Chapter 3

SECTION 10Therefore take care not to rank above Cato even that very man whom Apollo, as you say, judged the wisest of all; for in Cato it is deeds that are praised, in the other only words.But as for myself, now that I am speaking to you both, let me tell you how matters stand. If I were to deny that I am moved by longing for Scipio, let wise men judge how rightly I should act—but I should certainly be lying. I am indeed moved, bereft as I am of such a friend as, in my judgment, no one will ever be, and, as I can confidently affirm, no one certainly ever was. Yet I need no medicine. I console myself, above all with the consolation that I am free from the error that commonly torments men when their friends die. I believe that no evil has befallen Scipio; it has befallen me, if it has befallen anyone. But to be deeply distressed by one’s own misfortunes is the mark not of a man who loves his friend, but of one who loves himself.

SECTION 11Who, indeed, can deny that all went splendidly with him? Unless he had wished for immortality—a thing he thought least of all desirable—what blessing that it was lawful for a human being to desire did he fail to attain? While still a young man, by his incredible valor, he at once surpassed the highest hopes that his fellow citizens had formed of him even in his boyhood. He never sought the consulship, yet was made consul twice: the first time before the legal age, the second at the proper time for himself, though almost too late for the commonwealth. By destroying two cities bitterly hostile to this empire, he put an end not only to wars then being waged, but also to wars yet to come. What need have I to speak of his most gracious manners, his devotion to his mother, his generosity toward his sisters, his kindness to his household, his justice toward all? These things are known to you. How dear he was to the state was shown by the mourning at his funeral. What benefit, then, could the addition of a few years have brought him? For though old age is not burdensome—as I remember Cato discussing with Scipio and me a year before his death—it nevertheless takes away that youthful vigor which Scipio retained even to the end.

SECTION 12Therefore, whether in fortune or in glory, his life was such that nothing could have been added to it; and the suddenness of his death spared him all sensation of dying. Of the manner of that death it is difficult to speak; you see what men suspect. Yet this may truthfully be said: of all the many days Publius Scipio saw in his life, days of the greatest distinction and happiness, the most glorious was that day when, after the Senate had adjourned, he was escorted home toward evening by the conscript fathers, the Roman people, the allies, and the Latins—the day before he departed from life—so that from so lofty a pinnacle of dignity he seems to have passed to the gods above rather than to those below.

SECTION 10Therefore be careful not to place above Cato even that very man whom Apollo, as you say, judged the wisest of all. For Cato’s deeds are praised, but the other man’s words.As for me—and now I am speaking to both of you—this is how you should understand the matter: if I were to deny that I am affected by my longing for Scipio, let wise men judge how rightly I would be acting, but I would certainly be lying. For I am affected by being deprived of such a friend as I believe no one will ever have and, as I can confidently affirm, no one certainly ever had. But I do not need a remedy. I console myself, especially with the comfort that I am free from the mistaken belief that causes most people anguish when their friends die. I do not think that anything bad has happened to Scipio; if anything has happened, it has happened to me. But to be deeply distressed by one’s own misfortunes is the mark of a man who loves himself, not his friend.

SECTION 11Who could deny that things turned out splendidly for him? Unless he wished for immortality—which was the last thing he expected—what did he fail to attain that a human being might rightfully desire? While still a young man, through his incredible excellence he immediately surpassed the highest hopes that his fellow citizens had formed of him when he was only a boy. He never sought the consulship, yet he was made consul twice: the first time before the legal age, the second at the proper time for himself but almost too late for the republic. By destroying two cities that were bitterly hostile to this empire, he put an end not only to existing wars but also to wars of the future. Why should I speak of his most gracious character, his devotion to his mother, his generosity toward his sisters, his kindness to his own people, or his justice toward everyone? You know these things. How dear he was to the state was shown by the mourning at his funeral. What benefit, then, could the addition of a few more years have brought him? For although old age is not burdensome, as I remember Cato arguing with Scipio and me a year before his death, it nevertheless takes away that youthful vigor which Scipio still possessed even then.

SECTION 12Therefore, whether measured by fortune or by glory, his life was such that nothing could have been added to it, while the suddenness of his death took away all sensation of dying. It is difficult to say anything about the manner of his death; you see what people suspect. Yet this may truly be said: of all the many days of extraordinary distinction and happiness that Publius Scipio experienced in his life, the most glorious was the day when, after the Senate had adjourned, he was escorted home toward evening by the senators, the Roman people, the allies, and the Latins—the day before he departed from life. Thus, from so lofty a height of dignity, he seems to have gone upward to the gods above rather than downward to the dead below.