His brother Quintus was with him in Cilicia, but of his brother's doings there he says little or nothing. We have no letters from him during the period to his wife or daughter. The latter was married to her third husband, Dolabella, during his absence, with no opposition8 from Cicero, but not in accordance with his advice. He had purposed to accept a proposition for her hand made to him by Tiberius Nero, the young Roman nobleman who afterward9 married that Livia whom Augustus took away from him even when she was pregnant, in order that he might marry her himself, and who thus became the father of the Emperor Tiberius. It is worthy10 of remark at the same time that the Emperor Tiberius married the granddaughter of Atticus. Cicero when in Cilicia had wished that Nero should be chosen; but the family at home was taken by the fashion and manners of Dolabella, and gave the young widow to him as her third husband when she was yet only twenty-five. This marriage, like the others, was unfortunate. Dolabella, though fashionable, nobly born, agreeable, and probably handsome, was thoroughly11 worthless. He was a Roman nobleman of the type then common—heartless, extravagant12, and greedy. His country, his party, his politics were subservient13, not to ambition or love of power, but simply to a desire for plunder. Cicero tried hard to love him, partly for his daughter's sake, more perhaps from the necessity which he felt for supporting himself by the power and strength of the aristocratic party to which Dolabella belonged.
I cannot bring him back to Rome, and all that he suffered there, without declaring that much of his correspondence during his government, especially during the latter months of it, and the period of his journey home, is very distressing14. I have told the story of his own doings, I think, honestly, and how he himself abstained15, and compelled those belonging to him to do so; 112 how he strove to ameliorate the condition of those under his rule; how he fully17 appreciated the duty of doing well by others, so soon to be recognized by all Christians19. Such humanity on the part of a Roman at such a period is to me marvellous, beautiful, almost divine; but, in eschewing20 Roman greed and Roman cruelty, he was unable to eschew21 Roman insincerity. I have sometimes thought that to have done so it must have been necessary for him altogether to leave public life. Why not? my readers will say. But in our days, when a man has mixed himself for many years with all that is doing in public, how hard it is for him to withdraw, even though, in withdrawing he fears no violence, no punishment, no exile, no confiscation22. The arguments, the prayers, the reproaches of those around him draw him back; and the arguments, the reproaches from within are more powerful even than those from his friends. To be added to these is the scorn, perhaps the ridicule23, of his opponents. Such are the difficulties in the way of the modern politician who thinks that he has resolved to retire; but the Roman ex-Consul1, ex-Pr?tor, ex-Governor had entered upon a mode of warfare24 in which his all, his life, his property, his choice of country, his wife, his children, were open to the ready attacks of his eager enemies. To have deserved well would be nothing, unless he could keep a party round him bound by mutual25 interests to declare that he had deserved well. A rich man, who desired to live comfortably beyond the struggle of public life, had to abstain16, as Atticus had done, from increasing the sores, from hurting the ambition, from crushing the hopes of aspirants26. Such a man might be safe, but he could not be useful; such, at any rate, had not been Cicero's life. In his earlier days, till he was Consul, he had kept himself free from political interference in doing the work of his life; but since that time he had necessarily put himself into competition with many men, and had made many enemies by the courage of his opinions. He had found even those he had most trusted opposed to him. He had aroused the jealousy27 not only of the C?sars113 and the Crassuses and the Pisos, but also of the Pompeys and Catos and Brutuses. Whom was he not compelled to fear? And yet he could not escape to his books; nor, in truth, did he wish it. He had made for himself a nature which he could not now control.
