_MARCELLUS, LIGARIUS, AND DEIOTARUS._
[Sidenote: B.C. 46, aetat. 61.]
The battle of Thapsus, in Africa, took place in the spring of this year,
and Cato destroyed himself with true stoical tranquillity, determined
not to live under Caesar's rule. If we may believe the story which,
probably, Hirtius has given us, in his account of the civil war in
Africa, and which has come down to us together with Caesar's
Commentaries, Cato left his last instructions to some of his officers,
and then took his sword into his bed with him and stabbed himself.
Cicero, who, in his dream of Scipio, has given his readers such
excellent advice in regard to suicide, has understood that Cato must be
allowed the praise of acting up to his own principles. He would die
rather than behold the face of the tyrant who had enslaved him.[140] To
Cato it was nothing that he should leave to others the burden of living
under Caesar; but to himself the idea of a superior caused an unendurable
affront. The "Catonis nobile letum" has reconciled itself to the poets
of all ages. Men, indeed, have refused to see that he fled from a danger
which he felt to be too much for him, and that in doing so he had lacked
something of the courage of a man. Many other Romans of the time did the
same thing, but to none has been given all the honor which has been
allowed to Cato.
Cicero felt as others have done, and allowed all his little jealousies
to die away. It was but a short time before that Cato had voted against
the decree of the Senate giving Cicero his "supplication." Cicero had
then been much annoyed; but now Cato had died fighting for the Republic,
and was to be forgiven all personal offences. Cicero wrote a eulogy of
Cato which was known by the name of Cato, and was much discussed at Rome
at the time. It has now been lost. He sent it to Caesar, having been bold
enough to say in it whatever occurred to him should be said in Cato's
praise. We may imagine that, had it not pleased him to be generous--had
he not been governed by that feeling of "De mortuis nil nisi bonum,"
which is now common to us all--he might have said much that was not
good. Cato had endeavored to live up to the austerest rules of the
Stoics--a mode of living altogether antagonistic to Cicero's views. But
we know that he praised Cato to the full--and we know also that Caesar
nobly took the praise in good part, as coming from Cicero, and answered
it in an Anti-Cato, in which he stated his reasons for differing from
Cicero. We can understand how Caesar should have shown that the rigid
Stoic was not a man likely to be of service to his country.
There came up at this period a question which made itself popular among
the "optimates" of Rome, as to the return of Marcellus. The man of Como,
whom Marcellus had flogged, will be remembered--the Roman citizen who
had first been made a citizen by Caesar. This is mentioned now not as the
cause of Caesar's enmity, who did not care much probably for his citizen,
but as showing the spirit of the man. He, Marcellus, had been Consul
four years since, B.C. 51, and had then endeavored to procure Caesar's
recall from his province. He was one of the "optimates," an oligarch
altogether opposed to Caesar, a Roman nobleman of fairly good repute, who
had never bent to Caesar, but had believed thoroughly in his order, and
had thought, till the day of Pharsalia came, that the Consuls and the
Senate would rule forever. The day of Pharsalia did come, and Marcellus
went into voluntary banishment in Mitylene. After Pharsalia, Caesar's
clemency began to make itself known. There was a pardon for almost every
Roman who had fought against him, and would accept it. No spark of anger
burnt in Caesar's bosom, except against one or two, of whom Marcellus was
one. He was too wise to be angry with men whose services he might
require. It was Caesar's wish not to drive out the good men but to induce
them to remain in Rome, living by the grace of his favor. Marcellus had
many friends, and it seems that a public effort was made to obtain for
him permission to come back to Rome. We must imagine that Caesar had
hitherto refused, probably with the idea of making his final concession
the more valuable. At last the united Senators determined to implore his
grace, and the Consulares rose one after another in their places, and
all, with one exception,[141] asked that Marcellus might be allowed to
return. Cicero, however, had remained silent to the last. There must
have been, I think, some plot to get Cicero on to his legs. He had gone
to meet Caesar at Brundisium when he came back from the East, had
returned to Rome under his auspices, and had lived in pleasant
friendship with Caesar's friends. Pardon seems to have been accorded to
Cicero without an effort. As far as he was concerned, that hostile
journey to Dyrrachium--for he did not travel farther toward the
camp--counted for nothing with Caesar. He was allowed to live in peace,
at Rome or at his villas, as he might please, so long as Caesar might
rule. The idea seems to have been that he should gradually become
absorbed among Caesar's followers. But hitherto he had remained silent.
It was now six years since his voice had been heard in Rome. He had
spoken for Milo--or had intended to speak--and, in the same affair, for
Munatius Plancus, and for Saufeius, B.C. 52. He had then been in his
fifty-fifth year, and it might well be that six years of silence at such
a period of his life would not be broken. It was manifestly his
intention not to speak again, at any rate in the Senate; though the
threats made by him as to his total retirement should not be taken as
meaning much. Such threats from statesmen depend generally on the wishes
of other men. But he held his place in the Senate, and occasionally
attended the debates. When this affair of Marcellus came on, and all the
Senators of consular rank--excepting only Volcatius and Cicero--had
risen, and had implored Caesar in a few words to condescend to be
generous; when Claudius Marcellus had knelt at Caesar's feet to ask for
his brother's liberty, and Caesar himself, after reminding them of the
bitterness of the man, had still declared that he could not refuse the
prayers of the Senate, then Cicero, as though driven by the magnanimity
of the conqueror, rose from his place, and poured forth his thanks in
the speech which is still extant.
