Ver.04.29.93*END*
Prepared by David Reed haradda@aol.com or davidr@inconnect.com
Letters of Cicero
by Marcus Tullius Cicero
Translated by E. S. Shuckburgh
THE letters of Cicero are of a very varied character. They range
from the most informal communications with members of his
family to serious and elaborate compositions which are practically
treatises in epistolary form. A very large proportion of them were
obviously written out of the mood of the moment, with no thought
of the possibility of publication; and in these the style is
comparatively relaxed and colloquial. Others, addressed to public
characters, are practically of the same nature as his speeches,
discussions of political questions intended to influence public
opinion, and performing a function in the Roman life of the time
closely analogous to that fulfilled at the present day by articles is
the great reviews, or editorials in prominent journals.
In the case of both of these two main groups the interest is
twofold: personal and historical, though it is naturally in the
private letters that we find most light thrown on the character of
the writer. In spite of the spontaneity of these epistles there exists a
great difference of opinion among scholars as to the personality
revealed by them, and both in the extent of the divergence of view
and in the heat of the controversy we are reminded of modern
discussions of the characters of men such as Gladstone or
Roosevelt. It has been fairly said that there is on the whole more
chance of justice to Cicero from the man of the world who
understands how the stress and change of politics lead a statesman
into apparently inconsistent utterances than from the professional
scholar who subjects these utterances to the severest logica1
scrutiny, without the illumination of practical experience.
Many sides of Cicero's life other than the political are reflected in
the letters. From them we can gather a picture of how an ambitious
Roman gentleman of some inherited wealth took to the legal
profession as the regular means of becoming a public figure; of
how his fortune might be increased by fees, by legacies from
friends, clients, and even complete strangers who thus sought to
confer distinction on themselves; of how the governor of o
province could become rich in. a year; of how the sons of Roman
men of wealth gave trouble to their tutors, were sent to Athens, as
to a university in our day, and found an allowance of over $4,000 a
year insufficient for their extravagances. Again, we see the greatest
orator of Rome divorce his wife after thirty years, apparently
because she had been indiscreet or unscrupulous in money matters,
and marry at the age of sixty-three his own ward, a young girl
whose fortune he admitted was the main attraction. The coldness
of temper suggested by these transactions is contradicted in turn by
Cicero's romantic affection for his daughter Tullia, whom he is
never tired of praising for her cleverness and charm, and whose
death almost broke his heart.
Most of Cicero's letters were written in ink on paper or parchment
with a reed pen; a few on tablets of wood or ivory covered with
wax, the marks being cut with a stylus. The earlier letters he wrote
with his own hand, the later were, except in rare cases, dictated to
a secretary. There was, of course, no postal service, so the epistles
were carried by private messengers or by the couriers who were
constantly traveling between the provincial officials and the
capital.
Apart from the letters to Atticus, the collection, arrangement, and
publication of Cicero's correspondence seems to have been due to
Tiro, the learned freedman who served him as secretary, and to
whom some of the letters are addressed. Titus Pormponius Atticus,
who edited the large collection of the letters written to himself,
was a cultivated Roman who lived more than twenty years in
Athens for purposes of study. His zeal for cultivation was
combined with the successful pursuit of wealth; and though Cicero
relied on him for aid and advice in public as well as private
matters, their friendship did not prevent Atticus from being on
good terms with men of the opposite party.
Generous, amiable, and cultured, Atticus was not remarkable for
the intensity of his devotion either to principles or persons. "That
he was the lifelong friend of Cicero," says Professor Tyrrell, "is the
best title which Atticus has to remembrance. As a man he was
kindly, careful, and shrewd, but nothing more: there was never
anything grand or noble in his character. He was the quintessence
of prudent mediocrity."
The period covered by the letters of Cicero is one of the most
interesting and momentous in the history of the world, and these
letters afford a picture of the chief personages and most important
events of that age from the pen of a man who was not only himself
in the midst of the conflict, but who was a consummate literary
artist.
LETTERS
MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO
I
To ATTICUS (AT ATHENS)
ROME, JULY
THE state of things in regard to my candidature, in which I know
that you are supremely interested, is this, as far as can be as yet
conjectured. The only person actually canvassing is P. Sulpicius
Galba. He meets with a good old-fashioned refusal without reserve
or disguise. In the general opinion this premature canvass of his is
not unfavourable to my interests; for the voters generally give as a
reason for their refusal that they are under obligations to me. So I
hope my prospects are to a certain degree improved by the report
getting about that my friends are found to be numerous. My
intention was to begin my own canvass just at the very time that
Cincius tells me that your servant starts with this letter, namely, in
the campus at the time of the tribunician elections on the 17th of
July. My fellow candidates, to mention only those who seem
certain, are Galba and Antonius and Q. Cornificius. At this I
imagine you smiling or sighing. Well, to make you positively smite
your forehead, there are people who actually think that Caesonius
will stand. I don't think Aquilius will, for he openly disclaims it
and has alleged as an excuse his health and his leading position at
the bar. Catiline will certainly be a candidate, if you can imagine a
jury finding that the sun does not shine at noon. As for Aufidius
and Palicanus, I don't think you will expect to hear from me about
them. Of the candidates for this year's election Caesar is
considered certain. Thermus is looked upon as the rival of Silanus.
