days, and was the most splendid that had ever been seen in Rome. Of
the spoils, he erected a temple to Minerva, with an inscription giving
a summary of his victories:—“that he had finished a war of thirty
years; had vanquished, slain, and taken two millions one hundred and
eighty-three thousand men; sunk or taken eight hundred and forty-six
ships; reduced to the power of the empire a thousand five hundred
and thirty-eight towns and fortresses, and subdued all the countries
between the lake Moeris and the Red Sea.”
The spectacle which Rome, at this period, presents is full of warning
to mankind. In the very height of her pride and her power, holding
the whole civilized world in her grasp, she was still torn with
dissensions, and corrupted through every vein and artery of society.
With political institutions favorable to liberty, and calculated to
promote public and private virtue; yet vice and crime stained the
character of public men, while profligacy, in every form, characterized
the people at large.
Nor could anything better be expected; for the general policy of the
nation was alike wicked and unwise. Instead of seeking prosperity by
the peaceful arts of life, they sought to enrich themselves by robbing
other nations. War was the great trade of the state; the soldier was
a hero; a successful general, the idol of the nation. The greatest
plunderer received the greatest honors, and glory was proportioned to
the blood spilled and the spoils obtained. A system so immoral could
not fail to debauch the nation, nor was it difficult to see that, from
robbing other countries, the victorious general, having attached the
soldiery to himself by leading them on to booty, would soon learn to
turn his arms against the country. Such had now become the experience
of Rome; and the natural course of ambition seemed to be to obtain
the command of an army in some of the provinces, gorge the soldiers
with plunder, and, having become the idol of the troops, to march upon
Rome and seize, by intimidation or force, the sceptre of power. Such a
course had been expected of Pompey, and was soon after adopted by Cæsar.
The triumvirate, consisting of Cæsar, Pompey and Crassus, was now
formed, and Cicero yielded, for a time, to their power. His patriotism
and integrity were obstacles, however, to the success of their schemes,
and he became the object of their hatred and persecution. Perceiving
the storm that was ready to burst over him, he threw himself at the
feet of Pompey and begged his protection. This, however, was refused;
and seeing no alternative but to defend himself by force, or retreat
till the storm had blown over, he adopted the latter course by the
advice of Cato and Hortensius. He left the city, and attended by a
numerous train of friends, pursued his way to Sicily.
After his departure, the dissolute Clodius, who had become tribune,
caused a law to be passed, denouncing Cicero in violent terms, and
forbidding all persons, on pain of death, to harbor or receive him.
Immediately after, his houses, both in the city and country, were given
up to plunder; the marble columns of his dwelling on the Palatine
hill were carried away by one of the consuls, and the rich furniture
of his Tusculum villa, by another. Even the ornamental trees of his
plantations were taken up and transplanted to one of his neighbor’s
grounds. To make the loss of his house in Rome irretrievable, Clodius
caused the space to be consecrated to the service of religion, and a
temple to be built upon it, dedicated to the goddess of liberty!
Nor did the vengeance of Cicero’s enemies stop here. Clodius pursued
his wife and children with the same fury, and made several attempts
to gain access to his son, then six years old, with the intention of
putting him to death. But the child was carefully guarded, and finally
removed from the reach of his malice. Terentia took sanctuary in the
temple of Vesta, but she was dragged forcibly out, and insolently
examined as to the concealment of her husband’s property. Being a
woman of singular spirit, however, she bore these indignities with
masculine courage.
The desolation of Cicero’s fortunes at home, and the misery which he
suffered abroad, in being deprived of everything that was dear to
him, soon made him repent his flight. His suffering was increased
on reaching Sicily, for there he found his former friends afraid to
receive him, in consequence of the decree of banishment which had
been passed at Rome, and which forbade him to remain within four
hundred miles of the city. He therefore found it necessary to leave
Sicily, and after various changes of opinion, he resolved to proceed
to Thessalonica, in Macedonia. Here he took up his residence with his
friend Plaucius, who treated him with the utmost kindness.
