History of Roman Literature from its Earliest Period to the Augustan Age. Vol. II

by John Colin Dunlop

When all this is considered, and also that Rome, in its commencement, was the dwelling of a rude and ignorant people, subsisting by rapine—that the art of writing, the only sure guardian of the remembrance of events, was little practised—that critical examination was utterly unknown; and that the writers of no other nation would think of accurately transmitting to posterity events, which have only become interesting from the subsequent conquests and extension of the Roman empire, it must be evident, that the materials provided for the work of the historian would necessarily be obscure and uncertain.

The great general results recorded in Roman history, during the first five centuries, cannot, indeed, be denied. It cannot be doubted that Rome ultimately triumphed over the neighbouring nations, and obtained possession of their territories; for Rome would not have been what we know it was in the sixth century, without these successes. But there exists, in the particular events recorded in the Roman history, sufficient internal evidence of its uncertainty, or rather falsehood; and here I do not refer to the lying fables, and absurd prodigies, which the annalists may have inserted in deference to the prejudices of the people, nor to the almost incredible daring and endurance of Scævola, Cocles, or Curtius, which may be accounted for from the wild spirit of a half-civilized nation, and are not unlike the acts we hear of among Indian tribes; but I allude to the total improbability of the historic details concerning transactions with surrounding tribes, and the origin of domestic institutions. How, for example, after so long a series of defeats, with few intervals of prosperity interposed, could the Italian states have possessed resources sufficient incessantly to renew hostilities, in which they were [pg 65]always the aggressors? And how, on the other hand, should the Romans, with their constant preponderance of force and fortune, (if the repetition and magnitude of their victories can be depended on,) have been so long employed in completely subjugating them? The numbers slain, according to Livy’s account, are so prodigious, that it is difficult to conceive how the population of such moderate territories, as belonged to the independent Italian communities, could have supplied such losses. We, therefore, cannot avoid concluding, that the frequency and importance of these campaigns were magnified by the consular families indulging in the vanity of exaggerating the achievements of their ancestors[133]. Sometimes these campaigns are represented as carried on against the whole nation of Volsci, Samnites, or Etruscans, when, in fact, only a part was engaged; and, at other times, battles, which never were fought, have been extracted from the family memoirs, where they were drawn up to illustrate each consulate; for what would a consul have been without a triumph or a victory? It would exceed my limits were I to point out the various improbabilities and evident inconsistencies of this sort recorded in the early periods of Roman history. With regard, again, to the domestic institutions of Rome, everything (doubtless for the sake of effect and dignity) is represented as having at once originated in the refined policy and foresight of the early kings. The division of the people into tribes and curiæ—the relations of patron and client—the election of senators—in short, the whole fabric of the constitution, is exhibited as a preconcerted plan of political wisdom, and not (as a constitution has been in every other state, and must have been in Rome) the gradual result of contingencies and progressive improvements, of assertions of rights, and struggles for power.

The opinion entertained by Polybius of the uncertainty of the Roman history, is sufficiently manifest from a passage in the fourth book of his admirable work, which is written with all the philosophy and profound inquiry of Tacitus, without any of his apparent affectation.—“The things which I have undertaken to describe,” says he, “are those which I myself have seen, or such as I have received from men who were eye-witnesses of them. For, had I gone back to a more early period, and borrowed my accounts from the report of persons who themselves had only heard them before from others, as it would scarcely have been possible that I should myself be able to discern the true state of the matters that were then transacted, so neither could I have written anything concerning [pg 66]them with confidence.” What, indeed, can we expect to know with regard to the Kings of Rome, when we find so much uncertainty with regard to the most memorable events of the republic, as the period of the first creation of a dictator and tribunes of the people? The same doubt exists in the biography of illustrious characters. Cicero says, that Coriolanus, having gone over to the Volsci, repressed the struggles of his resentment by a voluntary death; “for, though you, my Atticus,” he continues, “have represented his death in a different manner, you must pardon me if I do not subscribe to the justness of your representations[134].” Atticus, I presume, gave the account as we now have it, that he was killed in a tumult of the Volsci, and Fabius Pictor had written that he lived till old age[135]. Of the reliance to be placed on the events between the death of Coriolanus and the termination of the second Punic war, we may judge from the uncertainty which prevailed with regard to Scipio Africanus, a hero, of all others, the most distinguished, and who flourished, comparatively, at a recent period. Yet some of the most important events of his life are involved in contradiction and almost hopeless obscurity.—“Cicero,” says Berwick, in his Memoirs of Scipio, “speaks with great confidence of the year in which he died, yet Livy found so great a difference of opinion among historians on the subject, that he declares himself unable to ascertain it. From a fragment in Polybius, we learn, that, in his time, the authors who had written of Scipio were ignorant of some circumstances of his life, and mistaken in others; and, from Livy, it appears, that the accounts respecting his life, trial, death, funeral, and sepulchre, were so contradictory, that he was not able to determine what tradition, or whose writings, he ought to credit.”

