Communicating Public Opinion in the Roman Republic 3515121722, 9783515121729

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Communicating Public Opinion in the Roman Republic Edited by Cristina Rosillo-López

Alte Geschichte Franz Steiner Verlag

Historia – Einzelschriften 256

Cristina Rosillo-López (Ed.) Communicating Public Opinion in the Roman Republic

historia

Zeitschrift für Alte Geschichte | Revue d’histoire ancienne |

Journal of Ancient History | Rivista di storia antica

einzelschriften

Herausgegeben von Kai Brodersen (federführend)

Bernhard Linke | Mischa Meier | Walter Scheidel | Hans van Wees Band 256

Communicating Public Opinion in the Roman Republic Edited by Cristina Rosillo-López

Franz Steiner Verlag

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Nationalbibliothek: Die Deutsche Nationalbibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über abrufbar. Dieses Werk einschließlich aller seiner Teile ist urheberrechtlich geschützt. Jede Verwertung außerhalb der engen Grenzen des Urheberrechtsgesetzes ist unzulässig und strafbar. © Franz Steiner Verlag, Stuttgart 2019 Druck: Hubert & Co., Göttingen Gedruckt auf säurefreiem, alterungsbeständigem Papier. Printed in Germany. ISBN 978-3-515-12172-9 (Print) ISBN 978-3-515-12173-6 (E-Book)

TABLE OF CONTENTS Cristina Rosillo-López Introduction ........................................................................................................

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PUBLIC OPINION: NATURE AND CHARACTER Frédéric Hurlet L’öffentliche Meinung de Habermas et l’opinion publique dans la Rome antique. De la raison à l’auctoritas ......................................................... 23 Amy Russell The populus Romanus as the source of public opinion ...................................... 41 Cristina Rosillo-López How did Romans perceive and measure public opinion? .................................. 57 PUBLIC OPINION: MILITARY AND INSTITUTIONAL QUESTIONS Enrique García Riaza Laureatae litterae. Announcing Victories and Public Opinion in the Middle Republic ....................................................................................... 85 Alejandro Díaz Fernández Military disasters, public opinion, and Roman politics during the wars in Hispania (153–133 B. C.) ............................................................................... 107 Wolfgang Blösel The imperia extraordinaria of the 70s to 50s B. C. and Public Opinion ........... 135 Kit Morrell “Who wants to go to Alexandria?” Pompey, Ptolemy, and public opinion, 57–56 BC ........................................................................................................... 151 Clifford Ando The space and time of politics in civil war ........................................................ 175

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Table of Contents

PUBLIC OPINION AS PUBLIC DIALOGUE Francisco Pina Polo Rhetoric of Fear in Republican Rome: the Ciceronian Case ............................. 191 T. W. Hillard Ventus Popularis? ‘Popular Opinion’ in the 70s and its senatorial Reception ........................................................................................................... 211 Kathryn Welch Selling Proscription to the Roman Public .......................................................... 241 THE TRANSMISSION OF PUBLIC OPINION W. Jeffrey Tatum Canvassing the elite: communicating sound values in the Commentariolum Petitionis ............................................................................... 257 Alexander Yakobson Velleius Paterculus, imperial ideology and the old republic .............................. 273 APPENDIX List of contributors ............................................................................................. 295 Index of Names .................................................................................................. 297 Subject Index ..................................................................................................... 303

INTRODUCTION Cristina Rosillo-López In 1964, the French director Louis Malle directed Les amants, a film which ends with the married Jeanne Moreau leaving with her lover, thus depicting adultery as a happy end with no punishment. A cinema showed the film and was fined for it by the State of Ohio on grounds of obscenity. The case went to the Supreme Court, where a discussion about the differences between art and pornography ensued. One of the judges, Justice Stewart Potter, wrote a well-known speech that has become a standard point of reference in such thorny debates: “I shall not today attempt further to define the kinds of material I understand to be embraced within that shorthand description [hard-core pornography]; and perhaps I could never succeed in intelligibly doing so. But I know it when I see it, and the motion picture involved in this case is not that”.1 Public opinion also remains a concept that is difficult to characterise. By the mid-1960s more than fifty definitions had been collected; its number has increased, as is fitting for a subject thriving in many academic disciplines, including history, sociology and political studies.2 Some scholars have even rejected giving a specific explanation of public opinion, preferring to set out some of its characteristics.3 However, as Justice Stewart Potter asserted about art and pornography, public opinion is something that is easily distinguishable when we are faced with it. The works that comprise this book were discussed in a seminar that took place in Seville in September 2016. Interestingly, in that venue, nobody attempted to provide a working definition of what public opinion was, and this introduction will follow the same course. One of the ways to understand public opinion, beyond methodological discussion, is to see it in practice. This book will therefore provide different case studies of public opinion in the Roman Republic. The aim is that the reader, at the end of each chapter or the whole volume, will be able to say about public opinion in Rome: “I know it when I see it”. Public opinion cannot be ignored; both elite and non-elite members of the citizen body have dealt with it throughout most periods of history. Public opinion hits our deepest nerves, those that make us social human beings, among them the fear or the experience of being left out and the social control of some members of a group by others. The urge to conform within a group has, of course, been one of our strategies for survival since prehistoric times; in a world peopled with dangerous animals, which were stronger, bigger and faster than human beings, only the pack guaranteed 1 2 3

Jacobellis v. Ohio case; cf. Gewirtz 1996. Noelle-Neumann 1993: 58. Lazar 1995: 38.

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survival. The stakes are not usually so high today, but scientists have demonstrated that rejection from a group creates activity in the brain in the same areas as physical pain.4 Public opinion can thus be a powerful tool for social control. Elizabeth Noelle-Neumann drew attention to how those urges shape our responses and make us conform to what we perceive to be the majority public opinion. It should be taken into account that it is a question of perception, not of reality; perhaps what we perceive to be the mainstream opinion is in fact not, but we cannot access other people’s brains to check that; we just hear the opinions that those people voice. When a group decides not to express their own opinion because they perceive themselves to be in the minority, Noelle-Neumann warns, the spiral of silence kicks in, in the sense that such silence feeds itself and makes that opinion seem even more marginal.5 In his seminal book Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit. Untersuchungen zu einer Kategorie der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft (1962), the German philosopher Jürgen Habermas described the public sphere as “a forum in which the private people come together to form a public, readied themselves to compel public authority to legitimate itself before public opinion”.6 For him, though, late 17th–18th century France and Great Britain constituted the starting point of public opinion, due to the existence of a rational and critical public debate together with a public sphere linked to the rise of the bourgeoisie (bürgerliche Öffentlichkeit), in which subjects could be discussed in a context of equality and liberty.7 Previous studies had already focused on the public sphere, notably by the philosopher Hannah Arendt, who described it as the common world that gathers us together and prevents our falling over each other. According to her, the public sphere allowed multiple perspectives, aspects and spectators over sensitive political issues.8 However, Habermas established a link between the existence of a critical public sphere and public opinion, which represented a leap forward in our understanding of those subjects. Habermas’ conceptualization of the public sphere and public opinion has had its fair share of detractors and criticisms. However, he undoubtedly brought those two terms into the core of political, philosophical and historical debates. That being said, Habermas acknowledged that his work was not complete: for instance, among other things, he overlooked the existence of the lively plebeian/popular public sphere during those same centuries. The comments regarding Habermas’ work in this introduction will be limited to historical questions. 4 5 6 7

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Einsenberger 2012. Noelle-Neumann 1993. Habermas 1989: 25–26. Habermas 1989: xvii–xviii (first edition in 1962). The term bürgerliche could be understood as bourgeois or civil. It was translated into English as the first concept, suggesting class-consciousness (see McKeon 2004, who points out that this decision displaces attention from the civil character of the public sphere). Equally the substantive Öffentlichkeit could be translated as a public sphere (social meaning, as an institution) or as public (collective meaning, as speakers and audience; see Koller 2010: 263). See Hurlet’s and Russell’s chapters in this volume about this matter. Arendt 1958.

Introduction

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Jürgen Habermas’ approach was philosophical, not historical. While his command of philosophical processes is flawless, his historical interpretations were on some occasions filled in with broad brushstrokes. Historians have questioned Habermas’ conception of the public sphere and public opinion. Modern newspapers and the diffusion of news constituted, for the German philosopher, one of the sine quibus non circumstances that enabled the existence of public opinion. Historians of different periods have called that hypothesis into question, asserting that the printing press or modern means of communication do not constitute a prerequisite. The oral circulation of news, rumours, and political gossip in communities and cities is attested from ancient Greece onwards as an effective way of circulating information.9 Scholars have argued that even in early modern times, when printing presses were commonly used for books and pamphlets, handwritten pamphlets were preferred for circulating political ideas.10 Technology drove a quantitative change in the use of public opinion, but no substantial qualitative changes seems to have resulted. Technology amplifies, but rarely creates new dynamics that were previously absent. On the question of the public sphere, a subject treated in depth in two chapters of the present book, Habermas acknowledged the existence of a public sphere in other historical periods, including Ancient Greece.11 However, he did not pay attention to the subject beyond that assertion. Gottesman’s study of politics in Athens has brought to attention the existence of several public spheres, which were each composed of particular groups.12 Kuhn has argued for the existence of a public sphere and public opinion in the Roman world.13 Rosillo-López has proposed the existence of a public sphere in Late Republican Rome, defined by the rumours, gossip and political talks that circulated around the city, based on the existence of a certain freedom of speech, and disseminated by different groups of opinion at different social levels.14 Centuries later, the medieval public sphere, for instance, has been described as being in a state of constant construction, in contrast with the permanent situation of the Habermasian public sphere.15 In general, historians have argued that Habermasian model of the public sphere represents one of the possible concepts of the public sphere present through history, but in no way the only one or even the most legitimate. The study of public opinion in other periods of history and other geographical locations is wide-ranging: the kingdom of Castile during the fifteenth, sixteenth and seventeenth centuries (Oliva Herrer 2011, Olivari 2002), sixteenth and seventeenth 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Cf. Lewis 1996 for Greece. Olivari 2002. Habermas 1989: 3–4, 7. On the public sphere in Athens see Gottesman 2014: 4–8. Gottesman 2014: 4–8 (Habermas and Athens); Gottesman 2014, 20–22 (several public spheres). Gottesman prefers “the Street” to the term “public opinion”. Cf. also Azoulay 2011. Kuhn 2012. Rosillo-López 2017. Freedom of speech should not be equated with the right of speech in public, which was more controlled in Rome; for instance, only magistrates and those called by them could speak in public in a contio (cf. Pina Polo 1989a and 1989b; Pina Polo 1996). Oliva Herrer 2014.

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century England (Fox 1997), or Paris before the eighteenth century (Piasenza 1993), to name but a few. These historical analyses, which span more than three decades, have used terms like “public opinion” or “public sphere”, and have successfully demonstrated their existence before the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, before the diffusion of printed media, and outside the middle class that Habermas considered necessary. They have substantiated the use of public opinion as a valid concept in the historical analysis of pre-modern societies. What about ancient Rome? The debate about the existence of public opinion in the realm of Roman politics started decades ago, with some scholars defining the terms by which ancient Romans understood public opinion. Meier, in his Res publica amissa (1966) stressed the role of existimatio as an important component of Roman politics, specifying that it had been underestimated.16 In 1972 (Le vocabulaire latin des relations et des partis politiques sous la République), Hellegouarc’h analysed, among other political concepts, the use of terms like fama or existimatio in Roman politics and discourse, stating that the latter was equivalent to the modern concept of public opinion.17 Concepts such as existimatio and fama did not raise any eyebrows among historians; everybody who had read their Cicero recognized them as concepts that appeared regularly in his letters and speeches. The issue was in making the jump between ancient realities and modern concepts. Yavetz was a bold pioneer in the use of the concept of public opinion as applied to Roman politics. In his book Plebs and Princeps (1969), he drew some remarks on the question of why some leaders became popular and others did not, that is, how the plebs arrived at an opinion. “The question is complicated and the answer complex, the data sparse, and the prospect of finding fresh evidence hopeless”, he remarked.18 Despite this statement, he did not falter and continued his quest. In 1974, Yavetz published an article, “Existimatio, Fama and the Ides of March”, which provocatively began: “Public opinion is as old as political history”.19 In it, he analysed how existimatio and fama were used to describe concepts akin to public opinion, engaging in a close study of their use in the sources, accompanied by a reflection on the role of existimatio during the last days of Caesar. But the question Yavetz asked en passant in his article, “Was public opinion taken into account in political decision making in the late Republic?”, had to wait five more years for his in-depth answer through a case study.20 In the meanwhile, Veyne published his seminal study about euergetism (Le pain et le cirque, 1976) and argued that public opinion did not exist in Rome. He argued that the people loved the sovereign and that only the senatorial elite could have an opinion, but they were self-constrained

16 17 18 19 20

Meier 1966: 9, n. 15. Hellegouarc’h 1972: 363 stated that existimatio hominum or omnium had the specific meaning of public opinion; but ibid, n. 6 he added that existimatio tout court had also that meaning, thus enlarging the semantical range. Yavetz 1969: 41. Yavetz 1974: 35. Yavetz 1974: 41.

Introduction

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to behave in a manner that did not contradict the popular image of the princeps, under the threat of being accused of treason.21 In 1978, Sordi edited a volume that focused on public opinion in the ancient world, focusing on the points of view of those who received it, the “propaganda recepita dall’opinione pubblica” (Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico).22 Unfortunately, the volume did not have a great impact on historiography, despite presenting a good number of studies from different historical periods. Public opinion as a concept had a bigger impact the following year; Yavetz did not refrain from using the contemporary term in his 1979 book Caesar in der öffentlichen Meinung in which he studied, among other subjects, how the Roman people viewed Caesar and the impact of public opinion in Caesar’s legislation. To which public opinion did the German title refer? In the chapter “Die öffentliche Meinung und die Iden des März” (“Public Opinion and the Ides of March”), Yavetz focused on the relationships between contemporary judgements about Caesar in the last months of his life, analysing the propaganda campaign organised by the enemies of the dictator and the rumours that circulated against him with the objective of damaging Caesar’s reputation before the people. Furthermore, he reprinted in the appendix his previous article on existimatio and fama. Interestingly, Yavetz’s translators dared not be so bold as he himself had been. The English translation, Julius Caesar and his Public Image (1983), avoided the use of the term “public opinion” in the title, as if reluctant to apply such a contemporary term to Caesar, although that concept features throughout the main text. The same happened with the French translation, which used the title César et son image: des limites du charisma en politique (1990). Interestingly some reviewers of Yavetz’s book used the concept of “public opinion” widely in their reviews without having any qualms about doing so.23 Even though Yavetz’s book and article were widely read and cited (regrettably, Sordi’s volume less so), the concept of public opinion, in relation to ancient Rome, did not enter ipso facto the vocabulary of ancient historians. It was a lengthy path, but the only way to move forward was to take the next step. 21 22

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Veyne 1976: 543–552. Veyne agreed with Habermas that public opinion was born during the 18th century. In the volume, Zecchini studied the opposition to Caesar in 59 from the point of view of the optimates (“L’opposizione a Cesare nel 59ª nell’interpretazione storiografica ottimate”). Valvo analysed Octavian and the role of public opinion in relationship with the lex Pedia (“Ottaviano e l’opinione pubblica di Roma in un passo livinano sulla lex Pedia), while Scuderi focused on Antony and the military (“Marco Antonio nell’opinione pubblica dei militari”) and Cogrossi on the influence of Apollo in Augustus (“L’apollinismo augusteo e un denarii con il Sole radiato di L. Aquilio Floro”). Other chapters focused on the Empire: Sordi on antichristian prosecutions (“Opinion pubblica e persecuzioni anticristiane nell’Impero romano); Tedesco on Hadrian’s prosecution of intellectuals (Opinione pubblica e cultura: un aspetto della politica di Adriano”); Belloni on the deity Mens in Pertinax’ propaganda (“Mens e opinione pubblica nella monetazione di Pertinace”) and, finally, Lassandro on peasant revolts and public opinion at the end of the 3rd century CE (“Rivolte contadine e opinion pubblica in Gallia alla fine del III secolo d. C.”). E. g. Albert in Historische Zeitschrift, 233 1981, 146–148 and Rawson, in Classical Review 34, 1984, 142.

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Late Antiquity was one of the historical periods in which the concept of public opinion was readily established and applied. In 1979, Gregory published Vox populi: popular opinion and violence in the religious controversies of the fifth century A. D. In 1991, Rodríguez Gervás used such a concept, together with political propaganda, to analyse panegyrics in the Late Empire (Propaganda política y opinión pública en los panegíricos latinos del Bajo Imperio). Other scholars have done the same: for instance, Stenger (“Libanios und die öffentliche Meinung in Antiochia”, 2012) has analysed how Libanius mobilised public opinion in support of emperor Julian, especially after the latter’s death. Magalhães de Oliveira has focused on the control of popular opinion by sermon-givers in their speeches (“Communication and Plebeian Sociability in Late Antiquity: The View from North Africa in the Age of Augustine”, 2017). Scholars have also studied the impact of public opinion on Roman emperors. Aja Sánchez (“Vox populi et princeps: el impacto de la opinión pública sobre el comportamiento político de los emperadores romanos”, 1996) described how popular public opinion was one of the few ways in which the people could have a political impact upon the Emperor. Flaig (Den Kaiser herausfordern, Die Usurpation im Römischen Reich, 1992) also considered the actions of the people at the games as an early form of public opinion.24 The creation of consensus through public opinion also constitutes a fruitful subject of study. Loreto (Un’epoca di buon senso. Decisione, consenso e stato a Roma tra il 326 e il 264 a. C., 1993), when talking about political decision and consensus, stressed the strong role of emotiveness in public opinion. He also described as “consenso personale” the political credit of a person in the eyes of public opinion, analysing how that personal consensus could be created and accrued. David (“Rome: citoyenneté et espace politique”, 2000) surveyed how public opinion was related to the consensus needed to govern the Empire; in his opinion, such public opinion was parcelled into small non-communicating units (people, army, provincial elites) that were subordinated to the Imperial authority. Ando (Imperial ideology and provincial loyalty in the Roman Empire, 2002), for instance, used Habermas to describe the “communicative actions of the Roman Government” and analysed how emperors used influenced public opinion to foster the community’s commitment to the established order. Despite this start by Meier, Hellegouarc’h and Yavetz, the concept of public opinion took a long time to settle into the field of Republican politics. However, its use has increased lately. Pina Polo has studied how contiones represented important places for the circulation of public opinion (Contra arma verbis. Der Redner vor dem Volk in der späten römischen Republik, 1996) and how rumours allowed the creation of a public opinion (“Frigidus rumor: The Creation of a (Negative) Public Image in Rome”, 2010). In his study of Roman politics from the point of view of the crowd, Millar mentioned en passant the crowd’s reactions in assemblies as public opinion and how the latter could be roused by tribunes (The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic, 1998). Jackob, coming from the field of political communica24

Flaig 1992: 62 arguing against Veyne’s idea that only the Senate had public opinion.

Introduction

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tion studies, conceived of Cicero as Publizist and made some observations in later works about political public opinion, focusing on its function as social control.25 Yakobson has used the term to study Rome’s foreign policy (“Public Opinion, Foreign Policy and ‘Just War’ in the Late Republic”, 2009). In Kuhn’s edited book about public opinion (Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt), which includes an interesting introduction by the editor surveying the several meanings and connotations of this concept, Ando (“Empire, State and Communicative Action”, 2012) has argued that the absence of public spaces (with the exception of taverns and crossroads) and the restrictions in political communication prevented the existence of a public sphere. Morstein-Marx has analysed Republican graffiti as an unauthorized form of plebeian communication (“Political Graffiti in the Late Roman Republic”, 2012). Flaig (Die Mehrheitsentscheidung: Entstehung und kulturelle Dynamik, 2013) has suggested that consensus was a way for the aristocracy to control public opinion and decision-making. Courrier has studied plebeian collective actions in order to analyse their impact on the government, aiming to settle the question of the existence of one or several plebeian opinions (La plèbe de Rome et sa culture, 2014). Rosillo-López has surveyed popular reactions to cases of corruption (“The workings of public opinion in the Late Roman Republic: the case study of corruption”, 2016) and has analysed the public sphere in Rome, how public opinion circulated and was used by the elite, and the existence of a popular public opinion (Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, 2017). In the latest survey of Roman politics, Mouritsen has used “public opinion” (with inverted commas) throughout his work (Politics in the Roman Republic, 2017). This bibliographical survey, while not aiming to be absolutely comprehensive, has shown the development of the use of public opinion as a valid and useful concept to study the realities of ancient Rome. These works have demonstrated the possibilities of such an approach, but they have in no way exhausted it. The editor and the contributors of this volume consider that there is room for much development. The present volume approaches public opinion in the Roman Republic with a structure divided into four parts. Part 1 concentrates on the nature and components of public opinion in ancient Rome. Part 2 discusses public opinion in relation to military and administrative questions, while Part 3 analyses how public opinion interacted with public dialogue. The final section focuses on the transmission of public opinion. The first chapters explore the nature and character of public opinion. Hurlet presents a historiographical perspective on the existence of public opinion in Rome, considering whether contemporary elements that compose public opinion were also present in the ancient world. Following Habermas’ study on public opinion, Hurlet analyses the presence in Rome of concepts such as reason, criticism of power, the presence of Öffentlichkeit (understood in the sense of “publicité”), representation, and the notion of authority over a group. He argues that public opinion constituted a reactive rather than a reasoned force, in which issues like the authority or the representation of an elite were preeminent. 25

Jackob 2005; 2007; 2012.

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Russell questions the nature of “the public” in relation to public opinion. Was there a public realm in Rome? In Latin, the adjective publicus derives from the concrete institution of the populus, the well-ordered body of Roman citizens. In Roman political discourse, the populus Romanus constituted the single source of legitimate public opinion. Russell suggests that it was achieved not through an abstract notion of “publicness”, akin to Öffentlichkeit, but to a group of real people that could be gathered and consulted (whether by speaking or shouting). Through that fiction, that specific group of people became the populus Romanus. Competing public opinions were treated by orators as being voiced by “not the true populus Romanus”, thus reinforcing the conceptual indivisibility of the Roman people even though, in practice, such divisions existed and were fully exploited by skilful orators. Rosillo-López engages with the question of how public opinion can be measured, which refers to the thorny question of reducing uncertainty in politics. After surveying the methodological limits of modern electoral polls and the criticism against quantitative means of measuring public opinion, this chapter studies how Cicero and his correspondents made electoral predictions, by identifying the general climate of opinion and gathering as much information as possible on the candidates (including measurable and immeasurable assets, such as the number of followers, the quality of the games and banquets provided or the feelings of the voters). Successful electoral predictions, made through qualitative means, occasionally had an impact on Roman politics, could reduce the uncertainty of a result, and could help a senator to plan his political decisions and thus act accordingly. The second section deals with military and administrative matters, showing the role of public opinion in the competition amongst the elite but also in the elite’s representation before the people. García Riaza focuses on the mechanisms, procedures and consequences of communication to Rome of military successes obtained during the period of the transmarine expansion (3rd–1st BCE). Victorious generals chose carefully the ambassadors of victory among their staff, frequently relying on links of kinship and political amicitia. The importance of such decisions was linked to the impact on public opinion of the victory announcement and the defense of the general’s conduct before the Senate, both moments that went a long way to determine the subsequent concession of triumphs. In this context, the role of the populus was indirect but relevant. The Senate decided on the concession of supplicationes and triumphs, but public expectations and the climate of opinion could influence the Senate’s mood; in some cases, popular spontaneous supplicationes were carried out. Thus the nuntiatio victoriae had a significant influence on public opinion in Rome. A provincial command was a determining chapter in the political career of a Roman citizen during the Republic: for a praetor or consul, it was the best opportunity to obtain notoriety and glory thanks to a military campaign, or to improve his social and economic status at the expenses of provincials. However, a provincial command could also entail negative consequences. Díaz Fernández analyses the political use of military disasters through the manipulation of public opinion, focusing on how commanders who failed in the wars in Hispania, such as A. Plautius and C. Hostilius Mancinus, were brought to trial in Rome, with important political

Introduction

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effects (such as Scipio Aemilianus’ second consulship). What was the response of public opinion and what influence did it have on the trials? Military disasters had become a political weapon in the tensions between Senate and the people; a much better informed public opinion played an important role in politics in that context. Blösel’s contribution studies the manipulation of public opinion in awarding and even terminating imperia extraordinaria in the 70s to 50s BCE, that is, military commands given directly (nominatim) to high magistrates as well as to privati without the otherwise obligatory sortition. The five cases analysed in this chapter (four of them involving Pompey, although with different problematics) allow us to gauge the degree to which public opinion in Rome was disturbed by this legal anomaly, by reconstructing public discussion before the vote, since those commands had to be voted by the people. The “Egyptian question”, that is, whether and by whom king Ptolemy XII Auletes would be restored to the Egyptian throne, became one of the most debated questions in 57–57 BCE. Morrell examines the role of public opinion and its manipulation in this debate. Division within the Senate made public opinion an important battleground. Pompey was discouraged from getting the command after attesting negative public opinion in the assembly and in the Senate. There are mentions of various attempts to influence the attitude of the Roman people, including tribunician lobbying and pamphleting by Ptolemy himself. In some cases a direct effect on political action can be traced, especially linked to the proclamation of the Sibylline oracle, which attests to the impact of state religion in politics and the ethical qualms of the Roman people. Ando takes into account several tendencies in the creation, management and representation of public opinion outside of Rome in times of civil war, focusing on mechanisms and tropes. During the Caesarian civil war, the space of politics was suddenly enlarged. Even within a mode of thought that was essentially bilaterally unipolar (each place being imagined as linked to Rome, and by that fact to each other), distance and temporality remained obstacles to conceiving of politics as shared. Claims upon space and time amounted to a claim as to where and how communication occurred and, naturally, whose opinion ought to count in any assessment of public or popular opinion. Ando analyses how Caesar represented the conduct of politics and the content of public opinion in his Bellum Civile as a reaction to the changing nature of republican politics during a civil war, with networks of communication becoming pan-Mediterranean and multipolar. The papers in the third section analyse public opinion as a part of public dialogue. Thus public opinion could be developed for internal use (Pina Polo), as a reaction to the vision and the control of the people (Hillard), or to justify their decisions and politics (Welch). Fear is an emotional reaction against a real or imagined threat that will supposedly bring pain and suffering to an individual or to a group of people. Fear is therefore linked to uncertainty about the future, and appeals to self-preservation and survival. As a result, fear can be useful to promote internal social unity and collective action, reducing or eliminating dissenting opinions. Pina Polo examines how Cicero managed to turn into enemies of the people those persons whom Cicero him-

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self considered enemies of the Republic. To achieve this objective, the orator delivered speeches before the people in popular assemblies, the places where, together with rumours, news and information were transmitted, as a means of creating public opinion. What can provoke fear? Loss, especially: loss of liberty, loss of property, ultimately loss of life. This was Cicero’s main argument in his speeches before the people: he tried to make clear to his audience what they could lose if they did not confront their enemies. The rhetoric of fear aims to replace debate, presenting only one possible solution and, thus, polarising public opinion. The rhetoric of fear continues in the next contribution. Hillard tackles the case study of the restoration of the equestrian juries in 70 BCE as a means of measuring the influence of public opinion in that political debate. He examines how Cicero used that rhetoric of fear to hammer upon the senators the perception of a condemnatory public opinion, which should as a consequence heap shame on them. The Roman elite, who fed on applause and approbation, needed public opinion as external validation that gave force to the impact of the judgment of others, in this case that of the people, upon the Roman senatorial elite. The following chapter takes us to the Triumviral period. Welch ponders on the failure of the Triumvirate in 43 BCE to convince the Roman people of the necessity of proscriptions. The Triumvirs (as a group and as individuals) took note of public opinion when they instituted the massacre of their enemies; thus the strategies to sell their message changed over time. A large portion of the population wanted to see Caesar’s assassins brought to justice, so Antonius’ “pitch” for the proscription, Welch proposes, emphasised the sacrilegious nature of Caesar’s murder. The continuous explanations and justifications by the Triumvirs are related to the fact that at all times the leader(s) of the day were deeply conscious of, and responsive to, the opinions of the people of Rome. The final section concentrates on the transmission and communication of public opinion, during and beyond the lifetime of the Roman Republic. By analysing the Commentariolum petitionis, Tatum deliberates on how this work aimed to create an image of Cicero as an unexceptional and sound candidate, still within the parameters of a new man, in a clear attempt to sway public opinion. Although Cicero is the ostensible addressee, this work implies a wider but elite readership which constitutes its true audience. By explicit means, such as open flattery, or implicit ones, such as its deployment of highbrow or traditional literary conventions, the Commentariolum petitionis endeavours to depict its readership as boni who will respond favourably only to a candidate whose personal and civic virtues reflect their own values and who openly respects their elevated place in Roman society. It describes a Cicero who, though a novus homo, is thoroughly sound. Finally, Yakobson assesses Velleius Paterculus’ representation of the civil war of 49 BCE in his work. The context of 30 CE, just five years after Cremutius Cordus was prosecuted de maiestate for praising Brutus and Cassius in his history, should be kept in mind. Velleius, apparently a sincere Imperial loyalist, depicted with sympathy the losing side of the civil war. In that sense, the historian represented the opinion of a “new class” of the imperial governing elite, that is, people who did not belong to the old Republican aristocracy and who owed their positions to the

Introduction

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Principate. However, old Republican traditions also influenced the views of that new group, showing that a public opinion that respected the Republican past could also coexist with loyalty to the emperors. Furthermore, Velleius’ work shows that public opinion regarding the Republic, and especially the Republican cause, was still a present political issue. In summary, the papers gathered in this volume offer a multifaceted view of public opinion in the Roman Republic, spanning several centuries and fields of influence. From assemblies to courts of justice, from the Senate to the battlefield, from Rome to the provinces, public opinion could have many varieties and take many guises. On some occasions, its influence hit Roman politics like a tsunami; on others, its light waves passed almost unnoticed to the shores. In all cases, once perceived, it can be easily identified and thus studied. I know it when I see it.26 BIBLIOGRAPHY Aja Sánchez, J. R. (1996) “Vox populi et princeps: el impacto de la opinión pública sobre el comportamiento político de los emperadores romanos”, Latomus 55: 295–328. Ando, C. (2000) Imperial ideology and provincial loyalty in the Roman Empire, Berkeley. Ando, C. (2012) “Empire, State and Communicative Action”, in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. C. Kuhn: 219–229. Stuttgart. Arendt, H. (1958) The Human Condition, Chicago. Azoulay, V. (2011) “L’Espace public et la cité grecque: d’un malentendu structurel à une clarification conceptuelle”, in L’espace public au Moyen Âge, eds. P. Boucheron and N. Offenstadt: 63–76. Paris. Belloni, G. G. (1978) “Mens e opinione pubblica nella monetazione di Pertinace”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 189–203. Milano. Cogrossi, C. (1978) “L’apollinismo augusteo e un denarii con il Sole radiato di L. Aquilio Floro”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 138–158. Milano. Courrier, C. (2014) La plèbe de Rome et sa culture (fin du IIe siècle av. JC – fin du Ier siècle ap. JC), Rome. David, J.-M. (2000) “Rome: citoyenneté et espace politique”, in Invention et reinvention de la citoyenneté, ed. C. Fiévet: 81–93. Aubertin. Eisenberger, N. I. (2012) “The Pain of Social Disconnection: Examining the Shared Neural Underpinnings of Physical and Social Pain”, Nature Reviews Neuroscience 13: 421–434. Flaig, E. (1992) Den Kaiser herausfordern, Die Usurpation im Römischen Reich, Frankfurt. Flaig, E. (2013) Die Mehrheitsentscheidung: Entstehung und kulturelle Dynamik, München. Flower, H. (2014) Consensus and Community in Republican Rome (Todd Memorial Lecture), Sydney. Fox, A. (1997) “Rumour, News and Popular Political Opinion in Elizabethan and Early Stuart England”, The Historical Journal 40,3: 597–620. Gewirtz, P. (1996) “On I Know It When I See It”, The Yale Law Journal 105(4): 1023–1047. 26

The conception and edition of this volume has been possible thanks to the research project “Opinión pública y comunicación política en la República Romana (siglos II–I a. de C.)” (2013–43496-P, Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad, Spain). The editor would like to thank the Ministerio and the Universidad Pablo de Olavide for financing the meeting in which first versions of these papers were discussed. Déborah García Linares helped with the final edition of the book. Many thanks are also due to all colleagues in the Department of Ancient History in the Universidad Pablo de Olavide for their help and support.

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Gottesman, A. (2014) Politics and the Street in Democratic Athens, Cambridge. Gregory, T. E. (1979) Vox populi: popular opinion and violence in the religious controversies of the fifth century A. D., Columbus. Habermas, J. (1989) The structural transformation of the public sphere: An inquiry into a category of bourgeois society, Cambridge, MA. Hellegouarc’h, J. (1972) Le vocabulaire latin des relations et des partis politiques sous la République, Paris. Jackob, N. (2005) Öffentliche Kommunikation bei Cicero: Publizistik und Rhetorik in der späten römischen Republik, Baden-Baden. Jackob, N. (2007) “Cicero and the opinion of the people – the nature, role and power of public opinion in the late Roman Republic”, Journal of Elections, Public Opinion, and Parties 17: 293–311. Jackob, N. (2012) “Cicero und die Meinung des Volkes: Ein Beitrag zu einer neuen Geschichtsschreibung der öffentlichen Meinung”, in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. C. Kuhn: 167–190. Stuttgart. Koller, A. (2010) “The Public Sphere and Comparative Historical Research. An Introduction”, Social Science History 34,3: 261–290. Kuhn, Chr. (2012) “Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt: Einleitende Bemerkungen”, in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. C. Kuhn: 11–30. Stuttgart. Lassandro, D. (1978) “Rivolte contadine e opinion pubblica in Gallia alla fine del III secolo d. C.”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 204–214. Milano. Lazar, J. (1995) L’opinion publique, Paris. Lewis, S. (1996) News and Society in the Greek Polis, Chapel Hill. Loreto, L. (1993) Un’epoca di buon senso. Decisione, consenso e stato a Roma tra il 326 e il 264 a. C., Amsterdam. Magalhães de Oliveira, J. C. (2017) “Communication and Plebeian Sociability in Late Antiquity: The View from North Africa in the Age of Augustine”, in Popular Culture in the Ancient World, ed. L. Grig: 296–317. Cambridge. McKeon, M. (2004) “Parsing Habermas’s ‘Bourgeois Public Sphere’”, Criticism 46,2: 273–277. Meier, C. (1966/1980) Res publica amissa. Eine Studie zur Verfassung und Geschichte der späten römischen Republik, Wiesbaden. Millar, F. (1998) The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic, Michigan. Morstein-Marx, R. (2012) “Political Graffiti in the Late Roman Republic”, in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. C. Kuhn: 191–217. Stuttgart. Mouritsen, H. (2017) Politics in the Roman Republic, Cambridge. Noelle-Neumann, E. (1993) The Spiral of Silence. Public Opinion – our Social Skin. 2nd edition, Chicago/London. Oliva Herrer, H. R. (2011) “La prisión del rey: voces subalternas e indicios de la existencia de una identidad política en la Castilla del siglo XV”, Hispania 71: 363–388. Oliva Herrer, H. R. (2014) “¿Qué es la comunidad? Reflexiones acerca de un concepto político y sus implicaciones en Castilla a fines de la Edad Media”, Medievalismo 24: 281–306. Olivari, M. (2002) Fra trono e opinione: la vita politica castigliana nel Cinque e Seicento, Venezia. Piasenza, P. (1993) “Opinion publique, identité des institutions, ‘absolutisme’. Le problème de la légalité à Paris entre le XVIIe et le XVIIIe siècle”, Revue historique 209: 97–142. Pina Polo, F. (1989a) Las contiones civiles y militares en Roma, Zaragoza. Pina Polo, F. (1989b) “Ius contionandi y contiones en las colonias romanas del Asia Menor: acerca de CIL III 392”, Gerión 7: 95–195. Pina Polo, F. (1996) Contra arma verbis. Der Redner vor dem Volk in der späten römischen Republik, Stuttgart. Pina Polo, F. (2010) “Frigidus rumor: The Creation of a (Negative) Public Image in Rome”, in Private and Public Lies: The Discourse of Despotism and Deceit in the Graeco-Roman World, eds. A. J. Turner, K. O. Chong-Gossard and F. J. Vervaet: 75–90. Leiden.

