Part 2

“One of the passages,” says Sir G. C. Lewis, “which Niebuhr cites from Cicero, relates to the constitutional proceedings upon the election of Numa. Yet Niebuhr holds, not merely that the entire regal period is unhistorical, but that Numa is an unreal and imaginary personage—a name and not a man. Now, what reliance, according to Niebuhr’s own view, is to be placed upon Cicero’s information respecting a man who never lived, and an event which never happened, even if it was derived from some pontifical book, which professed to record old customs?”

Continuing the discussion in a note, Sir G. C. Lewis adds:—

“For Niebuhr’s account of the legend of Numa, see _Hist._, vol. i. pp. 237–240. Afterwards he says—‘Hence it seems quite evident that the pontiffs themselves distinguished the first two kings from the rest, as belonging to another order of things, and that they separated the accounts of them from those which were to pass for history.... Romulus was the god, the son of a god; Numa a man, but connected with superior beings. If the tradition about them, however, is in all its parts a _poetical fiction_, the fixing the pretended term of their reigns can only be explained by ascribing it rather to mere caprice or to numerical speculations.’—‘With Tullius Hostilius we reach the beginning of a new secle, and of a narrative resting on historical ground of a kind _totally different_ from the story of the preceding period.’ Niebuhr considers the mythico-historical age of Roman History to begin with the reign of Tullius Hostilius, and the age of Romulus and Numa to be purely fabulous. Moreover, he commences the second volume of his History with the following sentence—‘It was one of the most important objects of the first volume to prove that the story of Rome under the kings was altogether _without historical foundation_.’ He lays it down likewise that the names of the kings, their number, and the duration and dates of their reigns, are fictitious; yet he cites the proceedings at the election of Numa, and of the subsequent kings, as historical proof of the constitutional practice of that period.”—Vol. i. p. 123.

Niebuhr does not hold that there was no regal period, however fictitious the history of the kings may be. It was to throw light on that regal period in which the myth of Numa is supposed _to have originated_ that the passage must have been cited, not certainly on the times of Numa. Whatever, therefore, may be the infinitesimal value of the passage cited which relates to the constitutional proceedings upon the election of Numa, there was no logical inconsistency on the part of Niebuhr in making a reference to it. If the myth of Numa really originated in a regal period, what the pontiff declared about it might indirectly convey some information as to the constitution of that regal period.

Dr Liddell may well speak of the “altered aspect which Roman history has assumed.” We begin our annals with an account of the “religious myth,” of which, however, the specimens are very few. Romulus is _Strength_ and Numa is _Law_; they are godlike persons, or in communication with gods; they together found the city of Rome. Strength and Law assuredly founded the city: it is good philosophy, whatever history it makes; and the pontiffs were fully justified in placing these kings where they did—the first, and presiding, and eternal kings of every commonwealth. From the religious myth we proceed to the “heroic legend.” In this species of fable the veritable man and his real action is extolled—is exaggerated—is multiplied. The hero himself is multiplied, or he is transplanted from one region to another. The story is expanded and enriched by each successive narrative, until a literary age makes its appearance. It then assumes a fixed form, from which any wide deviation is no longer permissible.

In all such heroic legends, when they have been fairly born on the soil on which we find them, and have not been transplanted from a foreign country, there is always some element of historic truth. For what we call invention must start from, or be supplied with, given facts. There is a vague but very prevalent error on the nature and power of _poetical invention_. It is spoken of as something that will account at once for the marvellous narrative. This is supposed to spring forth complete from some poet’s brain. Poetical invention can only take place where there is already some amount and variety of known incidents or traditional stories; these the poet strings together in new combinations. The first writers in metre (as we may see in the earliest ballads of Spain and of other countries) content themselves with a bald narrative of some fact or tradition. Their successors add to this narrative—add a sentiment or a detail; and when the number of such narratives has increased, poetical invention, in its highest form, becomes possible. It has been lately a favourite hypothesis that the earliest literature of Rome consisted of a number of poems or ballads, which supplied the first historians with their materials. It appears to us highly probable that separate legends were shaped into something like completeness of form before any continuous history of the city of Rome was written; but whether such legends were written first in prose or verse is matter of very little moment, and of very great uncertainty.

