Marcus Tullius Cicero→Aulus Manlius Torquatus|c. 48 BC|Cicero|From Rome|To Rome|Human translated
There was nothing new for me to write to you, and yet, if there had been, I knew that you were usually informed by your own people. As for future events, although it is always difficult to speak of them, still sometimes one can come closer by conjecture than when the matter is of such a kind that its outcome can be foreseen. Now we seem to understand only this: that the war will not be long, although even this seems otherwise to some. For my part, as I write this, I thought something had already been done -- not because I knew what, but because conjecture was difficult. For since the fortune of war is always shared and the outcomes of battles always uncertain, at this time such great forces on both sides are said to be so prepared for fighting that, whichever side wins, it will not be surprising. That opinion among people grows stronger every day: even if there is a considerable difference between the causes for which they fight, there will not be much difference between the victories. We have already nearly experienced the one side; as for the other, no one fails to consider how fearful an angry armed victor would be. If at this point I seem to increase your grief, which I ought to lighten by consolation, I confess that I can find no consolation for our common misfortunes except this -- which nevertheless, if you can embrace it, is the greatest, and which I myself use more every day: that consciousness of right intention is the greatest consolation for misfortunes, and that there is no great evil except guilt. Since we are so far from guilt that we even held the best opinions, and since the outcome of our counsel rather than the counsel itself is criticized, and since we have done our duty, let us bear with moderation what has happened. But I do not presume to console you about our common miseries, which require for consolation a greater talent and for endurance a singular virtue. It is easy for anyone to show why you in particular should grieve at nothing. For as to the man who was slower in relieving you than we expected, I have no doubt about his intention regarding your safety; and as for the others, I do not think you need to wait for my opinion. What remains is that you may be pained by being so long away from your family -- a troublesome thing, especially away from those children than whom nothing could be more delightful. But, as I wrote to you before, the times are such that everyone thinks his own condition the most wretched, and wherever anyone is, he least wants to be there. For my part, I consider those of us who are in Rome the most wretched, not only because in all misfortunes it is more bitter to see than to hear, but also because we are more exposed to every chance of sudden dangers than if we were away. Though I myself, your consoler, have been softened not so much by literature, to which I have always been devoted, as by the length of time. How great my pain was, you remember; and in it the first consolation is this: that I saw more than others when I wished for peace on even the most unfair terms -- which, though it happened by chance, not by my foresight, still I take pleasure in this empty praise of prudence. Then, what is common to me and you for consolation: if I am now called to the end of life, I am not torn from a republic the loss of which I should mourn, especially since that will occur without any sensation. My age also helps, and my life already lived, which both delights in having completed its course well, and forbids me to fear violence at a point to which nature itself has almost already brought us. Finally, such a man or even such men fell in this war that it would seem shameless to refuse the same fortune, if circumstances should require it. For my part, I foresee everything and there is no evil so great that I do not think it threatens. But since there is more evil in fearing than in the thing itself that is feared, I cease to fear, especially since what threatens will bring not only no pain, but even an end to pain. But I have said enough or more than was necessary. It is not my loquacity but my goodwill that makes my letters longer. I was sorry that Servius had left Athens, for I have no doubt that his daily company and conversation, both as a most intimate friend and as the best and wisest of men, was a great relief to you. I would have you sustain yourself, as you ought and as you do, by your own virtue. I shall attend to everything that I believe you wish and that pertains to you and yours with the greatest zeal and diligence; and in doing so I shall imitate your goodwill toward me, though I cannot equal your services. Farewell.
