The Letters of Cicero, Volume 1

LXXI (q fr i, 4)

TO HIS BROTHER QUINTUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica, August

b.c. 58, æt. 48

I beg you, my dear brother, if you and all my family have been ruined by my single misfortune, not to attribute it to dishonesty and bad conduct on my part, rather than to short-sightedness and the wretched state I was in. I have committed no fault except in trusting those whom I believed to be bound by the most sacred obligation not to deceive me, or whom I thought to be even interested in not doing so. All my most intimate, nearest and dearest friends were either alarmed for themselves or jealous of me: the result was that all I lacked was good faith on the part of my friends and caution on my own.³³² But if your own blameless character and the compassion of the world prove sufficient to preserve you at this juncture from molestation, you can, of course, observe whether any hope of restoration is left for me. For Pomponius, Sestius, and my son-in-law Piso have caused me as yet to stay at Thessalonica, forbidding me, on account of certain impending movements, to increase my distance. But in truth I am awaiting the result more on account of their letters than from any firm hope of my own. For what can I hope with an enemy possessed of the most formidable power, with my detractors masters of the state, with friends unfaithful, with numbers of people jealous? However, of the new tribunes there is one, it is true, most warmly attached to me—Sestius—and I hope Curius, Milo, Fadius, Fabricius; but still there is Clodius in violent opposition, who even when out of office will be able to stir up the passions of the mob by the help of that same gang, and then there will be found some one also to veto the bill.

Such a state of things was not put before me when I was leaving Rome, but I often used to be told that I was certain to return in three days with the greatest éclat. "What made you go, then?" you will say. What, indeed! Many circumstances concurred to throw me off my balance—the defection of Pompey, the hostility of the consuls, and of the prætors also, the timidity of the publicani, the armed bands. The tears of my friends prevented me seeking refuge in death, which would certainly have been the best thing for my honour, the best escape from unbearable sorrows. But I have written to you on this subject in the letter I gave to Phaetho. Now that you have been plunged into griefs and troubles, such as no one ever was before, if the compassion of the world can lighten our common misfortune, you will, it seems, score a success beyond belief! But if we are both utterly ruined—ah me!—I shall have been the absolute destruction of my whole family, to whom I used to be at least no discredit! But pray, as I said in a previous letter to you, look into the business, test it thoroughly, and write to me with the candour which our situation demands, and not as your affection for me would dictate. I shall retain my life as long as I shall think that it is in your interest for me to do so, or that it ought to be preserved with a view to future hope. You will find Sestius most friendly to us, and I believe that Lentulus, the coming consul, will also be so for your sake. However, deeds are not so easy as words. You will see what is wanted and what the truth is. On the whole, supposing that no one takes advantage of your unprotected position and our common calamity, it is by your means, or not at all, that something may be effected. But even if your enemies have begun to annoy you, don't flinch: for you will be attacked by legal process, not by swords. However, I hope that this may not occur. I beg you to write me back word on all subjects, and to believe that though I have less spirit and resource than in old times, I have quite as much affection and loyalty.

LXXII (a iii, 15)

TO ATTICUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica, 17 August

b.c. 58, æt. 48

On the 13th of August I received four letters from you: one in which you urge me in a tone of reproof to be less weak; a second, in which you say that Crassus's freedman has told you about my anxiety and leanness; a third, in which you describe the proceedings in the senate; a fourth on the subject of Varro's assurances to you as to the friendly feelings of Pompey.

