Marcus Tullius Cicero→Marcus Marius|c. 49 BC|Cicero|From Rome|To Rome|Human translated
Very often when I reflect on our common miseries, in which we have been entangled for so many years and, as I see, shall continue to be, there comes to my mind that time when we were most recently together. I even remember the very day; for on the fourth day before the Ides of May, in the consulship of Lentulus and Marcellus, when I had come to my Pompeian estate in the evening, you were there to meet me, anxious in spirit. What made you anxious was the thought both of my duty and of my danger: if I remained in Italy, you feared I would fail in my duty; if I set out for the war, my danger troubled you. At that time you certainly saw me too so disturbed that I could not determine what was best to do; yet I preferred to yield to my sense of honor and reputation rather than to consider my own safety. I came to repent of this decision not so much on account of my own danger as on account of the many faults I found where I had gone. First, the forces were neither large nor warlike; secondly, apart from the commander and a few others -- I speak of the leading men -- the rest were first rapacious in the war itself, then so cruel in their speech that I shuddered at the very thought of victory; and the debts of the most distinguished men were enormous. In short, there was nothing good except the cause. When I had seen these things, despairing of victory, I first began to urge peace, of which I had always been an advocate. Then, when Pompey was strongly averse to that opinion, I began to urge that he should prolong the war. He sometimes approved of this and seemed likely to hold to that view, and perhaps would have, had he not begun to trust his soldiers after a certain battle. From that time on that great man was no general at all: he joined battle with a raw and hastily assembled army against the strongest legions, was most disgracefully defeated, lost even his camp, and fled alone. This I made the end of my war, nor did I think that, since we had not been equal when at full strength, we would be superior when broken. I withdrew from a war in which one had either to fall in battle, or stumble into some ambush, or come into the hands of the victor, or flee to Juba, or choose a place like exile, or take one's own life. Certainly there was nothing else, if you were unwilling or did not dare to entrust yourself to the victor. Of all the disadvantages I have mentioned, none is more tolerable than exile, especially for an innocent man, where no disgrace is attached -- I add further, when you are deprived of a city in which there is nothing you can see without pain. I preferred to be with my own people, if anything now belongs to anyone, and indeed in my own home. Everything that has happened, I said would happen. I came home, not because it was the best condition for living, but nevertheless, if there were some form of republic, to be as if in my country; if there were none, as if in exile. I saw no reason to take my own life, but many reasons to wish for death. For there is an old saying: when you are no longer who you were, there is no reason to wish to live. But still, to be free from blame is a great solace, especially since I have two things to sustain me: knowledge of the finest arts and the glory of the greatest deeds. The former will never be taken from me while I live, the latter not even when I am dead. I have written this to you at greater length and have troubled you, because I have known you to be most devoted both to me and to the republic. I wished my whole plan to be known to you: first, that you should know I never wished anyone to have more power than the republic as a whole; but then, after by someone's fault one man had become so powerful that he could not be resisted, I wished for peace. After the army was lost and that one leader in whom hope had rested, I wished it even for all the rest; and since I could not achieve this, I put an end to the war for myself. Now, if this is a state, I am a citizen; if not, I am an exile in no less convenient a place than if I had betaken myself to Rhodes or Mytilene. I would have preferred to say these things to you in person; but since that was becoming too long delayed, I wished to send them by letter so that you would have something to say if you ever fell in with my critics. For there are some who, though my death would have been of no benefit to the republic, think it a crime that I live. I am quite sure they do not think enough people have perished -- people who, if they had listened to me, would be living honorably even under an unjust peace; for they would have been inferior in arms, not in their cause. You have a letter longer, perhaps, than you wished; if I think it seems so to you, I shall think so only if you send me back an even longer one. If I manage to settle what I want, I shall, I hope, see you shortly.
