I fear that my last letter has offended thee; for thou thyself art wont to designate as just the adage of thy friend in his Andria,[12] “Homage begets friends; truth, enemies.” If my fear prove true, then accept what may in some degree soothe thy injured feelings. Let not the truth be a source of ill humor in every and all instances, I beg of thee. Men, I know, are wont to be angered at justifiable censure, and to rejoice in merited praise. Thou, indeed, O Cicero (speaking with thy leave), didst live as a man, didst speak as an orator, didst write as a philosopher. It was thy life that I found fault with, not thy intellectual powers, nor yet thy command of language. Indeed, I admire the former, and am amazed at the latter. And, moreover, in thy life I feel the lack of nothing except the element of constancy, and a desire for peace that was to have been expected of a philosopher. I look in vain for a deep-rooted antipathy to civil dissensions, to strifes utterly of no avail, considering that liberty had been crushed and that the Republic had already been mourned as dead. Mark how different is my attitude toward thee from thine toward Epicurus on so many occasions, but especially in the De finibus. Whenever thou wert so inclined, thou didst praise his life and ridicule his intellect.[13] In thee I ridicule nothing. I take compassion, however, on the life thou didst lead; while, as I have already stated, I rejoice in thy mental abilities and in thy powers of expression. O thou great father of Roman eloquence![14] Not only I, but all who take delight in the elegance of the Latin tongue render thee great thanks. Thou art the fountain-head from which we draw the vivifying waters for our meadows. We frankly confess that we have been guided by thee, assisted by thy judgments, enlightened by thy radiance; and, finally, that it was under thy auspices, so to speak, that I have gained this ability as a writer (such as it is), and that I have attained my purpose. For the realms of poetry, however, there was at hand a second guide. The nature of the case demanded that there should be two leaders—one whom I might follow in the unencumbered ways of prose, and the other in the more restricted paths of poetry. It was necessary that there should be two men whom I should admire, respectively, for their eloquence and their song. This had needs be so. For—and I beg the kind indulgence of you both for speaking thus boldly—neither of you could serve both purposes; he could not rival thee in thy chosen field, whereas thou couldst not adapt thyself to his measured flow. I would not, indeed, have ventured to be the first to pass such criticism, even though I clearly perceived it to be true. It has already been passed before me—or, peradventure, it may have been quoted from another writer—by that great Annaeus Seneca of Cordova,[15] who, as he himself complains, was prevented from becoming acquainted with thee, not by any lapse of years, but by the fury of civil warfare.[16] He might have seen thee, but did not; withal, he was a constant admirer and worshiper both of thy works and of those of that other. Seneca, therefore, marks out the boundaries of your respective spheres, and enjoins upon each to yield to his coworker in the other field. But I am keeping thee in suspense too long. Dost thou ask who that other guide is? Thou wilt know the man at once, if thou art merely reminded of his name. It is Publius Vergilius Maro, a citizen of Mantua, of whom thou didst prophesy such great things. For we have read that when thou, then advanced in years, hadst admired some youthful effort of his, thou didst inquire its author’s name, and that, having seen the young man, thou didst express thy great delight. And then, drawing on thy unexhausted fount of eloquence, thou didst pronounce upon him a judgment which, though mingled with self-praise, was nevertheless both honorable and splendid for him: “Rome’s other hope and stay.”