Marcus Tullius Cicero→Appius Claudius Pulcher|c. 51 BC|Cicero|From Rome|To Cilicia|AI-assisted
Written at Laodicea in the month of May (between the Kalends and the Nones), 704 from the founding of the city. Marcus Cicero to Appius Pulcher, greetings.
When the news was brought to us of the recklessness of those men who were making trouble for you, although at the first report I was gravely disturbed—since nothing could have happened so contrary to my expectation—nevertheless, once I had collected myself, everything else began to seem very easy to me, because I held both the greatest hope in you yourself and great hope in your supporters, and many considerations came into my mind on account of which I judged that this hardship would even prove an honor to you. This one thing, plainly, I took hard: that I saw a most certain and most just triumph snatched from you by this scheme of the envious. But if you set the value upon this that I have always judged ought to be set, you will act wisely, and as victor you will celebrate, out of your enemies' chagrin, a most just triumph; for I plainly see that, through your sinews, your resources, and your wisdom, your enemies will be made vehemently to repent of their lack of self-restraint. Concerning myself, calling all the gods to witness, I promise and affirm to you that, on behalf of your standing—for I prefer to put it so, rather than "on behalf of your safety"—in this province over which you presided, I shall take up the duties and the role of an advocate by my entreaties, of a kinsman by my exertions, of a man dear to you (as I hope) by my influence among the communities, and of a commander by the weight of my authority. I want you both to demand and to expect everything from me: by my services I shall outdo your imaginings.
Quintus Servilius delivered to me a very brief letter from you, which nevertheless seemed to me too long, for I thought a wrong was being done to me when I was being asked. I would have preferred that no occasion had arisen in which you could discern how much I value you, how much I value Pompey—whom alone of all men I esteem most highly, as I ought—and how much I value Brutus; though you have discerned this in our daily intercourse, just as you will continue to discern it. But, since the occasion has arisen, if anything is omitted by me, I shall confess to a crime committed and a disgrace incurred. Pomptinus, who was treated by you with outstanding and singular good faith—of which kindness of yours I am a witness—maintains toward you the grateful memory and goodwill that he owes: although he had departed from me most unwillingly, compelled by his own most pressing affairs, nevertheless, as soon as he saw it was in your interest, while already boarding ship at Ephesus he turned back to Laodicea. Since I see that you are going to have countless such loyal devotions, I can plainly have no doubt that this eminence of yours will be a cause of anxiety to you; but if you in fact bring it about that you are elected censor, and if you conduct the censorship as you both ought and are able, I see that you will be, not for yourself alone but for all your people, a supreme protection in perpetuity. Fight for this and strive hard, that no extension of time be imposed upon us, so that, once we have satisfied your interests here, we may also be able to apply our goodwill toward you over there.
What you write to me about the devotion of all men and of all the orders toward you fell upon me as not at all surprising and as most welcome, and the same things have been written to me in full by my intimates. And so I take great pleasure both in the fact that to you—whose friendship is for me not only abundant but also delightful—there is rendered what is owed, and indeed in the fact that there still remains even now in our state, by the consensus of almost all, a devotion toward brave and industrious men—the one reward that has always been rendered to me myself for my labors and my sleepless nights. But this struck me as quite extraordinary: that there was such recklessness in that young man, whose safety I defended with the utmost effort in two capital trials, that, by taking up enmity against you, he forgot the patron of all his fortunes and his interests—especially when you overflowed with every distinction and every safeguard, while to him, to put it most lightly, many things were lacking. His foolish and childish talk had already been reported to me earlier in full by Marcus Caelius, our intimate; about this same talk much, too, has been written by you. I, for my part, would sooner have severed an old connection with anyone who had taken up your enmities than have formed a new one; for you ought not to doubt my devotion toward you, nor has it been obscure to anyone in the province, nor was it at Rome.
But nevertheless a certain suspicion and doubt of yours is indicated in your letter—about which this is no fit time for me to remonstrate with you, though it is necessary for me to clear myself. For where did I ever stand in the way of any delegation, to prevent it from being sent to Rome to your praise? Or in what matter, if I hated you openly, could I have done less of what would harm you, or, if I hated you secretly, been an enemy more in the open? But if I were of that treacherousness that they are who fasten these charges upon us, even so I certainly would not have been of such stupidity as either to display open enmities under cover of hidden hatred, or, in a matter where I could do you no harm, to display the utmost will to do harm. I remember that certain people came to me—from Epicteta's set, no doubt—who said that too-great expenses were being decreed for the legates; to these men I did not so much give an order as express my opinion that the legates' expenses should be decreed as closely as possible to the Cornelian law [the lex Cornelia regulating provincial expenditures], and that I did not even persist in this very point the accounts of the communities bear witness, in which each entered as much as it wished as having been given to your legates. But with what lies the most worthless men have loaded you! Not only that the expenses had been abolished, but even that they had been demanded back and taken away from the agents of those who had already set out, and that this had for many been the very reason for not going at all. I would complain to you and remonstrate, were it not that, as I wrote above, I prefer to clear myself before you at this juncture of yours rather than to accuse you, and I judge this to be the more proper course.