DXXXIX (Fam. VI, 4) TO AULUS MANLIUS TORQUATUS (AT ATHENS) ROME (JANUARY) I have no news to give you, and if there is some after all, I know that you are usually informed of it by your family. About the future, however, difficult as it always is to speak, you may yet sometimes get nearer the truth by conjecture, when the matter is of the kind whose issue admits of being foreseen. In the present instance I think that I perceive thus much, that the war will not be a protracted one, though even as to that there are some who think I am wrong. For myself, even as I write this, I believe that something decisive has occurred, not that I know it for certain, but because the conjecture is an easy one. For while all chances in war are open, and the results of all battles are uncertain, yet on this occasion the forces on both sides are so large, and are said to be in such a state of preparation for a pitched battle, that whichever of the two conquers it will be no matter of surprise. It is an opinion that grows daily stronger that even if there is considerable difference in the merits of the causes of the combatants, there will yet be little difference in the way in which they will use their victory. Of the one side we have now had a pretty full experience: of the other there is no one that does not reflect how much reason there is to fear an armed victor inflamed with rage. On this point, if I appear to increase your anxiety while I ought to have been lightening it by consolation, I confess that I can find no consolation for our common disasters except that one, which after all — if you can avail yourself of it — is the highest and the one to which I have daily greater recourse: namely, that the consciousness of good intentions is the greatest consoler of misfortune, and that there is no serious evil except misconduct. As from this last we are so far removed, that our sentiments have been absolutely unimpeachable, while it is the result of our policy, not the policy itself, which is criticised: and as we have fulfilled all our obligations, let us bear what has happened without excessive grief. But I do not take upon myself, after all, to console you for misfortunes affecting all alike. Rightly to console them requires a greater intelligence, and to bear them requires unique courage. But anyone can easily show you why you ought not to feel any sorrow peculiar to yourself. For as to Caesar 's decision concerning your restoration, though he has been somewhat slower in relieving you than I had thought he would be, I have no doubt whatever. As to the other party, I do not think that you are at a loss to know my sentiments. Finally, there is the pain that you feel at being so long absent from your family. It is distressing, especially considering the character of your sons, than which nothing can be more charming. But, as I said in my last letter, the state of things is such that everyone thinks his own position the most miserable of all, and most dislikes being precisely where he is. For my part, I consider that the most wretched of all are we who are at Rome , not merely because in all misfortunes it is more painful to see than to hear, but also because we are more exposed to all the risks of sudden perils, than if we were out of town. For myself however, who set up to console you, my feelings have become softened, not so much by literature, to which I have always been devoted, as by lapse of time. You remember how keen my sorrow was. In regard to that the first consolation is that I showed greater foresight than the rest, when I desired to have peace on any terms however inequitable. And although this was from chance, and not from any prophetic powers of mine, yet I take pleasure in this poor reputation for wisdom. Another source of consolation common to us both is that, if I am called upon to end my life, I shall not be torn from a republic such as I should grieve to lose, especially as I shall then be beyond all consciousness. An additional consolation is my age and the fact that my life is now all but over, which both gives me pleasure in reflecting upon its honourably accomplished career, and forbids my fearing any violence at a period to which nature herself has now almost brought me. Lastly, considering what a great man, or rather what great men, fell in that war, it seems shameless to decline to share the same fortune, if circumstances render it necessary. For my part, I regard everything as possible for myself, nor is there any evil too great for me to believe to be hanging over my head. But since there is more evil in fear than in the thing itself which is feared, I cease to indulge in it, especially as that now hangs over me, in which there will not only be no pain, but also the end of all pain. But I have said enough, or rather more than was needed. It is not love of talking, however, but affection for you that makes my letters too long. I was sorry to hear that Servius had left Athens ; for I do not doubt that your daily meeting, and the conversation of a man at once most intimate and of the highest character and wisdom have been a great alleviation to you. Pray keep up your spirits, as you ought and are accustomed to do, by your own virtue. For myself, I shall look after everything with zeal and diligence which I may think to be in accordance with your wishes or for the interests of your self and your family. In doing so I shall imitate your goodness to me, I shall never equal your services.
