Part 4

The event soon happened which gave rise to the misfortunes of his whole life. The root of the conspiracy was torn up; but many fibres of it had still remained in the ground, and grew up again. P. Clodius was descended in the direct line from old Appius Claudius, being the youngest of the three sons of one Appius Claudius. The eldest of these, who bore the hereditary name of Appius, was a good-natured man, very superstitious, narrow-minded, and commonplace, though on account of his high rank he was raised to the first dignities. There were also two sisters, one of whom was married to Lucullus. Thus Clodius belonged to the very noblest aristocracy: but mere nobility was no longer thought of, and power was all that men cared for. In that profligate age, P. Clodius was among the most abandoned: he is one of those persons who have had most to do with the ruin of Rome. At the festival of the _Bona Dea_, which, like the Thesmophoriæ, was celebrated only by women in the house of the pontifex maximus, he smuggled himself in, in disguise, that he might meet with Pompeia, the wife of Julius Cæsar; but he was discovered, and tried for it. According to the true Roman law, the trial ought to have been before the spiritual court of the pontiffs, where he would undoubtedly have been condemned: but we see from this instance that the real jurisdiction, except in cases which were strictly ceremonial, must have been taken away from them. Clodius wanted to prove an alibi, and had the impudence to call in Cicero as a witness. The latter is said till then not to have had any quarrel with him, and the fellow was so dangerous that he ought to have contented himself with declining to give evidence; but Cicero, as we are told, to clear himself with his domineering wife of all connection with that family, not only bore true witness, but also gave free vent to his wit: he said things of Clodius in open court which put him in a ridiculous light, and could not but have caused his conviction. But Clodius had bought himself off from the condemnation of the Judges; he had actually lodged the money for his acquittal. For this day’s work, Clodius never forgave Cicero, and he thirsted for revenge.

Pompey now came back to Rome, where he renewed his former behaviour to Cicero, treating him not only with indifference but with scorn; and he encouraged Clodius to undertake something against him. Clodius, having now got a plebeian to make a show of adopting him, stood for the tribuneship, and was returned. Such _transitiones ad plebem_ were quite lawful: even in former times, no adoption would have been needed at all; for one had only to go over to the _plebs_, as many patricians did, when all that was required was that the censor admitted them. But people had now no longer any clear notions in these things, and Cicero himself impugns the validity of that tribuneship.

One of the atrocities of the age was now perpetrated. Ptolemy Auletes, who on account of his utter worthlessness had been driven from Alexandria, came to Rome; and there he bargained with those who were in power about the price of his restoration. The people of Alexandria sent a counter embassy with the most bitter complaints, to prove his guilt; but Ptolemy was powerful enough, with the connivance of the leading men at Rome, to have those who were of highest rank in that Alexandrine embassy assassinated: Clodius had a hand in all this. His tribunate took place in the year after Cæsar’s consulship.

C. JULIUS CÆSAR.

Cæsar’s consulship (693) is to be looked upon as the true beginning of the civil wars; its date is four years after that of Cicero. He had not been much talked of until then, although he enjoyed extraordinary favour with the people; as yet Pompey and Crassus alone were powerful.—The two biographies of Cæsar by Suetonius and Plutarch, are, strange to say, both of them ἀκέφαλοι.[5] In the former, there is wanting besides the real beginning, the dedication to the then _præfectus prætorio_, a fact which we have known since the year 1812. With regard to the latter, as far as I am aware, this has not been noticed before; but Plutarch could not have altogether passed over his ancestors, the whole of his genealogy, and the history of his boyhood and youth, so as to begin with Sylla’s attempt to have him divorced from his second wife. For this reason, we know hardly anything of his origin. The Julii were an Alban clan, and therefore in the earliest times of Rome belonged to the _gentes minores_: in the first ages of the republic they are often to be met with in curule dignities; but from the fourth to the seventh century, the _gens_ is no where to be found. Notwithstanding their being patricians, they sided with the popular party. The sister of his father having been married to Marius, Cæsar clung from a youth to Marius and his memory; just as Plato did to the uncle of his mother. He was married to Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, a union which Sylla wanted to break; but Cæsar, in an age when all men trembled, showed already the greatness of his soul, disdaining, as he did, to stoop and to forsake the wife of his love. Her dowry was taken from him, as the property of her father had been confiscated; and he had to put up with it: he had also to hide himself; and though he was not on the proscription lists, he was closely hunted, with Sylla’s knowledge, by what were called the Cornelians, and he had to buy his life. He was at that time still very young, having, according to the custom of the high born families, been married very early; yet there was something so extraordinary about him, that even the wild myrmidons of Sylla, and his most eager partisans, could not bear the thought of sacrificing such a fine young man. It was only, however, with great reluctance, that Sylla consented to his being saved from persecution. Cæsar now returned to Rome; but with all his boldness and determination, he was exceedingly guarded: it would have been happy for Cicero, if he had had Cæsar’s circumspection. As long as Sylla was alive, Cæsar, like an industrious youth who was going through his studies, had his attention wholly given to literature; and the greatest general of his age showed no military inclinations whatever. Nor did he serve any military apprenticeship: when he went out as quæstor to Spain, he at once took the command of troops; just as if among us, one who had never learned the drill, were to lead a brigade. So likewise did General Moreau, in his very first campaign, act at once as a general of division; Frederic II. also had never been in any school of war. After his quæstorship, Julius Cæsar became ædile, when he greatly distinguished himself by the pomp which he displayed, although he was by no means wealthy. But in these matters, he was very careless: to those who lent to him, he gave a pledge in his heart, to repay the debt tenfold, when once he should have come into power.

