Marcus Tullius Cicero was born on January 3, 106 B.C. Educated
under the best teachers in the Greek culture of the day, he
won a speedy reputation at the Bar and developed a keen
interest in the various schools of Greek philosophy. His able
and intrepid exposure of Catiline's conspiracy brought him the
highest popularity, but he was attacked, in turn, by the
ignoble Clodius, who obtained his banishment in 58 B.C. In the
ensuing conflict between Cæsar and Pompey, Cicero was attached
to the party of Pompey and the senate, as against Cæsar and
the people. He kept clear of the conspiracy against Cæsar's
life, but after the assassination he undertook an oratorical
campaign against Antony, and was entrusted with the government
of the city. But on the return of the triumvirate, Octavianus,
Antony, and Lepidus, Cicero's name was included in the list of
those who were to be done away, and he was murdered in the
year 43 B.C., at 63 years of age. The correspondence of the
great Roman advocate, statesman, and man of letters, preserved
for us by the care of his freedman Tiro, is the richest and
most interesting collection of its kind in the world's
archives. The many-sided personality of their writer, his
literary charm, the frankness with which he set down his
opinions, hopes, and anxieties, the profound historical
interest of this period of the fall of the republic, and the
intimate glimpses which we get of Roman life and manners,
combine to make Cicero's "Letters" perennially attractive. The
series begins in B.C. 68, when Cicero was 38 years of age, and
runs on to within a short time of his death in B.C. 43. The
letters, of which there are 800, are addressed to several
correspondents, of whom the most frequent and important is
Titus Pomponius, surnamed Atticus, whose sister had married
Cicero's brother Quintus. Atticus was a wealthy and cultivated
man who had lived many years in Athens. He took no side in the
perilous politics of the time, but Cicero relied always on his
affectionate counsel, and on his ever-ready service in
domestic matters.
_To Atticus_
There is nothing I need so much just now as someone with whom I may
discuss all my anxieties, someone with whom I may speak quite frankly
and without pretences. My brother, who is all candour and kindness, is
away. Metellus is empty as the air, barren as the desert. And you, who
have so often relieved my cares and sorrows by your conversation and
counsel, and have always been my support in politics and my confidant in
all private affairs, the partner of all my thoughts and plans--where are
you?
I am so utterly deserted that I have no other comfort but in my wife and
daughter and dear little Cicero. For those ambitious friendships with
great people are all show and tinsel, and contain nothing that satisfies
inwardly. Every morning my house swarms with visitors; I go down to the
Forum attended by troops of friends; but in the whole crowd there is no
one with whom I can freely jest, or whom I can trust with an intimate
word. It is for you that I wait; I need your presence; I even implore
you to come.
I have a load of anxieties and troubles, of which, if you could listen
to them in one of our walks together, you would go far to relieve me. I
have to keep to myself the stings and vexations of my domestic troubles;
I dare not trust them to this letter and to an unknown courier. I don't
want you to think them greater than they are, but they haunt and worry
me, and there is no friendly counsel to alleviate them. As for the
republic, though my courage and will toward it are not diminished, yet
it has again and again itself evaded remedy. If I were to tell you all
that has happened since you went away, you would certainly say that the
Roman state must be nearing its fall. The Clodian scandal was, I think,
the first episode after your departure. On that occasion, thinking that
I had an opportunity of cutting down and restraining the licentiousness
of the young men, I exerted myself with all my might, and brought into
play every power of my mind, not in hostility to an individual, but in
the hope of correcting and healing the state. But a venal and profligate
verdict in the matter has brought upon the republic the gravest injury.
And see what has taken place since.
A consul has been imposed upon us whom no one, unless a philosopher like
ourselves, can look at without a sigh. What an injury that is! Again,
although a decree of the senate with regard to bribery and corruption
has been passed, no law has been carried through; and the senate has
been harassed beyond endurance and the Roman knights have been
alienated. So, in one year, two pillars of the republic, which had been
established by me alone, have been overturned; the authority of the
senate has been destroyed and the concord of the two orders has been
violated.
