Letter 7.28

I remember when I thought you were being foolish to live with those people rather than with us. For the dwelling-place of this city, when it was indeed a city, was far more suited to your culture and refinement than the whole Peloponnesus, let alone Patrae. But now, on the contrary, you seem to me to have been very perceptive in betaking yourself to Greece when affairs here were nearly desperate, and at this time you are not merely wise to be away from here, but even happy -- although who that has any sense can be happy now? But what you, being free to do so, accomplished on foot -- to be where "neither the name of the Pelopidae" -- you know the rest -- I am achieving almost the same thing by a different route. For when I have given myself over to the morning calls of friends -- which happen even more frequently now than they used to, because they seem to see a white raven when they see a patriotic citizen -- I hide myself in my library. And so I produce works of such volume that perhaps you will notice them. For I understood from a certain conversation of yours, when you criticized my sadness and despair in your house, that you wished to learn from my books that my spirit was still alive. But by Hercules, at that time I was mourning the republic, which, by reason of its services to me and mine to it, was dearer to me than life itself; and at this time, although I am consoled not only by reason, which ought to be most powerful, but also by time, which usually heals even fools, I still grieve that the common cause has so collapsed that not even a hope of things being better someday remains. And indeed at this time the fault does not lie in the man in whose power everything rests -- unless perhaps it should not have been so at all -- but some things have happened by chance, others even by our own fault, so that we need not complain about the past. I see no remaining hope; therefore I return to my first point: you left these things wisely, if by design, and happily, if by chance.

CDLXXV (Fam. VII, 28) TO MANIUS CURIUS (IN ACHAIA) ROME (AUGUST) I remember the time when I thought you foolish for associating with your friends over there rather than with us: for a residence in this city — while it was still a city at all — was much better suited to your culture and refinement than all the Peloponnesus put together, to say nothing of Patrae . Now, however, on the contrary you seem to me to have been long-sighted for having settled in Greece when things here were in a desperate condition, and at the present crisis not only to be wise for being abroad, but happy as well. And yet what man of any discernment can be happy at present? But what you, who could do so, have secured by the use of your feet-removal to a place “Where of the Pelopidae ” (you know the rest)-I am getting by a different method. For, after giving myself up to the reception of my friends which is more crowded than it used to be, precisely because they imagine that in a citizen of honest sentiments they see a rare bird of good omen, I bury myself in my library. Accordingly, I am completing works of an importance which you will perhaps appreciate. For in a certain talk I had with you at your house, when you were finding fault with my gloom and despair, I understood you to say, that you could not recognize the old high spirit in my books. But, by Hercules , at that time I was mourning for the Republic — which by its services to me, and no less by mine to it, was dearer to me than my life. And even now, though not only is reason (which ought to be more powerful than anything) consoling me, but also time which cures even fools, yet I am nevertheless grieving that the general interests are in such a state of collapse, that no hope even is left of any future improvement. Not that in the present instance the fault is his, in whose power everything is — unless by any chance that very fact is not as it should be — but some things by accident and others by my own fault also have so fallen out, that complaint on my part for the past is barred. Hope for the future I see none. Therefore I return to what I said at first: you have left all this wisely, if you did so by design; luckily, if by accident.

XXVIII. Scr. Romae (post VII. K. Sextil.) a.u.c. 708. [M.] CICERO S. D. CURIO. Memini, cum mihi desipere videbare, quod cum istis potius viveres quam nobiscum; erat enim multo domicilium huius urbis, cum quidem haec urbs fuit, aptius humanitati et suavitati tuae quam tota Peloponnesus, nedum Patrae: nunc contra et vidisse mihi multum videris, cum prope desperatis his rebus te in Graeciam contulisti, et hoc tempore non solum sapiens, qui hinc absis, sed etiam beatus; quamquam quis, qui aliquid sapiat, nunc esse beatus potest? Sed, quod tu, cui licebat, pedibus es consecutus, ut ibi esses, "ubi nec Pelopidarum" —nostri cetera—, nos idem propemodum consequimur alia ratione; cum enim salutationi nos dedimus amicorum, quae fit hoc etiam frequentius, quam solebat, quod quasi avem albam videntur bene sentientem civem videre, abdo me in bibliothecam. Itaqua opera efficio tanta, quanta fortasse tu senties; intellexi enim ex tuo sermone quodam, cum meam maestitiam et desperationem accusares domi tuae, discere te ex meis libris animum meum desiderare; sed mehercule et tum rem publicam lugebam, quae non solum suis erga me, sed etiam meis erga se beneficiis erat mihi vita mea carior, et hoc tempore, quamquam me non ratio solum consolatur, quae plurimum debet valere, sed etiam dies, quae stultis quoque mederi solet, tamen doleo ita rem communem esse dilapsam, ut ne spes quidem melius aliquando fore relinquatur. Nec vero nunc quidem culpa in eo est, in cuius potestate omnia sunt—nisi forte id ipsum esse non debuit—, sed alia casu, alia etiam nostra culpa sic acciderunt, ut de praeteritis non sit querendum. Reliquam spem nullam video; quare ad prima redeo: sapienter haec reliquisti, si consilio, feliciter, si casu.