alive, and with
me still living to need the help of others; and my voice, of all others,
to fail when dangers threatened my family, which had so often been
successfully used in the defence of the merest strangers. For as to the
slaves coming to you without a letter, the real reason (for you see that
it was not anger) was a deadness of my faculties, and a seemingly
endless deluge of tears and sorrows. How many tears do you suppose these
very words have cost me? As many as I know they will cost you to read
them! Can I ever refrain from thinking of you or ever think of you
without tears? For when I miss you, is it only a brother that I miss?
Rather it is a brother of almost my own age in the charm of his
companionship, a son in his consideration for my wishes, a father in the
wisdom of his advice! What pleasure did I ever have without you, or you
without me? And what must my case be when at the same time I miss a
daughter: How affectionate! how modest! how clever! The express image of
my face, of my speech, of my very soul! Or again a son, the prettiest
boy, the very joy of my heart? Cruel inhuman monster that I am, I
dismissed him from my arms better schooled in the world than I could
have wished: for the poor child began to understand what was going on.
So, too, your own son, your own image, whom my little Cicero loved as a
brother, and was now beginning to respect as an elder brother! Need I
mention also how I refused to allow my unhappy wife--the truest of
helpmates--to accompany me, that there might be some one to protect the
wrecks of the calamity which had fallen on us both, and guard our common
children? Nevertheless, to the best of my ability, I did write a letter
to you, and gave it to your freedman Philogonus, which, I believe, was
delivered to you later on; and in this I repeated the advice and
entreaty, which had been already transmitted to you as a message from me
by my slaves, that you should go on with your journey and hasten to
Rome. For, in the first place, I desired your protection, in case there
were any of my enemies whose cruelty was not yet satisfied by my fall.
In the next place, I dreaded the renewed lamentation which our meeting
would cause: while I could not have borne your departure, and was afraid
of the very thing you mention in your letter--that you would be unable
to tear yourself away. For these reasons the supreme pain of not seeing
you--and nothing more painful or more wretched could, I thi