Letter 6.7

Forgive my fear and pity the times for the fact that the book was not returned to you more quickly. My son, as I hear, was alarmed, and not without reason -- if the book had gone out, since it matters not so much in what spirit something is written as in what spirit it is received -- lest the matter do me harm stupidly, especially since I am still paying the penalty for my pen. In this matter I am the victim of a singular fate; for while a mistake in writing is removed by erasure, and foolishness is punished by reputation, my error is corrected by exile, the sum of whose charge is that I spoke ill of my adversary while under arms. There is no one of us, I think, who did not make vows for the victory of his own side, no one who, even when sacrificing for another purpose, did not at that very moment pray that Caesar might be overcome as soon as possible. If he does not consider this, he is fortunate in all things; but if he knows and is convinced, why is he angry at one who wrote something against his wishes, when he has pardoned everyone who prayed many prayers to the gods against his safety? But to return to the point, this was the cause of my fear: I wrote about you sparingly, by Hercules, and timidly, not restraining myself but almost shrinking back. And yet who does not know that this kind of writing ought to be not merely free but spirited and elevated? It is considered unrestricted to speak ill of another -- yet one must beware of falling into impudence; it is constrained to praise oneself, lest the fault of arrogance follow; but it is solely free to praise another, since whatever you detract must be assigned either to weakness or to envy. And perhaps this has turned out more welcome and opportune for you; for since I could not do it brilliantly, the first course was not to touch the subject at all, the second to do it as sparingly as possible. But still I did restrain myself: I diminished much, removed much, and did not even include a great deal. Just as, then, if you remove some steps of a staircase, cut others, and leave some that are poorly fastened, you create the danger of collapse rather than prepare an ascent, so a zeal for writing that has been both conquered and broken by so many misfortunes -- what worthy or credible thing can it produce? But when I came to Caesar's very name, I trembled in my whole body, not from fear of punishment, but of his judgment; for I do not know the whole of Caesar. What state of mind do you think one is in when talking to oneself? "He will approve this; this word is suspicious. What if I change this? But I fear it may be worse. Come now, I praise someone: will I not give offense? And when I do give offense, what if he does not want it? He pursues the pen of an armed man; what will he do to a defeated man not yet restored?" You even increase my fear, you who in your Orator take precautions through Brutus and seek a partner in your defense. When the patron of all does this, what should I, your old friend and now everyone's client, feel? In this torment of false accusation born of fear and blind suspicion, where most things are written to suit another's sensibility rather than one's own judgment, how difficult it is to escape -- if you have not experienced it, since your supreme and excellent talent has armed you for everything -- I certainly feel it. But still I had told my son to read the book to you and take it back, or give it to you on condition that you would undertake to correct it, that is, to make it entirely different. As for the Asian journey, although the most pressing necessity weighed upon me, I did as you commanded. As for what I should urge you to do on my behalf -- you see that the time has come when a decision must be made about us. There is nothing, my dear Cicero, for you to wait for from my son; he is a young man and cannot think of everything, whether through zeal, youth, or fear. You must bear the whole business yourself. All my hope rests in you. You, with your wisdom, know what pleases Caesar, what attracts him. Everything must proceed from you and be brought to completion through you. You have great influence with the man himself, and the greatest influence with all his associates. If you can persuade yourself of one thing -- that this is not your duty only if you are asked to do something, though even that is great and generous, but that the whole burden is yours -- you will accomplish it. Unless perhaps I impose too foolish a burden in my misery or too shameless a one in our friendship; but the habit of your life provides an excuse for both, for because you are accustomed to labor so for your friends, they no longer merely hope for this from you, but even command you. As for the book, which my son will give you, I ask you not to let it go out, or else to correct it so that it does not harm me.

