Letter 5.21

Your letter was welcome to me, from which I learned what I believed even without a letter: that you were affected by the keenest desire to see me. I accept this so gladly that I still do not yield to you in this; for to be with you -- so may all that I wish come to pass -- I very much desire! For even when there was a greater supply of good men and citizens, of pleasant people and those devoted to me, yet there was no one with whom I would more gladly be than with you, and few with whom I would be equally glad. But at this time, when some have perished, others are absent, and others have changed their disposition, I would more gladly, so help me, spend one day with you than all this time with most of those with whom I live of necessity. For you must not imagine that solitude is not more pleasant to me -- though even that I cannot enjoy -- than the conversation of those who frequent my house, except for one or at most a second. And so I use the same refuge that I think you should use: our little literary works, and beyond that the consciousness of my own counsels. For I am the man, as you can most easily judge, who never did anything for his own sake rather than for his fellow citizens. If the man whom you never liked -- for you liked me -- had not begrudged me, both he himself would have been happy and all good men. I am the man who wished no man's force to prevail over honorable peace; and the same man, when I perceived that those very arms which I had always feared had more power than that consensus of good men which I myself had brought about, preferred to accept peace on any safe terms rather than fight with a stronger force. But these matters and many others we shall be able to discuss in person shortly. And yet nothing else keeps me in Rome except the expectation of the African affairs -- for the matter seems to me brought to a near crisis -- and I think it is of some concern to me, although I do not really understand what that concern is. But nevertheless, whatever news comes from there, I do not want to be far from the counsels of my friends; for the matter has now been brought to such a point that, although there is a great difference between the causes of those who are fighting, I think there will not be much difference between their victories. But clearly my spirit, which in doubtful times was perhaps rather weak, has been much strengthened now that things are desperate; your earlier letter too strengthened it, from which I understood how bravely you bore your injury, and I was glad that your supreme culture, and indeed your own literary pursuits, had been of benefit to you. For I shall write the truth: you seemed to me to be of a rather tender spirit, as we all are, more or less, who have lived a free-born life in a happy and free state. But just as we bore prosperity with moderation, so we ought to bear bravely this fortune that is not merely adverse but utterly overthrown, so that we may gain at least this good amid our greatest misfortunes: that death, which we ought to have despised even when happy, because it will have no consciousness, we should now in our present state not only despise but even desire. If you love me, enjoy that leisure of yours and persuade yourself that, apart from guilt and wrongdoing, from which you have always been and will be free, nothing can befall a man that should be horrible or fearful. If it seems possible to do so fittingly, I shall come to you shortly; if anything happens to change my plans, I shall inform you at once. See to it that you are as eager to see me as this: that you do not stir from there in your poor health unless you first ask me by letter what I would have you do. Please continue to be fond of me, as you are, and look after your health and peace of mind.

CDLVI (Fam. V, 21) TO L. MESCINIUS RUFUS ROME, APRIL: I was gratified by your letter which told me, what I thought to be the case even without any letter, that you were inspired with a very eager desire to see me. I gladly accept the compliment, but I do not yield to you in the strength 9f the wish: for may I have all my heart's desire, as I ardently long to be with you! Even at the time when I had a greater wealth of good citizens, agreeable men, and attached friends about me, there was yet no one whose Society I enjoyed more than yours, and few whose I enjoyed as much. But at the present time, since some have died, others are away, and others changed in feeling, upon my honour, a single day devoted to you will bring a richer return of pleasure than all this time given to most of those with whom I am forced to live. For do not imagine that solitude — and even that, after all, I am not allowed to en-joy — is not pleasanter than the talk of those who crowd my house, with one or at most two exceptions. Accordingly, I fly to that refuge, which I think you should also seek — my darling studies: and, in addition to them, the consciousness of the principles I have maintained. For I am a man, as you will have no difficulty in conceiving, who have never acted for my own interests in preference to those of my fellow citizens: a man of whom, if he whom you never loved — for you loved me — had not been jealous, he would now have been in prosperity, and so would all the loyalists. I am he whose wish was that no man's brute force should be preferred to peace with honour. And again, when I perceived that the very appeal to arms, which I had always dreaded, was to influence the result more than that union of all loyalists (of which I again was the author), I preferred accepting a peace on any terms whatever that were safe to a combat with the stronger. But all this and much else when we meet, as we soon shall. For after all there is nothing to keep me at Rome except the expectation of news from Africa: for the campaign there seems to me to have come to a point when the decisive stroke cannot be far off. Now whatever that news may be, I suppose it is of some importance to me that I should not be out of the way of consulting my friends: I don't, indeed, see clearly what the precise importance is, but nevertheless it must be of some. In fact, it has come to this, that though there is a wide difference between the merits of the two contending sides, I should imagine there will not be much difference between the way they will use their victory. But my courage, which has perhaps been somewhat weak while the result was undecided, now that all is lost, has greatly recovered its tone. You, too, did much to strengthen it by your previous letter, from which I learnt how bravely you were bearing your injurious treatment: and it was helpful to me to find that your lofty character, as well as your literary studies, had stood you in good stead. For I will be candid: I used to think you somewhat lacking in spirit, as indeed most of us were, who have lived the life of free men in a state that was itself wealthy and free. But as we were moderate in the old prosperity, so ought we to endure now with courage what is not a mere reverse of fortune, but a total loss of it: to the end that we may get this amount of good at least in the midst of the gravest ills, that, while even in prosperity we were bound to disregard death (seeing that it will bring with it an absence of all sensation ), at this time and with these distresses we ought not only to disregard, but even to wish for it. If you have any regard for me, continue to enjoy your leisure and convince yourself that, except misconduct and crime — of which you have been and always will be clear-nothing can happen to a man that can soil his honour or should rouse his fear. For my part, if it shall seem feasible, I will come to see you before long: if anything happens to make a change in my plans necessary, I will at once let you know. Don't allow your eagerness to see me induce you to move in your present weak state of health, without first asking me by letter what I want you to do. Pray go on loving me as before, and devote yourself to your health and peace of mind.

