[Sidenote B.C.58] Before his own catastrophe, and before he could
believe that he was in danger, Cicero had discerned clearly the perils
which threatened the State. The Empire was growing more extensive. The
"Tritons of the fish-ponds" still held the reins; and believed their
own supreme duty was to divide the spoils among themselves. The pyramid
was standing on its point. The mass which rested on it was becoming
more portentous and unwieldy. The Senate was the official power; the
armies were the real power; and the imagination of the Senate was that
after each conquest the soldiers would be dismissed back into humble
life unrewarded, while the noble lords took possession of the new
acquisitions, and added new millions to their fortunes. All this Cicero
knew, and yet he had persuaded himself that it could continue without
bringing on a catastrophe. He saw his fellow-senators openly bribed; he
saw the elections become a mere matter of money. He saw adventurers
pushing themselves into office by steeping themselves in debt, and
paying their debts by robbing the provincials. He saw these high-born
scoundrels coming home loaded with treasure, buying lands and building
palaces, and, when brought to trial, purchasing the consciences of
their judges. Yet he had considered such phenomena as the temporary
accidents of a constitution which was still the best that could be
conceived, and every one that doubted the excellence of it he had come
to regard as an enemy of mankind. So long as there was free speech in
Senate and platform for orators like himself, all would soon be well
again. Had not he, a mere country gentleman's son, risen under it to
wealth and consideration? and was not his own rise a sufficient
evidence that there was no real injustice? Party struggles were over,
or had no excuse for continuance. Sylla's constitution had been too
narrowly aristocratic. But Sylla's invidious laws had been softened by
compromise. The tribunes had recovered their old privileges. The
highest offices of State were open to the meanest citizen who was
qualified for them. Individuals of merit might have been kept back for
a time by jealousy; the Senate had too long objected to the promotion
of Pompey; but their opposition had been overcome by purely
constitutional means. The great general had obtained his command by
land and sea; he, Cicero, having by eloquent speech proved to the
people that he ought to be nominated. What could any one wish for more?
And yet Senate and Forum were still filled with faction, quarrel, and
discontent! One interpretation only Cicero had been able to place on
such a phenomenon. In Rome, as in all great communities, there were
multitudes of dissolute, ruined wretches, the natural enemies of
property and order. Bankrupt members of the aristocracy had lent
themselves to these people as their leaders, and had been the cause of
all the trouble of the past years. If such renegades to their order
could be properly discouraged or extinguished, Cicero had thought that
there would be nothing more to desire. Catiline he had himself made an
end of to his own immortal glory, but now Catiline had revived in
Clodius; and Clodius, so far from being discouraged, was petted and
encouraged by responsible statesmen who ought to have known better.
Caesar had employed him; Crassus had employed him; even Pompey had
stooped to connect himself with the scandalous young incendiary, and
had threatened to call in the army if the Senate attempted to repeal
Caesar's iniquitous laws.[1] Still more inexplicable was the
ingratitude of the aristocracy and their friends, the "boni" or
good--the "Conservatives of the State," [2] as Cicero still continued
to call Caesar's opponents. He respected them; he loved them; he had
done more for their cause than any single man in the Empire; and yet
they had never recognized his services by word or deed. He had felt
tempted to throw up public life in disgust, and retire to privacy and
philosophy.
So Cicero had construed the situation before his exile, and he had
construed it ill. If he had wished to retire he could not. He had been
called to account for the part of his conduct for which he most admired
himself. The ungracious Senate, as guilty as he, if guilt there had
been, had left him to bear the blame of it, and he saw himself driven
into banishment by an insolent reprobate, a patrician turned Radical
and demagogue, Publius Clodius. Indignity could be carried no farther.
Clodius is the most extraordinary figure in this extraordinary period.
He had no character. He had no distinguished talent save for speech; he
had no policy; he was ready to adopt any cause or person which for the
moment was convenient to him; and yet for five years this man was the
omnipotent leader of the Roman mob. He could defy justice, insult the
consuls, beat the tribunes, parade the streets with a gang of armed
slaves, killing persons disagreeable to him; and in the Senate itself
he had his high friends and connections who threw a shield over him
when his audacity had gone beyond endurance. We know Clodius only from
Cicero; and a picture of him from a second hand might have made his
position more intelligible, if not more reputable. Even in Rome it is
scarcely credible that the Clodius of Cicero could have played such a
part, or that the death of such a man should have been regarded as a
national calamity. Cicero says that Clodius revived Catiline's faction;
but what was Catiline's faction? or how came Catiline to have a faction
which survived him?
Be this as it may, Clodius had banished Cicero, and had driven him away
over the seas to Greece, there, for sixteen months, to weary Heaven and
his friends with his lamentations. Cicero had refused Caesar's offered
friendship; Caesar had not cared to leave so powerful a person free to
support the intended attacks on his legislation, and had permitted,
perhaps had encouraged, the prosecution. Cicero out of the way, the
second person whose presence in Rome Caesar thought might be
inconvenient, Marcus Cato, had been got rid of by a process still more
ingenious. The aristocracy pretended that the acts of Caesar's
consulship had been invalid through disregard of the interdictions of
Bibulus; and one of those acts had been the reduction of Clodius to the
order of plebeians. If none of them were valid, Clodius was not legally
tribune, and no commission which Clodius might confer through the
people would have validity. A service was discovered by which Cato was
tempted, and which he was induced to accept at Clodius's hands. Thus he
was at once removed from the city, and it was no longer open to him to
deny that Caesar's laws had been properly passed. The work on which he
was sent deserves a few words. The kingdom of Cyprus had long been
attached to the crown of Egypt. Ptolemy Alexander, dying in the year
80, had bequeathed both Egypt and Cyprus to Rome; but the Senate had
delayed to enter on their bequest, preferring to share the fines which
Ptolemy's natural heirs were required to pay for being spared. One of
these heirs, Ptolemy Auletes, or "the Piper," father of the famous
Cleopatra, was now reigning in Egypt, and was on the point of being
expelled by his subjects. He had been driven to extortion to raise a
subsidy for the senators, and he had made himself universally abhorred.