Cicero was so dejected by his misfortunes, that he shut himself up
in his apartments, and refused to see all company. When his brother,
Quintus, was on his way from Asia to Rome, Cicero felt incapable of
supporting an interview, and did not see him, so deeply were his
feelings affected. At the same time, his letters to his friends were
full of regret, complaint and despondency. It is obvious that, in this
period of trial, he displayed great weakness of character, though it
is probable that his affectionate disposition—his fondness for his
children, and love of his friends—rendered separation from them an
evil almost worse than death. It would seem, also, that he had so long
enjoyed the homage paid to his talents, had so long lived in the blaze
of popular favor, that his present exile seemed like being deprived of
the very light of heaven.
But the period of his return to Rome was now approaching. Clodius, by
a series of the most flagrant outrages, made himself hated at Rome,
and finally put himself in opposition to Pompey himself. The people at
large were favorable to Cicero, and it was not long before the senate,
with great unanimity, passed a resolution favorable to his recall.
Pompey urged the measure with ardor, and declared that Cicero ought to
be received with such honors, as might atone for the sorrows of his
exile.
Preparations were made to obtain the passage of a law coinciding
with the resolve of the senate; but Clodius, with his slaves and a
multitude of hired gladiators, resisted the tribunes who sought to
gain possession of the market-place, for that purpose. Several bloody
encounters followed, and for a time the streets of Rome were deluged
with blood. The dead bodies were thrown into the Tiber, which were so
numerous as almost to obstruct its channel. Nothing can better show
the greatness of Cicero’s reputation, than the facts now transpiring
in Rome. For several months the attention of the people of that city,
and of Italy, was wholly occupied with the question of his recall.
The ambassadors of kings, the messengers of princes,—affairs which
involved the fate of nations—were all laid aside, till this absorbing
subject could be disposed of.
The senate, after long deliberation, and in a full assembly, at last
passed a decree for his restoration; Clodius, among four hundred and
fifty, giving the only vote against it. When the news reached a
neighboring theatre, the air was rent with acclamation. Æsopus, the
actor, was performing, at the time, the part of Timolean, banished from
the country, in one of the plays of Accius. By a happy change of a
few words, and giving the utmost effect to his voice, he directed the
thoughts of the audience to Cicero, while he uttered these sentences,
“What, he who always stood up for the republic! who, in doubtful
times, spared neither life nor fortunes—the greatest friend in the
greatest dangers—of such parts and talents! O Father—I saw his house
and rich furniture all in flames! O, ungrateful Greeks, inconstant
people; forgetful of services,—to see such a man banished, driven
from his country, and suffer him to continue in this condition!” It
is not possible to describe the thrilling effect of these words, or
the enthusiasm of the people. When Lentulus, the consul, who had
taken an active part in Cicero’s favor, entered the place, they all
rose up, stretched out their hands, and, with tears of joy and loud
acclamations, testified their thanks. Several of the senators coming
into the theatre, were received with the most deafening applause.
Clodius also making his appearance was assailed by reproaches, threats
and curses.
Though a decree was now regularly obtained for Cicero’s return, Clodius
had still the courage and address to hinder its sanction by the popular
assemblies. There were several meetings of the senate, and the whole
city was shaken to its foundation with the question now at issue. All
Italy and indeed many of the remote provinces were thrown into a state
of ferment by the struggle, and the mighty interests of the empire
were postponed till this important question could be settled. Ptolemy,
the king of Egypt, driven from his kingdom, and seeking protection at
the hands of Rome, even though a lodger in Pompey’s house, could not
obtain an audience, till Cicero’s cause was decided.
The greatest preparations were now made for submitting the question
to the popular assemblies. Never had there been known so numerous
and solemn a gathering of the Roman people as on this occasion. The
whole country seemed to be drawn together. It was reckoned a sin to
be absent. Neither age nor infirmity was thought a sufficient excuse
for failing to lend a helping hand to the restoration of Cicero.
The meeting was held in the field of Mars, for the more convenient
reception of so vast a multitude. It was an august scene. The senators
presided at the polls, to see the ballots fairly taken. The result was
that Cicero was recalled from exile by the unanimous suffrage of all
the hundreds, and to the infinite joy of the whole city!