[17] This sentence, which he thus heard fall from thy lips, pleased the youth to such a degree, and was so jealously treasured in his mind, that twenty years later, when thou hadst long since ended this earthly career, he inserted it word for word into his divine poem. And if it had been thy lot to see this work, thou wouldst have rejoiced that from the first blossom thou hadst made such accurate prediction of future success. Thou wouldst, moreover, have congratulated the Latin Muses, either for leaving but a doubtful superiority to the arrogant Greek Muses, or else for winning over them a decisive victory. There are defenders for both these opinions, I grant thee. And yet, if I have come to know thee from thy works—and I feel that I know thee as intimately as if I had always lived with thee—I should say that thou wouldst have been a stern defender of the latter view, and that, just as thou hadst already granted to Latium the palm in oratory,[18] thou wouldst have done likewise in the case of poetry. I do not doubt, moreover, that thou wouldst have pronounced the Aeneid superior to the Iliad—an assertion which Propertius did not fear to make from the very beginning of Vergil’s labors. For when he had meditated upon the opening lines of the inspired poem, he freely gave utterance to the feelings and hopes aroused by it in these verses: Yield then, ye bards of Greece, ye Romans yield, A mightier yet than Homer takes the field.[19] Thus much concerning my second guide for Latin eloquence, thus much concerning Rome’s other hope and stay. I come back to thee now. Thou hast already heard from me my opinions on thy life and on thy genius. Art thou desirous now of learning what lot befell thy works, of knowing in what esteem they are held either by the world in general, or else by the more learned classes? There are extant, indeed, splendid volumes—volumes which I can scarcely enumerate, much less peruse with care. The fame of thy deeds and thy works is very great, and has spread far and wide. Thy name, too, has a familiar ring to all. Very few and rare, however, are those who study thee, and for various reasons: either because of the natural perversity of the times toward such studies, or because the minds of men have become dull and sluggish, or, as I think most likely, because greed has bent their minds in an entirely different direction. Wherefore, some of thy works have (unless I am mistaken) perished in this generation, and I know not whether they will ever be recovered. Oh, how great is my grief thereat; how great is the ignominy of this age; how great the loss to posterity! It was not, I suppose, sufficiently degrading to neglect our own powers, and to bequeath to future generations no fruit of our intellects; but, worse than all else, we had to destroy the fruit also of thy labor with our cruel, our unpardonable disregard. This lamentable loss has overtaken not merely thy works, but also those of many other illustrious authors. But at present I would speak of thy writings only; and the names of those whose loss is the more regrettable are the following: De republica, De re familiari, De re militari, De laude philosophiae,[20] De consolatione, and the De gloria.[21] Concerning the last, however, I entertain a more or less doubtful hope of its recovery, and consequently my despair is not unqualified. Unfortunately, however, even of those books that have come down to us, there are lacking large portions. It is as if we had overcome, after a great struggle, the oblivion threatened by the sloth and inactivity of ages; but, as the price of victory, we had to mourn over our leaders, not only those to be numbered among the dead, but also the maimed and the lost. We miss this loss in many of thy works, but more especially in the De oratore,[22] the Academica, and the De legibus—all of which have reached us in such a fragmentary and mutilated condition that it would have been better, perhaps, had they perished altogether. There remains still another topic. Art thou desirous of learning the present condition of Rome and of the Roman state? of knowing the actual appearance of thy fatherland, the state of harmony among its citizens, to whom the shaping of its policies has fallen, and by whose wisdom and by whose hands the reins of government are held? Art thou wondering whether or not the Danube, and the Ganges, and the Ebro, and the Nile, and the Don are still the boundaries of our empire? and whether that man has arisen among us The limits of whose victories Are ocean, of his fame the skies, and who O’er Ind and Garamant extreme Shall stretch his reign, as thy Mantuan friend once sang?[23] I feel sure that thou art most eager to hear such and similar tidings, owing to thy loyalty and the love thou didst bear the fatherland, a love remaining constant even unto death. But it is better to pass over such subjects in silence. Believe me, Cicero, if thou wert to learn of the fallen state of our country, thou wouldst weep bitter tears, be it a region of Heaven that thou inhabitest, or of Hades. Forever farewell. From the land of the living, on the left bank of the Rhone, in Transpadane Gaul, in the same year, on the fourteenth day before the Kalends of January (at Avignon, December 19, 1345).
