These men, then, appeared likely to have some reason for exhorting us to peace, which they had done for some time.  The consul, too, added the weight of his exhortation, and what a consul!  If we look for prudence, one who was not easily to be deceived; if for virtue and courage, one who would never admit of peace unless Antonius submitted and confessed himself to be vanquished, if for greatness of mind, one who would prefer death to slavery.  You, too, O conscript fathers, appeared to be induced to think not of accepting but of imposing conditions, not so much because you were forgetful of your most important and dignified resolutions, as because you had hopes suggested you of a surrender on the part of Antonius, which his friends preferred to call peace.  My own hopes, and I imagine yours also, were increased by the circumstance of my hearing that the family of Antonius was overwhelmed with distress, and that his wife was incessantly lamenting.  And in this assembly, too, I saw that the partisans, on whose countenance my eyes are always dwelling, looked more sorrowful than usual.  And if that is not so, why on a sudden has mention been made of peace by Piso and Calenus of all people in the world, why at this particular moment, why so unexpectedly?  Piso declares that he knows nothing, that he has not heard anything.  Calenus declares that no news has been brought.  And they make that statement now, after they think that we are involved in a pacific embassy.  What need have we, then, of any new determination, if no new circumstances have arisen to call for one?

II.  We have been deceived,—­we have, I say, been deceived, O conscript fathers.  It is the cause of Antonius that has been pleaded by his friends, and not the cause of the public.  And I did indeed see that, though through a sort of mist, the safety of Decimus Brutus had dazzled my eyesight.  But if in war, substitutes were in the habit of being given, I would gladly allow myself to be hemmed in, so long as Decimus Brutus might be released.  But we were caught by this expression of Quintus Fufius; “Shall we not listen to Antonius, even if he retires from Mutina?  Shall we not, even if he declares that he will submit himself to the authority of the senate?” It seemed harsh to say that.  Thus it was that we were broken, we yielded.  Does he then retire from Mutina?  “I don’t know.”  Is he obeying the senate?  “I think so” says Calenus, “but so as to preserve his own dignity at the same time.”  You then, O conscript fathers, are to make great exertions for the express purpose of losing your own dignity, which is very great, and of preserving that of Antonius, which neither has nor can have any existence, and of enabling him to recover that by your conduct, which he has lost by his own.  “But, however, that matter is not open for consideration now, an embassy has been appointed.”  But what is there which is not open for consideration to a wise man, as long as it can be remodelled?  Any man is liable to a mistake; but no one but a downright fool will persist in error.  For second thoughts, as people say, are best.  The mist which I spoke of just now is dispelled, light has arisen, the case is plain—­we see everything, and that not by our own acuteness, but we are warned by our friends.