Cicero, having been advised of the course of events, had returned
as far as Brundusium, where he was met by his daughter Tullia. In a
few days he received the welcome intelligence of his recall. Setting
out immediately for Rome, he everywhere received the most lively
demonstrations of joy from the people. Multitudes were drawn together
to congratulate him on his return. The whole road, from Brundusium to
Rome, being crowded with men, women, and children, seemed like one
continued street. Every prefecture, town and colony throughout Italy
decreed him statues, or public honors, and sent deputations to him,
with tenders of congratulation. Cicero himself remarks, that Italy
brought him back on its shoulders, and that the day of his return was
worth an immortality.
Cicero was now restored to his dignity, but not to his fortunes.
Restitution had been decreed, and the sum of £22,000 was finally paid
him. This he accepted, though it was scarcely more than half what he
had actually lost. He now attached himself to the cause of Pompey,
but spent several years with little public employment, being chiefly
occupied with his rhetorical studies and the business of an advocate.
The turbulent Clodius was at last slain by Milo, and Cicero was thus
delivered from his most troublesome enemy.
The senate now conferred upon him the office of pro-consul, or
governor, of Cilicia, in Asia Minor, whither he immediately proceeded.
He discharged the duties of this office with ability, and, on his
return, was decreed a triumph. But he was prevented from enjoying it
by the factious opposition of his enemies. On his return, he found
Rome agitated with serious disturbances. The rupture between Cæsar and
Pompey had taken place, and the horrors of a civil war seemed to be
impending over the republic. In vain did he attempt to reconcile the
fierce and haughty rivals.
Cæsar advanced upon Rome, and Pompey was forced to fly with the consuls
and the senate. Cæsar had met Cicero at Formiae, and sought to gain
him over to his cause, but though convinced that he would prevail in
the coming struggle, he felt himself prompted, by a sense of honor to
return to Pompey, who had served him so effectually during his exile.
After the fatal battle of Pharsalia and the flight of Pompey, he
returned to Rome, where he was graciously received by Cæsar.
He now devoted himself to literary and philosophical pursuits, and,
soon after, divorced his wife Terentia, an act which has justly
subjected him to much reproach. It is true that she was a woman of
an imperious and turbulent spirit, expensive and negligent in her
private affairs, busy and intriguing in public matters. But these
qualities were in some degree compensated by her devotion to Cicero,
and especially by the energy with which she had sought to effect his
return during his exile. His letters to her at this period recognise
her efforts in his behalf, and are full of the most tender expressions
of affection and esteem.
It must be remarked that the nuptial bond was lightly regarded at this
period in Rome, and divorces were so common as to be little thought
of. Terentia was soon after married to Sallust, the historian, by
which it would seem that her separation from Cicero inflicted upon her
no disgrace. Cicero would perhaps have been little blamed, were it
not that he was soon after married to a young lady named Publilia, of
whom he was guardian, and who had been committed to his care by her
father’s will. She had a large estate, and this was doubtless Cicero’s
inducement to the match, if not to the divorce of Terentia. It is the
suspicion of such motives, in these transactions, that has sullied the
fame of Cicero. We may add here, in respect to Terentia, that she was
once or twice married after the death of Sallust, and lived to the age
of one hundred and three years.
Cæsar, having established himself as dictator, Cicero was induced to
assent to his government. Accordingly, he pronounced a famous oration,
in which he mingled as much counsel as panegyric for the despot. He
was rapidly regaining his former consideration, when the conspiracy
of Brutus and his associates terminated the career of the ambitious
usurper. Antony now took Cæsar’s place, and while he was prosecuting
his designs, Cicero returned to his literary occupations. He went to
Greece for a time, but soon returned, and pronounced those famous
orations against Antony, which are called Philippics.
Octavius, known as Augustus Cæsar, and the nephew of Julius Cæsar,
united his interests with those of Antony, and having obtained the
consulate, soon gained an ascendency over the senate. Cicero, in his
retirement at Tusculum, saw that the power having passed into the
hands of desperate men, the liberty of Rome was no more. He soon heard
that his own name was included among those of the proscribed. He fled
immediately to Astura, on the sea coast, where he found a vessel
waiting for him.
