who will not give way to circumstances, and never consent to alter
anything in the plans they have once conceived. No one, on the contrary,
knew how to bend to necessity better than he. His aim remained the same,
but he did not hesitate to take the most diverse means to attain it,
when it was necessary. One of these important modifications took place
in his policy, precisely at the period with which we are occupied. What
distinguishes Caesar from the men with whom he is usually compared,
Alexander and Napoleon, has been well stated by M. Mommsen, namely, that
originally he was a statesman rather than a general. He did not, like
them, come from the camp, and he had as yet merely passed through it
when, by force of circumstances and almost in spite of himself, he
became a conqueror. All his youth was passed in Rome in the turmoil of
public life, and he only set out for Gaul at an age at which Alexander
was dead and Napoleon vanquished. He had evidently formed the plan of
making himself master without employing arms; he reckoned upon
destroying the republic by a slow and internal revolution, and by
preserving as much as possible, in so illegal an attempt, the outward
form of legality. He saw that the popular party had more taste for
social reforms than for political liberties, and he thought, with
reason, that a democratic monarchy would not be repugnant to it. By
multiplying dissensions, by becoming the secret accomplice of Catiline
and Clodius, he wearied timid republicans of a too troubled liberty and
prepared them to sacrifice it willingly to repose. He hoped in this way
that the republic, shaken by these daily attacks, which exhausted and
tired out its most intrepid defenders, would at last fall without
violence and without noise. But, to our great surprise, at the moment
when this skilfully-planned design seemed on the point of succeeding, we
see Caesar suddenly give it up. After that consulship in which he had
governed alone, reducing his colleague to inaction and the senate to
silence, he withdraws from Rome for ten years, and goes to attempt the
conquest of an unknown country. What reasons decided him to this
unexpected change? We should like to believe that he felt some disgust
for that life of base intrigues that he led at Rome, and wished to
invigorate himself in labours more worthy of him; but it is much more
likely that, after having seen clearly that the republic would fall of
itself, he understood that he would require an army and military renown
to gain the mastery over Pompey. It was, then, without enthusiasm,
without passion, designedly and on calculation, that he decided to set
out for Gaul. When he took this important resolution, which has
contributed so much to his greatness, he was forty-four.[254] Pascal
thinks it was very late to begin, and that he was too old to interest
himself in the conquest of the world. It is, on the contrary, as it
seems, one of the most admirable efforts of that energetic will that, at
an age when habits are irrevocably fixed, and when a man has definitely
entered on the road he must follow to the end, Caesar suddenly commenced
a new life, and, leaving in a moment the business of popular agitator
that he had followed for twenty-five years, set himself to govern
provinces and lead armies. This spectacle, indeed, is more surprising
now than it was then. It is no longer the custom to turn oneself into an
administrator or a general at fifty, and these things seem to us to
demand a special vocation and a long apprenticeship; history shows us
that it was otherwise at Rome. Had they not just seen the voluptuous
Lucullus, on his way to command the army of Asia, learn the art of war
during the voyage, and conquer Mithridates on his arrival? As to
administration, a rich Roman learnt it in his own home. Those vast
domains, those legions of slaves that he possessed, the management of an
immense fortune which often surpassed the wealth of several kingdoms of
our days, familiarized him early with the art of government. It was thus
that Caesar, who had as yet only had occasion to practise himself in the
government of provinces and the command of armies during the year of his
praetorship in Spain, had no need of further study to be able to conquer
the Helvetii and to organize the conquered countries, and that he found
himself at the very first attempt an admirable general and an
administrator of genius.
It was at this epoch that his intimate relations with Cicero
recommenced, and they lasted as long as the Gallic war. Cicero often had
occasion to write to him to recommend people who wished to serve under
his command. The ambition of the young men at that time was to set out
for Caesar’s camp. Besides the desire of taking part in great deeds
under such a general, they had also the secret hope of enriching
themselves in those distant countries. We know with what charms the
unknown is usually adorned, and how easy it is to lend it all the
attractions we wish. Gaul was for the imagination of that time what
America was to the sixteenth century. It was supposed that in those
countries that no one had visited there lay immense treasures, and all
who had their fortune to make hastened to Caesar to have their share of
the booty. This eagerness was not displeasing to him; it bore witness to
the fascination his conquests exercised, and helped his designs, and
accordingly he readily invited men to come to him. He wrote gaily to
Cicero, who had begged a commission for some unknown Roman: “You have
recommended M. Offius to me; if you like I will make him King of Gaul,
unless he prefers to be lieutenant of Lepta. Send me whom you will that
I may make him rich.”[255] Cicero had with him at that moment two
persons whom he loved very much and who had great need of being
enriched, the lawyer Trebatius Testa and his own brother Quintus. It was
a good opportunity, and he sent them both to Caesar.