And so I will say nothing about you, as to your having believed it; about myself, as to why you ought not to have believed it, I will say a few things. For if you have come to know me as a good man, as worthy of those studies and that learning to which I have devoted myself from boyhood, as of spirit great enough and of judgment not the least in the greatest affairs, you ought to recognize in me nothing—not only nothing treacherous and insidious and deceitful in friendship, but not even anything low or meager. But if it pleases you to portray me as cunning and secretive, what is there that could less befall such a nature than either to spurn the goodwill of a most flourishing man, or to assail the reputation, in his province, of one whose renown you had defended at home, or to display a hostile mind in a matter in which you stand in no one's way, or to choose for one's treachery precisely that which is most utterly open for revealing hatred and most trivial for doing harm? And what reason was there why I should be so implacable toward you, when from my brother I had learned that you had not been hostile to me even at that time when it was almost a necessity for you to play that part? But when each of us had sought our return to good relations, what did you attempt with me in vain during your consulship, of what you might have wished me either to do or to think? What did you entrust to me, when I escorted you to Puteoli, in which my diligence did not surpass your expectation?
But if it is most especially the mark of the cunning man to refer everything to his own advantage, what in the end could have been more useful to me, what better suited to my interests, than connection with a most noble and most honored man, whose resources, talent, children, in-laws, and kinsmen could be to me a great ornament or a great safeguard? Yet all these things, in seeking out your friendship, I pursued not by any cunning, but rather by a kind of wisdom. And what of those bonds by which, indeed, I am most gladly bound—how great they are! The likeness of our studies, the sweetness of our intercourse, the delight of our life and our table, the fellowship of our conversation, the deeper sharing of letters. And these are the domestic bonds: what, then, of the public ones? Our illustrious return to good relations, in which one cannot err even through carelessness without the suspicion of treachery; our membership in the most exalted priestly college, in which, among our ancestors, it was not only impermissible to violate a friendship, but it was not even lawful to co-opt as priest anyone who was an enemy of any member of the college. To say nothing of these matters, so many and so great—who ever valued, or could or ought to have valued, anyone as highly as I value Gnaeus Pompey, the father-in-law of your daughter? For indeed, if services have weight, I consider that my country, my children, my safety, my standing, my very self were restored to me through him; if the pleasantness of intercourse, what friendship of consulars in our state was ever more closely joined? If those tokens of love and duty, what did he not confide to me? What did he not share with me? What business concerning himself, when he himself was absent, did he prefer to have transacted in the senate through anyone else? With what distinctions did he not wish me to be most amply adorned? With what indulgence, finally, with what humanity did he bear my contention on behalf of Milo, which sometimes ran counter to his own proceedings? With what zeal did he take care that no ill will of that time should touch me, when he shielded me with his counsel, with his authority, and finally with his own arms? In those times, indeed, there was in him such gravity, such loftiness of spirit, that he would lend credence to malicious talk about me not only from no Phrygian or Lycaonian—such as you did in the case of your legates—but not even from the most eminent of men. Since, then, the son of this man is your son-in-law, and since, beyond this connection of marriage-alliance, I understand how dear and how agreeable you are to Gnaeus Pompey, with what disposition, in the end, ought I to be toward you? Especially since he has sent me such a letter that, even if I were an enemy to you—to whom I am most warmly attached—I should still be appeased, and should turn my whole self to the will and nod of that man who has so deserved well of me.
But enough of this; for it has perhaps been written at even greater length than was necessary. Now learn what has been set in motion by me and what has been put in train. [...] And these things we are doing, and shall go on doing, more for the sake of your standing than because of your danger; for soon, as I hope, we shall hear that you are censor, and the duties of that magistracy—which call for the greatest spirit and the highest judgment—I think you ought to ponder more carefully and more attentively than these matters which we are handling on your behalf.
When news was brought to us about the recklessness of those who were making trouble for you, although I was deeply disturbed at the first report—since nothing could have happened so contrary to my expectation—nevertheless, once I collected myself, everything else seemed very easy, because I had the greatest confidence in you yourself and great confidence in your supporters, and many reasons came to mind why I thought this labor would even redound to your honor. What I found truly distressing was that I saw this plan of your enemies was robbing you of a most certain and most deserved triumph. If you value this as highly as I have always judged it should be valued, you will act wisely and will celebrate from your enemies' pain a most just triumph. For I clearly see that, through your strength, resources, and wisdom, your enemies will bitterly regret their own intemperance.
Concerning myself, I promise and assure you, calling all the gods to witness, that on behalf of your dignity—for I prefer to say that rather than "your safety"—in this province over which you presided, I shall undertake the duties and role of an advocate in making requests, of a kinsman in exerting effort, of a dear friend (as I hope) in exercising influence among the communities, and of a commander in exercising authority. I want you both to ask and to expect everything from me: I shall surpass your expectations by my services.
Quintus Servilius delivered to me a very brief letter from you, which nevertheless seemed too long to me, for I considered it an affront to be asked. I wish the occasion had not arisen in which you could perceive how highly I valued you, how highly I valued Pompey—whom alone of all men I esteem, as I ought, most highly—and how highly I valued Brutus. Although you have observed this in our daily association, as you will continue to observe, still, since the occasion has arisen, if anything is neglected by me, I shall confess a crime committed and a disgrace incurred.
Pomptinus, who was treated by you with outstanding and singular loyalty—of which benefit of yours I am a witness—maintains toward you the grateful memory and goodwill that he owes. Although he had departed from me most unwillingly, compelled by his own most pressing affairs, nevertheless, when he saw it was in your interest, he turned back from Ephesus to Laodicea, already boarding his ship. Since I see you will have such countless devoted supporters, I truly cannot doubt that this high office will be a source of anxiety for you. But if you succeed in being elected censor, and if you conduct the censorship as you both ought and can, I see that you will be an enduring and supreme protection not only for yourself but for all your people.