DXXXI (Fam. VI, 7) AULUS CAECINA TO CICERO (AT ROME) SICILY (JANUARY) FOR my book not having been delivered to you so quickly, forgive my timidity, and pity my position. My son, I am told, was very much alarmed at the book being put in circulation, and with reason — since it does not matter so much in what spirit it is written, as in what spirit it is taken — for fear lest a stupid thing like that should stand in my light, and that too when I am still suffering for the sins of my pen. In that matter my fate has been a strange one: for whereas a slip of the pen is cured by erasure, and stupidity is punished by loss of reputation, my mistake is corrected by exile: though my greatest crime is having spoken ill of the enemy when engaged in active service. There was no one on our side, I presume, who did not pray for victory for himself; no one who, even when offering sacrifice for something else, did not breathe a wish for Caesar 's speedy defeat. If he imagines that not to be the case, he is a very fortunate man. If he does know it, and has no delusion on the subject, why be angry with a man who has written something against his views, when he has pardoned all those who offered every sort of petition to the gods against his safety? But to return to my subject, the cause of my fear was this. I have written about you, on my honour, sparingly and timidly, not merely checking myself, but almost beating a retreat. Now everyone knows that this style of writing ought not merely to be free, but even vehement and lofty. One is thought to have a free hand in attacking another, yet you must take care not to fall into mere violence: it is not open to one to praise oneself, lest the result should be the vice of egotism: there is no other course than to praise the man, on whom any blame that you may cast is necessarily set down to weakness or jealousy. And I rather think that you will like it all the better, and think it more suited to your present position. For what I could not do in good style, it was in my power first of all not to touch upon, and, as next best, to do so as sparingly as possible. But after all I did check myself: I softened many phrases, cut out many, and a very large number I did not write down at all. Then, as in a ladder, if you were to remove some rounds, cut out others, leave some loosely fastened, you would be contriving the means of a fall, not preparing a way of ascent, just so with a writer's genius: if it is at once hampered and frustrated by so many disadvantages, what can it produce worth listening to or likely to satisfy? When, indeed, I come to mention Caesar himself, I tremble in every limb, not from fear of his punishing, but of his criticising me. For I do not know Caesar thoroughly. What do you think of a courage that talks thus to itself? “He will approve of this: that expression is open to suspicion.” “What if I change it to this? But I fear that will be worse.” Well, suppose I am praising some one: “Shan't I offend him?” Or when I am criticising some one adversely: “What if it is against his wish?” “He punishes the pen of a man engaged in a campaign: what will he do to that of a man conquered and not yet restored?” You yourself add to my alarm, because in your Orator you shield yourself under the name of Brutus , and try to make him a party to your apology. When the universal “patron” does this, what ought I to do — an old client of yours, and now everyone's client? Amidst such misgivings therefore created by fear, and on the rack of such blind suspicion, when most of what one writes has to be adapted to what one imagines are the feelings of another, not to one's own judgment, I feel how difficult it is to come off successfully, though you have not found the same difficulty, because your supreme and surpassing genius has armed you for every eventuality. Nevertheless, I told my son to read the book to you, and then to take it away, or only to give it to you on condition that you would promise to correct it, that is, if you would give it a totally new complexion. About my journey to Asia , though the necessity for my making it was very urgent, I have obeyed your commands. Why should I urge you to exert yourself for me? You are fully aware that the time has come when my case must be decided. There is no occasion, my dear Cicero , for you to wait for my son. He is a young man: he cannot from his warmth of feeling, or his youth, or his timidity, think of all necessary measures. The whole business must rest on you: you is all my hope. Your acuteness enables you to hit upon the measures which Caesar likes, and which win his favour. Everything must originate with you, and be brought to the desired conclusion by you. You have great influence with Caesar himself, very great with all his friends. If you will convince yourself of this one thing, that your duty is not merely to do what you are asked — though that is a great and important thing — but that the whole burden rests on you, you will carry it through: unless — which I don't believe — my misfortunes make me too inconsiderate, or my friendship too bold, in placing this burden upon you. But your lifelong habits suggest an excuse for both: for from your habit of exerting yourself for your friends, your intimates have come not so much to hope for that favour at your hands, as to demand it as a right. As for my book, which my son will give you, I beg that you will not let it out of your hands, or that you will so correct it as to prevent it doing me any harm.