Trebatius was a young man of much talent and great zeal for study, who
had attached himself to Cicero and did not leave him. He had early left
his poor little town of Ulubrae, situated in the midst of the Pontine
marshes, for Rome,—Ulubrae the deserted, _vacuae Ulubrae_, whose
inhabitants were called Ulubran frogs. He had studied law, and, as he
had become very learned in it, no doubt he rendered many services to
Cicero, who does not appear ever to have known much of law, and who
found it more convenient to laugh at it than to learn it. Unfortunately,
consultations being gratuitous, lawyers did not make their fortune at
Rome. Accordingly Trebatius was poor, in spite of his knowledge. Cicero,
who liked him unselfishly, consented to deprive himself of the pleasure
and use that he found in his society, and sent him to Caesar with one of
those charming letters of recommendation that he knew so well how to
write, and in which he displayed so much grace and wit. “I do not ask of
you,” he says, “the command of a legion, or a government for him. I ask
for nothing definite. Give him your friendship, and if afterwards you
care to do something for his fortune and his glory I shall not be
displeased. In fact, I abandon him to you entirely; I give him to you
from hand to hand as they say, and I hope he will find himself well off
in those faithful and victorious hands.”[256] Caesar thanked Cicero for
the present that he had made him, which could not fail to be very
valuable to him, “for,” he wittily remarked, “among the multitude of men
who surround me, there is not one who knows how to prepare a suit.”[257]
Trebatius left Rome reluctantly; Cicero said that he had to turn him out
of doors.[258] The first sight of Gaul, which resembled very little the
France of to-day, was not cheering. He passed wild countries, among
half-subdued and threatening people, and in the midst of these barbarian
surroundings which oppressed his heart, he always thought of the
pleasures of that cultivated city that he had just left. The letters
that he wrote were so disconsolate, that Cicero, forgetting that he had
felt the same regrets during his own exile, reproached him gently for
what he called his foolishness. When he arrived at the camp his
ill-humour was redoubled. Trebatius was not a warrior, and it is very
likely that the Nervii and the Atrebates frightened him very much. He
arrived just at the moment when Caesar was setting out on the expedition
to Britain, and refused, one knows not on what pretext, to accompany
him: perhaps he alleged, like Dumnorix, that he feared the sea; but,
even in remaining in Gaul there was no want of danger and tedium. Their
winter quarters were not comfortable; they suffered from cold and rain
under that inclement sky. In summer they had to take the field, and his
terror recommenced. Trebatius was always complaining. What added to his
discontent was that he had not found all at once the advantages he had
expected. He had set out unwillingly, and wished to return as quickly as
possible. Cicero said that he had looked on the letter of recommendation
that he had given him to Caesar as a bill of exchange payable to
bearer.[259] He thought he had only to present himself in order to take
the money, and return. It was not only money he went to look for in
Gaul; he expected to find there a post of distinction and importance. He
wished to approach Caesar and make himself appreciated. Cicero writes to
him: “You would much rather be consulted than covered with gold.”[260]
Now, Caesar was so busy that he was difficult to approach, and he did
not at first pay any great attention to this learned lawyer who came to
him from Rome. He contented himself with offering him the title and
emoluments of a military tribune, without the duties, of course.
