Servius Sulpicius Rufus→Marcus Tullius Cicero|c. 45 BC|Cicero|From Achaea|To Rome|AI-assisted
When news reached me of the death of your daughter Tullia, I was deeply and painfully grieved, as I ought to be, and I regarded the loss as one I shared. If I had been at Rome, I would not have failed you; I would have stood beside you and shown you my sorrow face to face.
This kind of consolation is wretched and bitter, because the relatives and friends who should provide it are themselves touched by the same grief. They cannot try to console without many tears, so that they seem to need others' consolation more than they can perform their duty to anyone else. Still, I decided to write briefly to you the thoughts that came to me at once, not because I think you do not know them, but because grief may perhaps keep you from seeing them clearly.
Why should your private grief move you so violently? Consider how fortune has dealt with us until now. We have lost things that ought to be no less dear to human beings than children: country, honor, dignity, every public distinction. What additional wound could this particular loss inflict on your feelings? What mind should not by now be hardened and trained to count everything else as smaller?
Or do you grieve for her sake? How often have you returned to the thought, and I have often been struck by it too, that in times like these those who are allowed to exchange life for a painless death are far from the worst off. What was there in such an age that could greatly tempt her to live? What place, what hope, what comfort? Was she to spend life with some young and distinguished husband? How could a man of your rank choose from the present generation of young men a son-in-law to whose honor you could safely entrust your child? Was she to bear children to cheer her with their flourishing youth, children who might maintain by their character the rank handed down by their parent, stand for offices in their order, and use their freedom to support friends? Which of these prospects has not been taken away before it was given?
"But losing children is still an evil," someone will say. Yes, it is. But enduring the present state of things is a worse evil. I want to mention something that brought me no small consolation, in case it may also lessen your grief. As I was sailing from Asia, from Aegina toward Megara, I began looking at the places around me. Behind me was Aegina, before me Megara, on my right Piraeus, on my left Corinth, cities once flourishing, now lying before my eyes ruined and decayed. I began to think to myself: "Do we little human beings rebel if one of us dies or is killed, when the corpses of so many cities lie helpless in ruin, and our lives ought to be even shorter? Servius, restrain yourself and remember you were born mortal." Believe me, that reflection strengthened me considerably.
If you agree, put the same thought before your own eyes. Not long ago all those most illustrious men perished at one blow. The empire of the Roman people suffered that enormous loss; all the provinces were shaken. If you have been made poorer by the frail spirit of one poor girl, why be so violently shaken? If she had not died now, she would still have had to die a few years later, for she was born mortal.
Withdraw your mind and thought from such things, and instead remember what suits the role you have played in life: that she lived as long as life had anything to offer her; that her life outlasted the republic; that she lived to see you, her own father, as praetor, consul, and augur; that she married men of the highest rank; that she enjoyed almost every possible blessing; and that, when the republic fell, she departed life. What complaint can you or she make against fortune on this score?
Finally, remember that you are Cicero, a man accustomed to instruct and advise others. Do not imitate bad physicians, who profess skill in treating other people's illnesses but cannot prescribe for themselves. Instead, suggest to yourself and bring home to your own mind the very maxims you usually impress on others. There is no grief that time cannot at last diminish and soften. It would reflect badly on you to wait for that interval instead of anticipating its effect through wisdom.
If any consciousness remains among the dead, her love for you and her dutiful affection for all her family were such that she surely does not wish you to act as you are acting. Grant this to her, the one you have lost. Grant it to your friends and companions who grieve with you. Grant it to your country, so that if need arises she may have the use of your service and advice. Finally, since fortune has reduced us to considering even this, do not let anyone think that you are grieving less for your daughter than for the state of public affairs and the victory of others.
I am ashamed to say more, in case I seem to distrust your wisdom. So I will make only one suggestion before ending. We have often seen you bear good fortune with noble dignity, which greatly increased your fame. Now it is time to convince us that you can bear bad fortune equally well, and that it does not seem to you a heavier burden than you ought to judge it. I would not want this to be the only virtue you lack.