Introduction

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Rodríguez Gervás, M. J. (1991) Propaganda política y opinión pública en los panegíricos latinos del Bajo Imperio, Salamanca. Rosillo-López, C. (2016) “The workings of public opinion in the Late Roman Republic: the case study of corruption”, Klio 98: 203–227. Rosillo-López, C. (2017) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Scuderi, R. (1978) “Marco Antonio nell’opinione pubblica dei militari”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 117–136. Milano. Sordi, M. (1978) “Opinione pubblica e persecuzioni anticristiane nell’Impero romano”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 159–170. Milano. Stenger. J. (2012) “Libanios und die öffentliche Meinung in Antiochia”, in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. C. Kuhn: 231–253. Stuttgart. Tedesco M. C. (1978) “Opinione pubblica e cultura: un aspetto della politica di Adriano”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 171–188. Milano. Valvo, A. (1978) “Ottaviano e l’opinione pubblica di Roma in un passo livinano sulla lex Pedia”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 111–116. Milano. Veyne, P. (1976) Le pain et le cirque. Sociologie historique d’un pluralisme politique, Paris. Yakobson, A. (2009) “Public Opinion, Foreign Policy and ‘Just War’ in the Late Republic”, in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World, ed. C. Eilers: 45–72. Leiden. Yavetz, Z. (1969) Plebs and princeps, Oxford. Yavetz, Z. (1974) “Existimatio, Fama and the Ides of March”, Harvard Studies in Classical Philology 78: 35–65. Yavetz, Z. (1979) Caesar in der öffentliche Meinung, Düsseldorf. Yavetz, Z. (1983) Julius Caesar and his public image, London. Yavetz, Z. (1990) César et son image: des limites du charisma en politique, Paris. Zecchini, G. (1978) “L’opposizione a Cesare nel 59ª nell’interpretazione storiografica ottimate”, in Aspetti dell’opinione pubblica nel mondo antico, ed. M. Sordi: 98–110. Milano.

PUBLIC OPINION: NATURE AND CHARACTER

L’ÖFFENTLICHE MEINUNG DE HABERMAS ET L’OPINION PUBLIQUE DANS LA ROME ANTIQUE. DE LA RAISON À L’AUCTORITAS Frédéric Hurlet Le propos de cette étude se veut spécifique et expérimental1. Il consiste à s’interroger sur l’existence ou non d’une opinion publique dans la Rome antique, ainsi que le cas échéant sur ses mécanismes et ses canaux de diffusion, dans une perspective résolument historiographique. Il s’agit là d’un des multiples angles d’approche d’un champ de recherche plus vaste, à savoir la nature de la vie politique à Rome et ses évolutions au moment du passage de la République au Principat, thématique qui doit analyser le mode de communication de l’aristocratie avec le prince et les couches inférieures de la population romaine2. C’est à ce titre que la notion même d’opinion publique peut se révéler heuristiquement féconde. Un des acquis récents de la recherche en histoire romaine est en effet d’avoir montré que le débat politique, loin d’avoir jamais été confiné à l’intérieur des murs du Sénat et des demeures des sénateurs, fut étendu à d’autres acteurs que ceux-ci sous différentes formes (participation du peuple réuni en contiones ou en comices, rumeurs, graffiti, libelli …), au moins parce qu’il était nécessaire d’arbitrer la féroce compétition entre les membres de l’aristocratie3. Le récent opus magnum de Cyril Courrier sur la plèbe de Rome et sa « culture politique4 » a ainsi montré que ce groupe social, loin d’être passif, avait une conscience politique et pouvait manifester autant ses satisfactions que son mécontentement et ses volontés à travers de nombreuses actions

1

2 3 4

C’est pour cette raison que j’ai jugé nécessaire de soumettre cette étude aux jugements de plusieurs collègues qui avaient été amenés par leurs travaux antérieurs à traiter de l’opinion publique dans l’Antiquité ou des potentialités heuristiques pour les antiquisants de l’œuvre de Habermas. Je remercie chaleureusement pour leurs remarques C. Courrier, J.-M. David, Ph. Le Doze et C. Rosillo-López, qui ont déjà abordé une telle question à partir de leurs travaux respectifs sur des acteurs politiques tels que la plèbe de Rome, l’aristocratie romaine et les poètes d’époque augustéenne. Il est à ce titre d’autant plus important de préciser que les opinions développées dans cet article n’engagent que l’auteur de ces lignes. Sur le « communicative turn » appliqué à l histoire romaine, cf. Jehne 2006: 12–13. Pour un état des lieux des travaux de ces dernières décennies sur la place du peuple dans le système politique romain, cf. Hurlet 2012 pour l’époque républicaine et Hollard 2010 pour les débuts du Haut-Empire. Je définis ici la notion de culture politique comme « un langage de légitimation contenant à la fois un vocabulaire d’images, des métaphores, des rituels et des actes performatifs à travers lesquels les négociations politiques sont menées ainsi qu’une grammaire, une série de conventions, gouvernant l’usage approprié de ce vocabulaire. La culture politique, en ce sens, constitue l’environnement discursif dans lequel le pouvoir est légitimé » (cf. Braddick 2005 : 69).

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collectives5. Mais le public en tant qu’acteur politique, quel qu’il soit et quels que soient le degré de son intervention et sa place dans le système de gouvernement, ne peut être confondu avec l’opinion que ce même public pouvait se faire du pouvoir lui-même. Il faut ajouter que la notion même d’opinion publique a été et est utilisée avec une telle fréquence que sa transposition à l’Antiquité a pu être contestée6, ce qui implique que nous ne pouvons pas faire l’économie d’une définition préalable de l’opinion publique telle qu’on la conçoit aujourd’hui. Cette interrogation en appelle aussitôt une autre, qui est de déterminer si l’acception contemporaine retenue fait sens quand on la projette sur le passé antique. Si ce n’est pas le cas, comment redéfinir dès lors l’opinion publique de manière à historiciser cette expression et la rendre applicable à l’Antiquité romaine ? Il faut en outre identifier le public amené à donner son opinion : l’aristocratie seule ? la plèbe ? d’autres groupes ? le populus dans son sens englobant ? L’usage de termes ou de concepts contemporains par des historiens contemporains pour expliquer des réalités antiques est une pratique commune. Il ne doit être ni automatiquement ni immédiatement condamné sous prétexte qu’il représente un risque d’anachronisme. Nous avons en effet appris depuis longtemps déjà que l’anachronisme était inévitable et que, pour cette raison, il devait être à la fois accepté et maîtrisé7. C’est ainsi que je ne vois pour ma part aucune difficulté d’ordre méthodologique à utiliser des termes français qui n’existaient ni en latin ni en grec ou qui avaient dans ces deux langues un sens différent de ceux qu’on leur donne aujourd’hui. C’est ainsi que l’on peut parler par exemple pour l’époque antique de réformes8 ou encore de prestige (d’un homme tel le princeps ou d’un groupe social telle l’aristocratie romaine)9, mais à la condition expresse de prendre la peine de chercher à mieux comprendre les mots et les réalités antiques se cachant derrière des mots contemporains et des réalités qui nous sont aujourd’hui a priori si familières. La même remarque vaut pour « l’opinion publique », notion pour laquelle nous avons la chance de disposer d’une analyse approfondie, celle que lui a consacrée le philosophe allemand Jürgen Habermas et qui inclut des réflexions sur ce qu’il a appelé « la préhistoire de ce concept » dans un ouvrage intitulé Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit. Untersuchungen zur einer Kategorie der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft10. Il vaut donc la peine de (re)lire un ouvrage qui fit date et dont il faut 5 6 7 8 9

10

Cf. à ce sujet Courrier 2014. Cf. ainsi Veyne 1976: 543–544, qui a répondu négativement à la question de savoir s’il existait une opinion publique romaine. Cf. à ce sujet les propos de Loraux 1993. On lira également avec profit les remarques de Boucheron et Offenstadt 2011: 8–14. Cf. à ce sujet Rivière ed. 2012 à propos de la notion de réforme à l’époque augustéenne. Pour une perspective qui étudie le prestige dans une dimension comparatiste, cf. Hurlet, Rivoal et Sidéra ed. 2014 ; cf. aussi pour une autre réflexion collective Baudry et Hurlet ed. 2016 qui applique à un cas d’étude historique (Rome à la fin de la République et au début du Principat) cette notion contemporaine de manière à faire mieux comprendre de quelle manière spécifique la société romaine exprimait plusieurs de ses caractéristiques principales, à savoir le besoin de hiérarchie et la recherche de la différenciation sociale. Habermas 1962 [1978]. L’importance de ce livre lui a valu d’être traduit en français sous le titre suivant : L’espace public. Archéologie de la publicité comme dimension constitutive de la so-

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rappeler que la première édition date de 1962. L’objet de cette étude est de présenter tout ce que recouvre la notion contemporaine d’opinion publique, de rappeler que cette notion a aussi une histoire – non linéaire – et de comparer les usages que l’on peut en faire aujourd’hui et durant l’Antiquité romaine en insistant autant, sinon plus, sur les différences que sur les ressemblances. BILAN HISTORIOGRAPHIQUE : L’OPINION PUBLIQUE DANS L’ESPACE PUBLIC DE HABERMAS L’ouvrage de Habermas est une version remaniée de son Habilitation11. Il porte non pas spécifiquement sur l’opinion publique (« öffentliche Meinung »), mais plus largement sur l’espace public dans lequel cette opinion publique se diffuse et auquel il donne le nom d’Öffentlichkeit – terme sur lequel je reviendrai. La définition que Habermas donne de l’opinion publique est claire et mérite d’être citée d’emblée : « l’usage que fait de sa raison un public capable de porter des jugements12 ». Le critère central de l’existence d’une opinion publique n’y est donc en ce sens pas ou pas seulement l’existence même d’un public communiquant avec le pouvoir en place, mais une forme de rationalité dans de tels échanges et dans l’opinion que se forge un public. L’opinion devient dans ces conditions un jugement éclairé par une argumentation et débattu publiquement entre personnes cultivées, et non plus un simple jugement au sens de mouvement d’humeur, d’opinion incomplètement établie et incertaine, voire de préjugé. Il est bien connu que Habermas fait remonter l’émergence d’une opinion publique fondée sur la raison au XVIIe siècle et lie ce phénomène à la formation d’une société bourgeoise, l’espace public tel qu’il le définit de manière abstraite s’affirmant en conséquence au XVIIIe siècle dans le contexte des Lumières. Une des modalités de cette transformation est la plus grande diffusion des informations et la réflexion sur ces informations de la part d’un public éclairé par le biais de différents nouveaux vecteurs que furent la presse, les cercles savants, la littérature, la critique du pouvoir sous différentes formes (pamphlets …) ou encore les revues scientifiques. Une telle démonstration et une telle chronologie ne nous interdisent pas pour autant d’utiliser la notion d’opinion publique quand nous parlons de l’Antiquité, mais elles nous obligent à adopter un autre point de vue, celui des spécificités d’une opinion publique antique par rapport à une opinion publique contemporaine dérivée de la sphère publique bourgeoise (et du reste ne cessant d’évoluer et selon Habermas de se dégrader). L’analyse par Habermas de la « préhistoire » de ce concept, c’est-à-dire de la période antérieure à l’émergence de la société bourgeoise, est de ce point de vue particulièrement précieuse13, car

11 12 13

ciété bourgeoise. Nous utilisons ici la réédition de la traduction française publiée chez Payot en 1997. Sur le contexte d’élaboration de L’Espace public de Habermas, cf. Haber 2011. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 100. Sur l’expression « préhistoire du concept » appliquée à l’opinion publique et traduisant la formule allemande « Vorgeschichte des Topos », cf. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 99 qui souligne à ce sujet que « la préhistoire de ce concept, avant qu’il lui soit donné à la fin du XVIIIe siècle un

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elle livre des clés d’interprétation des modalités d’action de ce que nous appelons l’opinion publique à Rome ou de ce qui en tenait lieu. Il existe pour l’antiquisant plusieurs niveaux de lectures de l’œuvre de Habermas14. Le premier consiste à rassembler tous les passages dans lesquels Habermas fait référence à l’Antiquité pour évaluer l’état des connaissances du philosophe allemand sur cette période. Cette première étape est indispensable, mais elle ne doit pas se limiter à un état des lieux ou à un catalogue informatif ou tout simplement critique. Il est un fait que Habermas parle très peu de Rome. Il traite un peu plus de la Grèce, mais de manière somme toute rapide et marginale, pour rappeler l’existence d’une sphère commune, celle de la polis, qui rassemble tous les citoyens15. On a beau jeu de souligner que les deux pages consacrées aux « Grecs » ne comptent pas parmi les meilleures du livre et établissent une distinction trop tranchée entre la sphère de la polis et celle de l’oikos ou encore entre la pauvreté et l’accès à la polis16 ; la même remarque critique vaudrait du reste pour Rome, où un certain nombre d’actions situées dans la domus prenaient une signification publique comme la salutation matinale ou le banquet du soir. On pourra également regretter que quand Habermas est amené dès les premières pages de l’introduction de son ouvrage à traiter de l’origine des notions de « privé » et de « public », centrales pour son propos, il ne livre que des généralités en se contentant de rappeler à ce sujet qu’« il s’agit de catégories d’origine grecque et dont la tradition qui nous les a livrées porte une empreinte romaine17 » ; il ne va pas beaucoup plus loin dans l’analyse historique à la page suivante quand il précise que « les notions de ‘public’ et de ‘privé’ (…) ont été transmises tout au long du Moyen Âge et à travers les définitions qu’en donnait le droit romain », en ajoutant qu’« ainsi la sphère publique s’est-elle transmise au sens de res publica18 ». Il ne faut toutefois pas en rester à

14

15 16 17 18

sens bien défini, est à vrai dire longue, et ne pourra être jusqu’à cette date-là que survolée à grands traits ». L’objet de cette étude est précisément d’approfondir cette question proprement historique en prenant la Rome de l’Antiquité comme un cas d’étude. Il faut tout de même préciser que l’œuvre de Habermas en général, et plus spécifiquement L’espace public, n’est que très rarement utilisée par les historiens de l’Antiquité. Cette réalité a été rappelée en particulier pour l’histoire grecque par Azoulay 2011: 63 qui rappelle que seul Chr. Pébarthe avait jusqu’alors mobilisé l’outillage conceptuel habermassien et dont l’article est d’autant plus précieux qu’il est le premier à chercher à introduire dans son milieu scientifique et à discuter les notions proposées par le philosophe allemand. Le constat n’est sur le fond guère différent pour l’histoire romaine, même si on peut tout de même citer pour ces deux dernières décennies les noms d’au moins trois historiens de Rome qui ont eu recours aux notions de Habermas : pour la France, cf. David 2000, en particulier p. 86–87 et n. 10 ; pour l’Allemagne, cf. Kuhn 2012 ; Jackob 2012 ; Nebelin 2014 ; pour le monde anglo-saxon, cf. Ando 2000, en particulier p. 21–22 et 73–78 où le concept habermassien d’« agir communicationnel » est appliqué à l’Antiquité pour expliquer l’extraordinaire longévité de l’Empire romain, et Ando 2012 ; cf. aussi en dernier lieu dans une monographie publiée en anglais par une collègue espagnole Rosillo-López 2017, passim. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 100. Voir à ce sujet l’analyse d’Azoulay 2011: 63–64. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 15. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 16. C’est du reste une des rares références directes que Habermas fait à la notion de « res publica » dans Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit (cf. aussi p. 261, n. 5 où,

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un constat négatif, qui est celui de l’antiquisant de formation reprochant au philosophe de ne pas avoir donné à son objet d’étude une plus grande profondeur de champ proprement historique. Une telle critique est aisée, et sans doute aussi utile, mais elle court le risque de faire à l’ouvrage de Habermas un faux procès, à savoir celui qui consiste à accuser son auteur de ne pas avoir approfondi un aspect qui n’était pas au cœur de sa démonstration. L’objet de cette étude est plutôt de prolonger l’analyse du philosophe en s’appuyant sur la richesse conceptuelle de celle-ci et en se demandant dans quelle mesure un certain nombre de notions contemporaines utilisées dans L’espace public peuvent ou non être exportées dans le passé et transposées plus spécifiquement à l’Antiquité, ce qui conduit à les « historiciser ». Parmi celles-ci, j’en retiendrai cinq comme étant fécondes : la raison, la critique du pouvoir, l’Öffentlichkeit à proprement parler, la représentation et l’auctoritas. En d’autres termes, il s’agira de faire de l’« öffentliche Meinung », telle que Habermas la définit, moins un modèle qu’un outil heuristique susceptible de nous aider à soumettre la documentation antique à des questionnements inédits19. LA RAISON DE ROME : QUELLE RAISON ? La question centrale de ce chapitre est de se demander dans quelle mesure et jusqu’à quel point on peut parler à propos de l’Antiquité romaine de raison, terme dont on a vu qu’il était pour Habermas au cœur même de la notion d’opinion publique. Dans un ouvrage qui a fait date et dont le titre est révélateur (La raison de Rome), Claudia Moatti a montré que Rome avait connu à la fin de la République une formidable révolution intellectuelle placée sous le signe de la raison et caractérisée notamment par le développement de l’érudition, de la classification et de l’esprit critique20. Il n’est pas question de remettre en question cette analyse, mais de s’interroger sur la portée de cette (r)évolution culturelle et sur l’efficacité de la raison d’un point de vue proprement politique : l’usage de la raison concerna à coup sûr le milieu des aristocrates, des antiquaires et des érudits, mais s’étendit-il au-delà, dans les couches inférieures de la population et, surtout, dans la teneur du dialogue politique entre celles-ci et l’aristocratie romaine ? L’interrogation est légitime, car on connaît des périodes de l’histoire au cours desquelles l’usage de la raison se conçoit comme une affaire non pas publique, mais strictement privée. Habermas a ainsi très bien montré dans son exposé sur le processus de formation de l’opinion publique que le domaine de la raison a pu être limitée durant certaines périodes à « une dimension intime, opposée au domaine public de l’État » et être donc d’un point de vue plus

citant J. Kirchner, Beiträge zur Geschichte des Begriffes « öffentlich » und « öffentliches Recht », Göttingen, 1949, Habermas définit la res publica comme « la propriété qui est accessible en général au populus, c’est la res extra commercium qui n’est pas justiciable du droit réglant la vie des privati et leurs biens ; par exemple : flumen publicum, via publica, etc. » 19 Pour une démarche identique relative à l’« espace public » habermassien dans le monde grec, cf. Azoulay 2011 qui plaide pour « un usage heuristique » de ce concept (p. 68). 20 Moatti 1997 ; cf. aussi plus récemment Moatti 2011: 115–116.

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proprement politique « un phénomène secondaire sur la scène publique21 ». Cette remarque nous conduit à poser une autre question, fondamentale me semble-t-il, qui consiste à se demander si la rationalité déployée dans ces milieux privés était également à l’œuvre à Rome dans le discours politique, en particulier dans les interactions entre l’aristocratie et le public servant de relais à une opinion publique. La place tenue par la raison dans le jugement que pouvait se faire l’opinion publique dans le domaine de la vie politique est un problème particulièrement complexe, car il est évident que la définition de Habermas reflète une vision théorique plus que la réalité pratique, quelle que soit du reste l’époque considérée. Aucune société, pas plus les sociétés antiques que la société dite bourgeoise, n’a en effet jamais fait de l’existence d’un discours éclairé, informé et cohérent le seul critère de définition de l’opinion publique. D’autres éléments entrent en ligne de compte dans l’expression même d’un jugement collectif comme la conformité ou non des actions et des acteurs politiques aux valeurs reconnues par la société en question. Il faut donc plutôt partir de l’idée que chaque société peut être amenée à produire une forme ou une autre d’opinion publique à partir de ses propres valeurs, qu’elle articule de manière spécifique. La question que l’on doit donc impérativement poser est de déterminer si les jugements du public romain à l’égard de la vie politique et des aristocrates qui animaient celle-ci formaient un espace de débat structuré au moins en partie par la raison telle que nous la concevons ou s’ils n’obéissaient pas prioritairement à une autre logique. Il est un fait que le contenu de la communication politique entre l’aristocratie romaines et les couches inférieures de la population était loin d’être caractérisé principalement par un affrontement d’idées. Bien au contraire, le trait dominant est de façon générale l’absence à ce niveau d’un discours élaboré. Il a été à ce titre déjà maintes fois souligné qu’à la fin de l’époque républicaine, le débat politique était dominé plutôt par la référence au comportement moral des individus et à leurs antécédents généalogiques, à un point tel que les conflits de la fin de la République ont pu être présentés non pas comme des luttes idéologiques, mais comme une lutte de pouvoirs concurrents pour le pouvoir suprême22. C’est ce qui explique par exemple les difficultés rencontrées au début de sa carrière par Octave, le futur Auguste, issu d’une famille municipale sans grand prestige à Rome. Ses ennemis, au premier rang desquels se trouvait Marc Antoine, n’eurent ainsi de cesse de discréditer son action en prenant à témoin non seulement l’aristocratie romaine, mais aussi les couches plus larges de la population. C’est ce qui fut publiquement mis en cause sur un graffito inséré à Rome au bas d’une statue du jeune Auguste à la fin des années 40 av. J.-C. visible de tous et associant dans la critique cupidité (avec une allusion aux proscriptions) et origines familiales d’Auguste : « Mon père était banquier et moi, j’aime les vases de Corinthe23 ». Le fait qu’il s’agisse là d’une rumeur fondée sur une calomnie, le père biologique d’Auguste ayant notoirement accédé à la préture (en 62 av. J.-C.) peu avant de mourir, montre que le public censé lire ce graffito 21 22 23

Habermas 1962 [1978]: 102. On trouvera un bon exemple de ce type d’analyse dans Le Doze 2010. Suét., Aug. 70.2 : Nam et proscriptionis tempore ad statuam eius ascriptum est : « pater argentarius, ego Corinthiarius ».

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était sensible aux ragots sur la moralité et les antécédents familiaux des individus et y prêtaient en tout cas attention. C’est ce qui donne au débat politique un tour à la fois fortement personnel et d’une grande dureté, du moins à nos yeux, aussi bien à l’intérieur de l’aristocratie qu’en dehors. Il ne faut pas se méprendre sur le sens de mes propos, qui se veulent nuancés. L’analyse qui vient d’être développée n’implique absolument pas que la référence au comportement moral des hommes politiques et à leurs origines familiales était propre à l’opinion publique romaine, car il serait facile de trouver tout au long de l’époque contemporaine des exemples allant dans le même sens. Elle ne présuppose pas non plus qu’il faille renoncer à parler de « raison » ou de « rationalité » lorsqu’il est question de l’Antiquité romaine24, car nous savons que les gouvernants pouvaient être amenés à avancer des justifications rationnelles et que les gouvernés y étaient sensibles25. Il s’agit plutôt d’insister ici sur le fait que nous nous trouvons dans un régime de rationalité différent du nôtre et que le critère central dans le fonctionnement de l’opinion publique à Rome était moins la – notre – raison que l’insistance sur les vertus morales et la défense d’intérêts propres qui ne recoupent que partiellement notre usage de la ratio. Une manière efficace de souligner l’écart qui existe entre l’opinion publique d’aujourd’hui et celle des Romains est de mettre en avant l’usage bien connu que le public romain faisait de la croyance profonde en des phénomènes surnaturels relevant de la croyance en des dieux. On citera par exemple un passage de Dion Cassius rappelant dans le contexte de l’année 22 av. J.-C. qu’une série de prodiges (inondation du Tibre, éclairs, peste et famine en Italie) conduisirent « les Romains », c’est-à-dire notamment la plèbe de la Ville, à attribuer ces manifestations au fait qu’Auguste avait abdiqué le consulat l’année précédente et à souhaiter qu’il devînt dictateur, curateur de l’annone, censeur à vie et de nouveau consul26. Il faut comprendre que le soutien bien connu dont Auguste jouissait dans la plèbe romaine y était justifié par les plébéiens eux-mêmes non pas seulement par l’idée que le nouveau régime était plus favorable au peuple que l’ancien régime républicain27, mais ici aussi par le consensus des dieux sur la personne du prince. C’est dire qu’il faut intégrer dans le fonctionnement de l’opinion publique de l’Antiquité le fait religieux marqué par une certaine forme de crédulité et la manipulation de celle-ci par l’aristocratie, à un point tel qu’il faut chercher un autre critère que ce que Habermas appelle « la raison » pour commencer à mieux comprendre ce qu’était l’opinion publique dans la Rome antique.

24 25

26 27

On signalera que Ando 2012: 226 n’hésite pas à utiliser la notion de « rationality » à propos du fonctionnement de l’Empire romain ; cf. aussi Ando 2000: 77–78 qui lie cette notion à une autre notion habermassienne, celle de l’« agir communicationnel ». C’est par exemple ce qui se produisit en 32 ap. J.-C., lorsque Tibère, face aux protestations de la plèbe relatives à la cherté du blé, fit savoir chiffres à l’appui, que l’on en importait plus à son époque qu’à celle d’Auguste. On pourrait multiplier de tels exemples. Je remercie C. Courrier de m’avoir rappelé que le fonctionnement de l’opinion publique à Rome reposait sur des comportements collectifs qui réagissaient aussi à des arguments d’ordre rationnel. Cf. sur cette réaction des « Romains » le récit qu’en donne Dion, 54.1–2. C’est l’analyse que nous livre un aristocrate romain, en l’occurrence Tacite (Ann. 1. 2.2).

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LA CRITIQUE DU POUVOIR Habermas fournit un autre élément d’analyse en définissant l’opinion publique comme une sphère indépendante du pouvoir et concurrente de celui-ci, donc comme une forme de contre-pouvoir : « La sphère publique apparaît parfois comme étant simplement celle de l’opinion publique qui s’oppose directement au pouvoir28 » ; il ajoute que « l’opinion publique n’est plus qu’une instance de contrôle des excès du gouvernement29 », ce qui a pour conséquence qu’« un public faisant usage de sa raison y exerce sa propre critique30 ». Le philosophe parle également d’une « ‘société civile’ qui, en tant que domaine propre de l’autonomie privée, va s’opposer à l’État31 ». La question qui se pose aux historiens de Rome est de déterminer s’il y eut en dehors de l’aristocratie romaine une force politique susceptible de s’opposer au pouvoir en place, que ce pouvoir fût aristocratique ou monarchique. La réponse est négative, dans le sens où il n’y eut à Rome ni de près ni de loin l’équivalent de notre société civile. Habermas fournit lui-même un élément d’explication en précisant à propos de « l’ancien système de communication » (i. e. antérieur à l’apparition de la sphère publique bourgeoise) que « la participation du peuple au domaine public, ritualisée et cérémonielle, n’autorisait qu’un simple assentiment incapable de formuler sa propre interprétation originale de l’événement32 ». Cela ne veut pas dire qu’il n’y avait pas à Rome de phénomène d’opposition et l’on sait que le peuple romain n’obéissait pas toujours à l’aristocratie et pouvait manifester son mécontentement, voire se révolter33. Mais il n’en restait pas moins souvent instrumentalisé et, surtout, n’offrait aucune alternative au pouvoir détenu par l’aristocratie ou le prince. À Rome, l’opinion publique n’était pas là pour contester le pouvoir en tant que tel, mais pour le servir, prendre position dans le cadre d’une société concurrentielle, faire pression ou encore se révolter violemment pour faire connaître au pouvoir telle ou telle revendication et de façon plus générale ses attentes34 ou ses volontés35. 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35

Habermas 1962 [1978]: 14. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 144. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 35. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 23. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 264, n. 35. Pour une analyse remettant en question la vocation du peuple à obéir à l’aristocratie ou à tout le moins montrant qu’une telle vocation du peuple s’étiola pendant les décennies de crise que connut la République romaine, cf. Zecchini 2006: 398–399 et Hurlet 2012: 39–41. Je remercie ici Ph. Le Doze pour avoir attiré mon attention sur le fait que la notion d’opinion publique suppose l’existence d’attentes s’exprimant à travers des canaux qui varient selon les époques et les milieux sociaux. Sur l’idée de « volonté », retenue dans le sens où elle « implique des exigences unifiées, un faisceau d’impératifs, d’angoisses, de soucis formant le lot de la vie quotidienne et qui ont leur origine dans la conscience de tous ceux qui communient en elle », cf. Courrier 2014: 436 dont l’analyse porte non pas sur l’idée d’opinion publique, mais sur celle d’opinion plébéienne, et qui préfère pour cette raison le terme de « volonté ». Il est à noter que Habermas lui-même parle de voluntas pour indiquer qu’une des modalités du fonctionnement de l’espace public bourgeois est « la transposition de la voluntas en une ratio » (Habermas 1962 [1978]: 93).

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L’idée qu’à Rome, l’opinion publique ou ce qui en tenait lieu n’était pas un contre-pouvoir est tout particulièrement perceptible dans la nature même des vecteurs de celle-ci durant l’Antiquité et du contraste avec le fonctionnement de notre opinion publique. Il est tout d’abord bien connu, je n’y insiste pas, que la société romaine n’a pas connu la presse, ce qui signifie que le formidable instrument de pouvoir que représente l’information était dans les mains de ceux qui avaient les moyens de la faire remonter jusqu’à eux, sans du reste toujours pouvoir la contrôler. Il n’est pas non plus envisageable d’admettre l’existence dans l’Antiquité des cercles littéraires comparables à ceux qui naquirent et prospérèrent dans l’Europe des Lumières. La démonstration sur ce point a été faite depuis un certain temps déjà – en 2000 – par Dominique Voisin36, puis prolongée plus récemment par Philippe Le Doze37. Quant à la littérature antique elle-même, Armin Eich a suggéré qu’elle ne fut jamais une littérature d’opposition au pouvoir ni un phénomène subversif, car elle était rédigée par les aristocrates eux-mêmes dans le respect de codes littéraires si compliqués qu’il n’était pas donné à tout le monde d’être un auteur38 ; pour ce qui est plus précisément des poètes de l’époque augustéenne, Philippe Le Doze a bien montré que la poésie n’apparaît pas adaptée à la diffusion d’un message politique clair et « s’est révélée être un medium peu efficace pour emporter les esprits39 ». Le phénomène de l’opinion publique dans l’Antiquité était tout compte fait très différent de ce que nous constatons pour l’époque contemporaine parce qu’il avait alors à prendre en compte différents problèmes concrets, dont on donnera ici une liste non exhaustive : la limitation technique de la diffusion de l’écrit ; l’accès au contenu même des œuvres littéraires pour un grand nombre de citoyens romains qui n’étaient pas tous lettrés et dont un grand nombre devaient être sinon analphabètes, du moins illettrés ; le fait que le théâtre ne se prêtait ni à une mise en condition de la plèbe ni à une émancipation de celle-ci de l’autorité de l’aristocratie. L’écrit n’était pas pour autant absent en tant que tel comme vecteur de diffusion des jugements que le public romain pouvait se faire à propos de tel aristocrate ou tel groupe d’aristocrates, mais il recourait à des formes moins littéraires comme les graffiti ou encore des pamphlets dont le contenu global était diffusé sur la place publique par le phénomène du bouche à oreille. Plus qu’un lieu de pouvoir, l’opinion publique était à Rome un espace de communication qui était extérieur à l’aristocratie, mais qui n’en était pas moins autonome au sein de la société romaine. Elle était en ce sens indissociablement liée à la réception par la population de Rome des multiples informations de différentes natures, écrites et le plus souvent orales, qui venaient alimenter les inévitables discussions politiques informelles. C’est à ce titre que l’étude d’une forme ou d’une autre d’opinion publique à Rome doit prendre en compte le phénomène de la ru-

36 37 38 39

Voisin 2000. Le Doze 2014, en particulier p. 161–171. Eich 2000 et Eich 2009. Le Doze 2014: 605.

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meur, déjà bien étudié par ailleurs40, qui contribua à la formation et au fonctionnement d’une sphère publique autonome. Il faut ainsi comprendre que sans être un instrument d’opposition systématique au pouvoir, l’opinion publique était un espace de dialogue qui donnait à la population de Rome l’occasion d’exprimer ses satisfactions comme ses mécontentements et qui pouvait déboucher aussi bien sur l’expression d’un consensus que sur le déclenchement de révoltes : elle se définit donc par la pression qu’elle exerçait en permanence sur les gouvernants. L’ÖFFENTLICHKEIT AU SENS DE « PUBLICITÉ » Les notions livrées par Habermas – la raison et la critique du pouvoir – pour expliquer le phénomène de l’opinion publique s’étant jusqu’à présent révélées difficilement transposables à l’Antiquité, il faut en venir désormais au cœur de l’analyse du philosophe, à savoir le lien intrinsèque qu’il établit entre l’« öffentliche Meinung » et ce qu’il appelle l’« Öffentlichkeit » – terme qu’il est difficile de traduire parfaitement en français et qui est du reste polysémique dans la langue originelle, l’allemand. L’idée principale est que l’opinion publique se mouvait au sein d’une « sphère publique », qui prend diverses significations : concrète et spatiale tout d’abord, dans le sens où la circulation des opinions s’enracine dans des lieux qui ne sont pas caractérisés comme étant nécessairement et à proprement parler « publics », mais où sont débattues des questions d’intérêt public ; abstraite ensuite, dans la mesure où les différents lieux recensés servent de cadre aux échanges et aux discussions portant sur les affaires publiques. C’est le fonctionnement de la « sphère publique » ainsi définie qui donne naissance selon Habermas à une opinion publique structurée par la raison. Une telle analyse a soulevé et soulève toujours pour l’historien toute une série de difficultés. Elle ne s’impose déjà pas de manière unanime pour la période contemporaine, les détracteurs de Habermas soulignant par exemple que la définition habermassienne de l’« Öffentlichkeit », valable à partir du XVIIIe siècle, relève de l’idéal-type plus que de la réalité historique41. Il est à ce titre d’autant plus problématique de transposer mécaniquement ce concept à l’Antiquité, romaine en particulier. Pour la Rome de l’Antiquité, les problèmes soulevés par la lecture de Habermas sont principalement de deux ordres. La première difficulté porte sur la question de savoir si les Romains ont pu concevoir l’existence d’une l’opinion publique ailleurs que dans les espaces publics proprement dits ou les demeures des aristocrates. 40 41

Sur le phénomène de la rumeur à Rome, cf. Pina Polo 2010 ; Rosillo-López 2007 ; RosilloLópez 2016 ; Rosillo-López 2017: 75–97 ; Courrier 2014, en particulier p. 679–697 ; Courrier 2017, qui intègre dans cette étude les théories de la sociologie dite « interactionniste ». La principale difficulté porte sur le choix de la raison comme principe constitutif de la « sphère publique » et de l’« opinion publique » : cette définition revient à écarter toute opinion qui ne serait pas fondée sur la raison, position qui n’est bien entendu pas tenable si l’on part de l’idée que l’opinion publique est formée par l’agrégation d’opinions individuelles qui ne sont pas toutes rationnelles comme nous l’enseigne l’histoire aussi bien immédiate que plus ancienne ; sur la nécessité d’intégrer dans la définition de l’opinion publique d’autres critères que la raison comme la référence aux valeurs morales, cf. aussi mes propos supra.

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En raison de leur orientation aristocratique, les sources manifestent d’ordinaire à l’égard des propos échangés dans les tabernae du forum un manque d’intérêt, voire un mépris à un point tel que l’on peut s’interroger sur la capacité des aristocrates romains à penser l’opinion publique autrement que sous le contrôle de l’aristocratie42. C’est la conclusion qui ressort d’un examen attentif du témoignage de Cicéron, mais on peut se demander s’il n’y pas là un effet déformant découlant de la nature de notre information. Les propos tenus par un correspondant de Cicéron, Caelius Rufus, livrent une image toute différente d’un aristocrate en début de carrière qui prêtait beaucoup d’attention aux conversations, aux rumeurs et aux jugements de toutes sortes colportés sur la place publique et échappant de fait au monopole de l’aristocratie. Il existait donc à Rome un espace, sans doute moins limité qu’on ne le pense, où l’information était diffusée et discutée par des individus de condition plus modeste qualifiés de susurratores et de subrostrani, termes qui renvoient à des personnes faisant circuler des opinions43. La seconde difficulté concerne l’équivalence que Habermas établit entre Öffentlichkeit et « publicité » et qui pose problème quand il s’agit spécifiquement de l’Antiquité romaine. La notion de « publicité » est utilisée par les historiens de l’Antiquité romaine, par exemple par Fergus Millar et Karl-Joachim Hölkeskamp pour justifier la place des assemblées du peuple dans le système politique romain44, mais l’un et l’autre de façon différenciée45. Les propos qui suivent ont pour objet de souligner de nouveau l’écart qui existe sur ce point entre notre conception et celle des anciens. Dans son sens contemporain, le terme de « publicité » renvoie au fait de rendre public un événement, une décision ou toute information au sein d’un espace de débat considéré comme public. C’est là un élément indissociable de la notion contemporaine d’opinion publique et indispensable à son bon fonctionnement, car il permet de diffuser l’information au-delà des cercles du pouvoir. C’est ce que, par exemple, les Révolutionnaires français ont mis en évidence à travers le slogan « Publicité, sauvegarde du peuple », forgé par le premier maire de Paris, Jean-Sylvain Bailly, et repris par exemple sur le frontispice de l’hôtel de ville de Verviers (Belgique) en 1830 au moment de l’indépendance de la Belgique. La notion de publicité peut s’appliquer également à l’Antiquité romaine, mais à la condition de lui donner une signification inversée par rapport à notre acception contemporaine : il s’agit en l’oc42

43 44

45

Cf. dans ce sens Ando 2012: 227–228 qui prend l’exemple de l’affaire des Bacchanales et précise que « Roman elites of the late Republic were in fact highly concerned to restrict public speech to spaces under statal control or, perhaps, to deligitimate as non-political such speech as took place elsewhere » ; cf. aussi O’Neill 2003 qui explique le mépris des sources à l’encontre des rassemblements informels (circuli, coronae, coetus) propices à la propagation des rumeurs par le fait que de tels espaces échappaient au contrôle des aristocrates. Sur la vision alternative qui se dégage des propos de Caelius Rufus sur la notion d’opinion publique si on les compare au témoignage de Cicéron, cf. Rosillo-López 2017: 10–12. Millar parle à cet effet de « publicity » (Millar 1984: 18), tandis que Hölkeskamp utilise quant à lui le terme allemand d’Öffentlichkeit pour exprimer la même idée de « publicité » (Hölkeskamp 2000: 210 ; Hölkeskamp 2004b : 86–87 et 102) ; sur cette notion de « publicité », cf. les remarques de Jehne 2006: 20–23. Sur l’emploi par Millar et Hölkeskamp dans leurs langues respectives de la notion de « publicité » et leurs divergences dans l’utilisation de cette notion, cf. Hurlet 2012: 25–31.