Trebatius did not think this a sufficient reward for the length of his
journey and the dangers of the country, and thought of returning. Cicero
had much trouble to prevent this rash conduct. I do not think there is
any part of his correspondence more amusing and more lively than the
letters he wrote to Trebatius to induce him to remain. Cicero is at his
ease with this obscure young man, for whom he had such a lively
affection. He dares to laugh freely, which he does not do with
everybody, and he laughs all the more readily as he knows Trebatius was
low-spirited, and he wishes to console him. It seems to me that this
trouble that he takes to cheer up an unhappy friend makes his
pleasantries almost touching, and that his good heart here lends one
more charm to his wit. He quizzes him good-naturedly in order to make
him laugh, and jokes about things that he knows the good Trebatius does
not mind being bantered on. For instance, one day he asks him to send
him all the details of the campaign: “For an account of a battle,” he
says, “I trust above all the most timorous;”[261] probably because,
having held themselves aloof from the fight, they will have been better
able to see the whole. Another time, after having expressed some fear at
seeing him exposed to so many dangers, he adds: “Happily I know your
prudence; you are much bolder in presenting writs than in harassing the
enemy, and I remember that, although you are a good swimmer, you would
not cross over into Britain for fear of taking a bath in the
ocean.”[262]
To soothe his impatience he threatens him with the wags. Was it not to
be feared that if he returned, Laberius would put him in one of his
farces? A frightened lawyer travelling in the train of an army, and
exercising his profession among the barbarians, would make a funny
figure in a comedy; but, to silence the wags he had only to make his
fortune. Let him return later, he would certainly return richer; Balbus
had said so. Now, Balbus was a banker; he did not speak in the sense of
the Stoics, who affirm that one is always rich enough when one can enjoy
the spectacle of the sky and the earth; he spoke as a Roman and meant
that he would return well furnished with crown-pieces, _more romano bene
nummatum_. Trebatius remained, and he did well to do so. Caesar was not
long in noticing him, and was pleased with his friendship. He got
accustomed to camp life, and in time became a little less timid than he
was on his arrival. It is probable that he returned rich, as Balbus had
predicted, for if they did not find all the treasures they went to seek
in Gaul, Caesar’s liberality was an inexhaustible mine that enriched all
his friends. At a later period Trebatius passed through trying times,
and yet preserved the reputation of an honest man; this was an act of
justice that all parties did him, although they were not much in the
habit of doing justice. He had the rare good fortune to escape all the
perils of the civil wars, and was still living in the time of Horace,
who addressed one of his most agreeable satires to him. We see in it
that he was then an amiable and indulgent old man who readily laughed
and amused himself with the young. He talked to them, no doubt, about
that grand epoch of which he was one of the last survivors, of the
Gallic war in which he had taken part, of Caesar and his captains whom
he had known. By the privilege of his age he could speak of Lucretius to
Virgil, of Cicero to Livy, of Catullus to Propertius, and formed a sort
of link between the two most illustrious periods of Latin literature.
The other person whom Cicero sent to Caesar was his brother Quintus. As
he holds a large place in Cicero’s life, and played a rather important
part in the Gallic war, it will be proper, I think, to say a few words
about him. Although he listened to the same lectures and learned from
the same masters as his brother, he never had any taste for eloquence,
and always refused to speak in public. “One orator,” he said, “is enough
in a family, and even in a city.”[263] He was of a hard and yet
changeable disposition, and gave way to violent fits of anger without
reason. In spite of an appearance of great energy he was soon
discouraged, and although he always affected to be the master, he was
led by those about him. These faults, that Cicero bewailed to himself
although he tried to excuse them, prevented Quintus succeeding in his
public career, and troubled his private life.
