a fable; but in the whole succeeding development of the Roman history, he,
or, in other words, Cicero, exercises little criticism, and indulges in no
scepticism. He admires the wisdom with which Romulus chose the site of his
capital—not placing it in a maritime situation, where it would have been
exposed to many dangers and disadvantages, but on a navigable river, with
all the conveniences of the sea.—“Quî potuit igitur divinitus et
utilitates complecti maritimas Romulus et vitia vitare? quàm quòd urbem
perennis amnis et æquabilis et in mare late influentis posuit in ripâ, quo
posset urbs et accipere ex mari quo egeret, et reddere quo redundaret:
eodemque ut flumine res ad victum cultumque maxime necessarias non solum
mari absorberet sed etiam advectas acciperet ex terrâ: ut mihi jam tum
divinâsse ille videatur, hanc urbem sedem aliquando ut domum summo esse
imperio præbituram: nam hanc rerum tantam potentiam non ferme facilius
aliâ in parte Italiæ posita urbs tenere potuisset.”—In like manner he
praises the sagacity of the succeeding rulers of the Roman state.
“Faithful to his plan,” says M. Villemain, “of referring all to the Roman
constitution, and of forming rather a history than a political theory,
Cicero proceeds to examine, as it were chronologically, the state of Rome
at the different epochs of its duration, beginning with its kings. This
plan, if it produced any new light on a very dark subject, would have much
more interest for us than ideas merely speculative. But Cicero scarcely
deviates from the common traditions, which have often exercised the
scepticism of the learned. He takes the Roman history nearly as we now
have it, and his reflections seem to suppose no other facts than those
which have been so eloquently recorded by Livy.” But although, for the
sake of illustration, and in deference to common opinion, he argues on the
events of early Roman history, as delivered by vulgar tradition, it is
evident that, in his own belief, they were altogether uncertain; and if
any new authority on that subject were wanting, Cicero’s might be added in
favour of their total uncertainty; for Lælius thus interrupts his account
of Ancus Martius—“Laudandus etiam iste rex—sed obscura est historia
Romana;” and Scipio replies, “Ita est: sed temporum illorum tantum fere
regum illustrata sunt nomina.”
At the close of Scipio’s discourse, which is a perpetual panegyric on the
successive governments of Rome, and, with exception of the above passage,
an uncritical acquiescence in its common history, Tubero remarks, that
Cicero had rather praised the Roman government, than examined the
constitution of commonwealths in general, and that hitherto he had not
explained by what discipline, manners, and laws, a state is to be
constituted or preserved. Scipio replies, that this is to be a farther
subject of discussion; and he seems now to have adopted a more
metaphysical tone: But of the remainder of the book only a few fragments
exist; from which, however, it appears, that a question was started, how
far the exact observance of justice in a state is politic or necessary.
This discussion, at the suggestion of Scipio, is suspended till the
succeeding day(468).
As the _third_ book of Cicero’s treatise began a second day’s colloquy, it
was doubtless furnished with a proœmium, the greater part of which is now
lost, as also a considerable portion of the commencement of the dialogue.
Towards the conclusion of the preceding book, Scipio had touched on the
subject, how far the observance of justice is useful to a state, and
Philus had proposed that this topic should be treated more fully, as an
opinion was prevalent, that policy occasionally required injustice.
Previously to the discovery of Mai, we knew from St Augustine, _De
Civitate Dei_, that in the third book of the treatise _De Republicâ_,
Philus, as a disputant, undertook the cause of injustice, and was answered
by Lælius. In the fragment of the third book, Philus excuses himself from
becoming (so to speak) the devil’s advocate; but at length agrees to
offer, not his own arguments on the subject, but those of Carneades, who,
some years before, had one day pleaded the cause of justice at Rome, and
next day overturning his own arguments, became the patron of injustice.