IV. Scr. Romae a.u.c. 709 M. CICERO S. D. A. TORQUATO
Novi, quod ad te scriberem, nihil erat, et tamen, si quid esset, sciebam te a tuis certiorem fieri solere; de futuris autem rebus etsi semper difficile est dicere, tamen interdum coniectura possis propius accedere, quam est res eiusmodi, cuius exitus provideri possit. Nunc tantum videmur intelligere, non diuturnum bellum, etsi id ipsum nonnullis videtur secus. Equidem, cum haec scribebam, aliquid iam actum putabam: non quo, sed quod difficilis erat coniectura; nam, cum omnis belli Mars communis et cum semper incerti exitus proeliorum sunt, tum hoc tempore ita magnae utrimque copiae, ita paratae ad depugnandum esse dicuntur, ut, utercumque vicerit, non sit mirum futurum. Ilia in dies singulos magis magisque opinio hominum confirmatur, etiamsi inter causas armorum aliquantum intersit, tamen inter victorias non multum interfuturum: alteros propemodum iam sumus experti; de altero nemo est quin cogitet, quam sit metuendus iratus victor armatus. Hoc loco si videor augere dolorem tuum, quem consolando levare debebam, fateor me communium malorum consolationem nullam invenire praeter illam—quae tamen, si possis eam suscipere, maxima est quaque ego quotidie magis utor—: conscientiam rectae voluntatis maximam consolationem esse rerum incommodarum nec esse ullum magnum malum praeter culpam: a qua quoniam tantum absumus, ut etiam optime senserimus, eventusque magis nostri consilii quam consilium reprehendatur, et quoniam praestitimus, quod debuimus, moderate, quod evenit, feramus. Sed hoc mihi tamen non sumo, ut te consoler de communibus miseriis, quae ad consolandum maioris ingenii et ad ferendum singularis virtutis indigent: illud cuivis facile est docere, cur praecipue tu dolere nihil debeas; eius enim, qui tardior in te levando fuit, quam fore putaramus, non est mihi dubia de tua salute sententia, de illis autem non arbitror te exspectare quid sentiam. Reliquum est, ut te angat, quod absis a tuis tamdiu: res molesta, praesertim ab iis pueris, quibus nihil potest esse festivius; sed, ut ad te scripsi antea, tempus est huiusmodi, ut suam quisque condicionem miserrimam putet et, ubi quisque sit, ibi esse minime velit. Equidem, nos qui Romae sumus, miserrimos esse duco, non solum quod in malis omnibus acerbius est videre quam audire, sed etiam quod ad omnes casus subitorum periculorum magis obiecti sumus, quam si abessemus; etsi me ipsum, consolatorem tuum, non tantum litterae, quibus semper studui, quantum longinquitas temporis mitigavit. Quanto fuerim dolore, meministi: in quo prima illa consolatio est, vidisse me plus quam ceteros, cum cupiebam quamvis iniqua condicione pacem, quod etsi casu, non divinatione mea factum est, tamen in hac inani prudentiae laude delector; deinde, quod mihi ad consolationem commune tecum est, si iam vocer ad exitum vitae, non ab ea re publica avellar, qua carendum esse doleam, praesertim cum id sine ullo sensu futurum sit; adiuvat etiam aetas et acta iam vita, quae cum cursu suo bene confecto delectat, tum vetat in eo vim timere, quo nos iam natura ipsa paene perduxerit; postremo is vir vel etiam ii viri hoc bello occiderunt, ut impudentia videatur eandem fortunam, si res cogat, recusare. Equidem mihi omnia propono nec ullum est tantum malum, quod non putem impendere; sed, cum plus in metuendo mali sit quam in ipso illo, quod timetur, metuere desino, praesertim cum id impendeat, in quo non modo dolor nullus, verum finis etiam doloris futurus sit. Sed haec satis multa vel plura potius, quam necesse fuit; facit autem non loquacitas mea, sed benevolentia longiores epistulas. Servium discessisse Athenis moleste tuli; non enim dubito, quin magnae tibi levationi solitus sit esse quotidianus congressus et sermo cum familiarissimi hominis, tum optimi et prudentissimi viri. Tu velim te, ut debes et soles, tua virtute sustentes: ego, quae te velle quaeque ad te et ad tuos pertinere arbitrabor, omnia studiose diligenterque curabo; quae cum faciam, benevolentiam tuam erga me imitabor, merita non assequar. Vale.