Notes on Fam., XXIV, 4, to Cicero [12]. Terence, Andria, i, 1, 41. Petrarch’s words, “ut ipse soles dicere, quod ait familiaris tuus in Andria” (Vol. III, p. 264), are proof that he was not quoting Terence directly, but the De amicitia. In chap. 89 of the latter we read, “Quod in Andria familiaris meus dicit,” and then follows the verse in question. The speaker is of course Laelius, of whom Terence was in fact a friend. Petrarch, therefore, has either momentarily lost sight of the speaker, or, realizing full well that Laelius is Cicero’s mouth-piece, has consciously identified the two. This would, of course, make Terence a friend of Cicero; the “familiaris meus” of the De amicitia and the “familiaris tuus” of Petrarch both, therefore, become equivalent to “familiaris Ciceronis.”[13]. There is a passage in the De finibus in which Cicero especially contrasts the teachings of Epicurus with his life. It is ii, 80 and 81: That philosophy which you defend, and those tenets which you have learned, and approve of, destroy friendship to the very roots, even though Epicurus does extol friendship to the skies—as we must confess. “But Epicurus himself cultivated friendships,” you will say. And who, pray, is denying that he was a good and kindly man, full of sympathy for his fellow-beings? We are here discussing his intellect, not his life. We shall leave such fickleness and perversity to the Greeks, who attack with animosity all who may differ from them in their beliefs concerning truth. I must say, however, that, although he was affable in maintaining his friendships (if this be true, for I affirm nothing), yet he did not possess a keen mind. To which you will rejoin, “But he convinced many people.” ... To me, indeed, the fact that Epicurus himself was a good man, and that there have been and are today many Epicureans, loyal in their friendships, consistent in their actions throughout life, serious of disposition and shaping their plans without regard to pleasure but rather through a sense of duty—to me these facts prove that the power of integrity is superior, and that of pleasure inferior. In truth, some persons live in such a way that their life confutes their words. And therefore, just as others are considered to speak better than they act, so these Epicureans (it seems) must be said to act better than they speak.
Cicero mentions the inconsistency of Epicurus in ii, 96: “Listen now ... to the dying words of Epicurus, and observe how widely his deeds and his words disagree;” and again in ii, 99: “But you will find nothing in this splendid letter of Epicurus in accord and consistent with his maxims. He refutes himself, while his theories are set at naught by his upright life.” As Petrarch says, Books I and II of the De finibus are crowded with favorable and adverse comments on Epicurus and his philosophy. Of the latter it will suffice to refer to i, 22, in which Cicero accuses Epicurus of being utterly wanting in logic; and to i, 26, where he denies that Epicurus can be admitted to the number of the learned.[14]. Perhaps a reminiscence of Pliny, N. H., vii, 30 extr.: “salve ... facundiae Latiarumque litterarum parens.”[15]. Seneca, Contr., iii, praef. 8.[16]. Seneca, Contr., i, praef. 11.[17]. Aen., xii, 168. Donatus, Vita Verg., XI, 41 (p. 60 R, through pronuntiarentur only): The publication of the Bucolics was attended by such great success that they were frequently recited, even by actors on the stage. Cicero once heard some of the verses, and his keen judgment at once perceived that they were written in no common vein. So he ordered the eclogue to be recited from the beginning; and after listening attentively to the very end, he exclaimed, “Rome’s other hope and stay;” as if he himself had been the first hope of the Latin tongue, and Maro were to be the second. These words Maro afterward inserted in the Aeneid.
This version does not mention Cicero’s inquiry as to the author of the verses he admired (“quaesivisses auctorem”), nor their meeting (“eumque ... vidisses”) nor the fact that his exclamation was flattering both to himself and to Vergil (“cum propria quidem laude permixtum”). Servius’ version, however, does include these three elements, and hence he is to be considered Petrarch’s source. He writes (ad Ecl., vi, 11): It is said that Vergil’s reading of this eclogue (vi) was received with great favor; so much so, indeed, that when later Cytheris the courtesan (whom Vergil calls Lycoris in the last eclogue) sang it in the theater, Cicero in amazement inquired who the author of it was (“cuius esset requireret”). And when at last Cicero had seen him (“eum ... vidisset”), he is said to have exclaimed, in praise of both himself and that other (“et ad suam et ad illius laudem”), “Rome’s other hope and stay”—a phrase which Vergil afterward applied to Ascanius, as the commentators relate.