He here embarked, but contrary winds drove him back to the shore. At
the earnest entreaty of his slaves, he embarked a second time, but
returned to await his fate at his country seat near Formiae, declaring,
“I will die in my country, which I have more than once saved.” His
slaves, seeing the neighborhood already disturbed by the soldiers of
Antony, endeavored to convey him away in a litter, but soon discovered
the assassins, who had been sent to take his life, at their heels.
They prepared for resistance, but Cicero, who felt that death was
unavoidable, bowed his head before Pompilius, the commander of the
murderers, who had once been saved by his eloquence, and suffered death
more courageously than he had borne misfortune.
Thus died Cicero, and with him the liberties of Rome. The dynasty of
the emperors was built upon the ruins of the republic, and, continuing
for five centuries, was finally extinguished in the gloom of the dark
ages. Cicero was killed on the 7th December, 43 B. C., at the age of
sixty-three. His head and hands were severed from the body, by his
murderers, and carried to Antony, who caused the former to be placed
upon the rostra in the forum, between the two hands. The odium of these
barbarities fell chiefly upon Antony, yet they left a stain of perfidy
and ingratitude upon Augustus, which can never be wiped away.
In his person, Cicero was tall and slender, yet his features were
regular and manly. He mingled great dignity with an air of cheerfulness
and serenity, that inspired both affection and respect. His
constitution was naturally weak, but his prudent habits enabled him to
support all the fatigues of an active and studious life, with health
and vigor. In dress, he avoided singularity, and was only remarkable
for personal neatness and appropriateness of attire. In domestic
and social life, his demeanor was exceedingly amiable. He was an
affectionate parent, a zealous friend, a generous master. Yet he was
not more generous to his friends than placable to his enemies. It was
one of his sayings, delivered in a public assembly, that “his enmities
were mortal, his friendships immortal.”
The moral character of Cicero was not blemished by the stain of any
habitual vice. He was, indeed, the shining pattern of virtue in an age,
of all others, the most licentious and profligate. His great soul was
superior to the sordid passions which engross little minds—avarice,
envy and malice. His familiar letters, in which he pours out his whole
heart, are free from anything base, immodest or vengeful. A uniform
principle of benevolence, justice, love of his friends and his country,
is seen to flow through the whole, inspiring all his thoughts and words
and actions.
The failings of Cicero consisted chiefly in his vanity and that
despondency under adverse circumstances, which seemed unworthy of his
character. With these abatements, we must pronounce him a truly great
and good man—the glory of Rome, an honor to human nature. His works,
a large portion of which are extant, are among the richest treasures
bequeathed to us by antiquity, and there are few minds so exalted, even
with the advantages of our own time, as not to find instruction in his
pages.
[Illustration]
CAIUS JULIUS CÆSAR.
This celebrated Roman, famous for his intrigues, his generalship, his
eloquence and his talents, was born in the year 100 B. C. He was of a
good family, and his aunt Julia was wife of Caius Marius, who had been
consul. We know little of him in his youth, though it would seem that
he early attracted attention by his abilities and ambition. At the age
of fifteen, he left his father, and was made a priest in the temple of
Jupiter, the year after. At the age of seventeen, he married Cornelia,
a daughter of Cinna. By this marriage, and through his aunt Julia, he
was allied both to Marius and Cinna, the two principal opposers of
Sylla, who had acquired an ascendency in Rome, and exercised his power
with fearful and bloody tyranny. Soon after his marriage, Cæsar became
an object of suspicion to the despot; he was stripped of his office
as priest of Jupiter, his wife’s dower was confiscated, and he, being
threatened with death, deemed it prudent to seek safety in flight.
He wandered up and down the country, concealing himself for a time
among the Sabines; but at last he escaped by sea, and went to Bithynia
in Asia Minor, and sought protection of king Nicomedes. His stay at
this place was, however, short. He re-embarked, and was taken, near
the isle of Pharmacusa, by pirates, who were masters of that sea, and
blocked up all the passages with a number of galleys and other vessels.