Fight and strive for this: that no extension of time be imposed on us, so that, when we have served your interests here, we may also be able to devote our goodwill toward you there. What you write to me about the devotion of all men and all orders toward you was not at all surprising to me, though most welcome, and the same has been written to me by my close friends. And so I take great pleasure both in seeing that you—whose friendship is not only distinguished but also delightful to me—are given what is owed, and also in seeing that there still remains in our state an almost universal devotion toward brave and industrious men, which has always been the sole reward granted to me for my own labors and watchfulness.
But this truly struck me as most astonishing: that there was such recklessness in that young man, whose safety I defended with the utmost effort in two capital trials, that by undertaking enmity with you he forgot the patron of all his fortunes and affairs—especially when you abounded in every distinction and resource, while he himself, to put it most mildly, lacked many things. His foolish and childish talk had already been reported to me by Marcus Caelius, our mutual friend, and much has also been written by you about that same talk. For my part, I would sooner have broken off an old association with someone who had taken up your enmities than formed a new one. You should not doubt my devotion to you, nor is it obscure to anyone in the province, nor was it at Rome.
But nevertheless a certain suspicion and doubt of yours is indicated in your letter, about which this is not the time for me to remonstrate with you, but it is necessary for me to clear myself. For when did I obstruct any delegation from being sent to Rome to praise you? Or in what matter, if I had openly hated you, could I have done less to harm you, or, if secretly, been more openly hostile? And if I were of that treachery of which those are who cast these aspersions upon me, I certainly would not have been so foolish as either to display open hostility while harboring hidden hatred, or to show the utmost desire to harm in a matter where I could do you no injury.
I recall that certain people came to me—from the household of Epictetus, no doubt—who said that excessively large expenses were being decreed for the delegates. I did not so much order as recommend that expenses for delegates be decreed as closely as possible to the Cornelian law, and the accounts of the communities are witnesses that I did not even persist in this, since each community entered in its records whatever amount it wished for your delegates. But with what lies the most worthless men burdened you! Not only, they said, were the expenses cancelled, but they were even demanded back and taken from the agents of those who had already departed, and that this was the reason many did not go at all.
I would complain and remonstrate with you, except that, as I wrote above, I prefer to clear myself before you at this time of yours rather than accuse you, and I think this is more proper. Therefore I will say nothing about you for having believed it; about myself, I will say a few words as to why you should not have believed it. For if you have found me to be a good man, worthy of those studies and that learning to which I have devoted myself from boyhood, of sufficiently great spirit and not the least judgment in the greatest affairs, you should recognize in me nothing treacherous, insidious, or deceitful in friendship, nor even anything base or mean. But if it pleases you to imagine me cunning and secretive, what could be less consistent with such a nature than to spurn the goodwill of a most flourishing man, to attack in the province the reputation of one whose honor you defended at home, to display a hostile spirit in a matter where you do no harm, or to choose for treachery what is most obvious for revealing hatred and most trivial for doing damage?
And what reason was there for me to be so implacable toward you, when I had learned from my brother that you had not been hostile to me even at that time when you were almost compelled to play that role? And when we both sought our reconciliation, what did you attempt in vain with me during your consulship that you wished me to do or think? What did you entrust to me when I escorted you to Puteoli, in which my diligence did not surpass your expectation?
But if it is the mark of the supremely cunning man to refer everything to his own advantage, what in the end could have been more useful to me, more suited to my interests, than an alliance with a most noble and most honored man, whose resources, talent, children, and relatives could be a great ornament and protection to me? Yet in seeking your friendship I pursued all these things not through any cunning, but rather through a kind of wisdom.
And what of those bonds by which I am most gladly bound—how great they are! The similarity of our studies, the sweetness of our daily association, the delight of our life and table, the fellowship of our conversation, the deeper pursuits of letters. And these are the private ties. What of the public ones? Our illustrious reconciliation, in which not even an inadvertent error is possible without the suspicion of treachery; our fellowship in the most distinguished priestly college, in which among our ancestors it was not only sacrilege to violate a friendship, but it was not even permitted to co-opt a priest who was hostile to any member of the college.
Setting aside all these things, so many and so great, who ever valued anyone as highly as I value Gnaeus Pompey, your daughter's father-in-law, or could or should have? For if services count, I believe my country, my children, my safety, my dignity, my very self were restored to me through him. If the pleasure of association counts, what friendship among consulars in our state was ever more intimate? If those tokens of love and duty count, what did he not entrust to me? What did he not share with me? What business concerning himself in the senate, when he was absent, did he prefer to have conducted through anyone else? With what honors did he not wish me most amply adorned? With what ease, with what humanity did he bear my contention on behalf of Milo, which sometimes ran counter to his own proceedings? With what care did he ensure that no ill will from that period would touch me, when he shielded me with his counsel, his authority, and finally with his very arms? In those times, indeed, such was his gravity, such his greatness of spirit, that he gave no credence to malicious talk about me—not from some Phrygian or Lycaonian, as you did in the case of your delegates, but not even from the most eminent men.