Ptolemy of Cyprus had been a better sovereign, but a less prudent
client. He had not overtaxed his people; he had kept his money.
Clodius, if Cicero's story is true, had a private grudge against him.
Clodius had fallen among Cyprian pirates. Ptolemy had not exerted
himself for his release, and he had suffered unmentionable indignities.
At all events, the unfortunate king was rich, and was unwilling to give
what was expected of him. Clodius, on the plea that the King of Cyprus
protected pirates, persuaded the Assembly to vote the annexation of the
island; and Cato, of all men, was prevailed on by the mocking tribune
to carry out the resolution. He was well pleased with his mission,
though he wished it to appear to be forced upon him. Ptolemy poisoned
himself; Cato earned the glory of adding a new province to the Empire,
and did not return for two years, when he brought 7,000 talents--a
million and a half of English money--to the Roman treasury.
Cicero and Cato being thus put out of the way--Caesar being absent in
Gaul, and Pompey looking on without interfering--Clodius had amused
himself with legislation. He gratified his corrupt friends in the
Senate by again abolishing the censor's power to expel them. He
restored cheap corn establishments in the city--the most demoralizing
of all the measures which the democracy had introduced to swell their
numbers. He re-established the political clubs, which were hot-beds of
distinctive radicalism. He took away the right of separate magistrates
to lay their vetoes on the votes of the sovereign people, and he took
from the Senate such power as they still possessed of regulating the
government of the provinces, and passed it over to the Assembly. These
resolutions, which reduced the administration to a chaos, he induced
the people to decree by irresistible majorities. One measure only he
passed which deserved commendation, though Clodius deserved none for
introducing it. He put an end to the impious pretence of "observing the
heavens," of which conservative officials had availed themselves to
obstruct unwelcome motions. Some means were, no doubt, necessary to
check the precipitate passions of the mob; but not means which turned
into mockery the slight surviving remnants of ancient Roman reverence.
In general politics the young tribune had no definite predilections. He
had threatened at one time to repeal Caesar's laws himself. He attacked
alternately the chiefs of the army and of the Senate, and the people
let him do what he pleased without withdrawing their confidence from
him. He went everywhere spreading terror with his body-guard of slaves.
He quarrelled with the consuls, beat their lictors, and wounded
Gabinius himself. Pompey professed to be in alarm for his life, and to
be unable to appear in the streets. The state of Rome at this time has
been well described by a modern historian as a "Walpurgis dance of
political witches." [3]
Clodius was a licensed libertine; but license has its limits. He had
been useful so far; but a rein was wanted for him, and Pompey decided
at last that Cicero might now be recalled. Clodius's term of office ran
out. The tribunes for the new year were well disposed to Cicero. The
new consuls were Lentulus, a moderate aristocrat, and Cicero's personal
friend, and Metellus Nepos, who would do what Pompey told him. Caesar
had been consulted by letter and had given his assent. Cicero, it might
be thought, had learnt his lesson, and there was no desire of
protracting his penance. There were still difficulties, however.
Cicero, smarting from wrath and mortification, was more angry with the
aristocrats, who had deserted him, than with his open enemies. His most
intimate companions, he bitterly said, had been false to him. He was
looking regretfully on Caesar's offers,[4] and cursing his folly for
having rejected them. The people, too, would not sacrifice their
convictions at the first bidding for the convenience of their leaders;
and had neither forgotten nor forgiven the killing of the Catiline
conspirators; while Cicero, aware of the efforts which were being made,
had looked for new allies in an imprudent quarter. His chosen friend on
the conservative side was now Annius Milo, one of the new tribunes, a
man as disreputable as Clodius himself; deep in debt and looking for a
province to indemnify himself--famous hitherto in the schools of
gladiators, in whose arts he was a proficient, and whose services were
at his disposal for any lawless purpose.
[Sidenote: B.C. 57.] A decree of banishment could only be recalled by
the people who had pronounced it. Clodius, though no longer in office,
was still the idol of the mob; and two of the tribunes, who were at
first well inclined to Cicero, had been gained over by him. As early as
possible, on the first day of the new year, Lentulus Spinther brought
Cicero's case before the Senate. A tribune reminded him of a clause,
attached to the sentence of exile, that no citizen should in future
move for its repeal. The Senate hesitated, perhaps catching at the
excuse; but at length, after repeated adjournments, they voted that the
question should be proposed to the Assembly. The day fixed was the 25th
of January. In anticipation of a riot the temples on the Forum were
occupied with guards. The Forum itself and the senate-house were in
possession of Clodius and his gang. Clodius maintained that the
proposal to be submitted to the people was itself illegal, and ought to
be resisted by force. Fabricius, one of the tribunes, had been selected
to introduce it. When Fabricius presented himself on the Rostra, there
was a general rush to throw him down. The Forum was in theory still a
sacred spot, where the carrying of arms was forbidden; but the new age
had forgotten such obsolete superstitions. The guards issued out of the
temples with drawn swords. The people were desperate and determined.
Hundreds were killed on both sides; Quintus Cicero, who was present for
his brother, narrowly escaping with life. The Tiber, Cicero
says--perhaps with some exaggeration--was covered with floating bodies;
the sewers were choked; the bloody area of the Forum had to be washed
with sponges. Such a day had not been seen in Rome since the fight
between Cinna and Octavius.[5] The mob remained masters of the field,
and Cicero's cause had to wait for better times. Milo had been active
in the combat, and Clodius led his victorious bands to Milo's house to
destroy it. Milo brought an action against him for violence; but
Clodius was charmed even against forms of law. There was no censor as
yet chosen, and without a censor the praetors pretended that they could
not entertain the prosecution. Finding law powerless, Milo imitated his
antagonist. He, too, had his band of gladiators about him; and the
streets of the Capital were entertained daily by fights between the
factions of Clodius and Milo. The Commonwealth of the Scipios, the laws
and institutions of the mistress of the civilized world, had become the
football of ruffians. Time and reflection brought some repentance at
last. Toward the summer "the cause of order" rallied. The consuls and
Pompey exerted themselves to reconcile the more respectable citizens to
Cicero's return; and, with the ground better prepared, the attempt was
renewed with more success. In July the recall was again proposed in the
Senate, and Clodius was alone in opposing it. When it was laid before
the Assembly, Clodius made another effort; but voters had been brought
up from other parts of Italy who outnumbered the city rabble; Milo and
his gladiators were in force to prevent another burst of violence; and
the great orator and statesman was given back to his country. Sixteen
months he had been lamenting himself in Greece, bewailing his personal
ill-treatment. He was the single object of his own reflections. In his
own most sincere convictions he was the centre on which the destinies
of Rome revolved. He landed at Brindisi on the 5th of August. His
pardon had not yet been decreed, though he knew that it was coming. The
happy news arrived in a day or two, and he set out in triumph for Rome.