That used to be the story till there came the German critic Wolf, who at
the beginning of this century told us that Cicero did not utter the
words attributed to him, and could not have uttered them. According to
Wolf, it would be doing Cicero an egregious wrong to suppose him capable
of having used such words, which are not Latin, and which were probably
written by some ignoramus in the time of Tiberius. Such a verdict might
have been taken as fatal--for Wolf's scholarship and powers of criticism
are acknowledged--in spite of La Harpe, the French scholar and critic,
who has named the Marcellus as a thing of excellence, comparing it with
the eulogistic speeches of Isocrates. The praise of La Harpe was
previous to the condemnation of Wolf, and we might have been willing to
accede to the German as being the later and probably the more accurate.
Mr. Long, the British editor of the Orations--Mr. Long, who has so
loudly condemned the four speeches supposed to have been made after
Cicero's return from exile--gives us no certain guidance. Mr. Long, at
any rate, has not been so disgusted by the Tiberian Latin as to feel
himself bound to repudiate it. If he can read the Pro Marcello, so can
I, and so, my reader, might you do probably without detriment. But these
differences among the great philologic critics tend to make us, who are
so infinitely less learned, better contented with our own lot. I, who
had read the Pro Marcello without stumbling over its halting Latinity,
should have felt myself crushed when I afterward came across Wolf's
denunciations, had I not been somewhat comforted by La Harpe. But when I
found that Mr. Long, in his introduction to the piece, though he
discusses Wolf's doctrine, still gives to the orator the advantage, as
it may be, of his "imprimatur," I felt that I might go on, and not be
ashamed of myself.[142]
This is the story that has now to be told of the speech Pro Marcello. At
the time the matter ended very tragically. As soon as Caesar had yielded,
Cicero wrote to Marcellus giving him strong reasons for coming home.
Marcellus answered him, saying that it was impossible. He thanks Cicero
shortly; but, with kindly dignity, he declines. "With the comforts of
the city I can well dispense," he says.[143] Then Cicero urges him again
and again, using excellent arguments for his return--which at length
prevail. In the spring of the next year Marcellus, on his way back to
Rome, is at Athens. There Servius Sulpicius spends a day with him; but,
just as Sulpicius is about to pass on, there comes a slave to him who
tells him that Marcellus has been murdered. His friend Magius Chilo had
stabbed him overnight, and had then destroyed himself. It was said that
Chilo had asked Marcellus to pay his debts for him, and that Marcellus
had refused. It seems to be more probable that Chilo had his own
reasons for not choosing that his friend should return to Rome.
Looking back at my own notes on the speech--it would make with us but a
ten minutes' after-dinner speech--I see that it is said "that it is
chiefly remarkable for the beauty of the language, and the abjectness of
the praise of Caesar." This was before I had heard of Wolf. As to the
praise, I doubt whether it should be called abject, regard being had to
the feelings of the moment in which it was delivered. Cicero had risen
to thank Caesar--on whose breath the recall of Marcellus depended--for
his unexpected courtesy. In England we should not have thanked Caesar as
Cicero did: "O Caesar, there is no flood of eloquence, no power of the
tongue or of the pen, no richness of words, which may emblazon, or even
dimly tell the story of your great deeds."[144] Such language is unusual
with us--as it would also be unusual to abuse our Pisos and our
Vatiniuses, as did Cicero. It was the Southerner and the Roman who spoke
to Southerners and to Romans. But, undoubtedly, there was present to the
mind of Cicero the idea of saying words which Caesar might receive with
pleasure. He was dictator, emperor, lord of all things--king. Cicero
should have remained away, as Marcellus had done, were he not prepared
to speak after this fashion. He had long held aloof from speech. At
length the time had come when he was, as it were, caught in a trap, and
compelled to be eloquent.
[Sidenote: B.C. 46, aetat. 61.]