Since, therefore, his son is your son-in-law, and beyond this—
X. Scr. Laodiceae mense Maio (inter Kal. et Nonas) a.u.c. 704. M. CICERO AP. PULCHRO S.
Cum est ad nos allatum de temeritate eorum, qui tibi negotium facesserent, etsi graviter primo nuntio commotus sum, quod nihil tam praeter opinionem meam accidere potuit, tamen, ut me collegi, cetera mihi facillima videbantur, quod et in te ipso maximam spem et in tuis magnam habebam multaque mihi veniebant in mentem, quamobrem istum laborem tibi etiam honori putarem fore; illud plane moleste tuli, quod certissimum et iustissimum triumphum hoc invidorum consilio esse tibi ereptum videbam: quod tu si tanti facies, quanti ego semper iudicavi faciendum esse, facies sapienter et ages victor ex inimicorum dolore triumphum iustissimum; ego enim plane video fore nervis, opibus, sapientia tua, vehementer ut inimicos tuos poeniteat intemperantiae suae. De me tibi sic contestans omnes deos promitto atque confirmo, me pro tua dignitate—malo enim ita dicere, quam pro salute—in hac provincia, cui tu praefuisti, rogando deprecatoris, laborando propinqui, auctoritate cari hominis, ut spero, apud civitates, gravitate imperatoris suscepturum officia atque partes. Omnia volo a me et postules et exspectes: vincam meis officiis cogitationes tuas. Q. Servilius perbreves mihi a te litteras reddidit, quae mihi tamen nimis longae visae sunt, iniuriam enim mihi fieri putabam, cum rogabar. Nollem accidisset tempus, in quo perspicere posses, quanti te, quanti Pompeium, quem unum ex omnibus facio, ut debeo, plurimi, quanti Brutum facerem—quamquam in consuetudine quotidiana perspexisti, sicuti perspicies—; sed, quoniam accidit, si quid a me praetermissum erit, commissum facinus et admissum dedecus confitebor. Pomptinus, qui a te tractatus est praestanti ac singulari fide, cuius tui beneficii sum ego testis, praestat tibi memoriam benevolentiamque, quam debet: qui cum maximis suis rebus coactus a me invitissimo decessisset, tamen, ut vidit interesse tua, conscendens iam navem Epheso Laodiceam revertit. Talia te cum studia videam habiturum esse innumerabilia, plane dubitare non possum, quin tibi amplitudo ista sollicitudo futura sit; si vero effeceris, ut censor creere, et si ita gesseris censuram, ut et debes et potes, non tibi solum, sed tuis omnibus video in perpetuum summo te praesidio futurum. Illud pugna et enitere, ne quid nobis temporis prorogetur, ut, cum hic tibi satisfecerimus, istic quoque nostram in te benevolentiam navare possimus. Quae de hominum atque ordinum omnium erga te studiis scribis ad me, minime mihi miranda et maxime iucunda acciderunt, eademque ad me perscripta sunt a familiaribus meis: itaque capio magnam voluptatem, cum tibi, cuius mihi amicitia non solum ampla, sed etiam iucunda est, ea tribui, quae debeantur, tum vero remanere etiam nunc in civitate nostra studia prope omnium consensu erga fortes et industrios viros, quae mihi ipsi una semper tributa merces est laborum et vigiliarum mearum; illud vero mihi permirum accidit, tantam temeritatem fuisse in eo adolescente, cuius ego salutem duobus capitis iudiciis summa contentione defendi, ut tuis inimicitiis suscipiendis oblivisceretur patroni omnium fortunarum ac rationum suarum, praesertim cum tu omnibus vel ornamentis vel praesidiis redundares, ipsi, ut levissime dicam, multa deessent. Cuius sermo stultus et puerilis erat iam ante ad me a M. Caelio, familiari nostro, perscriptus; de quo item sermone multa scripta sunt abs te. Ego autem citius cum eo, qui tuas inimicitias suscepisset, veterem coniunctionem diremissem, quam novam conciliassem; neque enim de meo erga te studio dubitare debes, neque id est obscurum cuiquam in provincia nec Romae fuit. Sed tamen significatur in tuis litteris suspicio quaedam et dubitatio tua, de qua alienum tempus est mihi tecum expostulandi, purgandi autem mei necessarium. Ubi enim ego cuiquam legationi fui impedimento, quo minus Romam ad laudem tuam mitteretur? aut in quo potui, si te palam odissem, minus, quod tibi obesset, facere, si clam, magis aperte inimicus esse? Quod si essem ea perfidia, qua sunt ii, qui in nos haec conferunt, tamen ea stultitia certe non fuissem, ut aut in obscuro odio apertas inimicitias aut, in quo tibi nihil nocerem, summam ostenderem voluntatem nocendi. Ad me adire quosdam memini, nimirum ex Epicteto, qui dicerent nimis magnos sumptus legatis decerni: quibus ego non tam imperavi quam censui sumptus legates quam maxime ad legem Corneliam decernendos, atque in eo ipso me non perseverasse testes sunt rationes civitatum, in quibus, quantum quaeque voluit, legatis tuis datum induxit; te autem quibus mendaciis homines levissimi onerarunt! non modo sublatos sumptus, sed etiam a procuratoribus eorum, qui iam profecti essent, repetitos et ablatos, eamque causam multis omnino non eundi fuisse. Quererer tecum atque expostularem, ni, ut supra scripsi, purgare me tibi hoc tuo tempore quam accusare te mallem idque putarem esse rectius. Itaque nihil de te, quod credideris; de me, quamobrem non debueris credere, pauca dicam: nam, si me virum bonum, si dignum iis studiis eaque doctrina, cui me a pueritia dedi, si satis magni animi, non minimi consilii in maximis rebus perspectum habes, nihil in me non modo perfidiosum et insidiosum et fallax in amicitia, sed ne humile quidem aut ieiunum