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currence non pas d’informer le public romain de manière aussi large que possible, en tout cas pas prioritairement, mais de permettre à l’aristocratie d’être visible. La « publicité » servait donc avant tout les intérêts des aristocrates : elle était assimilée à un espace public qui leur permettait de briller et donc de se distinguer dans un contexte de concurrence interne à l’aristocratie. C’est en ce sens qu’il faut expliquer la profusion des inscriptions placées dans les espaces de circulation des cités, au premier rang desquelles se trouvait Rome. Il a été déjà maintes fois souligné qu’un tel phénomène était avant tout un instrument de communication politique, la gravure d’une loi ou d’une dédicace en bas d’une statue étant un moyen pour la cité ou l’aristocrate honoré de se montrer et ainsi de se mettre en valeur dans les endroits les plus fréquentés – les epiphanestatoi topoi et les celeberrimi loci – dans une perspective visuelle. On peut en revanche douter de la faculté de l’opinion publique à comprendre dans le détail le contenu de toutes les inscriptions, dont certaines nécessitaient un haut niveau d’éducation. C’est pour cette raison que l’on est désormais à juste titre aussi attentif au texte qu’à son environnement monumental, parfois grandiose, l’un et l’autre délivrant des messages en fonction du public visé46. LES CONSÉQUENCES DE LA « PUBLICITÉ » : L’OPINION PUBLIQUE ET LA « REPRÄSENTATION » L’absence d’obligation pour l’aristocratie ou le prince d’avoir à justifier son pouvoir en priorité sous la forme d’une argumentation raisonnée ou d’avoir à faire face à une opposition structurée par la raison a pour conséquence que le pouvoir lui-même se définit non pas par ce qu’il dit, en tout cas pas prioritairement, mais avant tout par ce qu’il est et par ce qu’il laisse paraître. C’est à ce titre que quand Habermas traite des sociétés antérieures à l’apparition de la sphère publique bourgeoise, il parle de « sphère publique structurée par la représentation » ou de « sphère de la représentation » en la présentant comme « un modèle47 ». Les propos, rapides, de Habermas sur l’importance accordée au rang ou au statut et l’obligation pour le noble de « paraître » peuvent parfaitement s’appliquer au comportement ostentatoire de l’aristocratie romaine. Les messages délivrés par cette dernière à ce qui servait d’opinion publique étaient d’ordre visuel avant d’être d’ordre rationnel : ils passaient par l’affichage public des insignes correspondant à un statut et visibles à travers la manière dont l’aristocrate s’habillait jusque dans les moindres détails ; ils mettaient en avant une allure déterminée (la grauitas romaine par exemple), ainsi qu’un code de comportement fondé sur l’application de vertus déterminées et modulées en fonction des gentes, mais exprimant toutes l’idée d’excellence. Karl-Joachim Hölkeskamp a également montré que même les talents oratoires, qui étaient a priori les plus susceptibles de délivrer une argumentation raisonnée, étaient exploités moins pour 46 47

Sur la visibilité que procure l’inscription et la nécessité de ne pas dissocier ce document écrit du contexte architectural auquel le texte épigraphique appartient, on se reportera aux nombreux travaux de Werner Eck (cf. en particulier Eck 2010: 7–10). Habermas 1962 [1978]: 17 dont le sous-titre est éclairant : « Le modèle d’une sphère publique structurée par la représentation » ; cf. aussi p. 264, n. 35.

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convaincre ou persuader le peuple que comme un moyen d’auto-représentation et de différenciation48. C’est à ce titre que l’on peut éprouver des réticences à parler pour l’Antiquité romaine de propagande dans le sens contemporain, c’est-à-dire de mise en condition de l’opinion publique à travers des messages ou des slogans martelés sous différentes formes49. Comme l’a souligné Paul Veyne à propos du pouvoir impérial, les notions d’apparat et d’ostentation conviennent mieux pour l’Antiquité50, ce qui a pour conséquence non pas nécessairement de nier l’existence d’une opinion publique à Rome, mais de faire de celle-ci un acteur politique non pas à proprement parler passif, mais plus réactif que pro-actif. Un des aspects de la centralité de la représentation dans le fonctionnement de l’opinion publique à Rome est la propension de l’aristocratie à s’assimiler à des héros de tragédie ou à des dieux et à renforcer la théâtralité de toute forme de pouvoir. On ne s’étonnera donc pas de trouver à la phrase de Shakespeare rappelant que « le monde entier est un théâtre51 » de nombreux parallèles soulignant que le thème de l’assimilation de la vie au théâtre et à une scène était omniprésent dans la vie des Romains. La célèbre formule « la vie est un théâtre », inscrite sur un gobelet en argent du trésor de Boscoreale, se retrouve presque identique sous la plume d’un poète de l’Anthologie palatine, et plus tard sous celle de Clément d’Alexandrie52. On se référera à ce propos aux travaux de Gilles Sauron, qui a justement souligné que « le théâtre et la vie entretenaient pour les Anciens des rapports d’identification réciproque53 ». On rappellera également la dernière phrase prononcée par Auguste, assimilant la vie d’Auguste à celle d’un héros de tragédie : « Si la pièce vous a plu, applaudissez et tous ensemble, manifestez votre joie54 ». Il faut désormais tirer les implications de ces nombreux exemples pour le sujet qui nous concerne : en tant qu’élément indissociable de la « sphère de la représentation », l’opinion publique est cette scène sur laquelle évoluent le prince et les aristocrates sous le regard de tous ceux qui assistent au spectacle de la vie des grands de ce monde. L’OPINION PUBLIQUE ET LE RÉGIME DE L’AUCTORITAS L’existence d’une sphère publique fondée sur la représentation et d’une publicité visant à rendre visible cette représentation a pour l’aristocratie une conséquence notable, à savoir l’obligation où elle se trouve de justifier son rang en permanence et sous le regard de ce qui tenait lieu d’opinion publique. Dans le contexte de l’Antiquité romaine de la fin de la République et du Haut-Empire, une telle justification prenait la forme d’un comportement exemplaire qui s’inscrivait dans le cadre des 48 49 50 51 52 53 54

Hölkeskamp 1995. Sur les difficultés que soulève l’application du terme de « propagande » à l’Antiquité romaine, cf. Weber et Zimmermann ed. 2003 ; Le Doze 2014: 28–38. Veyne 2005: 379–418. Shakespeare, As you like it, acte II, scène 7 : « all the world’s a stage ». Cf. Anthologie palatine 10. 72.1 ; Clément d’Alexandrie, Protreptique 2.12.1. Sauron 2009: 187–188. Suet. Aug. 99.1. Cf. aussi Dion, 56.30.4.

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vertus romaines canoniques et d’une image qui reflétait ces valeurs. C’est pourquoi l’on parle de distinction ou encore de prestige en tant que moyen de reconnaissance et de visibilité55. Mais il existait une vertu cardinale que l’on trouve fréquemment dans les sources : à savoir l’auctoritas, que l’on peut définir comme une qualité intrinsèque conférant une forme de supériorité à certains individus ou groupes d’individus et qui était à ce point centrale qu’elle caractérise la place prise par le Sénat à la tête du système politique à l’époque républicaine, puis celle du prince56. L’autorité d’un individu est en particulier à la fois ce qui justifie sa représentation et ce qui en découle : comme l’écrit Habermas, « l’homme noble est l’autorité dans la mesure où il la représente57 ». L’autorité était à Rome une vertu à ce point recherchée qu’Auguste en fit un des fondements de son nouveau régime en reprenant à son propre compte ce qui était une vertu collective détenue par le Sénat58. Mais cette notion ne se limite pas au cadre institutionnel et prend également la forme d’une puissance qui tient au prestige d’une personne et de sa famille et se construit dans le jeu des interactions produisant un consensus sur la capacité à commander détenue d’abord par l’aristocratie avant d’être accaparée par le prince. C’est en ce sens que les travaux de Habermas sur l’opinion publique à partir de l’époque des Lumières rejoignent nos préoccupations sur les formes de l’autorité dans la Rome antique : à partir du moment où l’auctoritas romaine se définit par les relations interpersonnelles d’amicitia ou de clientèle, elle était fortement visible dans l’espace public et jouissait à ce titre d’une publicité. Cette valeur proprement aristocratique n’avait en effet de sens que si elle était partagée par un public, par exemple à Rome la plèbe, dont on sait grâce aux travaux de Cyril Courrier qu’elle avait ses propres règles de fonctionnement et ses propres valeurs, mais qui définissait celles-ci par rapport à l’aristocratie ou au prince. L’opinion publique est ainsi indissociable des attentes 55

Pour une analyse plus spécifique qui insiste sur l’idée que le prestige de l’aristocrate romain est indissociable de la nécessité pour celui-ci d’être visible dans l’espace public, cf. Baudry, Hurlet et Rivoal 2016: 12. 56 L’auctoritas est une notion à ce point répandue à Rome qu’elle structure les instances politiques, la société et le droit en créant des hiérarchies. La bibliographie sur ce point est importante et on citera ici quelques contributions notables : Giovannini 1985, Biscardi 1987 et Magdelain 1982 pour l’auctoritas patrum ; Magdelain 1947 pour l’auctoritas du prince ; Levy 1965 pour l’auctoritas des témoins dans le droit ; Calboli Montefusco 1990 pour l’auctoritas dans la doctrine rhétorique ; Heinze 1925 et Hellegouarc’h 1963: 295–320 sur son usage dans la vie politique ; pour une conception « unitaire » de l’auctoritas, cf. Amirante 1948. Il demeure qu’il manque une étude d’ensemble de cette notion, lacune que J.-M. David et moi nous proposons de combler en organisant à Nanterre en septembre 2018 un colloque sur cet élément capital de la culture politique de la Rome antique. 57 Habermas 1962 [1978]: 24. 58 Le passage de l’auctoritas du Sénat à celle du prince est exprimée de façon claire par les Res Gestae, 34.3 : « depuis ce temps (27 av. J.-C.), je l’emportais sur tous en autorité (auctoritas), mais je n’avais pas plus de pouvoir (potestas) que tous ceux qui furent mes collègues dans chaque magistrature ». Greg Rowe a récemment défendu une interprétation minimaliste de ce passage des Res Gestae en y voyant une référence à un événement spécifique, en l’occurrence l’octroi à Auguste du titre de princeps senatus en 28, et en limitant ainsi les effets de l’auctoritas (Rowe 2013), mais cette analyse a été contestée par Galinsky 2015 (je me propose de revenir sur cette question dans une étude en préparation).

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ou des volontés qui émanaient des couches inférieures et conduisaient l’aristocratie à se conformer à un modèle de comportement fondé en dernier ressort sur l’auctoritas. L’aristocrate ou le prince qui ne savait pas répondre à de telles attentes ou volontés prenait le risque de voir sa position contestée. CONCLUSION Il ne faut pas attendre de l’œuvre de Habermas plus que ce qu’elle veut apporter. Celle-ci n’a jamais prétendu définir ce qu’était l’opinion publique à Rome, mais elle aide à comprendre ce qu’elle n’était pas. C’est déjà une première définition, certes négative, mais qui permet de dessiner en creux ce que l’opinion publique était dans le contexte de la Rome de la fin de la République et du début du Haut-Empire, d’autant que Habermas consacre plusieurs pages à la « préhistoire » de cette notion. Le choix du terme « préhistoire » (« Vorgeschichte ») est sans doute malheureux d’une part parce qu’il est aujourd’hui fortement connoté, d’autre part parce qu’il présuppose une pensée évolutionniste qui fait de la « sphère publique » bourgeoise un point d’aboutissement téléologique, celui vers lequel on se dirige depuis l’Antiquité et dont Habermas a pu constater à regret la dégradation et la « reféodalisation » au moment de la rédaction de son Espace public, c’est-à-dire dans les années 1950. Peut-être aurait-il mieux valu parler d’« archéologie » du concept59, pour reprendre une formule fréquemment utilisée par Foucault et Bourdieu. Quel que le soit le terme à utiliser, la direction principale suivie par cette étude a répondu au besoin d’« historiciser » la notion d’« opinion publique » à partir de la richesse heuristique du concept habermassien de « sphère publique »60. Il demeure que, en dépit d’une orientation qui n’est pas principalement historique, le philosophe allemand s’est montré sensible dans son ouvrage à la dimension évolutive des notions de « sphère publique » et d’« opinion publique », même s’il reconnaît s’être contenté d’un simple survol – qui laisse en outre totalement de côté la Rome antique. Il a ainsi précisé, d’emblée, que « l’usage que fait la langue des termes ‘public (öffentlich)’ et ‘sphère publique (Öffentlichkeit)’ révèle une pluralité de significations concurrentes qui proviennent de phases historiques différentes61 ». La société romaine fait partie de façon plus globale des sociétés antérieures à la société dite bourgeoise, structurées à ce titre par la représentation. Elle reste toutefois spécifique par l’articulation de vertus qui ont en commun d’être au service de la res publica : la « majesté », la « dignité62 », l’« honneur63 », la « gloire », la « réputation », la « renommée » sont autant de termes attestés en latin qui soulignent 59 60 61 62 63

On notera du reste que le terme d’« archéologie » a été choisi comme sous-titre de la traduction française, alors que le sous-titre allemand ne dit rien de tel (« Untersuchungen zu einer Kategorie der bürgerlichen Gesellschaft »). Pour une analyse qui cherche à « historiciser » L’espace public de Habermas, cf. Haber 2011. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 13. Sur cette notion, cf. en dernier lieu Badel 2014. Sur cette notion et pour une analyse qui établit une équivalence entre l’honos et la notion bourdieusienne de « capital symbolique », cf. Jacotot 2012.

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la nécessité de la hiérarchie, de la distinction et de la différenciation passant par les services rendus à Rome64 ; au sommet de cette échelle de valeurs se trouve l’auctoritas. Ces vertus ne sont efficaces que si elles sont visibles et font à ce titre l’objet d’une « représentation », au sens où Habermas définit ce terme. Elles n’ont en effet de valeur et de caractère public que si elles sont exhibées sur une scène, qui correspond à la sphère publique ou à l’espace public au sens de publicité et d’expression d’une opinion. Dans ces conditions, on peut parler d’« opinion publique » à Rome, mais à condition de souligner le caractère plus réactif de cette notion si l’on compare son expression dans la Rome antique à notre définition actuelle. Ce n’est pas une forme de contre-pouvoir qui fournit contre le pouvoir en place des arguments au nom d’une forme ou d’une autre de raison héritée des Lumières, mais un espace abstrait de communication politique qui permet à l’aristocratie romaine à la fois de se (re)présenter, de se distinguer et de départager ses membres dans le contexte d’une course effrénée aux honneurs. Pour reprendre une maxime forgée par Hobbes et reprise par Habermas, on dira que l’opinion publique à Rome respecte le principe suivant : auctoritas non ueritas facit legem65. Le moment charnière de l’évolution de cette notion est celui où la vérité du discours prit le pas sur l’autorité de celui qui le prononçait. Il faut y voir un des actes de naissance de la modernité. BIBLIOGRAPHIE Amirante L. (1948) « Il concetto unitario dell’auctoritas », in Studi in onore di Siro Solazzi : 375– 390. Napoli. Ando, Cl. (2000) Imperial Ideology and Provincial Loyalty in the Roman Empire, Berkeley – Los Angeles-London. Ando, Cl. (2012) « Empire, State, and Communicative Action », in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. Chr. Kuhn : 219–229. Stuttgart. Azoulay, V. (2011) « L’Espace public et la cité grecque : d’un malentendu structurel à une clarification conceptuelle », in L’espace public au Moyen Âge. Débats autour de Jürgen Habermas, ed. P. Boucheron et N. Offenstadt : 63–76. Paris. Badel, Chr. (2014) « La dignitas à Rome : entre prestige et honneur (fin de la République) », in Le prestige. Autour des formes de la différenciation sociale, eds. Fr. Hurlet, I. Rivoal et I. Sidéra : 107–118. Paris. Baudry, R. et Hurlet, Fr. (eds.) (2016a) Le prestige à Rome à la fin de la République et au début du Principat, Paris. Baudry, R., Hurlet, Fr. et Rivoal I. (2016b) « Le prestige à Rome à la fin de la République et au début du Principat. Introduction », in Le prestige à Rome à la fin de la République et au début du Principat, eds. R. Baudry et Fr. Hurlet : 9–18. Paris. Biscardi, A. (1987) Auctoritas patrum, problemi di storia del diritto pubblico romano, Napoli.

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On fera tout de même remarquer que tous les termes cités dans le texte par référence à l’axiologie romaine sont pour une bonne part d’entre eux identiques à ceux que Habermas retient comme caractéristiques de l’espace public de représentation ou assez proches : « Des mots comme ‘grandeur’, ‘souveraineté’, ‘majesté’, ‘gloire’, ‘dignité’ et ‘honneur’ cherchent à désigner la singularité de cet être capable d’assurer une représentation » (Habermas 1962 [1978] : 19). Cf. Habermas 1962 [1978]: 106 et 113 qui définit ce principe comme « la maxime de l’absolutisme » ou comme le « principe absolutiste ».

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Boucheron, P. et Offenstadt, N., (eds.) (2011a) L’espace public au Moyen Âge. Débats autour de Jürgen Habermas, Paris. Boucheron, P. et Offenstadt, N. (2011b) « Introduction générale. Une histoire de l’échange politique au Moyen Âge », in L’espace public au Moyen Âge. Débats autour de Jürgen Habermas, eds. P. Boucheron et N. Offenstadt : 1–21. Paris. Braddick, M. (2005) « State Formation and Political Culture in Elizabethan and Stuart England. Micro-histories and macro-historical Change », in Staatsbildung als kultureller Prozess. Strukturwandel und Legitimation von Herrschaft in der Frühen Neuzeit, eds. R. G. Asch et D. Freist : 69–90. Köln. Calboli Montefusco, L. (1990) « L’auctoritas nella dottrina retorica », Vichiana 3 ser. 1–2: 41–60. Courrier, C. (2014) La plèbe de Rome et sa culture (fin du IIe siècle av. J.-C. – fin du Ier siècle ap. J.-C.), Rome. Courrier, C. (2017) « The Roman Plebs and Rumour : Social Interactions and Political Communication in the Early Principate », in Political Communication in the Roman World, ed. C. RosilloLópez : 139–164. Leiden. David, J.-M. (2000) « Citoyenneté et espace politique », in Invention et réinvention de la citoyenneté, ed. Cl. Fievet : 81–93. Pau. Eck, W. (2010) Monument und Inschrift : gesammelte Aufsätze zur senatorischen Repräsentation in der Kaiserzeit, ed. Walter Ameling et Johannes Heinrichs, Berlin. Eich, A. (2000) Politische Literatur in der römischen Gesellschaft. Studien zum Verhältnis von politischer und literarischer Öffentlichkeit in der späten Republik und frühen Kaiserzeit, Köln. Eich, A. (2009) « Die Bedeutung publizierter Texte für die Kritik politischer Macht. Historiche Entwicklungen von der klassischen griechischen Epoche bis zur Spätantike », in Ordine et sovversione nel mondo greco e romano, ed. G. Urso : 331–351. Pisa. Galinsky, K. (2015) « Augustus’ Auctoritas and Res Gestae 34.3 », Hermes 143: 244–249. Giovannini, A. (1985) « Auctoritas patrum », MH 42: 28–36. Haber, St. (2011) « Pour historiciser L’espace public de Habermas », in L’espace public au Moyen Âge. Débats autour de Jürgen Habermas, eds. P. Boucheron et N. Offenstadt : 25–41. Paris. Habermas, J. (1962) [1978] L’espace public. Archéologie de la publicité comme dimension constitutive de la société bourgeoise, Paris, traduit de l’édition allemande de 1962 par M. B. de Launay. Heinze, R. (1925) « Auctoritas », Hermes 60: 348–366. Hellegouarc h, J. (1963) Le vocabulaire latin des relations et des partis politiques sous la République, Paris. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (1995) « Oratoris maxima scaena. Reden vor dem Volk in der politischen Kultur der Republik », in Demokratie in Rom ? Die Rolle des Volkes in der Politik der römischen Republik, ed. M. Jehne : 11–49. Stuttgart [= Hölkeskamp (2004b) : 219–256]. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2000) « The Roman Republic : Government of the People, by the People, for the People ? », SCI 19: 203–223 [= Hölkeskamp (2004b): 257–280]. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2004a) Rekonstruktionen einer Republik. Die politische Kultur des antiken Rom und die Forschung der letzten Jahrzehnte, München (traduction française : Reconstruire une République. La Rome antique, Nantes, Les Éditions Maison, 2008). Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2004b) Senatvs Popvlvsqve Romanvs. Die politische Kultur der römischen Republik – Dimensionen und Deutungen, Stuttgart. Hollard, V. (2010) Le rituel du vote. Les assemblées romaines du peuple, Paris. Hurlet, Fr. (2012) « Démocratie à Rome ? Quelle démocratie ? En relisant Millar (et Hölkeskamp) », in Rome, a City and its Empire in Perspective : The Impact of the Roman World through Fergus Millar’s Research. Rome, une cité impériale en jeu : l’impact du monde romain selon Fergus Millar, ed. St. Benoist : 19–43. Leiden. Hurlet, Fr. (2015) Auguste. Les ambiguïtés du pouvoir, Paris. Hurlet, Fr., Rivoal, I. et Sidéra, I., (eds.) (2014) Le prestige. Autour des formes de la différenciation sociale, Paris.

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Jackob, N. (2012) « Cicero und die Meinung des Volkes : Ein Beitrag zu einer neuen Geschichtsschreibung der öffentlichen Meinung », in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. Chr. Kuhn : 167–190. Stuttgart. Jacotot, M. (2012) Question d’honneur. Les notions d’honos, honestum et honestas dans la République romaine antique, Rome. Jehne, M. (2006) « Methods, Models, and Historiography », in A Companion to the Roman Republic, eds. N. Rosenstein et R. Morstein-Marx : 3–28. Oxford. Kuhn, Chr. (2012) « Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt : Einleitende Bemerkungen », in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. Chr. Kuhn : 11–30. Stuttgart, Franz Steiner. Le Doze, Ph. (2010) « Les idéologies à Rome : les modalités du discours à Rome de Cicéron à Auguste », Revue Historique 654: 259–289. Le Doze, Ph. (2014) Le Parnasse face à l’Olympe. Poésie et culture politique à l’époque d’Octavien/Auguste, Rome. Lévy, J. Ph. (1965) « Dignitas, gravitas, auctoritas testium », in Studi in onore di B. Biondi, 2: 27–94. Milan. Loraux, N. (1993) « Éloge de l’anachronisme en histoire », Le genre humain 27: 23–39 [= N. Loraux, La tragédie d’Athènes. La politique entre l’ombre et l’utopie, Paris, 2005, p. 173–190]. Magdelain, A. (1947) Auctoritas principis, Paris. Magdelain, A. (1982) « De l’auctoritas patrum à l’auctoritas senatus », Iura 32: 25–43. Millar, F. (1984) « The Political Character of the Classical Roman Republic, 200–151 B. C. », JRS 74 : 1–19 [= F. Millar, Rome, the Greek World, and the East. Volume 1. The Roman Republic and the Augustan Revolution, ed. H. M. Cotton et G. M. Rogers, Chapel Hill – London, 2002: 109–142]. Moatti, Cl. (1997) La raison de Rome. Naissance de l’esprit critique à la fin de la République (IIe– Ier siècle av. J.-C.), Paris. Moatti, Cl. (2011) « Historicité et « altéronomie » : un autre regard sur la politique », Politica antica. Rivista di prassi e cultura politica nel mondo greco e romano 1: 107–118. Nebelin, M. (2014) « Aristokratische Konkurrenz in der römischen Republik. Möglichkeitsraum – Soziale Schließung – Transformation », in Konkurrenz in der Geschichte. Praktiken – Werte – Institutionalisierungen, ed. R. Jessen : 141–174. Frankfurt-New York. O’Neill, P. (2003) « Going Round in Circles : popular speech in Ancient Rome », Classical Antiquity 22: 135–166. Pina Polo, Fr. (2010) « Frigidus rumor. The creation of a (negative) public image in Rome », in Private and Public Lies. The Discourse of Despotism and Deceit in the Graeco-Roman World, eds. A. Turner, J. H. K. O. Chong-Gossard et Fr. Vervaet : 75–90. Leiden. Rivière, Y., (ed.) (2012) Des réformes augustéennes, Rome. Rosillo-López, C. (2007) « ‘Temo a los Troyanos’: Rumores y habladurías en la Roma tardorrepublicana », Polis 19: 113–134. Rosillo-López, C. (2016) « The Workings of Public Opinion in the Late Roman Republic : the case of study of corruption », Klio 98: 203–227. Rosillo-López, C. (2017) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Rowe, Gr. (2012) « Reconsidering the ‘Auctoritas’ of Augustus », JRS 103: 1–15. Sauron, G. (2009) « Du triumvirat au début du principat : la construction du mythe augustéen », in Le principat d’Auguste. Réalités et représentations du pouvoir. Autour de la Res publica restituta, eds. Fr. Hurlet et B. Mineo : 187–208. Rennes. Veyne, P. (1976) Le pain et le cirque. Sociologie historique d’un pluralisme politique, Paris. Veyne, P. (2005) L’empire gréco-romain, Paris. Voisin, D. (2000) Les cercles littéraires à Rome à l’époque d’Auguste, Thèse de doctorat, Bordeaux. Weber, Gr. et Zimmermann, M. (eds.) (2003) Propaganda – Selbstdarstellung Repräsentation im römischen Kaiserreich des I. Jhs. n. Chr., Stuttgart. Zecchini, G. (2006) « In margine a ‘Rekonstruktionen einer Republik’ di K.-J. Hölkeskamp », Studi Storici 47: 395–404.

THE POPULUS ROMANUS AS THE SOURCE OF PUBLIC OPINION1 Amy Russell THE PUBLIC AND THE POPULUS One of the reasons that public opinion can be so hard to define or measure is the inherent complexity of the concept of “public” or “the public”. Who is part of this group, and who is excluded? In English usage, the boundaries are often fuzzy. One answer would be to say that “the public” includes everyone: young, old, male, female, citizen or non-citizen. But when a modern British or American politician claims that “the public” supports a policy, he or she is arguably excluding any opponents from the group constituting “the public”. If challenged, the politician would presumably say that he or she does not mean that every single person supports the policy, but that a large number of people do, and perhaps even a majority. The ambiguity of the English phrase “the public” helps the politician’s rhetoric: appeal to a particular group of supporters is framed in a way which suggests consensus or even unanimity. For the Roman Republic, the situation is in some ways clearer. In English, “the public” is defined with reference to the adjective “public”. In Latin, the adjective publicus is not self-explanatory. Instead, things that are publicus are defined with reference to an institution which is also a group of people, the populus Romanus.2 It is rare that people who are not members of the populus are even part of the discussion. The clear and direct link between populus and publicus extends as far as the res publica itself: the famous phrase Cicero attributes to Scipio in his de Republica defines res publica as res populi.3 In practice, too, the populus Romanus is often treated as equivalent to what we might call “the state”. Romans wrote socii populi

1

2 3

My thanks to Cristina Rosillo-López for her support, encouragement, and editorial suggestions. I can only regret that I have not been able to engage more thoroughly with her published work in Rosillo-López 2017a, which appeared as this paper was in its final stages. I also owe thanks to all participants at the Seville conference, and to Eleanor Cowan and the participants at the “Rule of Law” symposium in Sydney in January 2017, where I was able to explore and get feedback on a range of related ideas. Translations are my own. The archaic spelling of publicus is poplicus (e. g. the S. C. de Bacchanalibus, CIL 10.104, line 15); see further Russell 2016a: 26–7. Cic. Rep. 1.39; as Hodgson 2017: 7 points out, Cicero finds it sufficient for his definition of res publica to define populus. On Cicero’s phrase and its meanings, see further Schofield 1995; Asmis 2004; Grilli 2005; Atkins 2013: 128–38.

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Romani where we would translate “Rome’s allies”; it was the populus Romanus, rather than Rome or the res publica, who conquered the world.4 The populus Romanus was also a vital part of internal political discourse. The modern concept of sovereignty may not map perfectly onto the Roman Republic, but the populus was indisputably the closest thing that Rome had to a sovereign body.5 It was the original holder of the potestas and imperium which was later passed to the princeps (Dig. 1.4.1pr = Ulpian 1 fr. 1916).6 In a formulation Livy attributes to the Twelve Tables, quodcumque postremum populus iussisset, id ius ratumque esset: “whatever the populus has last ordered, this is to be law and ratified” (Liv. 7.17.12).7 The populus Romanus was the source of law, as well as the ultimate arbiter of elections. It should come as no surprise, then, that we read often in our Republican sources about what the populus Romanus thinks or wants, as well as what it orders. For Romans, the group of people constituting “the public” could, in certain situations, be clearly and narrowly defined: they were the members of the populus Romanus, the institution from which the concept of publicness itself was derived.8 The central role of the populus Romanus in Roman politics had consequences for how Romans understood, reacted to, and manipulated public opinion, and those consequences will be the subject of this chapter. I concentrate on the language and concepts used by orators in their speeches to the people, the definitive “public”. When they positioned the populus Romanus as the sole political public audience, Roman political discourse and the politicians who used it also defined the populus Romanus as the sole source of legitimate public opinion.9 4

5 6 7 8

9

One of the most rhetorically polished examples comes at Cic. Div. in Caec. 69: iure tum florebat populi Romani nomen, iure auctoritas huius imperi civitatisque maiestas gravis habebatur. The second half of the phrase is not an addition, but an explanation of the first: auctoritas huius imperi and civitatis maiestas are facets of populi Romani nomen. The Roman Republic was governed as much by mos maiorum as Staatsrecht, making it difficult to apply legalistic modern conceptions of sovereignty. See further Hammer 2015. The cautions of Ando 2013 must be born in mind: imperial-period rationalizations like these say more about the empire and the need to make sense of monarchy than they do about Republican realities. Crawford 1996: 721 reads this clause merely as a statement that newer legislation outranks old, rather than as a claim to popular sovereignty; but see e. g. Straumann 2016: 37–8. Hodgson 2017: 10–11 asks why at Rep. 1.41, in the middle of his definitions of the res publica, Cicero makes Scipio take a convoluted route to defining the civitas with reference to the populus, rather than the obvious etymological shortcut from cives. The unavoidable centrality of the populus Romanus to conceptions of publicity and public life must be one answer. My use of the word “legitimate” here draws not on Weber but on Habermas’s idea of the legitimizing force of public opinion: for him, the formation of bourgeois Öffentlichkeit allows private citizens to “compel public authority to legitimate itself before public opinion” (Habermas 1991: 25–6, in the MIT Press edition translated by Thomas Burger). This definition is not so far from another Habermasian concept tackled by Hurlet in this volume: a form of public opinion which can critique or even oppose power. Hurlet concludes, rightly, that this form never existed at Rome. But my weaker formulation allows for common ground between parts of Habermas’s concept and Roman political culture. Roman political authority was drawn from the populus Romanus, and all political action had to be legitimated before the populus, in what Millar 1998: 45 calls an “ideology of publicity”. In this chapter, moreover, I am less concerned with

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THE ORATOR, THE POPULUS ROMANUS, AND LEGITIMATE PUBLIC OPINION There was always a gap between the rhetoric of the populus Romanus and the reality. Despite the lip service politicians played to the sovereign populus Romanus, Roman political life was always to a greater or lesser extent dominated by a tiny minority, the elite. Another gap, more pertinent to this chapter, lay between the august, abstract institution of the populus Romanus called upon in political rhetoric and the reality of the hundreds of thousands of citizens who collectively formed it. The populus Romanus as a whole never voted or had their opinions consulted. Participation was restricted to those who could be in the right place at the right time to cast a ballot or hear a speech. Indeed, the groups who did so were small and unrepresentative. The physical spaces of politics could not accommodate more than a few thousand participants. Those participants needed to live in or have the funds to travel to Rome, and be able to take a day away from paid employment. More generally, they had to care enough to show up.10 The disjunction between the abstract sovereign populus and the reality of a few hundred or thousand men standing in front of the Rostra has been well explored by previous scholarship. This was the central fiction of Roman political culture: a Roman Republican orator treated his audience, however small and unrepresentative it might be, as exactly equal to the populus Romanus.11 The fiction goes beyond the contio: the Roman ideology of publicity, in which certain acts had to be performed in public view, the electoral process, and much more, depended on everyone agreeing to understand that the group that happened to be present that day was in fact identical with the populus Romanus. One consequence of this fiction was that the populus Romanus, as called into being by an elite orator, could think or vote different ways on different occasions, not just because of the fickleness of crowds bewailed by Cicero at pro Cluentio 137–8 or pro Murena 36, but because it was composed of entirely different people. Henrik Mouritsen and Robert Morstein-Marx have demonstrated that the audience of a contio was mostly likely to be composed of the speakers’ partisans; his rival’s contio on the same subject, with a completely different makeup, would naturally adopt a different view.12 And yet, if we follow the inbuilt assumptions of Roman political culture, both were the populus Romanus, with a sovereign power that should be respected. Politicians were therefore faced with a problem at moments when the populus Romanus, in the version called into being by an opponent’s speech or voting assem-

10 11 12

the requirement for legitimation by the populus than the reverse: only the populus had the power to bestow legitimacy. I use the phrase “legitimate public opinion”, therefore, to mean public opinion before which authority can and must legitimate itself. For discussion of the size and composition of Roman political crowds, see Mouritsen 2001: 18–37; Jehne 2006. Hölkeskamp 1995: 13; Hölkeskamp 2013. Mouritsen 2001, esp. 50–2; Morstein-Marx 2004: 128–36. In general on the operation of the contio, see Pina Polo 1996.

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bly, appeared to have an opinion which ran counter to their own. In our surviving evidence (which is, of course, largely Ciceronian), the tactic chosen to deal with the problem is almost always the same. Rather than impugning the opinion of any part of the populus Romanus, Cicero argues that the audience whose view he is aiming to discredit was not the populus Romanus at all. The best-known example comes from the de Domo 89–90, where Cicero calls Clodius’ supporters multitudinem hominum ex servis, ex conductis, ex facinerosis, ex egentibus congregatam (“a mob of men gathered together from slaves, hirelings, criminals, destitutes”, 89), and contrasts them with the pulchritudo populi Romani, the “beauty of the populus Romanus” who voted to recall him from exile. Do you really think, he asks Clodius, that your mob is the populus Romanus?13 No, he implies, it is not – and when Clodius must face the true populus, the verus populus (Sest. 108), he gets a rougher hearing. The post-exile speeches are full of such rhetoric. The crowds of Cicero’s opponents, he claims, are composed of men who cannot be considered members of the populus Romanus, either because as slaves or foreigners they are literally non-citizens or because they have abdicated their citizen rights through accepting bribes or more general moral turpitude. He sometimes shades into impugning the size of the crowds as well as their composition: at pro Sestio 53 he claims that the law exiling him was passed vastato ac relicto foro et sicariis servisque tradito – “in an empty and abandoned Forum, handed over to murderers and slaves”. But the main point remains that this group is entirely distinct from the populus, as a parallel argument earlier in the speech points out: cum isdem operis suffragium ferentibus, eodem gladiatore latore, vacuo non modo a bonis sed etiam a liberis atque inani foro, ignaro populo Romano quid ageretur. (Red. Sen. 18) … when the same gangs were casting their votes with the same gladiator proposing the bills, in an unoccupied Forum empty not only of good men but even of free men, and the populus Romanus did not know what was going on …

Clodius’ supporters are contrasted with the populus Romanus, who are innocent of and ignorant of what is being done. There is no overlap. The voters were slaves rather than citizens, and even they were few. But it is their (supposed) status, not their numbers, that means he can define them as outside the populus Romanus. The votes of the populus Romanus, and of no other group, had legal force.14 The legal status of the voters is relevant to Cicero’s attack partly because in this and many other such salvos, Cicero is attempting to discredit and delegitimise specific laws Clodius had succeeded in passing. He takes a scattershot approach, pointing to errors in their drafting, procedural errors, and even religious impediments; complaining that the votes were compromised because the voters were not citizens 13 14

I have discussed this example at length in Russell 2016b. The difference between the populus and the plebs will not concern me here; Jehne 2014: 118–9 has a recent overview. I justify skipping over such an important distinction partly because Cicero does so himself, in the passages already quoted and elsewhere. Whenever he attacks Clodius’ contiones or legislation because the group present were not the true populus Romanus, he is technically correct: since Clodius was a tribune of the plebs, they were in fact the concilium plebis. But his attacks consistently refer to the populus, of which the plebs were a subset.

