Letter 4.9

Although only a very few days ago I gave Quintus Mucius a letter to you written at greater length, in which I declared what spirit I thought you ought to have and what I believed you should do, nevertheless, since Theophilus, your freedman, whose loyalty and goodwill toward you I have observed, was setting out, I did not wish him to come to you without a letter from me. I urge you therefore again and again on the same matters on which I urged you in my previous letter: that you should wish to be in this republic, whatever it is, as soon as possible. You will perhaps see many things you do not wish to see, but not more than you hear every day. It is not fitting for you to be moved by one sense alone, that of the eyes, while you are less troubled when you perceive the same thing with your ears -- which usually seems even greater. But you yourself will have to say something you do not feel, or do something you do not approve. First, to yield to the times, that is to obey necessity, has always been considered the mark of a wise man. Secondly, as things stand now, the situation does not have that fault: to say what you think is perhaps not permitted, but to remain silent is entirely permitted; for everything has been entrusted to one man, and he uses not even his own people's counsel, but his own alone. This would not have been much different if the man whom we followed held the republic: for do we think that the man who in war, when the danger of us all was joined together, followed his own counsel and that of certain men of very little wisdom, would have been more open to common counsel in victory than he was in uncertain times? And do you think that the man who neither followed your wisest counsel when you were consul, nor was willing to follow your authority when your brother was conducting the consulship under your guidance, would now, when holding everything, have wanted our opinions? Everything is wretched in civil wars -- which our ancestors never experienced even once, but our age has now felt repeatedly -- but nothing more wretched than victory itself, which, even if it comes to the better side, still makes those very men more fierce and uncontrolled, so that even if they are not such by nature, they are forced to be so by necessity; for many things must be done by the victor at the discretion of those through whom he conquered, even against his will. Did you not see, along with me, how cruel that victory would have been? Would you then too have left your country, so as not to see what you did not wish? "No," you will say, "for I would have held my own power and dignity." But it was the mark of your virtue to count your own affairs as least important, and to care more keenly for the republic. Then what is the end of this course of yours? For up to now your action is approved and, as far as is possible in such a matter, your fortune too is praised: your action, because you necessarily followed the beginning of the war but wisely chose not to pursue it to the end; your fortune, because in honorable leisure you have maintained both the standing and the reputation of your dignity. But now no place should be dearer to you than your country, nor should you love it less because it is more disfigured, but rather pity it, and not deprive it also of the sight of you, bereaved as it is of many distinguished men. Finally, if it was the mark of a great spirit not to be a suppliant to the victor, take care that it is not the mark of a proud man to spurn that same man's generosity; and if it is wise to do without one's country, it is hard not to long for it; and if you cannot enjoy the republic, it is foolish to refuse private life. The chief point is this: even if that life seems more convenient to you, you must still consider whether it is any safer. There is great license for swords, but in foreign lands there is even less restraint against crime. Your safety is of such concern to me that I am equal to your brother Marcellus, or certainly nearest to him. It is for you to take counsel for your circumstances, your safety, your life, and your fortunes.

CDLXXXV (Fam. IV, 9) TO M. CLAUDIUS MARCELLUS (AT MITYLENE) ROME (SEPTEMBER) Though it is only a very few days ago that I gave Quintus Mucius a letter for you written at considerable length, in which I set forth in what state of mind I thought you ought to be, and what I thought you ought to do, yet, since your freedman Theophilus was starting, of whose fidelity and affection to you I had satisfied myself, I was unwilling that he should reach you without a letter from me. On the same considerations, then, as I did in my previous letter, I again and again exhort you, to make up your mind to become a resident member of the Republic, whatever its nature may be, at the earliest possible time. You will perhaps see many things disagreeable to your feelings, but not more after all than you daily hear. Moreover, you are not the man to be affected by the sense of sight alone, and to be less afflicted when you learn the same things by the ear, which indeed are usually even magnified by imagination. But — you object — you will yourself be obliged to say something you do not feel, or to do something you do not approve. To begin with, to yield to circumstances, that is to submit to necessity, has ever been held the part of a wise man: in the next place, things are not — as matters now stand at least — quite so bad as that. You may not be able, perhaps, to say what you think: you may certainly hold your tongue. For authority of every kind has been committed to one man. He consults nobody but himself, not even his friends. There would not have been much difference if he whom we followed were master of the Republic. Can we think that the man who in a time of war, when we were all united in the same danger, consulted only himself and a certain clique of wholly incompetent persons, was likely to be more communicative in the hour of victory, than he had been when the result was still uncertain? And do you think that a man who in your consulship would never be guided by your consummate wisdom, nor, when your brother was administering the consulship under your inspiration, ever condescended to consult you two, would now, if he were in sole power, be likely to want suggestions from us? Everything in civil war is wretched; of which our ancestors never even once had experience, while our generation has now had it repeatedly: but nothing, after all, is more wretched than victory itself, which, even if it fall to the better men, yet renders them more savage and ruthless, so that, even if they are not such by nature, they are compelled to become so by the necessity of the case. For a conqueror is forced, at the beck of those who won him his victory, to do many things even against his inclination. Were you not wont to foresee simultaneously with myself how bloody that victory was likely to be? Well, would you at that time also have absented yourself from your country for fear of seeing what you disapproved? “No,” you will say, “for then I should have been in possession of wealth and my proper position.” Ah, but it had been consistent with a virtue such as yours to regard your personal interests as among the most insignificant concerns, and to be more profoundly affected by those of the state. Again, what is to be the end of your present policy? For up to now your conduct is approved, and, as far as such a business admits of it, your good fortune also is commended: your conduct, because while you engaged in the first part of the war under compulsion, you showed your wisdom by refusing to follow it to the bitter end: your good fortune, because by an honourable retirement you have maintained both the dignity and the reputation of your character. Now, however, it is not right that you should feel any place more to your taste than your native land; nor ought you to love it less because it has lost some of its comeliness, but rather to pity it, and not deprive it of the light of your countenance also, when already bereft of many illustrious sons. Finally, if it was the sign of high spirit not to be a supplicant to the victor, is it not perhaps a sign of pride to spurn his kindness? If it was the act of a wise man to absent himself from his country, is it not perhaps a proof of insensibility not to regret her? And, if you are debarred from enjoying a public station, is it not perhaps folly to refuse to enjoy a private one? The crowning argument is this: even if your present mode of life is more convenient, you must yet reflect whether it is not less safe. The sword owns no law: but in foreign lands there is even less scruple as to committing a crime. I am personally so anxious for your safety, that in this respect I take rank with your brother Marcellus , or at any rate come next to him. It is your business to take measures for your own interests, civil rights, life, and property.

