Sixteen months he had been
lamenting himself in Greece, bewailing his personal ill-treatment. He was
the single object of his own reflections. In his own most sincere
convictions he was the centre on which the destinies of Rome revolved. He
landed at Brindisi on the 5th of August. His pardon had not yet been
decreed, though he knew that it was coming. The happy news arrived in a
day or two, and he set out in triumph for Rome. The citizens of Brindisi
paid him their compliments; deputations came to congratulate from all
parts of Italy. Outside the city every man of note of all the orders, save
a few of his declared enemies, were waiting to receive him. The roofs and
steps of the temples were thronged with spectators. Crowds attended him to
the Capitol, where he went to pour out his gratitude to the gods, and
welcomed him home with shouts of applause.
Had he been wise he would have seen that the rejoicing was from the lips
outward; that fine words were not gold; that Rome and its factions were
just where he had left them, or had descended one step lower. But Cicero
was credulous of flattery when it echoed his own opinions about himself.
The citizens, he persuaded himself, were penitent for their ingratitude to
the most illustrious of their countrymen. The acclamations filled him with
the delighted belief that he was to resume his place at the head of the
State; and, as he could not forgive his disgrace, his first object in the
midst of his triumph was to revenge himself on those who had caused it.
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