But, although the early events of Roman history were of such a description, that Cicero and Atticus were not agreed concerning them—that Polybius could write nothing about them with confidence; and that Livy would neither undertake to affirm nor refute them, every vestige of Roman antiquity had not perished. Though the annals of the Pontiffs were destroyed,—those who wrote, who kept, and had read them, could not have lost all recollection of the facts they recorded. Even from the family memoirs, full of falsehoods as they were, much truth might have been extracted by a judicious and acute historian. The journals of different rival families must often have served as historical checks on each other, and much real information might have been gathered, by compar[pg 67]ing and contrasting the vain-glorious lies of those family-legends[136].

Such was the state of the materials for Roman history, in the middle of the sixth century, from the building of the city, at which time regular annals first began to be composed; and notwithstanding all unfavourable circumstances, much might have been done, even at that period, towards fixing and ascertaining the dates and circumstances of previous events, had the earliest annalist of Rome been in any degree fitted for this difficult and important task; but, unfortunately,

QUINTUS FABIUS PICTOR,

who first undertook to relate the affairs of Rome from its foundation, in a formal and regular order, and is thence called by Livy Scriptorum antiquissimus, appears to have been wretchedly qualified for the labour he had undertaken, either [pg 68]in point of fidelity or research: and to his carelessness and inaccuracy, more even than to the loss of monuments, may be attributed the painful uncertainty, which to this day hangs over the early ages of Roman history.

Fabius Pictor lived in the time of the second Punic war. The family received its cognomen from Caius Fabius, who, having resided in Etruria, and there acquired some knowledge of the fine arts, painted with figures the temple of Salus, in the year 450[137]. Pliny mentions having seen this piece of workmanship, which remained entire till the building itself was consumed, in the reign of the Emperor Claudius. The son of the painter rose to the highest honours of the state, having been Consul along with Ogulnius Gallus, in the year 485. From him sprung the historian, who was consequently grandson of the first Fabius Pictor. He was a provincial quæstor in early youth, and in 528 served under the Consul Lucius Æmilius, when sent to repel a formidable incursion of the Gauls, who, in that year, had passed the Alps in vast hordes. He also served in the second Punic war, which commenced in 534, and was present at the battle of Thrasymene. After the defeat at Cannæ, he was despatched by the senate to inquire from the oracle of Delphos, what would be the issue of the war, and to learn by what supplications the wrath of the gods might be appeased[138].

The Annals of Fabius Pictor commenced with the foundation of the city, and brought down the series of Roman affairs to the author’s own time—that is, to the end of the second Punic war. We are informed by Dionysius of Halicarnassus, that for the great proportion of events which preceded his own age, Fabius Pictor had no better authority than vulgar tradition[139]. He probably found, that if he had confined himself to what was certain in these early times, his history would have been dry, insipid, and incomplete. This may have induced him to adopt the fables, which the Greek historians had invented concerning the origin of Rome, and to insert whatever he found in the family traditions, however contradictory or uncertain. Dionysius has also given us many examples of his improbable narrations—his inconsistencies—his negligence in investigating the truth of what he relates as facts—and his inaccuracy in chronology. “I cannot refrain,” says he, when speaking of the age of Tarquinius Priscus, “from blaming Fabius Pictor for his little exactness in chronology[140];” and it appears from various other passages, that all the ancient his[pg 69]tory of Fabius which was not founded on hearsay, was taken from Greek authors, who had little opportunity of being informed of Roman affairs, and had supplied their deficiency in real knowledge, by the invention of fables. In particular, as we are told by Plutarch[141], he followed an obscure Greek author, Diocles the Peparethian, in his account of the foundation of Rome, and from this tainted source have flowed all the stories concerning Mars, the Vestal, the Wolf, Romulus, and Remus.