Letter 302.2

To my master. 1. [...] matters set right, or seen to in good time, or quickly remedied, or carefully arranged, I have refrained from proclaiming to you myself. Forgive my scrupulousness if, hindered by pressing cares, I have dealt first with the business in hand and, relying meanwhile on your most kindly indulgence toward me, have left off writing. Pardon the confidence of my love if I shrank from setting down in detail measures that were perhaps liable to change from day to day, while the outcome was still uncertain and any judgment about it precarious. 2. Accept, I beg you, the reason for so justified a delay. Why, then, have I written to others more often than to you? To put it briefly: because, in fact, had I not done so, they would be angry, whereas you would forgive; they would fall silent, whereas you would press me; to them I was repaying duty with duty, while to you I owe love in return for love. Or would you really wish that I send you too letters that were unwilling, complaining, hurried, given because it was necessary rather than because it pleased me? "But why," you will say, "did it not please you?" Because as yet nothing of the kind had been brought about such that it should please me to call you to share in my joy. As for the cares, however, which kept me utterly wretched day and night and brought me almost to despair of the whole undertaking, I confess it did not please me to make a partner of one most dear to me, one whom I should always wish to be glad. For neither did this please me: to grieve over one thing and speak of another. That Lucius should feign anything in the face of Fronto, from whom I declare I learned simplicity and true love far sooner than the discipline of speaking with polish! Indeed, by the compact too, which has long since passed between us, I judge myself sufficiently prepared to obtain pardon. In short, although you, though provoked by me again and again, had nevertheless never written back, I was grieved, by Heaven, but mindful of our compact I was not angry. 3. Finally, why say more, lest I seem to be defending myself rather than entreating you? I have done wrong, I confess it; and against the very person against whom it least became me, this too I confess. But you must be the better man. I have paid penalty enough: first in the very fact that I feel I have done wrong; then in that, separated by such vast lands—I who could have won you over on the spot—I shall meanwhile be tortured with anxiety for so many months, while you receive my letter and while I get yours in return. I bring before you as advocates humanity itself, for to err is human, and it is most especially the property of a human being to forgive. [several pages are missing]

To my master, greeting. . . . . I have refrained from relating to you myself all that had necessarily to be set right or provided for in good time, or quickly remedied or carefully arranged. Make allowance for my scrupulosity, if shackled with urgent cares I have dealt first with the business in hand and, counting on your good-natured indulgence towards me, have meanwhile given up writing. Pardon my reliance on our love if I have fought shy of describing my measures in detail, liable as they were to daily alteration and while the issue was still doubtful and all forecast precarious. Accept, I beseech you, the reason for so legitimate a delay. Why, then, write to others oftener than to you? To excuse myself shortly: because, in fact, did I not do so, they would be angry, you would forgive; they would give up writing, you would importune me; to them I rendered duty for duty, to you I owed love for love. Or would you wish me to write you also letters unwillingly, grumblingly, hurriedly, from necessity rather than from choice? Now why, you will say, not from choice? Because not even yet has anything been accomplished such as to make me wish to invite you to share in the joy. I did not care, I confess, to make one so very dear to me, and one whom I would wish to be always happy, a partner in anxieties which night and day made me utterly wretched, and almost brought me to despair of success. Nor, indeed, did I care for the alternative, to feel one thing and utter another. What, Lucius to make pretences to Fronto! from whom I do not hesitate to say I have learnt simplicity and the love of truth far before the lesson of polite phrasing. Indeed, by the compact also, which has long subsisted between us, I think I am sufficiently qualified for receiving pardon. At all events, when in spite of repeated appeals from me you never wrote, I was sorry, by heaven, but, remembering our compact, not angry. Finally, why say more, that I seem not rather to justify myself than to entreat you? I have been in fault, I admit it; against the last person, too, that deserved it: that, too, I admit. But you must be better than I. I have suffered enough punishment, first in the very fact that I am conscious of my fault, then because, though face to face I could have won your pardon in a moment, I must now, separated as I am from you by such wide lands, be tortured with anxiety for so many intervening months until you get my letter and I get your answer back. I present to you as suppliants in my favour humanity herself, for even to offend is human, and it is man's peculiar privilege to pardon . . . .

ad Verum Imp. 1.1 [107 Hout; 2.116 Haines] <Magistro meo.> 1 <...>rio correcta vel in tempore provisa vel celeriter curata vel sedulo instructa, praedicare ipsa apud te supersedi. Da verecundiae veniam, si urgentibus curis praepeditus negotia in manibus praeversus sum speque tuae erga me benignissimae facilitatis interim in scribendo cessavi. Fiduciae amoris ignoscito, si piguit consilia me ingularum rerum forsitan in dies mutanda sub incerto adhuc exitu dubia existimatione perscribere. 2 Causam quaeso tam justae cinctationis accipias. Cur igitur aliis quam tibi saepius? Ut breviter absolvam: Quoniam quidem, nisi ita facerem, illi irascerentur, tu ignosceres; illi tacerent, tu flagitares; illis officium officio repensabam, tibi amorem pro amore debeam. An velles ad te quoque me litteras invitum, querentem, festinantem, quia necesse erat potius quam, quia libebat, darem? “Cur autem”, inquies, “non libebat?” Quia nequedum quicquam ejusmodi effectum erat ut te luberet ad gaudii societatem vocare. Curarum vero, quae me dies noctesque miserrimum habuere et prope ad desperationem summae rei perduxere, facere participem hominem carissimum et quem semper laetum esse cuperem, fateor, non lubebat. Nec enim illud lubebat, aliud dolere, aliud loqui. Simulare Lucium quicquam adversum Frontonem, a quo ego prius multo simplicitatem verumque amorem quam loquendi polite disciplinam didicisse me praedico! Equidem pacto quoque, quod inter nos jam pridem intercessit, satis me ad veniam impetrandam paratum esse arbitror. Denique quamquam mihi lacessitus a me saepius numquam tamen rescripsisses, dolebam hercules, sed pacti memoria non suscensebam. 3 Postremo, quid plura, ne potius defendere me quam orare te videar? Peccavi, fateor; adversus quem minime decuit, etiam id fateor. Sed ti melior esto. Satis poenarum lui, primum in eo ipso quod peccasse me sentio; mox quod tantis terris disjunctus, qui te in vestigio exorare potuissem, tot interea mensibus, dum meas litteras accipis, dum ego tuas recipio, cura discruciabor. Adhibeo tibi deprecatores humanitatem ipsam, nam et delinquere humanum est et hominis maxime proprium ignoscere [plures paginae desunt]