He had not been long in Cilicia before he knew well how cruel, how dishonest, how greedy, how thoroughly Roman had been the conduct of his predecessor28 Appius. His letters to Atticus are full of the truths which he had to tell on that matter. His conduct, too, with regard to Appius was mainly right. As far as in him lay he endeavored to remedy the evils which the unjust Proconsul had done, and to stop what further evil was still being done. He did not hesitate to offend Appius when it was necessary to do so by his interference. But Appius was a great nobleman, one of the "optimates," a man with a strong party at his back in Rome. Appius knew well that Cicero's good word was absolutely necessary to save him from the ruin of a successful accusation. Cicero knew also that the support of Appius would be of infinite service to him in his Roman politics. Knowing this, he wrote to Appius letters full of flattery—full of falsehood, if the plain word can serve our purpose better. Dolabella, the new son-in-law, had taken upon himself, for some reason as to which it can hardly be worth our while to inquire, to accuse Appius of malversation in his province. That Appius deserved condemnation29 there can be no doubt; but in these accusations30 the contests generally took place not as to the proof of the guilt31, but as to the prestige and power of the accuser and the accused. Appius was tried twice on different charges, and was twice acquitted32; but the fact that his son-in-law should be the accuser was fraught33 with danger to Cicero. He thought it necessary for the hopes which he then entertained to make Appius understand that his son-in-law was not acting34 in concert with him, and that he was desirous that Appius should receive all the praise which would have been due to a good governor. So great was the influ 114ence of Appius at Rome that he was not only acquitted, but shortly afterward elected Censor35. The office of Censor was in some respects the highest in Rome. The Censors36 were elected only once in four years, remaining in office for eighteen months. The idea was that powers so arbitrary as these should be in existence only for a year and a half out of each four years. Questions of morals were considered by them. Should a Senator be held to have lived as did not befit a Senator, a Censor could depose37 him. As Appius was elected Censor immediately after his acquittal, together with that Piso whom Cicero had so hated, it may be understood that his influence was very great.117 It was great enough to produce from Cicero letters which were flattering and false. The man who had been able to live with a humanity, a moderation, and an honesty befitting a Christian18, had not risen to that appreciation38 of the beauty of truth which an exercise of Christianity is supposed to exact.
"Sed quid agas? Sic vivitur!"118—"What would you have me do? It is thus we live now!" This he exclaims in a letter to C?lius, written a short time before he left the province. "What would you say if you read my last letter to Appius?" You would open your eyes if you knew how I have flattered Appius—that was his meaning. "Sic vivitur!"—"It is so we live now." When I read this I feel compelled to ask whether there was an opportunity for any other way of living. Had he seen the baseness of lying as an English Christian gentleman is expected to see it, and had adhered to truth at the cost of being a martyr39, his conduct would have been high though we might have known less of it; but, looking at all the circumstances of the period, have we a right to think that he could have done so?
From Athens on his way home Cicero wrote to his wife, 115joining Tullia's name with hers. "Lux nostra," he calls his daughter; "the very apple of my eye!" He had already heard from various friends that civil war was expected. He will have to declare himself on his arrival—that is, to take one side or the other—and the sooner he does so the better. There is some money to be looked for—a legacy40 which had been left to him. He gives express directions as to the persons to be employed respecting this, omitting the name of that Philotomus as to whose honesty he is afraid. He calls his wife "suavissima et optatissima Terentia," but he does not write to her with the true love which was expressed by his letters when in exile. From Athens, also, where he seems to have stayed nearly two months, he wrote in December. He is easy, he says, about his triumph unless C?sar should interfere—but he does not care much about his triumph now. He is beginning to feel the wearisomeness of the triumph; and indeed it was a time in which the utter hollowness of triumphal pretensions41 must have made the idea odious42 to him. But to have withdrawn43 would have been to have declared his own fears, his own doubts, his own inferiority to the two men who were becoming declared as the rival candidates for Roman power. We may imagine that at such a time he would gladly have gone in quiet to his Roman mansion44 or to one of his villas45, ridding himself forever of the trouble of his lictors, his fasces, and all the paraphernalia46 of imperatorial dignity; but a man cannot rid himself of such appanages without showing that he has found it necessary to do so. It was the theory of a triumph that the victorious47 Imperator should come home hot (as it were) from the battle-field, with all his martial48 satellites around him, and have himself carried at once through Rome. It was barbaric and grand, as I have said before, but it required the martial satellites. Tradition had become law, and the Imperator intending to triumph could not dismiss his military followers49 till the ceremony was over. In this way Cicero was sadly hampered50 by his lictors when, on his landing at Brundi116sium, he found that Italy was already preparing for her great civil war.
b.c. 50, ?tat. 57.