These latter are so weak both in friends and reputation that it
seems pas impossible to bring in Curius over their heads. But no
one else thinks so. What seems most to my interests is that
Thermus should get in with Caesar. For there is none of those at
present canvassing who, if left over to my year, seems likely to be
a stronger candidate, from the fact that he is commissioner of the
via Flaininia, and when that has been finished, I shall be greatly
relieved to have seen him elected consul this election. Such in
outline is the position of affairs in regard to candidates up to date.
For myself I shall take the greatest pains to carry out all the duties
of a candidate, and perhaps, as Gaul seems to have a considerable
voting power, as soon as business at Rome has come to a standstill
I shall obtain a libera legatio and make an excursion in the course
of September to visit Piso, but so as not to be back later than
January. When I have ascertained the feelings of the nobility I will
write you word. Everything else I hope will go smoothly, at any
rate while my competitors are such as are now in town. You must
undertake to secure for me the entourage of our friend Pompey,
since you are nearer than I. Tell him I shall not be annoyed if he
doesn't come to my election. So much for that business. But there
is a matter for which I am very anxious that you should forgive me.
Your uncle Caecilius having been defrauded of a large sum of
money by P. Varius, began an action against his cousin A.
Caninius Satyrus for the property which (as he alleged) the latter
had received from Varius by a collusive sale. He was joined in this
action by the other creditors, among whom were Lucullus and P.
Scipio, and the man whom they thought would be official receiver
if the property was put up for sale, Lucius Pontius; though it is
ridiculous to be talking about a receiver at this stage in the
proceedings. Caecilius asked me to appear for him against Satyrus.
Now, scarcely a day passes that Satyrus does not call at my house.
The chief object of his attentions is L. Domitius, but I am next in
his regard. He has been of great service both to myself and to my
brother Quintus in our elections. I was very much embarrassed by
my intimacy with Satyrus as well as that with Domitius, on whom
the success of my election depends more than on anyone else. I
pointed out these facts to Caecilius; at the same time I assured him
that if the case had been one exclusively between himself and
Satyrus, I would have done what he wished. As the matter actually
stood, all the creditors being concerned--and that two men of the
highest rank, who, without the aid of anyone specially retained by
Caecilius, would have no difficulty in maintaining their common
cause--it was only fair that he should have consideration both for
my private friendship and my present situation. He seemed to take
this somewhat less courteously than I could have wished, or than is
usual among gentlemen; and from that time forth he has entirely
withdrawn from the intimacy with me which was only of a few
days standing. Pray forgive me, and believe that I was prevented
by nothing but natural kindness from assailing the reputation of a
friend in so vital a point at a time of such very great distress,
considering that he had shewn me every sort of kindness and
attention, But if you incline to the harsher view of my conduct,
take it that the interests of my canvass prevented me. Yet, even
granting that to be so, I think you should pardon me, "since not for
sacred beast or oxhide shield." You see in fact the position I am in,
and how necessary I regard it, not only to retain but even to
acquire all possible sources of popularity. I hope I have justified
myself in your eyes, I am at any rate anxious to have done so. The
Hermathena you sent I am delighted with: it has been placed with
such charming effect that the whole gymnasium seems arranged
specially for it. I am exceedingly obliged to you.
II
To ATTICUS (AT ATHENS)
ROME, JULY
I HAVE to inform you that on the day of the election of L. lulius
Caesar and C. Marcius Figulus to the consulship, I had an addition
to my family in the shape of a baby boy. Terentia doing well.
Why such a time without a letter from you? I have already written
to you fully about my circumstances. At this present time I am
considering whether to undertake the defence of my fellow
candidate, Catiline. We have a jury to our minds with full consent
of the prosecutor. I hope that if he is acquitted he will be more
closely united with me in the conduct of our canvass; but if the
result he otherwise I shall bear it with resignation. Your early
return is of great importance to me, for there is a very strong idea
prevailing that some intimate friends of yours, persons of high
rank, will be opposed to my election. To win me their favour I see
that I shall want you very much. Wherefore be sure to be in Rome
in January, as you have agreed to be.
III
To CN. POMPESUS MAGNUS
ROME
M. Tullius Cicero, son of Marcus, greets Ca. Pompeius, son of
Cneius, Imperator.
IF you and the army are well I shall be glad. From your official
despatch I have, in common with everyone else, received the
liveliest satisfaction; for you have given us that strong hope of
peace, of which, in sole reliance on you, I was assuring everyone.
