Political Speeches (Oxford World's Classics)

by Cicero

  [92] Some people believed that the state had been re-established, but I did not think so for a moment: with you at the helm, I was afraid of shipwreck. And I wasn’t wrong, was I? That he couldn’t be false to his nature for long? Before your very eyes, gentlemen, notices were posted all over the Capitol. Exemptions were sold not only to individuals, but to whole communities.* Citizenship was no longer given out on an individual basis, but to entire provinces.* If these measures are allowed to stand—and they cannot do so without the state falling—then you have lost whole provinces, conscript fathers, and not merely the revenues but the empire of the Roman people will have been reduced by Antonius’ private market.

  [93b] There are countless concessions which have been bought from persons close to you,* and not without your knowledge. One stands out, however: the decree which was posted on the Capitol regarding King Deiotarus,* the loyal friend of the Roman people. When it was put up, although people were scandalized, no one could help laughing.

  [94] After all, did anyone ever show anyone else greater ill will than Caesar did Deiotarus? He showed him the same ill will that he showed to this order, to the equestrian order, to the people of Massilia,* and to anyone he felt loved the Roman nation and its people. And so, while from the living man King Deiotarus never obtained any justice or favour whether he was in Caesar’s presence or far away, when the man was dead he got exactly what he wanted. Caesar, while in the king’s presence and enjoying his hospitality,* rebuked him, made financial demands of him, assigned a part of his kingdom to a Greek he had brought with him,* and deprived him of Armenia, a country that had been bestowed upon him by the senate. All this when alive Caesar took away, but when dead he restored. [95] And in what terms! Sometimes it was ‘he thought it reasonable’, sometimes ‘not unreasonable’. What an astonishing turn of phrase! After all, whenever we asked him for anything on Deiotarus’ behalf (and it was always me who spoke for him in his absence), Caesar never once said that he thought the request ‘reasonable’.

  A bond for ten million sesterces was signed by the king’s agents, dependable men but timid and inexperienced, without my advice or that of the king’s other friends here, in the women’s quarters*—a place where many things have been and are being sold. I advise you to consider seriously what action you propose to take on the strength of that bond: after all, the king, on his own initiative and without your help, and relying on no notebooks of Caesar’s, recovered what belonged to him through his own military action the instant he heard that Caesar had been assassinated. [96] In his wisdom he knew that, whenever a tyrant is killed, it has always been the rule that those who have had their property taken from them by the tyrant get it back again.* Consequently, no lawyer—not even that person* whom you are alone in thinking a lawyer, who is arranging these matters on your behalf—will say that payment is due on that bond for property which had been recovered before the bond was signed. Deiotarus did not buy from you: he took possession himself before you could sell him what belonged to him anyway. He acted like a man. We, on the other hand, deserve contempt, because we hate the author but defend his acts.*

  [93a] Where are the seven hundred million sesterces which appear in the accounts at the temple of Ops?* This is money with a sad provenance,* it is true; but if it is not to be returned to its original owners, it could be used to save us from having to pay tribute.* But you, Antonius, were forty million sesterces in debt on 15 March. How was it, then, that you managed to become solvent again by 1 April?

  [97] And what am I to say regarding the endless notebooks, the countless memoranda?* There are actually vendors who sell them openly like programmes for the games! The mountains of coin at Antonius’ house are piling up so high that the money can no longer be counted: it has to be weighed. But how blind is avarice! A notice has recently been posted exempting the extremely wealthy communities of Crete from paying tax, and it is decreed that, when Marcus Brutus’ term as governor* comes to an end, Crete shall cease to be a province. Are you in your right mind? Should you not be in a straitjacket? Was it really possible that a decree of Caesar’s could state that Crete should be made independent after the departure of Marcus Brutus when during Caesar’s lifetime Brutus had nothing whatsoever to do with Crete? And do not imagine that nothing of significance has occurred, gentlemen: by the sale of this decree, you have lost the province of Crete. To cut a long story short, no transaction has taken place anywhere that has not involved this man here as the seller.