After expressing the belief that there is a substratum of truth in these heroic legends, it is not very satisfactory to be compelled to add that we cannot distinguish it from the superstructure of fiction. Unfortunately, it is not the marvellous and supernatural—which, indeed, are but sparingly introduced—which have alone contributed to deprive these legends of their credibility: they have been convicted, in some cases, of historic falsehood. A species of pious fraud has been committed to conceal the defeats of the Romans. Family pride has, in other instances, led to the undue exaltation of individual heroes. We must chiefly honour these legends, after all, as manifestations of the mind and spirit of the Romans, rather than as positive materials of history.

We always revert to this consolation—every literature must be the history of the _thoughts_, if not of the _deeds_ of a people; and all our various records are chiefly valuable as they enable us to write the history of the human mind. How pre-eminently this is the case wherever the subject of religion is introduced! Omens, auguries, oracles—what matters whether in this or that case they were really seen or uttered? the great fact is, that they were currently believed in, and acted on. The _belief_ here is all that we can possibly be concerned with. Whether Æneas really did see that white sow, with her litter of thirty pigs, which he took for so good an omen of prosperity (it was no bad sign of fertility), may be questioned; but even the invention of such an incident proves that men, and wise men, were supposed to be under the influence of such omens. That an eagle pounced down, and took from the head of Tarquin his cap, and, after wheeling in the air, _put it on again_, is what we do not believe; eagles, neither at Rome or elsewhere, have this habit of restitution. But the frequency of legends of this kind points to a time when men were in the constant expectation of finding their own future destiny prefigured to them in the actions of birds and beasts, or the operations of inanimate nature. What was the precise _degree_ of influence which superstitions of this nature exercised on the course of human conduct, must still be problematical. Did any pious general, at the head of the legions at Rome, really determine whether he should give battle or not by the appetite with which the sacred chickens took their food? Did men ever colonise, or build a city, according to the flight of vultures or the perching of an eagle?

But superstition itself, and that in some of its most terrible forms, is animated and dignified by the spirit of Roman patriotism. Read this old story of the self-devotion of Decius, as Dr Liddell tells it to us. It will be an excellent example in which to take our stand, if we would estimate at their full value these old heroic legends. One of those decisive battles is to be fought which is to determine the supremacy of Rome in Italy.

“The Latin army marched hastily southward to protect their Oscan allies, and it was in the plains of Campania that the fate of Rome and Latium was to be decided. (The two consuls, Manlius and Decius, commanded in the Roman camp.)

“When the two armies met under Mount Vesuvius, they lay opposed to one another, neither party choosing to begin the fray. It was almost like a civil war: Romans and Latins spoke the same language; their armies had long fought side by side under common generals; their arms, discipline, and tactics were the same.

“While the armies were thus lying over against each other, the Latin horsemen, conscious of superiority, used every endeavour to provoke the Romans to single combats. The latter, however, were checked by the orders of their generals, till young Manlius, son of the consul, stung to the quick by the taunts of Geminus Metius, a Latin champion, accepted his challenge. The young Roman conquered, and returned to the camp to lay the spoils of the enemy at his father’s feet. But the spirit of Brutus was not dead; and the stern consul, unmindful of his own feelings and the pleading voices of the whole army, condemned his son to death for disobedience to orders. Discipline was thus maintained, but at a sore expense, and the men’s hearts were heavy at this unnatural act.

“In the night before the day on which the consuls resolved to fight, each of them was visited by an ominous dream, by which it was revealed that whichever army first lost its general should prevail; and they agreed that he whose division first gave ground should devote himself to the gods of the lower world.

“In the morning, when the auspices were taken, the liver of the victim offered on the part of Decius was defective, while that of Manlius was perfect. And the event confirmed the omen; for Manlius, who commanded on the right, held his ground, while the legions of Decius on the left gave way.

“Then Decius, mindful of his vow, sent for Valerius, the chief pontiff, to direct him how duly to devote himself. He put on his toga, the robe of peace, after the Gabine fashion, bringing the end or lappet under the right arm, and throwing it over his head; and then, standing on a javelin, he pronounced the solemn form of words prescribed, by which he devoted the army of the enemy along with himself to the gods of death and to the grave. Then, still shrouded in his toga, he leaped upon his horse, and dashing into the enemy’s ranks, was slain.