The opposite party were already losing ground in public opinion. He now boldly set himself up as the head of the remnant of Marius’ party: thus he made over his aunt Julia, the widow of Marius, a brilliant funeral oration, the first which was ever spoken for a woman. And as the conquering faction had unseemingly destroyed all the monuments and statues of Marius, Cæsar one night secretly caused the statue of Marius to be raised again in the Capitol, together with a Minerva which crowned it, and an inscription in which all his titles were recounted. This awakened such affright, that old Catulus was foolish enough to try and stir up the senate to take steps against him; but he did it in vain, as Cæsar was already too high up in public estimation. He then got the prætorship, and in 693, the consulate.

If we place Cæsar before our minds with all his qualities, we find in his character a great deal of openness and friendliness. He was a very kindhearted man, though not affectionate like Cicero; he wanted to have many friends, and there he was quite different from Cicero, who was very exclusive: he was indulgent, and formed friendships with many who were diametrically opposite to himself, and whose acquaintance was even hurtful to his good name. He was free of all envy and jealousy of Pompey, though he could not endure the assumed superiority of people who were infinitely below himself. Pompey could not bear that Cæsar should stand side by side with him, nor Cæsar on the other hand, that Pompey should set himself above him:

Nec quemquam jam ferre potest Cæsarve priorem, Pompejusve parem.[6]

His genius was most versatile: he possessed an unexampled facility and power in all that could be done by intellect; he had an excellent memory, together with presence of mind, and the firmest reliance on himself and his good fortune, being confident that he must succeed in everything. Owing to this great facility, most of his acquirements were not the fruits of the toilsome drudgery of the school, but of the cultivation and exercise of his great talents: thus it was with his eloquence and his style. In the very fact that he owed nothing to art, and everything to himself, lay the chief secret of his wonderful power. He had made himself master of many branches of knowledge; for while they interested him, he devoted to them all his energy and attention. He was

## particularly remarkable for his acuteness and keen observation; and it

is certainly no small honour for grammar that Cæsar was so fond of it: his work on analogy would very likely be as much superior to all the grammars of that time, as his history was to all other works of the same kind which are founded on personal observation. The same originality is also manifest in his strategical talents: his sound, strong intellect clearly marks its aim, and then finds out for itself the means of attaining it. He was no intriguer; of all those plots which were then so general, he knew nothing: on the contrary, he was the frankest person in the world, which was the very reason why he was often so little on his guard. Not a few of the arbitrary acts of which he was guilty, were merely the consequences of a former want of caution, of frankness and openness. His kindliness of soul, his mildness and humanity, he showed after his victory in a manner which could never have been expected from him; nor was there anything artificial in it. Augustus was an actor in all he did; but Cæsar was always true and open-hearted. Had he lived in times when the machine of the state was smoothly going on, and was not yet rusty and disorganised, when it was still possible to govern the republic with a strong, sound hand,—as for instance, in the days of Scipio; or, had he been born on the throne, he would calmly have gone through his career, and without destroying anything, have most brilliantly reached the goal. But he was thrown upon a time, when as Göthe says, “one must needs be either anvil or hammer;” and of course the choice was not difficult. Cato might dream as long as he liked, that there was still hope with the _fæx plebis_, and that the age of Curius and Fabricius were not yet over; Cicero might trim and tack about in this republic, if he chose; but Cæsar could not do otherwise than rule the circumstances in which he found himself, and he had unremittingly, untiringly to advance towards the mark which he had in view. That he was unscrupulous in his wars, cannot be denied: his Gallic wars are for the most part downright crimes; his conduct towards the Usipetes and Tenchteri was shocking, and towards Vercingetorix deplorable, it was dictated by an unhallowed ambition; yet he never did anything of the kind against his fellow-citizens. His behaviour to the Gauls may indeed be accounted for by what we know of the manners of the times. The ruling party at Rome behaved towards Cæsar, not only foolishly, but with utter injustice: they ought never to have hindered his offering himself from Gaul as a candidate for the consular dignity. If they had allowed him quietly to get it, matters would not only have gone on better than in Pompey’s second and third consulships, but all would very likely have passed off peaceably, and even perhaps beneficially for the republic. Had it in any way been possible to find a remedy for the disorders of the state, Cæsar was the only man to devise it, and to carry it out.