  [98] And was it Caesar who carried the law you posted regarding exiles?* I am not seeking to make anyone’s situation worse: I am simply making the point that, first, it is insulting to those whom Caesar did recall that they and the other exiles should be tarred with the same brush; and, second, I do not know why you did not do the same for all the other exiles, since there are now no more than three or four who have not been recalled. They have all suffered equal misfortune—so why are you not being equally merciful to all of them? Why are you treating them the way you treated your uncle?* When you carried your law to recall the others, you were not prepared to include him—and you even made him stand for the censorship,* and set him on a campaign which invited ridicule and hostile criticism. [99] And why have you not held that election? Is it because a tribune of the plebs kept reporting thunder on the left?* When your own interest is involved, the auspices do not count; but when it is a matter of your relatives’ interests, you suddenly become scrupulous. And didn’t you also leave him in the lurch over the Board of Seven?* Someone else came along—and you were afraid, no doubt, that if you said no to that person your life would be in jeopardy!* In fact, you loaded every kind of humiliation on the man whom, if you had any family feeling, you ought to have treated as your surrogate father.* His daughter, your cousin,* you threw out of your house, after you had sought out and inspected another match. Nor is that all: you accused her, a lady of the highest virtue, of sexual misconduct. How much further could you go? And yet you did not stop there: at a packed meeting of the senate on 1 January, with your uncle sitting in his place, you had the audacity to declare that the reason you hated Dolabella was that you had discovered that he had made sexual advances towards your cousin and wife. Is there anyone who can decide whether it was more shameful of you to make such a filthy, outrageous allegation in the senate, wicked of you to make it against Dolabella,* vile of you to make it in the presence of the lady’s father, or cruel of you to make it against that ill-treated lady?

  [100] But let us get back to the memoranda. Did you ever formally review them? Caesar’s acts were approved by the senate for the sake of peace—Caesar’s genuine acts, that is, not those claimed as Caesar’s by Antonius. Where do these latter spring from? On whose authority are they produced? If they are forgeries, why are they approved? If genuine, why are they sold? The senate decreed that from 1 June you and Dolabella, together with an advisory commission, should review Caesar’s acts. What was this commission? Did you ever invite anyone to sit on it?* Which 1 June have you been waiting for? Was it really the 1 June for which you returned from your tour of the veterans’ colonies* with an armed escort?

  What a glorious trip that was that you made in April and May, when you even attempted to found a colony at Capua!* How you left that place, or rather nearly didn’t leave it, everyone knows. [101] That is the city you keep threatening to attack. I wish you would try it—then I could at last leave out the ‘nearly’! But what a stately progress you made! Why should I draw attention to your elaborate lunches, your wild drinking? That was your loss—but this is ours: the Campanian land, which when it was taken out of the revenues in order to be given to the soldiers* we thought left a gaping wound in the state, you set about dividing up among your lunch companions and gaming partners. I tell you that actors and actresses, conscript fathers, have been settled on the Campanian land. And after that, what is the point of protesting about the plain of Leontini? These arable lands in Campania and at Leontini used to be considered a fertile and productive part o
f the inheritance of the Roman people. To his doctor he gave three thousand iugera: how many would you have given him if he had made you sane? To his rhetorician,* two thousand: how many if he could have made you eloquent?

  But let us return to his tour of Italy. [102] You founded a colony at Casilinum,* where Caesar had founded one previously. You wrote to me asking my opinion*—about Capua, it is true, but I would have given the same answer regarding Casilinum: could you legally found a new colony where there was one already existing? I replied that a new colony could not be founded legally where there already existed a colony that was duly auspicated and still functioning, but that it was possible to add new colonists to an existing foundation. But you, swept away by your own insolence, drove a coach and horses through the auspical law and founded a colony at Casilinum—a place which had already been made a colony only a few years before—raising a standard and marking out the boundaries with a plough. Indeed, with that ploughshare you just about grazed the city gate of Capua, so as to reduce the territory of that prosperous colony.

