornari celebrarique velle; neque enim tu is es, qui, qui sis, nescias et qui non eos magis, qui te non admirentur, invidos quam eos, qui laudent, assentatores arbitrere, neque autem ego sum ita demens, ut me sempiternae gloriae per eum commendari velim, qui non ipse quoque in me commendando propriam ingenii gloriam consequatur. Neque enim Alexander ille gratiae causa ab Apelle potissimum pingi et a Lysippo fingi volebat, sed quod illorum artem cum ipsis, tum etiam sibi gloriae fore putabat. Atque illi artifices corporis simulacra ignotis nota faciebant, quae vel si nulla sint, nihilo sint tamen obscuriores clari viri; nec minus est Spartiates Agesilaus ille perhibendus, qui neque pictam neque fictam imaginem suam passus est esse, quam qui in eo genere laborarunt; unus enim Xenophontis libellus in eo rege laudando facile omnes imagines omnium statuasque superavit. Atque hoc praestantius mihi fuerit et ad laetitiam animi et ad memoriae dignitatem, si in tua scripta pervenero, quam si in ceterorum, quod non ingenium mihi solum suppeditatum fuerit tuum, sicut Timoleonti a Timaeo aut ab Herodoto Themistocli, sed etiam auctoritas clarissimi et spectatissimi viri et in rei publicae maximis gravissimisque causis cogniti atque in primis probati, ut mihi non solum praeconium, quod, cum in Sigeum venisset, Alexander ab Homero Achilli tributum esse dixit, sed etiam grave testimonium impertitum clari hominis magnique videatur; placet enim Hector ille mihi Naevianus, qui non tantum "laudari" se laetatur, sed addit etiam "a laudato viro." Quod si a te non impetraro, hoc est, si quae te res impedierit—neque enim fas esse arbitror quidquam me rogantem abs te non impetrare—, cogar fortasse facere, quod nonnulli saepe reprehendunt: scribam ipse de me, multorum tamen exemplo et clarorum virorum; sed, quod te non fugit, haec sunt in hoc genere vitia: et verecundius ipsi de sese scribant necesse est, si quid est laudandum, et praetereant, si quid reprehendendum est; accedit etiam, ut minor sit fides, minor auctoritas, multi denique reprehendant et dicant verecundiores esse praecones ludorum gymnicorum, qui cum ceteris coronas imposuerint victoribus eorumque nomina magna voce pronuntiarint, cum ipsi ante ludorum missionem corona donentur, alium praeconem adhibeant, ne sua voce se ipsi victores esse praedicent. Haec nos vitare cupimus et, si recipis causam nostram, vitabimus, idque ut facias, rogamus. Ac, ne forte mirere, cur, cum mihi saepe ostenderis te accuratissime nostrorum temporum consilia atque eventus litteris mandaturum, a te id nunc tanto opere et tam multis verbis petamus, illa nos cupiditas incendit, de qua initio scripsi, festinationis, quod alacres animo sumus, ut et ceteri viventibus nobis ex libris tuis nos cognoscant et nosmet ipsi vivi gloriola nostra perfruamur. His de rebus quid acturus sis, si tibi non est molestum, rescribas mihi velim; si enim suscipis causam, conficiam commentarios rerum omnium, sin autem differs me in tempus aliud, coram tecum loquar. Tu interea non cessabis et ea, quae habes instituta, perpolies nosque diliges.