In his behaviour to Cicero, who during his consulship had offended him, he shows himself to be a very different person from Pompey, though Pompey’s vanity only had been wounded, whereas Cicero had everywhere leagued himself with the enemies of Cæsar. Yet the latter did not bear him the least grudge; but would gladly have taken him with him to Gaul, and there protected him.

As to Cæesar’s style, everybody knows that there is no greater master among prose writers in the γένος ἀφελές. The highest acknowledgment is what Cicero says of his eloquence: it is _sermoni proprior_, the most finished conversation of a highly educated man. Posterity has indeed been more just to Cæsar’s genius, than his contemporaries have been; Tacitus, however, discerned it.[7]

Cæsar was as a man possessed by fate, who rushed on with a headlong impulse of passions, though always benevolent and amiable: he thus got entangled in most unfortunate embarrassments. To this feature in his character belongs his extravagant prodigality; not for his own pleasures, but for the people, which made him dependent upon the rich, especially upon Crassus, who advanced him immense sums. If during Cæsar’s consulship, there had been a party which had wished honestly to attach itself to him, and to rid itself of Pompey’s influence, his year of office would have passed without a stain. It was in fact rather a loss of time for him; as his real object was the province, which, according to the custom of those times, he could only obtain at the end of the year. Vatinius, who was then _tribunus plebis_, with a violation of the laws which was become common in those days, caused Cisalpine Gaul and Illyricum to be given for five years as a province to Cæsar; and to this was afterwards added Transalpine Gaul, which at that time was not yet a province. Pompey until now had had his province only for an indefinite period.

Cæsar enacted several popular laws. He founded a colony in Capua which, since its conquest in the Second Punic War, had always been in a strange position: the buildings there, and the ground, were the property of the Roman republic; the houses might be held on lease, and the land was cultivated by hereditary tenants who had to pay the tenth of the produce. The state, however, might resume these grants at pleasure, and attempts had twice before been made to change the system: the former of these was in Cinna’s consulship, on the motion of M. Brutus; and the latter in that of Cicero, when Servilius Rullus brought it forward. Against this colony, Cicero had already spoken on that occasion; and when Cæsar now returned to the plan, he refused being one of the commissioners for founding it: Cæsar resented this as a very bitter personal affront, and the two were for some time estranged. Yet for all that, they would have been friends again, had Cicero chosen to go with Cæsar to Gaul. Cicero’s brother Quintus was with him there, and was treated by him with the greatest distinction. Cæsar afterwards tried in every possible way to show his good feeling towards Cicero; but the latter was induced by his evil star to remain at Rome.

Cicero had a great deal of trouble with Cæsar’s colleague, a narrow-minded and obstinate, but honest man. The next consuls, L. Calpurnius Piso and A. Gabinius, were ἄνθρωποι ἀλιτήριοι: all the evil that Cicero says of them is quite true. They bought of Clodius, by letting him carry without hindrance his detestable rogations which were to revenge himself on Cicero, the provinces of Syria and Macedonia: the former of these was for Gabinius, who wanted to restore Ptolemy Auletes; the latter for Piso. Clodius now impeached Cicero for having put Roman citizens to death without trial; and yet, as we have already remarked, it was a case of _delictum manifestum_, in which, by the _lex Porcia_, no further judicial proceedings were requisite. There were three _leges Porciæ_, the last of which had probably been brought in by L. Porcius during the Social War. In former times, any one could evade the popular tribunals by going into a _municipium_; but after the citizenship had been granted to the Italians, the state of things was necessarily altered. The question must now have been, whether men who were full Roman citizens were at all liable to capital punishment for any crime; and public opinion indeed seems to have answered it in the negative. By the _lex Porcia_ therefore, either a Roman citizen could not be put to death at all; or if it must be, it was to be done on the spot. According to this, Cicero could only be proceeded against _quod civem Romanum necasset_, but not _quod indemnatum Romanum civem necasset_.

