Philippicae

I ask, therefore, of you, O Lucius Piso, whether you would not think the republic overwhelmed if so many men of such impiety, of such audacity, and such guilt, were admitted into it? Can you think that men whom we could hardly bear when they were not yet polluted with such parricidal treasons, will be able to be borne by the city now that they are immersed in every sort of wickedness? Believe me, we must either adopt your plan, and retire, depart, embrace a life of indigence and wandering, or else we must offer our throats to those robbers, and perish in our country. What has become, O Caius Pansa, of those noble exhortations of yours, by which the senate was roused, and the Roman people stimulated, not only hearing but also learning from you that there is nothing more disgraceful to a Roman than slavery? Was it for this that we assumed the garb of war, and took arms, and roused up all the youth all over Italy, in order that, while we had a most flourishing and numerous army, we might send ambassadors to treat for peace? If that peace is to be received by others, why do we not wait to be entreated for it? If our ambassadors are to beg it, what is it that we are afraid of? Shall I make one of this embassy, or shall I be mixed up with this design, in which, even if I should dissent from the rest of my colleagues, the Roman people will not know it? The result will be, that if any thing be granted or conceded, it will be my danger if Antonius commits any offenses, since the power to commit them will seem to have been put in his hands by me.

But even if it had been proper to entertain any idea of peace with the piratical crew of Marcus Antonius, still I was the last person who ought to have been selected to negotiate such a peace. I never voted for sending ambassadors. Before the return of the last ambassadors I ventured to say, that peace itself, even if they did bring it, ought to be repudiated, since war would be concealed under the name of peace; I was the chief adviser of the adoption of the garb of war; I have invariably called that man a public enemy, when others have been calling him only an adversary; I have always pronounced this to be a war, while others have styled it only a tumult. Nor have I done this in the senate alone; I have always acted in the same way before the people. Nor have I spoken against himself only, but also against the accomplices in and agents of his crimes, whether present here, or there with him. In short, I have at all times inveighed against the whole family and party of Antonius. Therefore, as those impious citizens began to congratulate one another the moment the hope of peace was presented to them, as if they had gained the victory, so also they abused me as unjust: they made complaints against me; they distrusted Servilius also; they recollected that Antonius had been damaged by his avowed opinions and propositions; they recollected that Lucius Caesar, though a brave and consistent senator, is still his uncle; that Calenus is his agent; that Piso is his intimate friend; they think that you yourself, O Pansa, though a most vigorous and fearless consul, are now become more mercifully inclined. Not that it really is so, or that it possibly can be so. But the fact of a mention of peace having been made by you, has given rise to a suspicion in the hearts of many, that you have changed your mind a little. The friends of Antonius are annoyed at my being included among these persons; and we must no doubt yield to them, since we have once begun to be liberal.

Let the ambassadors go, with all our good wishes; but let those men go at whom Antonius may take no offense. But if you are not anxious about what he may think, at all events, O conscript fathers, you ought to have some regard for me. At least spare my eyes, and make some allowance for a just indignation. For with what countenance shall I be able to behold (I do not say, the enemy of my country, for my hatred of him on that score I feel in common with you all), but how shall I bear to look upon that man who is my own most bitter personal enemy, as his most furious harangues against me plainly declare him? Do you think that I am so completely made of iron as to be able unmoved to meet him, or look at him? who lately, when in an assembly of the people he was making presents to those men who appeared to him the most audacious of his band of parricidal traitors, said that he gave my property to Petissius of Urbinum, a man who, after the shipwreck of a very splendid patrimony, was dashed against these rocks of Antonius. Shall I be able to bear the sight of Lucius Antonius? a man from whose cruelty I could not have escaped if I had not defended myself behind the walls and gates and by the zeal of my own municipal town. And this same Asiatic gladiator, this plunderer of Italy, this colleague of Lenti and Nucula, when be was giving some pieces of gold to Aquila the centurion, said that he was giving him some of my property. For, if he had said he was giving him some of his own, he thought that the eagle itself would not have believed it. My eyes can not—my eyes, I say, will not bear the sight of Saxa, or Capho, or the two praetors, or the tribune of the people, or the two tribunes elect, or Bestia, or Trebellius, or Titus Plancus. I can not look with equanimity on so many, and those such foul, such wicked enemies; nor is that feeling caused by any fastidiousness of mine, but by my affection for the republic. But I will subdue my feelings, and keep my own inclinations under restraint. If I can not eradicate my most just indignation, I will conceal it. What? Do you not think, O conscript fathers, that I should have some regard for my own life? But that indeed has never been an object of much concern to me, especially since Dolabella has acted in such a way that death is a desirable thing, provided it come without torments and tortures. But in your eyes and in those of the Roman people my life ought not to appear of no consequence. For I am a man,—unless indeed I am deceived in my estimate of myself,—who by my vigilance, and anxiety, by the opinions which I have delivered, and by the dangers too of which I have encountered great numbers, by reason of the most bitter hatred which all impious men bear me, have at least (not to seem to say any thing too boastful) conducted myself so as to be no injury to the republic. And as this is the case, do you think that I ought to have no consideration for my own danger?