people,
but to three utterly unscrupulous men? "They can make whom they will
Consuls, whom they will Tribunes--so that they may hide the very goitre
of Vatinius under a priest's robe." For himself, Cicero says, he will be
contented to remain with his books, if only Clodius will allow him; if
not, he will defend himself.[257] As for his country, he has done more
for his country than has even been desired of him; and he thinks it to
be better to leave the helm in the hands of pilots, however incompetent,
than himself to steer when passengers are so thankless. Then we find
that he robs poor Tullia of her promised pleasure at the games, because
it will be beneath his dignity to appear at them. He is always very
anxious for his friend's letters, depending on them for news and for
amusement. "My messenger will return at once," he says, in one;
"therefore, though you are coming yourself very soon, send me a heavy
letter, full not only of news but of your own ideas."[258] In another:
"Cicero the Little sends greeting," he says, in Greek, "to Titus the
Athenian"--that is, to Titus Pomponius Atticus. The Greek letters were
probably traced by the child at his father's knee as Cicero held the pen
or the stylus. In another letter he declares that there, at Formiae,
Pompey's name of Magnus is no more esteemed than that of Dives belonging
to Crassus. In the next he calls Pompey Sampsiceramus. We learn from
Josephus that there was a lady afterward in the East in the time of
Vitellius, who was daughter of Sampsigeramus, King of the Emesi. It
might probably be a royal family name.[259] In choosing the absurd
title, he is again laughing at his party leader. Pompey had probably
boasted of his doings with the Sampsiceramus of the day and the priests
of Jerusalem. "When this Sampsiceramus of ours finds how ill he is
spoken of, he will rush headlong into revolution." He complains that he
can do nothing at Formiae because of the visitors. No English poet was
ever so interviewed by American admirers. They came at all hours, in
numbers sufficient to fill a temple, let alone a gentleman's house. How
can he write anything requiring leisure in such a condition as this?
Nevertheless he will attempt something. He goes on criticising all that
is done in Rome, especially what is done by Pompey, who no doubt was
vacillating sadly between Caesar, to whom he was bound, and Bibulus, the
other Consul, to whom he ought to have been bound, as being naturally o