CDLXII (Fam. VII, 3) TO M. MARIUS (AT POMPEII) ROME (LATE IN MAY) Very often, as I reflect upon the miseries in which we have all alike been living these many years past, and, as far as I can see, are likely to be living, I am wont to recall that time when we last met: nay, I remember the exact day. Having arrived at my Pompeian villa on the evening of the 12th of May, in the consulship of Lentulus and Marcellus [49 BCE], you came to see me in a state of anxiety. What was making you uneasy was your reflexion both on my duty and my danger. If I remained in Italy , you feared my being wanting to my duty: if I set out to the camp, you were agitated by the thought of my danger. At that time you certainly found me so unnerved as to be unable to unravel the tangle and see what was best to be done. Nevertheless, I preferred to be ruled by honour and reputation, rather than to consider the safety of my life. Of this decision I afterwards repented, not so much on account of the danger I incurred, as because of the many fatal weaknesses which I found on arrival at my destination. In the first place, troops neither numerous nor on a proper war footing; in the second place, beyond the general and a few others — I am speaking of the men of rank — the rest, to begin with, greedy for plunder in conducting the war itself, and moreover so bloodthirsty in their talk, that I shuddered at the idea of victory itself: and, lastly, immense indebtedness on the part of the men of the highest position. In short, there was nothing good except the cause. Despairing of victory when I saw these things, I first began advising a peace, which had always been my policy; next, finding Pompey vehemently opposed to that idea, I proceeded to advise him to protract the war. Of this he at times expressed approval, and seemed likely to adopt the suggestion; and he perhaps would have done so, had it not been that as a result of a certain engagement he began to feel confidence in his soldiers. From that day forth that eminent man ceased to be anything of a general. He accepted battle against the most highly seasoned legions with an army of raw recruits and hastily collected men. Having been shamefully beaten, with the loss also of his camp, he fled alone. This I regarded as the end of the war, as far as I was concerned, nor did I imagine that, having been found unequal to the struggle while still unbeaten, we should have the upper hand after a crushing defeat. I abandoned a war in which the alternatives were to fall on the field of battle, or to fall into some ambush, or to come into the conqueror's hands, or to take refuge with Iuba, or to select some place of residence as practically an exile, or to die by one's own hand. At least there was no other alternative, if you had neither the will nor the courage to trust yourself to the victor. Now, of all these alternatives I have mentioned, none is more en-durable than exile, especially to a man with clean hands, when no dishonour attaches to it: and I may also add, when you lose a city, in which there is nothing that you can look at without pain. For my part, I preferred to remain with my own family — if a man may nowadays call anything his own — and also on my own property. What actually happened I foretold in every particular. I came home, not because that offered the best condition of life, but that after all, if some form of a constitution remained, I might be there as though in my own country, and if not, as though in exile. For inflicting death on myself there seemed no adequate reason: many reasons why I should wish for it. For it is an old saying, “When you cease to be what once you were, there is no reason why you should wish to live.” But after all it is a great consolation to be free of blame, especially as I have two things upon which to rely for support-acquaintance with the noblest kind of learning and the glory of the most brilliant achievements: of which the former will never be torn from me while I live, the latter not even after my death. I have written these things to you somewhat fully, and have bored you with them, because I knew you to be most devoted both to myself and to the Republic. I wished you to be acquainted with my entire views, that in the first place you might know that it was never a wish of mine that any one individual should have more power than the Republic as a whole; but that, when by some one's fault a particular person did become so powerful as to make resistance to him impossible, I was for peace: that when the army was lost, as well as the leader in whom alone our hopes had been fixed, I wished to put an end to the war for the rest of the party also: and, when that proved impossible, that I did so for myself. But that now, if our state exists, I am a citizen of it; if it does not, that I am an exile in a place quite as suited for the position, as if I had betaken myself to Rhodes or Mytilene . I should have preferred to discuss this with you personally, but as the possibility of that was somewhat remote, I determined to make the same statement by letter, that you might have something to say, if you ever fell in with any of my critics. For there are men who, though my death would have been utterly useless to the state, regard it as a crime that I am still alive, and who I am certain think that those who perished were not numerous enough. Though, if these persons had listened to me, they would now, however unfair the terms of peace, have been living in honour; for while inferior in arms they would have been superior in the merits of their cause. Here's a letter somewhat more wordy than perhaps you would have wished; and that I shall hold to be your opinion, unless you send me a still longer one in reply. If I can get through with some business which I wish to settle, I shall, I hope, see you before long.