“Both armies were well aware of the meaning of the act. It depressed the spirits of the Latins as much as it raised those of the Romans. The skill of Manlius finished the work of superstitious awe.... The enemy fled in irretrievable confusion.”

One consul sacrifices his son to the cause of military discipline; the other consul sacrifices himself to the gods, to obtain the destruction of the enemy. We believe in a Decius, in some Decius, at some time, in some battle. Many of the details brought here together were probably added by different narrators. But it may be laid down, we think, as a sound canon of criticism, _that no act of moral greatness was ever invented till the like of it had been really performed_. Imagination of what the human heart is capable of cannot precede the genuine feelings, the genuine heroism of man. The several acts of Manlius and of Decius are Roman deeds, whether they occurred precisely here or not. Then note the traces we have in this legend of the rite of human sacrifice, and the terrible boon extorted by it. Indeed, the whole passage is fertile of suggestions which we will not weaken by attempting to enumerate.

Rome had scarcely obtained the ascendancy over her neighbours when her own destruction was threatened by the Gauls. Yet ultimately this invasion of the Celt, by weakening her enemies more than herself, was not unpropitious to the final predominance of Rome. “The Gauls,” writes Dr Liddell, “burst upon Latium and the adjoining lands with the suddenness of a thunderstorm; and as the storm, with all its fury and destructiveness, yet clears the loaded air, and restores a balance between the disturbed powers of nature, so it was with this Gallic hurricane. It swept over the face of Italy, crushing and destroying. The Etruscans were weakened by it; and if Rome herself was laid prostrate for a season, the Latins also suffered greatly, the Volscians were humbled, and the Æquians so shattered that they never recovered from the blow.”

It was a disastrous day for Rome. A large portion of her army, under her great general Camillus, was absent from the city. What forces she could muster were routed and dispersed. There were not enough men to defend the city; it was given up to the Gauls. The Capitol alone held out. Finally, the Romans were fain to ransom themselves, and to obtain peace, by the payment of one thousand pounds in weight of gold. The popular and legendary history tells us, that whilst this gold was being weighed out—and just as the insolent Gaul had thrown his sword into the scale, bidding them weigh that too, with his “Woe to the conquered!”—the great Camillus returned with his army, marched into the forum, ordered the gold to be returned, declared that it was with _iron_ he meant to redeem the city, and forthwith drove out the Gauls, so completely destroying their host that not a man was left to carry home the news of their calamity.

“So ran the legend,” continues Dr Liddell, “embellished by the touch of Livy’s graceful pen. But, unfortunately for Roman pride, here also, as in the tale of Porsenna, traces of true history are preserved, which show how little the Roman annalists regarded truth. Strabo and Diodorus mention stories to the effect that the Gauls carried off the gold without let or hindrance from Camillus, but that they were attacked in Etruria, some said by the Romans themselves, others said by the friendly people of Cæré, and obliged to relinquish their precious booty. But Polybius has left clearer and more positive statements. That grave historian tells us, as if he knew no other story, that the departure of the Gauls was caused by the intelligence that the Venetians, an Illyrian tribe, had invaded their settlements in northern Italy; that, on receiving this intelligence, they proposed to make a treaty; that the treaty was made; that they actually received the gold, and marched off unmolested to their homes.”

Where did Polybius get _his_ story? The legend may be false, but where were the materials from which Polybius could have obtained a more historical account? But before again alluding to this subject, we cannot but pause to take notice that here also is a striking example of the value of the legend as a history of the mind and thoughts of a people, even where it fails us as a history of events. Consider what must have been the religious faith, what the ardent patriotism, that gave birth to this magnificent fable (if fable it is) of the conduct of the Senate, when the army of Rome had been utterly vanquished, and the Gaul, in insolent confidence of victory, was rejoicing and revelling at the gates. Here it is, in the version of Dr Liddell:—