Early in this year it had been again proposed in the Senate that C?sar should give up his command. At this time the two Consuls2, L. ?milius Paulus and C. Claudius Marcellus, were opposed to C?sar, as was also Curio, who had been one of Cicero's young friends, and was now Tribune. But two of these C?sar managed to buy by the payment of enormous bribes52. Curio was the more important of the two, and required the larger bribe51. The story comes to us from Appian,119 but the modern reader will find it efficiently53 told by Mommsen.120 The Consul had fifteen hundred talents, or about ￡500,000! The sum named as that given by C?sar to Curio was something greater, because he was so deeply in debt! Bribes to the amount of above a million of money, such as money is to us now, bestowed54 upon two men for their support in the Senate! It was worth a man's while to be a Consul or a Tribune in those days. But the money was well earned—plunder, no doubt, extracted from Gaul. The Senate decided55 that both Pompey and C?sar should be required to abandon their commands—or rather they adopted a proposal to that effect without any absolute decree. But this sufficed for C?sar, who was only anxious to be relieved from the necessity of obeying any order from the Senate by the knowledge that Pompey also was ordered, and also was disobedient. Then it was—in the summer of this year—that the two commanders were desired by the Senate to surrender each of them a legion, or about three thousand men, under the pretence56 that the forces were wanted for the Parthian war. The historians tell us that Pompey had lent a legion to C?sar, thus giving us an indication of the singular terms on which legions were held by the 117proconsular officers who commanded them. C?sar nobly sends up to Rome two legions, the one as having been ordered to be restored by himself, and the other as belonging to Pompey. He felt, no doubt, that a show of nobleness in this respect would do him better service than the withholding58 of the soldiers. The men were stationed at Capua, instead of being sent to the East, and no doubt drifted back into C?sar's hands. The men who had served under C?sar would not willingly find themselves transferred to Pompey.
C?sar in the summer came across the Alps into Cisalpine Gaul, which as yet had not been legally taken from him, and in the autumn sat himself down at Ravenna, which was still within his province. It was there that he had to meditate59 the crossing of the Rubicon and the manifestation60 of absolute rebellion. Matters were in this condition when Cicero returned to Italy, and heard the corroboration61 of the news as to the civil war which had reached him at Athens.
In a letter written from Athens, earlier than the one last quoted, Cicero declared to Atticus that it would become him better to be conquered with Pompey than to conquer with C?sar.121 The opinion here given may be taken as his guiding principle in politics till Pompey was no more. Through all the doubts and vacillations which encumbered62 him, this was the rule not only of his mind but of his heart. To him there was no Triumvirate: the word had never been mentioned to his ears. Had Pompey remained free from C?sar it would have been better. The two men had come together, and Crassus had joined them. It was better for him to remain with them and keep them right, than to stand away, angry and astray, as Cato had done. The question how far C?sar was justified63 in the position which he had taken up by certain alleged64 injuries, affected65 Cicero less than it has done subsequent 118inquirers. Had an attempt been made to recall C?sar illegally? Was he subjected to wrong by having his command taken away from him before the period had passed for which the people had given it? Was he refused indulgences to which the greatness of his services entitled him—such as permission to sue for the Consulship66 while absent from Rome—while that, and more than that, had been granted to Pompey? All these questions were no doubt hot in debate at the time, but could hardly have affected much the judgment67 of Cicero, and did not at all affect his conduct. Nor, I think, should they influence the opinions of those who now attempt to judge the conduct of C?sar. Things had gone beyond the domain68 of law, and had fallen altogether into that of potentialities. Decrees of the Senate or votes of the people were alike used as excuses. C?sar, from the beginning of his career, had shown his determination to sweep away as cobwebs the obligations which the law imposed upon him. It is surely vain to look for excuses for a man's conduct to the practice of that injustice69 against him which he has long practised against others. Shall we forgive a house-breaker because the tools which he has himself invented are used at last upon his own door? The modern lovers of C?sar and of C?sarism generally do not seek to wash their hero white after that fashion. To them it is enough that the man has been able to trample70 upon the laws with impunity71, and to be a law not only to himself but to all the world around him. There are some of us who think that such a man, let him be ever so great—let him be ever so just, if the infirmities of human nature permit justice to dwell in the breast of such a man—will in the end do more harm than good. But they who sit at the feet of the great commanders admire them as having been law-breaking, not law-abiding. To say that C?sar was justified in the armed position which he took in Northern Italy in the autumn of this year, is to rob him of his praise. I do not suppose that he had meditated72 any special line of policy during the119 years of hard work in Gaul, but I think that he was determined73 not to relinquish74 his power, and that he was ready for any violence by which he might preserve it.