But I must inform you that your old enemies--now posing as your
friends--have received a stunning blow by this despatch, and, being
disappointed in the high hopes they were entertaining, are
thoroughly depressed. Though your private letter to me contained a
somewhat slight expression of your affection, yet I can assure you
it gave me pleasure: for there is nothing in which I habitually find
greater satisfaction than in the consciousness of serving my friend;
and if on any occasion I do not meet with an adequate return, I am
not at all sorry to have the balance of kindness in my favour. Of
this I feel no doubt--even if my extraordinary zeal in your behalf
has failed to unite you to me--that the interests of the state will
certainly effect a mutual attachment and coalition between us. To
let you know, however, what I missed in your letter I will write
with the candour which my own disposition and our common
friendship demand. I did expect some congratulation in your letter
on my achievements, for the sake at once of the ties between us
and of the Republic. This I presume to have been omitted by you
from a fear of hurting anyone's feelings. But let me tell you that
what I did for the salvation of the country is approved by the
judgment and testimony of the whole world. You are a much
greater man that Africanus, but I am not much inferior to Laelius
either; and when you come home you will recognize that I have
acted with such prudence and spirit, that you will not now be
ashamed of being coupled with me in politics as well as in private
friendship.
IV (A I, 17)
To ATTICUS (IN ERIAUS)
ROME, 5 DECEMBER
Your letter, in which you inclose copies of his letters, has made me
realize that my brother Quintus's feelings have undergone many
alternations, and that his opinions and judgments have varied
widely from time to time. This has not only caused me all the pain
which my extreme affection for both of you was bound to bring,
but it has also made me wonder what can have happened to cause
my brother Quintus such deep offence, or such an extraordinary
change of feeling. And yet I was already aware, as I saw that you
also, when you took leave of me, were beginning to suspect, that
there was some lurking dissatisfaction, that his feelings were
wounded, and that certain unfriendly suspicions had sunk deep
into his heart. On trying on several previous occasions, but more
eagerly than ever after the allotment of his province, to assuage
these feelings, I failed to discover on the one hand that the extent
of his offence was so great as your letter indicates; but on the other
I did not make as much progress in allaying it as I wished.
However, I consoled myself with thinking that there would be no
doubt of his seeing you at Dyrrachium, or somewhere in your part
of the country: and, if that happened, I felt sure and fully
persuaded that everything would be made smooth between you,
not only by conversation and mutual explanation, but by the very
sight of each other in such an interview. For I need not say in
writing to you, who knows it quite well, how kind and
sweet-tempered my brother is, as ready to forgive as he is sensitive
in taking offence. But it most unfortunately happened that you did
not see him anywhere. For the impression he had received from the
artifices of others had more weight with him than duty or
relationship, or the old affection so long existing between you,
which ought to have been the strongest influence of all. And yet, as
to where the blame for this misunderstanding resides, I can more
easily conceive than write: since I am afraid that, while defending
my own relations, I should not spare yours. For I perceive that,
though no actual wound was inflicted by members of the family,
they yet could at least have cured it. But the root of the mischief in
this case, which perhaps extends farther than appears, I shall more
conveniently explain to you when we meet. As to the letter he sent
to you from Thessalonica, and about the language which you
suppose him to have used both at Rome among your friends and on
his journey, I don't know how far the matter went, but my whole
hope of removing this unpleasantness rests on your kindness. For if
you will only make up your mind to believe that the best men are
often those whose feelings are most easily irritated and appeased,
and that this quickness, so to speak, and sensitiveness of
disposition are generally signs of a good heart; and lastly--and this
is the main thing--that we must mutually put up with each other's
gaucheries (shall I call them?), or faults, or injurious acts, then
these misunderstandings will, I hope, be easily smoothed away. I
beg you to take this view, for it is the dearest wish of my heart
(which is yours as no one else's can be) that there should not be
one of my family or friends who does not love you and is not loved
by you.
That part of your letter was entirely superfluous, in which you
mention what opportunities of doing good business in the
provinces or the city you let pass at other times as well as in the
year of my consulship: for I am thoroughly persuaded of your
unselfishness and magnanimity, nor did I ever think that there was
any difference between you and me except in our choice of a
career. Ambition led me to seek official advancement, while
another and perfectly laudable resolution led you to seek an
honourable privacy. In the true glory, which is founded on honesty,
industry, and piety, I place neither myself nor anyone else above
you. In affection towards myself, next to my brother and
immediate family, I put you first. For indeed, indeed I have seen
and thoroughly appreciated how your anxiety and joy have
corresponded with the variations of my fortunes. Often has your
congratulation added a charm to praise, and your consolation a
welcome antidote to alarm. Nay, at this moment of your absence, it
is not only your advice--in which you excel--but the interchange of
speech--in which no one gives me so much delight as you do--that
I miss most, shall I say in politics, in which circumspection is
always incumbent on me, or in my forensic labour, which I
formerly sustained with a view to official promotion, and
nowadays to maintain my position by securing popularity, or in the
mere business of my family? In all these I missed you and our
conversations before my brother left Rome, and still more do I
miss them since. Finally, neither my work nor rest, neither my
business nor leisure, neither my affairs in the forum or at home,
public or private, can any longer do without your most consolatory
and affectionate counsel and conversation. The modest reserve
which characterizes both of us has often prevented my mentioning
these facts; but on this occasion it was rendered necessary by that
part of your letter in which you expressed a wish to have yourself
and your character "put straight" and "cleared" in my eyes. Yet, in
the midst of all this unfortunate alienation and anger on his part,
there is yet one fortunate circumstance--that your determination of
not going to a province was known to me and your other friends,
and had been at various times asserted by yourself; so that your not
being with him may be attributed to your personal tastes and
judgment, not to the quarrel and rupture between you. So those ties
which have been broken will be restored, and ours which have
been so religiously preserved will retain all their old inviolability.