III. Scr. Romae mense Quinctili a.u.c. 708. M. CICERO S. D. M. MARIO
Persaepe mihi cogitanti de communibus miseriis, in quibus tot annos versamur et, ut video, versabimur, solet in mentem venire illius temporis, quo proxime fuimus una; quin etiam ipsum diem memoria teneo: nam a. d. IIII. Idus Maias Lentulo et Marcello consulibus, cum in Pompeianum vesperi venissem, tu mihi sollicito animo praesto fuisti; sollicitum autem te habebat cogitatio cum officii, tum etiam periculi mei: si manerem in Italia, verebare, ne officio deessem; si proficiscerer ad bellum, periculum te meum commovebat. Quo tempore vidisti profecto me quoque ita conturbatum, ut non explicarem, quid esset optimum factu; pudori tamen malui famaeque cedere quam salutis meae rationem ducere. Cuius me mei facti poenituit non tam propter periculum meum quam propter vitia multa, quae ibi offendi, quo veneram: primum neque magnas copias neque bellicosas; deinde extra ducem paucosque praeterea—de principibus loquor—reliquos primum in ipso bello rapaces, deinde in oratione ita crudeles, ut ipsam victoriam horrerem; maximum autem aes alienum amplissimorum virorum: quid quaeris? nihil boni praeter causam. Quae cum vidissem, desperans victoriam primum coepi suadere pacem, cuius fueram semper auctor; deinde, cum ab ea sententia Pompeius valde abhorreret, suadere institui, ut bellum duceret: hoc interdum probabat et in ea sententia videbatur fore et fuisset fortasse, nisi quadam ex pugna coepisset suis militibus confidere. Ex eo tempore vir ille summus nullus imperator fuit: signa tirone et collecticio exercitu cum legionibus robustissimis contulit; victus turpissime amissis etiam castris solus fugit. Hunc ego mihi belli finem feci nec putavi, cum integri pares non fuissemus, fractos nos superiores fore: discessi ab eo bello, in quo aut in acie cadendum fuit aut in aliquas insidias incidendum aut deveniendum in victoris manus aut ad Iubam confugiendum aut capiendus tamquam exsilio locus aut consciscenda mors voluntaria; certe nihil fuit praeterea, si te victori nolles aut non auderes committere. Ex omnibus autem iis, quae dixi, incommodis nihil tolerabilius exsilio, praesertim innocenti, ubi nulla adiuncta est turpitudo, addo etiam, cum ea urbe careas, in qua nihil sit, quod videre possis sine dolore: ego cum meis, si quidquam nunc cuiusquam est, etiam in meis esse malui. Quae acciderunt, omnia dixi futura; veni domum, non quo optima vivendi condicio esset, sed tamen, si esset aliqua forma rei publicae, tamquam in patria ut essem, si nulla, tamquam in exsilio. Mortem mihi cur consciscerem, causa non visa est, cur optarem, multae causae; vetus est enim: ubi non sis, qui fueris, non esse, cur velis vivere. Sed tamen vacare culpa magnum est solatium, praesertim cum habeam duas res, quibus me sustentem, optimarum artium scientiam et maximarum rerum gloriam, quarum altera mihi vivo numquam eripietur, altera ne mortuo quidem. Haec ad te scripsi verbosius et tibi molestus fui, quod te cum mei, tum rei publicae cognovi amantissimum. Notum tibi omne meum consilium esse volui, ut primum scires me numquam voluisse plus quemquam posse quam universam rem publicam, postea autem quam alicuius culpa tantum valeret unus, ut obsisti non posset, me voluisse pacem; amisso exercitu et eo duce, in quo spes fuerat uno, me voluisse etiam reliquis omnibus, postquam non potuerim, mihi ipsi finem fecisse belli; nunc autem, si haec civitas est, civem esse me, si non, exsulem esse non incommodiore loco, quam si Rhodum me aut Mytilenas contulissem. Haec tecum coram malueram; sed, quia longius fiebat, volui per litteras eadem, ut haberes, quid diceres, si quando in vituperatores meos incidisses; sunt enim, qui, cum meus interitus nihil fuerit rei publicae profuturus, criminis loco putent esse, quod vivam, quibus ego certo scio non videri satis multos perisse: qui, si me audissent, quamvis iniqua pace, honeste tamen viverent; armis enim inferiores, non causa fuissent. Habes epistulam verbosiorem fortasse, quam velles; quod tibi ita videri putabo, nisi mihi longiorem remiseris. Ego, si, quae volo, expediero, brevi tempore te, ut spero, videbo.