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forms one more argument along the same lines.15 But Cicero’s concern to define Clodius’ followers as outside the populus Romanus goes beyond his desire to vitiate any individual law. He calls into question the legitimacy of their opinions as much as the legitimacy of their votes. Cicero’s interest in who is or is not a member goes well beyond voting assemblies and contiones. When it suits him, he can even look for the populus Romanus in the theatres and games.16 The comitia and contiones, he contends, are sometimes vitiatae atque corruptae: “fraudulent and corrupted” (Sest. 115): as he has complained repeatedly in the surrounding passages, they can be infiltrated by hired mobs (operas conductorum, Sest. 106). In the theatre, on the other hand, though hired claques are common, there can be occasions when it is clear what the populus Romanus thinks (Sest. 117): of course, they support Cicero and the senate, and boo Clodius. The theatrical audience could pass no law, but he nevertheless he invokes them as the populus Romanus in order to claim that this demonstration, and not the reactions of Clodius’ contional crowds, is the truest expression of public opinion.17 He caps his discussion with a rhetorical question: videtisne igitur quantum inter populum Romanum et contionem?18 “Do you see, therefore, how much difference there is between the populus Romanus and a contio?” In a political culture which automatically defined the contio as the populus Romanus, this was a radical piece of rhetoric. But its radical force was derived from existing ideals about the populus Romanus and its role. Clodius, Cicero argues, has turned the world upside down, to the point where public opinion must be sought not in the assemblies but at the games; but his claim about the legitimacy of the crowd’s opinions, just In greatest detail at de Domo 32–55. The best demonstration of this approach could be pro Sestio 106: nunc, nisi me fallit, in eo statu civitas est ut, si operas conductorum removeris, omnes idem de re publica sensuri esse videantur. etenim tribus locis significari maxime de populi Romani iudicium ac voluntas potest, contione, comitiis, ludorum gladiatorumque consessu. The operas conductorum are defined as outside the populus Romanus, whose iudicium and voluntas – legitimate public opinion – can be seen at assemblies, elections, and at the games. Unfortunately, the passage is corrupt. The majority of the manuscripts read de p. R. iudicium, which if expanded into de populi Romani iudicium needs some editing to make sense. Either de re publica populi Romani iudicium (Baiter) or simply populi Romani iudicium (deleting the de, as some of the manuscripts do) would support my interpretation; Mommsen, however, suggested that the correct reading should be de r. p. iudicium, to be expanded de re publica iudicium, with no specific reference to the populus. On the textual issue see further Kaster 2006: 331–2. In general on expressions of public opinions at spectacles, see Nicolet 1980: 361–73. 17 It is important to remember, of course, that Cicero’s aim in this passage is not to elucidate political theory but to advance his own cause. The criteria Cicero is using to make his judgements, never particularly well concealed, are unusually patent in this passage: those who agree with him always count as the true populus Romanus, while those who disagree never do. On the surface, he argues that the populus Romanus is present at the theatre, and that the opinions of theatre crows are therefore legitimate and should be taken into account. But the concealed logic of his speech goes in exactly the opposite direction: the crowd at the theatre expresses an opinion of which he approves, so he finds their opinion legitimate, so he anoints them as the populus Romanus. 18 Intersit is missing from the manuscripts, but is required by the context; it was supplied by Wesenberg.

15 16

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like the legitimacy of their votes, depends on defining them as no more and no less than the populus Romanus itself. The populus Romanus is not only the sole source of law, but the sole source of legitimate public opinion. When Cicero denies a crowd the name of populus Romanus, he preserves his opponents’ claims in negative. Clodius and his allies used the same rhetoric: they identified their audiences as the populus Romanus, and their opinions as legitimate. at uero ille praetor, qui de me non patris, aui, proaui, maiorum denique suorum omnium, sed Graeculorum instituto contionem interrogare solebat, uelletne me redire, et, cum erat reclamatum semiuiuis mercennariorum uocibus, populum Romanum negare dicebat. (Sest. 126) But that praetor [Appius Claudius], who tends to ask questions of the contio about me not in the manner of his father, grandfather, great-grandfather, or indeed his entire family line, but like some little Greek, asked them whether they wanted me to come back; and when the shout of “no!” came in the half-dead voices of hirelings he claimed that the populus Romanus said they did not want it.

Again, we see Cicero dismiss Appius Claudius’ audience as hired men, and not even particularly enthusiastic ones at that. Appius, however, explicitly claims that this group are the populus Romanus, and that their shouts give him a mandate to oppose Cicero’s recall. Politicians at both ends of the spectrum made use of the legitimizing force that invocation of the populus Romanus could bring to expressions of public opinion. THE NATURE OF THE POPULUS ROMANUS The virtuoso ways in which Cicero and his contemporaries defined their audiences as the populus Romanus have already been discussed by Robert Morstein-Marx, in more detail than is possible here.19 He explores how the orator disenfranchises those with whom he does not agree and dismisses any crowd response hostile to him as corrupt, while embracing any sign of support (or indeed silence) as a favourable and unanimous expression of the true populus’ opinion. In the sections that follow, I aim to build on Morstein-Marx’s conclusions by asking why this rhetorical strategy was so common and effective. Why did orators risk alienating potential voters by calling them slaves and hirelings? It was not the only option available: they might instead have argued that their opponents had misread the popular mood, or that the objectionable views of the crowds in question did not reflect the majority opinion. Further analysis shows that the choice to define opponents as outside the populus was not just a rhetorical tool: it was based on a fundamental structuring principle of Roman political culture that deserves attention. It was clearly in the Republican orator’s interest to claim that public opinion was unanimous in his favour, and that any dissenting voices therefore must belong to people outside the “public” as Roman political culture defined it, i. e. the populus Romanus. But the fact that the populus and thus public opinion was almost always presented in unified agreement was not only a consequence of rhetorical choices, or 19

Morstein-Marx 2004: 119–59.

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even of the ideological power of consensus in Roman discourse.20 The indivisible unity of the populus itself was a structuring factor prior to any of these. The Latin word implied far more than just a group of people or the citizenry taken as a whole. It probably originally meant the army, reminding us of the origins of citizen’s rights in their military contributions; like the army, it was an institution, with its own internal and external structure.21 References to the populus Romanus in less formal settings, including (as we shall see) as passing onlookers to a trial or even just as the general public, were understood with reference to the populus Romanus in its full institutional form, summoned by a magistrate and divided into classes, centuries, and tribes.22 Roman concepts analogous to the English “public” were derived from this institution, rather than vice versa. One defining characteristic of the populus Romanus in late Republican Latin is its stubborn indivisibility.23 We know and the Romans knew that the people who made up the populus were often divided on an issue, or even polarised. But Latin authors hardly ever use the technical term populus when discussing internal division: in texts of Cicero’s time we do not hear that half the populus thinks one thing, while the other half thinks another.24 The populus Romanus is singular; it has one voice and one opinion. The populus’ indivisibility is best demonstrated by looking at the rare exceptions, which are usually treated as serious threats to the civic and even cosmic order. Livy’s scortum nobile (probably best translated “tart-with-a-heart”, 39.9.5) Hispala Faecennia, who reveals the Baccanalian conspiracy of 186 BCE, describes the crowd gathered for the rites as alterum iam prope populum – “almost a second populus” (39.13.14). The obvious meaning of her phrase is that the crowd was large, but Livy’s choice of the word populus adds further overtones. Hispala is a foreign-born woman and a freed slave, and perhaps Livy is deliberately characterising her as unused to the vocabulary of politics; but even she knows that to talk of a second populus makes no sense and has to be marked as metaphor with prope, 20 21

22

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Important recent contributions on the concept of consensus include Flower 2014; Flaig 2013. See further Jehne 2014: 120–3. For discussion of the word’s origin, see TLL ad. loc.; Momigliano 1969; Stark 1967: 57–57. The archaic meaning “army” is suggested by the fact that the dictator was originally called the magister populi, which by comparison with the magister equitum we could translate “the leader of the infantry” (Varr. Ling. 5.82; Cic. Rep. 1.63, Leg. 3.9; Sen. Ep. 108.31), and the link with the verb populor, “devastate”. See, for example, Cic. Rep. 3.45: an untrammelled, disordered democratic mob is no populus at all. This feature of Roman political discourse naturally served to reproduce elite power. Thus Connolly 2007: 40–1 discusses how only an group organised and led by the elite can be thought of as exercising political power; O’Neill 2003 explores the circuli, informal discussion groups, as alternative (and dangerously multiple) loci for political activity, and the ways in which the elite aimed to delegitimize and suppress them. It is possible to speak of plural populi in the same way as we in English might say “peoples”: the populi of various nations (e. g. Cic. Verr. 2.3.207, omnes liberi populi). I know of one key pre-Ciceronian example (Plut. Aul. 485), which I intend to give its own treatment elsewhere. The practice of voting itself, which seems designed to recognise diversity of opinion, was in Rome a vehicle for producing consensus, if not unanimity; voting stopped after a majority was reached, and the total number of votes on each side was not published. The result was announced as the decision of the populus Romanus. See further Jehne 2003.

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“almost”. The force of the metaphor is devastating: this alternative populus, composed irregularly of both men and women, forms an existential threat to the Roman state. In part its foreign and female members make it something akin to a foreign invader, a different people or race (or, indeed, army) here to wage war against the populus Romanus. And yet at the same time its most insidious quality is that it is partially composed of respectable Roman men like the young initiate Aebutius: it is an alternative populus, based on different relations of power and internal hierarchy, which threatens not to conquer but to replace the true populus. In his de Republica, Cicero assembles a cast of venerable statesmen of the generations immediately before his own for a fictional meeting at Scipio’s villa, imagined as taking place in the year 129 BCE. He sets the scene by making them talk of other matters before the discussion turns to politics, and an early topic of conversation is a recent astronomical phenomenon: Tubero asks Scipio what he thinks of the recent report that a second sun appeared in the sky (1.15). The conversation continues for several paragraphs, until finally Laelius objects: quid enim mihi … quaerit quo modo duo soles visi sint, non quaerit cur in una re publica duo senatus et duo paene iam populi sint? nam ut videtis mors Tiberii Gracchi et iam ante tota illius ratio tribunatus divisit populum unum in duas partis … Why does he ask me how it could be that two suns were seen, and he does not ask me why in one res publica there are two senates and almost two populi? For as you can see, the death of Tiberius Gracchus and before that the whole operation of his tribunate has divided one populus into two parts … (Cic. Rep. 1.31)

The idea that the populus Romanus could be divided into two parts is treated as a portent of cosmic significance, more unusual and striking than the idea that there could be two suns in the sky. Laelius’ question, with its contrast between una re publica and duo populi, implies that such a development is a contradiction in terms, something that should be impossible. And even within this thought experiment he hedges his claim, like Livy’s Hispala, marking it as metaphor with paene the first time he introduces it. The third and final example of late Republican or early imperial Latin referring in any way to a divided populus comes, like the first, in words a Roman author places into a foreign mouth. When Caesar demands that Massilia offer him support upon the outbreak of the civil war, they refuse: intellegere se divisum esse populum Romanum in partes duas; neque sui iudicii neque suarum esse virium discernere, utra pars iustiorem habeat causam. They said that they understood that the populus Romanus was divided into two parts: it was beyond their judgment and strength to decide which part had the more just cause. (Caes. BC 1.35)

As it turns out, their excuse is insincere: they have already agreed to help Domitius. But their argument once again shows how a divided populus Romanus is a fundamental contradiction and can only lead to disaster: neither of the two parts can claim legitimacy. It should not be surprising that this most definitive statement of the divided populus comes in 49 BCE: a populus in two parts means civil war and, indeed, the end of the Republic as Cicero knew it.

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Further into the imperial period, talk of a divided populus becomes less threatening. Tacitus (Hist. 1.4) can contrast the pars populi integra et magnis domibus adnexa (“the uncorrupt part of the populus, linked to the great houses”), who were filled with hope by Nero’s death, with the plebs sordida et circo ac theatris sueta, simul deterrimi servorum (“the squalid plebs and those who frequented the circus and theatres, and the worst of the slaves too”), who mourned him. As has been noted before, his diction draws on Livy’s depiction of the internal strife of 304 BCE, when a certain Gnaeus Flavius had attracted popularity among the lowly.25 But there are important differences between the two passages that have not previously been explored. Livy writes: ex eo tempore in duas partes discessit civitas; aliud integer populus, fautor et cultor bonorum, aliud forensis factio tenebat. (Liv. 9.46) From that time forward the civitas was divided into two parts: the uncorrupted populus, which favoured and supported the good men, wanted one thing, while the Forum clique wanted another.

Livy’s words are reminiscent of Cicero’s rhetorical technique: the morally compromised forensis factio are excluded from the populus. They were technically citizens, but by distancing themselves from the integer, uncorrupted populus they gave up any right to the name. For Tacitus, only part of the populus is uncorrupted. For Livy, however, although the civitas, the citizenry, may be divided, the populus cannot be.26 The indivisibility of the populus Romanus may thus remind us more of Habermasian Öffentlichkeit than any English concept of the “the public”.27 Frédéric Hurlet’s paper in this volume takes on Habermas’ theories of bourgeois and representative Öffentlichkeit and the their applicability to the Roman world in detail. For my purposes, one aspect of Habermas’s use of terminology, broadly applicable across the variety of forms of Öffentlichkeit he describes, is enough. For Habermas, Öffentlichkeit (of whatever kind) is singular and indivisible. In part, this is a consequence of the German term, the meaning of which we must struggle to express in English by shuttling between abstractions such as “the public sphere” or “the public realm”, but also “the public audience” and even merely “the public”.28 The plural Öffentlichkeiten is almost completely unattested outside contemporary (post-Haberma25 26

27

28

Heubner 1963 ad loc. On this episode, and the vocabulary and implications of political polarization at Rome more generally, see Hillard 2005: 4–9. For the divided civitas, compare Varro ap. Non. Marc. 3.128 (reflected by Florus 2.5), that Gaius Graccus created a bicipitem civitatem; Sall. Jug. 30 also refers to pars … pars civitatis. Habermas’ bourgeois Öffentlichkeit is historically located in a far later period, and not everything he says is applicable to the ancient world; for Habermas’ own treatment of the pre-modern, see Hurlet in this volume. But the singular nature of Öffentlichkeit, even when not used in a technical Habermasian sense, makes it easier for scholars writing in German to capture some aspects of how Roman Republican political discourse constitutes a singular and indivisible public – though, for the same reasons, they may not feel it demands so much explanation. See for example Hölkeskamp 2004: 70–1. On translating Öffentlichkeit, Mah 2000; and Hurlet in this volume.

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sian) works of high theory taking on these very questions. But its indivisibility is also a deliberate foundation of Habermas’ approach, coming to fruition only in his discussion of bourgeois Öffentlichkeit. For him, Öffentlichkeit is the sole source of legitimacy of public opinion, just as the populus Romanus was.29 The Roman orator’s choice to disenfranchise his opponents, defining them as outside the populus and thus outside those whose opinion counted as legitimate public opinion, was a rhetorical masterstroke and served his political ends well. But it should also be seen as a consequence of the fundamental unity of the populus Romanus in Roman political discourse, a feature that was arguably prior to many of the political norms that developed over the course of the middle and late Republic. This fundamental unity structured some of the unusual features of the operation of what we might call “public opinion’ in Roman political rhetoric. EXPLOITING THE DIFFERENCE The essential unity of the populus Romanus was at the core of Roman Republican political rhetoric. And yet the obvious and undeniable difference between the single ideal populus Romanus and the reality of the citizenry made for both problems and opportunities for the politician. As the first sections of this paper demonstrated, a politician could make use of the differences between the abstract populus Romanus and any given group of people, particularly by identifying people who disagreed with them as outside the populus. The public opinion Cicero wanted to present as legitimate derived not from the populus Romanus as a whole, but from the subset within it consisting of people who agreed with him. Meanwhile, every politician addressing a contio had to face the fact that the full populus Romanus was a larger and more diverse group than the populus Romanus who stood in front of him. The Roman definition of the public with reference to the populus makes the Roman public sphere, and Roman public opinion, more concrete than an Öffentlichkeit understood as a single legitimate notion of publicness and a single “public audience” embedded in political culture. Unlike Habermas’s pure abstraction, in the end it is a large (and known) group of people. For Romans the abstract populus can only ever be singular, and as a result there can only be one legitimate public opinion. But the real populus and its opinions are at least potentially multiple. Despite the rhetorical and legal fiction that this audience in front of any given orator on any given day was exactly equivalent to the populus, and that the opinion they expressed constituted the sole legitimate public opinion, everyone knew that there

29

Hurlet notes that some aspects of Habermasian bourgeois public opinion, founded on a notion of “reason” specific to the post-Enlightenment context, cannot be reconciled with the world of the Roman Republic. Rome certainly had public opinion with legitimating force (for which see n. 9 above), but its legitimation was not based on reason; indeed, the role of the populus Romanus and its performative demonstrations of consent is more reminiscent of Habermas’ earlier, representative Öffentlichkeit.

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were other members of the populus, in other times and in other places.30 The populus here today might have a different opinion from the populus there tomorrow.31 The existence of such diverse instantiations of the populus is one reason that Cicero and Clodius argue not about what the populus thinks in general, or even over what any particular crowd thinks, but instead about whose audience is exactly identical to the true populus. In the pro Sestio, Cicero takes his argument to a dangerous extreme, drawing out its fullest implications. When maintaining that public opinion is entirely in his favour, and claiming never to have seen the slightest demonstration to the contrary, he asks: aliusne est aliquis improbis civibus peculiaris populus, cui nos offensi invisique fuerimus? “Or do those wicked citizens have some other populus of their own, which disapproves of and hates us?” (Sest. 125). The answer he expects from his hearers is “No!” By definition there can be no such alternative populus, and the implication is that any such crowds must be either imaginary or disqualified. But the truth was that Clodius and his allies did indeed have their own peculiaris populus, as did any orator who summoned a contio: their audiences were composed of their partisans and might have had little overlap with Cicero’s, but they were still legally and rhetorically defined as the one and only populus Romanus. Cicero’s quip touches at the paradox and its consequences. The very concept of the true populus creates the spectre of the false populus. There can never be two populi, and the populus can never be split, but other versions of the populus always threaten to exist.32 I use the word “threaten” deliberately, because alongside using rhetoric of the populus Romanus’ indivisibility to disenfranchise alternative points of view, Roman politicians had another trick up their sleeve, and one which has not been so frequently analysed. They could use the slippages between the (various) real instantiation(s) of the populus and the ideal populus, between the opinion they imputed to a single gathering and the legitimizing force of public opinion, to threaten their 30 31

32

In private letters, as opposed to public speeches, Cicero and his correspondents do indeed break down the electorate into different constituencies: e. g. Fam. 8.12.2–3; QF 2.4.5; see further Rosillo-López 2017a: 155–70; Hurlet in this volume. Morstein-Marx 2004: 143–50 gathers some examples of moments when two groups of people or even formally-convened contiones in close proximity seemed to produce diametrically opposed opinions; see also Mouritsen 2001: 41. Politicians might indeed take advantage of the changing makeup of crowds; according to Plut. Vit. Ti. Gracch. 16, when Tiberius Gracchus’ elite supporters saw that he was about to lose his second tribunician elections because the wrong crowd had showed up, they dismissed the assembly and demanded a new one the next day. At pro Cluentio 137–8, Cicero remarks that ipse deinde populus Romanus qui L. Quincti fictis querimoniis antea concitatus rem illam et rogationem flagitarat, idem C. Iuni fili, pueri parvoli, lacrimis commotus maximo clamore et concursu totam quaestionem illam et legem repudiavit – “That very same populus Romanus that before, agitated by Lucius Quinctius’ false complaints, demanded that this case be prosecuted and a bill be brought, that same one was moved by the tears of Gaius Junius’ son, that poor little boy, and with great shouts and crowds denounced this court and law.” His use of ipse and idem is meant to imply that one and the same crowd changed its mind, but his insistence on a singular populus Romanus even when different opinions are being displayed is notable. On the other hand, the phrase ipse or idem populus Romanus also contains within it the threat that there could be another.

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opponents. This, more than anything else, comes close in effect to the modern politician’s slippery invocation of “public opinion” as a weapon, though the concepts behind it are differently formed. For an example, I turn to Cicero’s speeches against Verres, and specifically the opening of the first speech of the second actio. Public opinion was at the heart of Cicero’s strategy in the speech: he wanted to convince the jurors that Verres was widely presumed guilty, that his guilt and the nature of the court system more widely was a matter of great public interest, and thus that acquitting him would bring a storm of controversy down on the jurors’ own heads. At the very beginning of the speech, Cicero introduces public opinion by claiming that it was widely thought that Verres would not turn up for trial. In the text we read, this is an ironic literary device: if the modern consensus is correct, Verres indeed did not turn up for trial, and this speech was never delivered. This presents no real difficulty for my approach: the arguments Cicero uses are prepared as if for a real trial, and demonstrate the kind of tactics available to a prosecutor whether or not they were actually used in this case. For my purposes, the important thing to note in these opening phrases is how Cicero describes the general feeling that Verres would not show: sermonem vulgi atque hanc opinionem populi Romani – “the talk of the crowd and the opinion of the populus Romanus” (Verr. 2.1.1). Where we would say “public opinion”, his double description tells us exactly whose opinion is meant: the populus. It does not seem a matter of great political import whether the populus think Verres will face his trial or not. But soon Cicero also ascribes to the populus Romanus opinions which are more politically inflammatory: accessi enim ad invidiam iudiciorum levandam vituperationemque tollendam, ut, cum haec res pro voluntate populi Romani esset iudicata, aliqua ex parte mea diligentia constituta auctoritas iudiciorum videretur. (Verr. 2.1.5) I am here to reduce the hatred felt for the courts and to take away the criticisms made of them. My aim is that when this case has been decided in accordance with the wish of the populus Romanus, the authority of the courts will seem established, at least in some part by my hard work.

Cicero introduces here an assumption that the case should be decided in accordance with the populus’s opinion, even though this was not a quaestio populi and the jurors were legally free to vote in accordance with their own consciences. What is more, he is perfectly clear about what the populus’s opinion is, even though it has not been determined by a vote of any kind: they want to see Verres condemned.33 The argument Cicero lays out in the opening paragraphs of the speech depends on shifting between the ideal populus Romanus and the actual people present on any one occasion. As and when it suits his purposes, he identifies both as the populus Romanus in its role as the producer of legitimate public opinion. At 2.1.29, he 33

Grilli 2005: 132 points out that throughout the Verrines, Cicero defines the populus Romanus as distinct from the senate or the nobiles, a common feature elsewhere in his work (at Brut. 186–8, for example, populus is made equivalent to vulgus, meaning “the ordinary people” as opposed to conoisseurs of oratory). But the force of his argument is based precisely around claiming that the populus’ opinion, and not that of his senatorial listeners, has legitimacy.

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claims that the populus Romanus heard what he had to say in his speech in the first actio. He cannot be claiming that the populus as a whole heard him; nor, indeed, did the populus as an institution, properly convened by a magistrate for a contio or comitia. The group who heard him were the corona of onlookers who came to watch court cases on an entirely informal basis.34 But this incredibly selective and unrepresentative group had opinions, expressed them, and even had an effect on proceedings by doing so: at 2.1.12 Cicero “reminds” the court that in the first actio Verres was clamore populi Romani infesto atque inimico excitatum – “shaken by the aggressive and hostile shouts of the populus Romanus”, and confessed that he had failed to behead the pirate chiefs. By naming the assembled crowd as the populus Romanus, he elevates them to official status and their shouts to the status of public opinion. Here, therefore, we see him play on the slippage between a given group of people and the populus, even in a situation where the crowd are not institutionally constituted as the populus at all. But at the heart of Cicero’s argument is another shift: between public opinion and the iussa populi, the will of the people. The will of the populus Romanus, when expressed through their votes in an assembly legally called by a magistrate, has legal force: it can create laws, elect magistrates, and (most importantly for Verres) condemn criminals. Mere shouts from the crowd cannot do so, but a skilled orator can turn shouts into a threat of legal action. The most blatant threat is at in Verrem 2.1.22: deinde etiam illud cogitare, quanto periculo venturi simus ad eos iudices quos propter odium nostri populus Romanus de nobis voluerit iudicare. (Verr. 2.1.22) Next, think too about this: how much danger we would face if we were to come before those judges whom, because of how much we are hated, the populus Romanus might wish should judge us.

Cicero is claiming that if the jury do not condemn Verres, the populus Romanus are likely to vote to give the courts back to the equestrians, and the new equestrian juries will be harsher on senators, including Cicero himself and the current jurors. The populus Romanus’s wish must be heeded, because it can easily become reality. It is in a slightly earlier passage, however, that the second shift involved in this kind of threat becomes more apparent. Again, Cicero is talking about what might happen if Verres is acquitted. ex hoc quoque evaserit: proficiscar eo quo me iam pridem vocat populus Romanus; de iure enim libertatis et civitatis suum putat esse iudicium, et recte putat. confringat iste sane vi sua consilia senatoria, quaestiones omnium perrumpat, evolet ex vestra severitate: mihi credite, artioribus apud populum Romanum laqueis tenebitur. (Verr. 2.1.12–13) Maybe he will escape that charge too. In that case, I will move on to what the populus Romanus is already asking me; it thinks that the power to judge cases of freedom and citizenship is its own, and it is right. So what does it matter if he let him us force to overrule senatorial deliberations, let him break free of all the quaestiones, let him escape your severity: believe me, he will be held in a tighter noose before the populus Romanus.

34

On the influence of the corona, see Rosillo-López 2017b.

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Cicero will do what the populus Romanus are calling him to do: he will try Verres before the populus. When he claims that the populus Romanus are calling him, Cicero is appealing to the abstracted force of public opinion against Verres. He would like us to believe not that one or two men, or even the shouts of a single crowd, have asked him to prosecute, but that every single member of the populus Romanus shares that opinion. In the second sentence, however, apud populum Romanum refers to a different concept: a specific group of voters on a specific day, who, when defined by legal and rhetorical fiction as exactly identical to the populus Romanus, have the legal power to vote for Verres’ conviction in a trial apud populum. In the opening arguments of the speech taken as whole, Cicero takes advantage of two ambiguities in the way he uses the populus Romanus. Firstly, as so often, he shifts constantly between the imaginary all-inclusive populus Romanus and a specific group of people present on any given occasion. In addition, he shifts between the opinion he ascribes to the populus Romanus and the legally binding decisions of the populus Romanus. Taken together, these two shifts can be used to construct a complex threat: the opinions Cicero ascribes to the people present at the trial acquire the status of the legitimate opinion of the ideal populus Romanus, which he then threatens to turn into action. This rhetorical tactic is not confined to Cicero. Sallust ascribes a similar gambit to Memmius when he questions Jugurtha before a contio at Bellum Jugurthinum 33.3–4: quibus iuuantibus quibusque ministris ea egerit, quamquam intellegat populus Romanus, tamen uelle manufesta magis ex illo habere: si uerum aperiat, in fide et clementia populi Romani magnam spem illi sitam; sin reticeat, non sociis saluti fore, sed se suasque spes corrupturum. He said that the populus Romanus knew who had encouraged and helped him to do these things, but that even so they wanted to hear it openly from his own mouth. If he revealed the truth, he could hope for great things from the faith and mercy of the populus Romanus; but keeping silent would not help his allies and would destroy himself and his hopes.

Here, where the relationship between the populus Romanus and an outsider is in question, the shift turns on ambiguities between the crowd present on the day, the ideal populus, and the state itself. The crowd is hostile to the king: we have already heard that they are demanding his imprisonment or execution. Memmius performs a show of quieting them, but their anger drives home the threat in his final words: if Jugurtha can appease these people, however, by answering Memmius’ questions, Memmius promises that his diplomatic relations with Rome itself will go more smoothly, and if not, he faces punishment. By morphing these men’s voices into the opinion of the populus Romanus as a whole, Memmius creates a kind of public opinion the legitimacy of which cannot be questioned and which can therefore easily be transformed into a sentence of punishment or a decree of alliance.

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CONCLUSION Roman political discourse constructed the populus Romanus as the single source of legitimate public opinion. The operation of that process, and particularly the indivisibility of the populus, is in some ways reminiscent of Habermas’ (or, more broadly, German) Öffentlichkeit; but at its core lies not an abstract notion of publicness or even an English concept of a public realm, but a real group of real people. In practical terms, that group could never be gathered together in one place at one time to tender their opinion, whether by voting or shouting, and as a result Roman politicians and their audiences together colluded in a fiction that a smaller group could be – not represent, but actually be – the populus Romanus. But the fiction itself led to problems: in theory, the populus Romanus should only have one opinion, but in practice different meetings produced different results. As the duelling contiones of the supporters of Cicero and Clodius show, Cicero and his contemporaries could discount the “public opinion” on show on one occasion and privilege another by arguing about not what the true public opinion was, but which group was in fact the true populus. In the Verrines, on the other hand, Cicero plays on the slippage between what he claims is the general feeling of the people and the actual enactment of the sovereign populus Romanus’s wishes in a legally-constituted trial before the people. Roman Republican concepts of public opinion were inescapably linked to the populus Romanus, and the specific ways in which the populus Romanus was constituted and functioned in political discourse affected the roles, phenomena and concepts we would call “public opinion” played in politics. The conceptual indivisibility of the populus Romanus, when confronted with the ease with which a politician could draw a partisan crowd, generated a range of problems around public opinion which were subtly different from those we find today. For a great orator or political operator, however, all these problems were opportunities. If my examples show anything, it is that Romans – both orators and audience – were fully aware of these problems, even if they might not have had a vocabulary to describe them. They took full advantage. BIBLIOGRAPHY Ando, C. (2013) “The origins and import of Republican constitutionalism”, Cardozo Law Review 34: 917–35. Asmis, E. (2004) “The state as a partnership: Cicero’s definition of res publica in his work On the State”, History of Political Thought 25: 569–99. Atkins, J. W. (2013) Cicero on Politics and the Limits of Reason: The Republic and the Laws, Cambridge. Connolly, J. (2007) The State of Speech: Rhetoric and Political Thought in Ancient Rome, Princeton. Crawford, M. H. (ed.) (1996) Roman statutes, BICS Suppl. 64, London. Flaig, E. (2013) Die Mehrheitsentscheidung. Entstehung und kulturelle Dynamik, Paderborn. Flower, H. I. (2014) Consensus and Community in Republican Rome, 20th Todd Memorial Lecture, Sydney.

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Grilli, A. (2005) “Populus in Cicerone”, in Popolo e potere nel mondo antico, ed. G. Urso: 97–123. Pisa. Habermas, J. (1991) The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, Cambridge, MA. Hammer, D. (2015) “Were the people sovereign in the Roman Republic?” (Working paper). Retrieved from www.polisci.ucla.edu/sites/default/files/u20/5-20-2015_political-theory-work shop-dean-hammer.pdf. Heubner, H. (1963) P. Cornelius Tacitus. Die Historien: Kommentar, Heidelberg. Hillard, T. W. (2005) “Res publica in theory and practice”, in Roman Crossings: Theory and Practice in the Roman Republic, eds. K. Welch and T. W. Hillard: 1–48. Swansea. Hodgson, L. (2017) Res Publica and the Roman Republic: “Without Body or Form”, Oxford. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (1995) “Oratoris maxima scaena: Reden vor dem Volk in der politischen Kultur der Republik”, in Demokratie in Rom? Die Rolle des Volkes in der Politik der römischen Republik, Historia Einzelschriften 96, ed. M. Jehne: 11–49. Stuttgart. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2004) Rekonstruktionen einer Republik: die politische Kultur des antiken Rom und die Forschung der letzten Jahrzehnte, Munich. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2013) “Friends, Romans, Countrymen: addressing the Roman people and the rhetoric of inclusion”, in Community and Communication: Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom: 11–28. Oxford. Jehne, M. (2003) “Integrationsrituale in der römischen Republik. Zur einbindenden Wirkung der Volksversammlungen”, in Sinn (in) der Antike. Orienterungssysteme, Leitbilder und Wertkonzepte im Altertum, eds. K.-J. Hölkeskamp, J. Rüsen, E. Stein-Hölkeskamp, and H. T. Grütter: 279–97. Mainz. Jehne, M. (2006) “Who attended Roman assemblies? Some remarks on political participation in the Roman Republic”, in Repúblicas y ciudadanos: Modelos de participación cívica en el mundo antiguo, eds. F. Marco Simon, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal Rodriguez: 221–34. Barcelona. Jehne, M. (2014) “Das Volk as Institution und diskursive Bezugsgrösse in der römischen Republik”, in Staatlichkeit in Rom? Diskurse und Praxis (in) der römischen Republik, ed. C. Lundgreen: 117–37. Stuttgart. Kaster, R. A. (ed., trans., comm.) (2006) Cicero: Speech on Behalf of Publius Sestius, Oxford. Mah, H. (2000) “Phantasies of the public sphere: rethinking the Habermas of historians”, Journal of Modern History 72: 153–82. Millar, F. (1998) The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic, Ann Arbor. Momigliano, A. (1969) “The origins of the Roman Republic”, in Interpretation: Theory and Practice, ed. C. S. Singleton: 1–34. Baltimore. Morstein-Marx, R. (2004) Mass Oratory and Political Power in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Mouritsen, H. (2001) Plebs and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Nicolet, C. (1980) The World of the Citizen in Republican Rome, Berkeley. O’Neill, P. (2003) “Going round in circles: popular speech in ancient Rome”, ClAnt 22: 135–76. Pina Polo, F. (1996) Contra arma verbis: Der Redner vor dem Volk in der späten römischen Republik, Stuttgart. Rosillo-López, C. (2017a) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Rosillo-López, C. (2017b) “The role and influence of the audience (corona) in trials in the late Roman Republic”, Ath. 105: 106–19. Russell, A. (2016a) The Politics of Public Space in Republican Rome, Cambridge. Russell, A. (2016b) “Why did Clodius shut the shops? The rhetoric of mobilizing a crowd in the Late Republic”, Historia 65: 186–210. Schofield, M. (1995) “Cicero’s definition of the Res Publica”, in Cicero the Philosopher, ed. J. G. F. Powell: 63–83. Oxford. Stark, R. (1967) “Res publica”, in Römische Wortbegriffe, ed. H. Oppermann: 42–110. Darmstadt. Straumann, B. (2016) Crisis and Constitutionalism: Roman Political Thought from the Fall of the Republic to the Age of Revolution, New York.

HOW DID ROMANS PERCEIVE AND MEASURE PUBLIC OPINION?1 Cristina Rosillo-López The question of whether, as a general rule, public opinion exists outside polls is a current matter of debate. The polling system itself has also lately been subject to heavy criticism, especially in relation to elections. From the Brexit referendum to the latest elections in Spain and the United States, polls have failed spectacularly to anticipate the results. The effectiveness of electoral polls has therefore been called into question, with some political scientists claiming that they only represent trends, and do not reflect the actual choices of the voters. The influence upon the final results of the publication of polls during electoral campaigns has also been brought to attention. This paper addresses the question of whether public opinion existed outside polls in a pre-industrial, pre-modern media political culture such as the Roman Republic by focusing on electoral predictions. Carried out by measuring public opinion, these predictions are a recurring theme in Cicero’s correspondence, ranging from who would canvass to who would win. If by any chance Cicero was not in the city of Rome during an electoral campaign, or Atticus or any of Cicero’s other correspondent was abroad, their letters often included electoral speculations. Cicero’s own predictions, or requests for these from others, were concerned mainly with the consular elections, as befitted the most important annually elected office in the Roman Republic. As the Commentariolum petitionis stressed, candidates had to put their alliances on display to create the impression of having wide and significant support. But the matter was not so straightforward. How was public opinion about elections measured in a world without electoral polls? I will examine how Roman senators coped with the uncertainties of politics and electoral results, the complicated problem of guessing who would win an election, and how opinions about these issues were expressed. The main aim of this study is to elucidate how Roman politicians perceived and measured public opinion: that is, how they actually thought about public opinion and what preconditions and biases formed their own opinion about public opinion. To this end I will address, firstly, the question of the uncertainty of elections and how the candidates attempted to create and encourage public opinion in their 1

This research has been financed by the project “Opinión pública y comunicación política en la República Romana (siglos II–I a. de C.)” (2013–43496-P) through the Ministerio de Economía y Competitividad, Spain, and the Humboldt Research Fellowship for Experienced Researchers of the Alexander von Humboldt Foundation, Germany. All dates are BCE.