At Rome I find politics in a shaky condition; everything is
unsatisfactory and foreboding change. For I have no doubt you
have been told that our friends, the equites, are all but alienated
from the senate. Their first grievance was the promulgation of a
bill on the authority of the senate for the trial of such as had taken
bribes for giving a verdict. I happened not to be in the house when
that decree was passed, but when I found that the equestrian order
was indignant at it, and yet refrained from openly saying so, I
remonstrated with the senate, as I thought, in very impressive
language, and was very weighty and eloquent considering the
unsatisfactory nature of my cause. But here is another piece of
almost intolerable coolness on the part of the equites, which I have
not only submitted to, but have even put in as good a light as
possible! The Companies which had contracted with the censors
for Asia complained that in the heat of the competition they had
taken the contract at an excessive price; they demanded that the
contract should be annulled. I led in their support, or rather, I was
second, for it was Crassus who induced them to venture on this
demand. The case is scandalous, the demand a disgraceful one,
and a confession of rash speculation. Yet there was a very great
risk that, if they got no concession, they would be completely
alienated from the senate. Here again I came to the i escue more
than anyone else, and secured them a full and very friendly house,
in which I, on the 1st and 2nd of December, delivered long
speeches on the dignity and harmony of the two orders. The
business is not yet settled, hut the favourable feeling of the senate
has been made manifest: for no one had spoken against it except
the consul-designate, Metellus; while our hero Cato had still to
speak, the shortness of the day having prevented his turn being
reached. Thus I, in the maintenance of my steady policy, preserve
to the best of my ability that harmony of the orders which was
originally my joiner's work; but since it all now seems in such a
crazy condition, I am constructing what I may call a road towards
the maintenance of our power, a safe one I hope, which I cannot
fully describe to you in a letter, but of which I will nevertheless
give you a hint. I cultivate close intimacy with Pompey. I foresee
what you will say. I will use all necessary precautions, and I will
write another time at greater length about my schemes for
managing the Republic. You must know that Lucceius has it in his
mind to stand for the consulship at once; for there are said to be
only two candidates in prospect. Caesar is thinking of coming to
terms with him by the agency of Arrius, and Bibulus also thinks he
may effect a coalition with him by means of C. Piso. You smile?
This is no laughing matter, believe me. What else shall I write to
you? What? I have plenty to say, but must put it off to another
time. If you mean to wait till you hear, let me know. For the
moment I am satisfied with a modest request, though it is what I
desire above everything-- that you should come to Rome as soon as
possible.
5 December.
V
To TERENTIA, TULLIOLA, AND YOUNG CICERO (AT
ROME)
BRUNDISIUM, 29 APRIL
YES, I do write to you less often than I might, because, though I
am always wretched, yet when I write to you or read a letter from
you, I am in such floods of tears that I cannot endure it. Oh, that I
had clung less to life! I should at least never have known real
sorrow, or not much of it, in my life. Yet if fortune has reserved
for me any hope of recovering at any time any position again, I
was not utterly wrong to do so: if these miseries are to be
permanent, I only wish, my dear, to see you as soon as possible
and to die in your arms, since neither gods, whom you have
worshipped with such pure devotion, nor men, whom I have ever
served, have made us any return. I have been thirteen days at
Brundisium in the house of M. Laenius Flaccus, a very excellent
man, who has despised the risk to his fortunes and civil existence
in comparison to keeping me safe, nor has been induced by the
penalty of a most iniquitous law to refuse me the rights and good
offices of hospitality and friendship. May I sometime have the
opportunity of repaying him! Feel gratitude I always shall. I set out
from Brundisium on the 29th of April, and intend going through
Macedonia to Cyzicus. What a fall! What a disaster! What can I
say? Should I ask you to come--a woman of weak health and
broken spirit? Should I refrain from asking you? Am I to be
without you, then? I think the best course is this: if there is any
hope of my restoration, stay to promote it and push the thing on:
but if, as I fear, it proves hopeless, pray come to me by any means
in your power. Be sure of this, that if I have you I shall not think
myself wholly lost. But what is to become of my darling Tullia?
You must see to that now: I can think of nothing. But certainly,
however things turn out, we must do everything to promote that
poor little girl's married happiness and reputation. Again, what is
my boy Cicero to do? Let him, at any rate, be ever in my bosom
and in my arms. I can't write more. A fit of weeping hinders me. I
don't know how you have got on; whether you are left in
possession of anything, or have been, as I fear, entirely plundered.