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There was nothing new for me to write to you, and yet, if there had been, I knew that you were usually informed by your own people. As for future events, although it is always difficult to speak of them, still sometimes one can come closer by conjecture than when the matter is of such a kind that its outcome can be foreseen. Now we seem to understand only this: that the war will not be long, although even this seems otherwise to some. For my part, as I write this, I thought something had already been done -- not because I knew what, but because conjecture was difficult. For since the fortune of war is always shared and the outcomes of battles always uncertain, at this time such great forces on both sides are said to be so prepared for fighting that, whichever side wins, it will not be surprising. That opinion among people grows stronger every day: even if there is a considerable difference between the causes for which they fight, there will not be much difference between the victories. We have already nearly experienced the one side; as for the other, no one fails to consider how fearful an angry armed victor would be. If at this point I seem to increase your grief, which I ought to lighten by consolation, I confess that I can find no consolation for our common misfortunes except this -- which nevertheless, if you can embrace it, is the greatest, and which I myself use more every day: that consciousness of right intention is the greatest consolation for misfortunes, and that there is no great evil except guilt. Since we are so far from guilt that we even held the best opinions, and since the outcome of our counsel rather than the counsel itself is criticized, and since we have done our duty, let us bear with moderation what has happened. But I do not presume to console you about our common miseries, which require for consolation a greater talent and for endurance a singular virtue. It is easy for anyone to show why you in particular should grieve at nothing. For as to the man who was slower in relieving you than we expected, I have no doubt about his intention regarding your safety; and as for the others, I do not think you need to wait for my opinion. What remains is that you may be pained by being so long away from your family -- a troublesome thing, especially away from those children than whom nothing could be more delightful. But, as I wrote to you before, the times are such that everyone thinks his own condition the most wretched, and wherever anyone is, he least wants to be there. For my part, I consider those of us who are in Rome the most wretched, not only because in all misfortunes it is more bitter to see than to hear, but also because we are more exposed to every chance of sudden dangers than if we were away. Though I myself, your consoler, have been softened not so much by literature, to which I have always been devoted, as by the length of time. How great my pain was, you remember; and in it the first consolation is this: that I saw more than others when I wished for peace on even the most unfair terms -- which, though it happened by chance, not by my foresight, still I take pleasure in this empty praise of prudence. Then, what is common to me and you for consolation: if I am now called to the end of life, I am not torn from a republic the loss of which I should mourn, especially since that will occur without any sensation. My age also helps, and my life already lived, which both delights in having completed its course well, and forbids me to fear violence at a point to which nature itself has almost already brought us. Finally, such a man or even such men fell in this war that it would seem shameless to refuse the same fortune, if circumstances should require it. For my part, I foresee everything and there is no evil so great that I do not think it threatens. But since there is more evil in fearing than in the thing itself that is feared, I cease to fear, especially since what threatens will bring not only no pain, but even an end to pain. But I have said enough or more than was necessary. It is not my loquacity but my goodwill that makes my letters longer. I was sorry that Servius had left Athens, for I have no doubt that his daily company and conversation, both as a most intimate friend and as the best and wisest of men, was a great relief to you. I would have you sustain yourself, as you ought and as you do, by your own virtue. I shall attend to everything that I believe you wish and that pertains to you and yours with the greatest zeal and diligence; and in doing so I shall imitate your goodwill toward me, though I cannot equal your services. Farewell.