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favour. Secondly, I will survey methodological criticism of modern polls in order to assess the challenges and difficulties of measuring public opinion. Finally, I will examine how Roman politicians estimated public opinion and, through this, how they developed electoral predictions. INCERTA IN RE PUBLICA: UNCERTAINTY, PUBLIC OPINION AND ELECTIONS Uncertainty represented a defining element in elections. Following Sulla’s reforms, forty-four politicians were elected to office each year: two consuls, eight praetors, ten tribunes of the plebs, twenty quaestors, and four aediles.2 Every five years, two censors were elected. Since the lex Domitia de sacerdotiis of 104–103, the election of the pontiffs and augurs was put in the hands of the people.3 Sulla repealed this law in 81, but in 63 the tribune Atius Labienus passed a measure that gave the vote back to the comitia tributa.4 All these ongoing elections meant that Roman politicians were faced with uncertainty during a large part of their political life, be it for their own election or for that of a friend or kinsman. Uncertainty was also higher in elections with candidates who had equal chances and support, which could split the vote.5 Romans did not despise losers, but they cared deeply about victory. The only established path to the top was that of repeated victory at the polls. Electoral success was a prerequisite for political power, but also for military command and glory, since armies were commanded by higher magistrates and ex-magistrates who also governed the provinces, where enormous wealth could, legally or illegally, be amassed. In the Senate itself, a senator’s rank and influence (including formal precedence in debates) depended on the highest elected office he had attained. Thus both the incentives and the stakes were high. For this reason, losing became an accepted part of the game, and losers were not punished politically.6 Roman politicians felt political uncertainty keenly. When narrating the election of the pontifex maximus in 63, which Caesar won, Plutarch focused on his closest competitor, Q. Lutatius Catulus (cos. 78), who, knowing that Caesar had borrowed

2 3

4

5 6

The number of praetors and quaestors fluctuated during the Republic. Cf. Broughton 1951: 559 dated the law to the year 104, together with Domitius Ahenobarbus’ tribunate. Candidates were selected in the first place by the collegia of priests; after the electoral campaign, 17 out of 35 tribes were chosen by lot to make a decision. On the procedure of such elections, cf. Mommsen, 1877: 2.26–30; Taylor 1942. Lex Cornelia de sacerdotiis. Liv. Epit. 89; Cass. Dio 37.37. Lex Atia de sacerdotiis: Suet. Iul. 13; Vell. 2.12.3; Sall. Cat. 49; Plut. Caes. 7.1; Cass. Dio 37.37.1 Taylor 1942: 423 suggested that Caesar sponsored the proposal of that law to promote his candidacy, just as Domitius Ahenobarbus had done in 104 (Ahenobarbus was elected pontifex maximus one year after his law was passed). Yakobson 1999 on electoral competition and split votes. Broughton 1991; Pina Polo 2012; Baudry 2013; Pina Polo 2016.

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almost beyond his possibilities, offered him large sums of money to desist.7 Caesar refused the bargain and finally won the election, beating the prestigious consular, among other candidates. The biographer highlighted that Catulus acted in this way because he dreaded the uncertainty (adêlotês) of the issue.8 Speaking about the political issues of his time, Atticus stated that one of his summaries about current politics reflected “the uncertainty of public affairs” (incerta in re publica). Cicero agreed with him, but considered that the variety of opinions and the uncertainty surrounding the situation made him feel as if he was really in Rome.9 How could a Roman politician mitigate that feeling of uncertainty? Could he measure public opinion and try to guess the outcome of the elections? To do so, he had to seek out information during electoral campaigns, try to discover current public opinion and work out who was going to canvass and which candidates had the greatest chances of winning. That is, he had to assess public opinion at a time before polls had been invented. Nihil est incertius volgo, nihil obscurius voluntate hominum, nihil fallacius ratione tota comitiorum; thus Cicero described elections as deceptive and deceitful affairs.10 Candidates constantly had to be alert to the opinions of the people, scrutinizing the faces of the citizens incessantly: Nihil est enim tam molle, tam tenerum, tam aut fragile aut flexibile quam voluntas erga nos sensusque civium, the goodwill of the citizens was a fragile and moveable thing.11 Faced with this, how could a candidate maximize his chances of achieving popularity in public opinion, or at the very least, tampering with the climate of opinion? What cues tipped the odds for or against a particular candidate? The usual means involved distributing money, organizing games, and celebrating banquets, thus increasing the candidate’s reputation with the voters, and providing the opportunity for spreading rumours about his rivals. In the Commentariolum petitionis both Cicero and his brother commented on the importance and necessity of a candidate of appearing frequently in public, followed by the largest possible crowd.12 The escort of a candidate was a matter of special attention in the campaign. The Commentariolum divided the entourage of the candidate into three categories: the salutatores, who visited the houses of sev-

7 8

9 10 11 12

Caesar and Catulus would have several clashes in their political careers; cf. Plut. Caes. 6.6; Vell. 2.43.4. Plut. Caes. 7. 2. Suetonius (Iul. 13) and Velleius Paterculus (2.43) do not mention Catulus’ bribe to Caesar. What could Plutarch’s source for this event have been? Pelling 2011: 49–50 points out that C. Oppius, Caesar’s companion, wrote an account of the life of the dictator that appeared soon after his death, and which provided Plutarch with much information about Caesar’s early life. Such material figures prominently “in the early chapters, where it is clear that Plutarch has more material than he does in some other Lives for his subjects’ youthful experiences” (Pelling 2011: 50). I suggest that Catulus’ episode could stem from this source. Cic. Att. 2.15. Cic. Mur. 36. Cic. Mil. 42. Cic. Mur 44; Comm. pet. 37.

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eral candidates and decided upon their favoured choice.13 The deductores escorted the candidate from his house to the Forum, and were the very embodiment of his dignitas. Finally, the adsectatores formed a full-time escort, composed of people who owed favours to the candidate.14 During the 60s, several laws engaged with the crowds that surrounded the candidates. The lex Fabia de numero sectatorum, probably enacted between 67 and 63 (that is, between the lex Calpurnia de ambitu and the lex Tullia de ambitu), limited their size.15 However, for the sake of this paper, it is not the size that matters, but the reasons for the presence of the escort: some candidates started paying people to form larger crowds around them.16 In 63 an interpretation of the lex Calpurnia de ambitu of 67 was requested in order to reassert the illegality of hiring escorts.17 That year, after being elected consul, Murena was accused of ambitus by one of the defeated candidates, who argued that, among other mischiefs, people had been paid to follow him. Not even Cicero could argue much about such an accusation: “Show that they were paid, and then I shall admit that crime was committed”.18 The laws regarding sectatores were aimed at preventing or repressing the violence that could ensue.19 I suggest that the rationale behind the law against ambitus that forbade candidates from paying for followers was also linked to the fact that it interfered with the assessment of electoral possibilities, and thus affected the capacity of the voters to measure public support (and public opinion) in favour of a particular candidate. Electoral corruption or ambitus was not only a way to ensure the support of the citizens (taking into account the introduction of the secret vote in 139, it was difficult to be completely certain about the way somebody would vote). It was also a means to tamper with public opinion and create the impression of popularity. This was not a simple affair: as a self-fulfilling prophecy, and taking into account the spiral of silence, such impressions could increase a candidate’s chances of victory enormously. Gossip and rumours were, of course, common weapons to create or affect electoral expectations, since they could effectively create a climate of opinion in favour of, or against, a candidate.20 People ran to the candidates’ houses to try to guess from his humour, attitude and demeanour how likely his chances were; sociability, in the streets, baths, shops or at dinners, was the primary means of obtaining these impressions.21 In the case of Murena, for instance, Cicero also highlighted the presence of his former soldiers, who circulated tales of valour throughout Rome: “Most influential, then, is such a speech as this – “He refreshed me when I was wounded. Cic. Mur. 44; Comm. pet. 34–35. Cf. Yakobson 1999: 71–78 on these “floating voters”. On the salutatio, cf. Goldbeck 2010. 14 Cic. Mur. 70–71. 15 Cic. Mur. 71; Comm. pet. 34–37. Cf. Rosillo-López 2010: 60. 16 Cic. Mur. 70; 73. 17 Cic. Mur. 67–70. 18 Cic. Mur. 70: Doce mercede; concedam esse crimen. 19 On violence during those years, cf. Lintott 1968: 189. 20 On rumours and politics cf. Laurence 1994; Rosillo-López 2007; Pina Polo 2010; RosilloLópez 2017; Courrier 2017 (for the Principate). 21 Cic. Mur. 44–45. On sociability, information and gossip, cf. Rosillo-López 2017. 13

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He gave me a share of the plunder. He was the general when we took that camp – when we fought that battle. He never imposed harder work on the soldier than he underwent himself. He was as fortunate as he is brave”.22 Such conversations increased the reputation of a candidate in the eyes of the voters. However, harmful rumours and gossip also constituted standard ammunition in elections. The Commentariolum petitionis suggested encouraging wild rumours about competitors during the canvassing.23 In his Pro Murena, Cicero provided a glimpse of the kinds of rumours that the friends and allies of a candidate could disseminate about their rivals: “Do you see how gloomy that man looks? How dejected? He is out of spirits; he thinks he has no chance; he has laid down his arms.” Then a rumour gets abroad – “Do you know that he is thinking of a prosecution? He is seeking evidence against his competitors; he is hunting for witnesses. I shall vote for some one else, as he knows that he has no chance”.24 Rumours could change opinions radically and quickly.25 These conversations could circulate swiftly and annihilate a candidate’s chances, as Publius Scipio Nasica discovered to his cost when he was canvassing for the curule aedileship. Shaking hands with the crowd, as was the custom, he encountered a citizen who worked in the fields. His calloused hands prompted Scipio to ask, as a joke, whether he used to walk on his hands. “Bystanders caught the remark and it spread to the public and caused Scipio’s defeat. For all the rustic tribes thought he had taunted them about their poverty, and vented their anger against his insulting wit”.26 The timeline of the anecdote is unknown: that is, we do not know how much time passed between Scipio’s remark and the day of the elections. However, rumours were effective enough, and circulated sufficiently widely, to cost him the election to the magistracy by creating a negative climate of opinion against him and generating unfavourable electoral projections and predictions about him in the minds of the voters.27 The last resort for influencing people’s voting intentions could happen right at the beginning of the elections. The centuria praerogativa, chosen by lot from the centuries of the first class in the comitia centuriata, enjoyed the privilege of voting first; furthermore, the result of its vote was announced immediately.28 Understood in terms of measuring public opinion, the vote of the praerogativa could be equated to an influential exit poll, since it provided a precedent for how the rest of the citi22 23 24 25 26 27 28

Cic. Mur. 38: Qua re gravis est illa oratio: “Me saucium recreavit, me praeda donavit; hoc duce castra cepimus, signa contulimus; numquam iste plus militi laboris imposuit quam sibi sumpsit, ipse cum fortis tum etiam felix”. Comm pet. 52–53. Cic. Mur. 45: “Videsne tu illum tristem, demissum? iacet, diffidit, abiecit hastas.” Serpit hic rumor. “Scis tu illum accusationem cogitare, inquirere in competitores, testis quaerere? Alium fac iam, quoniam sibi hic ipse desperat.” Cic. Mur. 35; Mil. 42. Val. Max. 7.5.2: quod dictum a circumstantibus exceptum ad populum manauit causamque repulsae Scipioni attulit: omnes namque rusticae tribus paupertatem sibi ab eo exprobratam iudicantes iram suam aduersus contumeliosam eius urbanitatem destrinxerunt. Yakobson 1999; Rosillo-López 2017. Restriction to consular elections: Develin 1978: 377; Yakobson 1999: 52.

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zens might vote. Cicero claimed that the first choice of the praerogativa almost assured a consulship.29 In 54, two candidates promised ten million sesterces, a huge amount of money, to ensure its vote.30 However, the influence of the omen praerogativae should not be pushed too far: the meaning of the passage has been discussed, taking into account that Cicero affirmed that the candidate elected in second place by that centuria sometimes, or often, lost the election.31 Cicero attributed the influence of the praerogativa to an expression of divine will, certified by the fact that the century was chosen by lot.32 Taylor connected it to “bandwagon psychology”,33 the tendency to follow the actions or beliefs of others, thus creating more support for what appears to be the winning side; this mechanism features among the elements that form public opinion. Brunt considered that it referred to the fact that the centuria was thought to be a cross-section of the electorate, pointing out that many tribes were small and probably susceptible to the influence of a particular person.34 However, Brunt’s remark does not take into account the fact that the bandwagon effect often does not derive from a rational or calculated choice, but rather from a psychological mechanism related to the spiral of silence: the fact that a candidate seemed to be winning furthered his chances, and the apparent defeat of others could deter his supporters from casting their votes for him, unless they were deeply convinced and committed.35 These various mechanisms and possibilities enabled the voters to gain an impression of the chances of each candidate and to draw their own conclusions. They provided the possibility of recognizing patterns and cues that surrounded the most successful candidates, and which could be applied to the analysis of other occasions and contenders, although, as we shall see, such information was not always more significant than the specifics of each case. METHODOLOGICAL LIMITS OF ELECTORAL POLLS Polls were used for the first time in 1935 in the United States to measure public opinion.36 Since then, public opinion polls and election polls have become indis29 Cic. Planc. 49. Taylor 1949: 204, n. 40 mentioned some exceptions to this rule. 30 Cic. QFr. 2.14.4. Yakobson 1999: 140, n. 59 on further attempts to bribe this centuria. 31 Meier, RE. s. v. centuria praerogativa. Cicero’s affirmation has been dismissed as a rhetorical exaggeration by Meier in RE. s. v. centuria praerogativa pace Brunt 1988: 524, who suggested that “Cicero could hardly have made the allegation unless it had been at least generally true in his day”. It would not be the first time, though, that Cicero tiptoed around the line of the truth in his speeches. 32 Cic. Mur. 38; Div. 1.103; 2.83. Rosenstein 1995: 58–66 has rejected this religious interpretation. 33 Taylor 1949: 56. 34 Brunt 1988: 524–525. 35 On the spiral of silence cf. Noelle-Neumann 1993; Hayes 2007. 36 The first election poll was taken by Gallup to estimate the chances of his mother-in-law’s success in the elections for secretary of state for Iowa. For an introduction on Gallup cf. Gallup (2004).

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pensable elements of the political life of every country. They have been hailed as the single means to measure empirically the opinions of citizens on specific issues and to gauge a candidate’s chances of winning. Among the different types of polls, exit polls are one of the most popular during elections: a sample of voters are interviewed after they have voted and are leaving the premises. Such interviews are an attempt to solve the problem with preelection polls, which are not always reliable, since people interviewed beforehand might ultimately decide not to vote, or might change their minds.37 Exit polls are used to make estimations about the final results.38 That magical halo was short-lived; it faded away in the US elections of 1948, when all electoral polls failed to predict the election of Harry Truman as president. The shock was so notorious that the government opened an enquiry to investigate the causes of the failure of the polls. One of the reasons would not be given a name until decades later: the spiral of silence, a concept suggested by Elisabeth Noelle-Neumann to define situations in which, with two or several competing opinions, people usually accept promptly the opinion of others, especially if they perceive that they are in the minority. This, in fact, reinforces the opinion of the majority, since expressing opinions contrary to that of the largest group requires a lot of courage and psychological strength. The reasons are diverse, but all of them relate to our characteristics as human beings: fear of being left aside, judged, or criticised.39 The spiral of silence represents one of the main reasons for the failure of exit polls, since people tend to not express their opinions freely in that situation. From the middle of the twentieth century onwards, polling created the illusion of being the definitive way to measure public opinion. Zaller, for instance, asserted that public opinion, understood as “citizens walking around saying to themselves things like ‘I strongly approve of the way George Bush is doing his job as president’ or ‘I think we should take a stronger stand, even if it means invading North Vietnam,’ (…) does not exist except in the presence of the pollster”.40 Such affirmations attest to the struggle between two approaches to public opinion: public opinion as an aggregation of individual opinions (and thus countable in a poll) or as nonquantified but powerful conversations. The second approach was considered not to be scientific.41 Why would public opinion that was counted and measured be more accurate than public opinion based on impressions and feelings? Blumer was concerned that polls did not measure public opinion, since they did not map power structures, such as interest groups of powerful people, thus ignoring how public opinion is formed 37 38 39 40

41

On the methodology of exit polls cf. Mitofsky 2004. On their controversies cf. Asher 2004: 134–138. On incorrect predictions by exit polls in U. S. elections cf. Asher 2004: 147–149. Noelle-Neumann 1993: 62–63; 177–178. Zaller 1992: 265. On this last statement, cf. on the contrary Gamson 1992, which mapped out political consciousness, political discussions and the public opinion of working people about controversial topics. His work, based on records of conversations, showed that people, who are neither passive nor dumb, “negotiate with media messages in complicated ways that vary from issue to issue” (Gamson 1992: 4). Cf. Herbst 2011: 88–93.

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and changed. Sampling treated society as if it was just an aggregation of individuals. For him, the texture of public opinion lay in the clash of powerful opinions and powerful groups: that is, a phenomenon in motion, full of conversation.42 Lazar has established a clear difference between the two elements: a poll is just a technique that allows the pollster to take a snapshot, a stable and fixed image of the opinion of some people about a specific issue and at a specific time. On the opposite side, public opinion constitutes a social process that develops over time. Polls are only valid for a moment; public opinion changes through time and is a longue durée element.43 Herbst argues that polling is far from neutral, and that it is responsible for the narrowing of the public sphere, since opinions are formed and measured in private.44 Asher has called attention to how easily leaders can manipulate the polls and nevertheless give the citizen the feeling of being influential.45 Criticism of polling is specially concerned with the influence of the types of questions asked.46 Non-biased questions, for instance, are not always easy to devise. Even slight variations in the wording of the question may produce different answers. For instance, acquiescence bias represents a common problem: when faced with a yes/no or agree/disagree question, respondents tend to give the positive answer to be agreeable, a frequent psychological mechanism. Through social desirability bias, scholars have identified that in order to cast themselves in a positive light, people occasionally answer with what they think the interviewer would like to hear. Similarly, respondents tend to avoid giving the impression that they know little or nothing about an issue, thus not having an opinion about it, even when in fact they do (problem of nonattitudes).47 Even the answer “I don’t know” is difficult to interpret, since its meanings could range from “I have no idea” to “I know about it, but I have not decided about it”.48 In the West German elections of 1965 Noelle-Neumann presented the only poll that correctly identified the victorious candidate, since she did ask not “who are you going to vote for?”, but “who do you think is going to win?”, thus making people ponder their feelings about the majority opinion, instead of their own political preferences.49 Furthermore, people often have multiple and occasionally conflicting opinions on issues. Measurement of such fluctuations been attempted through the “mushiness index”, which assess the volatility of the public’s views on certain issues.50

42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50

Blumer 1948. Blumer 1948: 457: “current public opinion polling gives an inaccurate and unrealistic picture of public opinion because of the failure to catch opinions as they are organized and as they operate in a functioning society”. Lazar 1995: 3–4. Herbst 1993. Asher 2004: 23–26. Asher 2004: 50–68 is a good introduction on the topic. On nonattitudes cf. Asher 2004: 28–49. On survey questions, questionnaires, and their methodological problems, see Kropf 2004. On the “I don’t know” answer and its multiple interpretations, cf. Asher 2004: 39–40; Coombs and Coombs 1976. Noelle-Neumann 1993: 1–7 specifically on the election of 1965. Keene and Sackett 1981.

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Methodological issues, together with scholarly and practical developments, represent one of the most important changes in the measurement of public opinion in recent decades. The latest challenges involve lower voter participation and the generalization of cell phones and Internet, which has changed interview patterns and has sent the costs of rigorous survey research skyrocketing.51 The active use and analysis of big data represents one of the most recent tendencies, successfully put into practice during Obama’s electoral campaigns, especially in 2012, modelling the likelihood of voters to support Obama or to go to vote, and then targeting them personally.52 Nevertheless, the most complicated and debated part remains not that of data mining or data treatment, but that of interpretation. Scholars and specialists have abandoned all presumptions of predicting the future, and are aiming merely to interpret the data. ELECTORAL POLLS AND ELECTORAL PERCEPTIONS, THE ROMAN WAY Late Republican Romans did measure and interpret opinions, which can be analysed through the study of one of the aspects of politics in which opinions mattered greatly and people were concerned what others thought: that of elections. This paper will of course consider whether Cicero’s electoral predictions, and those of his correspondents, were right. However, this point is a secondary matter. The main question is that of how Roman politicians perceived, conceived, and measured public opinion. To address this, I will analyse how elite Romans arrived at electoral predictions, the impact of such predictions in politics, and their accuracy. The analysis will concentrate on the elections, but with occasional mentions of similar predictions related to trials before the quaestiones perpetuae. Although their results depended on the vote, many different elements were at play in both cases. Elections were determined by a large number of votes and took place after a campaign of canvassing that could last months and was usually prepared years in advance. By contrast, in trials the result depended on the vote of a small number of judges; although influential, since its reactions counted a great deal in creating a general climate of opinion, the audience of a trial had no final word on the outcome.53 How were electoral predictions made? Electoral predictions, based on a reading and measuring of public opinion, could take two forms: they could be based on preferences, or on assessments of the situation. In general, preferences through partisan bias play a large role (or even the most significant role) in making electoral predictions and assessments. Political neuro51 52 53

Cf. Goidel 2011: 4–5; Keeter 2011. Scherer 2012; Balz 2013. Cf. Rosillo-López 2017b on the influential role of the audience or corona in trials.

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science, that is, the application of cognitive neuroscience thanks to the measurement of brain activity and anatomical structure to the study of political science, has confirmed what psychology explained decades ago: the existence of partisan bias and motivated political cognition.54 This conclusion delivers the last blow to the model of voting as a rational choice based on reasonable and objective arguments. Even in the absence of visible cues, ingroup favouritism or ingroup bias remains strong; policy proposals are not evaluated objectively, but through the lens of political affinity and values. In fact, for individuals deeply interested in politics (such as Roman senators, in our case), the latest findings suggest that exposure to ideas with which they agree activates the amygdala and ventral striatrum, triggering a positive and emotional intense response, and hence a physiological feedback loop, which makes them more likely to expose themselves to information that validates preexisting opinions.55 Electoral predictions based exclusively on preferences are very rare in the Roman sources. In fact, when asked to evaluate who could win an election, neither Cicero nor his correspondents tended to resort simply to stating their preference for one candidate over another. In the contested elections of 54 (cf. more infra), Cicero canvassed for M. Valerius Messalla, a friend of his and of Atticus. When asked by the latter about the candidate’s chances, Cicero did not paint them any rosier than those of his competitors. Several times throughout the summer Cicero did not dare to anticipate the possible victors; his bias towards Messalla did not blind him.56 Only in the autumn, when the chances of the other two candidates had been annihilated, did Cicero state correctly that people considered that Messalla and Domitius would be elected.57 When Messalla faced trial in 51 accused of ambitus, M. Caelius Rufus supported him for the sake of their friendship, and declared that he was even ready to console him upon his condemnation. Despite his bias towards him, Caelius Rufus considered that his acquittal was unthinkable, which explains his shock, and especially that of Messalla’s enemies, at his acquittal by a unanimous vote. Caelius’ measurement of public opinion had gone beyond his bias, as he stated that the result was praeter opinionem and an absolute scandal.58 Even Cicero’s hatred for Clodius did not blind his skills in measuring public opinion, as only three days before the elections in January 56 he informed his brother that his enemy was expected to be chosen as aedile.59 These instances should not suggest that the Roman senators were paragons of the rational choice model. Their ingrained bias inevitably made them more susceptible to some candidates, or some political ideas, than others. Caelius, for instance, was completely biased against Lucilius Hirrus, his rival in the aedilician elections 54

On the limits and challenges of political neuroscience, cf. Jost, Nam, Amodio and Van Bavel 2014; Haas 2016. Although the potential of neuroscience applied to politics had already been identified in 2003, the first papers with results date from 2006. 55 Jost, Nam, Amodio and Van Bavel 2014: 12–14, with relevant bibliography. 56 Cic. Att. 4.15.7–9; 4.16.6; QFr. 3.1.16. 57 Cic. Att. 4.17.3; QFr. 3.2.3. 58 Cael. in Fam. 8.2.1. Cf. Alexander 1990: 146, nº 299 on the trial. 59 Cic. QFr. 2.2.2: sed omnia sunt tardiora propter furiosae aedilitatis exspectationem.

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of 51, denying that he had any chance of winning and mocking his candidacy.60 Furthermore, this bias would make them more inclined to mix with groups that held similar preferences, which would of course reinforce their perception of who was going to win. However, due to the nature of the evidence, in the case of elections such bias remains difficult to identify since Cicero and his correspondents did not always state their preferences. In May 51 Cicero announced correctly to Atticus two months before the elections that their friend Furnius would be tribune for the next year. The result of the election in his case might have been obvious, but Furnius was clearly also Cicero’s own preferred candidate.61 How far in advance were such predictions made? They usually appeared when the elections were near; we have just seen how in July 65 Cicero predicted the result for elections that would take place in a few weeks’ time. A year in advance (in this case, for the elections in 64), he could only predict who the candidates would be, since it was still too early in the race for any further assertions to be made. However, in May 51 he was sure that Furnius would be elected tribune in July.62 One of the most interesting cases is that of the elections in 54: they were delayed month after month, and interreges even had to be chosen for six months. Cicero’s prediction about the winners is dated to October 54; when the elections finally took place in July 53, he was proved right. In sum, leaving aside exceptional cases, the nearer the election, the more accurate the prediction, although last-minute scandals could alter the result. In order to make correct predictions, political observers needed as much accurate information as possible, since it could help them to identify the general climate of opinion. Such information not only regarded the actions of candidates, but also the likelihood that certain people would or would not canvass, for instance, and who their supporters were. Hence Cicero shared with Atticus the news that Q. Arrius, Crassus’ friend, was being left out of the race for the consulship in 58.63 Apparently Arrius had not taken the news well: Cicero was dying to know what he was saying and how he was faring.64 A few days later, the orator possessed more information: “Arrius is fuming at being cheated out of the consulship”.65 The disappointed senator left Rome and refused to go back to the city, spending time with Cicero in Formiae.66 Such information was vital for Cicero and Atticus to take a measure of public opinion on the forthcoming elections. 60 Cael. In Fam. 8.3.1 (Hirrus in fact was not elected). 61 Cic. Att. 5.2.1. 62 Cic. Att. 5.2.1 (May 51; tribunician elections usually took place in July: cf. Cic. Att. 1.1; 2.18.3). 63 Cic. Brut. 242. Cicero described him as his familiaris (Vat. 30) and friend (Mil. 46). 64 Cic. Att. 2.5.2. 65 Cic. Att. 2.7.3: iam vero Arrius consulatum sibi ereptum fremit. 66 Cic. Att. 2.14.2. Rowland 1966: 220 suggested that, among other reasons, Arrius’ exclusion caused a rift between Crassus and his allies Pompey and Caesar; Gruen rejects this idea by putting forward purely objective reasons that Crassus hypothetically would have understood: “An insignificant family and mediocre talent would make him difficult to elect.” (Gruen 1974: 143, n. 94). Klebs (RE, s. v. Arrius 8) speculated that Caesar had promised Arrius his support for the election the following year, but failed to fulfil that promise.

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In April 43, the two consuls Hirtius and Pansa met untimely deaths during the struggle against Antonius in Mutina.67 On 19 August Octavian was proclaimed consul suffect, together with Q. Pedius, after he marched on Rome with his army. However, the political situation during those months was uncertain. Brutus, who was in the East as proconsul in Macedonia, Achaea and Illyricum, received letters in May 43 which informed him that Cicero had been elected consul.68 Cicero was not a candidate for that election, which had in fact not yet taken place. In this case, Brutus’ sources committed a false positive, that is, an error in data reporting through which a presence is indicated, when in reality it does not exist. He was also informed of the possibility that Octavian would be a candidate for the consulship. Obviously Brutus’ correspondents could not foresee that Octavian would arrive in the city in August with an army to press for his election, but their information at the time was incorrect and led them to an inaccurate prediction. Given the situation in May 43, did the electoral predictions regarding Cicero and Octavian make sense? Cicero did not mention Octavian’s ambitions for the consulship until June, but he had probably already started to work towards it in May.69 In June, such desire was evident; especially after the fraternization between the troops of Antony and Lepidus, the Senate needed Octavian’s army. Cassius Dio, Plutarch and Appian claimed that the young man worked hard for his consulship, even proposing that Cicero should be his colleague, Octavian casting himself in the role of the youthful apprentice. Plutarch and Appian, drawing on anti-Ciceronian traditions, stressed Cicero’s desire for power and ambition as a decisive point in the negotiation.70 In his letters, Brutus criticised Cicero for betting on only one horse, Octavian, and particularly for being a moderate and making too many concessions towards him.71 As to the possibility of Octavian’s canvassing and his ambition to become consul, Cicero attributed such desire to the young man’s villainous friends, and not to Octavian himself.72 In any case, this news reinforced Brutus’ view of Octavian and especially the orator’s behaviour towards him. Cicero may have envisaged a joint consulship with Octavian as a lesser evil, but Brutus did not share that opinion. Interestingly Ortmann has pointed out that Brutus feared Octavian’s consulship but talked about it as if it were a sure thing; in contrast, he mentioned the news of Cicero’s possible consulship with doubt and incertitude.73 Public opinion was apparently quite positive in the case of Octavian. The information about Cicero was reasonable, but wrong. 67 68

69 70 71 72 73

They received public funerals: Cic. Ad Brut. 23.8 [1.15]; App. BC. 3.76. Cic. Ad Brut. 1.4a.4: his litteris scriptis consulem te factum audivimus. This passage was used by some scholars to discredit the authenticity of Cicero’s letters to Brutus. However, such arguments have been dismissed; cf. latest discussions with detailed bibliography in Matijević 2006: 338, n. 590. Cic. Ad Brut. 1.10.3. Botermann 1968: 135–136; Ortmann 1988: 369–373. Cass. Dio 46.42.2; Plut. Cic. 45.5–6. Ortmann 1988: 365–375 on Brutus’ criticism of Cicero regarding the latter’s behaviour with Octavian. Cic. Ad Brut. 1.10.3. June 43. Ortmann 1988: 409–412. Cic. Ad Brut. 1.4a.4. On the relationship between the Senate and Octavian in 43, cf. Botermann 1968: 131–154.

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Public opinion, and hence electoral predictions, was, and is, also perceived through the assessment and identification of a climate (or several climates) of opinions. This was achieved by taking into account different kinds of information, which were not incompatible. First of all were measurable factors, such as the number of followers including important senators, or the number and quality of banquets or games provided. Second were uncountable elements, such as the opinions and feelings of the voters or, in the case of trials, the judges and audiences. The combination of these categories provided better and more accurate predictions of public opinion. Cicero and his correspondents tried to combine countable and uncountable factors to evaluate the chances of victory or defeat in a trial. In October 54, the orator informed his brother of the chances of his enemy Gabinius in a trial de maiestate, one of the multiple trials that the latter faced after his return from his proconsulship in Syria.74 Three days before the outcome of the trial, Cicero estimated the possible outcome by measuring the particulars involved: “In that trial he is weighed down by his unpopularity with all classes, and the witnesses are most damaging; the prosecutors are extremely ineffective, the jury is a mixed bag, the President, Alfius, is responsible and firm, Pompey is urgently trying to influence the jurors”.75 Cicero paid attention not only to the disposition of the judges (who were diverse), but also to the general climate of odium towards Gabinius (probably Cicero is considering the reactions of the audience), to the damaging evidence of the witnesses, the incompetent performance of the prosecutors, the immovable president of the tribunal and the influence of Pompey outside court. In sum, Cicero acknowledged and observed all the elements involved in a possible trial, and estimated them to be negative for Gabinius. Interestingly, the orator did not dare to put forward a committed prediction (quid futurum sit nescio) but, he stated, he did not see any place for Gabinius in the community.76 Despite Cicero’s survey, Gabinius was acquitted de maiestate, although shortly afterwards he would be convicted de repetundis.77 Cicero offered electoral assessments of similar complexity on three occasions; for the elections of 64, his own future election as consul in 63, and the elections of 54. Were the consular elections easier to predict because fewer candidates canvassed? Information about this is scarce, but competition could sometimes be fierce:

Alexander 1990: 145, nº 296, with sources. Gabinius was accused de maiestate for having restored king Ptolemy XII Auletes to the throne of Egypt without the consent of the Senate. 75 Cic. QFr. 3.3.3: quo quidem in iudicio odio premitur omnium generum, maxime testibus caeditur, accusatoribus frigidissimis utitur; consilium varium, quaesitor gravis et firmus Alfius, Pompeius vehemens in iudicibus rogandis. 76 Cic. QFr. 3.3.3. 77 Cicero suspected praevaricatio in the trial de maiestate: Cic. QFr. 3.4.1. 74

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Cristina Rosillo-López Table 1. Number of candidates for the consulship78

78 79

Year

Number of candidates

78

3

77

4

76

2

75

2

74

2

73

2

72

2

71

2

70

2

69

2

68

2

67

2

66

3

65

5

64

5

63

12

62

4

61

3

60

2

59

3

58

7

57

2

56

2

55

More than 379

54

4

53

5

52

3

51

3

50

3

49

4

Data taken from Neuendorff 1913. All the candidates withdrew their candidacies when Pompey and Crassus stated their intentions to canvass, with the exception of L. Domitius Ahenobarbus (Plut. Cat. Min. 41; Pomp. 52; Crass. 14; Cass. Dio 39.27).

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It is symptomatic that the number of candidates preserved is higher for the year 63, when Cicero stood for the consulship: it is more than double the next figure. We should probably consider that figure closer to a normal election than the others, in which Cicero was not so invested and for which the sources are scarcer. We do not know the usual numbers for elections with a greater number of posts available, such as the tribune of the plebs, but the fact that there were no prerequisites of age or political career probably made the competition even more fierce. In July 65 Cicero offered two sets of electoral predictions based on the candidates’ chances of swaying public opinion: those of the consular elections for 64 and 63.80 Cicero’s cogitatio for 64 rightly appraised that L. Iulius Caesar was considered a winner (certus putatur), although he gives no reasons for his evaluation. In the cases of the other two candidates, A. Minucius Thermus and D. Iunius Silanus, their chances were evaluated in both tangible and intangible aspects: for both, their number of friends and their standing in public opinion (existimatio) were low. In the case of Thermus, however, Cicero considered that his role as curator of the via Flaminia, which would be finished by the following year, would make him a strong future candidate.81 Cicero also delivered a similar kind of assessment for the elections of the following year, 63, with the difference that he was making calculations about his future rivals. He discarded some of them straight away, imagining Atticus smiling or sighing at the prospect of Q. Cornificius as a candidate, mentioning as an outlandish idea that some people actually thought that M. Caesonius would stand, or even dismissing Aufidius Lurco and M. Lollius Palicanus entirely by not writing anything about them at all. In the case of Galba, Cicero wrote that popular talk (opinio est hominum) held that his canvassing was premature.82 In this case, the orator’s predictions were based exclusively on public opinion, but he mentioned conflicting forecasts, for instance on Caesonius. In the summer of 54, Atticus wrote to Cicero and apparently asked about the chances of M. Valerius Messalla Rufus as candidate for the consulship. 54 was a special year: due to furious competition and political problems, the elections were postponed until July 53, which meant that candidates had to conduct a long campaign, marked by corruption, chicanery, obscure deals and forgery.83 The orator answered the request for information with a careful analysis of the chances, strengths and resources of each of the four candidates (M. Valerius Messalla Rufus, C. Memmius, M. Aemilius Scaurus, and C. Domitius Calvinus).84 Cicero paid careful attention to the voters’ opinions and feelings: for instance, he highlighted that, even 80 Cf. Neuendorff 1913: 25–34 on the elections of these years and all known candidates. 81 Cic. Att. 1.1.2. 82 Cic. Att. 1.1.1. 83 Cic. Att. 4.15.7, with the descriptive ardet ambitus. On electoral corruption in the elections of 54, cf. Rosillo-López 2010: 83–84. On the occasional manipulation of the consular elections, cf. Muñiz Coello 2013. On the postponing of the elections in 54, cf. Cic. QFr. 3.3.2. Dealing with the outgoing consuls and forgery of senatus consulta, cf. Cic. Att. 4.17.2. On these elections and the candidates, cf. Neuendorff 1913: 56–65. 84 Cic. Att. 4.16.6.