_To Lucius Lucceius, the Historian_ B.C. 56
I have often intended to speak to you about the subject of this letter,
and have always been restrained by a certain awkward bashfulness. But a
letter will not blush; I can make my request at a distance. It is this:
I am incredibly eager, and, after all, there is nothing disgraceful in
my eagerness, that the history which you are writing should give
prominence to my name, and praise it frequently. You have often given me
to understand that I should receive that honour, but you must pardon my
impatience to see it actually conferred. I have always expected that
your work would be of great excellence, but the part which I have lately
seen exceeds all that I had imagined, and has inflamed me with the
keenest desire that my career should at once be celebrated in your
records. What I desire is not only that my name should go down to future
ages, but also that even while I live I may see my reputation endorsed
by your authority and illumined by your genius.
Of course, I know very well that you are sufficiently occupied with the
period on which you are engaged. But, realising that your account of the
Italian and Marian civil wars is almost completed, and that you are
already entering upon our later annals, I cannot refrain from asking you
to consider whether it would be better to weave my career into the
general texture of your work, or to mould it into a distinct episode.
Several Greek writers have given examples of the latter method; thus
Callisthenes, Timaeus, and Polybius, treating respectively of the Trojan
war, and of the wars of Pyrrhus and of Numantia, detached their
narratives of these conflicts from their main treatises; and it is open
to you, in a similar way, to treat of the Catiline conspiracy
independently of the main current of your history.
In suggesting this course, I do not suppose that it will make much
difference to my reputation; my point is rather that my desire to appear
in your work will be satisfied so much the earlier if you proceed to
deal with my affairs separately and by anticipation, instead of waiting
until they arise as elements in the general course of affairs. Besides,
by concentrating your mind on one episode and on one person, your matter
will be much more detailed and your treatment of it far more elaborate.
I am conscious, of course, that my request is not exactly a modest one.
It is to lay a task on you which your occupations may well justify you
in refusing; and, again, it is to ask you to celebrate actions which you
may not think altogether worthy of so much honour. But having already
passed beyond the bounds of modesty, I may as well show myself boldly
shameless. Well, then, I implore you repeatedly, not only to praise my
conduct more warmly than may be justified by your feeling with regard to
it, but even, if necessary, to transgress the laws of history. One of
your prefaces indicates, most acceptably and plainly, your personal
amity; but just as Hercules, according to Xenophon, was incorruptible by
pleasure, so you have made a point of resisting the influence of private
feeling. I ask you not to resist this partiality; to give to affection
somewhat more than truth can afford.
If I can prevail upon you to fall in with my proposal, I am confident
that you will find the subject not unworthy of your genius and of your
eloquence. The period from the rise of Catiline's conspiracy to my
return from banishment should furnish a memoir of moderate size, and the
story of my fortunes would supply you with a variety of incident, such
as might be made, in your hands, a work of great charm and interest. For
these reasons you will best meet my wishes if you determine to make a
separate book out of the drama of my life and fortunes.
_To Marcus Marius_ B.C. 55
If it was ill-health that kept you from coming up to town for the games,
I must set down your absence to fortune and not to your own wisdom. But
if it was because you despise these shows which the world admires so
much, then I congratulate you on your health and your good sense alike.
You were left almost alone in your charming country, and I have no doubt
that on mornings when the rest of us, half asleep, were sitting out
stale farces, you were reading in your library.
The games were magnificent, but not what you would have cared for. At
least, they were far from my taste. In honour of the occasion, certain
veteran actors returned to the stage, which they had left long ago, as I
imagined, in the interests of their own reputation. My old friend Aesop,
in particular, had failed so much that no one could be sorry he had
retired; his voice gave way altogether. AS for the rest of the festival,
it was not even so attractive as far less ambitious shows generally are;
the pageants were on such an enormous scale that light-hearted enjoyment
was out of the question. You need not mind having missed them. There is
no pleasure, for instance, in seeing six hundred mules at once in
"Clytaemnestra," or a whole army of gaily-dressed horse and foot engaged
in a theatrical battle. These spectacular effects delight the crowd, but
not you. If you were listening to your reader Protogenes, you had
greater pleasure than fell to any of us. The big-game hunts, continued
through five days, were certainly magnificent. Yet, after all, how can a
person of any refinement enjoy seeing a helpless man torn by a wild
beast of enormous strength, or a noble animal dying under a spear
thrust? If there is anything worth seeing in exhibitions of that kind,
you have often seen it; there was nothing new to me in all I saw. On the
last day the elephants were brought out, and though the populace were
mightily astonished they were not by any means pleased. On the contrary,
a wave of pity went through them, and there was a general impression
that these great creatures have something in common with man.