debes agnoscere; sin autem me astutum et occultum libet fingere, quid est, quod minus cadere in eiusmodi naturam possit quam aut florentissimi hominis aspernari benevolentiam aut eius existimationem oppugnare in provincia, cuius laudem domi defenderis, aut in ea re animum ostendere inimicum, in qua nihil obsis, aut id eligere ad perfidiam, quod ad indicandum odium apertissimum sit, ad nocendum levissimum? Quid erat autem, cur ego in te tam implacabilis essem, cum te ex fratre meo ne tunc quidem, cum tibi prope necesse esset eas agere partes, inimicum mihi fuisse cognossem? Cum vero reditum nostrum in gratiam uterque expetisset, quid in consulatu tuo frustra mecum egisti, quod me aut facere aut sentire voluisses? quid mihi mandasti, cum te Puteolos prosequerer, in quo non exspectationem tuam diligentia mea vicerim? Quod si id est maxime astuti, omnia ad suam utilitatem referre, quid mihi tandem erat utilius, quid commodis meis aptius, quam hominis nobilissimi atque honoratissimi coniunctio, cuius opes ingenium, liberi affines propinqui mihi magno vel ornamento vel praesidio esse possent? quae tamen ego omnia in expetenda amicitia tua non astutia quadam, sed aliqua potius sapientia secutus sum. Quid? illa vincula, quibus quidem libentissime astringor, quanta sunt! studiorum similitudo, suavitas consuetudinis, delectatio vitae atque victus, sermonis societas, litterae interiores. Atque haec domestica: quid illa tandem popularia? reditus illustris in gratiam, in quo ne per imprudentiam quidem errari potest sine suspicione perfidiae, amplissimi sacerdotii collegium, in quo non modo amicitiam violari apud maiores nostros fas non erat, sed ne cooptari quidem sacerdotem licebat, qui cuiquam ex collegio esset inimicus. Quae ut omittam tam multa atque tanta, quis umquam tanti quemquam fecit aut facere potuit ant debuit, quanti ego Cn. Pompeium, socerum tuae filiae? Etenim, si merita valent, patriam, liberos, salutem, dignitatem, memet ipsum mihi per illum restitutum puto; si consuetudinis iucunditas, quae fuit umquam amicitia consularium in nostra civitate coniunctior? si illa amoris atque officii signa, quid mihi ille non commisit? quid non mecum communicavit? quid de se in senatu, cum ipse abesset, per quemquam agi maluit? quibus ille me rebus non ornatum esse voluit amplissime? qua denique ille facilitate, qua humanitate tulit contentionem meam pro Milone adversante interdum actionibus suis? quo studio providit, ne quae me illius temporis invidia attingeret, cum me consilio, cum auctoritate, cum armis denique texit suis? Quibus quidem temporibus haec in eo gravitas, haec animi altitudo fuit, non modo ut Phrygi alicui aut Lycaoni, quod tu in legatis fecisti, sed ne summorum quidem hominum malevolis de me sermonibus crederet. Huius igitur filius cum sit gener tuus cumque praeter hanc coniunctionem affinitatis, quam sis Cn. Pompeio carus quamque iucundus, intelligam, quo tandem animo in te esse debeo? cum praesertim eas ad me litteras is miserit, quibus, etiamsi tibi, cui sum amicissimus, hostis essem, placarer tamen totumque me ad eius viri ita de me meriti voluntatem nutumque converterem. Sed haec hactenus; pluribus enim etiam fortasse verbis, quam necesse fuit, scripta sunt: nunc ea, quae a me profecta quaeque instituta sunt, cognosce. * * * * atque haec agimus et agemus magis pro dignitate quam pro periculo tuo; te enim, ut spero, propediem censorem audiemus, cuius magistratus officia, quae sunt maximi animi summique consilii, tibi diligentius et accuratius quam haec, quae nos de te agimus, cogitanda esse censeo.
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Written at Laodicea in the month of May (between the Kalends and the Nones), 704 from the founding of the city. Marcus Cicero to Appius Pulcher, greetings.
When the news was brought to us of the recklessness of those men who were making trouble for you, although at the first report I was gravely disturbed—since nothing could have happened so contrary to my expectation—nevertheless, once I had collected myself, everything else began to seem very easy to me, because I held both the greatest hope in you yourself and great hope in your supporters, and many considerations came into my mind on account of which I judged that this hardship would even prove an honor to you. This one thing, plainly, I took hard: that I saw a most certain and most just triumph snatched from you by this scheme of the envious. But if you set the value upon this that I have always judged ought to be set, you will act wisely, and as victor you will celebrate, out of your enemies' chagrin, a most just triumph; for I plainly see that, through your sinews, your resources, and your wisdom, your enemies will be made vehemently to repent of their lack of self-restraint. Concerning myself, calling all the gods to witness, I promise and affirm to you that, on behalf of your standing—for I prefer to put it so, rather than "on behalf of your safety"—in this province over which you presided, I shall take up the duties and the role of an advocate by my entreaties, of a kinsman by my exertions, of a man dear to you (as I hope) by my influence among the communities, and of a commander by the weight of my authority. I want you both to demand and to expect everything from me: by my services I shall outdo your imaginings.