The silence had been broken, and in the course of the autumn he spoke on
behalf of Ligarius, beseeching the conqueror to be again merciful. This
case was by no means similar to that of Marcellus, who was exiled by no
direct forfeiture of his right to live in Italy, but who had expatriated
himself. In this case Ligarius had been banished with others; but it
seems that the punishment had been inflicted on him, not from the
special ill-will of Caesar, but from the malice of certain enemies who,
together with Ligarius, had found themselves among Pompey's followers
when Caesar crossed the Rubicon. Ligarius had at this time been left as
acting governor in Africa. In the confusion of the times an unfortunate
Pompeian named Varus had arrived in Africa, and to him, as being
superior in rank, Ligarius had given up the government. Varus had then
gone, leaving Ligarius still acting, and one Tubero had come with his
son, and had demanded the office. Ligarius had refused to give it up,
and the two Tuberos had departed, leaving the province in anger, and had
fought at the Pharsalus. After the battle they made their peace with
Caesar, and in the scramble that ensued Ligarius was banished. Now the
case was brought into the courts, in which Caesar sat as judge. The
younger Tubero accused Ligarius, and Cicero defended him. It seems that,
having been enticed to open his mouth on behalf of Marcellus, he found
himself launched again into public life. But how great was the
difference from his old life! It is not to the Judices, or Patres
Conscripti, or to the Quirites that he now addresses himself, determined
by the strength of his eloquence to overcome the opposition of stubborn
minds, but to Caesar, whom he has to vanquish simply by praise. Once
again he does the same thing when pleading for Deiotarus, the King of
Galatia, and it is impossible to deny, as we read the phrases, that the
orator sinks in our esteem. It is not so much that we judge him to be
small, as that he has ceased to be great. He begins his speech for
Ligarius by saying, "My kinsman Tubero has brought before you, O Caesar,
a new crime, and one not heard of up to this day--that Ligarius has been
in Africa."[145] The commencement would have been happy enough if it had
not been addressed to Caesar; for he was addressing a judge not appointed
by any form, but self-assumed--a judge by military conquest. We cannot
imagine how Caesar found time to sit there, with his legions round him
still under arms, and Spain not wholly conquered. But he did do so, and
allowed himself to be persuaded to the side of mercy. Ligarius came back
to Rome, and was one of those who plunged their daggers into him. But I
cannot think that he should have been hindered by this trial and by
Caesar's mercy from taking such a step, if by nothing else. Brutus and
Cassius also stabbed him. The question to be decided is whether, on
public grounds, these men were justified in killing him--a question as
to which I should be premature in expressing an opinion here.
There are some beautiful passages in this oration. "Who is there, I
ask," he says, "who alleges Ligarius to have been in fault because he
was in Africa? He does so who himself was most anxious to be there, and
now complains that he was refused admittance by Ligarius, he who was in
arms against Caesar. What was your sword doing, Tubero, in that
Pharsalian army? Whom did you seek to kill then? What was the meaning of
your weapon? What was it that you desired so eagerly, with those eyes
and hands, with that passion in your heart? I press him too much; the
young man seems to be disturbed. I will speak of myself, then, for I
also was in that army."[146] This was in Caesar's presence, and no doubt
told with Caesar. We were all together in the same cause--you, and I, and
Ligarius. Why should you and I be pardoned and not Ligarius? The oration
is for the most part simply eulogistic. At any rate it was successful,
and became at Rome, for the time, extremely popular. He writes about it
early in the following year to Atticus, who has urged him to put
something into it, before it was published, to mitigate the feeling
against Tubero. Cicero says in his reply to Atticus that the copies have
already been given to the public, and that, indeed, he is not anxious on
Tubero's behalf.
Early in this year he had divorced Terentia, and seems at once to have
married Publilia. Publilia had been his ward, and is supposed to have
had a fortune of her own. He explains his own motives very clearly in a
letter to his friend Plancius. In these wretched times he would have
formed no new engagement, unless his own affairs had been as sad for him
as were those of the Republic; but when he found that they to whom his
prosperity should have been of the greatest concern were plotting
against him within his own walls, he was forced to strengthen himself
against the perfidy of his old inmates by placing his trust in new.[147]
It must have been very bad with him when he had recourse to such a step
as this. Shortly after this letter just quoted had been written, he
divorced Publilia also--we are told because Publilia had treated Tullia
with disrespect. We have no details on the subject, but we can well
understand the pride of the young woman who declined to hear the
constant praise of her step-daughter, and thought herself to be quite as
good as Tullia. At any rate, she was sent away quickly from her new
home, having remained there only long enough to have made not the most
creditable episode in Cicero's life.
At this time Dolabella, who assumed the Consulship upon Caesar's death,
and Hirtius, who became Consul during the next year, used to attend upon
Cicero and take lessons in elocution. So at least the story has been
told, from a letter written in this year to his friend Poetus; but I
should imagine that the lessons were not much in earnest. "Why do you
talk to me of your tunny-fish, your pilot-fish, and your cheese and
sardines? Hirtius and Dolabella preside over my banquets, and I teach
them in return to make speeches."[148] From this we may learn that
Caesar's friends were most anxious to be also Cicero's friends. It may be
said that Dolabella was his son-in-law; but Dolabella was at this moment
on the eve of being divorced. It was in spite of his marriage that
Dolabella still clung to Cicero. All Caesar's friends in Rome did the
same; so that I am disposed to think that for this year, just till
Tullia's death, he was falling, not into a happy state, but to the
passive contentment of those who submit themselves to be ruled over by a
single master. He had struggled all his life, and now finding that he
must yield, he thought that he might as well do so gracefully. It was so
much easier to listen to the State secrets of Balbus, and hear from
Oppius how the money was spent, and then to dine with Hirtius or
Dolabella, than to sit ever scowling at home, as Cato would have done
had Cato lived. But with his feelings about the Republic at heart, how
sad it must have been! Cato was gone, and Pompey, and Bibulus; and
Marcellus was either gone or just about to go. Old age was creeping on.