If such was Cicero's idea of this man—if such the troubled outlook which he took into the circumstances of the Empire—he thought probably but little of the legality of C?sar's recall. What would the Consuls do, what would Curio do, what would Pompey do, and what C?sar? It was of this that he thought. Had law-abiding then been possible, he would have been desirous to abide75 by the law. Some nearest approach to the law would be the best. C?sar had ignored all laws, except so far as he could use them for his own purposes. Pompey, in conspiring76 with C?sar, had followed C?sar's lead; but was desirous of using the law against C?sar when C?sar outstripped77 him in lawlessness. But to Cicero there was still some hope of restraining Pompey. Pompey, too, had been a conspirator78, but not so notorious a conspirator as C?sar. With Pompey there would be some bond to the Republic; with C?sar there could be none; therefore it was better for him to fall with Pompey than to rise with C?sar. That was his conviction till Pompey had altogether fallen.
His journey homeward is made remarkable79 by letters to Tiro, his slave and secretary. Tiro was taken ill, and Cicero was obliged to leave him at Patr?, in Greece. Whence he had come to Cicero we do not know, or when; but he had not probably fallen under his master's peculiar80 notice before the days of the Cilician government, as we find that on his arrival at Brundisium he writes to Atticus respecting him as a person whom Atticus had not much known.122 But his affection for Tiro is very warm, and his little solicitudes81 for the man whom he leaves are charming. He is to be careful as to what boat he takes, and under what captain he sails. He is not to hurry. 120The doctor is to be consulted and well paid. Cicero himself writes various letters to various persons, in order to secure that attention which Tiro could not have insured unless so assisted.
Early in January Cicero reached the city, but could not enter it because of his still unsettled triumph, and C?sar crossed the little river which divided his province from the Roman territory. The 4th of January is the date given for the former small event. For the latter I have seen no precise day named. I presume that it was after the 6th, as on that day the Senate appointed Domitian as his successor in his province. On this being done, the two Tribunes, Antony and Cassius, hurried off to C?sar, and C?sar then probably crossed the stream. Cicero was appointed to a command in Campania—that of raising levies82, the duties of which were not officially repugnant to his triumph.
His doings during the whole of this time were but little to his credit; but who is there whose doings were to his credit at that period? The effect had been to take all power out of his hand. C?sar had given him up. Pompey could not do so, but we can imagine how willing Pompey would have been that he should have remained in Cilicia. He had been sent there, out of the way, but had hurried home again. If he would only have remained and plundered83! If he would only have remained there and have been honest—so that he would be out of the way! But here he was—back in Italy, an honest, upright man! No one so utterly84 unlike the usual Roman, so lost amid the self-seekers of Rome, so unnecessarily clean-handed, could be found! Cato was honest, foolishly honest for his time; but with Cato it was not so difficult to deal as with Cicero. We can imagine Cato wrapping himself up in his robe and being savagely85 unreasonable86. Cicero was all alive to what was going on in the world, but still was honest! In the mean time he remained in the neighborhood of Naples, writing to his wife and daughter, writing to Tiro, writing to Atticus, and telling us all those details which we now seem to121 know so well—because he has told us. In one of his letters to Atticus at this time he is sadly in earnest. He will die with Pompey in Italy, but what can he do by leaving it? He has his "lictors" with him still. Oh, those dreadful lictors! His friendship for Cn?us! His fear of having to join himself with the coming tyrant87! "Oh that you would assist me with your counsel!"123 He writes again, and describes the condition of Pompey—of Pompey who had been Magnus. "See how prostrate88 he is. He has neither courage, counsel, men, nor industry! Put aside those things; look at his flight from the city, his cowardly harangues89 in the towns, his ignorance of his own strength and that of his enemy! * * * C?sar in pursuit of Pompey! Oh, sad! * * * Will he kill him?" he exclaims. Then, still to Atticus, he defends himself. He will die for Pompey, but he does not believe that he can do any good either to Pompey or to the Republic by a base flight. Then there is another cause for staying in Italy as to which he cannot write. This was Terentia's conduct. At the end of one of his letters he tells Atticus that with the same lamp by which he had written would he burn that which Atticus had sent to him. In another he speaks of a Greek tutor who has deserted90 him, a certain Dionysius, and he boils over with anger. His letters to Atticus about the Greek tutor are amusing at this distance of time, because they show his eagerness. "I never knew anything more ungrateful; and there is nothing worse than ingratitude91."124