The citizens of Brindisi paid him their compliments; deputations came
to congratulate from all parts of Italy. Outside the city every man of
note of all the orders, save a few of his declared enemies, were
waiting to receive him. The roofs and steps of the temples were
thronged with spectators. Crowds attended him to the Capitol, where he
went to pour out his gratitude to the gods, and welcomed him home with
shouts of applause.
Had he been wise he would have seen that the rejoicing was from the
lips outward; that fine words were not gold; that Rome and its factions
were just where he had left them, or had descended one step lower. But
Cicero was credulous of flattery when it echoed his own opinions about
himself. The citizens, he persuaded himself, were penitent for their
ingratitude to the most illustrious of their countrymen. The
acclamations filled him with the delighted belief that he was to resume
his place at the head of the State; and, as he could not forgive his
disgrace, his first object in the midst of his triumph was to revenge
himself on those who had caused it. Speeches of acknowledgment he had
naturally to make both to the Senate and the Assembly. In addressing
the people he was moderately prudent; he glanced at the treachery of
his friends, but he did not make too much of it. He praised his own
good qualities, but not extravagantly. He described Pompey as "the
wisest, best, and greatest of all men that had been, were, or ever
would be." Himself he compared to Marius returning also from undeserved
exile, and he delicately spoke in honor of a name most dear to the
Roman plebs, But he, he said, unlike Marius, had no enemies but the
enemies of his country. He had no retaliation to demand for his own
wrongs. If he punished bad citizens, it would be by doing well himself;
if he punished false friends, it would be by never again trusting them.
His first and his last object would be to show his gratitude to his
fellow-citizens.[6]
Such language was rational and moderate. He understood his audience,
and he kept his tongue under a bridle. But his heart was burning in
him; and what he could not say in the Forum he thought he might venture
on with impunity in the Senate, which might be called his own dunghill.
His chief wrath was at the late consuls. They were both powerful men.
Gabinius was Pompey's chief supporter. Calpurnius Piso was Caesar's
father-in-law. Both had been named to the government of important
provinces; and, if authority was not to be brought into contempt, they
deserved at least a show of outward respect. Cicero lived to desire
their friendship, to affect a value for them, and to regret his
violence; but they had consented to his exile; and careless of decency,
and oblivious of the chances of the future, he used his opportunity to
burst out upon them in language in which the foulest ruffian in the
streets would have scarcely spoken of the first magistrates of the
Republic. Piso and Gabinius, he said, were thieves, not consuls. They
had been friends of Catiline, and had been enemies to himself, because
he had baffled the conspiracy. Piso could not pardon the death of
Cethegus. Gabinius regretted in Catiline himself the loss of his
lover.[7] Gabinius, he said, had been licentious in his youth; he had
ruined his fortune; he had supplied his extravagance by pimping; and
had escaped his creditors only by becoming tribune. "Behold him,"
Cicero said, "as he appeared when consul at a meeting called by the
arch-thief Clodius, full of wine, and sleep, and fornication, his hair
moist, his eyes heavy, his cheeks flaccid, and declaring, with a voice
thick with drink, that he disapproved of putting citizens to death
without trial." [8] As to Piso, his best recommendation was a cunning
gravity of demeanor, concealing mere vacuity. Piso knew
nothing--neither law, nor rhetoric, nor war, nor his fellow-men. "His
face was the face of some half-human brute." "He was like a negro, a
thing [_negotium_] without sense or savor, a Cappadocian picked out of
a drove in the slave-market." [9]
Cicero was not taking the best means to regain his influence in the
Senate by stooping to vulgar brutality. He cannot be excused by the
manners of the age; his violence was the violence of a fluent orator
whose temper ran away with him, and who never resisted the temptation
to insult an opponent. It did not answer with him; he thought he was to
be chief of the Senate, and the most honored person in the State again;
he found that he had been allowed to return only to be surrounded by
mosquitoes whose delight was to sting him, while the Senate listened
with indifference or secret amusement. He had been promised the
restoration of his property; but he had a suit to prosecute before he
could get it. Clodius had thought to make sure of his Roman palace by
dedicating it to "Liberty." Cicero challenged the consecration. It was
referred to the College of Priests, and the College returned a judgment
in Cicero's favor. The Senate voted for the restoration. They voted
sums for the rebuilding both of the palace on the Palatine Hill and of
the other villas, at the public expense. But the grant in Cicero's
opinion was a stingy one. He saw too painfully that those "who had
clipped his wings did not mean them to grow again." [10] Milo and his
gladiators were not sufficient support, and if he meant to recover his
old power he found that he must look for stronger allies. Pompey had
not used him well; Pompey had promised to defend him from Clodius, and
Pompey had left him to his fate. But by going with Pompey he could at
least gall the Senate. An opportunity offered, and he caught at it.
There was a corn famine in Rome. Clodius had promised the people cheap
bread, but there was no bread to be had. The hungry mob howled about
the senate-house, threatening fire and massacre. The great capitalists
and contractors were believed to be at their old work. There was a cry,
as in the "pirate" days, for some strong man to see to them and their
misdoings. Pompey was needed again. He had been too much forgotten, and
with Cicero's help a decree was carried which gave Pompey control over
the whole corn trade of the Empire for five years.
