Chapter 26

64 Caesar returned from Alexandria a fortunate man, at least in his own eyes. In my judgment, no man whose fortune is disastrous to the republic can be fortunate himself. The auction spear was planted before the temple of Jupiter Stator, and the property of Gnaeus Pompey—how wretched I am! Though my tears are spent, grief still clings, rooted in my heart—the property, I say, of Gnaeus Pompey the Great was subjected to the auctioneer’s most bitter cry. In this one matter the country forgot its slavery and groaned. Though its spirit was enslaved, though fear held everything in its grip, that groan of the Roman people was free. Everyone waited to see who could be so impious, so mad, so much the enemy of gods and men, as to dare approach that criminal sale. No one was found but Antony, though so many stood around that spear who would have dared anything else. One man was found to dare what the audacity of all the rest had shrunk from and dreaded.

64 Caesar returned from Alexandria. He thought he was fortunate. But I don’t think anyone can be fortunate if he brings disaster on the republic. They set up an auction spear outside Jupiter Stator’s temple. They offered Gnaeus Pompey’s property for sale—how it hurts me! I’ve used up all my tears. But the pain still sticks deep inside me. Gnaeus Pompey the Great’s property, I mean. The auctioneer’s terribly cruel voice called out its sale. At that one event, Rome forgot its slavery and groaned. People’s spirits were enslaved. Fear held everything in its grip. Yet the Roman people’s groan was free. Everyone waited to see who would dare buy that confiscated property. Who could be so godless, so mad, so hostile to gods and humans? Nobody came forward except Antony. Plenty of people stood around that auction spear. They’d have dared anything else. But only one man dared this. Even the most reckless people had shrunk from it in fear.