  [103] Having thus turned our religious law on its head, you then proceeded to Casinum and descended on the estate of Marcus Varro,* a profoundly honourable and decent gentleman. By what right, what prerogative? ‘The same,’ you will say, ‘as when I appropriated the estates of Lucius Rubrius’ heirs, and of Lucius Turselius’ heirs,* and countless other properties.’ Now if you bought those estates at public auction, let the sale stand, and let the accounts stand—but they should be Caesar’s accounts, not yours, and they should record your debts, not your escape from those debts. But as for Varro’s estate at Casinum, who says it was sold? Who saw the spear in the ground?* Who heard the cry of the auctioneer? You claim you sent someone to Alexandria to buy it from Caesar: it was too much to expect, no doubt, that you should wait for Caesar’s return.

  [104] But who ever heard (and there were more people concerned for him than for anyone else) that any of Varro’s property had been confiscated? And if it should turn out that Caesar had actually written to you ordering you to give the estate back, what words could do justice to your unparalleled impudence? Take away those swords over there, just for a moment: you will then understand that an auction of Caesar’s is one thing, your brazen self-assurance another. For it is not only the master who will drive you away from that residence, but any one of his friends, neighbours, guests, or staff.

  How many days you carried on your disgraceful orgies in that villa! From nine o’clock in the morning there was drinking, gambling, vomiting. Unhappy house, ‘how different a master’*—although how was Antonius its master? How different an occupant, then! Marcus Varro kept that house as a retreat for study, not as a den of vice. [105] Think of the things that used to be discussed, contemplated, and written down in that villa in former times: the laws of the Roman people, the records of our ancestors,* every branch of philosophy and human knowledge. But while you squatted there (you were not its master), the whole place echoed with the shouts of drunken men, the paved floors were swimming in wine, the walls were soaking, free-born boys consorted with prostitutes, and whores with ladies of rank. People came from Casinum, Aquinum, and Interamna* to pay their respects; none was admitted. That at least was correct: after all, the insignia of rank were becoming tarnished in the hands of so shameful a person.

  [106] When he had left there for Rome and was nearing Aquinum, he was approached (since Aquinum is a big place) by a pretty large crowd. But he was carried in a closed litter through the town, just like a corpse. It was stupid of the people of Aquinum to bother coming, but at least they lived on the main road. What about the people of Anagnia?* They lived off the road, but they still came down to pay their respects just as though he were a consul.* It is impossible to believe, but everyone agrees that he returned no one’s greeting, even though he had two men from Anagnia with him, Mustela and Laco,* one of whom is a master swordsman and the other a master drinker. [107] Why should I remind you of the threats and insults with which he attacked the Sidicini and bullied the people of Puteoli,* because they had chosen Gaius Cassius and the Bruti* as their patrons? And they had done so with great enthusiasm, wisdom, goodwill, and affection, and not as a result of armed force as was the case with you and Basilus* and similar types whom nobody would want as their clients, let alone as their patrons.

  In the meantime, while you were away, what a glorious day your colleague had when he demolished that tomb* in the forum which you used to venerate! When the news was reported to you, as those who were with you at the time all agree, you collapsed. What happened afterwards I do not know; I suppose fear and force must have prevailed.* At any rate you dragged your colleague down from his pinnacle and made him—not like you, even now—but certainly unlike his former self.

  [108] Then there was your return to Rome: what utter panic it caused throughout the city! We remembered the excessive power of Cinna, then the despotism of Sulla, and latterly we had seen the monarchy of Caesar.* If they had used swords, they had not used many of them, and they had kept them out of sight. But look at this great barbarian* entourage of yours! They follow you with drawn swords in marching order; and we see litters being carried full of shields. This has been going on for some time now, conscript fathers: we have become hardened to it.