This version was one which would especially appeal to Petrarch; for, as P. de Nolhac justly observes (I, p. 125), it represents Petrarch’s two literary idols as having been personally acquainted with each other. And, finally, in favor of the Servian origin is the fact that in Donatus the entire story appears in the interpolated version of the Vita, and it is doubtful whether Petrarch was acquainted with this longer version (Sabbadini, Rend. del R. Ist. Lomb., [1906], p. 198). The interpolated text of the Vita has, in fact, been traced only as far back as the beginning of the fifteenth century; the date temporarily assigned to it is 1400-20 (Sabbadini, “La ‘Vergilii Vita’ di Donato,” Studi Italiani di Filologia Classica, Vol. V, 1897, pp. 384-88).[18]. Cicero, however, is much more guarded in his statement than we would infer from the words of Petrarch; Tusc., i, 3, 5: “Then came the Lepidi, Carbo, and the Gracchi, and so many great orators after them down to our own times, that we were very little, if at all, inferior to the Greeks.”[19]. Translation, by Ch. R. Moore (p. 73), of Propertius, ii, 34b, 65, 66 (rec. Aem. Baehrens, Teubner, 1880) or ii, 34, 65, 66 (H. E. Butler, 1905). There is abundant proof that Petrarch was acquainted with Propertius (P. de Nolhac, I, pp. 170-72). Still, from the few indirect references to this author, one is inclined to believe that Petrarch here (as elsewhere) is drawing upon the Life by Donatus for biographical information on Vergil. And in fact the Propertian couplet seems to derive from Donatus, Vita Verg., XII, 45 (p. 61R), the “operis fundamenta” and “asseverare non timuit” of Petrarch (Vol. III, p. 266), corresponding, respectively, to the “Aeneidos vixdum coeptae” and “non dubitaverit sic praedicare” of Donatus. In commenting upon this famous distich, H. Nettleship says (“Vergil,” in Classical Writers [New York, 1880], p. 86): “Propertius and Ovid saw at once what was in Vergil. Of the Aeneid Propertius said ‘something greater than the Iliad is coming to the birth.’” (Cf. Ancient Lives of Vergil [Oxford, 1879], p. 67.) Comparetti, however, has chosen a different course in his Vergil in the Middle Ages (tr. by Benecke, 1895). On p. 3, after stating that the Romans confessed Vergil’s inferiority to Homer, he continues in a footnote: The exaggerations of a few enthusiasts must not be reckoned at more than their real value. How great a part of the “Nescio quid maius nascitur Iliade” of Propertius was due to his friendship with Vergil becomes clear when we compare with it the praises he lavishes on the Thebaid of another friend, Ponticus.
[20]. In a large tome containing Cicero’s writings, and supposed to have belonged to Petrarch, there occurred the rubric “de laude ac defensione philosophiae, introducens Lucullum loquentem ad Hortensium, liber primus incipit.” Petrarch, misled by this heading, had been of the opinion that the work following was the Hortensius. As a matter of fact, it was book ii of the Academica Priora, which has the separate subtitle “Lucullus” (P. de Nolhac, I, pp. 228, 244 ff.). He labored under this delusion for some time, until in reading St. Augustine he met citations from the real Hortensius, which of course he could not verify in his supposed Hortensius. Finally he received from Marco Barbato da Sulmona, whom he had met in 1341 at Naples, a manuscript containing a work inscribed Academica. Investigation quickly showed him that this work and his supposed Hortensius were one and the same. But he was unwilling to relinquish the idol he had worshiped so long. Doubts still remained. On his visit to Naples in 1343, however, he identified once and for all the work in his own manuscript; and on his return he entered the following note abreast of the heading: “This title, though common, is nevertheless a false one. This is not the De laude philosophiae, but the last two of the four books of the Academica.” The present letter to Cicero was written in 1345, two years after the correction of his error; hence Petrarch rightly places the De laude philosophiae (sive Hortensius) in the catalogue of lost books. The closing statement of Petrarch’s postilla needs a few words of explanation. The fragment which he possessed constituted book ii of the Ac. priora. Petrarch supposed that he had not one, but two books. The deception was due to an arbitrary division in his manuscript at the words “Hortensius autem vehementer” (Ac. pr., ii, 63). Still another error existed. Petrarch thought that his fragment was part of the second edition of the Academica in four books—the Posteriora dedicated to Varro, of whose existence he had learned from the letters to Atticus (cf. xiii, 13) which he had discovered earlier in the same year.