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Very often when I reflect on our common miseries, in which we have been entangled for so many years and, as I see, shall continue to be, there comes to my mind that time when we were most recently together. I even remember the very day; for on the fourth day before the Ides of May, in the consulship of Lentulus and Marcellus, when I had come to my Pompeian estate in the evening, you were there to meet me, anxious in spirit. What made you anxious was the thought both of my duty and of my danger: if I remained in Italy, you feared I would fail in my duty; if I set out for the war, my danger troubled you. At that time you certainly saw me too so disturbed that I could not determine what was best to do; yet I preferred to yield to my sense of honor and reputation rather than to consider my own safety. I came to repent of this decision not so much on account of my own danger as on account of the many faults I found where I had gone. First, the forces were neither large nor warlike; secondly, apart from the commander and a few others -- I speak of the leading men -- the rest were first rapacious in the war itself, then so cruel in their speech that I shuddered at the very thought of victory; and the debts of the most distinguished men were enormous. In short, there was nothing good except the cause. When I had seen these things, despairing of victory, I first began to urge peace, of which I had always been an advocate. Then, when Pompey was strongly averse to that opinion, I began to urge that he should prolong the war. He sometimes approved of this and seemed likely to hold to that view, and perhaps would have, had he not begun to trust his soldiers after a certain battle. From that time on that great man was no general at all: he joined battle with a raw and hastily assembled army against the strongest legions, was most disgracefully defeated, lost even his camp, and fled alone. This I made the end of my war, nor did I think that, since we had not been equal when at full strength, we would be superior when broken. I withdrew from a war in which one had either to fall in battle, or stumble into some ambush, or come into the hands of the victor, or flee to Juba, or choose a place like exile, or take one's own life. Certainly there was nothing else, if you were unwilling or did not dare to entrust yourself to the victor. Of all the disadvantages I have mentioned, none is more tolerable than exile, especially for an innocent man, where no disgrace is attached -- I add further, when you are deprived of a city in which there is nothing you can see without pain. I preferred to be with my own people, if anything now belongs to anyone, and indeed in my own home. Everything that has happened, I said would happen. I came home, not because it was the best condition for living, but nevertheless, if there were some form of republic, to be as if in my country; if there were none, as if in exile. I saw no reason to take my own life, but many reasons to wish for death. For there is an old saying: when you are no longer who you were, there is no reason to wish to live. But still, to be free from blame is a great solace, especially since I have two things to sustain me: knowledge of the finest arts and the glory of the greatest deeds. The former will never be taken from me while I live, the latter not even when I am dead. I have written this to you at greater length and have troubled you, because I have known you to be most devoted both to me and to the republic. I wished my whole plan to be known to you: first, that you should know I never wished anyone to have more power than the republic as a whole; but then, after by someone's fault one man had become so powerful that he could not be resisted, I wished for peace. After the army was lost and that one leader in whom hope had rested, I wished it even for all the rest; and since I could not achieve this, I put an end to the war for myself. Now, if this is a state, I am a citizen; if not, I am an exile in no less convenient a place than if I had betaken myself to Rhodes or Mytilene. I would have preferred to say these things to you in person; but since that was becoming too long delayed, I wished to send them by letter so that you would have something to say if you ever fell in with my critics. For there are some who, though my death would have been of no benefit to the republic, think it a crime that I live. I am quite sure they do not think enough people have perished -- people who, if they had listened to me, would be living honorably even under an unjust peace; for they would have been inferior in arms, not in their cause. You have a letter longer, perhaps, than you wished; if I think it seems so to you, I shall think so only if you send me back an even longer one. If I manage to settle what I want, I shall, I hope, see you shortly.