As for me, when I learn that your mind is calmer, I will write to you about what is happening here and about the condition of the province. Farewell.
DLIV (Fam. IV, 5) SERVIUS SULPICIUS TO CICERO (AT ASTURA) ATHENS (MARCH) WHEN I received the news of your daughter Tullia 's death, I was indeed as much grieved and distressed as I was bound to be, and looked upon it as a calamity in which I shared. For, if I had been at home, I should not have failed to be at your side, and should have made my sorrow plain to you face to face. That kind of consolation involves much distress and pain, because the relations and friends, whose part it is to offer it, are themselves overcome by an equal sorrow. They cannot attempt it without many tears, so that they seem to require consolation themselves rather than to be able to afford it to others. Still I have decided to set down briefly for your benefit such thoughts as have occurred to my mind, not because I suppose them to be unknown to you, but because your sorrow may perhaps hinder you from being so keenly alive to them. Why is it that a private grief should agitate you so deeply? Think how fortune has hitherto dealt with us. Reflect that we have had snatched from us what ought to be no less dear to human beings than their children-country, honour, rank, every political distinction. What additional wound to your feelings could be inflicted by this particular loss? Or where is the heart that should not by this time have lost all sensibility and learn to regard everything else as of minor importance? Is it on her account, pray, that you sorrow? How many times have you recurred to the thought — and I have often been struck with the same idea — that in times like these theirs is far from being the worst fate to whom it has been granted to exchange life for a painless death? Now what was there at such an epoch that could greatly tempt her to live? What scope, what hope, what heart's Solace? That she might spend her life with some young and distinguished husband? How impossible for a man of your rank to select from the present generation of young men a son-in-law, to whose honour you might think yourself safe in trusting your child! Was it that she might bear children to cheer her with the sight of their vigorous youth? who might by their own character maintain the position handed down to them by their parent, might be expected to stand for the offices in their order, might exercise their freedom in supporting their friends? What single one of these prospects has not been taken away before it was given? But, it will be said, after all it is an evil to lose one's children. Yes, it is: only it is a worse one to endure and submit to the present state of things. I wish to mention to you a circumstance which gave me no common consolation, on the chance of its also proving capable of diminishing your sorrow. On my voyage from Asia , as I was sailing from Aegina towards Megara , I began to survey the localities that were on every side of me. Behind me was Aegina , in front Megara , on my right Piraeus , on my left Corinth : towns which at one time were most flourishing, but now lay before my eyes in ruin and decay. I began to reflect to myself thus: “Hah! do we mannikins feel rebellious if one of us perishes or is killed — we whose life ought to be still shorter — when the corpses of so many towns lie in helpless ruin? Will you please, Servius , restrain yourself and recollect that you are born a mortal man?” Believe me, I was no little strengthened by that reflexion. Now take the trouble, if you agree with me, to put this thought before your eyes. Not long ago all those most illustrious men perished at one blow: the empire of the Roman people suffered that huge loss: all the provinces were shaken to their foundations. If you have become the poorer by the frail spirit of one poor girl, are you agitated thus violently? If she had not died now, she would yet have had to die a few years hence, for she was mortal born. You, too, withdraw soul and thought from such things, and rather remember those which become the part you have played in life: that she lived as long as life had anything to give her; that her life outlasted that of the Republic; that she lived to see you — her own father-praetor, consul, and augur; that she married young men of the highest rank; that she had enjoyed nearly, every possible blessing; that, when the Republic fell, she departed from life. What fault have you or she to find with fortune on this score? In fine, do not forget that you are Cicero , and a man accustomed to instruct and advise others; and do not imitate bad physicians, who in the diseases of others profess to understand the art of healing, but are unable to prescribe for themselves. Rather suggest to yourself and bring home to your own mind the very maxims which you are accustomed to impress upon others. There is no sorrow beyond the power of time at length to diminish and soften: it is a reflexion on you that you should wait for this period, and not rather anticipate that result by the aid of your wisdom. But if there is any consciousness still existing in the world below, such was her love for you and her dutiful affection for all her family, that she certainly does not wish you to act as you are acting. Grant this to her-your lost one! Grant it to your friends and comrades who mourn with you in your sorrow! Grant it to your country, that if the need arises she may have the use of your services and advice. Finally — since we are reduced by fortune to the necessity of taking precautions on this point also — do not allow anyone to think that you are not mourning so much for your daughter as for the state of public affairs and the victory of others. I am ashamed to say any more to you on this subject, lest I should appear to distrust your wisdom. Therefore I will only make one suggestion before bringing my letter to an end. We have seen you on many occasions bear good fortune with a noble dignity which greatly enhanced your fame: now is the time for you to convince us that you are able to bear bad fortune equally well, and that it does not appear to you to be a heavier burden than you ought to think it. I would not have this be the only one of all the virtues that you do not possess. As far as I am concerned, when I learn that your mind is more composed, I will write you an account of what is going on here, and of the condition of the province. Good-bye.