Philus accordingly proceeds to contend, that if justice were something
real, it would be everywhere the same, whereas, in one nation, that is
reckoned equitable and holy, which in another is unjust and impious; and,
in like manner, in the same city, what is just at one period, becomes
unjust at another. In the palimpsest, these sophisms, which have been
revived in modern times by Mandeville and others, are interrupted by
frequent chasms in the MS. Lælius, as we learn from St Augustine, and from
a passage in Aulus Gellius, was requested by all present to undertake the
defence of justice; but his discourse, with the exception of a few
sentences, is wholly wanting in the palimpsest. At the close he is highly
complimented by Scipio, but a large _hiatus_ again intervenes. After this,
Scipio is found contending, that wealth and power, Phidian statues, or the
most magnificent public works, do not constitute a republic, but the _res
populi_, the good of the whole, and not of any single governing portion of
the state. He then concludes with affirming, that of all forms of
government, the purely democratic is the worst, and next to that, an
unmixed aristocracy.
Of the _fourth_ book only one leaf remains in the palimpsest, the contents
of which seem to confirm what we learn from other sources, that it treated
of Education and Morals. It is particularly to be regretted that this book
has disappeared. It is easy to supply abstract discussions about justice,
democracy, and power, and, if they be not supplied, little injury is
sustained; but the loss of details relating to manners and customs, from
such a hand as that of Cicero, is irreparable. The fifth book is nearly as
much mutilated as the fourth, and of the sixth not a fragment remains in
the palimpsest, so that Mai’s discovery has added nothing to the beautiful
extract from this book, entitled the _Somnium Scipionis_, preserved by
Macrobius. The conclusion of the work _De Republicâ_, had turned on
immortality of fame here, and eternity of existence elsewhere. The
_Somnium Scipionis_ is intended to establish, under the form of a
political fiction, the sublime dogma of the soul’s immortality, and was
probably introduced at the conclusion of the work, for the purpose of
adding the hopes and fears of future retribution to the other motives to
virtuous exertion. In illustration of this sublime topic, Scipio relates
that, in his youth, when he first served in Africa, he visited the court
of Massinissa, the steady friend of the Romans, and particularly of the
Cornelian family. During the feasts and entertainments of the day, the
conversation turned on the words and actions of the first great Scipio.
His adopted grandchild having retired to rest, the shade of the departed
hero appeared to him in sleep, darkly foretold the future events of his
life, and encouraged him to tread in the paths of patriotism and true
glory, by announcing the reward provided in Heaven for those who have
deserved well of their country.
I have thought it proper to give this minute account of the treatise _De
Republicâ_, for the sake of those who may not have had an opportunity of
consulting Mai’s publication, and who may be curious to know somewhat of
the value and extent of his discovery. On the whole, I suspect that the
treatise will disappoint those whose expectations were high, especially if
they thought to find in it much political or statistical information. It
corresponds little to the idea that one would naturally form of a
political work from the pen of Cicero—a distinguished statesman, always
courted by the chiefs of political parties, and at one time himself at the
head of the government of his country. But, on reflection, it will not
appear surprising that we receive from this work so little insight into
the doubtful and disputed points of Roman polity. Those questions, with
regard to the manner in which the Senate was filled up—the force of
degrees of the people, and the rank of the different jurisdictions, which
in modern times have formed subjects of discussion, had not become
problems in the time of Cicero. The great men whom he introduces in
conversation together, understood each other on such topics, by a word or
suggestion; and I am satisfied that those parts of the treatise _De
Republicâ_, which are lost, contained as little that could contribute to
the solution of such difficulties, as the portions that have been
recovered.
But though the work of Cicero will disappoint those who expect to find in
it much political information, still, as in his other productions, every
page exhibits a rich and glowing magnificence of style, ever subjected to
the controul of a taste the most correct and pure. It contains, like all
his writings, some passages of exquisite beauty, and everywhere breathes
an exalted spirit of virtue and patriotism. The Latin language, so noble
in itself, and dignified, assumes additional majesty in the periods of the
Roman Consul, and adds an inexpressible beauty and loftiness to the
natural sublimity of his sentiments. No writings, in fact, are so full of
moral and intellectual grandeur as those of Cicero, none are more
calculated to elevate and purify our nature—to inculcate the TU VERO
ENITERE, in the path of knowledge and virtue, and to excite not merely a
fond desire, or idle longing, but strenuous efforts after immortality.
Indeed, the whole life of the Father of his Country was a noble
fulfilment, and his sublime philosophic works are but an expansion of that
golden precept, _tu vero enitere_, enjoined from on high, to his great
descendant, by the Spirit of the first Africanus(469).