VII. Scr. in Sicilia exeunte anno u.c. 708. CAECINA CICERONI PLUR. SAL Quod tibi non tam celeriter liber est redditus, ignosce timori nostro et miserere temporis. Filius, ut audio, pertimuit, neque iniuria, si liber exisset—quoniam non tam interest, quo animo scribatur, quam quo accipiatur—, ne ea res inepte mihi noceret, cum praesertim adhuc stili poenas dem. Qua quidem in re singulari sum fato; nam, cum mendum scripturae litura tollatur, stultitia fama multetur, meus error exsilio corrigitur, cuius summa criminis est, quod armatus adversario male dixi. Nemo nostrum est, ut opinor, quin vota Victoriae suae fecerit, nemo, quin etiam, cum de alia re immolaret, tamen eo quidem ipso tempore, ut quam primum Caesar superaretur, optarit: hoc si non cogitat, omnibus rebus felix est; si scit et persuasus est, quid irascitur ei, qui aliquid scripsit contra suam voluntatem, cum ignorit omnibus, qui multa deos venerati sunt contra eius salutem? Sed, ut eodem revertar, causa haec fuit timoris: scripsi de te parce medius fidius et timide, non revocans me ipse, sed paene refugiens; genus autem hoc scripturae non modo liberum, sed incitatum atque elatum esse debere quis ignorat? solutum existimatur esse alteri male dicere—tamen cavendum est, ne in petulantiam incidas—; impeditum se ipsum laudare, ne vitium arrogantiae subsequatur; solum vero liberum alterum laudare, de quo quidquid detrahas, necesse est aut infirmitati aut invidiae assignetur. Ac nescio an tibi gratius opportuniusque acciderit; nam, quod praeclare facere non poteram, primum erat non attingere, secundum beneficium quam parcissime facere. Sed tamen ego quidem me sustinui: multa minui, multa sustuli, complura ne posui quidem; quemadmodum igitur, scalarum gradus si alios tollas, alios incidas, nonnullos male haerentes relinquas, ruinae periculum struas, non ascensum pares, sic tot malis tum victum tum fractum studium scribendi quid dignum auribus aut probabile potest afferre? Cum vero ad ipsius Caesaris nomen veni, toto corpore contremesco, non poenae metu, sed illius iudicii; totum enim Caesarem non novi: quem putas animum esse, ubi secum loquitur? "Hoc probabit: hoc verbum suspiciosum est. Quid, si hoc muto? at vereor, ne peius sit. Age vero, laudo aliquem: non offendo? cum porro offendam, quid, si non vult? armati stilum persequitur: victi et nondum restituti quid faciet?" Auges etiam tu mihi timorem, qui in Oratore tuo caves tibi per Brutum et ad excusationem socium quaeris: ubi hoc omnium patronus facit, quid me, veterem tuum, nunc omnium clientem, sentire oportet? In hac igitur calumnia timoris et caecae suspicionis tormento, cum plurima ad alieni sensus coniecturam, non ad suum iudicium scribantur, quam difficile sit evadere, si minus expertus es, quod te ad omnia summum atque excellens ingenium armavit, nos sentimus. Sed tamen ego filio dixeram, librum tibi legeret et auferret, aut ea condicione daret, si reciperes te correcturum, hoc est, si totum alium faceres. De Asiatico itinere, quamquam summa necessitas premebat, ut imperasti, feci. Te pro me quid horter? vides tempus venisse, quo necesse sit de nobis constitui. Nihil est, mi Cicero, quod filium meum exspectes: adolescens est; omnia excogitare vel studio vel aetate vel metu non potest. Totum negotium tu sustineas oportet; in te mihi omnis spes est. Tu pro tua prudentia, quibus rebus gaudeat, quibus capiatur Caesar, tenes: a te omnia proficiscantur et per te ad exitum perducantur necesse est; apud ipsum multum, apud eius omnes plurimum potes. Unum tibi si persuaseris, non hoc esse tui muneris, si quid rogatus fueris, ut facias—quamquam id magnum et amplum est—, sed totum tuum esse onus, perficies: nisi forte aut in miseria nimis stulte aut in amicitia nimis impudenter tibi onus impono; sed utrique rei excusationem tuae vitae consuetudo dat, nam, quod ita consuesti pro amicis laborare, non iam sic sperant abs te, sed etiam sic imperant tibi familiares. Quod ad librum attinet, quem tibi filius dabit, peto a te, ne exeat, aut ita corrigas, ne mihi noceat.