Ad Familiares 4.5
Ad Familiares 4.5
Headnote
Servius Sulpicius Rufus to Cicero, written at Athens about the middle of March 45 BC (Perseus: Athenis circ.~medio m.~Mart.~a.~709 (45)). Tullia, Cicero’s daughter, had died at Tusculum about a month earlier, in mid-February; Cicero’s letter informing his old friend would have reached Servius in Greece a few weeks before this reply was sent back. Servius, a great jurist and a man of austere Stoic temperament, was at the time serving as proconsul of Achaea.
The letter is one of the small masterpieces of the Roman consolatio, and it is meant to be read together with Cicero’s reply (Fam.~4.6). What Servius writes is what he believes Cicero needs to hear rather than what would feel kindest: a sustained argument that Tullia’s death is no greater calamity than the wider losses already borne, that her continued life at this hour had little to offer her, and that the proper office of the philosophical man is to apply to himself the prescriptions he has given to others. The argument turns on the famous passage in §4: returning from Asia and sailing from Aegina toward Megara, Servius looked round at the ruined oppida cadavera of Aegina, Megara, the Piraeus, and Corinth, and saw the corpses of cities laid out in one place — and asked himself by what right “us little men” (nos homunculi), whose lives were always the briefer thing, take the death of one of our own as an outrage.
The voice across the letter is consistent: a jurist-philosopher’s voice, drier and more disciplined than Cicero’s own, with the Stoic premise that grief beyond a certain measure is itself a failure of ratio. The closing line of §6 — that out of all the virtues, this one alone, the bearing of adversity, should not seem to be missing in Cicero — is offered as a challenge as much as a consolation. Cicero’s reply, written a few weeks later at Atticus’s Ficuleanum estate, accepts the philosophical argument but reports, with a candour that goes against everything Servius has said, that the consolation has not yet reached the wound.
After the news was brought to me of the death of your daughter Tullia, I bore it, as indeed I was bound to, with deep grief and pain, and I held the calamity to be one we shared. Had I been there, I should not have been wanting to you; I should have made my own sorrow plain to you face to face. Yet this kind of consolation is itself a miserable and bitter business — precisely because the people through whom it has to be done, near kinsmen and intimate friends, are themselves struck by the same distress and cannot attempt it without many tears, so that they look more in need of being consoled by others than able to do that office for someone else. Even so, I have resolved to write you briefly the things that for the present have occurred to me — not because I think they escape you, but because, hindered by grief, you may now see them less clearly.
postea quam mihi renuntiatum est de obitu Tulliae, filiae tuae, sane quam pro eo ac debui, graviter molesteque tuli communemque eam calamitatem existimavi; qui, si istic adfuissem, neque tibi defuissem coramque meum dolorem tibi declarassem. etsi genus hoc consolationis miserum atque acerbum est, propterea quia, per quos ea confieri debet, propinquos ac familiaris, ii ipsi pari molestia adficiuntur neque sine lacrimis multis id conari possunt, uti magis ipsi videantur aliorum consolatione indigere quam aliis posse suum officium praestare, tamen, quae in praesentia in mentem mihi venerunt, decrevi brevi ad te perscribere, non quo ea te fugere existimem, sed quod forsitan dolore impeditus minus ea perspicias.
What is it that so deeply moves you in this private grief of yours? Consider how fortune has dealt with us up to now: the things have been wrenched from us which ought to be no less dear to a man than his children — country, honour, public standing, every office. With this one further loss added, what could have been added to your sorrow? Or what spirit, trained in those greater losses, ought not now to be calloused, and to count everything else as smaller? Or is it on her behalf, tell me, that you grieve?
quid est quod tanto opere te commoveat tuus dolor intestinus? cogita, quem ad modum adhuc fortuna nobis cum egerit; ea nobis erepta esse, quae hominibus non minus quam liberi cara esse debent, patriam, honestatem, dignitatem honores omnis. hoc ’uno incommodo addito quid ad dolorem adiungi potuit? aut qui non in illis rebus exercitatus animus callere iam debet atque omnia minoris existimare? an illius vicem, cedo, doles?