Piso, as you say, I hope will always be our friend. As to the
manumission of the slaves you need not be uneasy. To begin with,
the promise made to yours was that you would treat them
according as each severally deserved. So far Orpheus has behaved
well, besides him no one very markedly so. With the rest of the
slaves the arrangement is that, if my property is forfeited, they
should become my freedmen, supposing them to be able to
maintain at law that status. But if my property remained in my
ownership, they were to continue slaves, with the exception of a
very few. But these are trifles. To return to your advice, that I
should keep up my courage and not give up hope of recovering my
position, I only wish that there were any good grounds for
entertaining such a hope. As it is, when, alas! shall I get a letter
from you? Who will bring it me? I would have waited for it at
Brundisium, but the sailors would not allow it, being unwilling to
lose a favourable wind. For the rest, put as dignified a face on the
matter as you can, my dear Terentia. Our life is over: we have had
our day: it is not any fault of ours that has ruined us, but our virtue.
I have made no false step, except in not losing my life when I lost
my honours. But since our children preferred my living, let us bear
everything else, however intolerable. And yet I, who encourage
you, cannot encourage myself. I have sent that faithful fellow
Clodius Philhetaerus home, because he was hampered with
weakness of the eyes. Sallustius seems likely to outdo everybody
in his attentions. Pescennius is exceedingly kind to me; and I have
hopes that he will always be attentive to you. Sicca had said that
he would accompany me; but he has left Brundisium. Take the
greatest care of your health, and believe me that I am more
affected by your distress than my own. My dear Terentia, most
faithful and best of wives, and my darling little daughter, and that
last hope of my race, Cicero, good-bye!
29 April, from Brundisium.
VI
To His BROTHER QUINTUS (ON HIS WAY TO ROME)
THESSALONICA, 15 JUNE
BROTHER! Brother! Brother! did you really fear that I had been
induced by some angry feeling to send slaves to you without a
letter? Or even that I did not wish to see you? I to be angry with
you! Is it possible for me to be angry with you? Why, one would
think that it was you that brought me low! Your enemies, your
unpopularity, that miserably ruined me, and not I that unhappily
ruined you! The fact is, the much-praised consulate of mine has
deprived me of you, of children, country, fortune; from you I
should hope it will have taken nothing but myself. Certainly on
your side I have experienced nothing but what was honourable and
gratifying: on mine you have grief for my fall and fear for your
own, regret, mourning, desertion. I not wish to see you? The truth
is rather that I was unwilling to be seen by you. For you would not
have seen your brother--not the brother you had left, not the
brother you knew, not him to whom you had with mutual tears
bidden farewell as be followed you on your departure for your
province: not a trace even or faint image of him, but rather what I
may call the likeness of a living corpse. And oh that you had
sooner seen me or heard of me as a corpse! Oh that I could have
left you to survive, not my life merely, but my undiminished rank!
But I call all the gods to witness that the one argument which
recalled me from death was, that all declared that to some extent
your life depended upon mine. In which matter I made an error and
acted culpably. For if I had died, that death itself would have given
clear evidence of my fidelity and love to you. As it is, I have
allowed you to be deprived of my aid, though I am alive, and with
me still living to need the help of others; and my voice, of all
others, to fail when dangers threatened my family, which had so
often been successfully used in the defence of the merest strangers.
For as to the slaves coming to you without a letter, the real reason
(for you see that it was not anger) was a deadness of my faculties,
and a seemingly endless deluge of tears and sorrows. How many
tears do you suppose these very words have cost me? As many as I
know they will cost you to read them! Can I ever refrain from
thinking of you or ever think of you without tears? For when I miss
you, is it only a brother that I miss? Rather it is a brother of almost
my own age in the charm of his companionship, a son in his
consideration for my wishes, a father in the wisdom of his advice!
What pleasure did I ever have without you, or you without me?