He had been early married to Pomponia, the sister of Atticus. This
marriage that the two friends had hoped would draw closer their
connection very nearly broke it. The couple found that their characters
matched too well: both were hasty and passionate, and they could never
agree, and the unbounded ascendency that Statius, a slave, had over his
master’s mind completed the disunion of the household. In connection
with this, it would be easy to show, from Cicero’s letters, what
influence the slave often exercised in ancient families; a much greater
one than is commonly supposed. Now that the servant is free, it would
seem natural that he should take a more important place in our houses
than before. But the contrary has happened; he has lost in influence
what he has gained in dignity. When he became independent his master
ceased to have any obligations towards him. They now live together bound
by a temporary contract, which, by imposing reciprocal obligations,
appears irksome to both sides. As this fragile bond may be broken at any
moment, and as these allies of one day may become indifferent to each
other or enemies on the next, there is no longer any ease or confidence
between them, and they pass all the time during which chance brings them
together in surrounding themselves with defences, and in watching one
another. It was quite otherwise in antiquity when slavery was
flourishing. Then, it was not for a short time only, it was for a whole
life-time that they were united; accordingly, they set themselves to
know each other, and to adapt themselves one to the other. To gain the
master’s favour was the important thing for the future of the slave, and
he took trouble to gain it. As he had no position to defend, or dignity
to preserve, he gave himself up to him entirely. He flattered and served
his worst passions without scruple, and at last made himself necessary
to him. Once confirmed in this intimacy, by his constant subserviency,
by private and secret services which his master was not afraid to
demand, and which he never refused to give, he ruled the family, so
that, however strange it may appear at first sight, it is true to say
that the servant was never nearer being master than when he was a slave.
This is what happened to Statius. Through the knowledge that he had of
the defects of Quintus, he had insinuated himself so well into his
confidence that the whole family gave way to him. Pomponia alone
resisted, and the annoyance she suffered for this reason made her still
more insupportable. She constantly worried her husband with unfriendly
remarks; she refused to appear at the dinners that he gave on the
pretext that she was only a stranger at home, or if she consented to be
present, it was only to make the guests the witnesses of the most
unpleasant scenes. It was, no doubt, one day when she was more peevish
and cross-grained than usual that Quintus composed these two epigrams,
the only examples that remain of his poetic talent.
“Trust your ship to the winds, but do not give up your soul to a woman.
There is less safety in a woman’s words than in the caprices of the
waves.”
“No woman is good; or if by chance you find a good woman, I know not by
what strange fate a bad thing has become good in a moment.”
These two epigrams are not very gallant, but we must excuse them in the
unfortunate husband of the shrewish Pomponia.
The political career of Quintus was not brilliant any more than his
private life was happy. He owed the offices which he obtained more to
the illustrious name of his brother than to his own merit, and did
nothing to make himself worthy of them. After he had been aedile and
praetor, he was appointed governor of Asia. To be invested with an
unlimited authority was a severe test for a character like his. Absolute
power turned his head; his violence, which nothing now restrained, knew
no bounds; like an oriental despot he only talked of burning and
hanging. He wished above all to obtain the glory of being a great lover
of justice. Having had occasion to order two parricides to be sewn up in
a sack and thrown into the water in the lower part of his province, he
wished to give the same spectacle to the other part on his visit to it,
that there might be no jealousy between them. He sought therefore to
seize a certain Zeuxis, an important person, who had been accused of
killing his mother, and who had been acquitted by the tribunals. On the
arrival of the governor, Zeuxis, who guessed his intentions, fled, and
Quintus, vexed at losing his parricide, wrote him most friendly letters
to induce him to return. Usually, however, he dissembled less and spoke
more openly. He sent word to one of his lieutenants to seize and burn
alive a certain Licinius and his son who had embezzled. He wrote to a
Roman knight named Catienus “that he hoped to have him suffocated one
day in the smoke, with the applause of the province.”[264] It is true
that when he was reproached with having written these furious letters,
he replied that they were simple jokes, and that he had wished to laugh
for a moment, but it was a strange way of joking, and shows his
barbarous nature. Quintus had none the less an enlightened mind, he had
read Plato and Xenophon, he spoke Greek admirably well, he even wrote
tragedies in his leisure hours. He had all the appearance of a polished
and civilized man, but it was only the appearance. Even among the most
well-bred Romans, civilization was often only on the surface, and under
their polished exterior we often find the rough and savage soul of a
pitiless race of soldiers.
Quintus came back from his province with a rather bad reputation, but,
what is more surprising, he did not come back rich. Apparently he had
embezzled less than his colleagues, and was not able to bring back
enough money to restore his fortune, which was very much embarrassed by
his extravagance; for he liked to buy and to build, like his brother; he
had a taste for rare books, and probably also could refuse nothing to
his favourite slaves. The exile of Cicero completed the confusion of his
affairs, and at the time of his brother’s return Quintus was quite
ruined. This did not prevent him, at the time of his greatest financial
distress, rebuilding his house at Rome, and buying a country house at
Arpinum and another in the suburbs, constructing in his villa at Arcae,
baths, porticoes, fish-ponds, and such a fine road that it was taken for
a work of the state. It is true that the poverty of a Roman of that time
would make the fortune of many of our nobles. However, a day came when
Quintus was altogether in the hands of his creditors, and when he could
borrow no more. Then it was that he bethought him of the last resource
of embarrassed debtors: he went to Caesar.