To the first my answer is this: though I do grieve, yet I keep all my mental faculties, and it is precisely that which vexes me—I have no opportunity and no one with whom to employ so sound an intellect. For if you cannot find yourself separated from one individual like myself without sorrow, what do you think must be my case, who am deprived both of you and of everyone else? And if you, while still in possession of all your rights, miss me, to what an extent do you think those rights are missed by me? I will not enumerate the things of which I have been despoiled, not only because you are not ignorant of them, but also lest I should reopen my own sorrow. I only assert this, that never did anyone in an unofficial position possess such great advantages, or fall into such great miseries. Moreover, lapse of time not only does not soften this grief, it even enhances it. For other sorrows are softened by age, this one cannot but be daily increased both by my sense of present misery and the recollection of my past life. For it is not only property or friends that I miss, but myself. For what am I? But I will not allow myself either to wring your soul with my complaints, or to place my hands too often on my wounds. For as to your defence of those whom I said had been jealous of me, and among them Cato, I indeed think that he was so far removed from that crime, that I am above all things sorry that the pretended zeal of others had more influence with me than his honesty. As for your excuses for the others, they ought to be excused in my eyes if they are so in yours. But all this is an old story now. Crassus's freedman, I think, spoke without any real sincerity. In the senate you say that the debate was satisfactory. But what about Curio? Hasn't he read that speech? I can't make out how it got into circulation! But Axius, in describing the proceedings of the same day, does not speak so highly of Curio.³³³ But he may be omitting something; I know you have certainly not written anything except what actually occurred. Varro's talk gives me some hope of Cæsar, and would that Varro himself would throw himself into the cause! Which he certainly will do, both of his own accord and under pressure from you. For myself, if fortune ever grants me the enjoyment of you all and of my country, I will at least take care that you shall, above all the rest of my friends, have cause to be glad: and I will so discharge all the duties of affection and friendship, which (to confess the truth) have not heretofore been conspicuous, that you shall regard me as restored to yourself as much as to my brother and my children. If I have in any way sinned in my conduct to you, or rather since I have done so, pardon me. For I have sinned more grievously against myself. And I do not write this to you because I know you not to feel deeply for my misfortune: but certainly if it had been a matter of obligation with you, and had always been so, to love me as much as you do and have done, you would never have allowed me to lack that judgment with which you are so well supplied,³³⁴ nor would you have allowed me to be persuaded that the passing of the bill for the "colleges" was to our advantage.³³⁵ But you did nothing but weep over my sorrow, as though you were my second self. This was indeed a sign of your affection: but what might have been done, if I had earned it at your hands—the spending by you of days and nights in thinking out the course I ought to have pursued—that was omitted, owing to my own culpable imprudence, not yours. Now if, I don't say you only, but if there had been anyone to urge me, when alarmed at Pompey's ungenerous answer,³³⁶ not to adopt that most degrading course—and you are the person that, above all others, could have done it—I should either have died honourably, or we should have been living to-day triumphant. In this you must forgive me. For I find much greater fault with myself, and only call you in question afterwards, as at once my second self and the sharer in my error; and, besides, if I am ever restored, our mistake will seem still less in my eyes, and to you at least I shall be endeared by your own kindness, since there is none on my side.³³⁷ There is something in the suggestion you mentioned as having been made in your conversation with Culleo as to a privilegium,³³⁸ but by far the better course is to have the law repealed. For if no one vetoes it, what course can be safer? But if anyone is found to prohibit its passing, he will be equally able to veto a decree of the senate. Nor is there need for the repeal of anything else. For the previous law did not touch me: and if, on its publication, I had chosen to speak in its favour, or to ignore it, as it ought to have been ignored, it could not have done me any harm at all.³³⁹ It was at this point first that my judgment failed to assist me, nay, even did me harm. Blind, blind, I say, was I in laying aside my senator's toga, and in entreating the people; it was a fatal step to take before some attack had been begun upon me by name.³⁴⁰ But I am harping on the past: it is, however, for the purpose of advising you, if any action is to be taken, not to touch that law, in which there are many provisions in the interests of the people. But it is foolish for me to be laying down rules as to what you are to do and how. I only wish that something may be done! And it is on that point that your letter displays much reserve: I presume, to prevent my being too much agitated by despair. For what action do you see possible to be taken, or in what way? Through the senate? But you yourself told me that Clodius had fixed upon the doorpost of the senate-house a certain clause in the law, "that it might neither be put to the house nor mentioned."³⁴¹ How could Domitius,³⁴² therefore, say that he would bring it before the house? How came it about also that Clodius held his tongue, when those you mention in your letter both spoke on the subject and demanded that a motion should be brought in? But if you go to the people—can it be carried except with the unanimous approval of the tribunes? What about my property? What about my house? Will it be possible to have it restored? Or, if that cannot, how can I be? Unless you see these difficulties on the way to be solved, what is the hope to which you invite me? But if, again, there is no hope, what sort of life is there for me? So I await at Thessalonica the gazette of the proceedings of the 1st of August, in accordance with which I shall decide whether to take refuge on your estate, in order at once to avoid seeing people I don't want to see, to see you, according to your letter, and to be nearer at hand in case of any motion being made (and this I understand is in accordance with your view and that of my brother Quintus), or to depart for Cyzicus. Now, my dear Pomponius, since you imparted to me none of your wisdom in time to save me, either because you had made up your mind that I had judgment enough of my own, or that you owed me nothing beyond being by my side; and since, betrayed, beguiled, and hurried into a snare as I was, I neglected all my defences, abandoned and left Italy, which was everywhere on the qui vive to defend me, and surrendered myself and mine into the hands of enemies while you looked on and said nothing, though, even if you were not my superior in mental power, you were at least in less of a fright: now, if you can, raise the fallen, and in that way assist me! But if every avenue is barred, take care that I know that also, and cease at length either to scold me or to offer your kindly-meant consolations. If I had meant to impeach your good faith, I should not have chosen your roof, of all others, to which to trust myself: it is my own folly that I blame for having thought that your love for me was exactly what I could have wished it to be:³⁴³ for if that had been so, you would have displayed the same good faith, but greater circumspection; at least, you would have held me back when plunging headlong into ruin, and would not have had to encounter the labours which you are now enduring in saving the wrecks of my fortunes. Wherefore do be careful to look into, examine thoroughly, and write fully everything that occurs, and resolve (as I am sure you do) that I shall be some one, since I cannot now be the man I was and the man I might have been; and lastly, believe that in this letter it is not you, but myself that I have accused. If there are any people to whom you think that letters ought to be delivered in my name, pray compose them and see them delivered.

