wished that he should divorce Julia[1]; but Pompey steadily refused to sacrifice the tender and beautiful woman, whose love both for her husband and for her father bound them together by a tie more honourable than that of political expediency. On the other hand, Pompey bore, and not unjustly, the odium which resulted from the lawless acts of Cæsar's consulship, and he was still compelled to play the part of figure-head in a Cabinet in which the decisive word lay no longer with him. The constitutional party had now some excuse for refusing to trust him.
Pompey was still further hampered by his own reserve and mystery and dread of committing himself. These bad habits had by long indulgence now completely gained the mastery over him. It is pitiful to see how a man, honest and well-meaning at bottom, earned the reputation of insincerity and double-dealing, merely because he was afraid to speak his mind. No one now relied on him. Cicero expresses this distrust in an amusing way to Atticus a few months later.[2] "He had a long conversation with me on politics, and was by no means satisfied with his position—so he said (for that is as much as one can vouch for in case of Pompey): he did not care for Syria, and thought nothing of Spain—add, if you please, 'so he said.' I think indeed that whenever we speak of him we may append the tag, 'so he said,' like the refrain of 'thus saith Phocylides' in the epigrams."[3]