This was something, and Pompey was gratified; but without an army
Pompey could do little against the roughs in the streets, and Cicero's
house became the next battle-ground. The Senate had voted it to its
owner again, and the masons and carpenters were set to work; but the
sovereign people had not been consulted. Clodius was now but a private
citizen; but private citizens might resist sacrilege if the magistrates
forgot their duty. He marched to the Palatine with his gang. He drove
out the workmen, broke down the walls, and wrecked the adjoining house,
which belonged to Cicero's brother Quintus. The next day he set on
Cicero himself in the Via Sacra, and nearly murdered him, and he
afterward tried to burn the house of Milo. Consuls and tribunes did not
interfere. They were, perhaps, frightened. The Senate professed regret,
and it was proposed to prosecute Clodius; but his friends were too
strong, and it could not be done. Could Cicero have wrung his neck, as
he had wrung the necks of Lentulus and Cethegus, Rome and he would have
had a good deliverance. Failing this, he might wisely have waited for
the law, which in time must have helped him. But he let himself down to
Clodius's level. He railed at him in the Curia as he had railed at
Gabinius and Piso. He ran over his history; he taunted him with incest
with his sister, and with filthy relations with vulgar millionaires. He
accused him of having sold himself to Catiline, of having forged wills,
murdered the heirs of estates and stolen their property, of having
murdered officers of the treasury and seized the public money, of
having outraged gods and men, decency, equity, and law; of having
suffered every abomination and committed every crime of which human
nature was capable. So Cicero spoke in Clodius's own hearing and in the
hearing of his friends. It never occurred to him that if half these
crimes could be proved, a commonwealth in which such a monster could
rise to consequence was not a commonwealth at all, but a frightful
mockery which he and every honest man were called on to abhor. Instead
of scolding and flinging impotent filth, he should have withdrawn out
of public life when he could only remain in it among such companions,
or should have attached himself with all his soul to those who had will
and power to mend it.
Clodius was at this moment the popular candidate for the aedileship,
the second step on the road to the consulship. He was the favorite of
the mob. He was supported by his brother Appius Claudius, the praetor,
and the _clientèle_ of the great Claudian family; and Cicero's
denunciations of him had not affected in the least his chances of
success. If Clodius was to be defeated, other means were needed than a
statement in the Senate that the aspirant to public honors was a wretch
unfit to live. The election was fixed for the 18th of November, and was
to be held in the Campus Martius. Milo and his gladiators took
possession of the polling-place in the night, and the votes could not
be taken. The Assembly met the next day in the Forum, but was broken up
by violence, and Clodius had still to wait. The political witch-dance
was at its height and Cicero was in his glory. "The elections," he
wrote to Atticus, "will not, I think, be held; and Clodius will be
prosecuted by Milo unless he is first killed. Milo will kill him if he
falls in with him. He is not afraid to do it, and he says openly that
he will do it. He is not frightened at the misfortune which fell on me.
He is not the man to listen to traitorous friends or to trust indolent
patricians." [11]
With recovered spirits the Senate began again to attack the laws of
Caesar and Clodius as irregular; but they were met with the difficulty
which Clodius had provided. Cato had come back from Cyprus, delighted
with his exploit and with himself, and bringing a ship-load of money
with him for the public treasury. If the laws were invalidated by the
disregard of Bibulus and the signs of the sky, then the Cyprus mission
had been invalid also, and Cato's fine performance void. Caesar's grand
victories, the news of which was now coming in, made it inopportune to
press the matter farther; and just then another subject rose, on which
the optimates ran off like hounds upon a fresh scent.
Ptolemy of Cyprus had been disposed of. Ptolemy Auletes had been
preserved on the throne of Egypt by subsidies to the chiefs of the
Senate. But his subjects had been hardly taxed to raise the money. The
Cyprus affair had further exasperated them, and when Ptolemy laid on
fresh impositions the Alexandrians mutinied and drove him out. His
misfortunes being due to his friends at Rome, he came thither to beg
the Romans to replace him. The Senate agreed unanimously that he must
be restored to his throne. But then the question rose, who should be
the happy person who was to be the instrument of his reinstatement?
Alexandria was rich. An enormous fine could be exacted for the
rebellion, besides what might be demanded from Ptolemy's gratitude. No
prize so splendid had yet been offered to Roman avarice, and the
patricians quarrelled over it like jackals over a bone. Lentulus
Spinther, the late consul, was now Governor of Cilicia; Gabinius was
Governor of Syria; and each of these had their advocates. Cicero and
the respectable conservatives were for Spinther; Pompey was for
Gabinius. Others wished Pompey himself to go; others wished for Crassus.
[Sidenote: B.C. 56.] Meanwhile, the poor Egyptians themselves claimed a
right to be heard in protest against the reimposition upon them of a
sovereign who had made himself abhorred. Why was Ptolemy to be forced
on them? A hundred of the principal Alexandrians came to Italy with a
remonstrance; and had they brought money with them they might have had
a respectful hearing. But they had brought none or not enough, and
Ptolemy, secure of his patrons' support, hired a party of banditti, who
set on the deputation when it landed, and killed the greater part of
its members. Dion, the leader of the embassy, escaped for a time. There
was still a small party among the aristocracy (Cato and Cato's
followers) who had a conscience in such things; and Favonius, one of
them, took up Dion's cause. Envoys and allied sovereigns or provinces,
he said, were continually being murdered. Noble lords received
hush-money, and there had been no inquiry. Such things happened too
often, and ought to be stopped. The Senate voted decently to send for
Dion and examine him. But Favonius was privately laughed at as "Cato's
ape;" the unfortunate Dion was made away with, and Pompey took Ptolemy
into his own house and openly entertained him there. Pompey would
himself perhaps have undertaken the restoration, but the Senate was
jealous. His own future was growing uncertain; and eventually, without
asking for a consent which the Senate would have refused to give, he
sent his guest to Syria with a charge to his friend Gabinius to take
him back on his own responsibility.[12]
The killing of envoys and the taking of hush-money by senators were, as
Favonius had said, too common to attract much notice; but the affair of
Ptolemy, like that of Jugurtha, had obtained an infamous notoriety. The
Senate was execrated. Pompey himself fell in public esteem. His
overseership of the granaries had as yet brought in no corn. He had
been too busy over the Egyptian matter to attend to it. Clearly enough
there would now have been a revolution in Rome, but for the physical
force of the upper classes with their bands of slaves and clients.
