While the generals of the republic were still hunting the common enemy in the Apennines, and even before the execution of Lentulus, the leaders of the senate had been quarrelling among themselves, as if they had no one to fear either within or without the city. The election of consuls for the ensuing year had fallen upon D. Junius Silanus and L. Licinius Murena. We have seen that Catiline had presumed to offer himself; but a worthier candidate, the great jurist Sulpicius, was also disappointed, and resenting the notorious bribery employed by his rivals, had rushed to prosecute Murena. Bribery there had been probably on all sides, and Rome could ill afford at such a moment to waste her energies in a private squabble. Cicero, intent upon his schemes for the frustration of the conspiracy, could not endure that the public attention should be withdrawn to the miserable intrigues of the rival candidates, and stepped forward to defend Murena. But Cato, insensible to every argument from expediency, and unable to see two sides of any question, supported the suit of the accuser with headlong pertinacity. A part of Cicero’s speech was directed to undermine the influence of so virtuous an advocate. “Would you know, judges, what sort of person a sage of the Porch is? He concedes nothing to favour, he never pardons. Compassion, he says, is frivolousness and folly; the wise only are beautiful, though crooked and deformed; he only is rich though a beggar, a lord though a slave; but we, he declares, who are no sages, are no better than runaways, outlaws, enemies, and madmen. All faults, he affirms, are equal; every error is a heinous sin; to wring a fowl’s neck without just reason is as bad as to strangle one’s father. The wise man never doubts, never repents, is never deceived, can never change his mind.” And in this strain he continued to the infinite amusement of his audience, who were well pleased to hear the philosopher bantered. Cato joined good-humouredly in the laugh. “How witty a consul we possess,” was the only remark he made. Nor did he afterwards retain any feeling of displeasure against the orator who both defeated his prosecution and turned him into ridicule.[103]
THE RISE OF JULIUS CÆSAR
[62 B.C.]
In the midst of their contentions amongst themselves for the highest magistracy, the nobles had allowed Cæsar to obtain the prætorship, the second rank in the scale of office. Pompey had despatched one of his creatures, Metellus Nepos, from Asia to secure one place in his interest on the bench of tribunes. Cato had refused to be nominated to another; and he was journeying into Lucania to avoid the turmoil of the elections, in which he declined to take a part, when he met the Pompeian candidate on the road, and learned the object of his return. He now felt it incumbent upon him, as a true patriot, to watch and check the intrigues of the dangerous proconsul. Hastily retracing his steps, he presented himself to the people for election, and obtained a seat in the tribunate in conjunction with Metellus and others. Jealousies, suspicions, and preparations for violence were rife on all sides. The people were alarmed for the safety of their favourite Cæsar, and after the execution of Lentulus, when he was once detained longer than usual in the senate, surrounded the curia with hostile cries, insisting on his being produced to satisfy them of his safety. The Marian chief indeed was himself far from daunted. He laughed to scorn the new-born courage of the nobles. On the 1st of January the chief men and dignitaries of the state were wont to ascend the Capitol, and there offer their greetings to the new consuls. Cæsar, however, instead of assisting in this act of official courtesy, took advantage of the absence of his colleagues and rivals to address the people in the Forum, and to propose that Catulus should be deprived by their vote of the honours due to him as restorer of the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. Since its destruction by fire in the time of Sulla, it had taken twenty years to rebuild that august edifice, the glory of the city and the empire; and the work had now been brought to completion by Catulus, to whom, as prince of the senate, the most dignified of all the citizens, that honourable duty had been assigned. Catulus might now expect that his name, as the restorer of the structure, should be engraved upon its front; and no noble Roman would fail to prize such a commemoration of his services as dearly as a consulship or a triumph. Cæsar now charged him with peculation, and insisted on the production of his accounts; meanwhile, he urged the people to resolve that the final consummation of the work should be transferred to Pompey. But the nobles, on hearing what was passing, rushed from the presence of the consuls with all their friends and adherents into the Forum, and succeeded in averting the blow. The name of Lutatius Catulus was duly inscribed upon the proudest monument of the national pride, and bore witness to the glory of the most blameless hero of the later commonwealth, till the temple was again destroyed in the wars of Vitellius and Vespasian.
Nor was this the only defiance hurled against the senate on that memorable day. Nepos, the tribune, had put himself in communication with Cæsar, and combined with him to insult the dominant faction, even in the moment of its victory. The execution of the conspirators had already been denounced as a murder, ere the echoes had died away of the shouts amidst which it had been perpetrated. Cicero, on resigning the fasces, presented himself to harangue the people, and detail the events of his consulship. It was a proud day for him, and he was prepared to enjoy it. But Nepos abruptly interposed: “The man,” he said, “who condemned our fellow-citizens unheard, shall not be listened to himself”; and he required him to confine himself to the customary oath, that he had done nothing contrary to the laws. “I swear,” exclaimed Cicero, “that I have saved the state.” The nobles shouted applause: Cato hailed him as “the father of his country”; and the general acclamations of the people overwhelmed every opposing whisper. The nobles were elated by the unaccustomed sounds of popular applause; but Nepos threatened the recall of Pompey, ostensibly to oppose Catiline, who was still in arms, but really to bear down the free act of the senate. Cato vowed that while he lived no such rogation should pass. A scuffle ensued in which Cato proceeded to actual violence; his colleague declared his sanctity violated, and fled to his patron’s camp. The senate declared his office vacant (for the tribune was forbidden by law to quit the city); and at the same time suspended Cæsar from his functions.