Quintus Servilius delivered to me a very brief letter from you, which nevertheless seemed to me too long, for I thought a wrong was being done to me when I was being asked. I would have preferred that no occasion had arisen in which you could discern how much I value you, how much I value Pompey—whom alone of all men I esteem most highly, as I ought—and how much I value Brutus; though you have discerned this in our daily intercourse, just as you will continue to discern it. But, since the occasion has arisen, if anything is omitted by me, I shall confess to a crime committed and a disgrace incurred. Pomptinus, who was treated by you with outstanding and singular good faith—of which kindness of yours I am a witness—maintains toward you the grateful memory and goodwill that he owes: although he had departed from me most unwillingly, compelled by his own most pressing affairs, nevertheless, as soon as he saw it was in your interest, while already boarding ship at Ephesus he turned back to Laodicea. Since I see that you are going to have countless such loyal devotions, I can plainly have no doubt that this eminence of yours will be a cause of anxiety to you; but if you in fact bring it about that you are elected censor, and if you conduct the censorship as you both ought and are able, I see that you will be, not for yourself alone but for all your people, a supreme protection in perpetuity. Fight for this and strive hard, that no extension of time be imposed upon us, so that, once we have satisfied your interests here, we may also be able to apply our goodwill toward you over there.
What you write to me about the devotion of all men and of all the orders toward you fell upon me as not at all surprising and as most welcome, and the same things have been written to me in full by my intimates. And so I take great pleasure both in the fact that to you—whose friendship is for me not only abundant but also delightful—there is rendered what is owed, and indeed in the fact that there still remains even now in our state, by the consensus of almost all, a devotion toward brave and industrious men—the one reward that has always been rendered to me myself for my labors and my sleepless nights. But this struck me as quite extraordinary: that there was such recklessness in that young man, whose safety I defended with the utmost effort in two capital trials, that, by taking up enmity against you, he forgot the patron of all his fortunes and his interests—especially when you overflowed with every distinction and every safeguard, while to him, to put it most lightly, many things were lacking. His foolish and childish talk had already been reported to me earlier in full by Marcus Caelius, our intimate; about this same talk much, too, has been written by you. I, for my part, would sooner have severed an old connection with anyone who had taken up your enmities than have formed a new one; for you ought not to doubt my devotion toward you, nor has it been obscure to anyone in the province, nor was it at Rome.
But nevertheless a certain suspicion and doubt of yours is indicated in your letter—about which this is no fit time for me to remonstrate with you, though it is necessary for me to clear myself. For where did I ever stand in the way of any delegation, to prevent it from being sent to Rome to your praise? Or in what matter, if I hated you openly, could I have done less of what would harm you, or, if I hated you secretly, been an enemy more in the open? But if I were of that treacherousness that they are who fasten these charges upon us, even so I certainly would not have been of such stupidity as either to display open enmities under cover of hidden hatred, or, in a matter where I could do you no harm, to display the utmost will to do harm. I remember that certain people came to me—from Epicteta's set, no doubt—who said that too-great expenses were being decreed for the legates; to these men I did not so much give an order as express my opinion that the legates' expenses should be decreed as closely as possible to the Cornelian law [the lex Cornelia regulating provincial expenditures], and that I did not even persist in this very point the accounts of the communities bear witness, in which each entered as much as it wished as having been given to your legates. But with what lies the most worthless men have loaded you! Not only that the expenses had been abolished, but even that they had been demanded back and taken away from the agents of those who had already set out, and that this had for many been the very reason for not going at all. I would complain to you and remonstrate, were it not that, as I wrote above, I prefer to clear myself before you at this juncture of yours rather than to accuse you, and I judge this to be the more proper course.
And so I will say nothing about you, as to your having believed it; about myself, as to why you ought not to have believed it, I will say a few things. For if you have come to know me as a good man, as worthy of those studies and that learning to which I have devoted myself from boyhood, as of spirit great enough and of judgment not the least in the greatest affairs, you ought to recognize in me nothing—not only nothing treacherous and insidious and deceitful in friendship, but not even anything low or meager. But if it pleases you to portray me as cunning and secretive, what is there that could less befall such a nature than either to spurn the goodwill of a most flourishing man, or to assail the reputation, in his province, of one whose renown you had defended at home, or to display a hostile mind in a matter in which you stand in no one's way, or to choose for one's treachery precisely that which is most utterly open for revealing hatred and most trivial for doing harm? And what reason was there why I should be so implacable toward you, when from my brother I had learned that you had not been hostile to me even at that time when it was almost a necessity for you to play that part? But when each of us had sought our return to good relations, what did you attempt with me in vain during your consulship, of what you might have wished me either to do or to think? What did you entrust to me, when I escorted you to Puteoli, in which my diligence did not surpass your expectation?
But if it is most especially the mark of the cunning man to refer everything to his own advantage, what in the end could have been more useful to me, what better suited to my interests, than connection with a most noble and most honored man, whose resources, talent, children, in-laws, and kinsmen could be to me a great ornament or a great safeguard? Yet all these things, in seeking out your friendship, I pursued not by any cunning, but rather by a kind of wisdom. And what of those bonds by which, indeed, I am most gladly bound—how great they are! The likeness of our studies, the sweetness of our intercourse, the delight of our life and our table, the fellowship of our conversation, the deeper sharing of letters. And these are the domestic bonds: what, then, of the public ones? Our illustrious return to good relations, in which one cannot err even through carelessness without the suspicion of treachery; our membership in the most exalted priestly college, in which, among our ancestors, it was not only impermissible to violate a friendship, but it was not even lawful to co-opt as priest anyone who was an enemy of any member of the college. To say nothing of these matters, so many and so great—who ever valued, or could or ought to have valued, anyone as highly as I value Gnaeus Pompey, the father-in-law of your daughter? For indeed, if services have weight, I consider that my country, my children, my safety, my standing, my very self were restored to me through him; if the pleasantness of intercourse, what friendship of consulars in our state was ever more closely joined? If those tokens of love and duty, what did he not confide to me? What did he not share with me? What business concerning himself, when he himself was absent, did he prefer to have transacted in the senate through anyone else? With what distinctions did he not wish me to be most amply adorned? With what indulgence, finally, with what humanity did he bear my contention on behalf of Milo, which sometimes ran counter to his own proceedings? With what zeal did he take care that no ill will of that time should touch me, when he shielded me with his counsel, with his authority, and finally with his own arms? In those times, indeed, there was in him such gravity, such loftiness of spirit, that he would lend credence to malicious talk about me not only from no Phrygian or Lycaonian—such as you did in the case of your legates—but not even from the most eminent of men. Since, then, the son of this man is your son-in-law, and since, beyond this connection of marriage-alliance, I understand how dear and how agreeable you are to Gnaeus Pompey, with what disposition, in the end, ought I to be toward you? Especially since he has sent me such a letter that, even if I were an enemy to you—to whom I am most warmly attached—I should still be appeased, and should turn my whole self to the will and nod of that man who has so deserved well of me.
