Searching for Antonius /Cic. Phil
Page 14
But these considerations have no bearing on the present time, nor in my case; for not only would a man who offered violence to me have no fear of punishment, but he would even hope to obtain glory and rewards from those bands of robbers.
XI. These dangers I can guard against in the city; it is easy for me to look around and see where I am going out from, whither I am going, what there is on my right hand, and on my left. Shall I be able to do the same on the roads of the Apennines? in which, even if there should be no ambush, as there easily may be, still my mind will be kept in such a state of anxiety as not to be able to attend to the duties of an embassy. But suppose I have escaped all plots against me, and have passed over the Apennines; still I have to encounter a meeting and conference with Antonius. What place am I to select? If it is outside the camp, the rest may look to themselves,—I think that death would come upon me instantly. I know the frenzy of the man; I know his unbridled violence. The ferocity of his manners and the savageness of his nature is not usually softened even by wine. Then, inflamed by anger and insanity, with his brother Lucius, that foulest of beasts, at his side, he will never keep his sacrilegious and impious hands from me.
I can recollect conferences with most bitter enemies, and with citizens in a state of the most bitter disagreement.
Cnæus Pompeius, the son of Sextus, being consul, in my presence, when I was serving my first campaign in his army, had a conference with Publius Vettius Scato, the general of the Marsians, between the camps. And I recollect that Sextus Pompeius, the brother of the consul, a very learned and wise man, came thither from Rome to the conference. And when Scato had saluted him, “What,” said he, “am I to call you?”—“Call me,” said he, “one who is by inclination a friend, by necessity an enemy.” That conference was conducted with fairness; there was no fear, no suspicion; even their mutual hatred was not great; for the allies were not seeking to take our city from us, but to be themselves admitted to share the privileges of it. Sylla and Scipio, one attended by the flower of the nobility, the other by the allies, had a conference between Cales and Teanum, respecting the authority of the senate, the suffrages of the people, and the privileges of citizenship; and agreed upon conditions and stipulations. Good faith was not strictly observed at that conference; but still there was no violence used, and no danger incurred.
XII. But can we be equally safe among Antonius’s piratical crew? We cannot; or, even if the rest can, I do not believe that I can.
What will be the case if we are not to confer out of the camp? What camp is to be chosen for the conference? He will never come into our camp;—much less will we go to his. It follows then, that all demands must be received and sent to and fro by means of letters. We then shall be in our respective camps. On all his demands I shall have but one opinion; and when I have stated it here, in your hearing, you may think that I have gone, and that I have come back again.—I shall have finished my embassy. As far as my sentiments can prevail I shall refer every demand which Antonius makes to the senate. For, indeed, we have no power to do otherwise; nor have we received any commission from this assembly, such as, when a war is terminated, is usually, in accordance with the precedents of your ancestors, entrusted to the ambassadors. Nor, in fact, have we received any particular commission from the senate at all.
And, as I shall pursue this line of conduct in the council, where some, as I imagine, will oppose it, have I not reason to fear that the ignorant mob may think that peace is delayed by my means?
For why should I speak of the last man who stirred up such a war; a man whose acts, indeed, we defend, while we admit that the author of them was deservedly slain? Nothing, then, is more infamous than such a citizen or such a man; if indeed he deserves to be considered either a citizen or a man, who is desirous of civil war.
But the first thing that we have to consider, O conscript fathers, is whether peace can exist with all men, or whether there be any war incapable of reconciliation, in which any agreement of peace is only a covenant of slavery. Whether Sylla was making peace with Scipio, or whether he was only pretending to do so, there was no reason to despair, if an agreement had been come to, that the city might have been in a tolerable state. If Cinna had been willing to agree with Octavius, the safety of the citizens might still have had an existence in the republic. In the last war, if Pompeius had relaxed somewhat of his dignified firmness, and Cæsar a good deal of his ambition, we might have had both a lasting peace, and some considerable remainder of the republic.
II. But what is the state of things now? Is it possible for there to be peace with Antonius? with Censorinus, and Ventidius, and Trebellius, and Bestia, and Nucula, and Munatius, and Lento, and Saxa? I have just mentioned a few names as a specimen; you yourselves see the countless numbers and savage nature of the rest of the host.
Add, besides the wrecks of Cæsar’s party, the Barbæ Cassii, the Barbatii, the Pollios; add the companions and fellow-gamblers of Antonius, Eutrapelus, and Mela, and Cœlius, and Pontius, and Crassicius, and Tiro, and Mustela, and Petissius; I say nothing of the main body, I am only naming the leaders. To these are added the legionaries of the Alauda and the rest of the veterans, the seminary of the judges of the third decury; who, having exhausted their own estates, and squandered all the fruits of Cæsar’s kindness, have now set their hearts on our fortunes.