The year of Milo's tribunate being over, Clodius was chosen aedile
without further trouble; and, instead of being the victim of a
prosecution, he at once impeached Milo for the interruption of the
Comitia on the 18th of November. Milo appeared to answer on the 2d of
February; but there was another riot, and the meeting was broken up. On
the 6th the court was again held. The crowd was enormous. Cicero
happily has left a minute account of the scene. The people were
starving, the corn question was pressing. Milo presented himself, and
Pompey came forward on the Rostra to speak. He was received with howls
and curses from Clodius's hired ruffians, and his voice could not be
heard for the noise. Pompey held on undaunted, and commanded occasional
silence by the weight of his presence. Clodius rose when Pompey had
done, and rival yells went up from the Milonians. Yells were not
enough; filthy verses were sung in chorus about Clodius and Clodia,
ribald bestiality, delightful to the ears of "Tully." Clodius, pale
with anger, called out, "Who is murdering the people with famine?" A
thousand throats answered, "Pompey!" "Who wants to go to Alexandria?"
"Pompey!" they shouted again. "And whom do you want to go?" "Crassus!"
they cried. Passion had risen too high for words. The Clodians began to
spit on the Milonians. The Milonians drew swords and cut the heads of
the Clodians. The working men, being unarmed, got the worst of the
conflict; and Clodius was flung from the Rostra. The Senate was
summoned to call Pompey to account. Cicero went off home, wishing to
defend Pompey, but wishing also not to offend the "good" party, who
were clamorous against him. That evening nothing could be done. Two
days after the Senate met again; Cato abused Pompey, and praised Cicero
much against Cicero's will, who was anxious to stand well with Pompey.
Pompey accused Cato and Crassus of a conspiracy to murder him. In fact,
as Cicero said, Pompey had just then no friend in any party. The mob
was estranged from him, the noble lords hated him, the Senate did not
like him, the patrician youth insulted him, and he was driven to bring
up friends from the country to protect his life. All sides were
mustering their forces in view of an impending fight.[13]
It would be wasted labor to trace minutely the particulars of so
miserable a scene, or the motives of the principal actors in
it--Pompey, bound to Caesar by engagement and conviction, yet jealous
of his growing fame, without political conviction of his own, and only
conscious that his weight in the State no longer corresponded to his
own estimate of his merits--Clodius at the head of the starving mob,
representing mere anarchy, and nourishing an implacable hate against
Cicero--Cicero, anxious for his own safety, knowing now that he had
made enemies of half the Senate, watching how the balance of factions
would go, and dimly conscious that the sword would have to decide it,
clinging, therefore, to Pompey, whose military abilities his civilian
ignorance considered supereminent--Cato, a virtuous fanatic, narrow,
passionate, with a vein of vanity, regarding all ways as wrong but his
own, and thinking all men who would not walk as he prescribed wicked as
well as mistaken--the rest of the aristocracy scuffling for the plunder
of Egypt, or engaged in other enterprises not more creditable--the
streets given over to the factions--the elections the alternate prize
of bribery or violence, and consulates and praetorships falling to men
more than half of whom, if Cicero can be but moderately believed,
deserved to be crucified. Cicero's main affection was for Titus Annius
Milo, to whom he clung as a woman will cling to a man whose strength
she hopes will support her weakness. Milo, at least, would revenge his
wrongs upon Clodius. Clodius, Cicero said even in the Senate, was
Milo's predestined victim.[14] Titus Annius knew how an armed citizen
who burnt temples and honest men's houses ought to be dealt with. Titus
Annius was born to extinguish that pest of the Commonwealth.[15]
Still smarting over his exile, Cicero went one day with Milo and his
gladiators to the Capitol when Clodius was absent, and carried off the
brass tablet on which the decree of his exile had been engraved. It was
some solace to his poor vanity to destroy the record of his misfortune.
But it was in vain. All was going wrong. Caesar's growing glories came
thick to trouble his peace. He, after all, then, was not to be the
greatest man in Rome. How would these splendid successes affect
parties? How would they affect Pompey? How would, they affect the
Senate? What should he do himself?
The Senate distrusted him; the people distrusted him. In his perplexity
he tried to rouse the aristocracy to a sense of their danger, and
hinted that his was the name which yet might save them.
Sextius, who had been a tribune with Milo in the past year, was under
prosecution for one of the innumerable acts of violence which had
disgraced the city. Cicero defended him, and spoke at length on the
state of affairs as he wished the world to believe that he regarded it.
"In the Commonwealth," he said, "there have always been two
parties--the populares and the optimates. The populares say and do what
will please the mob. The optimates say and do what will please the best
men. And who are the best men? They are of all ranks and infinite in
number--senators, municipals, farmers, men of business, even libertini.
The type is distinct. They are the well-to-do, the sound, the honest,
who do no wrong to any man. The object at which they aim is quiet with
honor. [16] They are the conservatives of the State. Religion and good
government, the Senate's authority, the laws and customs of our
ancestors, public faith, integrity, sound administration--these are the
principles on which they rest, and these they will maintain with their
lives. Their path is perilous. The foes of the State are stronger than
its defenders; they are bold and desperate, and go with a will to the
work of destruction; while the good, I know not why, are languid, and
will not rouse themselves unless compelled. They would have quiet
without honor, and so lose both quiet and honor. Some are triflers,
some are timid, only a few stand firm. But it is not now as it was in
the days of the Gracchi. There have been great reforms. The people are
conservative at heart; the demagogues cannot rouse them, and are forced
to pack the Assembly with hired gangs. Take away these gangs, stop
corruption at the elections, and we shall be all of one mind. The
people will be on our side. The citizens of Rome are not populares.
