Chapter 4

7 Yet I spoke as though my opponent were Marcus Crassus, with whom I had many serious disputes, not a single utterly worthless gladiator: I lamented the republic gravely and said nothing against the man. Today, then, I shall make him understand how great a kindness he received from me on that occasion. He even read aloud a letter he claimed I had sent him—a man without civility or any understanding of life among others. Who with the slightest knowledge of decent society has ever brought out a friend’s private letter after some quarrel and read it publicly? What is that but to abolish the fellowship of life, to abolish the conversation of absent friends? How many jokes in letters would look foolish if published! How many serious matters belong there that must never be made public!

8 Call that uncivilized. Now consider his unbelievable stupidity. What have you to bring against me, eloquent fellow—or so you seem, at least, to Seius Mustela and to Numisius Tiro? Since they are standing here now with swords in full view of the senate, I too shall think you eloquent if you show how you will defend them against a murder charge. But what, after all, could you bring against me if I denied ever sending you that letter? By what witness could you convict me? My handwriting? You have a profitable expertise in that. But how could you use it? The letter is in a secretary’s hand. I am already envious of your teacher, who is paid so much—as I shall shortly reveal—to teach you to understand nothing.

9 What is less worthy, not merely of an orator but of a human being, than to charge an opponent with something when a bare denial leaves the accuser unable to go a step further? But I do not deny it. Indeed, the letter itself convicts you not only of incivility but of madness. What word in it is not full of courtesy, consideration and goodwill? Your whole accusation is that in this letter I do not think ill of you: that I write as to a citizen, as to an honorable man, not as to a criminal and a brigand. Yet I shall not publish your letter, though your provocation gives me every right to do so. In it you ask that, with my permission, you may bring someone back from exile; you swear you will not do so against my wishes; and you obtain my consent. Why should I have set myself against your recklessness, which neither this body’s authority, nor the Roman people’s judgment, nor any laws could restrain?

7 I acted as though my opponent were Marcus Crassus, not some utterly rotten gladiator. Crassus and I had clashed often and seriously. I made serious complaints about the republic, but said nothing about you personally. Today I’ll make him understand what a favor I did him then. He also read out a letter he said I’d sent him. The man has no manners and knows nothing about ordinary social life. Has anyone with even a little experience of decent society ever done that? A friend sends you letters. Then something goes wrong between you. Who brings those letters out and reads them publicly? Doesn’t that strip life of companionship? Doesn’t it end conversations between friends who are apart? Letters often contain jokes that would seem silly in public. They also contain plenty of serious things that must never be shared.

8 Leave aside his lack of manners. Look at his unbelievable stupidity. What can you use against me, you great speaker? At least Seius Mustela and Numisius Tiro think you’re great. They’re standing right now with swords, in full view of the Senate. Show me how you’ll defend them on murder charges, and I’ll think you’re a great speaker too. But what could you use against me if I denied ever sending that letter? What witness could prove me wrong? The handwriting? You’ve made money from your expertise in that. But how could it help you here? A secretary wrote it. Now I envy your teacher. He gets paid an enormous sum—I’ll tell you how much shortly—to teach you to know nothing.

9 What could be less fitting for a speaker—or even a person? You accuse your opponent of something he only needs to deny. Then you can’t take the charge any further. But I don’t deny it. The letter itself proves not just your lack of manners, but your madness. What word in it doesn’t show courtesy, consideration, and goodwill? Your whole charge is that I don’t speak badly of you there. I write as though addressing a fellow citizen, a decent man, not a criminal and robber. But I won’t produce your letter. Your attack gave me every right to do so. In it, you ask me to let you bring someone back from exile. You swear you won’t do it against my wishes. And I grant your request. Why should I have stood in the way of your recklessness? This body’s authority couldn’t control it. Neither could the Roman people’s opinion or any laws.