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though his aedileship was remembered well and the memory of his father gave him the support of the rustici, Aemilius Scaurus did not arouse much sumpatheia. Furthermore, from a more measurable point of view, Cicero followed by detailing all groups that supported the rest of the candidates: Domitius Calvinus by his friends, and Memmius by Caesar’s veterans and Pompey’s supporters in Gaul. However, in July 54 such details did not provide Cicero with sufficient information, and he could not favour any of them, considering that all candidates had the same chances of winning: “I had never seen such closely matched candidates”.85 This situation was repeated at the end of the month when, after another analysis of their chances, support, and the general feelings towards them, Cicero did not dare to make a prediction, on the grounds that none of them enjoyed a special preeminence since money had leveled all their chances.86 Cicero arrived at these predictions through a combination of measurable and immeasurable factors. However, these intuitive judgments fell short of a typical factor that limits accuracy: to undervalue or ignore distributional information, that is, the outcomes in similar situations, and rely almost exclusively on singular information, the specific features of a particular case.87 In none of Cicero’s predictions did he mention any of the behavior that successful candidates showed, extrapolating from other cases or different years; his predictions matched his impressions. Electoral predictions as snapshots of public opinion Polls constitute snapshots, that is, public opinion frozen at a single moment in time. Cicero occasionally mentioned predictions that were different to his own, thus providing us with several such snapshots of public opinion. In July 65 he admitted that he was the only one to believe that Thermus and Silanus were very weak candidates.88 Others believed that M. Caesonius would stand for consul in 63, which, Cicero thought, would make Atticus strike his forehead.89 In November 54, the orator and his brother, who was with Caesar in Gaul after the invasion of Britain, exchanged electoral predictions. In this case, opinion in both the camp and the city agreed about the future consuls: “when you all esteem him [Messalla] as certain of election along with Domitius, you are not at odds with our opinion”.90 Snapshots of public opinion, linked to elections, were not mere mental exercises or expressions of preference. When shared and believed by a sizable number of people, they could have consequences in political life. The elections to the censorship in 189 represent an interesting case. M’. Acilius Glabrio, a novus homo, returned to Rome after his victory over king Antiochos at 85 86 87 88 89 90

Cic. Att. 4.16.6: Numquam ego vidi tam paris candidatos. Cic. Att. 4.15.7–9: … pecunia omnium dignitatem exaequat. Kahneman and Tversky 1982: 414–417. Cic. Att. 1.1.2: sed hoc praeter me nemini videtur. Cic. Att. 1.1.1. Cic. QFr. 3.6.3: eumque quod certum consulem cum Domitio numeratis nihil a nostra opinione dissentitis.

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Thermopylae. The moment seemed ripe and he canvassed for the censorship.91 His military success and his distributions of congiaria to the people (that is, a certain quantity of oil or wine, which was not considered corruption at the time) made him a likely victor in the election.92 At least that was the climate of opinion at the time, and was the electoral projection of many aristocrats. Facing that situation, two tribunes of the plebs brought him to trial, accusing him de peculatu before a iudicium populi, more precisely of having embezzled part of the booty of Antiochos.93 During the trial, there was a highly controversial moment when Cato the Elder, who had been Glabrio’s legate, declared against the accused, infringing a well-known Roman custom which held in high esteem the relationship between a commander and his staff.94 Cato’s auctoritas, remarked Livy, was diminished because he was also a candidate for the censorship.95 In fact, his actions did not increase his chances, since he lost the election. Regardless of the veracity, or otherwise, of the accusation against Glabrio, it was clearly a political manoeuver that answered a perceived public opinion regarding victory in the elections. In fact, the tribunes dropped the trial after the assembly proved unwilling to vote for a fine, and, especially, after Acilius Glabrio withdrew his candidacy.96 Electoral projections and estimations could not only influence an electoral campaign; they were also taken seriously and considered sufficiently trustworthy to warrant official intervention. In 184, the death of the praetor urbanus soon after entering office meant that new elections had to be held.97 After mentioning the candidates, Livy made a steadfast assertion: certamenque ei cum flamine erat, “the competition was between him [Q. Fulvius Flaccus, RE 61] and the flamen [Gaius Valerius]”.98 As a reaction to the fact that public opinion assumed that Fulvius would surpass his more direct rival, some tribunes of the plebs declared that his candidacy should not be accepted, because he was already curule aedile.99 The affair was discussed in the Senate; the consul requested that Fulvius step down, but 91 92 93 94 95 96 97

98 99

Cf. Dondin-Payre 1993 on the history of his family. Liv. 37.57.10. Liv. 37.57.10. On iudicia populi and accusations of embezzlement, cf. Rosillo-López 2010. Glabrio had even chosen him to travel to Rome and report the victory in Thermopylae (Liv. 36.21.4–8; Plut. Cat. Mai. 14). Cf. García Riaza’s paper in this volume on the important role of the legate who announced a victory and his influence on public opinion. Liv. 37.57.5. Liv. 37.57–58. Cf. Rosillo-López 2010: 63–64 (on the congiaria); 115 (on the trial). Brennan 2000: 656–657 on the election of suffect praetors. Ancient sources only mention such elections after the demise of urban and inter peregrinos praetors, not in the case of provincial praetors. Brennan proposes that, regarding the suffectio, the same procedures were followed for both “city” praetors and consuls. Liv. 39.39.3. Livy mentioned that he was curule aedile designate. Mommsen suggested that Fulvius was already aedile in 184, so not a designate (St.R. I, 513, n. 3). In any case, Mommsen pointed out that out of the 27 plebeian aediles known between 210 and 197, seventeen canvassed for the praetorship while being aediles. Mommsen 1874 (Staatsrecht), II, 187–188. Daguet-Gagey 2015: 52–53. Cf. Poma 1994 on the absence of interdictions on accumulating two magistracies in the same year before this case in 184. Beck 2005 on the cursus honorum before the lex Villia annalis of 180.

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the latter persevered in his campaign, blaming the Senate for influencing the choice of the electors. Public opinion still favoured him as the preferred candidate, so the consul convened the Senate once more, followed by a contio to prevent his victory by expressing before the people his request to step down. However, the consul’s intentions had an unexpected turn; in the contio, Flaccus stated that, if people chose him, he would not disappoint their desire: “This speech [Flaccus’ answer in the contio], obstinate though it was, aroused so much enthusiasm for him that he would be praetor beyond a doubt if the consul would accept his candidacy”.100 Facing the impossibility of influencing public opinion against Flaccus, and after much discussion between the consul and some tribunes, the Senate declared that the number of praetors was sufficient and that no elections would be held.101 Livy’s account of this event offers a fascinating glimpse into the role of public opinion during elections, which was far more significant than mere impressions or speculation about the winner. Electoral projections were not trivial affairs: in this case, they provoked the intervention of several magistrates, public appeals, several discussions in the Senate and even a contio. The case of Fulvius Flaccus provides several snapshots of public opinion at specific moments: first, when he and another candidate stood out among the rest; second, when Fulvius seemed to be the preferred choice; third, when Fulvius continued his canvassing after the admonishment of the consul; and fourth, after the contio. The testing of public opinion in electoral times was constant, and not only by those who were directly involved in the election. Accuracy and incorrect predictions How can we ask the right questions for estimating public opinion accurately? As we have seen, the formulation of the questions constitutes one of the methodological problems of polls. A badly framed or biased question can significantly skew the answers and distort the results. Noelle-Neumann’s theory about the spiral of silence was corroborated by results from the German election of 1965. When people are questioned about the party they perceive could win, instead of being asked about their own political preferences, they ponder their observations and sensitivity to the majority opinion. This is the clearest example of a good question, and it figures today in all good political polls. This intuition about how to estimate political chances can be traced back to the first century BCE. In 59, during the consulship of Caesar, Cicero was eager to know what to expect politically the next year. In April, therefore, months before the elections, he wrote to Atticus and commended him to keep him informed. More importantly, he asked his friend to take the pulse of the approaching election in 100 Liv. 39.39.12: haec vero tam obstinata uox tantum ei favorem accendit, ut haud dubius praetor esset, si consul accipere nomen vellet. 101 Liv. 39.39.15. Following this decree, the praetor inter peregrinos, P. Cornelius Cethegus, also took over the responsibilities of the praetor urbanus. Flaccus became praetor two years later (Liv. 41.5).

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particular: “Let me know especially who you think the future consuls will be”.102 It is Noelle-Neumann’s question precisely, avant-la-lettre, the type of question that social scientists consider today most useful in electoral polls. Cicero did not ask Atticus for his preference for the consuls next year or which candidate would receive his vote, but specifically about his perception of the common opinion. As Noelle-Neumann demonstrated, such questions allow for a much clearer vision and a more accurate prediction of the possible outcome. How accurate were Cicero’s predictions and those of his correspondents? Interestingly their estimation of public opinion was fairly accurate. This also relates to the fact that on some occasions Cicero withheld his opinion until he was reasonably certain (as in 54, cf. infra). Cicero proposed electoral predictions for the consulships of 64 and 54. In 64, he considered L. Caesar as certus, and the latter was elected. His colleague as consul constitutes a complicated case: C. Marcius Figulus, who won, was not mentioned in Cicero’s assessment just a month before the election. Furthermore, the Chronograph of 354, which featured the fasti of Roman consuls, lists Caesare et Turmo, but the Fasti Hydatiani mentions Lucio Caesare et Figulo.103 To solve this problem, scholars, among them Shackleton Bailey, have proposed that Minucius Thermus was adopted by the family of the Marcii Figuli.104 Münzer did not support this Ockham’s razor solution. The hypothesis of the adoption is based on the silence of the sources, and on the fact that it is impossible that we know nothing about Figulus prior to 64 and that Thermus would have disappeared from the sources after his consulship (although in fact both situations are not completely unheard of).105 Figulus’ absence from Cicero’s electoral prediction is also seen as a point in favour of the Thermus=Marcius Figulus hypothesis. Candidates for the consulship planned their canvassing years in advance, but the surprise victory of someone not on Cicero’s radar should not be discarded. If Thermus was in fact the other consul, Cicero did not state that he would win, only that he would be a strong candidate for the following year, but did not consider his chances for 64 great.106 So Cicero’s accuracy for the election of 64 was fifty percent. Cicero hit the jackpot in 54, stating nine months before the elections that M. Valerius Messalla Rufus and C. Domitius Calvinus would be elected as consuls.107 In fact, this was hardly a difficult prediction, given that the other two candidates had been disgraced in a political scandal. Interestingly, Cicero refused to give a prediction until the frontrunners were fairly clear: when he had been pressed for a prediction months earlier, he did not dare to give one, stating that he had never

102 103 104 105 106 107

Cic. Att. 2.4.4: et maxime quos consules futuros putes, facito ut sciam. Cf. Broughton 1952: 161 with sources. Shackleton Bailey 1965: 292 with further bibliography. RE Minucius Thermus (Münzer). Cic. Att. 1.1.2. Cic. Att. 4.17.3 (October 54). The elections took place in July 53 after an interregnum of six months (Neuendorff 1914: 62; Cass. Dio 40.45; App. BC. 2.19). Letters dated in 53 are scarce because Atticus was then in Rome.

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seen such closely matched candidates.108 He was not alone in plumping for them: as we have seen, his brother Quintus (and probably his entourage) in Gaul also considered, correctly, that these two would be the upcoming consuls, even though it was another candidate, C. Memmius, who had Caesar’s support.109 Finally, Cicero was also completely correct in his prediction for the tribuneship in 51, when in May he stated without doubt that Furnius would be elected.110 In June 51, Caelius Rufus was also right that Lucilius Hirrus, his rival, would not be elected as aedile. Interestingly, he stressed that Hirrus was trying to conceal the fact that he was a less certain candidate than Rufus, reminding us how complicated and intangible the game of public opinion was.111 Electoral predictions were not always that accurate. The elections for 58 were tempestuous. In July, the usual month for consular elections, Bibulus had them postponed to 18 October through an edict, despite Caesar’s attempts to avoid this.112 Gabinius and Calpurnius Piso were elected consuls.113 In April 59, Cicero wrote to Atticus, who was in Rome, with many questions about future political events, among them: “… what consuls are in preparation for us? Would they be Pompey and Crassus, as popular talk holds, or, as a correspondent of mine writes, Servius Sulpicius with Gabinius?”114 Cicero had received two calculations, one based on what people were talking about (ut populi sermo), probably the boni who visited him in Antium or who passed by. The second prediction was sent by an unknown correspondent, who was probably in Rome, as was Atticus; for reasons unknown to us, Cicero did not deem it necessary to tell Atticus of his identity. There were thus conflicting perceptions and predictions. Cicero’s unnamed source got it half right by fifty percent, not only guessing correctly that Gabinius would canvass, but also that he would win the consular election. Calpurnius Piso, though, was not even mentioned in the forecast. We do not actually know whether Piso’s victory was a surprise. Interestingly, after news of the deal between the “triumvirate” had spread, people thought that Crassus and Pompey would canvass jointly, which in fact they did in 56, becoming consuls in 55, that is, three years later. Plutarch represented the election of Piso and Gabinius as the result of the agreement between Pompey, Crassus and Caesar.115 Münzer speculated that, if Sulpicius Rufus had presented his candidacy to the elections, he probably curbed

Cic. Att. 4.16.6 (1 July 54); QFr. 3.1.16 (end of September 54). Cic. QFr. 3.6.3. Caesar’s support for Memmius: Cic. Att. 4.15.7; QF. 3.6.3. Cic. Att. 5.2.1 (May 51; tribunician elections usually took place in July: cf. Cic. Att. 1.1; 2.18.3). Cael. In Fam. 8.3.1. Cic. Att. 2.20.6; 2.21.3–5. Cato attempted to prosecute Gabinius for bribery (Cic. QFr. 1.2.15). On Bibulus’ edicts, dictated at home and posted in public, as practical consular edicts, cf. Pina Polo 2011: 276–277. 113 On the date of consular elections and the role of the consul as president cf. Pina Polo 2011: 284–287. 114 Cic. Att. 2.5.2: qui consules parentur, utrum, ut populi sermo, Pompeius et Crassus, an, ut mihi scribitur, cum Gabinio Ser. Sulpicius. 115 Plut. Pomp. 48.3; Cat. Min. 33.3.

108 109 110 111 112

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himself once Caesar favoured Piso, his father-in-law.116 Piso was a heavyweight, a well-connected senator with eight consulars among his forefathers.117 Gabinius was a loyal supporter of Pompey and could count on Caesar’s acquiescence.118 However, Plutarch’s assertion seems a case of post hoc ergo propter hoc; temporal sequence does not always ensure causality. Caesar and Pompey may have decided to support these two candidates in the elections, but that does not mean that their victory was the inevitable result of a deal, as Plutarch and scholars such as Gruen have asserted.119 Cicero’s letter provides us with a snapshot of public opinion on that matter at a specific moment in time, when even popular talk was predicting a Pompey-Crassus joint consulship. He did not seem absolutely sure of the victory of Gabinius, and Piso is not even mentioned.120 At the time, the result of that election was not certain by any means. Roman politicians were not always accurate in their assessments. Furthermore, non-compulsory voting made polls more volatile, and made it harder to obtain accurate predictions. A contested election or the wrong information could entail considerable difficulties in interpreting which candidate would carry the election. For instance, in June 51, Caelius pointed out that public opinion was at a loss about the consular elections.121 Several factors could play a part in an incorrect prediction. Politics and elections were a delicate matter; a sudden scandal could turn an election upside down. We do not how likely Publius Scipio Nasica’s chances for the curule aedileship were considered, but one untimely joke at the expense of a rural voter, who worked in the fields, caught on, circulated widely and he lost the election.122 Was Cicero a good forecaster? The most successful forecasters rely on intuition and later double-check it against reality.123 Cicero did update his forecasts, and seems to have had a good accuracy rate. However, in comparison with Caelius Rufus, Cicero rarely collected information from varied sources in order to synthetize it and aggregate other perspectives.124 Nevertheless, the sample from Cicero’s electoral predictions is too small to crown him as an excellent forecaster of Roman elections. 116 RE, s. v. Sulpicius Rufus (Münzer), p. 853. Sulpicius Rufus was defeated in the consular elections for 62 (Cic. Mur. 7; 8; 15), after which he brought Murena, one of the victors, to trial. 117 Gruen 1968; 1974: 143–144; RE, s. v. Calpurnius 90 (Münzer). Caesar and Calpurnia, Piso’s daughter, married in 59 although the month is unknown. Gruen 1968: 164, n. 20 highlights that the ancient sources disagree about whether it was before (Plut. Caes. 14.4; App. BC 2.14) or after the election (Suet. Iul. 21; Cass. Dio 38.9.1). 118 App. BC. 2. 14. Cf. RE. s. v. Gabinius (Vonder Mühll). 119 Gruen 1974: 144: “Piso and Gabinius were duly returned by the voters. The results cause no surprise”. 120 Cicero supported later Piso’s candidacy: Cic. Red. Sen. 17; Pis. 11 (Piso asked Cicero to serve as custos of the votes of the centuria praerogativa). People congratulated Cicero on having a consul as friend and kinsman (Sest. 20); C. Calpurnius Piso Frugi, from another branch of the Calpurnii, was Cicero’s first son-in-law (Badian 1990: 399–400 on the relationship). Cic. QFr. 1.2.16 remarked on the goodwill of both Piso and Gabinius while consules designati. 121 Cael. In Fam. 8.2.2. 122 Val. Max. 7.5.2. Cf. supra on this case. 123 Tetlock and Gardner 2015 on forecasters. 124 On Caelius Rufus and public opinion, cf. Rosillo-López 2017.

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CONCLUSIONS “The pollsters are engaged in an ancient and primitive rite – trying to predict the future” (Patricia N. Limerick, “Polls Are A Liability for Our Democracy”, USA Today, 20 October 1988). Uncertainty was an everyday matter in Roman politics. The range of possible outcomes, and the consequences that some of them implied, required people to make decisions with limited knowledge and, ultimately, to make a bet. The decision to support Sulla or Marius, Caesar or Pompey, in a civil war could change the future of a senator and his family for the following decades. Such uncertainty could even be paralysing, as it was for Cicero at the beginning of the civil war when he had to choose a side. People devised strategies to beat uncertainty. Marius used to consult a Syrian woman called Martha who predicted future events.125 Upon his return from Actium, Octavian met, among those who came to congratulate him, a man holding a raven that had been taught to say: ave Caesar victor imperator. Enormously pleased, the victor paid a considerable sum for the bird. However, the trainer had taught two birds; the second, which was later presented to Octavian, said: ave victor imperator Antoni.126 This anecdote shows how the man had tried to reduce the uncertainty of the outcome of the battle and to maximise his profits. However, in politics, this is not always feasible. Przeworski has defined the existence of elections and democratization as “institutionalizing uncertainty”. He holds that, because of elections, democracies present ex ante higher risks and greater unpredictability than authoritarian regimes, although the former (and their institutional stability) allow political forces to think of their interests on a long-term horizon, thus providing them with an incentive to comply with electoral loss. Furthermore, in contrast with an authoritarian regime, in which specific groups can be eliminated from political outcomes, in a democracy no group can predict outcomes with certainty.127 Uncertainty over the outcome and the possibility of future victories provide incentives for participation in elections and decision-making.128 Mutatis mutandis, the institutionalized-uncertainty approach can be applied to the Roman Republic. In an institutionalized-uncertainty approach, elections represent the moment when that uncertainty was accepted because the outcomes could somehow be predicted and restricted to a limited range of possibilities. The careful estimation of public opinion and the appraisal of the countable forces of a candidate (friends, generosity, former charges) constituted the means by which Romans tried to predict 125 Plut. Mar. 17.1–3. 126 Macr. Sat. 2.4.29. 127 Przeworski 1991. See Alexander 2002 for a reconsideration of this hypothesis, which argues that Przeworski’s argument does not take into account the fact that many authoritarian regimes generate the same ex ante uncertainty as democracies, since decisions are often decided through contests between factions of the regime. Alexander 2002: 1155 suggests that many authoritarian regimes represent uninstitutionalized uncertainty. 128 Cf. Alexander 2002: 1151 for further bibliography.

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a candidate’s electoral chances. Although such predictions did not always include a survey of the tangible assets of a candidate, they were always, inescapably, based on judgments about public opinion. Public opinion can be read in order to forecast or to make predictions about electoral results, but it was, and remains, especially difficult and possibly volatile.129 Nevertheless public opinion was estimated, and, as we have seen, could even lead to political interventions in trials, contiones and the Senate. Electoral predictions could from time to time have an impact on politics. However, the variety of groups involved, the danger of focusing on a single group and leaving the others aside, could led to an incorrect conclusion. Reading the minds of other people constitutes an imperfect tool, since we can only rely on sensory data (visual experience and heard speech) to make decisions about what other people think. With mathematics (and polls), uncertainty can be measured. However, measuring simplifies reality and in particular it eliminates alternative results, which could lead to errors, as the latest failures of polls attest. In Rome, oversimplification of the opinions of both the elite and the people could lead to erroneous and disastrous judgements about the political situation. A Roman politician who aimed at successful predictions needed to be sure of the reliability of his cues if he was to have accurate insights rather than delusions. Furthermore, public opinion was, and is by definition, changeable and volatile, often reacting quickly to events and expectations. The vocabulary used in electoral predictions is varied and reflects the mental predisposition of the Romans: coniectura, praeter opinionem, existimatio incerta, certus candidatus, certiorem or firmior consul, certa opinio, incertissima existimatio, certus putare, incertum est, cogitatio … The couple certus / incertus describes Roman politics: by measuring public opinion, Cicero and other politicians attempted to make certus the incertus decision of the voters and the general uncertainty of Roman political life. It is unknown whether Martha the soothsayer tipped Marius about his chances in every election; deprived of a gift from the gods to see the future, or a modern exit poll, a politician in Rome had to deploy his well-tuned mind and those of his friends in order to measure public opinion and to deduce which candidates would be elected. The success rate of such qualitative predictions, at any rate, is not much lower than modern electoral polls and, frankly, is often more accurate. Going back to the initial question: yes, public opinion does exist outside polls, and yes, Republican Romans could and did measure public opinion successfully. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexander, G. (2002) “Institutionalized uncertainty, the rule of law, and the sources of democratic stability”, Comparative Political Studies 35: 1145–1170. Alexander, M. C. (1990) Trials in the Late Republic, 149 BC to 50 BC, Toronto. Asher, H. (2004) Polling and the Public: What Every Citizen Should Know, 6th edition, Washington. Badian, E. (1990) “The consuls, 179–49 BC”, Chiron 20: 371–413. 129 Tetlock and Gardner 2015: 292–293, n. 12 on forecasting as a field.

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Balz, D. (2013, 28 July) “How the Obama campaign won the race for voter data”, The Washington Post (in: https://www.washingtonpost.com/politics/how-the-obama-campaign-won-the-racefor-voter-data/2013/07/28/ad32c7b4-ee4e-11e2-a1f9-ea873b7e0424_story html). Baudry, R. (2013) “Stéréotypes et défaites électorales à la fin de la République romaine”, in Miroir des autres, reflet de soi (2): stereotypes, politique et société dans le monde occidental (de l’Antiquité romaine l’époque contemporaine), eds. H. Ménard and C. Courrier: 117–43. Paris. Beck, H. (2005) Karriere und Hierarchie: die römische Aristokratie und die Anfänge des “cursus honorum” in der mittleren Republik, Berlin. Blumer, H. (1948) “Public Opinion and Public Opinion Polling”, American Sociological Review 13: 542–549. Botermann, H. (1968) Die Soldaten und die römische Politik in der Zeit von Caesars Tod bis zur Begründung des Zweiten Triumvirats. München, Beck. Brennan, T. C. (2000) The Praetorship in the Roman Republic: Volume 2: 122 to 49 BC, Oxford. Broughton, T. R. S. (1951–1952) The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, New York. Broughton, T. R. S. (1991) “Candidates defeated in Roman elections: some ancient Roman ‘alsorans’”, Transactions of the American Philosophical Society: 1–64. Brunt, P. A. (1988) The Fall of the Roman Republic and Other Related Essays, Oxford. Coombs, C. H., and Coombs, L. C. (1976) “‘Don’t Know’ Item Ambiguity or Respondent Uncertainty?”, Public Opinion Quarterly 40: 497–514. Courrier, C. (2017) “The Roman Plebs and Rumour: Social Interactions and Political Communication in the Early Principate”, in Political Communication in the Roman World, ed. C. RosilloLópez: 139–164. Leiden. Daguet-Gagey, A. (2015) L’édilité à Rome, Rome. Develin R. (1978) “The third century reform of the comitia centuriata”, Athenaeum 56: 346–377. Dondin-Payre, M. (1993) Exercice du pouvoir et continuité gentilice. Les Acilii Glabriones du IIIe siècle av. J.-C. au Ve siècle ap. J.-C., Rome. Gallup, G. H. (2004) “Gallup”, in Public opinion and polling around the world: A historical encyclopedia, ed. J. Geer: 407–411. Santa Barbara. Goidel, K., (ed.) (2011) Political polling in the digital age: the challenge of measuring and understanding public opinion, Baton Rouge. Goldbeck, F. (2010) Salutationes: die Morgenbegrüßungen in Rom in der Republik und der frühen Kaiserzeit, Berlin. Gruen, E. S. (1968) Roman Politics and the Criminal Courts, 149–78, Cambridge. Gruen, E. S. (1974) The Last Generation of the Roman Republic, Berkeley. Haas, I. J. (2016) “Political neuroscience”, in Neuroimaging Personality, Social Cognition, and Character, eds. John R. Absher and Jasmin Cloutier: 355–370. London. Hayes, A. F. (2007) “Exploring the Forms of Self-Censorship: On the Spiral of Silence and the Use of Opinion Expression Avoidance Strategies”, Journal of Communication 57,4: 785–802. Herbst, S. (1993) Numbered voices: How opinion polling has shaped American politics, Chicago. Jost, J. T., Nam, H. H., Amodio, D. M. and Van Bavel, J. J. (2014) “Political neuroscience: The beginning of a beautiful friendship”, Political Psychology 35: 3–42. Kahneman, D. and Tversky, A. (1982) “Intuitive prediction: Biases and corrective procedures”, in Judgment under uncertainty: Heuristics and biases, eds. D. Kahneman, P. Slovic and A. Tversky: 414–421. Cambridge. Keene, K. H. and Sackett, V. A. (1981) “An editor’s report on the Yankelovich, Skelly and White ‘Mushiness Index’”, Public Opinion 4: 50–51. Keeter (2011) “Public Opinion Polling and Its Problems”, in Political Polling in the Digital Age. The Challenge of Measuring and Understanding Public Opinion, ed. K. Goidel: 28–53. Baton Rouge. Kropf, M. E. (2004) “Question wording and context”, in Public opinion and polling around the world: A historical encyclopedia, ed. J. Green: 435–441. Santa Barbara. Laurence, R. (1994) “Rumour and communication in Roman Politics”, G&R 41: 62-74. Lazar, J. (1995) L’opinion publique, Paris.

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Lintott, A. W. (1968) Violence in Republican Rome, Oxford. Matijević, K. (2006) Marcus Antonius: Consul, Proconsul, Staatsfeind: die Politik der Jahre 44 und 43 v. Chr., Rahden. Mitofsky, W. J. (2004) “Exit polls and election projections”, in Public opinion and polling around the world: A historical encyclopedia, ed. J. Green: 396–401. Santa Barbara. Mommsen, T. (1874) Römisches Staatsrecht, Leipzig. Muñiz Coello, J. (2013) “Elecciones consulares en la República romana: control y manipulación”, EREBEA. Revista de Humanidades y Ciencias Sociales 3: 273–291. Neuendorff, A. (1913) Die römischen Konsulwahlen von 78–49 v. Chr., Breslau. Noelle-Neumann, E. (1993) The Spiral of Silence. Public Opinion – our Social Skin. 2nd edition, Chicago/London. Ortmann, U. (1988) Cicero, Brutus und Octavian, Republikaner und Caesarianer: ihr gegenseitiges Verhältnis im Krisenjahr 44/43 v. Chr., Bonn. Pelling, C. (2011) Plutarch, Caesar, Oxford. Pina Polo, F. (2010) “Frigidus rumor: The Creation of a (Negative) Public Image in Rome”, in Private and Public Lies: The Discourse of Despotism and Deceit in the Graeco-Roman World, eds. A. J. Turner, K. O. Chong-Gossard, and F. J. Vervaet: 75–90. Leiden. Pina Polo, F. (2011) The Consul at Rome: The Civil Functions of the Consuls in the Roman Republic, Cambridge. Pina Polo, F. (2012) “Veteres candidati: losers in the elections in republican Rome”, in Vae Victis!: perdedores en el mundo antiguo, eds. F. Marco Simón, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal Rodríguez: 63–82. Barcelona. Pina Polo, F. (2016) “Prestige et perte de prestiges de perdants dans la Rome républicaine”, in Le prestige à Rome à la fin de la République et au début du Principat, eds. R. Baudry and F. Hurlet: 233–247. Paris. Poma, G. (1994) “Il plebiscito ne quis duos magistratus uno anno gereret: (Livio VII, 42, 2)”, Rivista storica dell’Antiquità 24: 49–69. Przeworski, A. (1991) Democracy and the market: Political and economic reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America, Cambridge. Rosenstein, N. (1995) “Sorting out the lot in Republican Rome”, The American Journal of Philology 116: 43–75. Rosillo-López, C. (2007) “‘Temo a los troyanos’: rumores y habladurías en la Roma tardorrepublicana”, Polis 19: 113–134. Rosillo-López, C. (2010) La corruption à la fin de la République romaine (IIe – Ier s. av. J.-C.): aspects politiques et financiers, Stuttgart. Rosillo-López, C. (2017a) Public Opinion and Politics in Late Republican Rome, Cambridge. Rosillo-López, C. (2017b) “The role and influence of the audience (corona) in trials in the Late Roman Republic”, Athenaeum 5: 106–119. Rowland, R. J. (1966) “Crassus, Clodius, and Curio in the Year 59 BC”, Historia 15: 217–223. Scherer, M. (2012, 7 November) “Inside the Secret World of the Data Crunchers Who Helped Obama Win”, Time (http://swampland.time.com/2012/11/07/inside-the-secret-world-ofquants-and-data-crunchers-who-helped-obama-win/print/). Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1965) Cicero’s Letters to Atticus, vol. 1, Cambridge. Taylor, L. R. (1942) “The election of the pontifex maximus in the late Republic”, Classical Philology 37: 421–424. Taylor, L. R. (1949) Party Politics in the Age of Caesar, Berkeley. Tetlock, P. E. and Gardner, D. (2016) Superforecasting: The art and science of prediction, New York. Yakobson, A. (1999) Elections and Electioneering in Rome. A Study in the Political System of the Late Republic, Stuttgart. Zaller, J. R. (1992) The Nature and Origins of Mass Opinion, Cambridge.

PUBLIC OPINION: MILITARY AND INSTITUTIONAL QUESTIONS

LAUREATAE LITTERAE. ANNOUNCING VICTORIES AND PUBLIC OPINION IN THE MIDDLE REPUBLIC* Enrique García Riaza It seems unnecessary to make a point of the relevance of the triumphal processions as a means of influencing Roman public opinion at different levels, as the relative abundance of information available, and its spectacular nature, have recently generated a sizable body of literature on the topic.1 There is, however, still some discussion about the conditions that led to these triumphs, and the role that the senatus and the populus played in making related decisions. In contrast with proposals that underscored the importance of a series of relatively rigid2 legal requirements, a greater level of flexibility and subjectivity for granting triumphs has been accepted, in which the political influence of generals and the state of public Roman opinion weighed more heavily on the final decisions regarding the celebrations.3 Recently, J. Rich has joined in the debate on the matter, offering a superb reflection in his new study on Republican triumphs.4 Triumphal processions came at the end of a long process of recognition of military achievements, and despite their undeniable glamor, they merely influenced spectators in quantitative terms (with lengthy exhibitions of prisoners and plunder – sometimes going on for days, as was the case for the triumphal procession resulting from the victory at Pydna).5 When the generals finally paraded through the streets of Rome, months (if not years) had already passed since word of their victory first reached the city, and it was almost certainly in these first moments of hearing about military achievements that the collective Roman morale would have been meaningfully impacted. The objective of this paper is therefore to determine the role that * 1 2 3 4

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Research project: “Diplomacia y comunicación política en Occidente, III-I aC)”, HAR201566232-P, Plan Nacional I+D+i, Agencia Estatal de Investigación, Ministerio de Ciencia, Innovación y Universidades, Gobierno de España – FEDER, EU. Versnel 1970; Künzl 1988; Auliard 2001; Flaig 2003: 32–48; Itgenshorst 2005; Bastien 2007; Beard 2007; Pittenger 2008; Östenberg 2009; Lange & Vervaet 2014; Lange 2016. Richardson 1975; Dart & Vervaet 2011. Brennan 1996; Beard 2007, among others. See Lundgreen 2104 for an analysis of the scholarly debate, as well as the comprehensive study by Vervaet 2014. “All triumphal applications were decided as individual cases, and personal connections and influence (gratia) will often have played a significant part in the outcome (…). However, while the senate certainly did not operate with a precise set of rules specifying the minimum requirements for triumph as Mommsen’s celebrated treatment might appear to imply, some recent discussions have overstressed the inconsistence and ad hominem character of the senate’s triumphal decision-making”, Rich 2014: 212–213, see also 241. Plut. Aem. 32. On the exhibition of booty during triumphs in general, see Östenberg 2009: 58–79.

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these first stages of communication played in affecting public opinion. Aside from a brief consideration by a limited number of scholars6, this key topic has not received the attention that arguably it deserves. The discussion in this paper is based on four hypotheses: (1) that the victory messengers had a significant influence on public Roman opinion; (2) that the announcement in Rome of a military victory was a key factor for the subsequent concession of triumphs; (3) that the generals were aware of this importance and detailed their communications accordingly using two main strategies – offering a version of their achievements in line with the political and military standards of bellum iustum, and carefully selecting the members of the legatio sent to Rome to communicate the victory in order to increase the impact of the news on the public; and (4) that the populus had an indirect but significant role in the process of conceding triumphs, which made it vital to create a favorable opinion regarding the general’s deeds. After achieving a victory (generally via a bloody campaign, although there were some exceptions),7 the imperator sent an official report, written up in a letter, to Rome with a legatio appointed by him. The legatio was granted an audience in the senate, where deliberations were carried out over the issuance of a decree that would establish religious measures for giving thanks. Also discussed was the possibility of ordering the return of the victorious troops. Later, the populus, gathered in contio, was informed of the victory via the public reading of the letters while emissaries added information, and the decrees issued by the senate were also read. The legatio then returned to the imperator and informed him about what had transpired in Rome. Finally, the army would reach the city and wait extra pomerio for the authorization to perform the triumph. There are various examples that shed light on the different stages of this process. Livy describes the proclamation of Paullus’ victory over the Ingauni (181 B. C.) in the following way: Haec qui nuntiarent litterasque ad senatum ferrent, L. Aurelius Cotta C. Sulpicius Gallus Romam missi, simulque peterent, ut L. Aemilio confecta provincia decedere et deducere secum milites liceret atque dimittere. Utrumque permissum ab senatu et supplicatio ad omnia pulvinaria per triduum decreta (…) “To take these news and carry dispatches to the senate, Lucius Aurelius Cotta and Gaius Sulpicius Gallus were sent to Rome, with instructions also to ask that Lucius Aemilius, having accomplished the task assigned him as his province, should be permitted to leave it and discharge them. Both requests were granted by the senate, and a three-day period of thanksgiving was decreed at all the banquet-tables of the gods (…)”8

6 7 8

Halkin 1953: 80–87, see also Bastien 2007: 296–303 (on supplicationes); Pittenger 2008: 128– 129 (and 161–165; 247–250 on the news about the victories of the Metaurus and Pydna, discussed infra). Liv. 40.38.8–9: on the triumph of M. Baebius Tamphilus and P. Cornelius Cethegus over the Apuani of Liguria (hi omnium primi nullo bello gesto triumpharunt), see Pina Polo 2004: 219– 222. Liv. 40.28.8–9. Loeb translation by E. T. Sage & A. C. Schlesinger. According to Münzer (RE), Sulpicius’ cognomen was Galus rather than Gallus. See also Broughton 1951 ad loc.

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This study focuses on the period of transmarine expansion between the beginning of the First Punic War and the end of the Celtiberian Wars (264–133 B. C.). However, due to the generally poor state of our literary sources and the partial loss of Livy in particular, the specific case-studies examined belong to the years 207–176 B. C. The first part of this paper analyses the different classes of information and how the news of victories was disseminated. The second part looks at the make-up of legationes, how members were chosen, and their characteristics. The final part reflects on the public and private reactions in Rome, giving special attention to the role of the populus. MEANS OF COMMUNICATION The passage transcribed above only details the last stage in the spread of the news about a victory. In reality, information was transmitted at different levels and through various media. In only a handful of cases is it possible partially to reconstruct exactly how news was disseminated. The following section will examine how news of the victories of the Metaurus and Pydna spread. There was a tense wait (incerta expectatio) in Rome upon receiving word that the consul C. Claudius Nero was advancing to confront Hasdrubal at the Metaurus along with M. Livius Salinator (207 B. C.).9 The senators gathered in the Curia in permanent session, and the people clamored in the forum. The city (the civic community as a whole) was anxious (sollicita, suspensa). Just two days after the conclusion of the battle, rumors (fama incerta) began to circulate around Rome as two horsemen, witnesses of the victory, had made it to the camp that guarded access to Umbria (in castra, quae in faucibus Umbriae opposita erant). From there (Livy does not explain how) the news worked its way to Rome where it was received skeptically given the short amount of time that had passed since the battle (et ipsa celeritas fidem impediebat). This skepticism seems reasonable considering that approximately 300 kilometers separated the battleground and the Urbs by way of the Via Flaminia. Rome would again have to wait, this time until the arrival of letters (litterae) written by L. Manlius Acidinus, the commander at the camp that received word from the horsemen (thus, not a first-hand, but rather a second-hand witness). Here, Livy implies a radical transformation of the collective public mood, going from anxious to disordered due to the impatience of the general public in wanting to know the contents of the message (certamen, tumultus). The news was only somewhat credible, however, as it came from an unofficial source and not directly from the consuls (who were the ones that were victorious) or the legatio appointed by the consuls. The news was therefore only believed by some citizens (et pro cuiusque ingenio aliis iam certum gaudium, aliis nulla ante futura fides erat, quam legatos consulumve litteras audissent). The rest would have to wait for the arrival of the legatio, bearer of letters from those directly responsible for the victory, to be completely convinced. News that their convoy was nearing Rome spread throughout 9

Liv. 27.50.1–51.10, see Pittenger 2008: 161–165.