17 August.

LXXIII (a iii, 16)

TO ATTICUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica, 19 August

b.c. 58, æt. 48

My whole journey is in suspense till I receive letters from you all of the 1st of August. For if there turns out to be any hope, I am for Epirus: if not, I shall make for Cyzicus or some other place. Your letter is cheerful³⁴⁴ indeed, but at the same time, the oftener I read it, the more it weakens the suggested ground for hope, so that it is easy to see that you are trying to minister at once to consolation and to truth. Accordingly, I beg you to write to me exactly what you know and exactly what you think.

19 August.

LXXIV (a iii, 17)

TO ATTICUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica, 4 September

b.c. 58, æt. 48

News of my brother Quintus of an invariably gloomy nature reached me from the 3rd of June up to the 29th of August. On that day, however, Livineius, a freedman of Lucius Regulus, came to me by the direction of Regulus himself.³⁴⁵ He announced that absolutely no notice whatever had been given of a prosecution, but that there had, nevertheless, been some talk about the son of C. Clodius.³⁴⁶ He also brought me a letter from my brother Quintus. But next day came the slaves of Sestius, who brought me a letter from you not so positive in regard to this alarm as the conversation of Livineius had been. I am rendered very anxious in the midst of my own endless distress, and the more so as Appius³⁴⁷ has the trial of the case. As to other circumstances mentioned in the same letter by you in connexion with my hopes, I understand that things are going less well than other people represent them. I, however, since we are now not far from the time at which the matter will be decided, will either go to your house or will still remain somewhere in this neighbourhood. My brother writes me word that his interests are being supported by you more than by anyone else. Why should I urge you to do what you are already doing? or offer you thanks which you do not expect? I only pray that fortune may give us the opportunity of enjoying our mutual affection in security. I am always very anxious to get your letters, in which I beg you not to be afraid of your minuteness boring me, or your plain speaking giving me pain.

4 September.

LXXV (a iii, 18)

TO ATTICUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica (September)

b.c. 58, æt. 48

You raised no little flutter in my mind when you said in your letter that Varro had assured you as a friend that Pompey would certainly take up my case, and that as soon as he had received a letter from Cæsar, which he was expecting, he would even name some one to formally carry out the business. Was that all mere talk, or was the letter from Cæsar hostile? Is there some ground for hope? You mentioned, too, that Pompey had also used the expression "after the elections." Pray, as you can conceive the severity of the troubles by which I am prostrated, and as you must think it natural to your kindness to do so, inform me fully as to the whole state of my case. For my brother Quintus, dear good fellow, who is so much attached to me, fills his letters with hopeful expressions, fearing, I suppose, my entirely losing heart. Whereas your letters vary in tone; for you won't have me either despair or cherish rash hopes. I beseech you to let me know everything as far as you can detect the truth.