But enough of this; for it has perhaps been written at even greater length than was necessary. Now learn what has been set in motion by me and what has been put in train. [...] And these things we are doing, and shall go on doing, more for the sake of your standing than because of your danger; for soon, as I hope, we shall hear that you are censor, and the duties of that magistracy—which call for the greatest spirit and the highest judgment—I think you ought to ponder more carefully and more attentively than these matters which we are handling on your behalf.
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
X. Scr. Laodiceae mense Maio (inter Kal. et Nonas) a.u.c. 704. M. CICERO AP. PULCHRO S.
Cum est ad nos allatum de temeritate eorum, qui tibi negotium facesserent, etsi graviter primo nuntio commotus sum, quod nihil tam praeter opinionem meam accidere potuit, tamen, ut me collegi, cetera mihi facillima videbantur, quod et in te ipso maximam spem et in tuis magnam habebam multaque mihi veniebant in mentem, quamobrem istum laborem tibi etiam honori putarem fore; illud plane moleste tuli, quod certissimum et iustissimum triumphum hoc invidorum consilio esse tibi ereptum videbam: quod tu si tanti facies, quanti ego semper iudicavi faciendum esse, facies sapienter et ages victor ex inimicorum dolore triumphum iustissimum; ego enim plane video fore nervis, opibus, sapientia tua, vehementer ut inimicos tuos poeniteat intemperantiae suae. De me tibi sic contestans omnes deos promitto atque confirmo, me pro tua dignitate—malo enim ita dicere, quam pro salute—in hac provincia, cui tu praefuisti, rogando deprecatoris, laborando propinqui, auctoritate cari hominis, ut spero, apud civitates, gravitate imperatoris suscepturum officia atque partes. Omnia volo a me et postules et exspectes: vincam meis officiis cogitationes tuas. Q. Servilius perbreves mihi a te litteras reddidit, quae mihi tamen nimis longae visae sunt, iniuriam enim mihi fieri putabam, cum rogabar. Nollem accidisset tempus, in quo perspicere posses, quanti te, quanti Pompeium, quem unum ex omnibus facio, ut debeo, plurimi, quanti Brutum facerem—quamquam in consuetudine quotidiana perspexisti, sicuti perspicies—; sed, quoniam accidit, si quid a me praetermissum erit, commissum facinus et admissum dedecus confitebor. Pomptinus, qui a te tractatus est praestanti ac singulari fide, cuius tui beneficii sum ego testis, praestat tibi memoriam benevolentiamque, quam debet: qui cum maximis suis rebus coactus a me invitissimo decessisset, tamen, ut vidit interesse tua, conscendens iam navem Epheso Laodiceam revertit. Talia te cum studia videam habiturum esse innumerabilia, plane dubitare non possum, quin tibi amplitudo ista sollicitudo futura sit; si vero effeceris, ut censor creere, et si ita gesseris censuram, ut et debes et potes, non tibi solum, sed tuis omnibus video in perpetuum summo te praesidio futurum. Illud pugna et enitere, ne quid nobis temporis prorogetur, ut, cum hic tibi satisfecerimus, istic quoque nostram in te benevolentiam navare possimus. Quae de hominum atque ordinum omnium erga te studiis scribis ad me, minime mihi miranda et maxime iucunda acciderunt, eademque ad me perscripta sunt a familiaribus meis: itaque capio magnam voluptatem, cum tibi, cuius mihi amicitia non solum ampla, sed etiam iucunda est, ea tribui, quae debeantur, tum vero remanere etiam nunc in civitate nostra studia prope omnium consensu erga fortes et industrios viros, quae mihi ipsi una semper tributa merces est laborum et vigiliarum mearum; illud vero mihi permirum accidit, tantam temeritatem fuisse in eo adolescente, cuius ego salutem duobus capitis iudiciis summa contentione defendi, ut tuis inimicitiis suscipiendis oblivisceretur patroni omnium fortunarum ac rationum suarum, praesertim cum tu omnibus vel ornamentis vel praesidiis redundares, ipsi, ut levissime dicam, multa deessent. Cuius sermo stultus et puerilis erat iam ante ad me a M. Caelio, familiari nostro, perscriptus; de quo item sermone multa scripta sunt abs te. Ego autem citius cum eo, qui tuas inimicitias suscepisset, veterem coniunctionem diremissem, quam novam conciliassem; neque enim de meo erga te studio dubitare debes, neque id est obscurum cuiquam in provincia nec Romae fuit. Sed tamen significatur in tuis litteris suspicio quaedam et dubitatio tua, de qua alienum tempus est mihi tecum expostulandi, purgandi autem mei necessarium. Ubi enim ego cuiquam legationi fui impedimento, quo minus Romam ad laudem tuam mitteretur? aut in quo potui, si te palam odissem, minus, quod tibi obesset, facere, si clam, magis aperte inimicus esse? Quod si essem ea perfidia, qua sunt ii, qui in nos haec conferunt, tamen ea stultitia certe non