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V
V
To Terentia, Tulliola, and Young Cicero (at Rome)
Brundisium, 29 April, 58 B.C.
Yes, I do write to you less often than I might, because, though I am
always wretched, yet when I write to you or read a letter from you, I am in
such floods of tears that I cannot endure it. Oh, that I had clung less to
life! I should at least never have known real sorrow, or not much of it, in my
life. Yet if fortune has reserved for me any hope of recovering at any time
any position again, I was not utterly wrong to do so: if these miseries are to
be permanent, I only wish, my dear, to see you as soon as possible and to die
in your arms, since neither gods, whom you have worshipped with such pure
devotion, nor men, whom I have ever served, have made us any return. I have
been thirteen days at Brundisium in the house of M. Laenius Flaccus, a very
excellent man, who has despised the risk to his fortunes and civil existence
in comparison to keeping me safe, nor has been induced by the penalty of a
most iniquitous law to refuse me the rights and good offices of hospitality
and friendship. May I sometime have the opportunity of repaying him! Feel
gratitude I always shall. I set out from Brundisium on the 29th of April, and
intend going through Macedonia to Cyzicus. What a fall! What a disaster! What
can I say? Should I ask you to come - a woman of weak health and broken
spirit? Should I refrain from asking you? Am I to be without you, then? I
think the best course is this: if there is any hope of my restoration, stay to
promote it and push the thing on: but if, as I fear, it proves hopeless, pray
come to me by any means in your power. Be sure of this, that if I have you I
shall not think myself wholly lost. But what is to become of my darling
Tullia? You must see to that now: I can think of nothing. But certainly,
however things turn out, we must do everything to promote that poor little
girl`s married happiness and reputation. Again, what is my boy Cicero to do?
Let him, at any rate, be ever in my bosom and in my arms. I can`t write more.
A fit of weeping hinders me. I don`t know how you have got on; whether you are
left in possession of anything, or have been, as I fear, entirely plundered.
Piso, as you say, I hope will always be our friend. As to the manumission of
the slaves you need not be uneasy. To begin with, the promise made to yours
was that you would treat them according as each severally deserved. So far
Orpheus has behaved well, besides him no one very markedly so. With the rest
of the slaves the arrangement is that, if my property is forfeited, they
should become my freedmen, supposing them to be able to maintain at law that
status. But if my property remained in my ownership, they were to continue
slaves, with the exception of a very few. But these are trifles. To return to
your advice, that I should keep up my courage and not give up hope of
recovering my position, I only wish that there were any good grounds for
entertaining such a hope. As it is, when, alas! shall I get a letter from you?
Who will bring it me? I would have waited for it at Brundisium, but the
sailors would not allow it, being unwilling to lose a favourable wind. For the
rest, put as dignified a face on the matter as you can, my dear Terentia. Our
life is over: we have had our day: it is not any fault of ours that has ruined
us, but our virtue. I have made no false step, except in not losing my life
when I lost my honours. But since our children preferred my living, let us
bear everything else, however intolerable. And yet I, who encourage you,
cannot encourage myself. I have sent that faithful fellow Clodius Philhetaerus
home, because he was hampered with weakness of the eyes. Sallustius seems
likely to outdo everybody in his attentions. Pescennius is exceedingly kind to
me; and I have hopes that he will always be attentive to you. Sicca had said
that he would accompany me; but he has left Brundisium. Take the greatest care
of your health, and believe me that I am more affected by your distress than
my own. My dear Terentia, most faithful and best of wives, and my darling
little daughter, and that last hope of my race, Cicero, goodbye!
29 April, from Brundisium.
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