About a century after the revival of letters, when mankind had at length
despaired of any farther discovery of the philosophic writings of Cicero,
the learned men of the age employed themselves in collecting the scattered
fragments of his lost works, and arranging them according to the order of
the books from which they had been extracted. Sigonius had thus united the
detached fragments of the work _De Republicâ_, and he made a similar
attempt to repair another lost treatise of Cicero, entitled _De
Consolatione_. But in this instance he not merely collected the fragments,
but connected them by sentences of his own composition. The work _De
Consolatione_ was written by Cicero in the year 708, on occasion of the
death of his much-loved Tullia, with the design of relieving his own mind,
and consecrating to all posterity the virtues and memory of his
daughter(470). In this treatise, he set out with the paradoxical
propositions, that human life is a punishment, and that men are brought
into the world only to pay the forfeit of their sins(471). Cicero chiefly
followed Crantor the Academic(472), who had left a celebrated piece on the
same topic; but he inserted whatever pleased him in any other author who
had written on the subject. He illustrated his precepts, as he proceeded,
by examples from Roman history, of eminent characters who had borne a
similar loss with that which he had himself sustained, or other severe
misfortunes, with remarkable constancy(473),—dwelling particularly on the
domestic calamities of Q. Maximus, who buried a consular son; of Æmilius
Paullus, who lost two sons in two days; and of M. Cato, who had been
deprived of a son, who was Prætor-Elect(474). Sigonius pretended, that the
patched-up treatise _De Consolatione_, which he gave to the public, was
the lost work of Cicero, of which he had discovered a MS. The imposture
succeeded for a considerable time, but was at length detected and pointed
out by Riccoboni(475).
Cicero also wrote a treatise in two books, addressed to Atticus, on the
subject of Glory, which was the predominant and most conspicuous passion
of his soul. It was composed in the year 710, while sailing along the
delightful coast of the Campagna, on his voyage to Greece:—
“On as he moved along the level shore,
These temples, in their splendour eminent
Mid arcs, and obelisks, and domes, and towers,
Reflecting back the radiance of the west,
Well might he dream of GLORY(476)!”
This treatise was extant in the 14th century. A copy had been presented to
Petrarch, from his vast collection of books, by Raymond Soranzo, a
Sicilian lawyer(477). Petrarch long preserved this precious volume with
great care, and valued it highly. Unfortunately a man called Convenoli,
who resided at Avignon, and who had formerly been his preceptor, begged
and obtained the loan of it; and having afterwards fallen into indigent
circumstances, pawned it for the relief of his necessities, to some
unknown person, from whom Petrarch never could regain its possession. Two
copies, however, were still extant in the subsequent century, one in a
private library at Nuremburg, and another in that of a Venetian nobleman,
Bernard Giustiniani, who, dying in 1489, bequeathed his books to a
monastery of nuns, to whom Petrus Alcyonius was physician. Filelfo was
accused, though on no good foundation, of having burned the Nuremburg
copy, after inserting passages from it in his treatise _De Contemptu
Mundi_(478). But the charge of destroying the original MS. left by
Giustiniani to the nuns, has been urged against Alcyonius on better
grounds, and with more success. Paulus Manutius, of whose printing-press
Alcyonius had been at one time corrector, charged him with having availed
himself of his free access to the library of the nuns, whose physician he
was, to purloin the treatise _De Gloria_, and with having destroyed it, to
conceal his plagiarisms, after inserting from it various passages in his
dialogue _De Exilio_(479). The assertion of Manutius is founded only on
the disappearance of the MS.,—the opportunities possessed by Alcyonius of
appropriating it, and his own critical opinion of the dialogue _De
Exilio_, in which he conceives that there are many passages composed in a
style evincing a writer of talents, far superior to those of its nominal
author. This accusation was repeated by Paulus Jovius and others(480).