And what must my case be when at the same time I miss a
daughter: How affectionate! how modest! how clever! The express
image of my face, of my speech, of my very soul! Or again a son,
the prettiest boy, the very joy of my heart? Cruel inhuman monster
that I am, I dismissed him from my arms better schooled in the
world than I could have wished: for the poor child began to
understand what was going on. So, too, your own son, your own
image, whom my little Cicero loved as a brother, and was now
beginning to respect as an elder brother! Need I mention also how
I refused to allow my unhappy wife--the truest of helpmates--to
accompany me, that there might be some one to protect the wrecks
of the calamity which had fallen on us both, and guard our
common children? Nevertheless, to the best of my ability, I did
write a letter to you, and gave it to your freedman Philogonus,
which, I believe, was delivered to you later on; and in this I repeat
the advice and entreaty, which had been already transmitted to you
as a message from me by my slaves, that you should go on with
your journey and hasten to Rome. For, in the first place, I desired
your protection, in case there were any of my enemies whose
cruelty was not yet satisfied by my fall. In the next place, I dreaded
the renewed lamentation which our meeting would cause: while I
could not have borne your departure, and was afraid of the very
thing you mention in your letter--that you would be unable to tear
yourself away. For these reasons the supreme pain of not seeing
you--and nothing more painful or more wretched could, I think,
have happened to the most affectionate and united of
brothers--was a less misery than would have been such a meeting
followed by such a parting. Now, if you can, though I, whom you
always regarded as a brave man, cannot do so, rouse yourself and
collect your energies in view of any contest you may have to
confront. I hope, if my hope has anything to go upon, that your
own spotless character and the love of your fellow citizens, and
even remorse for my treatment, may prove a certain protection to
you. But if it turns out that you are free from personal danger, you
will doubtless do whatever you think can be done for me. In that
matter, indeed, many write to me at great length and declare they
have hopes; but I personally cannot see what hope there is, since
my enemies have the greatest influence, while my friends have in
some cases deserted, in others even betrayed me, fearing perhaps
in my restoration a censure on their own treacherous conduct. But
how matters stand with you I would have you ascertain and report
to me. In any case I shall continue to live as long as you shall need
me, in view of any danger you may have to undergo: longer than
that I cannot go in this kind of life. For there is neither wisdom nor
philosophy with sufficient strength to sustain such a weight of
grief. I know that there has been a time for dying, more honourable
and more advantageous; and this is not the only one of my many
omissions; which, if I should choose to bewail, I should merely be
increasing your sorrow and emphasizing my own stupidity. But
one thing I am not bound to do, and it is in fact impossible--remain
in a life so wretched and so dishonoured any longer than your
necessities, or some well-grounded hope, shall demand. For I, who
was lately supremely blessed in brother, children, wife, wealth,
and in the very nature of that wealth, while in position, influence,
reputation, and popularity, I was inferior to none, however,
distinguished--I cannot, I repeat. go on longer lamenting over
myself and those dear to me in a life of such humiliation as this,
and in a state of such utter ruin. Wherefore, what do you mean by
writing to me about negotiating a bill of exchange? As though I
were not now wholly dependent on your means! And that is just
the very thing in which 1 see and feel, to my misery, of what a
culpable act I have been guilty in squandering to no purpose the
money which I received from the treasury in your name, while you
have to satisfy your creditors out of the very vitals of yourself and
your son. However, the sum mentioned in your letter has been paid
to M. Antonius, and the same amount to Caepio. For me the sum at
present in my hands is sufficient for what I contemplate doing. For
in either case--whether I am restored or given up in despair--I shall
not want any more money. For yourself, if you are molested, I
think you should apply to Crassus and Calidius. I don't know how
far Hortensius is to be trusted. Myself, with the most elaborate
presence of affection and the closest daily intimacy, he treated
with the most utter want of principle and thc most consummate
treachery, and Q. Arrius helped him in it: acting under whose
advice, promises, and injunctions, I was left helpless to fall into
this disaster. But this you will keep dark for fear they might injure
you. Take care also--and it is on this account that I think you
should cultivate Hortensius himself by means of Pomponius--that
the epigram on the irs Aurelia attributed to you when candidate for
the aedileship is not proved by false testimony to be yours. For
there is nothing that I am so afraid of as that, when people
understand how much pity for me your prayers and your acquittal
will rouse, they may attack you with all the greater violence.
Messahla I reckon as really attached to you: Pompey I regard as
still pretending only. But may you never have to put these things to
the test! And that prayer I would have offered to the gods had they
not ceased to listen to prayers of mine. However, I do pray that
they may be content with these endless miseries of ours; among
which, after all, there is no discredit for any wrong thing
done--sorrow is the beginning and end, sorrow that punishment is
most severe when our conduct has been most unexceptionable. As
to my daughter and yours and my young Cicero, why should I
recommend them to you, my dear brother? Rather I grieve that
their orphan state will cause you no less sorrow than it does me.
Yet as long as you are uncondemned they will not be fatherless.
The rest, by my hopes of restoration and the privilege of dying in
my fatherland, my tears will not allow me to write! Terentia also I
would ask you to protect, and to write me word on every subject.
Be as brave as the nature of the case admits.
Thessalonica, 13 June.
VII
To ATTICUS (IN EPIRUS)
ROME (SEPTEMBER)
DIRECTLY I arrived at Rome, and there was anyone to whom I
could safely intrust a letter for you, I thought the very first thing I
ought to do was to congratulate you in your absence on my return.
For I knew, to speak candidly, that though in giving me advice you
had not been more courageous or far-seeing than myself, nor--
considering my devotion to you in the past--too careful in
protecting me from disaster, yet that you--though sharing in the
first instance in my mistake, or rather madness, and in my
groundless terror--had nevertheless been deeply grieved at our
separation, and had bestowed immense pains, zeal, care, and
labour in securing my return. Accordingly, I can truly assure you of
this, that in the midst of supreme joy and the most gratifying
congratulations, the one thing wanting to fill my cup of happiness
to the brim is the sight of you, or rather your embrace; and if I ever
forfeit that again, when I have once got possession of it, and if,
too, I do not exact the full delights of your charming society that
have fallen into arrear in the past, I shall certainly consider myself
unworthy of this renewal of my good fortune.