It was better to write philosophy, in friendship with Caesar's friends,
than to be banished again whither he could not write it at all. Much, no
doubt, he did in preparation for all those treatises which the next
eighteen months were to bring forth.
Caesar, just at the end of the year, had been again called to Spain, B.C.
46, to quell the last throbbings of the Pompeians, and then to fight the
final battle of Munda. It would seem odd to us that so little should
have been said about such an event by Cicero, and that the little should
depend on the education of his son, were it not that if we look at our
own private letters, written to-day to our friends, we find the same
omission of great things. To Cicero the doings of his son were of more
immediate moment than the doings of Caesar. The boy had been anxious to
enlist for the Spanish war. Quintus, his cousin, had gone, and young
Marcus was anxious to flutter his feathers beneath the eyes of royalty.
At his age it was nothing to him that he had been taken to Pharsalia and
made to bear arms on the opposite side. Caesar had become Caesar since he
had learned to form his opinion on politics, and on Caesar's side all
things seemed to be bright and prosperous. The lad was anxious to get
away from his new step-mother, and asked his father for the means to go
with the army to Spain. It appears by Cicero's letter to Atticus on the
subject[149] that, in discussing the matter with his son, he did yield.
These Roman fathers, in whose hands we are told were the very lives of
their sons, seem to have been much like Christian fathers of modern days
in their indulgences. The lad was now nineteen years old, and does not
appear to have been willing, at the first parental attempt, to give up
his military appanages and that swagger of the young officer which is so
dear to the would-be military mind. Cicero tells him that if he joined
the army he would find his cousin treated with greater favor than
himself. Young Quintus was older, and had been already able to do
something to push himself with Caesar's friends. "Sed tamen
permisi"--"Nevertheless, I told him he might go," said Cicero, sadly.
But he did not go. He was allured, probably, by the promise of a
separate establishment at Athens, whither he was sent to study with
Cratippus. We find another proof of Cicero's wealth in the costliness of
his son's household at Athens, as premeditated by the father. He is to
live as do the sons of other great noblemen. He even names the young
noblemen with whom he is to live. Bibulus was of the Calpurnian "gens."
Acidinus of the Manlian, and Messala of the Valerian, and these are the
men whom Cicero, the "novus homo" from Arpinum, selects as those who
shall not live at a greater cost than his son.[150] "He will not,
however, at Athens want a horse." Why not? Why should not a young man so
furnished want a horse at Athens? "There are plenty here at home for the
road," says Cicero. So young Cicero is furnished, and sent forth to
learn philosophy and Greek. But no one has essayed to tell us why he
should not want the horse. Young Cicero when at Athens did not do well.
He writes home in the coming year, to Tiro, two letters which have been
preserved for us, and which seem to give us but a bad account, at any
rate, of his sincerity. "The errors of his youth," he says, "have
afflicted him grievously." Not only is his mind shocked, but his ears
cannot bear to hear of his own iniquity.[151] "And now," he says, "I
will give you a double joy, to compensate all the anxiety I have
occasioned you. Know that I live with Cratippus, my master, more like a
son than a pupil. I spend all my days with him, and very often part of
the night." But he seems to have had some wit. Tiro has been made a
freedman, and has bought a farm for himself. Young Marcus--from whom
Tiro has asked for some assistance which Marcus cannot give him--jokes
with him as to his country life, telling him that he sees him saving the
apple-pips at dessert. Of the subsequent facts of the life of young
Marcus we do not know much. He did not suffer in the proscriptions of
Antony and Augustus, as did his father and uncle and his cousin. He did
live to be chosen as Consul with Augustus, and had the reputation of a
great drinker. For this latter assertion we have only the authority of
Pliny the elder, who tells us an absurd story, among the wonders of
drinking which he adduces.[152] Middleton says a word or two on behalf
of the young Cicero, which are as well worthy of credit as anything else
that has been told. One last glance at him which we can credit is given
in that letter to Tiro, and that we admit seems to us to be
hypocritical.
[Sidenote: B.C. 45, aetat. 62.]
In the spring of the year Cicero lost his daughter Tullia. We have first
a letter of his to Lepta, a man with whom he had become intimate, saying
that he had been kept in Rome by Tullia's confinement, and that now he
is still detained, though her health is sufficiently confirmed, by the
expectation of obtaining from Dolabella's agents the first repayment of
her dowry. The repayment of the divorced lady's marriage portion was a
thing of every-day occurrence in Rome, when she was allowed to take away
as much as she had brought with her. Cicero, however, failed to get back
Tullia's dowry. But he writes in good spirits. He does not think that
he cares to travel any more. He has a house at Rome better than any of
his villas in the country, and greater rest than in the most desert
region. His studies are now never interrupted. He thinks it probable
that Lepta will have to come to him before he can be induced to go to
Lepta. In the mean time let the young Lepta take care and read his
Hesiod.[153]
Then he writes in the spring to Atticus a letter from Antium, and we
first hear that Tullia is dead. She had seemed to recover from
childbirth; but her strength did not suffice, and she was no more.[154]
A boy had been born, and was left alive. In subsequent letters we find
that Cicero gives instructions concerning him, and speaks of providing
for him in his will.[155] But of the child we hear nothing more, and
must surmise that he also died. Of Tullia's death we have no further
particulars; but we may well imagine that the troubles of the world had
been very heavy on her. The little stranger was being born at the moment
of her divorce from her third husband. She was about thirty-two years of
age, and it seems that Cicero had taken consolation in her misfortunes
from the expected pleasure of her companionship. She was now dead, and
he was left alone.