_To Atticus, in Rome_ Laodicea, B.C. 51
I reached Laodicea on July 31, so you may reckon the year of my
government of the province from that day. Nothing could be more eagerly
awaited or more warmly welcomed than my arrival. But you would hardly
believe how the whole affair bores me. The wide scope of my mind has no
sufficient field, and my well-known industry is wasted here. Imagine! I
administer justice at Laodicea, while A. Plotius presides in the courts
of Rome! And while our friend is at the head of so great an army, I
have, in name only, two miserable legions! But all that is nothing; what
I miss is the glamour of life, the Forum, the city, my own house,
and--you. But I will bear it as best I can, so long as it is for one
year only. If my term is extended, it is all over with me. But this may
easily be prevented, if only you will stay in Rome.
You ask about my doings. Well, I am living at enormous expense, and am
wonderfully pleased with my way of life. My strict abstinence from all
extortion, based on your counsels, is such that I shall probably have to
raise a loan to pay off what you lent me. My predecessor, Appius, has
left open wounds in the province; I refrain from irritating them. I am
writing on the eve of starting for the camp in Lycaonia, and thence I
mean to proceed to Mount Taurus to fight Maeragenes. All this is no
proper burden for me; but I will bear it. Only, as you love me, let it
not exceed the year.
_To Atticus, a Few Days Later_ Cilicia
The couriers of the tax-farmers are just going, and, though I am
actually travelling on the road, I must steal a moment to assure you
that I have not forgotten your injunctions. I am sitting by the roadside
to jot down a few notes about matters which really need a long letter. I
entered, on July 31, with a most enthusiastic reception, into a
devastated and utterly ruined province. During the three days at
Laodicea, three at Apamea, and three at Synnada, I heard of nothing but
the actual inability of the people to pay the poll-tax; everywhere they
have been sold up; the towns were filled with groans and lamentations.
They have been ravaged rather by a wild beast than by a man. They are
tired of life itself.
Well, these unfortunate towns are a good deal relieved when they find
that neither I, nor my lieutenants, nor quaestor, nor any of my suite,
is costing them a penny. I not only refuse to accept forage, which is
allowed by the Julian law, but even firewood. We take from them not a
single thing except beds and a roof to cover us; and rarely so much even
as that, for we generally camp out in tents. The result is, we are
welcomed by crowds coming out to meet us from the countryside, the
villages, the houses, everywhere. By Hercules, the mere approach of your
Cicero puts new life into them, such reports have spread of his justice
and moderation and clemency! He has exceeded every expectation. I hear
nothing of the Parthians. We are hastening to join the army, which is
two days distant.
_To Marcus Caelius Rufus_ Asia, B.C. 50
Nothing could have been more apt or judicious than your management of
the application to the senate for a public thanksgiving to me. The
arrangement of the matter has been just what I desired; not only has it
been passed through quickly, but Hirrus, your rival and mine, associated
himself with Cato's unbounded praise of my achievements. I have some
hope that this may lead to a triumph; you should be prepared for that.
I am glad to hear that you think well of Dolabella and like him; and, as
you say, my Tullia's good sense may moderate him. May they be fortunate
together! I hope that he will prove a good son-in-law, and am sure that
your friendship will help to that end.