V. Scr. Athenis mense Aprili a.u.c. 709. SERVIUS CICERONI S.
Posteaquam mihi renuntiatum est de obitu Tulliae, filiae tuae, sane quam pro eo, ac debui, graviter molesteque tuli communemque eam calamitatem existimavi, qui, si istic affuissem, neque tibi defuissem coramque meum dolorem tibi declarassem. Etsi genus hoc consolationis miserum atque acerbum est, propterea quia, per quos ea confieri debet propinquos ac familiares, ii ipsi pari molestia afficiuntur neque sine lacrimis multis id conari possunt, uti magis ipsi videantur aliorum consolatione indigere quam aliis posse suum officium praestare, tamen, quae in praesentia in mentem mihi venerunt, decrevi brevi ad te perscribere, non quo ea te fugere existimem, sed quod forsitan dolore impeditus minus ea perspicias. Quid est, quod tanto opere te commoveat tuus dolor intestinus? Cogita, quemadmodum adhuc fortuna nobiscum egerit: ea nobis erepta esse, quae hominibus non minus quam liberi cara esse debent, patriam, honestatem, dignitatem, honores omnes. Hoc uno incommodo addito quid ad dolorem adiungi potuit? aut qui non in illis rebus exercitatus animus callere iam debet atque omnia minoris existimare? An illius vicem, credo, doles? Quoties in eam cogitationem necesse est et tu veneris et nos saepe incidimus, hisce temporibus non pessime cum iis esse actum, quibus sine dolore licitum est mortem cum vita commutare? Quid autem fuit, quod illam hoc tempore ad vivendum magno opere invitare posset? quae res? quae spes? quod animi solatium? Ut cum aliquo adolescente primario coniuncta aetatem gereret? licitum est tibi, credo, pro tua dignitate ex hac iuventute generum deligere, cuius fidei liberos tuos te tuto committere putares. An ut ea liberos ex sese pareret, quos cum florentes videret laetaretur? qui rem a parente traditam per se tenere possent, honores ordinatim petituri essent, in re publica, in amicorum negotiis libertate sua usuri? quid horum fuit, quod non, priusquam datum est, ademptum sit? "At vero malum est liberos amittere." Malum: nisi hoc peius est, haec sufferre et perpeti. Quae res mihi non mediocrem consolationem attulerit, volo tibi commemorare, si forte eadem res tibi dolorem minuere possit. Ex Asia rediens cum ab Aegina Megaram versus navigarem, coepi regiones circumcirca prospicere: post me erat Aegina, ante me Megara, dextra Piraeeus, sinistra Corinthus, quae oppida quodam tempore florentissima fuerunt, nine prostrata et diruta ante oculos iacent. Coepi egomet mecum sic cogitare: "hem! nos homunculi indignamur, si quis nostrum interiit aut occisus est, quorum vita brevior esse debet, cum uno loco tot oppidum cadavera proiecta iacent? Visne tu te, Servi, cohibere et meminisse hominem te esse natum?" Crede mihi, cogitatione ea non mediocriter sum confirmatus. Hoc idem, si tibi videtur, fac ante oculos tibi proponas: modo uno tempore tot viri clarissimi interierunt, de imperio populi Romani tanta deminutio facta est, omnes provinciae conquassatae sunt; in unius mulierculae animula si iactura facta est, tanto opere commoveris? quae si hoc tempore non diem suum obisset, paucis post annis tamen ei moriendum fuit, quoniam homo nata fuerat. Etiam tu ab hisce rebus animum ac cogitationem tuam avoca atque ea potius reminiscere, quae digna tua persona sunt: illam, quamdiu ei opus fuerit, vixisse, una cum re publica fuisse, te, patrem suum, praetorem, consulem, augurem vidisse, adolescentibus primariis nuptam fuisse, omnibus bonis prope perfunctam esse; cum res publica occideret, vita excessisse: quid est, quod