“Meantime the Senate at Rome did what was possible to retrieve their fallen fortunes. With all the men of military age they withdrew into the Capitol, for they had not numbers enough to man the walls of the city. These were mainly Patricians. Many of the Plebeians had fallen in the battle; many had escaped to Veii. The old men of this order, with the women, fled for safety to the same city. The priests and vestal virgins, carrying with them the sacred images and utensils, found refuge at the friendly Etruscan city of Cæré. _But the old Senators, who had been Consuls or Censors, and had won triumphs, and grown grey in their country’s service, feeling themselves to be now no longer a succour but a burthen, determined to sacrifice themselves for her; and M. Fabius, the Pontifex, recited the form of words by which they solemnly devoted themselves to the gods below, praying that on their heads only might fall the vengeance and the destruction._ Then as the Gauls approached, they ordered their ivory chairs to be set in the Comitium, before the temples of the gods, and there they took their seats, each man clad in his robes of state, to await the coming of the avenger.

“At length the Gallic host approached the city, and came to the Colline gate. It stood wide open before their astonished gaze, and they advanced slowly, not without suspicion, through deserted streets, unresisted and unchecked. When they reached the Forum, there, within its sacred precincts, they beheld those venerable men sitting like so many gods descended from heaven to protect their own. They gazed with silent awe; till at length a Gaul, hardier than his brethren, ventured to stroke the long beard of M. Papirius. The old hero raised his ivory staff and smote the offender, whereupon the barbarian in wrath slew him; and this first sword-stroke gave the signal for a general slaughter. Then the Romans in the Capitol believed that the gods had accepted the offering which those old men had made, and that the rest would be saved.”

Grander fable never was invented—never grew up out of grander feelings or wilder convictions. How little do we seem to know of the ancient religion of Rome! We listen too exclusively to the poets of the Augustan age. Elegant fictions and placid deities, from whom little was to be hoped or feared, did not constitute the religion of early times. There were terrible gods in those days—without whom, indeed, no religion has existed which has really influenced the conduct of mankind.

The next great event in the history of Rome which arrests our attention is the war with Pyrrhus. Here the Romans come in contact with a literary people. The attention of the Greeks is drawn towards them. Greek historians collect what accounts they can of these new barbarians, who are pronounced to be “not barbarians at least in war.” The first Roman historians wrote in the Greek language. We enter, it is said, into the historic period.

This is a fit place to quote some judicious remarks which Dr Liddell makes on the sources of early Roman history:—

“When the Gaul departed and left Rome in ashes, it was not only the buildings of the city that perished. We are expressly told that all the public records shared in the general destruction—the Fasti, or list of yearly magistrates with their triumphs, the Annales Pontificum, and the Linen Rolls (_libri lintei_), which were annual registers or chronicles of events kept by the pontiffs and augurs.

“This took place, we know, about the year 390 B.C.

“Now the first Roman annalists, Fabius Pictor, Cincius Alimentus, Cato the Censor, with the poets Nævius and Ennius, flourished about a century and a half after this date. Whence, then, it is natural to ask, did these writers and their successors find materials for the history of Rome before the burning of the city? What is the authority for the events and actions which are stated to have taken place before the year 390 B.C.?

“The answer to these questions may partly be found in our fifth chapter. The early history of Rome was preserved in old heroic lays or legends, which lived in the memories of men, and were transmitted by word of mouth from one generation to another. The early history of all nations is, as we have said, the same; and even if we had the Fasti and the Annals complete, we should still have to refer to those legendary tales for the substance and colour of the early history. The Fasti, indeed, if they were so utterly destroyed as Livy states, must have been preserved in memory with tolerable accuracy, for we have several lists of the early magistrates which only differ by a few omissions and transpositions. The Annals and Linen Rolls, if we had copies of them, would present little else than dry bones without flesh—mere names with a few naked incidents attached, much of the same character as the famous Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. For narrative we should still have been dependent upon the legends. We might know the exact time at which Coriolanus appeared at the head of the Volscian host, but the story would remain untouched....

“The false statements of the Patrician period are quite different in kind from the greater part of the legendary fictions of Greece or Regal Rome. There we discern no dishonesty of purpose, no intentional fraud; here, much of the baser coin is current. In the legends of Porsenna and Camillus the dishonour of Rome and the triumphs of the invaders are studiously kept out of sight, and glorious deeds are attributed to heroes who are proved to have no claim to such honour.”