She had died in February, and we know nothing of the first outbreak of
his sorrow. It appears that he at first buried himself for a while in a
villa belonging to Atticus, near Rome, and that he then retreated to his
own at Astura. From thence, and afterward from Antium, there are a large
number of letters, all dealing with the same subject. He declares
himself to be inconsolable; but he does take consolation from two
matters--from his books on philosophy, and from an idea which occurs to
him that he will perpetuate the name of Tullia forever by the erection
of a monument that shall be as nearly immortal as stones and bricks can
make it.
His letters to Atticus at this time are tedious to the general reader,
because he reiterates so often his instructions as to the purchase of
the garden near Rome in which the monument is to be built; but they are
at the same time touching and natural. "Nothing has been written," he
says, "for the lessening of grief which I have not read at your house;
but my sorrow breaks through it all."[156] Then he tells Atticus that he
too has endeavored to console himself by writing a treatise on
Consolation. "Whole days I write; not that it does any good." In that he
was wrong. He could find no cure for his grief; but he did know that
continued occupation would relieve him, and therefore he occupied
himself continually. "Totos dies scribo." By doing so, he did contrive
not to break his heart. In a subsequent letter he says, "Reading and
writing do not soften it, but they deaden it."[157]
On the Appian Way, a short distance out of Rome, the traveller is shown
a picturesque ancient building, of enormous strength, called the Mole of
Caecilia Metella. It is a castle in size, but is believed to have been
the tomb erected to the memory of Caecilia, the daughter of Metellus
Creticus, and the wife of Crassus the rich. History knows of her nothing
more, and authentic history hardly knows so much of the stupendous
monument. There it stands, however, and is supposed to be proof of what
might be done for a Roman lady in the way of perpetuating her memory.
She was, at any rate, older than Tullia, having been the wife of a man
older than Tullia's father. If it be the case that this monument be of
the date named, it proves to us, at least, that the notion of erecting
such monuments was then prevalent. Some idea of a similar kind--of a
monument equally stupendous, and that should last as long--seems to have
taken a firm hold of Cicero's mind. He has read all the authors he could
find on the subject, and they agree that it shall be done in the fashion
he points out. He does not, he says, consult Atticus on that matter,
nor on the architecture, for he has already settled on the design of one
Cluatius. What he wants Atticus to do for him now is to assist him in
buying the spot on which it shall be built. Many gardens near Rome are
named. If Drusus makes a difficulty, Atticus must see Damasippus. Then
there are those which belong to Sica and to Silius! But at last the
matter dies away, and even the gardens are not bought. We are led to
imagine that Atticus has been opposed to the monument from first to
last, and that the immense cost of constructing such a temple as Cicero
had contemplated is proved to him to be injudicious. There is a charming
letter written to him at this time by his friend Sulpicius, showing the
great feeling entertained for him. But, as I have said before, I doubt
whether that or any other phrases of consolation were of service to him.
It was necessary for him to wait and bear it, and the more work that he
did when he was bearing it, the easier it was borne. Lucceius and
Torquatus wrote to him on the same subject, and we have his answers.
[Sidenote: B.C. 45, aetat. 62.]
In September Caesar returned from Spain, having at last conquered the
Republic. All hope for liberty was now gone. Atticus had instigated
Cicero to write something to Caesar as to his victories--something that
should be complimentary, and at the same time friendly and familiar; but
Cicero had replied that it was impossible. "When I feel," he said, "that
to draw the breath of life is in itself base, how base would be my
assent to what has been done![158] But it is not only that. There are
not words in which such a letter ever can be written. Do you not know
that Aristotle, when he addressed himself to Alexander, wrote to a youth
who had been modest; but then, when he had once heard himself called
king, he became proud, cruel, and unrestrained? How, then, shall I now
write in terms which shall suffice for his pride to the man who has
been equalled to Romulus?" It was true; Caesar had now returned inflated
with such pride that Brutus, and Cassius, and Casca could no longer
endure him. He came back, and triumphed over the five lands in which he
had conquered not the enemies of Rome, but Rome itself. He triumphed
nominally over the Gauls, the Egyptians, the Asiatics of Pontus, over
the Africans, and the Spaniards; but his triumph was, in truth, over the
Republic. There appears from Suetonius to have been five separate
triumphal processions, each at the interval of a few days.[159] Amid the
glory of the first Vercingetorix was strangled. To the glory of the
third was added--as Suetonius tells us--these words, "Veni, vidi, vici,"
displayed on a banner. This I think more likely than that he had written
them on an official despatch. We are told that the people of Rome
refused to show any pleasure, and that even his own soldiers had enough
in them of the Roman spirit to feel resentment at his assumption of the
attributes of a king. Cicero makes but little mention of these gala
doings in his letters. He did not see them, but wrote back word to
Atticus, who had described it all. "An absurd pomp," he says, alluding
to the carriage of the image of Caesar together with that of the gods;
and he applauds the people who would not clap their hands, even in
approval of the Goddess of Victory, because she had shown herself in
such bad company.[160] There are, however, but three lines on the
subject, showing how little there is in that statement of Cornelius
Nepos that he who had read Cicero's letters carefully wanted but little
more to be well informed of the history of the day.
