CICERO. 



471 



r,cro. ing them only house-room, and obliging them to lodge 

 in tents when that exaction could be spared. He refu- 

 sed the presents of the neighbouring princes, kept a table 

 at his own expence instead of that of the province, was 

 accessible to all ranks of people, gentle in his punish- 

 ments, and careful of the public money. In his milita- 

 ry operations, he checked a formidable incursion of the 

 Parthians, and took the strong town of Pindenissum. 

 Perhaps it was fortunate for his military reputation, that 

 there was no necessity for a pitched battle with the Par- 

 thians. His successes, however, though not splendid, 

 were sufficient for the protection of the province, and 

 were as complete as the occasion seems to have required. 

 It was then customary, even on very moderate triumphs, 

 for the army to hail their general imperator, and Cicero 

 renewed this honour. In his applying to the senate for 

 a supplication, and entertaining hopes of a triumph, the 

 admirer of his virtue must regret to find an instance of 

 his vanity. Cato opposed the decree with many expres- 

 sions of regard for the truly valuable parts of his charac- 

 ter, but deemed such honours too cheaply given. The 

 offence which Cicero expresses on this occasion was un- 

 worthy of himself, and forms a displeasing contrast, both 

 to the noble conduct which has been already described, 

 and to the candid and manly sentiments of Cato on that 

 occasion. 



His approach to Rome was honoured by a vast con- 

 course of the citizens who came out to salute him, 

 but he found the city full charged with the dissension 

 between Czsar and Pompey, which was soon to ex- 

 plode. Cicero made use of all his influence to prevent 

 the fatal rupture, but Cxsar was in jest when he pre- 

 tended to negotiate, and Pompey was more afraid of 

 peace than war, probably from knowing the mind of his 

 rival. Cicero chose his side when it was no longer pos- 

 lible to be neutral, but with his eyes full open to the di- 

 lemma of calamities which awaited his country in the 

 event of either rival succeeding. He seems to have 

 dreaded the cruelty of Cziar, more than the event jus- 

 tified ; but hi fears of Pompey's incapacity were but 

 too well founded, and even should he have succeeded, the 

 language which Pompey himself held, foreboded neither 

 clemency to the vanquished nor liberty to the republic. 

 Caesar, conscious he could not expect Cicero's support, 

 wished to exhort him to neutrality, and to retire into 

 Greece. His arrival at Pompcy's camp, though plea- 

 ling to the majority, excited only a momentary enthusi- 

 asm, but proved unimportant to the cause, or to his own 

 personal satisfaction. He has been blamed for passing 

 railleries on the prospects and counsels of his party be- 

 fore the battle of Pharsalia ; but when he saw the real 

 inequality of Pompey's ostentatious Asiatic parade of 

 war opposed to the veterans of Caesar ; when he remon- 

 strated against risking a battle, and ridiculed the over- 

 weaning confidence of his party ; it is no wonder that he 

 enforced his arguments with ridicule, and the pity was 

 for his associates, that they did not feel the force of his 

 rebukes. A seasonable illness excused his presence at 

 the fatal battle of Pharsalia, and he afterwards refused 

 all command in the forlorn cause, and took the first op- 

 portunity of returning to Italy. Indeed the cause soon 

 was utterly hopeless. The sons of Pompey were men 

 whose success was still more to be deprecated than that 

 of Caesar's, and Cato's prolonged resistance was but the 

 prelude to a tragedy, which could have no finer conclu- 

 sion than his own act of suicide. He therefore determined 

 to return to Italy, and landed at Brundu-Juin at this time. 

 He was distressed in his private as well as public circum- 

 stances. The unnatural conduct of his brother Quiutus, 



who, in order to make his peace with Caesar, threw all Cicero 

 the blame of their late hostility on Cicero, must have '"^~\~ 

 stung him deeply. In spite of this conduct, he was af- 

 terwards on terms of friendship with this brother, and 

 they suffered, as will be seen, under a common proscrip- 

 tion. He was likewise in pecuniary difficulties, owing 

 to the advances he had made to Pompey, and the extra- 

 vagance of his wife, so that Atticus's purse was, for the 

 present, his chief support. The arrival of Caesar at 

 Brundusium, relieved his suspense. At their meeting, 

 the generosity of Ca:sar imposed no necessity of his say- 

 ing or doing any thing beneath his dignity ; for the con- 

 queror no sooner saw him, than he alighted and ran to 

 embrace him, and afterwards walked with him alone, 

 conversing familiarly for several furlongs. From Brun- 

 dusium he followed C<esar to Rome, witli a resolution to 

 spend his time in study and seclusion, till the republic 

 should be restored to some tolerable state. His books, 

 which had before been only the amusement, were now 

 become the support of his life. A quibus antea delecta- 

 tionem modo petebamus, mine vero clinm salutem. Ep 

 Fam. 9. 2. In his present obscurity, he wrote his book of 

 Oratorial Partitions. Another fruit of his leisure was his 

 Dialogue on famous Orators, in which he gives a short 

 account of all who had ever flourished either in Greece 

 or Rome. The conference is supposed to be held be- 

 tween Brutus and Atticus in Cicero's garden at Rome, 

 under the statue of Plato, whom he usually imitated in 

 his manner of dialogues. 



A domestic occurrence in the latter part of his life, as 

 late as his 61 st year, has impressed perhaps the only stain 

 that can be fixed upon the bright purity of his private 

 character. This was his divorce of his wife Terentia, 

 and his immediately subsequent marriage with his rich, 

 beautiful, and youthful ward Publelia. As he was in- 

 volved in debt, the possession of Publelia's fortune, ra- 

 ther than of her person, may be supposed to have been his 

 motive. In whatever light the match be regarded, the 

 disparity of their years, the relationship of ward and 

 guardian, and the separation from one who had so long 

 been his partner, would make us wish that this part of 

 his history had not existed. Yet his conduct was not 

 without one apology, which, if it does not excuse, at 

 least in some degree extenuates the proceeding. Teren- 

 tia was an imperious, turbulent, and expensive woman. 

 He had borne her perverseness in the vigour of health, 

 and in the flourishing state of his fortunes ; but in de- 

 clining life, and when he was soured by mortifications 

 from abroad, the want of domestic quiet was no longer 

 tolerable. The divorced Terentia, we are told by Va- 

 lerius Maximus, lived to the age of 103 years ; and, ac- 

 cording to St Jerome, married three husbands after Ci- 

 cero, so that the separation seems neither to have affect- 

 ed her health nor spirits. The death of his daughter 

 Tullia in childbed, soon after bis second marriage, gave 

 a deep wound to his sensibility ; and the behaviour of hit 

 young wife, who rejoiced in the removal of her step- 

 daughter m a rival in his affections, and whom he was at 

 length obliged to repudiate, deprived him of his chief 

 domestic comfort!. 



The conspiracy against Ciesar was concerted without 

 Cicero's knowledge, yet the removal of an usurper was 

 thought so conformable to his public principles, that 

 Brutus, after the deed, waving his bloody dagger, called 

 on the name of Cicero, and hailed him on the restoration 

 of liberty. Cicero was well inclined to justify the action, 

 but the turn given by Anthony to the minds of the peo<- 

 pie, deterred him from more than some general attempts 

 to restore public concord, and at length induced him in 