They asked him only twenty talents for his ransom. He laughed at their
demand, as the consequence of not knowing him, and promised them fifty
talents.
To raise the money he despatched his attendants to different cities,
and in the meantime remained, with only one friend and two servants,
among these people, who considered murder a trifle. Cæsar, however,
held them in great contempt, and used, whenever he went to sleep,
to send them an order to keep silence. Thus he lived among them
thirty-eight days, as if they had been his guards rather than his
keepers.
Perfectly fearless and self-possessed, he joined in their diversions,
and took his exercises among them. He wrote poems and orations, and
rehearsed them to these pirates; and when they expressed no admiration,
he called them dunces and barbarians—nay, he often threatened to
crucify them. They were delighted with these freedoms, which they
imputed to his frank and facetious vein. But as soon as the money was
brought for his ransom, and he had recovered his liberty, he manned
some vessels in the port of Miletus, in order to attack these corsairs.
He found them still lying at anchor by the island, took most of them,
together with the money he had paid them, and caused them to be
imprisoned at Pergamus.
After this adventure, Cæsar took lessons of Appolonius Molo, of Rhodes,
a celebrated teacher of rhetoric, who had been the instructor of
Cicero. He here displayed great talents, especially in an aptitude for
eloquence, in which he afterwards excelled. After this, he served under
different generals in Asia, and upon the death of Sylla, returned to
Rome, where he soon became conspicuous among the aspiring politicians
of the day.
Rome was at this time a republic, in which there was a constant
struggle for ascendency between the aristocracy and the
democracy—between the privileged few and the people. Sylla had placed
the former on a firm footing; for a time, therefore, Cæsar, who
courted the people, took no open part, but looked calmly on, waiting
and watching for his opportunity. He, however, seized every occasion
to please and flatter the people; he gave expensive entertainments to
which they were invited; he attached to his person the talented and
enterprising young men; he distributed presents, paid compliments, and
said a thousand pleasant things, calculated to flatter those whose
favor he desired. He also made public speeches on various occasions,
in all of which he avowed sentiments which gratified the plebeians.
Thus beginning afar off and steadily approaching his object he was ere
long in a situation to realize it. Cato, who had watched him carefully,
discovered his dangerous ambition, but he could not prevent the success
of his schemes.
At the age of thirty-one, he was chosen by the people, as one of the
military tribunes, an office which gave him the command of a legion, or
division in the army. The year following, he was quæstor, or receiver
of public moneys in Spain; and in the year 68, having returned to Rome,
he was chosen edile—an office which gave him charge of the public
buildings.
In this situation, he had an opportunity to indulge his taste for
magnificence and display; at the same time, he gratified the people. He
beautified the city with public edifices and gave splendid exhibitions
of wild beasts and gladiators.
He was now thirty-five years old, and being desirous of military glory,
he sought a command in Egypt. He offered himself as a candidate—but
failed. The next year he took his measures more carefully. The
corruption of the voters of Rome, at that time, was such as to excite
our disgust. On the day of election, there were stalls, openly kept,
where the votes of the freemen were bought, with as little shame, as if
they had been common merchandise. We hardly know which most to despise,
the crafty leaders, who thus corrupted the people, or the venal voters,
who abused and degraded the dearest of privileges.
Though Cæsar was from the beginning a professed champion of the
democracy, yet the manner in which he treated those whose support he
sought, showed that his designs were selfish; that he wished to make
the people instruments of his ambition. A man who will flatter the
mass; use false, yet captivating arguments with them; appeal to their
prejudices; fall in with their currents of feeling and opinion, even
though they may be wrong, may profess democracy but he is at heart an
aristocrat: he has no true love for the people; no confidence in them;
he really despises them, and looks upon them but as the despicable
tools of his ambition. Such was Cæsar, and such is always the popular
demagogue. While nothing is more noble than a true democrat—a true
well-wisher of the people—and one who honestly seeks to vindicate
their rights, enlighten their minds, and elevate them in the scale of
society; so nothing is more base than a selfish desire to govern them,
hidden beneath the cloak of pretended democracy.