Mencken, in the preface to his edition of the dialogue _De Exilio_, has
maintained the innocence of Alcyonius, and has related a conversation
which he had with Bentley on the subject, in the course of which that
great scholar declared, that he found nothing in the work of Alcyonius
which could convict him of the imputed plagiarism(481). He has been
defended at greater length by Tiraboschi, on the strong grounds that
Giustiniani lived after the invention of printing, and that had he
actually been in possession of Cicero’s treatise _De Gloriâ_, he would
doubtless have published it—that it is not said to what monastery of nuns
Giustiniani bequeathed this precious MS.—that the charge against Alcyonius
was not advanced till after his death, although his dialogue _De Exilio_
was first printed in 1522, and he survived till 1527; and, finally, that
so great a proportion of it relates to modern events, that there are not
more than a few pages which could possibly have been pilfered from Cicero,
or any writer of his age(482). M. Bernardi, in a dissertation subjoined to
a work above mentioned, _De la Republique_, has revived the accusation, at
least to a certain extent, by quoting various passages from the work of
Alcyonius, which are not well connected with the others, and which, being
of a superior order of composition, may be conjectured to be those he had
detached from the treatises of Cicero. On the whole, the question of the
theft and plagiarism of Alcyonius still remains undecided, and will
probably continue so till the discovery of some perfect copy of the tract
_De Gloriâ_—an event rather to be earnestly desired than reasonably
anticipated.
A fourth lost work of Cicero, is his _Hortensius sive de Philosophia_.
Besides the orator after whom it is named, Catulus, Lucullus, and Cicero
himself, were speakers in the dialogue. In the first part, where
Hortensius discourses, it was intended to exalt eloquence above
philosophy. To his arguments Cicero replied, showing the service that
philosophy rendered to eloquence, even in an imperfect state of the social
progress, and its superior use in an improved condition of society, in
which there should be no wrong, and consequently no tribunals of justice.
All this appears from the account given of the _Hortensius_ by St
Augustine, who has also quoted from it many beautiful passages—declaring,
at the same time, that it was the perusal of this work which first
inspired him with a love of wisdom.—“Viluit mihi repente omnis vana spes,
et immortalitatem sapientiæ concupiscebam æstu cordis incredibili(483).”
This dialogue continued to be preserved for a long period after the time
of St Augustine, since it is cited as extant in his own age by the famous
Roger Bacon(484).
It was not till after the æra of Augustus, that works originally destined
for the public assumed the name and form of letters. But several
collections of epistles, written, during the period on which we are now
engaged, to relatives or friends in private confidence, were afterwards
extensively circulated. Those of Cornelia, the daughter of the elder
Scipio Africanus, and mother of the Gracchi, addressed chiefly to her
sons, were much celebrated; but the most ample collection now extant, is
that of the Letters of Cicero.
These may be divided into four parts,—1. The Epistolæ Familiares, or
Miscellaneous Correspondence; 2. Those to Atticus; 3. To his brother
Quintus; 4. To Brutus.
The correspondence, usually entitled _Ad Familiares_, includes a period of
about twenty years, commencing immediately after Cicero’s consulate, and
ending a few months before his death. The letters which this collection
comprehends, are so extremely miscellaneous, that it is impossible even to
run over their contents. Previous to the battle of Pharsalia, it chiefly
consists of epistles concerning the distribution of consular provinces,
and the political intrigues relating to that constantly recurring subject
of contention,—recommendatory letters sent with acquaintances going into
the provinces—details to absent friends, with regard to the state of
parties at Rome, particularly the designs of Pompey and Cæsar, and the
factions of Milo and Clodius; and, finally, entertaining anecdotes
concerning the most popular and fashionable amusements of the Capital.
Subsequently to the battle of Pharsalia, and during the supremacy of
Cæsar, the letters are principally addressed to the chiefs of the Pompeian
party, who were at that time in banishment for their adherence to the same
cause in which Cicero had been himself engaged. These epistles are chiefly
occupied with consolatory reflections on the adverse circumstances in
which they were placed, and accounts of his own exertions to obtain their
recall. In the perusal of these letters, it is painful and humiliating to
observe the gratification which Cicero evidently appears to have received
at this period, from the attentions, not merely of Cæsar, but of his
creatures and favourites, as Balbus, Hirtius, and Pansa.
After the assassination of Cæsar, the correspondence for the most part
relates to the affairs of the Republic, and is directed to the heads of
the conspiracy, or to leading men in the state, as Lepidus and Asinius
Pollio, who were then in the command of armies, and whom he anxiously
exhorts to declare for the commonwealth, and stand forward in opposition
to Antony.