How often the thought must have come to you, as it has often come to us, that in these times it has not been worst with those who were allowed to exchange life for death without pain! What was there at this hour that could greatly invite her to go on living? What good thing, what hope, what comfort to the spirit? That she should keep on a life joined with some young man of the first rank? It was open to you, I imagine, suiting your standing, to choose a son-in-law from the young men of our day, to whose loyalty you would feel you could safely commit your children. Or that she should bear children of her own, whom she could rejoice to see flourishing, who could keep what their parent had handed down by their own efforts, would in due order stand for the offices in the commonwealth, would use their freedom in the affairs of their friends? Of all this, what was there that was not taken away before it was given? — “But it is an evil to lose one’s children.” An evil — unless to undergo and bear out these times be a worse one.
quotiens in eam cogitationem necesse est et tu veneris et nos saepe incidimus, hisce temporibus non pessime cum iis esse actum, quibus sine dolore licitum est mortem cum vita commutare! quid autem fuit quod illam hoc tempore ad vivendum magno opere invitare posset? quae res, quae spes, quod animi solacium? ut cum aliquo adulescente primario coniuncta aetatem gereret? licitum est tibi, credo, pro tua dignitate ex hac iuventute generum deligere, cuius fidei liberos tuos te tuto committere putares. an ut ea liberos ex sese pareret, quos cum florentis videret laetaretur, qui rem a parente traditam per se tenere possent, honores ordinatim petituri essent in re publica, in amicorum negotiis libertate sua usuri? quid horum fuit quod non priusquam datum est ademptum sit? at vero malum est liberos amittere. malum; nisi hoc peius sit, haec sufferre et perpeti.
A thought which has brought me no small consolation I want to recall to you, in case the same thing can lessen your own pain. As I was returning from Asia, sailing from Aegina toward Megara, I began to look at the regions all around. Behind me was Aegina, before me Megara, on my right the Piraeus, on my left Corinth — cities which at one time were of the highest flourishing, and which now lie thrown down and broken in ruins before the eyes. I began to think with myself thus: “Ah! we, us little men, take it as outrage if one of us has died or been killed, we whose life ought to be the shorter, when in one place so many corpses of towns lie cast down together. Will you, Servius, contain yourself, and remember that you were born a man?” Believe me, by that thought I was no little steadied. Do the same, if it seems good to you: put it before your eyes. Just a moment ago, at one stroke, so many men of the highest distinction perished; so great a diminishing of the empire of the Roman people has taken place; all the provinces have been shaken to pieces — and if some loss has been made in the little life-breath of one little woman, are you so deeply moved? She, if she had not died at this time, would still in a few years have had to die, since she had been born a mortal.
quae res mihi non mediocrem consolationem attulit, volo tibi commemorare, si forte eadem res tibi dolorem minuere possit. ex Asia rediens cum ab Aegina Megaram versus navigarem coepi regiones circumcirca prospicere. post me erat Aegina, ante me Megara, dextra Piraeus, sinistra Corinthus, quae oppida quodam tempore florentissima fuerunt, nunc prostrata et diruta ante oculos iacent. coepi egomet mecum sic cogitare: ’ hem! nos homunculi indignamur, si quis nostrum interiit aut occisus est, quorum vita brevior esse debet, cum uno loco tot oppidum cadavera proiecta iacent? visne ’ tu te, Servi, cohibere et meminisse hominem te esse natum?’ crede mihi cogitatione ea non mediocriter sum confirmatus. hoc idem, si tibi videtur, fac ante oculos tibi proponas. modo uno tempore tot viri clarissimi interierunt, de imperio populi Romani tanta deminutio facta est, omnes provinciae conquassatae sunt in unius mulierculae animula si iactura facta est, tanto opere commoveris? quae si hoc tempore non diei suum obisset, paucis post annis tamen ei moriendum fuit, quoniam homo nata fuerat.