They hate the populares, and prefer honorable men. How did they weep in
the theatres where they heard the news that I was exiled! How did they
cheer my name! 'Tully, the preserver of our liberties!' was repeated a
thousand times. Attend to me," he said, turning paternally to the
high-born youths who were listening to him, "attend to me when I bid
you walk in the ways of your forefathers. Would you have praise and
honor, would you have the esteem of the wise and good, value the
constitution under which you live. Our ancestors, impatient of kings,
appointed annual magistrates, and for the administration they nominated
a Senate chosen from the whole people into which the road is open for
the poorest citizen." [17]
So Cicero, trying to persuade others, and perhaps half persuading
himself, that all might yet be well, and that the Roman Constitution
would roll on upon its old lines in the face of the scandal of Ptolemy
and the greater scandals of Clodius and Milo.
Cicero might make speeches; but events followed their inexorable
course. The patricians had forgotten nothing and had learnt nothing.
The Senate had voted thanksgivings for Caesar's victories; but in their
hearts they hated him more for them, because they feared him more. Milo
and his gladiators gave them courage. The bitterest of the aristocrats,
Domitius Ahenobarbus, Cato's brother-in-law and praetor for the year,
was a candidate for the consulship. His enormous wealth made his
success almost certain, and he announced in the Senate that he meant to
recall Caesar and repeal his laws. In April a motion was introduced in
the Senate to revise Caesar's land act. Suspicions had gone abroad that
Cicero believed Caesar's star to be in the ascendant, and that he was
again wavering. To clear himself he spoke as passionately as Domitius
could himself have wished, and declared that he honored more the
resistance of Bibulus than all the triumphs in the world. It was time
to come to an end with these gentlemen. Pompey was deeply committed to
Caesar's agrarian law, for it had been passed primarily to provide for
his own disbanded soldiers. He was the only man in Rome who retained
any real authority; and touched, as for a moment he might have been,
with jealousy, he felt that honor, duty, every principle of prudence or
patriotism, required him at so perilous a crisis to give Caesar his
firm support. Clodius was made in some way to understand that, if he
intended to retain his influence, he must conform to the wishes of the
army. His brother, Appius, crossed the Alps to see Caesar himself; and
Caesar, after the troops were in their winter quarters, came over to
the north of Italy. Here an interview was arranged between the chiefs
of the popular party. The place of meeting was Lucca, on the frontier
of Caesar's province. Pompey, who had gone upon a tour along the coast
and through the Mediterranean islands on his corn business, attended
without concealment or mystery. Crassus was present, and more than a
hundred senators. The talking power of the State was in Rome. The
practical and real power was in the Lucca conference. Pompey, Caesar,
and Crassus were irresistible when heartily united, and a complete
scheme was arranged between them for the government of the Empire.
There was to be no Domitius Ahenobarbus for a consul, or aristocratic
_coups d'état_. Pompey and Crassus were to be consuls for the ensuing
year. The consulship over, Pompey was to have Spain for a province for
five years, with an adequate army. Crassus, who was ambitious also of
military distinction, was to have Syria. Caesar's command in Gaul was
to be extended for five years further in addition to his present term.
The consent of the Assembly was to be secured, if difficulty arose, by
the votes of the army. The elections being in the winter, Caesar's
soldiers were to be allowed to go to Rome on furlough.
In a personal interview Caesar easily asserted his ascendency. Pompey
allowed himself to be guided, and the arrangement was probably dictated
by Caesar's own prudence. He did not mean to leave Gaul half conquered,
to see his work undone, and himself made into a plaything by men who
had incited Ariovistus to destroy him. The senators who were present at
Lucca implied by their co-operation that they too were weary of
anarchy, and would sustain the army in a remodelling of the State if
milder measures failed.
Thus, for the moment, Domitius and Cato were baffled. Domitius was not
to be consul. Caesar was not to be recalled, or his laws repealed.
There was no hope for them or for the reaction, till Pompey and Caesar
could be divided; and their alliance was closer now than ever. The
aristocratic party could but chafe in impotent rage. The effect on
Cicero was curious. He had expected that the conservative movement
would succeed, and he had humiliated himself before the Senate, in the
idle hope of winning back their favor. The conference at Lucca opened
his eyes. For a time at least he perceived that Caesar's was the
winning side, and he excused himself for going over to it by laying the
blame on the Senate's folly and ingratitude to himself. Some private
correspondence preceded his change of sides. He consulted Atticus, and
had received characteristic and cautious advice from him. He described
in reply his internal struggles, the resolution at which he had
arrived, and the conclusion which he had formed upon his own past
conduct.
"I am chewing what I have to swallow," he said. "Recantation does not
seem very creditable; but adieu to straightforward, honest counsels.
You would not believe the perfidy of these chiefs; as they wish to be,
and what they might be if they had any faith in them. I had felt, I had
known, that I was being led on by them, and then deserted and cast off;
and yet I thought of making common cause with them. They were the same
which they had always been. You made me see the truth at last. You will
say you warned me. You advised what I should do, and you told me not to
write to Caesar. By Hercules! I wished to put myself in a position
where I should be obliged to enter into this new coalition, and where
it would not be possible for me, even if I desired it, to go with those
who ought to pity me, and, instead of pity, give me grudging and envy.
I have been moderate in what I have written. I shall be more full if
Caesar meets me graciously; and then those gentlemen who are so jealous
that I should have a decent house to live in will make a wry face....
Enough of this. Since those who have no power will not be my friends, I
must endeavor to make friends with those who have. You will say you
wished this long ago. I know that you wished it, and that I have been a
mere ass;[18] but it is time for me to be loved by myself, since I can
get no love from them." [19]
Pompey, after leaving Lucca, sent Cicero a message, through his
brother, complaining of his speech on the land act, but assuring him of
his own and Caesar's friendship if he would now be true to them. In an
apologetic letter to Lentulus Spinther, Cicero explained and justified
what he meant to do.