Caesar was not a man likely to be turned away from his purpose of ruling
well by personal pride--less likely, we should say, than any self-made
despot dealt with in history. He did make efforts to be as he was
before. He endeavored to live on terms of friendship with his old
friends; but the spirit of pride which had taken hold of him was too
much for him. Power had got possession of him, and he could not stand
against it. It was sad to see the way in which it compelled him to make
himself a prey to the conspirators, were it not that we learn from
history how impossible it is that a man should raise himself above the
control of his fellow-men without suffering.
[Sidenote: B.C. 45, aetat. 62.]
During these days Cicero kept himself in the country, giving himself up
to his philosophical writings, and indulging in grief for Tullia.
Efforts were repeatedly made to bring him to Rome, and he tells Atticus
in irony that if he is wanted there simply as an augur, the augurs have
nothing to do with the opening of temples. In the same letter he speaks
of an interview he has just had with his nephew Quintus, who had come to
him in his disgrace. He wants to go to the Parthian war, but he has not
money to support him. Then Cicero uses, as he says, the eloquence of
Atticus, and holds his tongue.[161] We can imagine how very unpleasant
the interview must have been. Cicero, however, decides that he will go
up to the city, so that he may have Atticus with him on his birthday.
This letter was written toward the close of the year, and Cicero's
birthday was the 3d of January.
He then goes to Rome, and undertakes to plead the cause of Deiotarus,
the King of Galatia, before Caesar. This very old man had years ago
become allied with Pompey, and, as far as we can judge, been singularly
true to his idea of Roman power. He had seen Pompey in all his glory
when Pompey had come to fight Mithridates. The Tetrarchs in Asia Minor,
of whom this Deiotarus was one, had a hard part to play when the Romans
came among them. They were forced to comply, either with their natural
tendency to resist their oppressors, or else were obliged to fleece
their subjects in order to satisfy the cupidity of the invaders. We
remember Ariobarzanes, who sent his subjects in gangs to Rome to be
sold as slaves in order to pay Pompey the interest on his debt.
Deiotarus had similarly found his best protection in being loyal to
Pompey, and had in return been made King of Armenia by a decree of the
Roman Senate. He joined Pompey at the Pharsalus, and, when the battle
was over, returned to his own country to look for further forces
wherewith to aid the Republic. Unfortunately for him, Caesar was the
conqueror, and Deiotarus found himself obliged to assist the conqueror
with his troops. Caesar seems never to have forgiven him his friendship
for Pompey. He was not a Roman, and was unworthy of forgiveness. Caesar
took away from him the kingdom of Armenia, but left him still titular
King of Galatia. But this enmity was known in the king's own court, and
among his own family. His own daughter's son, one Castor, became
desirous of ruining his grandfather, and brought a charge against the
king. Caesar had been the king's compelled guest in his journey in quest
of Pharnaces, and had passed quickly on. Now, when the war was over and
Caesar had returned from his five conquered nations, Castor came forward
with his accusation. Deiotarus, according to his grandson, had
endeavored to murder Caesar while Caesar was staying with him. At this
distance of time and place we cannot presume to know accurately what the
circumstances were; but it appears to have been below the dignity of
Caesar to listen to such a charge. He did do so, however, and heard more
than one speech on the subject delivered in favor of the accused. Brutus
spoke on behalf of the aged king, and spoke in vain. Cicero did not
speak in vain, for Caesar decided that he would pronounce no verdict till
he had himself been again in the East, and had there made further
inquiries. He never returned to the East; but the old king lived to
fight once more, and again on the losing side. He was true to the party
he had taken, and ranged himself with Brutus and Cassius at the field of
Philippi.
The case was tried, if tried it can be called, in Caesar's private
house, in which the audience cannot have been numerous. Caesar seems to
have admitted Cicero to say what could be said for his friend, rather
than as an advocate to plead for his client, so that no one should
accuse him, Caesar, of cruelty in condemning the criminal. The speech
must have occupied twenty minutes in the delivery, and we are again at a
loss to conceive how Caesar should have found the time to listen to it.
