Letter · 9 May 45 BC · Romae

Ad Familiares 5.14

Ad Familiares 5.14

Headnote

Lucius Lucceius to Cicero, written at Rome on 9 May 45 BC (Perseus: Romae vii.~Id.~Mai.~a.~709 (45)). The letter is incoming, one of the surviving consolations sent to Cicero in the weeks after Tullia’s death at Tusculum in mid-February. Lucceius, historian and senator and a friend of many years (he is the same man Cicero in 56 BC had begged in Fam.~5.12 to write up his consulship as a monograph), addresses his friend with the same patrician formality the heading registers — L. Lucceius Q.~f.\ to M. Tullius M.~f.\ — but with a brisk and impatient affection, the affection of a man who has been waiting for his friend to come back to him and to himself.

The argument of the letter runs in two halves and an appeal. §1 takes the more generous reading: if Cicero has absented himself from Rome to write and to take up again the old learned occupations, Lucceius rejoices and does not find fault. But §2 turns to the other possibility, the one Lucceius plainly suspects — that Cicero has surrendered himself to tears and is doubling the anxieties his own wisdom should lighten — and the three anaphoric questions (tu solus aperta non videbis ... tu non intelleges ... non intelleges ...) press the philosopher’s reproach in the voice of a man who knows how to lean on his friend. §3 drops the argument and pleads: come back to our company, to the way of life that is either our common one or your own proper one (vel nostram communem vel tuam solius ac propriam). Cicero’s reply, the brief and grateful Fam.~5.15, was sent within days; he came back to Rome but not, as his other letters of this period show, to himself.

If you are well, I am glad; I myself am well — in my usual way, though somewhat worse than usual. I have looked for you more than once, to see you; since you have not been at Rome after my own going away, I have wondered, and now I wonder the same. I have no certain knowledge of what most calls you off from here. If solitude pleases you, in that you may write and undertake some of the things you have always practised, I rejoice and do not find fault with your decision. Nothing could be more delightful than that — not only in these wretched and grief-laden times, but even in days tranquil and to be wished for — especially in your case, whether for a spirit worn out, which now seeks rest after great occupations, or for a learned spirit, which always brings something out of itself, things that delight others and set off the man himself with their praise.
S. V. B. E. V., sicut soleo, paululo tamen etiam deterius quam soleo. te requisivi saepius, ut viderem; Romae quia postea non fuisti quam discesseram miratus sum; quod item nunc miror. non habeo certum quae te res hinc maxime retrahat. si solitudine delectare, cum scribas et aliquid agas eorum, quorum consuesti, gaudeo neque reprehendo tuum consilium. nam nihil isto potest esse iucundius non modo miseris his temporibus et luctuosis, sed etiam tranquillis et optatis, praesertim vel animo defetigato tuo, qui nunc requiem quaerat ex magnis occupationibus, vel erudito, qui semper aliquid ex se promat, quod alios delectet, ipsum laudibus inlustret.
But if, as when you went out from here, you have given yourself over to tears and grief, then I grieve — because you grieve and are tormented — and I cannot, if you allow me to speak more freely what I feel, refrain from finding fault with you. For consider: will you alone fail to see what lies in plain view, you who in the very sharpness of your mind see what is most deeply hidden? Will you not understand that you accomplish nothing by daily complaints? Will you not understand that you double the anxieties which your own wisdom requires you to lighten?
sin autem, sicut hinc discesseras, lacrimis ac tristitiae te tradidisti, doleo, quia doles et angere, non possum te non, si concedis, quod sentimus, ut liberius dicamus, accusare. quid enim? tu solus aperta non videbis, qui propter acumen occultissima perspicis? tu non intelleges te querelis cotidianis nihil proficere? non intelleges duplicari sollicitudines, quas elevare tua te prudentia postulat?
And if I cannot get anywhere by persuasion, I press by the right of friendship, and I ask, if you would do anything at all for our sake: that you loosen yourself from those troubles of yours and come back to our company, and to the way of life that is either our common one, or your own particular and proper one. I want not to grind you down, if I cannot delight you, with my eagerness; I want to deter you from going on with what you have begun. For now these two contrary things vex me, between which I wish, if you can, you may yield to me on the one, or at least not offend on the other. Farewell.
quod si non possimus aliquid proficere suadendo, gratia contendimus et rogando, si quid nostra causa vis, ut istis te molestiis laxes et ad convictum nostrum redeas atque ad consuetudinem vel nostram communem vel tuam solius ac propriam. cupio non obtundere te, si non delectare nostro studio, cupio deterrere ne permaneas in incepto. nunc duae res istae contrariae me conturbant, ex quibus aut in altera mihi velim, si potes, obtemperes aut in altera non offendas. vale.

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