IX. Scr. Romae (post VII. K. Sext.) a.u.c. 708. M. CICERO S. D. M. MARCELLO. Etsi perpaucis ante diebus dederam Q. Mucio litteras ad te pluribus verbis scriptas, quibus declaraveram, quo te animo censerem esse oportere et quid tibi faciendum arbitrarer, tamen, cum Theophilus, libertus tuus, proficisceretur, cuius ego fidem erga te benevolentiamque perspexeramn, sine meis litteris eum ad te venire nolui. Iisdem igitur te rebus etiam atque etiam hortor, quibus superioribus litteris hortatus sum, ut in ea re publica, quaecumque est, quam primum velis esse: multa videbis fortasse, quae nolis, non plura tamen, quam audis quotidie; non est porro tuum uno sensu solum oculorum moveri, cum idem illud auribus percipias—quod etiam maius videri solet—, minus laborare. At tibi ipsi dicendum erit aliquid, quod non sentias, aut faciendum, quod non probes. Primum tempori cedere, id est necessitati parere, semper sapientis est habitum; deinde non habet, ut nunc quidem est, id vitii res: dicere fortasse, quae sentias, non licet, tacere plane licet; omnia enim delata ad unum sunt: is utitur consilio ne suorum quidem, sed suo; quod non multo secus fieret, si is rem publicam teneret, quem secuti sumus: an, qui in bello, cum omnium nostrum coniunctum esset periculum, suo et certorum hominum minime prudentium consilio uteretur, eum magis communem censemus in victoria futurum fuisse, quam incertis in rebus fuisset? et, qui nec te consule tuum sapientissimum consilium secutus esset nec fratre tuo consulatum ex auctoritate tua gerente vobis auctoribus uti voluerit, nunc omnia tenentem nostras sententias desideraturum censes fuisse? Omnia sunt misera in bellis civilibus—quae maiores nostri ne semel quidem, nostra aetas saepe iam sensit—; sed miserius nihil quam ipsa victoria, quae, etiamsi ad meliores venit, tamen eos ipsos ferociores impotentioresque reddit, ut, etiamsi natura tales non sint, necessitate esse cogantur; multa enim victori eorum arbitrio, per quos vicit, etiam invito facienda sunt. An tu non videbas mecum simul, quam illa crudelis esset futura victoria? igitur tum quoque careres patria, ne, quae nolles, videres? "Non," inquies, "ego enim ipse tenerem opes et dignitatem meam." At erat tuae virtutis in minimis tuas res ponere, de re publica vehementius laborare. Deinde qui finis istius consilii est? nam adhuc et factum tuum probatur et, ut in tali re, etiam fortuna laudatur: factum, quod et initium belli necessario secutus sis et extrema sapienter persequi nolueris; fortuna, quod honesto otio tenueris et statum et famam dignitatis tuae: nunc vero nec locus tibi ullus dulcior esse debet patria nec eam diligere minus debes, quod deformior est, sed misereri potius nec eam multis claris viris orbatam privare etiam aspectu tuo. Denique, si fuit magni animi non esse supplicem victori, vide, ne superbi sit aspernari eiusdem liberalitatem, et, si sapientis est carere patria, duri non desiderare, et, si re publica non possis frui, stultum est nolle privata. Caput illud est, ut, si ista vita tibi commodior esse videatur, cogitandum tamen sit, ne tutior non sit: magna gladiorum est licentia, sed in externis locis minor etiam ad facinus verecundia. Mihi salus tua tantae curae est, ut Marcello, fratri tuo, aut par aut certe proximus sim; tuum est consulere temporibus et incolumitati et vitae et fortunis tuis.