He heaps his scorn upon Pompey: "It is true, indeed, that I said that it was better to be conquered with him than to conquer with those others. I would indeed. But of what Pompey was it that I so spoke92? Was it of this one who flies he knows not what, nor whom, nor whither he will fly?"125 He writes again the same day: "Pompey had fostered C?sar, and then had feared him. He had left the city; he had lost Pice122num by his own fault, he had betaken himself to Apulia! Then he went into Greece, leaving us in the dark as to his plans!" He excuses a letter of his own to C?sar. He had written to C?sar in terms which might be pleasing to the great man. He had told C?sar of C?sar's admirable wisdom. Was it not better so? He was willing that his letter should be read aloud to all the people, if only those of Pompey might also be read aloud. Then follow copies of a correspondence between him and Pompey. In the last he declares126 that "when he had written from Canusium he had not dreamed that Pompey was about to cross the sea. He had known that Pompey had intended to treat for peace—for peace even under unjust conditions—but he had never thought that Pompey was meditating93 a retreat out of Italy." He argues well and stoutly94, and does take us along with him. Pompey had been beaten back from point to point, never once rallying himself against C?sar. He had failed, and had slipped away, leaving a man here and there to stand up for the Republic. Pompey was willing to risk nothing for Rome. It had come to pass at last that he was being taught C?sarism by C?sar, and when he died was more imperial than his master.
At this time Cicero's eyes were bad. "Mihi molestior lippitudo erat etiam quam ante fuerat." And again, "Lippitudinis me? signum tibi sit librarii manus." But we may doubt whether any great men have lived so long with so little to tease them as to their health. And yet the amount of work he got through was great. He must have so arranged his affairs as to have made the most he could of his hours, and have carried in his memory information on all subjects. When we remember the size of the books which he read, their unwieldy shapes, their unfitness for such work as that of ours, there seems to have been a continuation of study such as we cannot endure. Throughout his life his hours were early, but they 123must also have been late. Of his letters we have not a half, of his speeches not a half, of his treatises95 not more than a half. When he was abroad during his exile, or in Cilicia during his government, he could not have had his books with him. That C?sar should have been C?sar, or Pompey Pompey, does not seem to me a matter so difficult as that Cicero should have been Cicero. Then comes that letter of which I spoke in my first chapter, in which he recapitulates96 the Get?, the Armenians, and the men of Colchis. "Shall I, the savior of the city, assist to bring down upon that city those hordes97 of foreign men? Shall I deliver it up to famine and to destruction for the sake of one man who is no more than mortal?"127 It was Pompey as to whom he then asked the question. For Pompey's sake am I to let in these crowds? We have been told, indeed, by Mr. Froude that the man was C?sar, and that Cicero wrote thus anxiously with the special object of arranging his death!
"Now, if ever, think what we shall do," he says. "A Roman army sits round Pompey and makes him a prisoner within valley and rampart—and shall we live? The city stands; the Pr?tors give the law, the ?diles keep up the games, good men look to their principal and their interest. Shall I remain sitting here? Shall I rush hither and thither98 madly, and implore99 the credit of the towns? Men of substance will not follow me. The revolutionists will arrest me. Is there any end to this misery100? People will point at me and say, 'How wise he was not to go with him.' I was not wise. Of his victory I never wished to be the comrade—yet now I do of his sorrow."128
b.c. 49, ?tat. 58.