Even you, then — call back your spirit and your thought from these things, and rather call to mind what is worthy of the person you are: that she lived as long as it was good for her to live; that she lived together with the commonwealth; that she saw you, her father, praetor, consul, augur; that she was married to young men of the first rank; that she had enjoyed almost every good thing; that she left life when the commonwealth fell. What is it that you, or she, could possibly complain of to fortune on this score? In the end, do not forget that you are Cicero — the man who has been accustomed to instruct others and to give them counsel; do not imitate the bad doctors, who in the diseases of others profess to hold the science of medicine but cannot themselves cure themselves. Rather, what you are accustomed to prescribe to others, apply that to yourself, set it before your own mind.
etiam tu ab hisce rebus animum ac cogitationem tuam avoca atque ea potius reminiscere, quae digna tua persona sunt, illam, quam diu ei opus fuerit, vixisse, una cum re publica fuisse, te, patrem suum, praetorem, consulem, augurem vidisse, adulescentibus primariis nuptam fuisse, omnibus bonis prope perfunctam esse, cum res publica occideret vita excessisse. quid est quod tu aut illa cum fortuna hoc nomine queri possitis? denique noli te oblivisci Ciceronem esse et eum, qui aliis consueris praecipere et dare consilium, neque imitare malos medicos, qui in alienis morbis profitentur tenere se medicinae scientiam, ipsi se curare non possunt, sed potius, quae aliis tute praecipere soles, ea tute tibi subiace atque apud animum propone.
There is no pain which length of time does not lessen and soften. For you to wait for that time, and not to meet the thing in your own wisdom, is a disgrace to you. And if there is any feeling among the dead, the love which she had for you, and the devotion she had to all her own — certainly she does not want you to be doing what you are doing. Grant this much to her, to that dead woman; grant it to your other friends and intimates, who grieve at your grief; grant it to your country, that, if there should be any need, she may use your effort and counsel. In the end, since we have come into such a state of fortune that we must even be the slaves of this thing, do not give anyone occasion to think that you mourn not so much your daughter as the present times of the commonwealth and the victory of others. I am ashamed to write more to you on this matter, lest I seem to distrust your prudence. So if I set down this one thing, I shall make an end of writing: we have seen you bear good fortune more than once with magnificent grace, and earn great praise from it; now let us at last understand that you can bear bad fortune just as well, and that this burden does not weigh on you heavier than it should — that out of all the virtues this one alone should not seem to be missing in you. As for myself: when I have heard that your spirit is calmer, I shall let you know how affairs are going here, and how the province is doing. Farewell.
nullus dolor est, quem non longinquitas temporis minuat ac molliat. hoc te exspectare tempus tibi turpe est ac non ei rei sapientia tua te occurrere. quod si qui etiam inferis sensus est, qui illius in te amor fuit pietasque in omnis suos, hoc certe illa te facere non vult. da hoc illi mortuae, da ceteris amicis ac familiaribus, qui tuo dolore maerent, da patriae, ut, si qua in re opus sit, opera et consilio tuo uti possit. denique, quoniam in eam fortunam devenimus, ut etiam huic rei nobis serviendum sit, noli committere ut quisquam te putet non tam filiam quam rei publicae tempora et aliorum victoriam lugere. plura me ad te de hac re scribere pudet, ne videar prudentiae tuae diffidere. qua re, si hoc unum proposuero, finem faciam scribendi: vidimus aliquotiens secundam pulcherrime te ferre fortunam magnamque ex ea re te laudem apisci; fac aliquando intellegamus adversam quoque te aeque ferre posse neque id maius, quam debeat, tibi onus videri, ne ex omnibus virtutibus haec una tibi videatur deesse. quod ad me attinet, cum te tranquilliorem animo esse cognoro, de iis rebus, quae hic geruntur, quemadmodumque se provincia habeat, certiorem faciam. vale.