tu aut illa cum fortuna hoc nomine queri possitis? Denique noli te oblivisci Ciceronem esse et eum, qui aliis consueris praecipere et dare consilium, neque imitari malos medicos, qui in alienis morbis profitentur tenere se medicinae scientiam, ipsi se curare non possunt, sed potius, quae aliis praecipere soles, ea tute tibi subiice atque apud animum propone. Nullus dolor est, quem non longinquitas temporis minuat ac molliat: hoc te exspectare tempus tibi turpe est ac non ei rei sapientia tua te occurrere. Quod si qui etiam inferis sensus est, qui illius in te amor fuit pietasque in omnes suos, hoc certe illa te facere non vult. Da hoc illi mortuae, da ceteris amicis ac familiaribus, qui tuo dolore maerent, da patriae, ut, si qua in re opus sit, opera et consilio tuo uti possit. Denique, quoniam in eam fortunam devenimus, ut etiam huic rei nobis serviendum sit, noli committere, ut quisquam te putet non tam filiam quam rei publicae tempora et aliorum victoriam lugere. Plura me ad te de hac re scribere pudet, ne videar prudentiae tuae diffidere; quare, si hoc unum proposuero, finem faciam scribendi: vidimus aliquoties secundam pulcherrime te ferre fortunam magnamque ex ea re te laudem apisci; fac aliquando intelligamus adversam quoque te aeque ferre posse neque id maius, quam debeat, tibi onus videri, ne ex omnibus virtutibus haec una tibi videatur deesse. Quod ad me attinet, cum te tranquilliorem animo esse cognoro, de iis rebus, quae hic geruntur, quemadmodumque se provincia habeat, certiorem faciam. Vale.
◆
When news reached me of the death of your daughter Tullia, I was deeply and painfully grieved, as I ought to be, and I regarded the loss as one I shared. If I had been at Rome, I would not have failed you; I would have stood beside you and shown you my sorrow face to face.
This kind of consolation is wretched and bitter, because the relatives and friends who should provide it are themselves touched by the same grief. They cannot try to console without many tears, so that they seem to need others' consolation more than they can perform their duty to anyone else. Still, I decided to write briefly to you the thoughts that came to me at once, not because I think you do not know them, but because grief may perhaps keep you from seeing them clearly.
Why should your private grief move you so violently? Consider how fortune has dealt with us until now. We have lost things that ought to be no less dear to human beings than children: country, honor, dignity, every public distinction. What additional wound could this particular loss inflict on your feelings? What mind should not by now be hardened and trained to count everything else as smaller?
Or do you grieve for her sake? How often have you returned to the thought, and I have often been struck by it too, that in times like these those who are allowed to exchange life for a painless death are far from the worst off. What was there in such an age that could greatly tempt her to live? What place, what hope, what comfort? Was she to spend life with some young and distinguished husband? How could a man of your rank choose from the present generation of young men a son-in-law to whose honor you could safely entrust your child? Was she to bear children to cheer her with their flourishing youth, children who might maintain by their character the rank handed down by their parent, stand for offices in their order, and use their freedom to support friends? Which of these prospects has not been taken away before it was given?