Pompey had crossed the sea from Brundisium, and C?sar had retreated across Italy to Capua. As he was journeying he saw Cicero, and asked him to go to Rome. This Cicero refused, and C?sar passed on. "I must then use other counsels," said C?sar, thus leaving him for the 124last time before the coming battle. Cicero went on to Arpinum, and there heard the nightingales. From that moment he resolved. He had not thought it possible that when the moment came he should have been able to prevail against C?sar's advice; but he had done so. He had feared that C?sar would overcome him; but when the moment came he was strong against even C?sar. He gave his boy his toga, or, as we should say, made a man of him. He was going after Pompey, not for the sake of Pompey, not for the sake of the Republic, but for loyalty101. He was going because Atticus had told him to go. But as he is going there came fresh ground for grief. He writes to Atticus about the two boys, his son and nephew. The one is good by nature, and has not yet gone astray. The other, the elder and his nephew, has been encouraged by this uncle's indulgence, and has openly adopted evil ways. In other words, he has become C?sarian—for a reward.129 The young Quintus has shown himself to be very false. Cicero is so bound together with his family in their public life that this falling off of one of them makes him unhappy. Then Curio comes the way, and there is a most interesting conversation. It seems that Curio, who is fond of Cicero, tells him everything; but Cicero, who doubts him, lets him pass on. Then C?lius writes to him. C?lius implores102 him, for the sake of his children, to bear in mind what he is doing. He tells him much of C?sar's anger, and asks him if he cannot become C?sarian; at any rate to betake himself to some retreat till the storm shall pass by and quieter days should come. But C?lius, though it had suited Cicero to know him intimately, had not read the greatness of the man's mind. He did not understand in the least the difficulty which pervaded103 Cicero. To C?lius it was play—play in which a man might be beaten, or banished104, or slaughtered105; but it was a game in which men were fighting each for himself. That there 125should be a duty in the matter, beyond that, was inexplicable106 to C?lius. And his children, too—his anger against young Quintus and his forgiveness of Marcus! He thinks that Quintus had been purchased by a large bribe on C?sar's side, and is thankful that it is no worse with him. What can have been worse to a young man than to have been open to such payment? Antony is frequently on the scene, and already disgusts us by the vain frivolity107 and impudence108 of his life. And then Cicero's eyes afflict109 him, and he cannot see. Servius Sulpicius comes to him weeping. For Servius, who is timid and lachrymose110, everything has gone astray. And then there is that Dionysius who had plainly told him that he desired to follow some richer or some readier master. At the last comes the news of his Tullia's child's birth. She is brought to bed of a son. He cannot, however, wait to see how the son thrives. From the midst of enemies, and with spies around him, he starts. There is one last letter written to his wife and daughter from on board the ship at Caieta, sending them many loves and many careful messages, and then he is off.
It was now the 11th of June, the third day before the ides, b.c. 49, and we hear nothing special of the events of his journey. When he reached the camp, which he did in safety, he was not well received there. He had given his all to place himself along with Pompey in the republican quarters, and when there the republicans were unwilling111 to welcome him. Pompey would have preferred that he should have remained away, so as to be able to say hereafter that he had not come.
Of what occurred to Cicero during the great battle which led to the solution of the Roman question we know little or nothing. We hear that Cicero was absent, sick at Dyrrachium, but there are none of those tirades112 of abuse with which such an absence might have been greeted. We hear, indeed, from other sources, very full accounts of the fighting—how C?sar was nearly conquered, how Pompey might have prevailed had he had the sense to take the good which came in his way, how126 he failed to take it, how he was beaten, and how, in the very presence of his wife, he was murdered at last at the mouth of the Nile by the combined energies of a Roman and a Greek.
We can imagine how the fate of the world was decided on the Pharsalus where the two armies met, and the victory remained with C?sar. Then there were weepings and gnashings of teeth, and there were the congratulations and self-applause of the victors. In all Cicero's letters there is not a word of it. There was terrible suffering before it began, and there is the sense of injured innocence113 on his return, but nowhere do we find any record of what took place. There is no mourning for Pompey, no turning to C?sar as the conqueror114. Petra has been lost, and Pharsalia has been won, but there is no sign.
b.c. 48, ?tat. 59.
Cicero, we know, spent the time at Dyrrachium close to which the battle of Petra was fought, and went from thence to Corcyra. There invitation was made to him, as the senior consular57 officer present, to take the command of the beaten army, but that he declined. We are informed that he was nearly killed in the scuffle which took place. We can imagine that it was so—that in the confusion and turmoil115 which followed he should have been somewhat roughly told that it behooved116 him to take the lead and to come forth117 as the new commander; that there should be a time at last in which no moment should be allowed him for doubt, but that he should doubt, and, after more or less of reticence118, pass on. Young Pompey would have it so. What name would be so good to bind119 together the opponents of C?sar as that of Cicero? But Cicero would not be led. It seems that he was petulant120 and out of sorts at the time; that he had been led into the difficulty of the situation by his desire to be true to Pompey, and that he was only able to escape from it now that Pompey was gone. We can well imagine that there should be no man less able to fight against C?sar, though there was none whose name might be so serviceable to use as that of Cicero. At any rate, as far as we are concerned, there127 was silence on the subject on his part. He wrote not a word to any of the friends whom Pompey had left behind him, but returned to Italy dispirited, silent, and unhappy. He had indeed met many men since the battle of the Pharsalus, but to none of whom we are conversant121 had he expressed his thoughts regarding that great campaign.
