THE RETURN OF POMPEY
[62-61 B.C.]
The profanation of the mysteries had occurred in December of the year 62, but the Clodian process, retarded by various intrigues, did not take place for some months. Meanwhile, before the end of January, Pompey had returned from the East, and reached the gates of the city. He appeared there as an imperator, to solicit a triumph, at the head of a small detachment of his legionaries; but no sooner had he touched land at Brundusium than he had dismissed the mass of his victorious army, with the promise of estates which he made no doubt of obtaining for them from the senate. All parties were in anxious expectation of the use he would make of his power in quelling the feuds of the city, and some perhaps apprehended that he would extinguish the legitimate powers themselves from the perversion of which they sprang. All were amazed at the generosity or arrogance with which he divested himself of the support of his soldiers, and trusted to the glory of his name for maintaining his ascendency in the commonwealth. The senators indeed regarded it as a weakness, and presumed that their adversary cowered under the imposing attitude they had assumed. The laws forbade him to enter the city while he yet retained the military command, but both the senate and the people held meetings in the Field of Mars to hear him recount his exploits, and to collect from his own mouth the policy he proposed to adopt. Of his own actions he spoke magniloquently; but when he touched on domestic affairs his language was studiously moderate and conciliatory. He declared his deep respect for the great council of the nation; but withheld a word of approval of their recent or their pending measures. In order to draw him out Crassus was induced to utter an encomium on Cicero’s conduct in his consulship; and upon that hint, Cicero himself rose to improve the occasion, and enlarged with his usual copious rhetoric on the dangers from which he had saved the state. He spoke, as he alone could speak, of the dignity of the senate, the loyalty of the knights, the favour of the Italians, the paralysis of every element of disaffection, the cheapness of provisions, the security of the commonwealth. The senate responded to the speaker’s satisfaction; it was the crowning day of Cicero’s vanity, yet one triumph was wanting to it—Pompey would not be drawn into any indication of his views.
Pompey seems to have held himself aloof from the proceedings relative to Clodius. Cæsar was also anxious to extricate himself from them, and the expiration of his prætorship had opened to him an honourable retreat in the province of the Further Spain. But there were two impediments in his way; the one lay in the deep embarrassment of his debts; the other was a decree of the senate, passed on purpose to retain him at home, by which the magistrates were forbidden to go to their provinces before the decision of the Clodian process. Cæsar’s private means had been long exhausted. The friends who had continued to supply his necessities had seemed to pour their treasures into a bottomless gulf; so vast was his expenditure in shows, canvasses, and bribes; so long and barren the career of public service through which this ceaseless profusion had to be maintained. At this period when the bold gamester was about to throw his last die, he could avow, that he wanted 250,000,000 sesterces (above £2,000,000 or $10,000,000) to be “worth nothing.” Before he could enter on the administration of his province he had pressing creditors to satisfy, and expensive preparations to make. Every other resource had been drained, but Cæsar could apply to Crassus for a loan. The wealthiest of the Romans hated the Great Captain who had just returned to the city, and he saw in Cæsar the readiest instrument for lowering his estimation. He held in pawn the treasures of Iberia. The sum required was 830 talents (£200,000) and this was placed at once in Cæsar’s hands. With the other impediment the proprietor ventured to deal in a more summary manner. He had reason to apprehend that a scheme was in contemplation to retain him at home by a political impeachment; but he knew that once at the head of his legions his foes would not dare recall him, and he trusted to reap such a harvest both of treasure and reputation as would screen him from the effects of their malice on his return.
The evasion of Cæsar and the escape of Clodius mortified the senate, which wreaked its sullen humour on Pompey by delaying the official ratification of his acts, and the satisfaction of his veterans. It had conceded the honour of a triumph to Lucullus in spite of the impediments opposed thereto by his successor in the eastern command, and still more recently, by conferring a similar distinction on Metellus, together with the surname of Creticus, it had expressed its approbation of the conduct of the very general against whom Pompey had made war for disobedience to his orders. Now that the conqueror of Mithridates had himself returned to claim the last reward of military prowess, it seems to have harassed him with mortifying delays, for it was not till the end of September, nine months after his return to Rome, that his triumph was actually celebrated. Meanwhile he had been compelled to intrigue for the election of a creature of his own to the consulship; and while he thus bought the interest of Afranius, a weak and frivolous friend, he was mortified by the appointment of Metellus Celer, a decided enemy, as his colleague. His vanity was perhaps in some measure indemnified by the glories of his triumph, which lasted two days, amidst a display of spoils and trophies such as Rome had never before witnessed. The proconsul boasted that he had conquered twenty-one kings, and that Asia, which he had found the farthest province of the empire, he had left its centre. Banners borne in the procession announced that he had taken 800 vessels, 1000 fortresses and 900 towns; thirty-nine cities he had either founded or restored; he had poured 20,000 talents (about £5,000,000 sterling) into the treasury, and nearly doubled the national revenues. Above all he plumed himself, says Plutarch, on having celebrated his third triumph over a third continent. For though others before him had triumphed three times, Pompey by having gained his first over Libya, his second over Europe, and this the last over Asia, seemed in a manner to have brought the whole world within the sphere of his conquests.
But on descending from his chariot the hero found himself alone in the city in which he had once been attended by such crowds of flatterers and admirers. Lucullus, stimulated beyond his wont by the presence of his rival, attacked his conduct in every particular; the senate was cold or hostile; even Cicero discovered that his idol was formed of ordinary clay. When the new consuls entered on their office Afranius was no match for his far abler colleague, and the ratification of the proconsul’s acts was still petulantly withheld. Pompey had disposed of crowns, he had made and unmade kingdoms, he had founded municipal commonwealths, in short he had regulated everything at his sovereign pleasure, from the Ægean to the Red Sea. It concerned his honour to show to his friends and foes throughout the East, that he was not less powerful in the city than he had pretended to be in the camp. He demanded a public ratification, full, prompt, and unquestioning. But Lucullus, supported by Cato, demanded that each separate act should be separately discussed. Such a method of proceeding could not fail to result in numerous checks and mortifications to him; even the delay would suffice to show that he had fallen from his vaunted supremacy. Pompey chose rather to forego altogether the formal ratification of arrangements which he knew were not likely to be in fact disturbed. At the same time he instructed a tribune named Flavius to demand lands for his veterans. Cato and Metellus again opposed him; then violence ensued, and the tribune complaining that his sanctity was profaned, dragged the consul to prison. The senate insisted upon sharing the insult offered to its chief, and Pompey, ashamed of the insolence of his own creature, gave way once more, and withdrew his demands for a more favourable opportunity. But he was deeply chagrined at the treatment he had experienced, which dishonoured him in the eyes of his soldiers and of all Asia. Then, too late, he began perhaps to regret the disbanding of his legions. Repulsed by the nobles he betook himself once more to the people, and sought by popular arts to revive the prestige of his arms. But the first place in their regards was no longer vacant. Cæsar was securely lodged in their hearts, and with him the newcomer must be content to share a divided empire.[b]
FOOTNOTES
[102] [Of course, this is not Catiline’s speech; Sallust[d] composed it in order to represent what under the circumstances Catiline might appropriately have said to his troops. Most speeches found in the ancient historians are of a similar character; few of them have been drawn from documents.]
[103] [Compare the words of Velleius Paterculus,[e] “To praise Cato for his honesty would be rather derogatory to him than otherwise; but to accuse him of ostentatiously displaying it would be just.”]
[104] [According to Appian,[f] when Clodius had invaded the rites of the Bona Dea “he had laid a blemish upon the chastity of Cæsar’s wife.”]