"But losing children is still an evil," someone will say. Yes, it is. But enduring the present state of things is a worse evil. I want to mention something that brought me no small consolation, in case it may also lessen your grief. As I was sailing from Asia, from Aegina toward Megara, I began looking at the places around me. Behind me was Aegina, before me Megara, on my right Piraeus, on my left Corinth, cities once flourishing, now lying before my eyes ruined and decayed. I began to think to myself: "Do we little human beings rebel if one of us dies or is killed, when the corpses of so many cities lie helpless in ruin, and our lives ought to be even shorter? Servius, restrain yourself and remember you were born mortal." Believe me, that reflection strengthened me considerably.
If you agree, put the same thought before your own eyes. Not long ago all those most illustrious men perished at one blow. The empire of the Roman people suffered that enormous loss; all the provinces were shaken. If you have been made poorer by the frail spirit of one poor girl, why be so violently shaken? If she had not died now, she would still have had to die a few years later, for she was born mortal.
Withdraw your mind and thought from such things, and instead remember what suits the role you have played in life: that she lived as long as life had anything to offer her; that her life outlasted the republic; that she lived to see you, her own father, as praetor, consul, and augur; that she married men of the highest rank; that she enjoyed almost every possible blessing; and that, when the republic fell, she departed life. What complaint can you or she make against fortune on this score?
Finally, remember that you are Cicero, a man accustomed to instruct and advise others. Do not imitate bad physicians, who profess skill in treating other people's illnesses but cannot prescribe for themselves. Instead, suggest to yourself and bring home to your own mind the very maxims you usually impress on others. There is no grief that time cannot at last diminish and soften. It would reflect badly on you to wait for that interval instead of anticipating its effect through wisdom.
If any consciousness remains among the dead, her love for you and her dutiful affection for all her family were such that she surely does not wish you to act as you are acting. Grant this to her, the one you have lost. Grant it to your friends and companions who grieve with you. Grant it to your country, so that if need arises she may have the use of your service and advice. Finally, since fortune has reduced us to considering even this, do not let anyone think that you are grieving less for your daughter than for the state of public affairs and the victory of others.
I am ashamed to say more, in case I seem to distrust your wisdom. So I will make only one suggestion before ending. We have often seen you bear good fortune with noble dignity, which greatly increased your fame. Now it is time to convince us that you can bear bad fortune equally well, and that it does not seem to you a heavier burden than you ought to judge it. I would not want this to be the only virtue you lack.
As for me, when I learn that your mind is calmer, I will write to you about what is happening here and about the condition of the province. Farewell.
AI-assisted translation - This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.
Latin / Greek Original
V. Scr. Athenis mense Aprili a.u.c. 709. SERVIUS CICERONI S.
Posteaquam mihi renuntiatum est de obitu Tulliae, filiae tuae, sane quam pro eo, ac debui, graviter molesteque tuli communemque eam calamitatem existimavi, qui, si istic affuissem, neque tibi defuissem coramque meum dolorem tibi declarassem. Etsi genus hoc consolationis miserum atque acerbum est, propterea quia, per quos ea confieri debet propinquos ac familiares, ii ipsi pari molestia afficiuntur neque sine lacrimis multis id conari possunt, uti magis ipsi videantur aliorum consolatione indigere quam aliis posse suum officium praestare, tamen, quae in praesentia in mentem mihi venerunt, decrevi brevi ad te perscribere, non quo ea te fugere existimem, sed quod forsitan dolore impeditus minus ea perspicias. Quid est, quod tanto opere te