"Pompey," he said, "did not let me know that he was offended. He went
off to Sardinia, and on his way saw Caesar at Lucca. Caesar was angry
with me; he had seen Crassus, and Crassus had prejudiced him. Pompey,
too, was himself displeased. He met my brother a few days after, and
told him to use his influence with me. He reminded him of his exertions
in my behalf; he swore that those exertions had been made with Caesar's
consent, and he begged particularly that, if I could not support
Caesar, I would not go against him. I reflected. I debated the matter
as if with the Commonwealth. I had suffered much and done much for the
Commonwealth. I had now to think of myself. I had been a good citizen;
I must now be a good man. Expressions came round to me that had been
used by certain persons whom even you do not like. They were delighted
to think that I had offended Pompey, and had made Caesar my mortal
enemy. This was annoying enough. But the same persons embraced and
kissed even in my presence my worst foe--the foe of law, order, peace,
country, and every good man [20].... They meant to irritate me, but I
had not spirit to be angry. I surveyed my situation. I cast up my
accounts; and I came to a conclusion, which was briefly this. If the
State was in the hands of bad men, as in my time I have known it to be,
I would not join them though they loaded me with favors; but when the
first person in the Commonwealth was Pompey, whose services had been so
eminent, whose advancement I had myself furthered, and who stood by me
in my difficulties, I was not inconsistent if I modified some of my
opinions, and conformed to the wishes of one who has deserved so well
of me. If I went with Pompey, I must go with Caesar too; and here the
old friendship came to bear between Caesar, my brother, and myself, as
well as Caesar's kindness to me, of which I had seen evidence in word
and deed.... Public interest, too, moved me. A quarrel with these men
would be most inexpedient, especially after what Caesar has done.... If
the persons who assisted in bringing me back had been my friends
afterward, they would have recovered their power when they had me to
help them. The 'good' had gained heart when you were consul. Pompey was
then won to the 'good' cause. Even Caesar, after being decorated by the
Senate for his victories, might have been brought to a better judgment,
and wicked citizens would have had no opening to make disturbances. But
what happened? These very men protected Clodius, who cared no more for
the Bona Dea than for the Three Sisters. They allowed my monument to be
engraved with a hostile record....[21] The good party are not as you
left them. Those who ought to have been staunch have fallen away. You
see it in their faces. You see it in the words and votes of those whom
we called 'optimates;' so that wise citizens, one of whom I wish to be
and to be thought, must change their course. 'Persuade your countrymen,
if you can,' said Plato; 'but use no violence.' Plato found that he
could no longer persuade the Athenians, and therefore he withdrew from
public life. Advice could not move them, and he held force to be
unlawful. My case was different. I was not called on to undertake
public responsibilities. I was content to further my own interests, and
to defend honest men's causes. Caesar's goodness to me and to my
brother would have bound me to him whatever had been his fortunes. Now
after so much glory and victory I should speak nobly of him though I
owed him nothing." [22]
Happy it would have been for Cicero, and happy for Rome, had he
persevered in the course which he now seemed really to have chosen.
Cicero and Caesar united might have restored the authority of the laws,
punished corruption and misgovernment, made their country the mother as
well as the mistress of the world; and the Republic, modified to suit
the change of times, might have survived for many generations. But
under such a modification, Cicero would have no longer been the first
person in the Commonwealth. The talkers would have ceased to rule, and
Cicero was a talker only. He could not bear to be subordinate. He was
persuaded that he, and not Caesar, was the world's real great man; and
so he held on, leaning now to one faction and now to another, waiting
for the chance which was to put him at last in his true place. For the
moment, however, he saved himself from the degradation into which the
Senate precipitated itself. The arrangements at Lucca were the work of
the army. The conservative majority refused to let the army dictate to
them. Domitius intended still to be consul, let the army say what it
pleased. Pompey and Crassus returned to Rome for the elections; the
consuls for the year, Marcellinus and Philip, declined to take their
names. The consuls and the Senate appealed to the Assembly, the Senate
marching into the Forum in state, as if calling on the genius of the
nation to defend the outraged constitution. In vain. The people would
not listen. The consuls were groaned down. No genius of Rome presided
in those meetings, but the genius of revolution in the person of
Clodius. The senators were driven back into the Curia, and Clodius
followed them there. The officers forbade his entrance. Furious young
aristocrats flew upon him, seized him, and would have murdered him in
their rage. Clodius shrieked for help. His rascal followers rushed in
with lighted torches, swearing to burn house and Senate if a hair of
Clodius's head were hurt. They bore their idol off in triumph; and the
wretched senators sat gazing at each other, or storming at Pompey, and
inquiring scornfully if he and Crassus intended to appoint themselves
consuls. Pompey answered that they had no desire for office, but
anarchy must be brought to an end.
Still the consuls of the year stubbornly refused to take the names of
the Lucca nominees. The year ran out, and no election had been held. In
such a difficulty, the constitution had provided for the appointment of
an _Interrex_ till fresh consuls could be chosen. Pompey and Crassus
were then nominated, with a foregone conclusion. Domitius still
persisted in standing; and, had it been safe to try the usual methods,
the patricians would have occupied the voting-places as before with
their retinues, and returned him by force. But young Publius Crassus
was in Rome with thousands of Caesar's soldiers, who had come up to
vote from the north of Italy. With these it was not safe to venture on
a conflict, and the consulships fell as the Lucca conference had
ordered.
[Sidenote: B.C. 55.] The consent of the Assembly to the other
arrangements remained to be obtained. Caesar was to have five
additional years in Gaul; Pompey and Crassus were to have Spain and
Syria, also for five years each, as soon as their year of office should
be over. The defenders of the constitution fought to the last. Cato
foamed on the Rostra. When the two hours allowed him to speak were
expired, he refused to sit down, and was removed by a guard. The
meeting was adjourned to the next day. Publius Gallus, another
irreconcilable, passed the night in the senate-house, that he might be
in his place at dawn. Cato and Favonius were again at their posts. The
familiar cry was raised that the signs of the sky were unfavorable. The
excuse had ceased to be legal. The tribunes ordered the voting to go
forward. The last resource was then tried. A riot began, but to no
purpose. The aristocrats and their clients were beaten back, and the
several commands were ratified. As the people were dispersing, their
opponents rallied back, filled the Forum, and were voting Caesar's
recall, when Pompey came on them and swept them out. Gallus was carried
off covered with blood; and, to prevent further question, the vote for
Caesar was taken a second time.