There are a good many letters inserted in this collection, addressed to
Cicero by his friends. The greatest number are from his old client Cælius,
who appears to have been an admirable gossip. They are written to Cicero,
during his absence from Rome, in his government of Cilicia, and give him
news of party politics—intelligence of remarkable cases tried in the
Forum—and of the fashionable scandal of the day. The great object of
Cælius seems to have been to obtain in return, the dedication of one of
Cicero’s works, and a cargo of panthers from Asia, for his exhibition of
games to the Roman people. Towards the conclusion, there are a good many
letters from generals, who were at the head of armies in the provinces at
the death of Cæsar, and continued their command during the war which the
Senate waged against Antony. All of them, but particularly Asinius Pollio,
and Lepidus, appear to have acted with consummate treachery and
dissimulation towards Cicero and the Senate. On the whole, though the
_Epistolæ Familiares_ were private letters, and though some private
affairs are treated of in them, they chiefly relate to public concerns,
comprehending, in particular, a very full history of Cicero’s government
in Cilicia, the civil dissensions of Rome, and the war between Pompey and
Cæsar. Seldom, however, do they display any flashes of that eloquence with
which the orator was so richly endued; and no transaction, however
important, elevated his style above the level of ordinary conversation.
The _Epistolæ ad Atticum_, are also of great service for the History of
Rome. “Whoever,” says Cornelius Nepos, “reads these letters of Cicero,
will not want for a connected history of the times. So well does he
describe the views of the leading men, the faults of generals, and the
changes of parties in the state, that nothing is wanting for our
information; and such was his sagacity, we are almost led to believe that
it was a kind of divination; for Cicero not only foretold what afterwards
happened in his own lifetime, but, like a prophet, predicted events which
are now come to pass(485).” Along with this knowledge, we obtain more
insight into Cicero’s private character, than from the former series of
letters, where he is often disguised in the political mask of the great
theatre on which he acted, and where many of his defects are concealed
under the graceful folds of the _toga_. It was to Atticus that he most
freely unbosomed his thoughts—more completely than even to Tullia,
Terentia, or Tiro. Hence, while he evinces in these letters much affection
for his family—ardent zeal for the interests of his friends—strong
feelings of humanity and justice—warm gratitude to his benefactors, and
devoted love to his country, he has not repressed his vanity, or concealed
the faults of a mental organization too susceptible of every impression.
His sensibility, indeed, was such, that it led him to think his
misfortunes were peculiarly distinguished from those of all other men, and
that neither himself nor the world could ever sufficiently deplore them:
hence the querulous and plaintive tone which pervades the whole
correspondence, and which, in the letters written during his exile,
resembles more the wailings of the _Tristia_ of Ovid, than what might be
expected from the first statesman, orator, and philosopher of the Roman
Republic. In every page of them, too, we see traces of his inconsistencies
and irresolution—his political, if not his personal timidity—his rash
confidence in prosperity, his alarm in danger, his despondence in
adversity—his too nice jealousies and delicate suspicions—his proneness to
offence, and his unresisting compliance with those who had gained him by
flattery, and hypocritical professions of attachment to the commonwealth.
Atticus, it is clear, was a bad adviser for his fame, and perhaps for his
ultimate safety; and to him may be in a great measure attributed that
compromising conduct which has detracted so much from the dignity of his
character. “You succeeded,” says Cicero, speaking of Cæsar and Pompey, “in
persuading me to keep well with the one, because he had rendered me
services, and with the other, because he possessed great power(486).”
Again, “I followed your advice so punctually, that neither of them had a
favourite beyond myself;” and after the war had actually broken out, “I
take it very kind that you, in so friendly a manner, advise me to declare
as little as possible for either party(487).” Such fatal counsels, it is
evident, accorded too well with his own inclinations, and palliated,
perhaps, to himself the weaknesses to which he gave way. These weaknesses
of Cicero it would, indeed, be in vain to deny; but _his_ feelings are
little to be envied who can think of them without regret, or speak of them
without indulgence.
It is these letters, however, which have handed down the remembrance of
Atticus to posterity, and have rendered his name almost as universally
known as that of his illustrious correspondent. “Nomen Attici perire,”
says Seneca, “Ciceronis Epistolæ non sinunt. Nihil illi profuissent gener
Agrippa, et Tiberius progener, et Drusus Cæsar pronepos. Inter tam magna
nomina taceretur nisi Cicero illum applicuisset.”