fuissem, ut aut in obscuro odio apertas inimicitias aut, in quo tibi nihil nocerem, summam ostenderem voluntatem nocendi. Ad me adire quosdam memini, nimirum ex Epicteto, qui dicerent nimis magnos sumptus legatis decerni: quibus ego non tam imperavi quam censui sumptus legates quam maxime ad legem Corneliam decernendos, atque in eo ipso me non perseverasse testes sunt rationes civitatum, in quibus, quantum quaeque voluit, legatis tuis datum induxit; te autem quibus mendaciis homines levissimi onerarunt! non modo sublatos sumptus, sed etiam a procuratoribus eorum, qui iam profecti essent, repetitos et ablatos, eamque causam multis omnino non eundi fuisse. Quererer tecum atque expostularem, ni, ut supra scripsi, purgare me tibi hoc tuo tempore quam accusare te mallem idque putarem esse rectius. Itaque nihil de te, quod credideris; de me, quamobrem non debueris credere, pauca dicam: nam, si me virum bonum, si dignum iis studiis eaque doctrina, cui me a pueritia dedi, si satis magni animi, non minimi consilii in maximis rebus perspectum habes, nihil in me non modo perfidiosum et insidiosum et fallax in amicitia, sed ne humile quidem aut ieiunum debes agnoscere; sin autem me astutum et occultum libet fingere, quid est, quod minus cadere in eiusmodi naturam possit quam aut florentissimi hominis aspernari benevolentiam aut eius existimationem oppugnare in provincia, cuius laudem domi defenderis, aut in ea re animum ostendere inimicum, in qua nihil obsis, aut id eligere ad perfidiam, quod ad indicandum odium apertissimum sit, ad nocendum levissimum? Quid erat autem, cur ego in te tam implacabilis essem, cum te ex fratre meo ne tunc quidem, cum tibi prope necesse esset eas agere partes, inimicum mihi fuisse cognossem? Cum vero reditum nostrum in gratiam uterque expetisset, quid in consulatu tuo frustra mecum egisti, quod me aut facere aut sentire voluisses? quid mihi mandasti, cum te Puteolos prosequerer, in quo non exspectationem tuam diligentia mea vicerim? Quod si id est maxime astuti, omnia ad suam utilitatem referre, quid mihi tandem erat utilius, quid commodis meis aptius, quam hominis nobilissimi atque honoratissimi coniunctio, cuius opes ingenium, liberi affines propinqui mihi magno vel ornamento vel praesidio esse possent? quae tamen ego omnia in expetenda amicitia tua non astutia quadam, sed aliqua potius sapientia secutus sum. Quid? illa vincula, quibus quidem libentissime astringor, quanta sunt! studiorum similitudo, suavitas consuetudinis, delectatio vitae atque victus, sermonis societas, litterae interiores. Atque haec domestica: quid illa tandem popularia? reditus illustris in gratiam, in quo ne per imprudentiam quidem errari potest sine suspicione perfidiae, amplissimi sacerdotii collegium, in quo non modo amicitiam violari apud maiores nostros fas non erat, sed ne cooptari quidem sacerdotem licebat, qui cuiquam ex collegio esset inimicus. Quae ut omittam tam multa atque tanta, quis umquam tanti quemquam fecit aut facere potuit ant debuit, quanti ego Cn. Pompeium, socerum tuae filiae? Etenim, si merita valent, patriam, liberos, salutem, dignitatem, memet ipsum mihi per illum restitutum puto; si consuetudinis iucunditas, quae fuit umquam amicitia consularium in nostra civitate coniunctior? si illa amoris atque officii signa, quid mihi ille non commisit? quid non mecum communicavit? quid de se in senatu, cum ipse abesset, per quemquam agi maluit? quibus ille me rebus non ornatum esse voluit amplissime? qua denique ille facilitate, qua humanitate tulit contentionem meam pro Milone adversante interdum actionibus suis? quo studio providit, ne quae me illius temporis invidia attingeret, cum me consilio, cum auctoritate, cum armis denique texit suis? Quibus quidem temporibus haec in eo gravitas, haec animi altitudo fuit, non modo ut Phrygi alicui aut Lycaoni, quod tu in legatis fecisti, sed ne summorum quidem hominum malevolis de me sermonibus crederet. Huius igitur filius cum sit gener tuus cumque praeter hanc coniunctionem affinitatis, quam sis Cn. Pompeio carus quamque iucundus, intelligam, quo tandem animo in te esse debeo? cum praesertim eas ad me litteras is miserit, quibus, etiamsi tibi, cui sum amicissimus, hostis essem, placarer tamen totumque me ad eius viri ita de me meriti voluntatem nutumque converterem. Sed haec hactenus; pluribus enim etiam fortasse verbis, quam necesse fuit, scripta sunt: nunc ea, quae a me profecta quaeque instituta sunt, cognosce. * * * * atque haec agimus et agemus magis pro dignitate quam pro periculo tuo; te enim, ut spero, propediem censorem audiemus, cuius magistratus officia, quae sunt maximi animi summique consilii, tibi diligentius et accuratius quam haec, quae nos de te agimus, cogitanda esse censeo.