Here we part from Pompey, who ran from the fighting-ground of Macedonia to meet his doom122 in the roads of Alexandria. Never had man risen so high in his youth to be extinguished so ingloriously in his age. He was born in the same year with Cicero, but had come up quicker into the management of the world's affairs, so as to have received something from his equals of that which was due to age. Habit had given him that ease of manners which enabled him to take from those who should have been his compeers the deference123 which was due not to his age but to his experience. When Cicero was entering the world, taking up the cudgels to fight against Sulla, Pompey had already won his spurs, in spite of Sulla but by means of Sulla. Men in these modern days learn, as they grow old in public life, to carry themselves with indifference124 among the backslidings of the world. In reading the life of Cicero, we see that it was so then. When defending Amerinus, we find the same character of man as was he who afterward took Milo's part. There is the same readiness, the same ingenuity125, and the same high indignation; but there is not the same indifference as to results. With Amerinus it is as though all the world depended on it; with Milo he felt it to be sufficient to make the outside world believe it. When Pompey triumphed, 70 b.c., and was made Consul for the second time, he was already old in glory—when Cicero had not as yet spoken those two orations126 against Verres which had made the speaking of another impossible. Pompey, we may say, had never been young. Cicero was never old. There was no moment in his life in which Cicero was not able to laugh with the Curios and the C?liuses behind the back of the great128 man. There was no moment in which Pompey could have done so. He who has stepped from his cradle on to the world's high places has lost the view of those things which are only to be seen by idle and luxurious127 young men of the day. Cicero did not live for many years beyond Pompey, but I doubt whether he did not know infinitely128 more of men. To Pompey it had been given to rule them; but to Cicero to live with them.
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1
consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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consuls
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| 领事( consul的名词复数 )； （古罗马共和国时期）执政官 （古罗马共和国及其军队的最高首长，同时共有两位，每年选举一次） | |
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amass
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| vt.积累，积聚 | |
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plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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accusation
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| n.控告，指责，谴责 | |
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plundering
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的现在分词 ) | |
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legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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opposition
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| n.反对，敌对 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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extravagant
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| adj.奢侈的；过分的；(言行等)放肆的 | |
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subservient
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| adj.卑屈的，阿谀的 | |
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distressing
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| a.使人痛苦的 | |
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abstained
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| v.戒（尤指酒），戒除( abstain的过去式和过去分词 )；弃权（不投票） | |
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abstain
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| v.自制，戒绝，弃权，避免 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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eschewing
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| v.（尤指为道德或实际理由而）习惯性避开，回避( eschew的现在分词 ) | |
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eschew
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| v.避开，戒绝 | |
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confiscation
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| n. 没收, 充公, 征收 | |
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ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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aspirants
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| n.有志向或渴望获得…的人( aspirant的名词复数 )v.渴望的，有抱负的，追求名誉或地位的( aspirant的第三人称单数 )；有志向或渴望获得…的人 | |
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jealousy
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| n.妒忌，嫉妒，猜忌 | |
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predecessor
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| n.前辈，前任 | |
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condemnation
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| n.谴责; 定罪 | |
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accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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fraught
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| adj.充满…的，伴有(危险等)的；忧虑的 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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censor
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| n./vt.审查，审查员；删改 | |
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censors
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| 删剪（书籍、电影等中被认为犯忌、违反道德或政治上危险的内容）( censor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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depose
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| vt.免职；宣誓作证 | |
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appreciation
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| n.评价；欣赏；感谢；领会，理解；价格上涨 | |
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martyr
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| n.烈士，殉难者；vt.杀害，折磨，牺牲 | |
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legacy
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| n.遗产，遗赠；先人(或过去)留下的东西 | |
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pretensions
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| 自称( pretension的名词复数 )； 自命不凡； 要求； 权力 | |
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odious
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| adj.可憎的，讨厌的 | |
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43
withdrawn
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| vt.收回；使退出；vi.撤退，退出 | |
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mansion
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| n.大厦，大楼；宅第 | |
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villas
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| 别墅，公馆( villa的名词复数 )； （城郊）住宅 | |
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paraphernalia
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| n.装备；随身用品 | |
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victorious
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| adj.胜利的，得胜的 | |
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martial
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| adj.战争的，军事的，尚武的，威武的 | |
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followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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50
hampered
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| 妨碍，束缚，限制( hamper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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bribe
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| n.贿赂；v.向…行贿，买通 | |
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52
bribes
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| n.贿赂( bribe的名词复数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂v.贿赂( bribe的第三人称单数 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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efficiently
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| adv.高效率地，有能力地 | |
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54
