Is it to be wondered at that even so good and great a man as Cicero should bitterly feel his disgrace and misfortunes?  Is it surprising that, philosopher as he was, he should have given way to grief and despondency.  He would have been more than human not to have lost his spirits and his hopes.  How natural were grief and despair, in such complicated miseries, especially to a religious man!  Chrysostom could support his exile with dignity; for Christianity had abolished the superstitions of Greece and Rome as to household gods.  Cicero could not:  he was not great enough for such a martyrdom.  It is true we should have esteemed him higher, had he accepted his fate with resignation:  no man should yield to despair.  Had he been as old as Socrates, and had he accomplished his mission, possibly he would have shown more equanimity.  But his work was not yet done.  He was cut off in his prime and in the midst of usefulness from his home, his religion, his family, his honor, and his influence; he was utterly ruined.  I think the critics make too much of the grief and misery of Cicero in his banishment.  We may be disappointed that Cicero was not equal to his circumstances; but we need not be hard on him.  My surprise is, not that he was overwhelmed with grief, but that he did not attempt to drown his grief in books and literature.  His sole relief was in pathetic and unmanly letters.

The great injustice of this punishment naturally produced a reaction.  Nor could the Romans afford to lose the services of their greatest orator.  They also craved the excitement of his speeches, more thrilling and delightful than the performance of any actor.  So he was recalled.  Cicero ought to have anticipated this; it seems, however, he had that unfortunate temperament which favors alternate depression and exhilaration of spirits, without measure or reason.

His return was a triumph,—­a grand ovation, an unbounded tribute to his vanity.  His palace was rebuilt at the expense of the State, and his property was restored.  His popularity was regained.  In fact, his influence was never lost; and, because it was so great, his enemies wished him out of the way.  He was one of the few who retain influence after they have lost power.

The excess of his joy on his restoration to home and friends and property and fame and position, was as great as the excess of his grief in his short exile.  But this is a defect in temperament, in his mental constitution, rather than a flaw in his character.  We could have wished more placidity and equanimity; but to condemn him because he was not great in everything is unjust.