LXXVI (a iii, 19)

TO ATTICUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica, 15 September

b.c. 58, æt. 48

As long as my letters from you all continued to be of such a nature as to keep expectation alive, I was bound to Thessalonica by hope and eager longing: afterwards, when all political measures for this year appeared to me to be over, I yet determined not to go to Asia, both because a crowd of people is disagreeable to me, and because, in case any movement was set on foot by the new magistrates, I was unwilling to be far off. Accordingly, I resolved to go to your house in Epirus, not because the natural features of the country mattered to me, shunning as I do the light of day altogether, but because it will be most grateful to my feelings to set out from a harbour of yours to my restoration; and, if that restoration is denied me, there is no place where I shall with greater ease either support this most wretched existence or (which is much better) rid myself of it. I shall be in a small society: I shall shake off the crowd. Your letters have never raised me to such a pitch of hope as those of others; and yet my hopes have always been less warm than your letters. Nevertheless, since a beginning has been made in the case, of whatever sort and from whatever motive, I will not disappoint the sad and touching entreaties of my best and only brother, nor the promises of Sestius and others, nor the hopes of my most afflicted wife, nor the entreaties of my most unhappy Tulliola, as well as your own loyal letter. Epirus will furnish me with a road to restoration or to that other alternative mentioned above. I beg and entreat of you, Titus Pomponius, as you see that I have been despoiled by the treachery of men of all that most adds splendour to life, of all that can most gratify and delight the soul, as you see that I have been betrayed and cast away by my own advisers, as you understand that I have been forced to ruin myself and my family—help me by your compassion, and support my brother Quintus, who is still capable of being saved; protect Terentia and my children. For myself, if you think it possible that you may see me at Rome, wait for me; if not, come to see me if you can, and make over to me just so much of your land as may be covered by my corpse. Finally, send slaves to me with letters as soon and as often as possible.

15 September.

LXXVII (a iii, 20)

TO ATTICUS (AT ROME)
Thessalonica, 4 October

Cicero greets Q. Cæcilius Pomponianus Atticus, son of Quintus. ³⁴⁸

b.c. 58, æt. 48

That this is now the case, and that your uncle has done what he ought to have done, I approve in the strongest manner possible: I will say I am "glad," when circumstances shall admit of my using such a word. Ah me! how well everything would have been going if my own spirit, my own judgment, and the good faith of those on whom I relied had not failed me! But I won't review these circumstances lest I increase my sorrow. Yet I feel sure that it occurs to your mind what a life ours was, how delightful, how dignified. To recover this, in the name of fortune, bestow all your energies, as I know you do, and take care that I keep the birthday of my return in your delightful house with you and my family. For this hope and expectation, though now put before me as being very strong, I yet wished to wait in your home in Epirus; but my letters are such as to make me think it better not to be in the same neighbourhood. What you say in your letter about my town house and about Curio's speech is exactly true. Under the general act of restoration, if only that is accorded me, everything will be included, of which I care for nothing more than for my house. But I don't give you any precise injunction, I trust myself wholly to your affection and honour. I am very glad to hear that you have extricated yourself from every embarrassment in view of so large an inheritance. As to your promise to employ your means in securing my restoration, though I am in all points assisted by you above all others, yet I quite see what a support that is, and I fully understand that you are undertaking and can carry on many departments of my cause, and do not need to be asked to do so. You tell me not to suspect that your feelings have been at all affected by acts of commission or omission on my part towards you—well, I will obey you and will get rid of that anxiety; yet I shall owe you all the more from the fact that your kind consideration for me has been on a higher level than mine for you. Please tell me in your letters whatever you see, whatever you make out, whatever is being done in my case, and exhort all your friends to help in promoting my recall. The bill of Sestius³⁴⁹ does not shew sufficient regard for my dignity or sufficient caution. For the proposed law ought to mention me by name, and to contain a carefully expressed clause about my property. Pray see to it.

Thessalonica, 4 October.