It was not, then, only the love of glory that attracted Quintus to Gaul;
he went there, like so many others, to get rich. Up to that time, the
results had not answered to men’s expectations, and they had not found
among people like the Belgae and Germani all the treasures that they
looked for; but they were not yet discouraged; rather than give up their
brilliant fancies, after each disappointment, they put farther off that
enchanted country where they thought they must find riches. As at this
moment they were going to attack Britain, it was in Britain that they
placed it. Every one expected to make a fortune there, and Caesar
himself, by what Suetonius says, hoped to bring back many pearls.[265]
These expectations were deceived once more; in Britain were neither
pearls nor gold mines. They had a great deal of trouble to take a few
slaves who were not of much value, for it was no use thinking of making
them men of letters and musicians. For all wealth, these men only
possessed heavy chariots, from which they fought with courage.
Accordingly Cicero wrote humorously to Trebatius, who sent him news of
this ill-luck of the army: “Since you find there neither gold nor
silver, my opinion is that you should carry off one of those British
chariots, and should come to us at Rome without stopping.”[266] Quintus
was very much of the same opinion. Although he had been well received by
Caesar, who had appointed him his lieutenant, when he saw that wealth
did not come as quickly as he expected, he lost courage, and, like
Trebatius, he had for a moment the idea of returning; but Cicero, who
did not joke this time, prevented him.
He did him a very great service, for it was precisely during the winter
that followed the war in Britain that Quintus had the opportunity of
performing the heroic action that commended his name to the respect of
military men. Although he read Sophocles with ardour and had written
tragedies, he was at bottom only a soldier. In the presence of the
enemy, he became himself again, and displayed an energy that had not
been suspected in him. In the midst of populations which were in revolt,
in entrenchments hastily raised in one night, and with a single legion
only, he was able to defend the camp Caesar had entrusted to him, and to
make head against innumerable enemies, who had just destroyed a Roman
army. He replied in firm language to their insolent boasts. Although he
was ill, he displayed incredible activity, and it was only after a
sedition among his soldiers that he could be induced to take care of
himself. I have no need to relate the details of this affair that Caesar
has told so well in his _Commentaries_, and which is one of the most
glorious incidents of the Gallic war. This grand feat of arms raises
Quintus in our esteem; it effaces the meannesses of his character, and
helps him to play with a little more credit the ungrateful and difficult
part of younger brother of a great man.
III.
Cicero had clearly foreseen that, although Caesar in writing his
_Commentaries_ professed only to prepare materials for history, the
perfection of his work would prevent sensible men from attempting to
re-write it. Accordingly Plutarch and Dio have taken care not to
re-write it; they are contented to epitomize it, and now we only know
the Gallic war by the narrative of him who was the hero of it. However
perfect the narrative may be, or rather because of its very perfection,
we have much difficulty in contenting ourselves with it. It is the
characteristic of these great works, which, as we might think, ought to
exhaust public curiosity, on the contrary, to make it more active. By
interesting us in the facts which they relate, they excite in us the
desire to know them better, and one of the surest marks of their success
is that they do not suffice for the readers, and make them wish to know
more than they tell. This desire, for fresh details on the most
important events of history, it is which renders Cicero’s letters to
Trebatius and to his brother so valuable for us. Although they are fewer
in number and shorter than we could wish, they have the merit of adding
some information to that which Caesar gives on his campaigns. As they
are more familiar than a narrative composed for the public, they
introduce us farther into the private life of the conqueror of Gaul, and
they permit us to see him in his tent, at those times of leisure and
repose, of which he has not thought of speaking to us himself. This is
certainly an interesting spectacle, it is the true complement of the
_Commentaries_, and we cannot do better than carefully collect the
scattered details they contain, in order to become well acquainted with
Caesar and his surroundings.