The immediate future was thus assured. Time had been obtained for the
completion of the work in Gaul. Pompey dedicated a new theatre, and
delighted the mob with games and races. Five hundred lions were
consumed in five days of combat. As a special novelty eighteen
elephants were made to fight with soldiers; and, as a yet more
extraordinary phenomenon, the sanguinary Roman spectators showed signs
of compunction at their sufferings. The poor beasts were quiet and
harmless. When wounded with the lances, they turned away, threw up
their trunks, and trotted round the circus, crying, as if in protest
against wanton cruelty. The story went that they were half human; that
they had been seduced on board the African transports by a promise that
they should not be ill-used, and they were supposed to be appealing to
the gods.[23]Cicero alludes to the scene in a letter to one of his
friends. Mentioning Pompey's exhibitions with evident contempt, he
adds: "There remained the hunts, which lasted five days. All say that
they were very fine. But what pleasure can a sensible person find in
seeing a clumsy performer torn by a wild beast, or a noble animal
pierced with a hunting-spear? The last day was given to the elephants;
not interesting to me, however delightful to the rabble. A certain pity
was felt for them, as if the elephants had some affinity with man." [24]
[1] _To Atticus_, ii. 16.
[2] "Conservatores Reipublicae."--_Pro Sextio_.
[3] Mommsen.
[4] "Omnia sunt meâ culpâ commissa, qui ab his me amari putabam qui
invidebant: eos non sequebar qui petebant."--_Ad Familiares_,
xiv. 1. "Nullum est meum peccatum nisi quod iis credidi a quibus
nefas putabam esse me decipi.... Intimus proximus familiarissimus
quisque aut sibi pertimuit aut mihi invidit."--_Ad Quintum
Fratrem_, i. 4.
[5] "Meministis tum, judices, corporibus civium Tiberim compleri, cloacas
referciri, e foro spongiis effingi sanguinem.... Caedem tantam, tantos
acervos corporum extruetos, nisi forte illo Cinnano atque Octaviano
die, quis unquam in foro vidit?"--_Oratio prov P. Sextio_,
xxxv. 36.
[6] _Ad Quirites post Reditum_.
[7] "Ejus vir Catilina."
[8] "Cum in Circo Flaminio non a tribuno plebis consul in concionem sed a
latrone archipirata productus esset, primum processit quâ auctoritate
vir. Vini, somni, stupri plenus, madenti comâ, gravibus oculis,
fluentibus buccis, pressa voce et temulenta, quod in cives indemnatos
esset animadversum, id sibi dixit gravis auctor vehementissime
displicere."--_Post Reditum in Senatu_, 6.
[9] Cicero could never leave Gabinius and Piso alone. Again and again he
returned upon them railing like a fishwife. In his oration for Sextius
he scoffed at Gabinius's pomatum and curled hair, and taunted him with
unmentionable sins; but he specially entertained himself with his
description of Piso:
"For Piso!" he said: "O gods, how unwashed, how stern he looked--a
pillar of antiquity, like one of the old bearded consuls; his dress
plain plebeian purple, his hair tangled, his brow a very pledge for
the Commonwealth! Such solemnity in his eye, such wrinkling of his
forehead, that you would have said the State was resting on his head
like the sky on Atlas. Here we thought we had a refuge. Here was the
man to oppose the filth of Gabinius; his very face would be enough.
People congratulated us on having one friend to save us from the
tribune. Alas! I was deceived," etc. etc.
Piso afterward called Cicero to account in the Senate, and brought out
a still more choice explosion of invectives. Beast, filth, polluted
monster, and such like, were the lightest of the names which Cicero
hurled back at one of the oldest members of the Roman aristocracy. A
single specimen may serve to illustrate the cataract of nastiness
which he poured alike on Piso and Clodius and Gabinius: "When all the
good were hiding themselves in tears," he said to Piso, "when the
temples were groaning and the very houses in the city were mourning
(over my exile), you, heartless madman that you are, took up the cause
of that pernicious animal, that clotted mass of incests and civil
blood, of villanies intended and impurity of crimes committed [he was
alluding to Clodius, who was in the Senate probably listening to him].
Need I speak of your feasting, your laughter, and handshakings--your
drunken orgies with the filthy companions of your potations? Who in
those days saw you ever sober, or doing anything that a citizen need
not be ashamed of? While your colleague's house was sounding with
songs and cymbals, and he himself was dancing naked at a supper-party
["cumque ipse nudus in convivio saltaret,"] you, you coarse glutton,
with less taste for music, were lying in a stew of Greek boys and wine
in a feast of the Centaurs and Lapithae, where one cannot say whether
you drank most, or vomited most, or spilt most."--_In L.
Pisonem_,10. The manners of the times do not excuse language of
this kind, for there was probably not another member of the Senate
who indulged in it. If Cicero was disliked and despised, he had his
own tongue to thank for it.
[10] _To Atticus_, iv. 2.
[11] _To Atticus_, iv. 3.
[12] For the details of this story see Dion Cassius, lib. xxxix. capp.
12-16. Compare _Cicero ad Familiares_, lib. i. Epist. 1-2.
Curious subterranean influences seem to have been at work to save the
Senate from the infamy of restoring Ptolemy. Verses were discovered in
the Sibylline Books directing that if an Egyptian king came to Rome as
a suppliant, he was to be entertained hospitably, but was to have no
active help. Perhaps Cicero was concerned in this.
[13] _Ad Quintum Fratrem_, ii. 3.
[14] "Tito Annio devota et constituta hostia esse videtur."--_De
Haruspicum responsis_.
[15] Ibid.
[16] "Otium cum dignitate."
[17] Abridged from the _Oratio pro Sextio_.
[18] "Me germanum asinum fuisse." Perhaps "own brother to an ass" would
be a more proper rendering.
[19] _To Atticus_, iv. 5.
[20] Clodius.
[21] Here follows much about himself and his own merits.
[22] To Lentulus Spinther, _Ad Familiares_, i. 9. The length of this
remarkable letter obliges me to give but an imperfect summary of it.
The letter itself should be studied carefully by those who would
understand Cicero's conduct.
[23] Dion Cassius.
[24] _Ad Familiares_, vii. 1.