Cicero Alone With Scipio

by CWK 

Publius Cornelius Scipio, the first of that family

to be called Africanus,

used to remark that

he was never less idle

than when he had nothing to do,

and never less lonely

than when he was alone.

We have this on the authority

of Marcus Porcius Cato, the Censor,

who was almost his contemporary.

It is a fine sentiment:

as you would expect

from so great and wise a man.

Scipio means that

 – even when he was working  –

his thoughts were occupied

with public affairs;

and, even when he was alone,

apart the maddening crowd,

he did not stop taking counsel

 – with himself.

That is to say: he was never unoccupied.

When alone, he was never lonely;

often, the only company

he needed was his own.

Other men are depraved and deprived

by leisure and seclusion,

but he derived stimulation and concentration

from them.

He was never unoccupied.

I wish I could truthfully

say the same of myself.

Of course, however hard I try

to imitate Scipio,

I cannot fashion myself

a remarkable character like his.

Nevertheless , nota bene this

– if aspiration and perspiration

counts for anything, for anything

 – I come as near him as I can.

He was, after all, like me, a man.

I am unlike him, but he is like unto me.

He was, after all, a man.

I come as near him as I can.

At present, seeing that criminal armed violence

prevents me from political and legal practice,

I have no work to do.

Scipio, when he felt the need to rest

from his splendid services,

used occasionally to take a holiday.

My leisure, unlike that of Scipio,

is not prompted by any desire to retire.

It is forced upon me

and, therefore, I have nothing to do.

My son! The senate has been abolished!

The courts have been annihilated!

My son! I have been excommunicated

from all that I loved by all whom I loved.

My son, justice lies lame, like a beggar

in the street: trampled on, discarded, and hungry.

My son! O, my son! What has become 

of the Rome I loved? – by which,

I am now only hated.

I built Rome,

and very Rome has torn me down,

and left me here, degraded.

Upon a time, I fancied Rome

a shining star, beaming with good will

to me and all mankind

from seven serene and solemn hills.

I fancied Rome the hope

of the just, the beautiful, and good:

the home to me and all humanity.

That Rome is now to me

a washed-out memory:

a place, perchance, which never was:

a place that shall, more than likely, never be.

Rome is now to me

a set of seven severed hills:

to which, no roads now lead:

to which, no road ever will.

And still I love Rome; I love Rome still.

Wherein I failed Rome, I weep.

It is not that I loved Rome less. Rather, justice

I loved more, and still more. 

Even here, in exile, utterly lonely,

I repent my sins against State –

but the crimes where not mine only.

Greater crimes than mine have left me desolate;

greater crimes have left Rome a ruined State.

Against such crimes I acted – I fear too late.

My crimes were crimes of time:

the penchant to believe too much, and hesitate –

but even my crimes were

born of love, and never hate.

My son! The senate has been abolished!

The courts have been annihilated!

Therefore, I have no work to do.

What work, in keeping with my position,

is there for me to do?

I have no work to do.

I have no work to do.

At present, criminal armed violence

prevents me from political and legal practice.

For this reason, I have left Rome,

and am traveling from place to place,

from one country to another

(with no friends and not a home)

among barbarian tongues

and strange crooked faces

 – and I am often alone.

Once, I lived with great crowds around me

at the forefront of Roman publicity.

O, how I loved to hear the cheers

resounding oft in that Eternal City.

The City – the City, I see now, more clearly:

less eternal, more ephemeral.

And, I now hear those cheers

in the light of recent history.

They were of but a moment; 

momentous, only deceptively.

Now, I shun the sight of scoundrels

who swarm to harass and surround me.

I withdraw as completely as I can

– and I am often alone.

Scipio, was like me, a man

and he used to remark that

he was never less lonely

than when he was alone

 – and I am often alone.

My son! The senate has been abolished!

The courts have been annihilated!

My son, I am often alone,

and I have no work to do.

— adapted from  Michael Grant’s translation, Cicero’s Selected Works, “On Duties,” Part 3.