Human translation - ToposText / Shuckburgh
Latin / Greek Original
IV. Scr. Romae a.u.c. 709 M. CICERO S. D. A. TORQUATO
Novi, quod ad te scriberem, nihil erat, et tamen, si quid esset, sciebam te a tuis certiorem fieri solere; de futuris autem rebus etsi semper difficile est dicere, tamen interdum coniectura possis propius accedere, quam est res eiusmodi, cuius exitus provideri possit. Nunc tantum videmur intelligere, non diuturnum bellum, etsi id ipsum nonnullis videtur secus. Equidem, cum haec scribebam, aliquid iam actum putabam: non quo, sed quod difficilis erat coniectura; nam, cum omnis belli Mars communis et cum semper incerti exitus proeliorum sunt, tum hoc tempore ita magnae utrimque copiae, ita paratae ad depugnandum esse dicuntur, ut, utercumque vicerit, non sit mirum futurum. Ilia in dies singulos magis magisque opinio hominum confirmatur, etiamsi inter causas armorum aliquantum intersit, tamen inter victorias non multum interfuturum: alteros propemodum iam sumus experti; de altero nemo est quin cogitet, quam sit metuendus iratus victor armatus. Hoc loco si videor augere dolorem tuum, quem consolando levare debebam, fateor me communium malorum consolationem nullam invenire praeter illam—quae tamen, si possis eam suscipere, maxima est quaque ego quotidie magis utor—: conscientiam rectae voluntatis maximam consolationem esse rerum incommodarum nec esse ullum magnum malum praeter culpam: a qua quoniam tantum absumus, ut etiam optime senserimus, eventusque magis nostri consilii quam consilium reprehendatur, et quoniam praestitimus, quod debuimus, moderate, quod evenit, feramus. Sed hoc mihi tamen non sumo, ut te consoler de communibus miseriis, quae ad consolandum maioris ingenii et ad ferendum singularis virtutis indigent: illud cuivis facile est docere, cur praecipue tu dolere nihil debeas; eius enim, qui tardior in te levando fuit, quam fore putaramus, non est mihi dubia de tua salute sententia, de illis autem non arbitror te exspectare quid sentiam. Reliquum est, ut te angat, quod absis a tuis tamdiu: res molesta, praesertim ab iis pueris, quibus nihil potest esse festivius; sed, ut ad te scripsi antea, tempus est huiusmodi, ut suam quisque condicionem miserrimam putet et, ubi quisque sit, ibi esse minime velit. Equidem, nos qui Romae sumus, miserrimos esse duco, non solum quod in malis omnibus acerbius est videre quam audire, sed etiam quod ad omnes casus subitorum periculorum magis obiecti sumus, quam si abessemus; etsi me ipsum, consolatorem tuum, non tantum litterae, quibus semper studui, quantum longinquitas temporis mitigavit. Quanto fuerim dolore, meministi: in quo prima illa consolatio est, vidisse me plus quam ceteros, cum cupiebam quamvis iniqua condicione pacem, quod etsi casu, non divinatione mea factum est, tamen in hac inani prudentiae laude delector; deinde, quod mihi ad consolationem commune tecum est, si iam vocer ad exitum vitae, non ab ea re publica avellar, qua carendum esse doleam, praesertim cum id sine ullo sensu futurum sit; adiuvat etiam aetas et acta iam vita, quae cum cursu suo bene confecto delectat, tum vetat in eo vim timere, quo nos iam natura ipsa paene perduxerit; postremo is vir vel etiam ii viri hoc bello occiderunt, ut impudentia videatur eandem fortunam, si res cogat, recusare. Equidem mihi omnia propono nec ullum est tantum malum, quod non putem impendere; sed, cum plus in metuendo mali sit quam in ipso illo, quod timetur, metuere desino, praesertim cum id impendeat, in quo non modo dolor nullus, verum finis etiam doloris futurus sit. Sed haec satis multa vel plura potius, quam necesse fuit; facit autem non loquacitas mea, sed benevolentia longiores epistulas. Servium discessisse Athenis moleste tuli; non enim dubito, quin magnae tibi levationi solitus sit esse quotidianus congressus et sermo cum familiarissimi hominis, tum optimi et prudentissimi viri. Tu velim te, ut debes et soles, tua virtute sustentes: ego, quae te velle quaeque ad te et ad tuos pertinere arbitrabor, omnia studiose diligenterque curabo; quae cum faciam, benevolentiam tuam erga me imitabor, merita non assequar. Vale.