19 August 44 BCE: To Atticus (at Rome) from Cicero (near Pompeii)
Cicero cancels his trip to Greece, is grumpy about it, and claims to be staying out of politics
I set out from Leucopetra on August 6th, for I meant to make the crossing from there. I had gone about 300 stades when I was driven by a strong south wind back to Leucopetra again. While I was waiting there for a wind (our friend Valerius’ house was there, so I was among friends and stayed there gladly) some famous men from Regium had just returned there very recently from Rome, and among them was a friend of our dear Brutus, who had left Brutus at Naples. They brought the news of an edict of Brutus and Cassius; that there will be a meeting of the Senate on the 1st; and that letters have been sent by Brutus and Cassius to former consuls and praetors, asking them to attend.1 They reported that there was great hope of Antony conceding, of an agreement being reached, and of our friends returning to Rome. They also added that I was very much missed, and criticised somewhat.
When I heard this, I didn’t hesitate to throw out the plan for my journey, which by Hercules I was already quite unhappy with. But when I read your letter, I was quite surprised that your opinion had changed to such an extent—but I thought there must be some reason for it. Even if, although you never advised or urged me towards my journey, you certainly still approved of it, so long as I was in Rome on January 1st. The result would have been my absence while the danger seemed lesser, and I would have returned straight into the flames. But even if this advice was not sensible, I don’t attach any blame. First, because I did what I intended to, and second, because even if you were the one to propose it, what is an advisor responsible for, besides their own good faith?
What couldn’t have surprised me more is that you wrote the following: ‘Fine, you speak of an easy death, fine! Abandon your country!’ So, was I abandoning it, or did I seem to you to be abandoning it? And did you not just not prevent this, but even approve of it? And it gets worse: ‘I wish you would write some polished little piece, addressed to me, saying that it was what you ought to do.’ Really, my Atticus? Does what I did need a defence? Especially to you, who approved of it so thoroughly? Of course, I shall put together that apologia, but addressed to one of the people who didn’t want me to leave, and dissuaded me. Although, what need is there for such a piece? If I had gone through with it, it would have been needed. ‘But even this shows your inconstancy.’ No philosopher (and there has been a great deal written on this subject) has ever said that a change of plans is the same as inconstancy.
And so next you say ‘Certainly, if you were our friend Phaedrus, it could be excused easily; but now what reply should we give?’2 Well, was what I did something I could not justify even to Cato?3 It was completely shameful and dishonourable—of course! I wish it had seemed so to you from the beginning! Just as you always are, you would have been my Cato.
But the last part is the most troublesome: ‘For our dear Brutus remains silent.’ That is, he doesn’t dare to admonish a man of my age. I can think of nothing else that your words could mean, and by Hercules, it’s true. For on August 17th, when I had arrived at Velia, Brutus heard about it—he was with his ships at the River Hales, three miles from Velia. He walked over to see me at once. Immortal gods, he was so very happy about my return, or rather my turning back, and out came everything that he had kept quiet! It made me recall that you said ‘For our dear Brutus remains silent.’
He was most upset that I was not in the Senate on August 1st. He praised Piso to the skies; but he said he was happy that I had escaped two major criticisms.4 One—which I understood I was taking on by making the journey—was that I was despairing, and abandoning the Republic. There were many people I had not convinced of my swift return who argued with me, with tears in their eyes. The other criticism, that Brutus and those with him (and there were a fair few) were happy that I had escaped, was of people thinking I was going to the Olympic Games. There could be nothing more shameful, no matter the condition of the Republic, but in these times—inexcusable.5 So I am strangely thankful for the south wind, for saving me from such disgrace.
There you have my plausible reasons for turning back, and they are important and proper enough; but none are as proper as that which you gave again in another letter: ‘Make sure, if you have any debts, that there is enough for me to repay everyone what they are owed. The fear of war has put everyone in an exceedingly difficult position.’ I read that letter midway through the Straits, and all that came to mind that I could ‘make sure’ of was to be present to defend myself in person. But enough of this; you’ll have the rest when we meet.
I read Antony’s edict, passed on to me by Brutus [and Cassius?], as well as their brilliant reply—but I really don’t see how these edicts have any effect, or what the purpose of them is. Nor am I now returning, as Brutus judged that I should, to engage in the politics of the Republic. For what can be done? Did anyone publicly approve of Piso? Did he come back the following day? But, they say that at this age, one shouldn’t go too far from their grave.
But please tell me, what is this I heard from Brutus? He said you had written to say Pilia has suffered a stroke. I was very upset, although he also said you wrote to say you hope she is getting better. I really hope so, and please give her and my sweet darling Attica my very best wishes.
I write this on the way to my Pompeian villa by ship, August 19th.
Read Ad Atticum 16.7 in Latin here | Check the glossary here
This edict was the one mentioned in Brutus and Cassius’ letter to Antony. ‘Some scholars have suggested that the Liberators requested dispensation from their duties to go into voluntary exile: thus Gelzer, RE 10.1 (1917), 998; Shackleton Bailey (1977), 475–6. On the contrary, Ramsey (2003), 260–1, commenting on a reference to this earlier edict at Cic. Phil. 1.8, prefers to follow Denniston (1926), 76, who believed the Liberators were rather stating their intentions not to take up the grain commission. This last suggestion seems to make better sense because, as we shall see, Brutus seems to have retained his imperium and the grain commission does not seem, at this stage, to have been removed from the decree.’ (Kathryn Tempest, Brutus: The Noble Conspirator.)
Phaedrus was an Epicurean philosopher. Epicureanism discouraged involvement in politics, But Cicero was not an Epicurean, and so could not use philosophy to justify his absence from the political situation in Rome.
Cato was a Stoic and contemporary of Cicero known for his political opposition on moral grounds to… a lot of things. Stoicism was a rival philosophy to Epicureanism and encouraged involvement in politics.
Caesar’s father-in-law Lucius Calpurnius Piso had spoken against Antony in the Senate on August 1st, but had had little support.
Footnote borrowed from Shackleton Bailey: ‘This is of course angrily ironical, though straiter Roman sentiment might well have held it unbecoming in an elderly Consul to go to Greece to attend the games.’