Chapter 16

39 What that exceptional, almost divine man thought of me is known to those who followed him to Paphos after his flight from Pharsalus. He never mentioned me without honor, never without longing for a beloved friend. He admitted that I had seen further, while he had hoped for better things. And you dare attack me in the name of a man whose friend you admit I was, whose property you admit you bought at auction? But let us leave that war, in which you enjoyed far too much good fortune. I shall not even answer about the jokes you say I made in camp. That camp was indeed full of anxiety; yet people, however troubled their circumstances, sometimes relax their spirits, if they are human at all.

40 His condemning both my sorrow and my jokes is strong evidence that I was moderate in both.

You said no inheritances came to me. If only that accusation were true! More of my close and intimate friends would be alive. But how did that enter your head? I have entered in my accounts more than twenty million sesterces received in inheritances. I admit, though, that in this field you are luckier. No one but a friend has made me his heir, so that whatever material benefit there was came mingled with sorrow. But Lucius Rubrius of Casinum, whom you never saw, made you his heir.

41 And consider how he loved you, this man of whom you cannot say whether he was fair or dark. He passes over his brother’s son; he does not even name the son of Quintus Fufius, a most honorable Roman knight and his intimate friend, though he had repeatedly declared that son his heir in public. He makes you his heir, though he had never seen you, or at least had never greeted you. Tell me, if you do not mind: what was Lucius Turselius’s face like? How tall was he? What town and tribe did he belong to? “I know nothing,” you will say, “except what estates he owned.” So he disinherited his brother and made you his heir. Besides these, Antony seized many fortunes belonging to complete strangers, violently expelling the true heirs and taking possession as though he himself were heir.

39 That remarkable, almost godlike man had his own opinion of me. The men who followed him to Paphos after his flight from Pharsalus know it. He never mentioned me without respect. He always spoke with the deepest longing for a close friend. He admitted I’d seen further ahead, while he’d hoped for better things. Yet you dare use his name to attack me? You must admit I was his friend. You bought up his auctioned property. But let’s leave that war aside. You had far too much luck in it. I won’t even answer your claims about my jokes in camp. That camp certainly had plenty of worries. Still, even in troubled times, people sometimes relax—if they’re human at all.

40 The same man attacks both my sadness and my jokes. That’s strong evidence I went too far in neither.

You said I don’t receive inheritances. I wish that accusation of yours were true! More of my friends and loved ones would still be alive. But how did that idea enter your head? I’ve recorded more than twenty million sesterces received through inheritances. Still, I admit you’ve had better luck here. Only friends have made me their heir. So any gain I got came with some grief. But Lucius Rubrius of Casinum made you his heir. You’d never even seen him.

41 And just look how much he loved you! You don’t even know whether he was light or dark. He passed over his brother’s son. He didn’t even mention the son of Quintus Fufius, a highly respected Roman knight and his very close friend. He’d always publicly named that son as his heir. Instead, he made you his heir. He’d never seen you, or certainly never greeted you. Please tell me, if you don’t mind: what did Lucius Turselius look like? How tall was he? What town was he from? What voting tribe? “I know nothing,” you’ll say, “except which estates he owned.” So he disinherited his brother to make you his heir. This man also seized many fortunes belonging to complete strangers. The rightful heirs were driven out by force. He took over as though he were the heir.