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the city, and the people turned out in masses (turba) at pons Mulvius to receive the messengers who were beset by a crowd of men of every class (circumfusi omnis generis hominum). A comparison of this spread of information with that of the arrival of news of L. Aemilius Paullus’ victory in Pydna (168 B. C.) shows remarkable similarities as well as striking differences.10 Here, the dissemination of information again took place in three stages. As with the victory of the Metaurus, the first hints reached the city quickly. Both Livy and Plutarch allude to the mysterious spread of rumors, among those who attended the ludi, of the celebration of battlefield victories that had in fact occurred only four days earlier. As G. Guastella accurately points out, the lack of a reliable source of information devalued the credibility of the news.11 Livy then describes the arrival of more information, 13 days after the battle. In this case (which will be further discussed later) the information came in the form of official litterae drafted by Paullus himself. This documentation was given in trust to the legatio appointed by the general and slowly made its way to Rome. To save time, the messengers would commission a tabellarius (a member of the delegation staff),12 to travel ahead with the letters. It was he who had shown the documents to the masses gathered to watch the ludi Romani. Here, Livy describes the appearance of the letters: a despatch wreathed in laurel (laureatae litterae). The iconic value associated with this formality13 would have been easily recognized and understood by spectators, thus lending credibility to the rumors and giving due reason for rejoicing. In the third and final stage of the communication, the legatio officially sent by Paullus arrived in Rome, 21 days after the battle. The decision made by members of this deputation regarding sending the tabellarius would have allowed for the news to have spread through the city eight days earlier, which did not prevent the official delegation from receiving a warm reception by an ingens turba when entering the city. Two letters were thus sent to Rome regarding the victory of the Metaurus. The first was an indirect report given by a messenger (nuntius) with no diplomatic value; the second was a primary source, the official statement of the consul carried by a high level deputation (legatio) and read aloud by its spokesman. In contrast, in the case of Pydna, there was only one letter, the official one, also carried by the legati. As described above, this letter was sent to Rome in advance by means of a tabellarius, and thus the legati did not publicly read the letter aloud; rather, they elaborated and gave a more in-depth account of the military deeds. These passages regarding the Metaurus and Pydna should, however, be taken with a grain of salt, especially regarding the historicity of the first stages of the reporting. It is worth noting the strange similarities shared by the first rumors that surLiv. 45.1–2; Plut. Aem. 24, see Pittenger 2008: 247–250. Guastella 2017: 48–52. According to Rankov 2006: 129 n. 1 (quoting Cic. Att. 6.9.4; 12.1.2), the tabellarii were, during the Republic, private messengers. 13 Von Premerstein, RE 12,1.1013 (1925), s. v. Laureatae litterae oder tabellae. See Halkin 1953: 80–87, still the best (although brief) study on the topic (includes references to laureatae litterae / litterae laureatae, tabulae cum laurea, litterae victrices, laureatae tabellae) in connection with nutii victoriae.

10 11 12

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faced and the actual events that took place. It was as if the Roman population had some kind of sixth sense – a supernatural intuition. Plutarch reflects on this and references other similar events.14 This topic has been expertly studied by P. G. Walsh, and there is a body of literature suggesting a dramatic succession of events: after an initial feeling of public anxiety, there would be an intermediate period of confusion, and that would eventually culminate into a joyous explosion upon hearing of the favorable outcome of the conflict.15 As M. R. P. Pittenger points out when comparing both texts, Livy “marks the solemnity of the occasion (…) by narrating the arrival of the news from Pydna as a crescendo through incremental stages.”16 This progression can arguably be confirmed by Livy’s selection of terminology (murmur, fremitus, clamor) and corresponding adverbial annotations (repente, dein, postremo). Along the same lines, Walsh studied the “technique of ‘division of a crowd’ that is employed by Livy mainly ‘in scenes of disorder or confusion,’” quoting several examples.17 This referred to the same aforementioned disquiet preceding the arrival of the first rumors of victory that were met with various levels of acceptance or repudiation. Ultimately though, the references that our main source of information makes to the masses have some serious weaknesses in terms of reliability. Aside from the creative language used by literary sources when describing emotional reactions, nevertheless, this paper contends that there is a set of components whose historicity is reliable. It is worthwhile to note that from these passages a certain level of credibility of information can be ascertained based on how official it was. Importantly, there was a common praxis (or at least a common understanding in Livy) that the senate would be given priority access to information over the populus. Letters were first read to the senate, and this was where the legationes first gave their reports. The report written by Manlius Acidinus was carried without being opened per forum ad tribunal praetoris, and from there to the senate, where it would be read first so that it could then be made known to a contio (in senatu primum, deinde in contione litterae recitatae sunt). They did not cave in to the pressure from the populus (referred to by Livy as a vociferous multitude) banging on the doors of the Curia “shouting that the letter from Manlius Acidinus should be read from the rostra before the reading in the senate” (ut in rostris prius quam in senatu litterae recitarentur). Livy suggests that the magistrates even had to resort to force (summoti et coerciti a magistratibus), perhaps via their lictors. Similarly, during the phase that involved the arrival of the official delegation to Rome, the legati offered their reports to the senate first, and then to the contio (litterae in senatu recitatae sunt. inde traducti in contionem legati), even though they encountered another set 14 15

16 17

Plut. Aem. 25; on the alleged presence of supernatural elements in relation to rumors, see Guastella 2017: 48 ff. (1.6.1 “Premonitions”; 1.6.2 “Divine intervention”). On Livy’s literary methods, see Walsh 1961: 173–190, who considers the cases of the declaration of the liberation of Greece by Flamininus, the arrival at Rome of the news from Pydna, and the announcement of the freedom of slaves by Gracchus after the battle with Hanno: “In such episodes (…) Livy seeks to portray emotional reactions by a vivid imaginative and often imaginary reconstruction of crowd scenes” (ibid. 185). On Livy’s narrative organization see also Levene 2010: 1–81. Pittenger 2008: 247. Walsh 1961: 186.

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of difficulties when it came to moving through the city. This again required a similar use of force to maintain order and throw curious onlookers out of the senate (multo aegrius summota turba, ne patribus misceretur). In the case of the letters from Aemilius Paullus telling of the victory at Pydna, the consul first convened the senate in the circus to read the document aloud and then had to get the authorization of the patres in order to make the contents of the letters known to the public (eo senatum consul vocavit recitatisque tabellis ex auctoritate patrum pro foris publicis denuntiavit populo …). The legatio arrived to find the forum crowded and had to fight its way through to the senate to provide its lengthy report (senatus forte in curia erat; eo legatos consul introduxit). Only after this could the news be communicated publically in contione (eadem haec paulo post in contionem traducti exposuerunt). LEVELS OF INFORMATION A set of similar characteristics can be seen in the contents and nature of the information about victories provided in the letters and by the legati; for example, the case of the victory announcement of Q. Fulvius Flaccus in Hispania Citerior (180 B. C.): Principio eius anni (…) ab A. Postumio consule in senatum introducti, qui ex Hispania citeriore venerant a Q. Flacco, L. Minucius legatus et duo tribuni militum, T. Maenius et L. Terentius Massiliota. Hi cum duo secunda proelia, deditionem Celtiberiae, confectam provinciam nuntiassent, nec stipendio, quod mitti soleret, nec frumento portato ad exercitum in eum annum opus esse, petierunt ab senatu primum, ut ob res prospere gestas diis immortalibus honos haberetur, deinde ut Q. Fulvio decedenti de provincia deportare inde exercitum, cuius forti opera et ipse et multi ante eum praetores usi essent, liceret. “In the beginning of this year (…) the consul Aulus Postumius presented to the senate Lucius Minucius, a lieutenant, and two tribunes of the soldiers, Titus Maenius and Lucius Terentius Massiliota, who had come from Quintus Fulvius Flaccus in Nearer Spain. When they had reported the two victories, the submission of Celtiberia, and the accomplishment of the task assigned as his province, and had added that there was no need of the pay which was customarily sent or of the transportation of grain for the army for that year, they asked the senate, first, that honour should be paid to the immortal gods by reason of these successes and, second, that Quintus Fulvius, on his retirement from the province, should be authorized to bring away the army whose valiant services both he and many praetors before him had enjoyed”.18

Communications were structured on two levels, respectively introduced by nuntiare and petere, and providing information first about the general’s achievements, and then requesting that the senate honor the victor and allow for the troops to return (deportatio exercitus).19 In some other cases, like that of the victory of Ti. Sempro18 19

Liv. 40.35.3–6. Loeb translation by E. T. Sage & A. C. Schlesinger. The deportatio exercitus was the definitive test of the victory because it demonstrated the pacification of the province and the end of the need for direct military deterrence. Obviously, deportation was not requested in Rome when the delegations reported only partial victories (no matter how significant these were). Such was the case, initially, of the Metaurus, although the return of the army was requested later on: cum Q. Fabius Maximus legatus ab M. Livio consule Romam ad senatum missus nuntiasset consulem satis praesidii Galliae provinciae credere L. Porcium cum suis legionibus esse, decedere se inde ac deduci exercitum consularem posse,

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nius Gracchus in Sardinia (176 B. C.), it is interesting to contrast how Livy took the nuntiatio literally, including its contents in his own account before even mentioning that the delegation was sent. The alleged achievements of Gracchus are not mentioned in connection with the legatio’s version, but rather, they seem to emanate from a truth that Livy assumed to be objective: et Ti. Sempronius eodem tempore in Sardinia multis secundis proeliis Sardos perdomuit. quindecim milia hostium sunt caesa, omnes Sardorum populi, qui defecerant, in dicionem redacti. stipendiariis veteribus duplex vectigal imperatum exactumque; ceteri frumentum contulerunt. pacata provincia opsidibusque ex tota insula ducentis triginta acceptis legati Romam, qui ea nuntiarent, missi, quique ab senatu peterent, ut ob eas res ductu auspicioque Ti. Semproni prospere gestas diis inmortalibus honos haberetur, ipsique decedenti de provincia exercitum secum deportare liceret. At the same time also Tiberius Sempronius in Sardinia completely subdued the Sardinians in many successful battles. Fifteen thousand men were killed, and all the tribes of the Sardinians who had revolted were reduced to submission. Upon those who had been tributaries before, double taxes were imposed and levied, the rest contributed grain. Now that he had pacified the province and received two hundred and thirty hostages from the whole island, he sent lieutenants to Rome to report these events and to ask the senate that by reason of the successes obtained under the leadership and auspices of Tiberius Sempronius honour should be paid to the immortal gods and that Sempronius himself, on his departure from the province, should be permitted to bring back his army.20

By comparing both texts, a regular pattern can be identified regarding the exposition of deeds. Concerning the first stage, the nuntiatio: (1) battle(s) won (cum duo secunda proelia … / multis secundis proeliis Sardos perdomuit), (2) surrender of the foe (deditionem Celtiberiae / omnes Sardorum populi, qui defecerant, in dicionem redacti), (3) general pacification / mission accomplished (confectam provinciam and again in 40.35.10: confectam provinciam nunties / pacata provincia opsidibusque ex tota insula ducentis triginta acceptis), and (4) tangible profits (nec stipendio, quod mitti soleret, nec frumento portato ad exercitum in eum annum opus esse / stipendiariis veteribus duplex vectigal imperatum exactumque; ceteri frumentum contulerunt).21 The petitio, on the other hand, can itself be considered to be patres non M. Livium tantum redire ad urbem, sed conlegam quoque eius C. Claudium iusserunt, Liv. 28.9.1–2. There is no mention of the deportation request by legati who reported to Rome the Hispanic achievements of Scipio (future Africanus) in Iberia, such as the captures of Carthago Nova in 209 B. C. and Orongis two years later. In this case, as Vernsnel (1970: 173) points out, the main reason was the particular status of Scipio: “in 209 B. C. Scipio was not allowed a triumph because he had not held a magistracy, but a supplicatio nomine eius did take place”, see Liv. 27.7.4. Cf. Rich 2014: 224, who considers not only the absence of precedents but also the importance of the vow on the Capitol before departing: “Since they will not have held imperium and auspicium within the city, private citizens appointed to special commands will not have been able to take this vow before crossing the pomerium for their commands, and so had no vow to fulfil by holding a triumph”. About Orongis, Liv. 28.4.2–4; Zon. 9.8. On the debates about the granting of the permit for deportatio, see infra. 20 Liv. 41.17.1–3. Loeb translation by E. T. Sage & A. C. Schlesinger. 21 Other examples: 1. exercitum Illyriorum caesum, 2. Gentium regem captum, 3. in dicione populi Romani et Illyricum esse, Liv. 45.3.1 (nuntiatio of L. Anicius Gallus’ victory in Illyria, 168 B. C.). On conficere provinciam, Briscoe 2008: 169.

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made up of two parts: (1) civic honors (ut ob res prospere gestas diis immortalibus honos haberetur / ob eas res ductu auspicioque Ti. Semproni prospere gestas diis inmortalibus honos haberetur) and (2) deportatio exercitus (decedenti de provincia deportare inde exercitum (…) liceret / decedenti de provincia exercitum secum deportare liceret). As demonstrated above, the transmission of official victory information was carried out in two ways: in writing (letters) and with an oral report (legati). Importantly, both media had specific and complementary purposes. The laureatae litterae would have mostly contained an exposition of deeds (nuntiatio). Regarding the consul C. Licinius Crassus’ communication of the information contained in Paullus’ letters to the public, Livy only provides short-hand contents from the nuntiatio: (1) signis conlatis cum rege Perseo pugnasse; (2) Macedonum exercitum caesum fusumque; (3) regem cum paucis fugisse and (4) civitates omnes Macedoniae in dicionem populi Romani venisse.22 Because of the information in the letters, the senate adopted their first measures the next day, e. g., issuing supplicationes and approving senatusconsulta regarding the disbandment of some troops. A decision regarding the milites and the socii navales, however, was put off until the legatio arrived in Rome and offered its detailed report: postero die senatus in curia habitus, supplicationesque decretae et senatus consultum factum est, ut consul, quos praeter milites sociosque navales coniuratos haberet, dimitteret; de militibus sociisque navalibus dimittendis referretur, cum legati ab L. Aemilio consule, a quibus praemissus tabellarius esset, venissent. Next day the senate met in the senate-house, a thanksgiving was voted, and a resolution passed that the consul should discharge men whom he had under oath, except soldiers and sailors, and that the question of dismissing soldiers and sailors should be put when the envoys who had sent the messenger ahead should arrive from the consul Lucius Aemilius.23

Comparing the information and assessments provided by the members of the official legatio allows the identification of some significant differences. These exponerent (1) quantae regiae copiae peditum equitumque fuissent; (2) quot milia ex iis caesa; (3) quot capta forent; (4) quam paucorum militum iactura tanta hostium strages facta; (5) quam praeceps rex fugisset; existimari Samothraciam petiturum; paratam classem ad persequendum esse, neque terra neque mari elabi posse.24 The information they gave was more dense and complex, providing quantitative accounts, assessment of enemy’s intentions, and Roman plans. The kind of data that were provided and their structure were reminiscent of the detailed reports provided to the senate by ex-generals, as in the case of Scipio after his Hispanic campaigns were concluded in 206 B. C. In his reports, he included specific numbers regarding battles fought, cities captured by storm, population surrendered, and generals and armies.25 It should be noted that this kind of expressive (but also precise and 22 23 24 25

Liv. 45.1.8–9. Liv. 45.2.1–2. Loeb translation by A. C. Schlesinger. Liv. 45.2.4–5. haec in Hispania P. Scipionis ductu auspicioque gesta. ipse L. Lentulo et L. Manlio Acidino provincia tradita decem navibus Romam rediit et senatu extra urbem dato in aede Bellonae, quas res in Hispania gessisset, disseruit, quotiens signis conlatis dimicasset, quot oppida ex

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detailed) debriefing was reported in identical terms both when the legati requested public honors and by the general asking for a triumph. L. Halkin reiterates that in both cases the requests had the same formula – the previously-referenced ut diis inmortalibus meritus honos haberetur26 – and they were substantiated by citing merits which were preceded by expressions like ob res prospere gestas; quod bene ac feliciter rem publicam administrarit, with other variants which Pittenger has collected.27 THE HUMAN FACTOR This section examines the composition of the missions charged with announcing victory, and is based upon the study of the levels of communication described in the previous section: it establishes a direct relationship between the importance of each level of communication and the personal and social status of the individuals responsible for making that communication. Focusing on the numbers from official announcements of partial or complete victories, the data suggest that communications were carried out, in the majority of cases, by one person (with seven cases attested): C. Laelius in 209 B. C. provided information about the capture of Carthago Nova by P. Scipio;28 L. Cornelius Scipio (future Asiaticus) who shed light onto his brother’s taking of Orongis in 207 B. C.;29 the consularis Q. Fabius Maximus, in the same year, requested to withdraw M. Livius Salinator’s army from Gaul;30 C. Laelius in 203 B. C. reported the victory of P. Scipio on Syphax31 and perhaps the next year (although this is a controversial issue) announced the success of Zama;32 M’. Acilius Glabrio initially entrusted L. Cornelius Scipio to give notice of his victory in 191 B. C. in Thermopylae against Antiochus;33 and in 190/189 B. C. M. Aurelius Cotta was designated by L. Scipio to announce the result of the Battle of Magnesia.34

26 27 28 29 30 31 32

33 34

hostibus vi cepisset, quas gentes in dicionem populi Romani redegisset: adversus quattuor se imperatores, quattuor victores exercitus in Hispaniam isse, neminem Carthaginiensem in iis terris reliquisse, Liv. 28.38.1–3. This type of report was parodied by Plautus (Amphytryon 188–192), as studied by Halkin 1948. Cf. Beard 2007: 201–202, and Rich 2014: 211–212, mentioning also Plautus’ Persa 753–754. Liv. 26.21.3, see Halkin 1953: 109–110. Halkin 1953: 110 and n. 1; Pittenger 2008: 128 n. 2; Rich 2014: 211. Liv. 26.51.1–2; 27.7.1–4; Polyb. 10.18.2 and 19.8; cf. 37.6. Liv. 28.4.2–4; Zon. 9.8. Liv. 28.9.1–2. Liv. 30.16.1, see Broughton 1951: 312; 314. misso Laelio Romam cum victoriae nuntio, Liv. 30.36.3, cf. App. Pun. 48. Not in Broughton 1951, but see RE: “Auch jetzt erhielt er den ehrenvollen Auftrag, die Siegesnachricht nach Rom zu überbringen”. Halkin 1953: 22 believes that Laelius was overtaken by the other delegation (tasked with bringing the Carthaginian legati to Rome), that was composed by L. Veturius Philo, M. Marcius Ralla, L. Cornelius Scipio (Asiaticus), which is also mentioned by Livy (30.38.4; 40.1–4). Liv. 36.21.4–10; Plut. Cat. Mai. 14.4. Cato was also sent, see infra. Liv. 37.52.1–5. Cf. Polyb. 21.18.1. Arrival in 189 B. C., see Broughton 1951: 363.

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Evidence for cases with multiple delegations, which consisted of two or three members, is less common. In 184 B. C. L. Iuventius Thalna and T. Quinctilius Varus announced the victories over the Carpetani in Hispania by the joint effort of governors C. Calpurnius Piso and L. Quinctius Crispinus. The presence of two legati could be explained by the fact that each one of the commanders might have sent a separate messenger, though our source does not clarify this piece of information.35 In another case, however, a two-member legatio was sent by a single general: the mission made up of the tribunus militum L. Aurelius Cotta with C. Sulpicius Galus in charge to communicate the achievements of L. Aemilius Paullus in Liguria, specifically his victory over the Ingauni in 181 B. C.36 In deputations made up of three individuals, a princeps legationis, served as a representative (a characteristic that has not been observed for two-member delegations). The victory of C. Claudius Nero and M. Livius Salinator in the Metaurus in 207 B. C. was announced by L. Veturius Philo, P. Licinius Varus, and Q. Caecilius Metellus, of praetorian rank. The first of them was the spokesman, who provided added information in contione after reading the letters.37 Q. Fulvius Flaccus’ achievements against the Celtiberi were communicated in 180 B. C. by the legatus (in the sense of lieutenant) L. Minucius (Thermus?), accompanied by the tribunes of the soldiers T. Maenius and L. Terentius Massaliota. It was Minucius who spoke publically and got into a tense dialogue with the praetor Gracchus.38 Similarly, the victory at Pydna in 168 B. C. was announced by Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus, who was accompanied by ?L. Cornelius Lentulus and Q. Caecilius Metellus (future Macedonicus), with the first (a biological son of Paullus) possibly acting as the speaker, although Livy gives no indication of this.39 Occasionally, the number of legati is difficult to ascertain because of conflicting information or a lack of specification from Livy. The 168 B. C. announcement of L. Anicius Gallus’ victory at Illyria could have been made by an individual emissary, M. Perperna,40 or by a two-member legatio consisting of C. Licinius Nerva and P. Decius.41 This kind of confusion could be the result of Livy having to deal with various sources of information42 or even due to the actual dispatching of separate commissions tasked with communicating, in successive phases, the news of military operations. Legationes with unknown numbers of unidentified members 35 36 37 38

39 40 41 42

Liv. 39.38.4–6. See n. 8. Liv. 27.51.3–6. L. Veturius litteris recitatis ipse planius omnia, quae acta erant, exposuit (51.6). Liv. 40.35.3–14; 36.1–5. Although Livy initially uses the plural (nuntiassent), he later uses oratio recta when recounting a question asked by Gracchus directly to Minucius: “quaero” inquit “de te, L. Minuci, cum confectam provinciam nunties, existimesne Celtiberos perpetuo in fide mansuros, ita ut sine exercitu ea provincia obtineri possit” (35.10); legatus ad ea, quae interrogatus erat, respondit (36.1). Liv. 44.45.3; 45.1.1. On Q. Fabius Maximus, see infra. Anicius bello Illyrico intra triginta dies perfecto nuntium victoriae Perpennam Romam misit, Liv. 44.32.4. ex Illyrico duo legati, C. Licinius Nerva et P. Decius, nuntiarunt exercitum Illyriorum caesum, Gentium regem captum, in dicione populi Romani et Illyricum esse, Liv. 45.3.1–2. See in general, on Livy’s method and use of historical authorities, Walsh 1961: 110–190.

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are also mentioned, as in the case of Ti. Sempronius Gracchus in 176 B. C., victorious in Sardinia: legati Romam, qui ea nuntiarent, missi.43 Not surprisingly, the identity of the tabellarii and other subordinates is never mentioned by the sources while the names of the legati are openly heralded and reckoned in detail by ancient historians. The consistency with which the legati were documented suggests that their names were registered in Rome from the outset. This different level of consideration was not due to the importance of the information they provided (given that the letters of victory, regardless of who carried them, were cause for great commotion in Rome), but rather to the symbolic weight of their missions, with the official legatio occupying the highest rank. The selection of the legati by the general undoubtedly followed clearly defined criteria regarding personal affinity and political trust. In addition, the populus perceived the mere designation of a person as a messenger of victory as a status symbol, and the popularity that the legati achieved almost certainly translated into political returns, an outcome that the generals would have taken into consideration when designating their emissaries. Some legati achieved political success very soon after their missions. L. Veturius Philo and Q. Caecilius Metellus were elected as consuls immediately after the announcement of the victory of the Metaurus. It is methodologically unsound, however, to suggest a cause-effect relationship between the victory announcement and personal success without having direct evidence, as many other factors could have played a role.44 Exploring the personal and political connections of each of the identified legati is a difficult task, and going down this road could become a vicious circle.45 Some conclusions can be suggested, however, and some light can be shed onto some commanders’ selection criteria for the legati. In the case of P. Scipio, friendship was obviously an important factor as he repeatedly selected C. Laelius to handle tasks related to communicating and managing victories. In addition to his previously mentioned reporting missions (i. e., the capture of Carthago Nova in 209 B. C., the victory over Syphax in 203 B. C., and perhaps the victory in Zama in 202 B. C. as quaestor extra sortem ex senato consulto and cavalry commander), Scipio trusted him to handle diplomatic matters, for example: the delivery of gifts to influence Syphax to side with the Romans in 206 B. C.; service as a legatus (lieutenant) in Hispania; negotiations with Syphax himself; and intelligence gathering as praefectus classis in 204 B. C.46 The loyalty of Laelius, homo novus, to the Scipionic cause would be put to the ultimate test when he was admitted into the consulate (possibly after two failed attempts) in 190 B. C. alongside L. Scipio. On that occasion Laelius dutifully yielded to the pressure, and the command in Asia was given to Africanus’ 43 44 45 46

Liv. 41.17.4. See Vishnia 1996: 239 n. 177. See Carney 1973. Liv. 28.17.6–9; App. Hisp. 29; Frontin, Str. 1.1.3, cf. 2.1. Cf. also Liv. 30.4.1; Polyb. 14.1.13. On his activities in Hispania as legatus, see Broughton 1951: 300. Later, his extensive experience would also be used by the senate when he was a member of a senatorial legatio to Perseus (Liv. 41.22.3) in 174 B. C., and to Cincibilis, rex Gallorum in 170 B. C. (Liv. 43.5.7; 5.10). Five out of the seven missions were entrusted to him by Scipio.

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brother.47 Along with friendship and political understanding, family ties were also significant when it time for Africanus to choose victory emissaries. He frequently entrusted his brother, the future Asiaticus, to take on the role of legatus during the Second Punic War. As discussed, in 207 B. C., he was sent to Rome with Hanno and other captives, announcing the victory of Orongis, and in 202 B. C. he went to the Urbs with Carthaginian ambassadors after the victory of Zama (possibly because of Laelius’ delay). Years later, in 191 B. C. as a legatus (lieutenant), the consul M’. Acilius Glabrio (a protégé of the Scipios) would send him to Rome to announce the victory at Thermopylae.48 The selection criteria regarding other emissaries or commissioners sent by the Scipiones (L. Veturius Philo, M. Marcius Ralla and M. Aurelius Cotta) are more difficult to ascertain.49 As for the messengers selected by L. Aemilius Paullus, it is possible to identify some individuals who belonged to his entourage that were linked to the general as brothers in arms or by family ties. C. Sulpicius Galus, sent in 181 B. C. to announce the victory in Liguria, was a part of the first group. F. Münzer suggested that in 191–190 B. C. had served with Paullus in Hispania.50 He reappeared in 171 B. C. alongside Paullus as both were patroni in Hispania Ulterior during the proceedings against provincial corruption. Gallus was tribunus militum under the orders of Paullus both in Liguria and during the Battle of Pydna in 168 B. C.51 Similar to the Scipionic example, family ties were also important for Paullus when it came to designating emissaries. Of note here was the role that his son, Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus, played: he was one of those sent to communicate the results of the Battle of Pydna when he was about 18 years old.52 Paullus’ son-in-law, Q. Aelius Tubero, was also given symbolically relevant tasks, like taking Perseus to the Roman camp.53 It has been difficult to identify specific links between the general and 47 48 49

50 51 52 53

Liv. 37.1.7–9, cf. Cic. Phil. 11.7, see Scullard 1951: 128–129; 284. Laelius had been Aed. Pleb. in 197 B. C. (games repeated seven times), and Praet. in Sicily in 196 B. C. See n. 33. Later on, in 183 B. C., he was member of a senatorial legatio to King Prusias of Bithynia (Broughton 1951: 380). See proposals by Scullard 1951: 68; 73 (Philo); 76–77 (Ralla) and 93 (Cotta). L. Veturius Philo, praetor in 209 B. C., was, as discussed, sent by Coss. M. Livius Salinator and C. Claudius Nero to Rome in 207 B. C. (victory of the Metaurus). See in general, on Livy’s references regarding both consuls, Levene 2010: 187–198; Vervaet 2014: 71–78; 100–103 (on the double triumph). Veturius was sent by P. Scipio in 202 B. C. to bring the Carthaginian legati to Rome (Broughton 1951: 318). M. Marcius Ralla also participated in the latter mission; he is also recorded previously holding the urban praetorship in 204 B. C., and the following year commanding the fleet to protect Italy. M. Aurelius Cotta was sent by L. Scipio to announce the victory of Magnesia (see n. 34); his cursus honorum remains unknown, maybe because of his premature death. He may have been related to L. Aurelius Cotta, nuntius victoriae of L. Aemilius Paullus in Liguria, see n. 8. Münzer RE, based on Liv. 43.2.1–11. Broughton 1951: 429. In 169 B. C., he was Praet., and obtained the consulate in 166 B. C. Two years later he was a member of a senatorial legatio to the East. See n. 39. In 154 B. C. he took part in a senatorial legatio to the East. After his praetorship in Sicily in 149 B. C., he obtained the consulship in 145 B. C. in Hispania Citerior, with imperium prorogued due to the influence of Scipio. See Broughton 1951: 450; 458; 469. Liv. 45.7.1; Plut. Aem. 27.1; 28.6. See Pittia 2009.

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?L. Cornelius Lentulus and Q. Caecilius Metellus (who accompanied Q. Fabius to announce the victory at Pydna).54 While it is clear that the victory messengers were mostly selected by commanders from a circle of trust, there were some significant exceptions that require caution when making generalizations about the existence of personal or political relationships between generals and their emissaries. A clear example of this is the case of M. Porcius Cato who informed Rome of M’. Acilius Glabrio’s victory at Thermopylae (191 B. C.). According to Livy55, Glabrio’s first decision after defeating Antiochus was to send word to the senate via L. Cornelius Scipio, but after he had begun his journey, the consul also sent Cato. The reasons for this duplicity are not explicitly discussed in literary sources, but there are some indications that it was done upon the insistence of Cato himself, as he wanted Rome to hear his own version of the events. The relationship between Glabrio and Cato was not a close one: just two years later, in 189 B. C., when both where contending for censorship, Cato accused Glabrio of having misappropriated some of the plunder taken from Antiochus.56 It is possible, furthermore, that the version offered by Livy regarding the announcement of the victory, where he suggested that Cato was sent “in order that the senate and people might receive an authoritative report of the operations,” could have come from Cato himself.57 In fact, Plutarch writes, εἰς Ῥώμην ἐπέμπετο τῶν ἠγωνισμένων αὐτάγγελος,58 an ambiguous statement in which the final word could mean “bringing news of what one has seen oneself,” or more likely, “carrying one’s own message”.59 Accepting the latter possibility, Loeb’s version translates to: “was sent to Rome as the messenger of his own triumphs.”60 In either case, the rivalry between these emissaries was obvious, especially considering that Cato sped up his trip in order to pass L. Scipio inconsiderately, instead of joining up with his entourage and entering Rome together. In the end, it was Cato who had the glory of being the first to announce the victory. An awkward moment occurred when L. Scipio – just arrived – found Cato telling his version of the events in the senate. Not to be out-done, L. Scipio immediately joined (supervenit) the session to tell his story, too.61 The route taken by Cato is described in detail by Livy and Plutarch, and

?L. Cornelius Lentulus was probaby Praet. in 140 B. C. (Broughton 1951: 479). Metellus (Macedonicus’) cursus is well known (Praet. 148 B. C., Cos. 143 B. C., Ces. 131 B. C.), see Broughton 1951: 461; 471; 500. The relationship of both with the so-called “Aemilian-Scipionic Group” was defended from the perspective of factional analysis by Scullard 1951: 211. 55 Liv. 36.21.4–9. 56 Liv. 37.58.5–7. See Broughton 1951: 362. Speeches In M’. Acilium Glabrionem (ORF3 66); De praeda militibus dividenda (ORF3 224–26), see Shatzman 1977: 198–199; Goldberg 1995: 127–128. 57 inde consul M. Catonem, per quem quae gesta essent senatus populusque Romanus haud dubio auctore sciret, Romam misit (Liv. 36.21.4). 58 Plut. Cat. Mai. 14.4. 59 Both proposals on LSJ. 60 Loeb translation by B. Perrin. 61 cum adveniens audisset praegressum Catonem in senatu esse, supervenit exponenti, quae gesta essent.

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it was probably inspired by Cato’s own account.62 From the innermost part of the Gulf of Corinth, he headed toward Patrae and from there to Corcyra. After sailing along the coast of Aetolia and Acarnania, he disembarked in Italy and set off toward Brundisium. Then, he took the Via Appia to cover a distance of 600 kilometer – if he started the land portion of the trip in the port of Hydruntum (Otranto) – in only five days. He got to Rome in the early morning (ante lucem) and went straight to the residence of praetor M. Junius so that he could convene the senate at dawn (prima luce). Certainly, as H. H. Scullard remarked,63 the credit due to Cato in the victory over Antiochus was merited, but his extreme urgency (ingenti cursu) and obvious desire to be the first to get to Rome in order to tell his version of the events reveals that the influence that the victory messengers had on public Roman opinion was significant. STRATEGIES FOR STRENGTHENING THE IMPACT OF THE NEWS It is quite obvious that the generals (and their own consilia) were very aware of the importance of having direct control over the flow of information regarding victories. The right communication strategy in Rome was vital not only for aspirations to be granted a triumphus, but also, in some instances, to be given extra time in command, as was the case for the future Africanus in his Hispanic campaigns. Commanders therefore used various strategies to increase the impact of the news on Roman public opinion. First, the selection of emissaries was a carefully considered decision that was based on prestige, technical ability, and gratia. On top of being trusted by the generals, the majority of those who were sent as messengers were prominent members of the consilium who participated directly in the battles (tribuni militum, praefecti classis, legati – lieutenants) and had a high personal status, sometimes even being of praetorian and consular rank. But one element was crucial when it came to designating those who would be sent to Rome: technical competence. In this way, they were different from simple messengers. As discussed, the legati were able to expand on the information that was provided in writing. The legatio did not only present information; its members also discussed and argued. They had to have the ability to defend the interests of their general in front of the Senate, and when confronted with differing points of view. The main cause of tension was the request for deportatio exercitus, an initiative that was disliked by new governors. There were several instances in which the debate focused on this ques62

63

It took him a day to get to Brundisium from Tarentum, and three from there to Rome, Liv. 36.21.5–7; Plut Cat. Mai. 14.4: “He says that those who saw him at that time pursuing the enemy and hewing them down, felt convinced that Cato owed less to Rome than Rome to Cato; also that the consul Manius himself, flushed with victory, threw his arms about him, still flushed with his own victory, and embraced him a long time, crying out for joy that neither he himself nor the whole Roman people could fittingly requite Cato for his benefactions”, Loeb translation by B. Perrin. Scullard 1951: 125–126.

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tion regarding the armies in Hispania. In 184 B. C. the emissaries of C. Calpurnius Piso and L. Quinctius Crispinus were forced into a bitter dispute (magna contentio) with the new praetors, in which both parties were supported by some tribunes of the plebs, which threatened to block political action by veto of the senatusconsulta.64 Another, more respectful, debate took place four years later between the emissaries sent by Q. Fulvius Flaccus and the incoming governor Ti. Sempronius Gracchus.65 The legati eventually got their point across, and they obtained partial results regarding the issue of the deportatio. The technical and geostrategic expertise of the legati is evidenced in other examples, too. In one such instance in 203 B. C., C. Laelius was in Rome to announce the victory over Syphax when he was required to participate in the audience of the Carthaginian legates before the Senate, possibly acting as an adviser.66 At the same time, all of the members of the legatio were expected to be sufficiently eloquent and in tune with the populus. The majority of the delegations sent to communicate victories offered the Roman public, gathered in contione, extra and colorful information regarding what had happened during the battle and the merits of the commanders. The public’s awareness of these achievements would be key factors – as will be discussed later – for the full recognition of the victory via a triumphal procession. Along with their strategies for selecting emissaries, another mechanism was used by the generals for strengthening the ramifications of their victories: the sending of prisoners and plunder to Rome in advance. This was clearly the Scipionic policy: in 209 B. C., C. Laelius announced the capture of Carthago Nova in Rome while showing off a group of selected prisoners including not only General Mago, but also, according to Polybius, two members of the γερουσία and fifteen of the σύγκλητος of Carthage who were found in the Hispanic city, presumably as part of an official delegation.67 Similarly, two years later, L. Scipio announced his brother Orongis’ victory by arriving in Rome with Hanno and other nobiles captivi.68 Again in 203 B. C., Laelius strengthened the effect of his victory communication by presenting the defeated Syphax himself along with other high status prisoners.69 In 64 65 66 67

68

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Liv. 39.38.4–11. Liv. 40.35.7–36.5; 36.8–11, see Pittenger 2008: 91–103. Liv. 30.21.11, cf. 23.1: Emotis deinde curia legatis sententiae interrogari coeptae … Polyb. 10.18.2. Cf. Liv. 26.51.1–2: fere quindecim senatores, see also Broughton 1951: 288. Subsequently, Polybius (10.19.8) mentions that Laelius was sent to Rome accompanied by high rank prisoners, undoubtedly the same ones as were cited previously (τούς τε Καρχηδονίους συστήσας καὶ τῶν ἄλλων αἰχμαλώτων τοὺς ἐπιφανεστάτους). See Walbank 1967: 218: “they were no doubt representatives of the home government attached to the Spanish front”. L. Scipione fratre Romam misso et Hannone hostium imperatore ceterisque nobilibus captivis ipse Tarraconem concessit, Liv. 28.4.4; Zon. 9.8. Broughton 1951: 297 mentions another trip to Italy by L. Scipio in 206 B. C., as Liv. 28.17.1 indicates: L. Scipio cum multis nobilibus captivis nuntius receptae Hispaniae Romam est missus (this story may be a duplication of the previous one about the legatio). Scipio C. Laelio cum Syphace aliisque captivis Romam misso, cum quibus et Masinissae legati profecti sunt, Liv. 30.16.1; Laelius cum Syphace primoribusque Numidarum captivis Romam venit, quaeque in Africa gesta essent, omnia ordine exposuit patribus, ingenti hominum et in praesens laetitia et in futurum spe, Liv. 30.17.1.