Oh that trustworthy right hand of Antonius, with which he has murdered many citizens! Oh that regularly ratified and solemn treaty which we made with the Antonii! Surely if Marcus shall attempt to violate it, the conscientious piety of Lucius will call him back from such wickedness. If there is any room allowed these men in this city, there will be no room for the city itself. Place before your eyes, O conscript fathers, the countenances of those men, and especially the countenances of the Antonii. Mark their gait, their look, their face, their arrogance; mark those friends of theirs who walk by their side, who follow them, who precede them. What breath reeking of wine, what insolence, what threatening language do you not think there will be there? Unless, indeed, the mere fact of peace is to soften them, and unless you expect that, especially when they come into this assembly, they will salute every one of us kindly, and address us courteously.
III. Do you not recollect, in the name of the immortal gods! what resolutions you have given utterance to against those men? You have repealed the acts of Marcus Antonius; you have taken down his laws; you have voted that they were carried by violence, and with a disregard of the auspices; you have called out the levies throughout all Italy; you have pronounced that colleague and ally of all wickedness a public enemy. What peace can there be with this man? Even if he were a foreign enemy, still, after such actions as have taken place, it would be scarcely possible, by any means whatever, to have peace. Though seas and mountains, and vast regions lay between you, still you would hate such a man without seeing him. But these men will stick to your eyes, and when they can, to your very throats; for what fences will be strong enough for us to restrain savage beasts?—Oh, but the result of war is uncertain. It is at all events in the power of brave men, such as you ought to be, to display your valour, (for certainly brave men can do that,) and not to fear the caprice of fortune.
V. Do you think, then, O Marcus Lepidus, that the Antonii will be to the republic such citizens as she will find Pompeius? In the one there is modesty, gravity, moderation, integrity; in them (and when I speak of them, I do not mean to omit one of that band of pirates), there is lust, and wickedness, and savage audacity capable of every crime. I entreat of you, O conscript fathers, which of you fails to see this which Fortune herself, who is called blind, sees? For, saving the acts of Cæsar, which we maintain for the sake of harmony, his own house will be open to Pompeius, and he will redeem it for the same sum for which Antonius bought it. Yes, I say the son of Cnæus Pompeius will buy back his house. O melancholy circumstance! But these things have been already lamented long and bitterly enough. You have voted a sum of money to Cnæus Pompeius, equal to that which his conquering enemy had appropriated to himself of his father’s property in the distribution of his booty.
It was the act of a sufficiently rash man, not to say an audacious one, to touch a single particle of that property; but who will have the face to endeavour to retain it, when its most illustrious owner is restored to his country? Will not that man restore his plunder, who enfolding the patrimony of his master in his embrace, clinging to the treasure like a dragon, the slave of Pompeius, the freedman of Cæsar, has seized upon his estates in the Lucanian district? And as for those seven hundred millions of sesterces which you, O conscript fathers, promised to the young man, they will be recovered in such a manner that the son of Cnæus Pompeius will appear to have been established by you in his patrimony. This is what the senate must do; the Roman people will do the rest with respect to that family which was at one time one of the most honourable it ever saw. In the first place, it will invest him with his father’s honour as an augur, for which rank I will nominate him and promote his election, in order that I may restore to the son what I received from the father. Which of these men will the Roman people most willingly sanction as the augur of the all-powerful and all-great Jupiter, whose interpreters and messengers we have been appointed,—Pompeius or Antonius? It seems indeed, to me, that Fortune has managed this by the divine aid of the immortal gods, that, leaving the acts of Cæsar firmly ratified, the son of Cnæus Pompeius might still be able to recover the dignities and fortunes of his father.
Who is more fortunate than Lentulus, as I said before, and who is more sensible? The Roman people saw his sorrow and his tears at the Lupercal festival. They saw how miserable, how overwhelmed he was when Antonius placed a diadem on Cæsar’s head and preferred being his slave to being his colleague. And even if he had been able to abstain from his other crimes and wickednesses, still on account of that one single action I should think him worthy of all punishment. For even if he himself was calculated to be a slave, why should he impose a master on us? And if his childhood had borne the lusts of those men who were tyrants over him, was he on that account to prepare a master and a tyrant to lord it over our children? Therefore since that man was slain, he himself has behaved to all others in the same manner as he wished him to behave to us.