Cicero declares that he feels the difficulty of pleading in so unusual a
place--within the domestic walls of a man's private house, and without
any of those accustomed supports to oratory which are to be found in a
crowded law court. "But," he says, "I rest in peace when I look into
your eyes and behold your countenance." The speech is full of flattery,
but it is turned so adroitly that we almost forgive it.[162]
There is a passage in which Cicero compliments the victor on his
well-known mercy in his victories--from which we may see how much Caesar
thought of the character he had achieved for himself in this particular.
"Of you alone, O Caesar, is it boasted that no one has fallen under your
hands but they who have died with arms in their hands."[163] All who had
been taken had been pardoned. No man had been put to death when the
absolute fighting was brought to an end. Caesar had given quarter to all.
It is the modern, generous way of fighting. When our country is invaded,
and we drive back the invaders, we do not, if victorious, slaughter
their chief men. Much less, when we invade a country, do we kill or
mutilate all those who have endeavored to protect their own homes. Caesar
has evidently much to boast, and among the Italians he has caused it to
be believed. It suited Cicero to assert it in Caesar's ears. Caesar wished
to be told of his own clemency among the men of his own country. But
because Caesar boasted, and Cicero was complaisant, posterity is not to
run away with the boast, and call it true. For all that is great in
Caesar's character I am willing to give him credit; but not for mercy;
not for any of those divine gifts the loveliness of which was only
beginning to be perceived in those days by some few who were in advance
of their time. It was still the maxim of Rome that a "supplicatio"
should be granted only when two thousand of the enemy should have been
left on the field. We have something still left of the pagan cruelty
about us when we send triumphant words of the numbers slain on the field
of battle. We cannot but remember that Caesar had killed the whole Senate
of the Veneti, a nation dwelling on the coast of Brittany, and had sold
all the people as slaves, because they had detained the messengers he
had sent to them during his wars in Gaul. "Gravius vindicandum
statuit"[164]--"He had thought it necessary to punish them somewhat
severely." Therefore he had killed the entire Senate, and enslaved the
entire people. This is only one of the instances of wholesale horrible
cruelty which he committed throughout his war in Gaul--of cruelty so
frightful that we shudder as we think of the sufferings of past ages.
The ages have gone their way, and the sufferings are lessened by
increased humanity. But we cannot allow Cicero's compliment to pass idly
by. The "nemo nisi armatus" referred to Italians, and to Italians, we
may take it, of the upper rank--among whom, for the sake of dramatic
effect, Deiotarus was placed for the occasion.
This was the last of Cicero's casual speeches. It was now near the end
of the year, and on the ides of March following it was fated that Caesar
should die. After which there was a lull in the storm for a while, and
then Cicero broke out into that which I have called his final scream of
liberty. There came the Philippics--and then the end. This speech of
which I have given record as spoken Pro Rege Deiotaro was the last
delivered by him for a private purpose. Forty-two he has spoken
hitherto, of which something of the story has been told; the Philippics
of which I have got to speak are fourteen in number, making the total
number of speeches which we possess to be fifty-six. But of those spoken
by him we have not a half, and of those which we possess some have been
declared by the great critics to be absolutely spurious. The great
critics have perhaps been too hard upon them: they have all been
polished. Cicero himself was so anxious for his future fame that he led
the way in preparing them for the press. Quintilian tells us that Tiro
adapted them.[165] Others again have come after him and have retouched
them, sometimes, no doubt, making them smoother, and striking out
morsels which would naturally become unintelligible to later readers. We
know what he himself did to the Milo. Others subsequently may have
received rougher usage, but still from loving hands. Bits have been
lost, and other bits interpolated, and in this way have come to us the
speeches which we possess. But we know enough of the history of the
times, and are sufficient judges of the language, to accept them as upon
the whole authentic. The great critic, when he comes upon a passage
against which his very soul recoils, on the score of its halting
Latinity, rises up in his wrath and tears the oration to tatters, till
he will have none of it. One set of objectionable words he encounters
after another, till the whole seems to him to be damnable, and the
oration is condemned. It has been well to allude to this, because in
dealing with these orations it is necessary to point out that every word
cannot be accepted as having been spoken as we find it printed. Taken
collectively, we may accept them as a stupendous monument of human
eloquence and human perseverance.
[Sidenote: B.C. 45, aetat. 62.]