In regard to my political position, I have resumed what I thought
there would be the utmost difficulty in recovering--my brilliant
standing at the bar, my influence in the senate, and a popularity
with the loyalists even greater than I desired. In regard, however,
to my private property--as to which you are well aware to what an
extent it has been crippled, scattered, and plundered--I am in great
difficulties, and stand in need, not so much of your means (which I
look upon as my own), as of your advice for collecting and
restoring to a sound state the fragments that remain. For the
present, though I believe everything finds its way to you in the
letters of your friends, or even by messengers and rumour, yet I
will write briefly what I think you would like to learn from niy
letters above all others. On the 4th of August I started froui
Dyrrarhium, the very day on which the law about me was carried. I
arrived at Brundisium on the 5th of August. There my dear
Tulhiola met me on what was her own birthday, which happened
also to be the name-day of the colony of Brundisium and of the
temple of Safety, near your house. This coincidence was noticed
and celebrated with warm congratulations by the citizens of
Brundisium. On the 8th of August, while still at Brundisium, I
learnt by a letter from Quintus that the law had been passed at the
comitia centuriata with a surprising enthusiasm on the part of all
ages and ranks, and with an incredible influx of voters from Italy. I
then commenced my journey, amidst the compliments of the men
of highest consideration at Brundisium, and was met at every point
by legates bearing congratulations. My arrival in the
neighbourhood of the city was the signal for every soul of every
order known to my nomenclator coming out to meet me, except
those enemies who could not either dissemble or deny the fact of
their being such. On my arrival at the Porta Capena, the steps of
the temples were already thronged from top to bottom by the
populace; and while their congratulations were displayed by the
loudest possible applause, a similar throng and similar applause
accompanied me right up to the Capitol, and in the forum and on
the Capitol itself there was again a wonderful crowd. Next day, in
the senate, that is, the 5th of September, I spoke my thanks to the
senators. Two days after that--there having been a very heavy rise
in the price of corn, and great crowds having flocked first to the
theatre and then to the senate-house, shouting out, at the
instigation of Clodius, that the scarcity of corn was my
doing--meetings of the senate being held on those days to discuss
the corn question, and Pompey being called upon to undertake the
management of its supply in the common talk not only of the
plebs, but of the aristocrats also, and being himself desirous of the
commission, when the people at large called upon me by name to
support a decree to that effect, I did so, and gave my vote in a
carefully-worded speech. The other consulars, except Messalla and
Afranius, having absented themselves on the ground that they
could not vote with safety to themselves, a decree of the senate
was passed in the sense of my motion, namely, that Pompey should
be appealed to to undertake the business, and that a law should be
proposed to that effect. This decree of the senate having been
publicly read, and the people having, after the senseless and
new-fangled custom that now prevails, applauded the mention of
my name, I delivered a speech. All the magistrates present, except
one praetor and two tribunes, called on me to speak. Next day a
full senate, including all the consulars, granted everything that
Pompey asked for. Having demanded fifteen legates, he named me
first in the list, and said that he should regard me in all things as a
second self. The consuls drew up a law by which complete control
over the corn-supply for five years throughout the whole world
was given to Pompey. A second law is drawn up by Messius,
granting him power over all money, and adding a fleet and army,
and an imperium in the provinces superior to that of their
governors. After that our consular law seems moderate indeed: that
of Messius is quite intolerable. Pompey professes to prefer the
former; his friends the latter. The consulars led by Favonius
murmur: I hold my tongue, the more so that the pontifices have as
yet given no answer in regard to my house. If they annul the
consecration I shall have a splendid site. The consuls, in
accordance with a decree of the senate, will value the cost of the
building that stood upon it; but if the pontifices decide otherwise,
they will pull down the Clodian building, give out a contract in
their own name (for a temple), and value to me the cost of a site
and house. So our affairs are
"For happy though but ill, for ill not worst."
In regard to money matters I am, as you know, much embarrassed.
Besides, there are certain domestic troubles, which I do not intrust
to writing. My brother Quintus I love as he deserves for his
eminent qualities of loyalty, virtue, and good faith. I am longing to
see you, and beg you to hasten your return, resolved not to allow
me to be without the benefit of your advice. I am on the threshold,
as it were, of a second life. Already certain persons who defended
me in my absence begin to nurse a secret grudge at me now that I
am here, and to make no secret of their jealousy. I want you very
much.