About public affairs I am more anxious than I can say. I like Curio; I
hope Cæsar may prove himself an honourable man; for Pompey I would
willingly give my life; yet, after all, I love no man so dearly as I
love the republic. You do not seem to be taking any very prominent part
in these difficulties; but you are somewhat tied by being at once a good
patriot and a loyal friend.
_To Atticus, in Rome_ Athens, B.C. 50
I arrived in Athens two days ago on my way home from my province, and
received your letter. I have been appalled by what you tell me about
Cæsar's legions. I beg you, in the name of fortune, to apply all your
love for me and all your incomparable wisdom to the consideration of my
whole situation. I seem to see a dreadful contest coming, unless some
divinity have pity on the republic--such a contest as has never been
before. I do not ask you to think of this catastrophe; after all, it is
a calamity for all the world as well as for me.
What I want is that you should go into my personal dilemma. It was you
who advised me to secure the friendship of both parties; and much I wish
that I had attended from the first to your counsels. You persuaded me to
embrace the one, because he had done so much for me, and the other,
because he was powerful; and so I succeeded in engaging the affection of
both.
It seemed then quite clear that a friendship with Pompey need involve no
wrong to the republic, and that an allegiance to Cæsar implied no
hostility to Pompey--such, at that time, was their union. But now, as
you show and as I plainly see, there will be a duel to the death; and
each, unless one of them is feigning, regards me as his. Pompey has no
doubt of it, for he knows that I approve of his political principles.
Moreover, I have a letter from each of them, arriving at the same time
as yours, indicating that neither of them values anyone more than me.
What am I to do?
If the worst comes to the worst, I know what to do. In the case of civil
war I am clear that it is better to be conquered with the one than to
conquer with the other. But I am in doubt how to meet the questions
which will be in active discussion when I arrive--whether he may be a
candidate in his absence from Rome, whether he must not dismiss his
army, and so on. When the president calls my name in the senate--"Speak,
Marcus Tullius!" am I to say, "Please wait until I have had a talk with
Atticus"?
The time for hedging has passed. Shall it be against Cæsar? What then
becomes of our pledges to one another? Or shall I change my political
opinions? I could not face Pompey, nor men and women--you yourself would
be the first to reproach me. You may laugh at what I am going to say.
How I wish I were even now back in my province! Though nothing could be
more disagreeable. By the way, I ought to tell you that all those
virtues which adorned the early days of my government, which your
letters praised to the skies, were very superficial. How difficult a
thing is virtue!
_To L. Papirius_ Rome, B.C. 46
I am writing at dinner at the house of Volumnius; we lay down at three
o'clock; your friends Atticus and Verrius are to my right and left. Are
you surprised that we pass the time of our bondage so gaily? What else
should I do? Tell me, student of philosophy! shall I make myself
miserable? What good would it serve, or how long would it last? But you
say, "Spend your days in reading." As a matter of fact, I do nothing
else; it's my only way to keep alive. But one cannot read all day; and
when I have put away my books I don't know any better way of spending
the evening than at dinner.
I like dining out. I like to talk without restraint, saying just what
comes to my tongue, and laughing care and sorrow from my heart. You are
no more serious yourself. I heard how you mocked a grave philosopher
when he invited questions: you said that the question that haunted your
mornings was, "Where shall I dine to-day?" He thought, poor fool, that
you were going to ask whether there was one heaven or many.
I give part of the day to reading or writing; then, not to shut myself
up from my friends, I dine with them. You need not be afraid of my
coming; you will receive a guest of more humour than appetite.
_To L. Minucius Basilus_ Rome, March, B.C. 44
My congratulations! I rejoice with you! I love you! I have your
interests at heart! I pray you love me, and let me know how you are, and
what is happening. [Written to one of Cæsar's assassins; apparently,
immediately after the event.]
_To Atticus_ May, B.C. 44
I see I have been a fool to take comfort in the Ides of March. We had
indeed the courage of men, but no more wisdom than children have. The
tree was cut down, but its roots remained, and it is springing up again.
The tyrant was removed, but the tyranny is with us still. Let us
therefore return to the "Tusculan Disputations" which you often quote,
with their reasons why death is not to be feared.
* * * * *