Letter 181

I had just read your letter of March 20 when a letter from Lepta was brought to me, saying that Pompey had been surrounded and that rafts were even holding the exits from the harbor. By heaven, tears keep me from thinking or writing the rest. I have sent you a copy. Miserable men that we are. Why did we not all follow his fate together? And now the same news comes from Matius and Trebatius, who met Caesar's couriers at Minturnae. I am tortured, unhappy man that I am, so that I now long for that death of Mucius. Yet how honorable, how ready, how thoroughly thought out were your plans, whether for the road, the voyage, or the meeting and conversation with Caesar. Everything was both honorable and cautious. And your invitation to Epirus, how kind, generous, and brotherly it was. As for Dionysius, I am astonished. I treated him with more honor than Scipio treated Panaetius, and he has most shamefully looked down on my present fortune. I hate the man and will hate him. If only I could punish him. But his own character will punish him. Please think now, more than ever, what we should do. An army of the Roman people is besieging Gnaeus Pompey. It holds him enclosed by trench and rampart and prevents his escape. We are alive; Rome still stands; the praetors administer justice; the aediles prepare games; good men enter interest in their ledgers; and I myself sit still. Should I try to go there like a madman and appeal to the loyalty of the towns? The good men will not follow; the frivolous will laugh; the men who want revolution, especially since they are armed and victorious, will lay violent hands on me. What do you think, then? Is there any advice of yours for the end of this most miserable life? Now I grieve, now I am tormented, when someone thinks me wise because I did not go with him, or even lucky. To me it is the opposite. I never wanted to share his victory; I would rather have shared his disaster. Why should I now appeal for your letters, your wisdom, or your goodwill? It is over. Nothing can help me now, since I no longer even have anything to wish for except to be released somehow by the mercy of the enemy.

I had just read your letter on the 20th, when an epistle was brought to me from Lepta announcing that Pompey was blockaded and that even escape from the harbour was cut off by a fleet. Upon my honour tears prevent me from thinking or writing anything else. I send you a copy of the letter. Wretches that we are, why did we not all follow his fortunes together? See now, here are Matius and Trebatius with the same tidings. Caesar's letter-carriers met them at Menturnae. I am tortured with sorrow, so that now I would choose the end of Mucius. But how honourable, how simple, how clearly thought out was your advice as to my land-route and my sea-route and my meeting and talk with Caesar! It was equally honourable and prudent. Your invitation, too, to Epirus, how kind and generous and brotherly it is! As for Dionysius, I am surprised. I held him in greater honour than Scipio held Panaetius, yet he has most foully mocked at my bad fortunes. I hate the fellow and I always shall. I wish I could pay him out. But his own character will do that. I beseech you now give the greatest consideration to my proper course. An army of the Roman people invests Gnaeus Pompey. It holds him hedged by trench and mound and keeps him from flight. Yet we live and Rome is standing, the praetors preside in court, the aediles make preparations for the games, the conservatives are booking their profits, and I sit still! Am I to try to cross the sea like a madman, to beg the country towns to be loyal? The loyalists will not follow me, the irresponsible will deride me, the revolutionaries, especially now they are armed and victorious, will lay hands of violence upon me. What do you think then? Have you any plan to end this life of misery? Now I feel grief, now I am in agony, when somebody thinks me wise because I did not go with Pompey, or lucky perhaps. I think the opposite. For never did I wish to share a victory of his; I should have wished rather to share his defeat. Why should I entreat a letter from you now, your kindness, your good sense? It is all over. Nothing can help me more, for I have no desire except that somehow my enemies may take pity on me and free me from my misery.

[1] legeram tuas litteras xiii K., cum mihi epistula adfertur a Lepta circumvallatum esse Pompeium, ratibus etiam exitus portus teneri. non medius fidius prae lacrimis possum reliqua nec cogitare nec scribere. misi ad te exemplum. miseros nos! cur non omnes fatum illius una exsecuti sumus? ecce autem a Matio et Trebatio eadem, quibus Menturnis obvii Caesaris tabellarii. torqueor infelix, ut iam illum Mucianum exitum exoptem. at quam honesta, at quam expedita tua consilia, quam evigilata tuis cogitationibus, qua itineris, qua navigationis, qua congressus sermonisque cum Caesare! omnia cum honesta tum cauta. in Epirum vero invitatio quam suavis, quam liberalis, quam fraterna! [2] de Dionysio sum admiratus qui apud me honoratior fuit quam apud Scipionem Panaetius; a quo impurissime haec nostra fortuna despecta est. odi hominem et odero; utinam ulcisci possem! sed illum ulciscentur mores sui. [3] tu, quaeso, nunc vel maxime quid agendum nobis sit cogita. populi Romani exercitus Cn. Pompeium circumsedet, fossa et vallo saeptum tenet, fuga prohibet; nos vivimus, et stat urbs ista, praetores ius dicunt, aediles ludos parant, viri boni usuras perscribunt, ego ipse sedeo! coner illuc ire ut insanus, implorare fidem municipiorum? boni non sequentur, leves inridebunt, rerum novarum cupidi, victores praesertim et armati , vim et manus adferent. [4] quid censes igitur? ecquidnam est tui consili + ad+ finis huius miserrimae vitae? nunc doleo, nunc torqueor, cum quoidam aut sapiens videor quod una non ierim aut felix fuisse. mihi contra. numquam enim illius victoriae socius esse volui, calamitatis mallem fuisse. quid ego nunc tuas litteras, quid tuam prudentiam aut benevolentiam implorem? actum est; nulla re iam possum iuvari qui ne quod optem quidem iam habeo nisi ut aliqua inimici misericordia liberemur.