For in what country of barbarians was there ever so foul and cruel a tyrant as Antonius, escorted by the arms of barbarians, has proved in this city? When Cæsar was exercising the supreme power, we used to come into the senate, if not with freedom, at all events with safety. But under this arch-pirate, (for why should I say tyrant?) these benches were occupied by Itureans. On a sudden he hastened to Brundusium, in order to come against this city from thence with a regular army. He deluged Suessa, a most beautiful town, now of municipal citizens, formerly of most honourable colonists, with the blood of the bravest soldiers. At Brundusium he massacred the chosen centurions of the Martial legion in the lap of his wife, who was not only most avaricious but also most cruel. After that with what fury, with what eagerness did he hurry on to the city, that is to say, to the slaughter of every virtuous man! But at that time the immortal gods brought to us a protector whom we had never seen nor expected.
From thence it was not a journey, but a race and flight into Gaul. He thought that Cæsar was pursuing him with the fourth legion, with the martial legion, with the veterans, whose very name he could not endure for fright. Then, as he was making his way into Gaul, Decimus Brutus opposed him; who preferred being himself surrounded by the waves of the whole war, to allowing him either to retreat or advance; and who put Mutina on him as a sort of bridle to his exultation. And when he had blockaded that city with his works and fortifications, and when the dignity of a most flourishing colony, and the majesty of a consul elect, were both insufficient to deter him from his parricidal treason, then, (I call you, and the Roman people, and all the gods who preside over this city, to witness,) against my will, and in spite of my resistance and remonstrance, three ambassadors of consular rank were sent to that robber, to that leader of gladiators, Marcus Antonius.
But if any one has hitherto been able to doubt the fact, that there can be nothing whatever in common between this order and the Roman people and that most detestable beast, let him at least cease to entertain such a doubt, when he becomes acquainted with this letter which I have just received, it having been sent to me by Hirtius the consul. While I read it, and while I briefly discuss each paragraph, I beg, O conscript fathers, that you will listen to me most attentively, as you have hitherto done.
“Antonius to Hirtius and Cæsar.”
He does not call himself imperator, nor Hirtius consul, nor Cæsar pro-prætor. This is cunningly done enough. He preferred laying aside a title to which he had no right himself, to giving them their proper style.
“When I heard of the death of Caius Trebonius, I was not more rejoiced than grieved.”
Take notice why he says he rejoiced, why he says that he was grieved; and then you will be more easily able to decide the question of peace.
“It was a matter of proper rejoicing that a wicked man had paid the penalty due to the bones and ashes of a most illustrious man, and that the divine power of the gods had shown itself before the end of the current year, by showing the chastisement of that parricide already inflicted in some cases, and impending in others.”
O you Spartacus! for what name is more fit for you? you whose abominable wickedness is such as to make even Catiline seem tolerable. Have you dared to write that it is a matter of rejoicing that Trebonius has suffered punishment? that Trebonius was wicked? What was his crime, except that on the ides of March he withdrew you from the destruction which you had deserved? Come;
Which, then, was more just, which was more advantageous for the republic, that Cnæus Pompeius, or that Antonius the brother who bought all Pompeius’s property, should live? And then what men of prætorian rank were there with us! the chief of whom was Marcus Cato, being indeed the chief man of any nation in the world for virtue. Why need I speak of the other most illustrious men? you know them all. I am more afraid lest you should think me tedious for enumerating so many, than ungrateful for passing over any one. And what men of ædilitian rank! and of tribunitian rank! and of quæstorian rank! Why need I make a long story of it; so great was the dignity of the senators of our party, so great too were their numbers, that those men have need of some very valid excuse who did not join that camp. Now listen to the rest of the letter.
XV. “You have the defeated Cicero for your general.”
I am the more glad to hear that word “general,” because he certainly uses it against his will; for as for his saying “defeated,” I do not mind that; for it is my fate that I can neither be victorious nor defeated without the republic being so at the same time.
“You are fortifying Macedonia with armies.”
Yes, indeed, and we have wrested one from your brother, who does not in the least degenerate from you.
“You have entrusted Africa to Varus, who has been twice taken prisoner.”
Here he thinks that he is making out a case against his own brother Lucius.
“You have sent Capius into Syria.”
Do you not see then, O Antonius, that the whole world is open to our party, but that you have no spot, out of your own fortifications, where you can set your foot?
“You have allowed Casca to discharge the office of tribune.”
What then? Were we to remove a man, as if he had been Marullus, or Cæsetius, to whom we own it, that this and many other things like this can never happen for the future?
“You have taken away from the Luperci the revenues which Julius Cæsar assigned to them.”
Does he dare to make mention of the Luperci? Does he not shudder at the recollection of that day on which, smelling of wine, reeking with perfumes, and naked, he dared to exhort the indignant Roman people to embrace slavery?
“You, by a resolution of the senate, have removed the colonies of the veterans which had been legally settled.”
Have we removed them, or have we rather ratified a law which was passed in the comitia centuriata? See, rather, whether it is not you who have ruined these veterans, (those at least who are ruined,) and settled them in a place from which they themselves now feel that they shall never be able to make their escape.