VIII
To HIS BROTHER QUINTUS (IN SARDINIA)
ROME, 12 FEBRUARY
I HAVE already told you the earlier proceedings; now let me
describe what was done afterwards. The legations were postponed
from the 1st of February to the 13th. On the former day our
business was not brought to a settlement. On the 2nd of February
Milo appeared for trial. Pompey came to support him. Marcellus
spoke on being called upon by me. We came off with flying
colours. The case was adjourned to the 7th. Meanwhile (in the
senate), the legations having been postponed to the 13th, the
business of allotting the quaestors and furnishing the outfit of the
praetors was brought before the house. But nothing was done,
because many speeches were interposed denouncing the state of
the Republic. Gaius Cato published his bill for the recall of
Lentulus, whose son thereon put on mourning. On the 7th Milo
appeared. Pompey spoke, or rather wished to speak. For as soon as
he got up Clodius's ruffians raised a shout, and throughout his
whole speech he was interrupted, not only by hostile cries, but by
personal abuse and insulting remarks. However, when lie had
finished his speech--for he shewed great courage in these
circumstances, he was not cowed, he said all he had to say, and at
times had by his commanding presence even secured silence for
his words--well, when he had finished, up got Clodius. Our party
received him with such a shout--for they had determined to pay
him out--that he lost all presence of mind, power of speech, or
control over his countenance. This went on up to two o
clock--Pompey having finished his speech at noon--and every kind
of abuse, and finally epigrams of the most outspoken indecency
were uttered against Clodius and Clodia. Mad and livid with rage
Clodius, in the very midst of the shouting, kept putting questions
to his claque: "Who was it who was starving the commons to
death?" His ruffians answered, "Pompey." "Who wanted to be sent
to Alexandria ?" They answered, "Pompey." "Who did they wish to
go ?" They answered, "Crassus." The latter was present at the time
with no friendly feelings to Milo. About three o clock, as though at
a given signal, the Clodians began spitting at our men. There was
an outburst of rage. They began a movement for forcing us from
our ground. Our men charged: his ruffians turned tail. Clodius was
pushed off the rostra: and then we too made our escape for fear of
mischief in the riot. The senate was summoned into the Curia:
Pompey went home. However, I did not myself enter the
senate-house, lest I should be obliged either to refrain from
speaking on matters of such gravity, or in defending Pompey (for
he was being attacked by Bibulus, Curio, Favonius, and Servilius
the younger) should give offence to the loyalists. The business was
adjourned to the next day. Clodius fixed the Quirinalia (17th of
February) for his prosecution. On the 8th the senate met in the
temple of Apollo, that Pompey might attend. Pompey made an
impressive speech. That day nothing was concluded. On the 9th in
the temple of Apollo a degree passed the senate "that what had
taken place on the 7th of February was treasonable." On this day
Cato warmly inveighed against Pompey, and throughout his speech
arraigned him as though he were at the bar. He said a great deal
about me, to my disgust, though it was in very laudatory terms.
When he attacked Pompey's perfidy to me, he was listened to in
profound silence on the part of my enemies. Pompey answered
him boldly with a palpable allusion to Crassus, and said outright
that "he would take better precautions to protect his life than
Africanus had done, whom C. Carbo had assassinated."
Accordingly, important events appear to me to be in the wind. For
Pompey understands what is going on, and imparts to me that plots
are being formed against his life, that Gaius Cato is being
supported by Crassus, that money is being supplied to Clodius, that
both are backed by Crassus and Curio, as well as by Bibulus and
his other detractors: that he must take extraordinary precautions to
prevent being overpowered by that demagogue--with a people all
but wholly alienated, a nobility hostile, a senate ill-affected, and
the younger men corrupt. So he is making his preparations and
summoning men from the country. On his part, Clodius is rallying
his gangs: a body of men is being got together for the Quirinalia.
For that occasion we are considerably in a majority, owing to the
forces brought up by Pompey himself: and a large contingent is
expected from Picenum and Gallia, to enable us to throw out
Cato's bills also about Milo and Lentulus.
On the 10th of February an indictment was lodged against Sestius
for bribery by the informer Cn. Nerius, of the Pupinian tribe, arid
on the same day by a certain M. Tullius for riot. He was ill. I went
at once, as I was bound to do. to his house, and put myself wholly
at his service: and that was more than people expected, who
thought that I had good cause for being angry with him. The result
is that my extreme kindness and grateful disposition are made
manifest both to Sestius himself and to all the world, and I shall be
as good as my word. But this same informer Nerius also named
Cn. Lentulus Vatia and C. Cornelius to the commissioners. On the
same day a decree passed the senate "that political clubs and
associations should be broken up, and that a law in regard to them
should be brought in, enacting that those who did not break off
from them should be liable to the same penalty as those convicted
of riot."
On the 10th of February I spoke in defence of Bestia on a charge of
bribery before the praetor Cn. Domitius, in the middle of the
forum and in a very crowded court; and in the course of my speech
I came to the incident of Sestius, after receiving many wounds in
the temple of Castor, having been preserved by the aid of Bestia.
Here I took occasion to pave the way beforehand for a refutation of
the charges which are being got up against Sestius, and I passed a
well-deserved encomium upon him with the cordial approval of
everybody. He was himself very much delighted with it. I tell you
this because you have often advised me in your letters to retain the
friendship of Sestius. I am writing this on the 12th of February
before daybreak; the day on which I am to dine with Pomponius on
the occasion of his wedding.