[21]. Every biography relates how Petrarch gave in loan to his teacher, Convennole (or Convenevole) da Prato, a manuscript containing the De gloria of Cicero; and how the schoolmaster, in an hour of extreme need, pawned the volume, which could never again be found in spite of Petrarch’s constant search for it. The story as we have it is told by Petrarch himself, in a letter written in 1374, the very last year of his life (Sen., xvi, 1). Modern scholarship has cast doubts upon the tale. P. de Nolhac discusses the question thoroughly in Vol. I, pp. 260-68. His explanation of the evolution of the idea which possessed Petrarch is the following. In his youth Petrarch must have read in the lost volume some beautiful passages on glory—passages which remained more or less firmly fixed in his mind. In later years, when his scholarship broadened, he learned of a separate work by Cicero on the subject of glory; and, questioning his memory, the remembrance of those passages became so clear and distinct that he began to imagine he had really possessed the De gloria in the volume unfortunately loaned to his schoolmaster. The hope arose that he might some day find the volume again. It was while in this stage that he wrote the present letter (1345), saying that he entertained a more or less doubtful hope of its recovery and that his despair was not unqualified. His regret increased with the years. By dreaming of his hoped-for recovery of the manuscript, by discussing it with his friends year after year, Petrarch finally, as so often results from the frequent repetition of a story, persuaded himself that he had at one time been the actual possessor of the De gloria. Hence it was that, writing thirty years later, in 1374, when his mind was losing its firm grip on facts, and when he was tottering on the brink of the grave, the unfulfilled hope for a thing long desired turned into a regret for a thing actually lost (op. cit., p. 266).[22]. Petrarch was mistaken in placing the De oratore among the fragmentary works. In the large tome already referred to, there followed hard upon the heels of the De oratore what is now known as the Orator. The latter did not, however, bear a separate title, and consequently Petrarch considered it as a fourth book to the De oratore. Moreover, this pseudo-fourth book had a large lacuna, for it began only with the words “(aliquan) toque robustius” (sec. 91); and the lacuna being clearly indicated, Petrarch unavoidably thought the De oratore incomplete (P. de Nolhac, I, pp. 228-30, 242). To be correct he should have written Orator instead of De oratore. But even this would scarcely have mended matters; for, not being aware of the separate existence of these two works, Petrarch was wont to cite passages from one and the other, employing the indiscriminate title Orator (ibid., pp. 253, 254). After this enumeration of the lost and fragmentary works, it will be interesting to know with how many writings of Cicero Petrarch was really acquainted at this time. Fortunately for our purpose, he writes to Lapo da Castiglionchio in 1352, describing to him the beauty and quiet of his retreat at Vaucluse, and the reading with which he occupied all his time. The letter in full—Fam., xii, 8: According to my custom, I fled recently from the turmoil of the city that is so odious to me, and betook myself to my Helicon across the Alps. I brought with me your Cicero, who was greatly astonished at the beauty of these new regions and who confessed that never—not even when in his own retreat at Arpinum—had he (to use his own phrase) been surrounded by cooler streams than when with me at the Fountain of the Sorgue. I suppose that when, long ago, he visited Narbonne, he did not observe this country. And yet, if we are to believe Pliny, this district formed part of the province of Narbonne; and, according to the present division, it is part of the province of Arles. Whatever be the truth concerning the geographical division of the provinces, one thing is certain, that the Fountain of the Sorgue is most renowned, second neither to the Campanian Nymph nor to the Sicilian Arethusa. This soothing, quiet, peaceful country, and this delightsome retreat are situated to one side of the public highway, to the right of one seeking it, to the left of him returning therefrom. I have thus minutely described its site lest you might wonder that Cicero, while traveling in these