Human translation - ToposText / Shuckburgh
Latin / Greek Original
III. Scr. Romae mense Quinctili a.u.c. 708. M. CICERO S. D. M. MARIO
Persaepe mihi cogitanti de communibus miseriis, in quibus tot annos versamur et, ut video, versabimur, solet in mentem venire illius temporis, quo proxime fuimus una; quin etiam ipsum diem memoria teneo: nam a. d. IIII. Idus Maias Lentulo et Marcello consulibus, cum in Pompeianum vesperi venissem, tu mihi sollicito animo praesto fuisti; sollicitum autem te habebat cogitatio cum officii, tum etiam periculi mei: si manerem in Italia, verebare, ne officio deessem; si proficiscerer ad bellum, periculum te meum commovebat. Quo tempore vidisti profecto me quoque ita conturbatum, ut non explicarem, quid esset optimum factu; pudori tamen malui famaeque cedere quam salutis meae rationem ducere. Cuius me mei facti poenituit non tam propter periculum meum quam propter vitia multa, quae ibi offendi, quo veneram: primum neque magnas copias neque bellicosas; deinde extra ducem paucosque praeterea—de principibus loquor—reliquos primum in ipso bello rapaces, deinde in oratione ita crudeles, ut ipsam victoriam horrerem; maximum autem aes alienum amplissimorum virorum: quid quaeris? nihil boni praeter causam. Quae cum vidissem, desperans victoriam primum coepi suadere pacem, cuius fueram semper auctor; deinde, cum ab ea sententia Pompeius valde abhorreret, suadere institui, ut bellum duceret: hoc interdum probabat et in ea sententia videbatur fore et fuisset fortasse, nisi quadam ex pugna coepisset suis militibus confidere. Ex eo tempore vir ille summus nullus imperator fuit: signa tirone et collecticio exercitu cum legionibus robustissimis contulit; victus turpissime amissis etiam castris solus fugit. Hunc ego mihi belli finem feci nec putavi, cum integri pares non fuissemus, fractos nos superiores fore: discessi ab eo bello, in quo aut in acie cadendum fuit aut in aliquas insidias incidendum aut deveniendum in victoris manus aut ad Iubam confugiendum aut capiendus tamquam exsilio locus aut consciscenda mors voluntaria; certe nihil fuit praeterea, si te victori nolles aut non auderes committere. Ex omnibus autem iis, quae dixi, incommodis nihil tolerabilius exsilio, praesertim innocenti, ubi nulla adiuncta est turpitudo, addo etiam, cum ea urbe careas, in qua nihil sit, quod videre possis sine dolore: ego cum meis, si quidquam nunc cuiusquam est, etiam in meis esse malui. Quae acciderunt, omnia dixi futura; veni domum, non quo optima vivendi condicio esset, sed tamen, si esset aliqua forma rei publicae, tamquam in patria ut essem, si nulla, tamquam in exsilio. Mortem mihi cur consciscerem, causa non visa est, cur optarem, multae causae; vetus est enim: ubi non sis, qui fueris, non esse, cur velis vivere. Sed tamen vacare culpa magnum est solatium, praesertim cum habeam duas res, quibus me sustentem, optimarum artium scientiam et maximarum rerum gloriam, quarum altera mihi vivo numquam eripietur, altera ne mortuo quidem. Haec ad te scripsi verbosius et tibi molestus fui, quod te cum mei, tum rei publicae cognovi amantissimum. Notum tibi omne meum consilium esse volui, ut primum scires me numquam voluisse plus quemquam posse quam universam rem publicam, postea autem quam alicuius culpa tantum valeret unus, ut obsisti non posset, me voluisse pacem; amisso exercitu et eo duce, in quo spes fuerat uno, me voluisse etiam reliquis omnibus, postquam non potuerim, mihi ipsi finem fecisse belli; nunc autem, si haec civitas est, civem esse me, si non, exsulem esse non incommodiore loco, quam si Rhodum me aut Mytilenas contulissem. Haec tecum coram malueram; sed, quia longius fiebat, volui per litteras eadem, ut haberes, quid diceres, si quando in vituperatores meos incidisses; sunt enim, qui, cum meus interitus nihil fuerit rei publicae profuturus, criminis loco putent esse, quod vivam, quibus ego certo scio non videri satis multos perisse: qui, si me audissent, quamvis iniqua pace, honeste tamen viverent; armis enim inferiores, non causa fuissent. Habes epistulam verbosiorem fortasse, quam velles; quod tibi ita videri putabo, nisi mihi longiorem remiseris. Ego, si, quae volo, expediero, brevi tempore te, ut spero, videbo.