commoveat tuus dolor intestinus? Cogita, quemadmodum adhuc fortuna nobiscum egerit: ea nobis erepta esse, quae hominibus non minus quam liberi cara esse debent, patriam, honestatem, dignitatem, honores omnes. Hoc uno incommodo addito quid ad dolorem adiungi potuit? aut qui non in illis rebus exercitatus animus callere iam debet atque omnia minoris existimare? An illius vicem, credo, doles? Quoties in eam cogitationem necesse est et tu veneris et nos saepe incidimus, hisce temporibus non pessime cum iis esse actum, quibus sine dolore licitum est mortem cum vita commutare? Quid autem fuit, quod illam hoc tempore ad vivendum magno opere invitare posset? quae res? quae spes? quod animi solatium? Ut cum aliquo adolescente primario coniuncta aetatem gereret? licitum est tibi, credo, pro tua dignitate ex hac iuventute generum deligere, cuius fidei liberos tuos te tuto committere putares. An ut ea liberos ex sese pareret, quos cum florentes videret laetaretur? qui rem a parente traditam per se tenere possent, honores ordinatim petituri essent, in re publica, in amicorum negotiis libertate sua usuri? quid horum fuit, quod non, priusquam datum est, ademptum sit? "At vero malum est liberos amittere." Malum: nisi hoc peius est, haec sufferre et perpeti. Quae res mihi non mediocrem consolationem attulerit, volo tibi commemorare, si forte eadem res tibi dolorem minuere possit. Ex Asia rediens cum ab Aegina Megaram versus navigarem, coepi regiones circumcirca prospicere: post me erat Aegina, ante me Megara, dextra Piraeeus, sinistra Corinthus, quae oppida quodam tempore florentissima fuerunt, nine prostrata et diruta ante oculos iacent. Coepi egomet mecum sic cogitare: "hem! nos homunculi indignamur, si quis nostrum interiit aut occisus est, quorum vita brevior esse debet, cum uno loco tot oppidum cadavera proiecta iacent? Visne tu te, Servi, cohibere et meminisse hominem te esse natum?" Crede mihi, cogitatione ea non mediocriter sum confirmatus. Hoc idem, si tibi videtur, fac ante oculos tibi proponas: modo uno tempore tot viri clarissimi interierunt, de imperio populi Romani tanta deminutio facta est, omnes provinciae conquassatae sunt; in unius mulierculae animula si iactura facta est, tanto opere commoveris? quae si hoc tempore non diem suum obisset, paucis post annis tamen ei moriendum fuit, quoniam homo nata fuerat. Etiam tu ab hisce rebus animum ac cogitationem tuam avoca atque ea potius reminiscere, quae digna tua persona sunt: illam, quamdiu ei opus fuerit, vixisse, una cum re publica fuisse, te, patrem suum, praetorem, consulem, augurem vidisse, adolescentibus primariis nuptam fuisse, omnibus bonis prope perfunctam esse; cum res publica occideret, vita excessisse: quid est, quod tu aut illa cum fortuna hoc nomine queri possitis? Denique noli te oblivisci Ciceronem esse et eum, qui aliis consueris praecipere et dare consilium, neque imitari malos medicos, qui in alienis morbis profitentur tenere se medicinae scientiam, ipsi se curare non possunt, sed potius, quae aliis praecipere soles, ea tute tibi subiice atque apud animum propone. Nullus dolor est, quem non longinquitas temporis minuat ac molliat: hoc te exspectare tempus tibi turpe est ac non ei rei sapientia tua te occurrere. Quod si qui etiam inferis sensus est, qui illius in te amor fuit pietasque in omnes suos, hoc certe illa te facere non vult. Da hoc illi mortuae, da ceteris amicis ac familiaribus, qui tuo dolore maerent, da patriae, ut, si qua in re opus sit, opera et consilio tuo uti possit. Denique, quoniam in eam fortunam devenimus, ut etiam huic rei nobis serviendum sit, noli committere, ut quisquam te putet non tam filiam quam rei publicae tempora et aliorum victoriam lugere. Plura me ad te de hac re scribere pudet, ne videar prudentiae tuae diffidere; quare, si hoc unum proposuero, finem faciam scribendi: vidimus aliquoties secundam pulcherrime te ferre fortunam magnamque ex ea re te laudem apisci; fac aliquando intelligamus adversam quoque te aeque ferre posse neque id maius, quam debeat, tibi onus videri, ne ex omnibus virtutibus haec una tibi videatur deesse. Quod ad me attinet, cum te tranquilliorem animo esse cognoro, de iis rebus, quae hic geruntur, quemadmodumque se provincia habeat, certiorem faciam. Vale.