XXI. Scr. Romae (ante m. Aprilem) a.u.c. 708. M. CICERO S. D. L. MESCINIO. Gratae mihi tuae litterae fuerunt, ex quibus intellexi, quod etiam sine litteris arbitrabar, te summa cupiditate affectum esse videndi mei: quod ego ita libenter accipio, ut tamen tibi non concedam; nam tecum esse, ita mihi omnia, quae opto, contingant, ut vehementer velim! etenim, cum esset maior et virorum et civium bonorum et iucundorum hominum et amantium mei copia, tamen erat nemo, quicum essem libentius quam tecum, et pauci, quibuscum essem aeque libenter; hoc vero tempore, cum alii interierint, alii absint, alii mutati voluntate sint, unum medius fidius tecum diem libentius posuerim quam hoc omne tempus cum plerisque eorum, quibuscum vivo necessario; noli enim existimare mihi non solitudinem iucundiorem esse, qua tamen ipsa uti non licet, quam sermones eorum, qui frequentant domum meam, excepto uno aut summum altero. Itaque utor eodem perfugio, quo tibi utendum censeo, litterulis nostris, praeterea conscientia etiam consiliorum meorum; ego enim is sum, quemadmodum tu facillime potes existimare, qui nihil umquam mea potius quam meorum civium causa fecerim; cui nisi invidisset is, quem tu numquam amasti—me enim amabas—, et ipse beatus esset et omnes boni. Ego sum, qui nullius vim plus valere volui quam honestum otium, idemque, cum illa ipsa arma, quae semper timueram, plus posse sensi quam illum consensum bonorum, quem ego idem effeceram, quavis tuta condicione pacem accipere malui quam viribus cum valentiore pugnare. Sed et haec et multa alia coram brevi tempore licebit. Neque me tamen ulla res alia Romae tenet nisi exspectatio rerum Africanarum—videtur enim mihi res in propinquum adducta discrimen—; puto autem mea nonnihil interesse —quamquam id ipsum, quid intersit, non sane intelligo—, verumtamen, quidquid illinc nuntiatum sit, non longe abesse a consiliis amicorum; est enim res iam in eum locum adducta, ut, quamquam multum intersit inter eorum causas, qui dimicant, tamen inter victorias non multum interfuturum putem. Sed plane animus, qui dubiis rebus forsitan fuerit infirmior, desperatis confirmatus est multum; quem etiam tuae superiores litterae confirmarunt, quibus intellexi, quam fortiter iniuriam ferres, iuvitque me tibi cum summam humanitatem, tum etiam tuas litteras profuisse; verum enim scribam: teneriore mihi animo videbare, sicut omnes fere, qui vitam ingenuam in beata civitate et in libera viximus; sed, ut illa secunda moderate tulimus, sic hanc non solum adversam, sed funditus eversam fortunam fortiter ferre debemus, ut hoc saltem in maximis malis boni consequamur, ut mortem, quam etiam beati contemnere debebamus, propterea quod nullum sensum esset habitura, nunc sic affecti non modo contemnere debeamus, sed etiam optare. Tu, si me diligis, fruere isto otio tibique persuade praeter culpam ac peccatum, qua semper caruisti et carebis, homini accidere nihil posse, quod sit horribile aut pertimescendum. Ego, si videbitur recte fieri posse, ad te veniam brevi; si quid acciderit, ut mutandum consilium sit, te certiorem faciam statim: tu ita fac cupidus mei videndi sis, ut istinc te ne moveas tam infirma valetudine, nisi ex me prius quaesieris per litteras, quid te velim facere. Me velim, ut facis, diligas valetudinique tuae et tranquillitati animi servias. Cicero