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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consular
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| a.领事的 | |
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withholding
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| 扣缴税款 | |
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59
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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manifestation
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| n.表现形式；表明；现象 | |
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corroboration
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| n.进一步的证实，进一步的证据 | |
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encumbered
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| v.妨碍，阻碍，拖累( encumber的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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justified
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| a.正当的，有理的 | |
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alleged
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| a.被指控的，嫌疑的 | |
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affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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consulship
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| 领事的职位或任期 | |
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judgment
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| n.审判；判断力，识别力，看法，意见 | |
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domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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trample
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| vt.踩，践踏；无视，伤害，侵犯 | |
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impunity
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| n.(惩罚、损失、伤害等的)免除 | |
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meditated
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| 深思，沉思，冥想( meditate的过去式和过去分词 )； 内心策划，考虑 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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relinquish
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| v.放弃，撤回，让与，放手 | |
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abide
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| vi.遵守；坚持；vt.忍受 | |
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conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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outstripped
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| v.做得比…更好，（在赛跑等中）超过( outstrip的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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conspirator
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| n.阴谋者，谋叛者 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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81
solicitudes
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| n.关心，挂念，渴望( solicitude的名词复数 ) | |
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82
levies
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| （部队）征兵( levy的名词复数 )； 募捐； 被征募的军队 | |
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83
plundered
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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tyrant
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| n.暴君，专制的君主，残暴的人 | |
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prostrate
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| v.拜倒，平卧，衰竭；adj.拜倒的，平卧的，衰竭的 | |
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harangues
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| n.高谈阔论的长篇演讲( harangue的名词复数 )v.高谈阔论( harangue的第三人称单数 ) | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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92
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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meditating
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| a.沉思的，冥想的 | |
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stoutly
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| adv.牢固地，粗壮的 | |
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treatises
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| n.专题著作，专题论文，专著( treatise的名词复数 ) | |
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recapitulates
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| n.总结，扼要重述( recapitulate的名词复数 )v.总结，扼要重述( recapitulate的第三人称单数 ) | |
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hordes
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| n.移动着的一大群( horde的名词复数 )；部落 | |
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98
thither
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| adv.向那里；adj.在那边的，对岸的 | |
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implore
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| vt.乞求，恳求，哀求 | |
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100
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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loyalty
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| n.忠诚，忠心 | |
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implores
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103
pervaded
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| v.遍及，弥漫( pervade的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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104
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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105
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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106
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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107
frivolity
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| n.轻松的乐事，兴高采烈；轻浮的举止 | |
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impudence
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| n.厚颜无耻；冒失；无礼 | |
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afflict
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| vt.使身体或精神受痛苦，折磨 | |
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lachrymose
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| adj.好流泪的，引人落泪的；adv.眼泪地，哭泣地 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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112
tirades
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| 激烈的长篇指责或演说( tirade的名词复数 ) | |
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113
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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114
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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behooved
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| v.适宜( behoove的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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bind
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| vt.捆，包扎；装订；约束；使凝固；vi.变硬 | |
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petulant
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| adj.性急的，暴躁的 | |
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conversant
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| adj.亲近的，有交情的，熟悉的 | |
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122
doom
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| n.厄运，劫数；v.注定，命定 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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124
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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ingenuity
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| n.别出心裁；善于发明创造 | |
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126
orations
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| n.（正式仪式中的）演说，演讲( oration的名词复数 ) | |
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luxurious
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| adj.精美而昂贵的；豪华的 | |
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infinitely
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| adv.无限地，无穷地 | |
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