All kept aloof: Pompey went into the country, and would not see Cicero or his friends; Cæsar was in Gaul; Crassus had a bitter spite against Cicero for having been mentioned in Catiline’s conspiracy,—as was generally believed, with justice, but yet without Cicero’s having anything to do with it, as this was said by one of the witnesses. With the son of Crassus, however, P. Crassus, who was a very distinguished man, Cicero was very intimate; and he loved him notwithstanding all his father’s enmity. Cicero could not abide the day of his trial, or he would have been lost: the _concilia_ were now in truth little better than the rakings together of the dregs of the Roman market and streets, and such meetings allowed themselves to be guided by a leader in any way he liked. Cicero had therefore to leave the city to save his life. The senate, bad as that body was, mutually encouraged each other, showing great sympathy for Cicero. Clodius, however, followed up his victory, as he saw that the government was quite cowed. He pulled down Cicero’s houses; he destroyed his villa; he put up his property for sale, though not a soul would buy it; and on the ground where his house had stood, he built a small temple to Freedom. The place on the Palatine where it stood, I made out within about fifty paces, and I was there often: in the reign of the emperor Claudius, the house was rebuilt; but it was burnt down again in Nero’s fire. Not only was Cicero himself outlawed, but likewise all those who should give him shelter or abet him. Thus he was not able to go at all to Sicily, the prætor there, with whom in former times he had been on friendly terms, having allowed himself to be intimidated: he therefore went to Macedon, where he lived with the quæstor Plancius, who behaved to him like a brother. Clodius now kept his word to the consuls. Gabinius and Piso got the provinces which he had promised them, whilst he himself with the greatest shamelessness laid hands on whatever he listed. This went on as long as his year of office lasted. In the following year, public opinion declared so loudly for Cicero, petitions pouring in from all sides, that he was regularly recalled, and received with a triumphant welcome which consoled him for the moment;—nay, he deemed himself happier than ever. Yet for all that, his misfortune had made a deep impression upon him: the speeches which he made just before the year of that calamity, especially that for Flaccus his assistant in the affair of Catiline, are clouded with anxiety, and with bitter grief at the reward which he received from his country, a sorrow which even endangered his life; and this imparts to them a peculiar interest. The very next year, that happiness was already at an end. The internal condition of Rome became worse and worse. Pompey fell out with Clodius, and showed himself friendly to Cicero. Pompey and Crassus now wanted to be consuls, against the wishes of all _viri boni_; and they carried their point, as Saturninus and Glaucia once did. To intimidate Domitius, Cato’s brother-in-law, who likewise stood for the consulship, they had him waylaid early in the morning, as he was going home, and his servant, who went before him with a torch, stabbed before his eyes; thus showing him what he was threatened with, and warning him to withdraw from his competition: he was forced to give way.

Now that these two pillars of the aristocracy had thus become consuls, they managed, by means of a _Lex Trebonia_, to have provinces granted them. From this time, the _gentes_ of the Italians are met with more and more in the Fasti. Trebonius is a Lucanian name: to the same class belong men like Asinius Pollio, Munatius Plancus, and others, who likewise came from Italian towns. The Trebonian law gave Spain with the legions quartered there, to Pompey for five years; and to Crassus, the war against the Parthians. This time, sin was its own punishment: for Crassus found his death in that war, and Pompey also was brought by this illegal measure to his fall. To gain the consent of Cæsar, the possession of his own province was prolonged to him likewise for five years. It is a melancholy fact, that Cicero felt obliged from his experience to speak in favour of this assignment, thus making a painful sacrifice to necessity.

The anarchy and confusion daily increased. In the year 701, the elections were stopped, and what had never been done before, Pompey was elected sole consul. While in this capacity, he brought in several laws, especially concerning the _res judiciaria_, the details of which, however, cannot be made out: thus much is known, that the number of the knights from which the jury was taken was considerably increased, and the pleadings extended. There was also a law passed against _ambitus_, which indeed is a ridiculous one; but it was only intended to check those cases which were too gross.

It was shortly before this consulship of Pompey, that Annius Milo, who was of an old Roman Syllanian[8] family, and the deadly enemy of Clodius met the latter on the road from Rome to what is now Albano. Each of them, as was then the custom of men of rank, was accompanied by a great retinue; and in the scuffle which then arose, Clodius was mortally wounded. On this, a dreadful tumult broke out, and Milo was arraigned as a murderer. Pompey was against Milo, whose consulship he wished to prevent; he therefore sided with the party of Clodius, and took such measures, that Cicero, when pleading for Milo, for the first and only time, lost his presence of mind. Milo had to go as an exile to Marseilles: he returned from thence during Cæsar’s war, and perished, having engaged in an insurrection against the latter.