parts so long ago, failed to notice this sequestered spot, delightful as it is. No mere passer-by has ever discovered it. No one has ever reached it except purposing to do so through certain knowledge of its existence, drawn to the spot by the beauty of the Fountain, or by his desire for repose and study. And how unusual this is you will soon realize if you consider on the one hand the great scarcity of poets, and on the other the multitude of those who have not even a smattering of the liberal arts. Cicero therefore seems to rejoice and to be eager to remain in my company. We have now passed ten quiet and restful days together here. Here only, and in no other place outside of Italy, do I breathe freely. In truth, study has this great virtue, that it appeases our desires for a life of solitude, mitigates our aversion for the vulgar herd, tenders us sought-for repose even in the midst of the thickest crowds, instils in us many noble thoughts, and provides us with the fellowship of most illustrious men even in the most solitary forests. My companion was attended by a numerous and distinguished gathering. Not to mention those of Greek birth, the Romans present were Brutus, Atticus, and Herennius, all of them rendered still more honorable by their presence in the works of Cicero [Epistolae ad Brutum, Atticum, Auctor ad Herennium]. Marcus Varro, also, was present, that most learned of all men, with whom Cicero strolled in the villa of the Academics [Academica; cf. n. [20].]; and Cotta, and Velleius, and Lucilius Balbus, with whom he so keenly discussed the nature of the gods [De natura deorum]; and Nigidius and Cratippus, with whom he investigated the secrets of nature, the origin of the universe and its composition [Timaeus, sive de universo]. We had with us, moreover, Quintus Cicero, with whom he treated of the subject of divination and laws [De divinatione, De legibus]; and his own son, Marcus Cicero, to whom (when not as yet degenerated) he addressed his De officiis, pointing out to him what was honorable, and what expedient, and the conflict between the two. Sulpicius, Crassus, and Antonius—all very eloquent orators—formed part of our company, together with whom he explored the most hidden secrets of the art of oratory [De oratore]. Cato the Elder, too, was with us, whom Cicero made the spokesman in his praise of Old Age [De senectute]. Of our band were also Lucius Torquatus, Marcus Cato Uticensis and Marcus Piso, with whom, after a most painstaking discussion, he set down his theory of the “summum bonum” [De finibus]. Furthermore, we had the orator Hortensius, and Epicurus, the former represented in Cicero’s praise of philosophy [cf. n. [20].], the latter in his attack on a life of pleasure. With Laelius he outlined the course of true friendship [De amicitia], with Scipio the government of the “ideal State.” I shall not prolong my enumeration in infinitum; I shall merely add that among the Roman citizens there mingled many foreign rulers whom Cicero defended with his divine powers of oratory. However, not to omit those whose presence was due to your little volume, my friend, I shall mention Milo whom Cicero defended, and Laterensis whom he so fearlessly attacked [Pro Plancio], and Sulla, for whom he pleaded [Pro Corn. Sulla], and Pompey, whom he so highly praised [De imperio Pompei]. With such men and others as my companions, my stay in the country has been a quiet, peaceful, and happy one. Would that it had continued longer. But alas, they have once again laid their claws upon me, and have once again dragged me to the Hades whence I am writing you this letter. I have been so busily engaged since then that my young attendant has found no time whatever for transcribing your volume, nor have I had any opportunity of returning it to you. I trust that this will not be necessary until I can return it to you in Italy personally. I am promising myself an early return, provided I can induce our friend Forese to visit the above-mentioned Helicon the moment he is not so overwhelmingly occupied by his affairs. And I shall insist upon his visit in order that if at any time hereafter fate, or the love of change, or the desire to escape ennui will compel me to return—not to this city (whither, if I can help it, I shall never return), but to my Transalpine retreat—I shall be more readily pardoned by my friends in Italy by calling upon the testimony of so important a witness. Farewell.
[23]. Aeneid i, 287, and vi, 794, 795, tr. by Conington (ed. 1900), pp. 13 and 210.
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