DIRECTLY I arrived at Rome, and there was anyone to whom I
could safely intrust a letter for you, I thought the very first thing I
ought to do was to congratulate you in your absence on my return.
For I knew, to speak candidly, that though in giving me advice you
had not been more courageous or far-seeing than myself, nor--
considering my devotion to you in the past--too careful in
protecting me from disaster, yet that you--though sharing in the
first instance in my mistake, or rather madness, and in my
groundless terror--had nevertheless been deeply grieved at our
separation, and had bestowed immense pains, zeal, care, and
labour in securing my return. Accordingly, I can truly assure you of
this, that in the midst of supreme joy and the most gratifying
congratulations, the one thing wanting to fill my cup of happiness
to the brim is the sight of you, or rather your embrace; and if I ever
forfeit that again, when I have once got possession of it, and if,
too, I do not exact the full delights of your charming society that
have fallen into arrear in the past, I shall certainly consider myself
unworthy of this renewal of my good fortune.

In regard to my political position, I have resumed what I thought
there would be the utmost difficulty in recovering--my brilliant
standing at the bar, my influence in the senate, and a popularity
with the loyalists even greater than I desired. In regard, however,
to my private property--as to which you are well aware to what an
extent it has been crippled, scattered, and plundered--I am in great
difficulties, and stand in need, not so much of your means (which I
look upon as my own), as of your advice for collecting and
restoring to a sound state the fragments that remain. For the
present, though I believe everything finds its way to you in the
letters of your friends, or even by messengers and rumour, yet I