$Unique_ID{how02496}
$Pretitle{}
$Title{Letters Of Cicero
Part I}
$Subtitle{}
$Author{Cicero, Marcus Tullius}
$Affiliation{}
$Subject{letter
am
brother
hope
yet
time
how
rome
write
myself}
$Date{65bc}
$Log{}
Title:       Letters Of Cicero
Author:      Cicero, Marcus Tullius
Date:        65bc
Translation: Shuckburg, E.S.

Part I

Letter 1: To Atticus (at Athens), Rome, July, 65 B.C.

     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 Flaminia, 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 who 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 day's 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.

Letter 2: To Atticus (at Athens), Rome, July, 65 B.C.

     I have to inform you that on the day of the election of L. Julius 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 be 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.

Letter 3: To Cn. Pompeius Magnus, Rome, 62 B.C.

     M. Tullius Cicero, son of Marcus, greets Cn. 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 friends; 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 than 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.

Letter 4: To Atticus (In Epirus), Rome, 5 December, 61 B.C.

     Your letter, in which you inclose copies of his letters, has made me
realize that my brother Quintus' 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
know 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 and 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 nor 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 rescue 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, but 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.

Letter 5: To Terentia, Tulliola, and Young Cicero (at Rome), Brundisium,
29 April, 58 B.C.

     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, goodbye!

     29 April, from Brundisium.

Letter 6: To His Brother Quintus (on His Way to Rome), Thessalonica,
15 June, 58 B.C.

     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 he 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 myiwishes, 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, to, 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 someone 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 I 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 the 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 lex 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. Messalla 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.