Late in the year, on the 12th before the calends of January, or the 21st
of December, there took place a little party at Puteoli, the account of
which interests us. Cicero entertained Caesar at supper. Though the date
is given as above, and though December had originally been intended to
signify, as it does with us, a winter month, the year, from want of
proper knowledge, had run itself out of order, and the period was now
that of October. The amendment of the calendar, which was made under
Caesar's auspices, had not as yet been brought into use, and we must
understand that October, the most delightful month of the year, was the
period in question. Cicero was staying at his Puteolan villa, not far
from Baiae, close upon the sea-shore--the corner of the world most loved
by all the great Romans of the day for their retreat in autumn.[166]
Puteoli, we may imagine, was as pleasant as Baiae, but less fashionable,
and, if all that we hear be true, less immoral. Here Cicero had one of
his villas, and here, a few months before his death, Caesar came to visit
him. He gives, in a very few lines to Atticus, a graphic account of the
entertainment. Caesar had sent on word to say that he was coming, so that
Cicero was prepared for him. But the lord of all the world had already
made himself so evidently the lord, that Cicero could not entertain him
without certain of those inner quakings of the heart which are common to
us now when some great magnate may come across our path and demand
hospitality for a moment. Cicero jokes at his own solicitude, but
nevertheless we know that he has felt it when, on the next morning, he
sent Atticus an account of it. His guest has been a burden to him
indeed, but still he does not regret it, for the guest behaved himself
so pleasantly! We must remark that Cicero did not ostensibly shake in
his shoes before him. Cicero had been Consul, and has had to lead the
Senate when Caesar was probably anxious to escape himself as an
undetected conspirator. Caesar has grown since, but only by degrees. He
has not become, as Augustus did, "facile princeps." He is aware of his
own power, but aware also that it becomes him to ignore his own
knowledge. And Cicero is also aware of it, but conscious at the same
time of a nominal equality. Caesar is now Dictator, has been Consul four
times, and will be Consul again when the new year comes on. But other
Romans have been Dictator and Consul. All of which Caesar feels on the
occasion, and shows that he feels it. Cicero feels it also, and
endeavors, not quite successfully, to hide it.
Caesar has come accompanied by troops. Cicero names two thousand
men--probably at random. When Cicero hears that they have come into the
neighborhood, he is terribly put about till one Barba Cassius, a
lieutenant in Caesar's employment, comes and reassures him. A camp is
made for the men outside in the fields, and a guard is put on to protect
the villa. On the following day, about one o'clock, Caesar comes. He is
shut up at the house of one Philippus, and will admit no one. He is
supposed to be transacting accounts with Balbus. We can imagine how
Cicero's cooks were boiling and stewing at the time. Then the great man
walked down upon the sea-shore. Rome was the only recognized nation in
the world. The others were provinces of Rome, and the rest were outlying
barbaric people, hardly as yet fit to be Roman provinces. And he was now
lord of Rome. Did he think of this as he walked on the shore of
Puteoli--or of the ceremony he was about to encounter before he ate his
dinner? He did not walk long, for at two o'clock he bathed, and heard
"that story about Mamurra" without moving a muscle. Turn to your
Catullus, the 57th Epigram, and read what Caesar had read to him on this
occasion, without showing by his face the slightest feeling. It is short
enough, but I cannot quote it even in a note, even in Latin. Who told
Caesar of the foul words, and why were they read to him on this
occasion? He thought but little about them, for he forgave the author
and asked him afterward to supper. This was at the bath, we may suppose.
He then took his siesta, and after that "[Greek: emetiken] agebat." How
the Romans went through the daily process and lived, is to us a marvel.
I think we may say that Cicero did not practise it. Caesar, on this
occasion, ate and drank plenteously and with pleasure. It was all well
arranged, and the conversation was good of its kind, witty and pleasant.
Caesar's couch seems to have been in the midst, and around him lay
supping, at other tables, his freedmen, and the rest of his suite. It
was all very well; but still, says Cicero, he was not such a guest as
you would welcome back--not one to whom you would say, "Come again, I
beg, when you return this way." Once is enough. There were no politics
talked--nothing of serious matters. Caesar had begun to find now that no
use could be made of Cicero for politics. He had tried that, and had
given it up. Philology was the subject--the science of literature and
languages. Caesar could talk literature as well as Cicero, and turned the
conversation in that direction. Cicero was apt, and took the desired
part, and so the afternoon passed pleasantly, but still with a little
feeling that he was glad when his guest was gone.[167]
Caesar declared, as he went, that he would spend one day at Puteoli and
another at Baiae. Dolabella had a villa down in those parts, and Cicero
knows that Caesar, as he passed by Dolabella's house, rode in the midst
of soldiers--in state, as we should say--but that he had not done this
anywhere else. He had already promised Dolabella the Consulship.
Was Cicero mean in his conduct toward Caesar? Up to this moment there had
been nothing mean, except that Roman flattery which was simply Roman
good manners. He had opposed him at Pharsalia--or rather in Macedonia.
He had gone across the water--not to fight, for he was no fighting
man--but to show on which side he had placed himself. He had done this,
not believing in Pompey, but still convinced that it was his duty to let
all men know that he was against Caesar. He had resisted every attempt
which Caesar had made to purchase his services. Neither with Pompey nor
with Caesar did he agree. But with the former--though he feared that a
second Sulla would arise should he be victorious--there was some touch
of the old Republic. Something might have been done then to carry on the
government upon the old lines. Caesar had shown his intention to be lord
of all, and with that Cicero could hold no sympathy. Caesar had seen his
position, and had respected it. He would have nothing done to drive such
a man from Rome. Under these circumstances Cicero consented to live at
Rome, or in the neighborhood, and became a man of letters. It must be
remembered that up to the ides of March he had heard of no conspiracy.
The two men, Caesar and Cicero, had agreed to differ, and had talked of
philology when they met. There has been, I think, as yet, nothing mean
in his conduct.