  On 1 June, when we wanted to enter the senate as arranged, we suddenly took fright and fled in terror. [109] But he, having no need of the senate, did not miss anyone’s absence; on the contrary, he was delighted that we had all gone, and immediately set about doing those wonderful deeds of his. Although he had defended Caesar’s memoranda for his own profit, he now overturned the laws of Caesar’s that were good, because he wanted to undermine the state. He extended the tenure of provincial governorships;* then again, although he ought to have defended Caesar’s acts, he actually rescinded them in matters both public and private. In public matters, nothing is more serious than a law; in private matters, nothing is more secure than a will. Regarding laws, he annulled some without giving the proper notice; and he gave notice of his intention to annul others. A will he made null and void,* though the wills of even the humblest citizens have always been upheld. The statues and paintings which, together with his gardens, Caesar bequeathed to the Roman people, Antonius had carted off, some to Pompeius’ house outside the city and some to Scipio’s villa.*

  [110] And are you devoted to Caesar’s memory? Do you love him in his grave? Did he obtain any greater honour than to be granted a couch, a sacred image, a pediment on his house, a priest?* So the deified Julius, like Jupiter, like Mars, like Quirinus, has his priest—Marcus Antonius! What are you waiting for, then? Why have you not been inaugurated? Pick a date. Choose someone to inaugurate you. We are your colleagues:* no one will turn you down! But what a revolting creature you are, whether as the priest of a tyrant or of a corpse!

  Next, I would like to ask you if you have forgotten what day it is today. Don’t you know that yesterday was the fourth day of the Roman Games in the circus?* And that you yourself carried a law in the assembly stipulating that a fifth day should be added in Caesar’s honour? Why, then, are we not in holiday attire? Why are we allowing the honour granted to Caesar by your law to be disregarded? Can you have allowed, by your addition of a day, the thanksgivings to the gods to be polluted, and yet have been unwilling to see their couches similarly polluted?* Either get rid of religion altogether or preserve it in every particular!

  [111] You ask whether I approve of the couch, the pediment on his house, the priest. I do not approve of them for a moment; but can you, who defend Caesar’s acts, explain why you defend some of them, but disregard others? Of course, you may prefer simply to admit that you weigh up everything not according to Caesar’s honour, but according to your own profit.

  So how are you going to reply? I am waiting to hear your eloquence. I knew your grandfather* to be a fine speaker, but you have a still more open manner of speaking. After all, he never addressed a public meeting in the nude,* whereas you, simple crea
ture that you are, unburdened yourself before our very eyes! Are you going to reply to me? Are you going to dare open your mouth at all? Are you going to find a single point from this very lengthy speech of mine that you feel confident enough to answer?

  [112] But all those matters are in the past: let us leave them aside. This one day, this single day, today, this moment of time at which I am speaking: defend it, if you can. Why is the senate encircled by a ring of armed men? Why are your henchmen listening to me sword in hand? Why are the doors of the temple of Concord not standing open?* Why are you bringing the most barbarian of peoples, Ituraeans, into the forum armed with bows and arrows? He says it is for his own protection. But surely it is preferable to die a thousand times over than to be unable to live in one’s own country without an armed guard? And believe me, an armed guard is no protection: you would do better to be surrounded by the love and support of your fellow-citizens than by arms. [113] The Roman people will snatch those arms and wrest them from your grasp. I only hope we do not perish in the attempt!

  But whatever you do to us, so long as you pursue your present policies, believe me, you cannot last long. For too long now has that most ungrasping of women, your wife—I mean no disrespect—owed her third instalment* to the Roman people. The Roman people have men* to whom they can entrust the helm of the state: wherever in the world they are, there is the entire defence of the state—or, rather, there is the state, which so far has only avenged itself, not restored itself. The state certainly has young men* of the highest rank ready to fight in its defence. Let them stay away as long as they wish, in the interests of peace: the state will call them back. Even the name of peace is sweet, and peace itself is a blessing; but there is all the difference in the world between peace and servitude. Peace is the quiet enjoyment of freedom, whereas servitude is the greatest of all evils, something to be resisted not just with war, but even with death.