The prætor refused to quit his tribunal till compelled by a military force, whereupon he dismissed his lictors, divested himself of the ensigns of office, and retired with dignity to his pontifical dwelling. The populace now assembled to avenge the insult cast upon their favourite. A riot ensued, which compelled the consuls to retrace their steps, not without obsequious expressions of respect and deference towards him. Cicero had become already sobered from the intoxication of his recent triumph. The cold distance Pompey observed towards his party mortified and alarmed him. Crassus loudly accused him of having calumniated him, and the enmity of Crassus was not to be despised. Finally a tribune had just seemed to menace him with impeachment, notwithstanding the decree of the senate which had forbidden any action to be brought against those who had aided in the punishment of the conspirators. These resentments the discreet consular now studied to allay. He sought to appease Crassus; he proclaimed aloud the zeal which Cæsar had displayed in being the first, as he attested, to disclose to him Catiline’s machinations; and he who had lately exclaimed, “Let arms give place to the gown,” now prostrated himself before Pompey, whom he exalted above Scipio, begging only for himself the humble place of a Lælius. He even sought allies for himself among the accomplices of Catiline. P. Sulla, one of the conspirators, was defended by Cicero, and acquitted in the face of manifest proofs. The orator struggled to maintain that union between the two privileged orders of the commonwealth, the senators and knights, the cherished aim of his policy, which seemed at last to be accomplished on the steps of the temple of Concord. But when the nobles spurned the knights haughtily from them; when Cato, reckless of the misery of the provincials, repulsed the prayer of the publicans of Asia, who sought relief from their contract with the treasury, on account of the deep impoverishment of the revenues they had undertaken to farm, insisting that they should be held to the strict letter of their bargain; when the chasm between the two orders seemed once more to open before his eyes, having now to choose between the class to which he belonged by birth and natural sympathies and that to which his genius had exalted him, Cicero weakly threw himself upon the former, and proclaimed himself the creature of the aristocracy which despised him. The concessions he had made came too late to save either himself or them. The friends of Catiline still devoted him to their direst revenge; the demagogues lashed the people into fury against him; Cæsar smiled at his mistakes, while Crassus scarcely disguised the rancour of his hate under the veil of frigid courtesy.
Ruins of the Palace of the Cæsars, Rome
The nobles committed indeed no greater error than when they inflamed the enmity of Crassus by divulging their suspicions of him, and at the same time shrank from disarming it by force. Assuredly they should have made him their friend, and this they might have done perhaps at a trifling sacrifice of their vanity. Crassus was liked by none, but few could afford to despise him; while his ambition might have been kept within bounds by the concession of legitimate honours and dignities, and the show of listening to his counsels. At the moment when Pompey was passing over to the people, Crassus might have been retained on the side of the oligarchy from which he had never wholly estranged himself. His immense riches, the sources of which lay close at hand, gave him clients in the senate as well as among the knights: his slaves, his freedmen, his debtors and his tenants constituted an army in the heart of the city, to sway the debates of the Forum and overawe its seditions. But when the nobles refused to support him in his suit for the consulship, they drove him to league himself with his popular competitor Pompey: when they denounced him as a confederate of Catiline, they threw him into the arms of Cæsar. By lending money to the Marian spendthrift, Crassus thought that he made him his own; but in fact he bound himself to the fortunes of his rival, from whose entire success he could alone hope to be repaid.
Cæsar’s suspension from his prætorship had only served to attach his party more closely to him; an incident soon occurred by which it was hoped to sow discord between them. P. Clodius, the corrupt accuser of Catiline, a turbulent intriguer like so many members of his house, had ingratiated himself with the people by his popular manners. This beardless youth, already alike notorious for his debts and his gallantries, had introduced himself into Cæsar’s house in female attire during the celebration of the rites of the Bona Dea, which should have been studiously guarded from male intrusion. A servant-maid discovered him and uttered a cry of alarm; the mysteries were hastily veiled and the intruder expelled; but the assembled matrons rushing hastily home revealed each to her husband the scandal and the sin. The nobles affected grave alarm; the pontiffs were summoned and consulted, and the people duly informed of the insult offered to the deity. As chief of the sacred college, Cæsar could not refrain from lending himself to the general clamour; but his position was delicate. On the one hand the presumed delinquent was an instrument of his own policy, while on the other his own honour and that of his wife Pompeia were compromised by the offence.[104] He disappointed everybody. He divorced his wife, not because she was guilty, but because “the wife of Cæsar,” as he said, “should be above suspicion.” But he refused to countenance the measures which the consuls took, by direction of the senate, for the conviction of the reputed culprit; and it may be suspected that the money with which Clodius bribed his judges was a loan negotiated with Crassus by Cæsar himself. Cicero for his part had been lukewarm in an affair, the barefaced hypocrisy of which he was perhaps too honourable to countenance; but, urged by his wife Terentia, a violent woman who meddled much in his affairs, and was jealous at the moment of a sister of the culprit, he clearly disproved his allegation of absence from the city, and thus embroiled himself, to no purpose, with an able and unscrupulous enemy. The senate believed their cause gained; the proofs indeed were decisive, and they had assigned at their own request a military guard to the judges to protect them from the anticipated violence of a Clodian mob; but to their consternation, on opening the urns, the votes for an acquittal were found to be thirty-one opposed to twenty-five. “You only demanded a guard, then,” exclaimed Catulus with bitter irony, “to secure the money you were to receive.” Cicero attributed to Crassus the scandal of this perversion of justice; the nobles sneered at the corruption of the knights, and the gulf which separated the two orders yawned more widely than ever.