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168 B. C., word of the victory at Illyria was reinforced with the almost simultaneous presentation of Gentius, the royal family, and other Illyrian principes as prisoners.70 The communication in Rome of the victory at Pydna in the same year was likewise highlighted by the arrival shortly thereafter of the extravagant spoils plundered by Paullus. They were taken to Rome (and almost certainly put on display) before the triumphus.71 On other occasions, the announcement of victory was bolstered by incorporating diplomatic representatives from those who were defeated or pro-Roman leaders into the legatio who would highlight Roman merits in combat. The official announcement of the result of the Battle of Magnesia by M. Aurelius Cotta, emissary of the general, involved bringing to Rome in 189 B. C. legati of Antiochus, King Eumenes himself, and a Rhodian delegation.72 Considering all of this, it is obvious that the victory announcement entailed a series of careful decisions when it came to choosing legati and staging the event in front of the senate and people. PUBLIC AND PRIVATE REACTIONS TO THE NEWS OF VICTORIES: THE ROLE OF THE POPULUS Along with the deportatio exercitus – an issue discussed in the previous section – the victory communication often involved the granting of honores to the generals. These recognitions were sometimes openly requested by the legati, but in many cases there is no proof of such appeals. This lack of evidence could be due to the routine nature of the petition (which seems the most likely case), but it is not outside the realm of possibility that the honores were sometimes exclusively granted by a unilateral decision in the senate. In any case, T. C. Brennan indicated that the request for supplicatio was normally preceded by the imperatorial acclamation of the victorious general by his troops.73 The public celebrations in Rome were especially interesting as they were the first explicit recognition of the military merits of the still-absent general, as suggested by T. Itgenshorst.74 These honores typically took on the form of supplicationes. In his key work regarding this practice, Halkin proposed a classification for distinguishing between obsecrationes (which could be expiatory or propitiatory) and gratulationes (thanksgiving rites), which were 70 71

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post dies paucos Gentium regem ipsum cum parente, coniuge ac liberis ac fratre aliisque principibus Illyriorum, Liv. 44.32.4. The booty was publicly shown, at least, at Paullus’ camp, before being transported to the ships: spectaculo fuit ei, quae venerat, turbae non scaenicum magis ludicrum, non certamina hominum aut curricula equorum, quam praeda Macedonica omnis, ut viseretur, exposita, statuarum tabularumque et textilium et vasorum ex auro et argento et aere et ebore factorum ingenti cura in ea regia, ut non in praesentem modo speciem, qualibus referta regia Alexandreae erat, sed in perpetuum usum fierent. haec in classem inposita devehenda Romam Cn. Octavio data, Liv. 45.33.5–7. The idea of priority in the shipment of the praeda is also found in Diod. Sic. 31.8.9. On the sending of booty in preparation for the triumph, and specifically on the case of L. Mummius, see Cadario 2014. See n. 34. Cf. also n. 32 on the roman delegation after Zama with Carthaginian envoys. Brennan 2000: 833 n. 3. Itgenshorst 2005: 194.

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the focus of his study. The thanksgiving supplicatio basically consisted of selecting one or many days in which the public could carry out certain rites inside the temples, especially (although not exclusively) in the Temple of Jupiter Capitolinus. Offerings of incense and wine were common. The senatorial decree of supplicatio was preceded by an executive order (editio) issued by the consuls regarding the opening and decorating of the sanctuaries with wreaths. As Halkin discusses, in special circumstances, the supplicationes were enhanced by means of public sacrifices of victimae maiores carried out by a magistrate. Halkin considers the sacrifices to be parts of the supplicatio based largely on Greek sources that use expressions related to sacrifices when referring to idea of the supplicatio.75 According to Livy, however, it seems as if there were two different (though complementary) initiatives. He makes the distinction, for instance, when mentioning Gracchus’ victory in Sardinia: senatus in aede Apollinis legatorum verbis auditis supplicationem in biduum decrevit, et quadraginta maioribus hostiis consules sacrificare iussit.76 Regarding the news about Pydna, Livy identifies two senatorial decrees. The first supplicatio was approved after the first letter and before the arrival of the official envoys (postero die senatus in curia habitus, supplicationesque decretae).77 After hearing the report of the deputation, a new decree was then enacted indicating the number of days and including the decision to make sacrifices (senatus revocatus in curiam supplicationes ob rem egregie gestam ab L. Aemilio consule in quinque dies circa omnia pulvinaria decrevit hostiisque maioribus sacrificari iussit).78 Despite the ostentation of some celebrations, not all supplicationes led to the concession of a triumph (e. g., the case of the thanksgiving rites after Scipio’s battles in Hispania), but certainly “the absence of one [supplicatio] was probably fatal to a vote of the honor [triumph],” as suggested by Brennan.79 In fact, of the 65 supplicationes studied by Halkin, only a dozen did not lead to the concession of a triumph for various reasons.80 The role of the populus in the concession of supplicationes was secondary, given that the decision was made by the senate. The citizens, convened in contione, were simply informed after the enactment of the decree (supplicatio pro contione populo indicta est).81 Public expectation and the political mood in general could nevertheless have influenced the decision made by the senate, although the sources are not very explicit regarding this question. Naturally, the consuls did not forgo the opportunity to win favor with the public by announcing the awaited opening of the 75 76 77 78 79 80 81

Halkin 1953: 104. Liv. 41.17.4. Likewise, after the Battle of Magnesia, supplicatio inde in triduum decreta est, et quadraginta maiores hostiae immolari iussae, Liv. 37.52.1. Liv. 45.2.1. Liv. 45.2.8. Brennan 2000: 833 n. 3: “the imperatorial acclamation precedes the request for supplication”. See also Brennan 1996; Lange 2014. Halkin 1953: 111: “On peut en conclure qu’en règle générale le triomphe était accordé aux généraux qui avaient mérité au préalable une supplication”. This was the case, for instance, after Pydna, Liv. 45.2.8. On contiones, see Pina Polo 1989: 139–142 (“contiones informativas”); Pina Polo 1995; Morstein-Marx 2004; Courrier 2014: 442–463.

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temples and taking advantage of the renovata laetitia that the news created amongst the crowd.82 Along with the officially decreed activities, there were various instances of popular, spontaneous supplicationes before and after victory. Livy mentions (in a rather literary passage) that before the uncertainty of the Battle of the Metaurus, “the matrons, being in themselves unable to help, resorted to prayers and supplications, and wandering from one to another of all the temples, importuned the gods with entreaties and vows” (in preces obtestationesque versae, per omnia delubra vagae suppliciis votisque fatigare deos).83 The passage gives an example of an obsecratio, or propitiatory supplicatio, to use terminology suggested by Halkin. In other cases, public spontaneity led to thanksgiving rites being carried out immediately after news of the military success was communicated. Following the victory at Pydna and in the heat of the moment, citizens went straight from the contio to the temples upon hearing about the consul’s editio that ordered sacred areas to be opened, without waiting for an official decree for the supplicatio, which would come later.84 These private, personal, initiatives (pro se quisque ex contione ad gratias agendas ire dis) are located in a wide range of places. News of the victories spread from the areas where people would congregate, such as the gates to the city, the forum, the circus, and the meeting place for the contio, as well as other public and private areas. Each group acted, knowingly or not, as a channel of information in their own surroundings (e. g., the letters from Pydna caused men to abandon the games and go home in order to tell their wives and children of the victory).85 Both the fact that people congregated in temples for thanksgiving ceremonies, and the density of the Roman population, facilitated the spread of news and rumors – as specifically studied by C. Rosillo-López86 – and favored the creation of a collective mood. At the same time, these gatherings involved a remarkable social transversality, so the dissemination of the news was widespread, from the senatorial elite to the slave population. In public spaces, like the forum, “a crowd of men of every class” would gather (omnis generis hominum),87 thus facilitating interaction between different groups and sectors. At the same time, according to Livy, the role of women was evident. He described the active participation of the matronae. It was they who filled the temples praying for a favorable outcome at the Metaurus and went to the sanctuaries during thanksgiving alongside the men (a viris feminisque) dressed in their best wear and caring for the children (matronae amplissima veste cum liberis).88 The same was the case during the supplicationes after Pydna (non virorum 82 83 84 85 86 87 88

renovataque laetitia, cum consul edixisset, ut omnes aedes sacrae aperirentur, Liv. 45.2.6, after Pydna. Liv. 27.50.5. Liv. 45.2.9–10. On consular edicts, see Pina Polo 2011: 83–89, and particularly 87. Liv. 45.1.10. Rosillo-López 2016; 2017: 42–74 (locations); 78–86 (fama and rumores in the city of Rome). See also Courrier 2014: 142–190 (“Un ‘mode d habiter’ communautaire: sociabilités et voisinage”); 520–456 (“Diffusion de l’information, prise de décision et formation du consensus”). Liv. 27.51.3. Liv. 27.51.8–9.

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modo sed etiam feminarum).89 While it is clear that Livy created parallel narrative structures and colorfully incorporated the female population into the masses as a way to underscore the involvement of the whole Roman society in these events, there are no objective reasons to refute the idea that the matronae were involved in the supplicatio rituals or that they had an incredibly important role in spreading information and contributing to the overall public mood. It is likely that these attitudes could have been expected of Livy’s readers as they did not stray far from the social standards of the late republic. The impact of hearing of victories, especially during times of heightened anxiety like the Second Punic War or the confrontations with the great Hellenistic kingdoms, contributed to changing the political mood radically. Reports from the Battle of the Metaurus caused in Rome “an alteration in the condition of the state (status civitatis), so that immediately from this event, just as though it had been a time of peace, men were not afraid to do business with each other, buying, selling, lending, and paying borrowed money (inter se contrahere vendendo, emendo, mutuum dando argentum creditumque solvendo auderent).”90 The influence that this new collective mood had on economic recovery is certainly replicated in this text with expressive purpose, but this does not negatively impact its authenticity. Greek authors, like Plutarch, described the recovery of collective self-confidence in similar terms after the arrival of news of the victory of M’. Acilius Glabrio in Thermopylae: “He filled the city full of joy (εὐφροσύνης) and sacrifices, and the people with the proud feeling (φρονήματος) that it was able to master every land and sea.”91 The involvement of different social sectors in the reception of reports of victory, with a significant number of references to the crowd as a political subject,92 leads to the final and conclusive point of this paper, beginning with the words of A. E. Astin: “(…) there was a substantial body of voters in the assemblies whose votes were not automatically determined by the wishes of a patron. These people, at least sometimes, would vote according to their own preference, and their preference could be influenced. Thus the element of popular appeal entered in”(…). “‘Popular appeal’ is a broad and imprecise expression, which may embrace many methods of influencing the voter: the sheer magnetism of a brilliant and powerful personality, or the recommendation of men themselves distinguished in public life”.93

As this study has sought to demonstrate, Roman generals had a clear interest in having word of their victories reach Rome quickly and in having these announcements create the largest possible echo with regards to public opinion. Polybius identifies this desire (or rather, need) and relates it to the quest for a triumph and the securing of backing from the senate as well as the people despite the geographic distance separating the general from Rome: τοὺς γὰρ προσαγορευομένους παρ᾽ αὐτοῖς θριάμβους, δι᾽ ὧν ὑπὸ τὴν ὄψιν ἄγεται τοῖς πολίταις ὑπὸ τῶν στρατηγῶν ἡ τῶν κατειργασμένων πραγμάτων ἐνάργεια, τούτους οὐ δύνανται χειρίζειν, 89 90 91 92 93

Liv. 45.2.7. Liv. 27.51.10. Plut. Cat. Mai. 14.4. See Jehne 1995; Millar 1998: 73–93, Pina Polo 1996; Mouritsen 2001: 128–148. Astin 1967: 28.

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Enrique García Riaza ὡς πρέπει, ποτὲ δὲ τὸ παράπαν οὐδὲ συντελεῖν, ἐὰν μὴ τὸ συνέδριον συγκατάθηται καὶ δῷ τὴν εἰς ταῦτα δαπάνην. τοῦ γε μὴν δήμου στοχάζεσθαι καὶ λίαν αὐτοῖς ἀναγκαῖόν ἐστι, κἂν ὅλως ἀπὸ τῆς οἰκείας τύχωσι πολὺν τόπον ἀφεστῶτες: ὁ γὰρ τὰς διαλύσεις καὶ συνθήκας ἀκύρους καὶ κυρίας ποιῶν, ὡς ἐπάνω προεῖπον, οὗτός ἐστιν. τὸ δὲ μέγιστον ἀποτιθεμένους τὴν ἀρχὴν ἐν τούτῳ δεῖ τὰς εὐθύνας ὑπέχειν τῶν πεπραγμένων. ὥστε κατὰ μηδένα τρόπον ἀσφαλὲς εἶναι τοῖς στρατηγοῖς ὀλιγωρεῖν μήτε τῆς συγκλήτου μήτε τῆς τοῦ πλήθους εὐνοίας. For the processions they call triumphs, in which the generals bring the actual spectacle of their achievements before the eyes of their fellow-citizens, cannot be properly organized and sometimes even cannot be held at all, unless the senate consents and provides the requisite funds. As for the people it is most indispensable for the consuls to conciliate them, however far away from home they may be; for, as I said, it is the people which ratifies or annuls terms of peace and treaties, and what is most important, on laying down office the consuls are obliged to account for their actions to the people. So that in no respect is it safe for the consuls to neglect keeping in favour with both the senate and the people.94

In order to achieve these objectives, as discussed previously, commanders chose emissaries based not only on their rapport, but also on their technical expertise, speaking abilities, and social prestige. At the same time, the impact of legationes was reinforced by sending them to Rome along with high status prisoners and plunder to be put on display. This leads to the question of why these efforts were made to show off captivi and praeda so early on, instead of waiting for a triumphal procession. The answer to this can be found in the Roman constitution, specifically in the role that the populus played during the request for a triumph. In his influential 1970 book, H. S. Versnel explained the circumstances under which a triumphal procession would be granted, taking into account three considerations: (1) the pomerium formed the boundary between the imperium domi and the imperium militiae (thus assuming the categories of T. Mommsen); (2) within the pomerium only the imperium domi was operative; and (3) on the day of the triumph, however, the triumphator had, with the people’s consent, the imperium militiae.95 More recently, these approaches were reconsidered with nuances by C. Lundgreen.96 For their part, both J-L. Bastien and F. J. Vervaet97 agreed in pointing out that “magisterial triumphators required only dispensation (ex s. c.) in order not to lose the auspices once inside the pomerium, but promagisterial triumphators did require imperium for the day of the Triumph, and this imperium was granted by the vote of the People.” In his recent study on the triumphs in the Roman Republic, Rich wrote that “to enable promagistrates to triumph, a law had to be passed by the popular assembly granting them imperium for the day of their entry into the city.”98 Although the categories suggested by Mommsen – especially the concept

94 95 96 97 98

Polyb. 6.15.8–11. Loeb translation by W. R. Paton. Versnel 1970: 168; 192. See also discussion in Pittenger 2008: 35–42, and specially her n. 12. Lundgreen 2011: 198–203. As pointed out by Vervaet 2014: 87. Cf. 84–93; 68–70; 78–130, for a full discussion on the relationship between summum imperium auspiciumque and ius triumphandi. See also Bastien 2007: 202. Rich 2014: 210; 237.

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of imperium domi – are currently being reassessed,99 there are no reasons to doubt the role of the populus during the process of requesting and granting triumphs. As this paper has sought to demonstrate, the announcement of military victories in in the Middle Republic was not a preliminary or merely anecdotal question. Although concealed by literary sources and dazzled by the brilliance of triumphal parades, the nuntiatio victoriae did have a role, and a very significant one, in influencing public opinion in Rome. BIBLIOGRAPHY Astin, A. E. (1967) Scipio Aemilianus, Oxford. Auliard, C. (2001) Victoires et triomphes à Rome. Droit et réalités sous la République, Besançon. Bastien, J-L. (2007) Le triomphe romain et son utilisation politique à Rome aux trois derniers siècles de la République, Rome. Beard, M. (2007) The Roman Triumph, Cambridge, Mass./London. Brennan, T. C. (1996) “Triumphus in Monte Albano”, in Transitions to Empire: Essays in GraecoRoman History, 360–146 B. C., in Honor of E. Badian, ed. R. W. Wallace & E. M. Harris: 315– 337. Norman, OK. Brennan, T. C. (2000) The Praetorship in the Roman Republic, I–II, Oxford. Briscoe, J. (2008) A Commentary on Livy, Books 38–40, Oxford. Broughton, T. R. S (1951) The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, vol I., New York. Cadario, M. (2014) “Preparing for Triumph. Graecae Artes as Roman Booty in L. Mummius’ Campaign (146 BC)”, Lange & Vervaet 2014: 83–101. Carney, T. F. (1973) “Prosopography: Payoffs and Pitfalls”, Phoenix 27/2: 156–179. Courrier, C. (2014) La plèbe de Rome et sa culture (fin du IIe siècle av. J.-C.-fin du Ier siècle ap. J.-C., Rome. Dart, C. J. & Vervaet, F. J. (2011) “The Significance of the Naval Triumph in Roman History (260– 29 BCE)”, ZPE 176: 267–280. Drogula, F. K. (2007) “Imperium, Potestas, and the Pomerium in the Roman Republic”, Historia 56/4: 419–452. Flaig, E. (2003) Ritualisierte Politik. Zeichen, Gesten und Herrschaft im Alten Rom. Historische Semantik Band 1, Göttingen. Giovannini, A. (1983) Consulare imperium, Basel. Goldberg, S. M. (1995) Epic in Republican Rome, Oxford. Guastella, G. (2017) Word of Mouth: Fama and Its Personifications in Art and Literature from Ancient Rome to the Middle Ages, Oxford. Halkin, L. (1948) “La parodie d’une demande de triomphe dans l’Amphitryon de Plaute”, AC 17/1: 297–304. Halkin, L. (1953) La Supplication d’Action de grâces chez les Romains, Paris. Itgenshorst, T. (2005) Tota illa pompa. Der Triumph in der römischen Republik, Göttingen. Jehne, M. ed. (1995) Demokratie in Rom? Die Rolle des Volkes in der Politik der römischen Republik, Stuttgart. Künzl, E. (1988) Der römische Triumph: Siegesfeiern im antiken Rom, München.

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Pina Polo 2011: 4–6, with discussion on Giovannini 1983 (who sees the distinction between imperium domi and imperium militiae in functional rather than geographical terms) and Drogula 2011 (imperium only as military command, and potestas as civilian magisterial authority). See also Vervaet 2014: 84, who writes: “the concept of a distinct (consular or praetorian) ‘imperium militiae’ is one of the most persistent chimaeras of modern scholarship”.

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Lange, C. H. (2014) “The Triumph outside the City: Voices of Protest in the Middle Republic”, Lange & Vervaet 2014: 67–81. Lange, C. H. (2016) Triumphs in the Age of Civil War: The Late Republic and the Adaptability of Triumphal Tradition, London/New York. Lange, C. H. and Vervaet, F. J. eds (2014) The Roman Republican Triumph Beyond the Spectacle, Rome. Levene, D. S. (2010) Livy on the Hannibalic War, Oxford. Lundgreen, C. (2011) Regelkonflikte in der römischen Republik. Geltung und Gewichtung von Normen in politischen Entscheidungsprozessen, Stuttgart. Lundgreen, C. (2014) “Rules for Obtaining a Triumph – the ius triumphandi Once More”, Lange & Vervaet 2014: 17–32. Millar, F. (1998) The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic, Ann Arbor, MI. Morstein-Marx, R. (2004) Mass Oratory and Political Power in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Mouritsen, H. (2001) Plebs and Politics in Late Republican Rome, Cambridge. Östenberg, I. (2009) Staging the World: Spoils, Captives, and Representations in the Roman Triumphal Procession, Oxford/New York. Pina Polo, F. (1989) Las contiones civiles y militares en Roma, Zaragoza. Pina Polo, F. (1995) “Procedures and functions of civil and military contiones in Rome”, Klio 77: 203–216. Pina Polo, F. (1996) Contra arma verbis: Der Redner vor dem Volk in der späten römischen Republik, Stuttgart. Pina Polo, F. (2004) “Deportaciones como castigo e instrumento de colonización durante la República romana: el caso de Hispania”, in Vivir en tierra extraña: emigración e integración cultural en el mundo antiguo, eds. F. Marco Simón, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal Rodríguez: 211–246. Barcelona. Pina Polo, F. (2011) The Consul at Rome: the Civil Functions of the Consuls in the Roman Republic, Cambridge/New York. Pittenger, M. R. P. (2008) Contested Triumphs: Politics, Pageantry, and Performance in Livy’s Republican Rome, Berkeley. Pittia, S. (2009) “L’arrivée de Persée au camp de Paul-Emile: mise en scène d’une capitulation”, Veleia 26: 103-125. Rankov, B. (2006) « Les frumentarii et la circulation de l’information entre les empereurs romains et les provinces », in La circulation de l’information dans les états antiques, ed. L. Capdetrey & J. Nelis-Clément: 129–140. Bordeaux. Rich, J., “The Triumph in the Roman Republic: Frequency, Fluctuation and Policy”, Lange & Vervaet 2014: 197–261. Richardson, J. S. (1975) “The Triumph, the Praetors and the Senate in the Early Second Century B. C.”, JRS 65: 50–63. Rosillo-López, C. (2016) “The workings of public opinion in the Late Roman Republic: the case study of corruption”, Klio 98/1: 203–227. Rosillo-López, C. (2017) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Scullard, H. H. (1951) Roman Politics (220–150 B. C.), Oxford. Shatzman, I. (1972) “The Roman General’s Authority over Booty”, Historia 21/2: 177–205. Versnel, H. S. (1970) Triumphus: an Inquiry into the Origin, Development, and Meaning of the Roman Triumph, Leiden. Vervaet, F. J. (2014) The High Command in the Roman Republic. The Principle of the summum imperium auspiciumque from 509 to 19 BCE, Stuttgart. Vishnia, R. F. (1996) State, Society and Popular Leaders in Mid-Republican Rome 241–167 B. C., London. Walbank, F. W. (1967) A Historical Commentary on Polybius, volume II. Commentary on Books VII–XVIII.+, Oxford. Walsh, P. G. (1961) Livy: His Historical Aims and Methods, Cambridge.

MILITARY DISASTERS, PUBLIC OPINION, AND ROMAN POLITICS DURING THE WARS IN HISPANIA (153–133 B. C.) Alejandro Díaz Fernández During the Republic, the command of a province represented a decisive chapter in the public life of a Roman: several works have pointed out that the best opportunity to earn reputation and glory in Roman society was through military success on the battlefield.1 A major victory could even result in a triumph, a ceremony that presented the commander with the attributes of Iuppiter – as a quasi-divine figure – granting to him and to his family a place of privilege in the collective memory of the Romans.2 Not even an author as uninterested in warfare as Cicero doubted that military feats and the triumph were the summit of a Roman’s public career within an aristocratic world dominated by competition in the values of uirtus.3 When the moneyer A. Postumius Albinus wanted to show the prestige of his family on his *

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Juan de la Cierva-Formación Fellow (Ministerio de Economía, Industria y Competitividad – Gobierno de España). Universidad de Málaga. This work has been produced within the project “La cuestura durante la República, en Roma y las provincias del Imperio” (HAR2013– 43477-P), financed by the Ministerio de Economía, Industria y Competitividad (Spain), and the Grupo de Estudios Historiográficos (HUM-394)-Junta de Andalucía (Spain). I would like to thank sincerely C. Rosillo-López for her patience and advices, and Emma Chesterman for her revision and improvement of the text. All dates are B. C. See recently Drogula 2015: 273–275; 295–296; cf. Salinas de Frías 1995: 48–56; García Riaza 2008: 19–21. On the values of the Roman aristocracy, see Harris 1979: 9–41; also 2016: 16–23; Rosenstein 1990a: 114–152; 2007: 132–145; 2010: 365–381; Frazel 2009: 127–128; Mouritsen 2017: 99–104. Harris 1979: 25–26; Rosenstein 2010: 370; cf. Brennan 2004: 50: “To have held imperium, received the charisma – enhancing acclamation of imperator, and celebrated a triumph conferred almost incalculable prestige on a Roman”; see also Itgenshorst 2005: 89–147; Bastien 2007: 238–247. A study on the political involvements of the triumph during the early second century, in Richardson 1975: 50–63. A recent survey of its development during the Republic, in Rich 2014: 197–252. Cic. de Or. 1.7: quis enim est qui, si clarorum hominum scientiam rerum gestarum uel utilitate uel magnitudine metiri uelit, non anteponat oratori imperatorem? quis autem dubitet quin belli duces ex hac una ciuitate praestantissimos paene innumerabilis, in dicendo autem excellentis uix paucos proferre possimus?; Mur. 19–22; cf. 22: qui potest dubitari quin ad consulatum adipiscendum multo plus adferat dignitatis rei militaris quam iuris ciuilis gloria? […] rei militaris uirtus praestat ceteris omnibus; Planc. 61; Pis. 56–57; Off. 2.45; Att. 5.20.1; however, Cic. Off. 1.74: sed cum plerique arbitrentur res bellicas maiores esse quam urbanas, minuenda est haec opinio. multi enim bella saepe quaesiverunt propter gloriae cupiditatem, atque id in magnis animis ingeniisque plerumque contingit, eoque magis, si sunt ad rem militarem apti et cupidi bellorum gerendorum; [Cic.] Fam. 15.5.2; Harris 1979: 22–23; Waller 2011: 18–19. See also the well-known laudatio of L. Caecilius Metellus (cos. 251, 247), in Plin. NH 139–140.

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issues (c. 81 B. C.), he decided, significantly, that the best way to do it was to recall on his coins the triumph awarded almost a century before (179) to his distant forebear, the praetor L. Postumius Albinus, for his victory over the Lusitanians in Hispania Ulterior.4

Fig. 1. Rome. Denarius of A. Postumius A. f. Sp. n. Albinus (81 B. C.). Head of Hispania, wearing veil; behind HISPAN. Togate figure with right hand raised, standing between legionary eagle and fasces with axe. Crawford 1974: no. 372.2.

Once the commander returned to Rome, moreover, the fact of having gained a military success could even become a safeguard against trial for misgovernment or serious failure to meet responsibilities in the command of the province. Among several instances, the case of Ser. Sulpicius Galba (pr. 151), the praetor of Hispania Ulterior reported for his controversial campaign against the Lusitanians, is revealing. According to the sources, Galba contravened Roman fides by killing the majority of the Lusitanians who had accepted a peaceful surrender with the promise of land, selling the survivors into slavery and seizing for himself a substantial proportion of the spoils as well, probably a decisive factor in his later prosecution.5 A tribune of the plebs, L. Scribonius Libo, introduced in 149 a rogatio to liberate the enslaved Lusitanians and, possibly, to set up a quaestio against Galba. Despite the support of a certain L. Cornelius Cethegus, and the veteran senator M. Porcius Cato (a declared enemy of Galba), the case was ultimately dismissed by the people after a theatrical defense by the consular Q. Fulvius Nobilior and Galba himself: some of the sources relate that Galba appeared before the Roman people embracing his young sons and spoke so dramatically in his own defense that the rogatio was at last 4

5

See fig. 1. Crawford 1974: 389, no. 372.2; Beltrán Lloris 2011: 61–62. L. Postumius Albinus’ triumph in Liv. 41.7.1–3 (postero die L. Postumius de Lusitanis aliisque eiusdem regionis Hispanis triumphauit); Act. Tr.; Broughton 1951: 395; Díaz Fernández 2015: 378–379; 541, n. 108 (where I have mistakenly interpreted a comment of M. Crawford about the relationship between the obverse type and the triumph of L. Postumius Albinus). A. Postumius Albinus was probably grandson of Sp. Postumius Albinus (cos. 110), whose forebears are nevertheless unknown. App. Hisp. 58–61; Liv. Per. 48; 49; Val. Max. 8.1.abs 2; 9.6.2; Suet. Gal. 3.2; Oros. 4.21.10; Broughton 1951: 455–457. See Richardson 1986: 137–140; 2000: 153–155; Brennan 2000: 174–175; García Riaza 2002: 294–296; 2007: 26–27; 2008: 19–23; Muñiz Coello 2004: 109– 111; Salinas de Frías 2010: 127–134; Burton 2011: 323–326; cf. contra Betts-Marshall 2013: 47–48, who have pointed out that the charge may have been perduellio or maiestas.

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rejected (most likely by the concilium plebis).6 Leaving aside the role played in this case both by Galba’s dramatic performance and by his personal wealth (as Appian also notes), it is interesting to note that he claimed to have killed the Lusitanians because they were supposedly preparing an attack (probably reason enough to legitimize such an action).7 It is also likely that the fact of having inflicted a heavy defeat upon an enemy as persistently annoying as the Lusitanians was decisive at that time in his final acquittal.8 Although Galba was certainly deprived of any recognition for his campaign and did not reach the consulate the following year (probably because of the political controversy surrounding his case), his candidacy gained popular support just a few years later, in 145, when he was elected consul for 144.9 Despite the murky circumstances of his campaign, Ser. Sulpicius Galba’s victory probably presented, for a significant part of Roman public opinion (at least for those who voted against L. Scribonius Libo’s proposal), more important considerations than the betrayal of an enemy like the Lusitanians.10 At most, the senate may have considered that his controversial action could discredit the Romans diplomati6

7 8 9

10

See Liv. Per. 49: cum L. Scribonius tr. pl. rogationem promulgasset, ut Lusitani, qui in fidem populo R. dediti ab Seruio Galba in Galliam uenissent, in libertatem restituerentur, M. Cato acerrime suasit. extat oratio in Annalibus ipsius inclusa. Q. Fuluius Nobilior ei, saepe ab eo in senatu laceratus, respondit pro Galba; ipse quoque Galba cum se damnari uideret, complexus duos filios praetextatos et Sulpicii Galli filium, cuius tutor erat, ita miserabiliter pro se locutus est ut rogatio antiquaretur; Cic. Brut. 80: et uero etiam tum Catone uiuo, qui annos quinque et octoginta natus excessit e uita, cum quidem eo ipso anno contra Ser. Galbam ad populum summa contentione dixisset; 89: cum Lusitanis a Ser. Galba praetore contra interpositam, ut existumabatur, fidem interfectis L. Libone tribuno plebis populum incitante et rogationem in Galbam priuilegi similem ferente; de Or. 1.227; Mur. 59; Nep. Cat. 3.4; Val. Max. 8.1.abs. 2; 8.7.1; App. Hisp. 60; cf. Gruen 1968: 13, n. 11. Broughton 1951: 459; Alexander 1990: 3, no. 1; Bauman 2000: 57; Betts-Marshall 2013: 47. L. Scribonius Libo’s proposal was rejected by the concilium plebis, according to Richardson 1987: 1; Kelly 2006: 75–76; by the comitia, according to Brennan 2000: 175 (“comitial vote”); García Riaza 2008: 23–24; Salinas de Frías 2010: 129 (comitia tributa). Liv. Per. 49: Lusitanos prope se castra habentis caesos fatetur, quod compertum habuerit, equo atque homine suo ritu immolatis per speciem pacis adoriri exercitum suum in animo habuisse; García Riaza 2002: 103–113. Gruen 1968: 12–15; García Riaza 2002: 106–107; 292–296; 2008: 21–22; 24; Muñiz Coello 2004: 111–112; Salinas de Frías 2010: 128–129; Clark 2014: 151–154. Harris 1979: 52, n. 3; Burton 2011: 324–325; Betts-Marshall 2013: 48; Clark 2014: 153; cf. Astin 1967: 58–59; 104: “By the end of 145, however, not only wll the effects of that attack have disminished considerably but Galba’s record will almost certainly have been a positive recommendation: here was a man who had proved in the field that he could defeat the Lusitanians and whose ‘strong’ methods probably seemed to many Romans precisely what was needed in the present situation”. See Burton 2011: 325–326. A study on the attitude of the Roman people towards war in Harris 1979, 41–53; cf. Gabba 1984: 115–127. Harris, however, pays no attention to the fact that Galba was acquitted by the people. The impact of the public opinion on Rome’s foreign policy has been discussed by Yakobson 2009: 45–72. Suet. Gal. 3.2 stresses the distinction that Servius Galba provided to his family, despite his controversial action against the Lusitanians: familiam illustrauit Seruius Galba consularis, temporum suorum uel eloquentissimus, quem tradunt Hispaniam ex praetura optinentem, triginta Lusitanorum milibus perfidia trucidatis, Viriathini belli causam extitisse.

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cally among the Hispanian peoples, as E. García Riaza has pointed out.11 From the dominant position of Rome, however, to admit the charge of dishonest action before the Lusitanians, and to liberate them from slavery after so overwhelming a victory, was probably seen in certain political circles as a damaging decision for Roman interests in Hispania, as well as a sign of weakness towards provincials in a moment when Rome, besides its problems in the peninsula, was again facing two major wars in both Macedonia and Africa. In fact, the main reason for the accusations against Galba seems to lie in the political rivalries within the senatorial class, as well as in his improper seizure of the spoils, rather than in ethical questions surrounding his campaign.12 As in many other instances, the accusations against Galba largely seem to be a political attempt at using a controversial episode in the provinces to discredit the commander responsible, and to damage his political career through a rogatio ad populum. As a matter of fact, while Ser. Sulpicius Galba attacked the Lusitanians in Hispania Ulterior, L. Licinius Lucullus (cos. 151) committed a similar massacre in Cauca during his consulship in Hispania Citerior. Appian says that Lucullus accepted the rendition of the people of Cauca and installed a garrison in the town, but once the soldiers took up position on the walls, Lucullus led the rest of the army in and killed the entire adult population. Despite such a lack of fides by Lucullus, and the fact he undertook a war against the Vaccaei without any decree from the Romans, he was never put on trial because of it, as Appian himself observes.13 An interesting comment in Cicero’s Verrinae shows that military merit could indeed play a defining role in trials against Roman commanders, to the point of being a commonplace in the defense of those prosecuted for misconduct or maladministration in the provinces.14 As an example, Cicero cites the trial of M’. Aquillius (cos. 101), who, despite the accusations of extortion (de pecuniis repetundis) for his term in Sicily (101–99), was acquitted because of his celebrated victory in the island’s slave revolt (Cic. Flacc. 98: M.’ Aquilium patres nostri multis auaritiae criminibus testimoniisque conuictum, quia cum fugitiuis fortiter bellum gesserat, iudicio liberauerunt).15 Cicero tells us that Aquillius was defended by Marcus An11 12 13

14 15

García Riaza 2002: 106; 2008: 22; cf. Oros. 4.21.10; App. Hisp. 53; 61. Brennan 2000: 174–175; García Riaza 2002: 292–296; 2007: 26–27; 2008: 19–23; Muñiz Coello 2004: 111–113; Salinas de Frías 2010: 121–134. App. Hisp. 51–55; cf. Richardson 2000: 148–150; Liv. Per. 48. Broughton 1951: 455; Brennan 2000: 174–175; García Riaza 2002: 79–87; Betts-Marshall 2013: 46–47; Díaz Fernández 2015: 352–353; Clark 2014: 151–154. A third example is reported by App. Hisp. 100: T. Didius (cos. 98) ordered to kill the population of Colenda with the consent of a senatorial commission. See Pina Polo 1997: 100–104; García Riaza 2002: 316; 338. Didius reached the triumph in addition; Act. Tr.; Itgenshorst 2005: no. 239. Cic. Ver. 5.1–5. See Frazel 2009: 125–132. See also Liv. Per. 70: cum M.’ Aquilius de pecuniis repetundis causam diceret, ipse iudices rogare noluit; M. Antonius, qui pro eo perorabat, tunicam a pectore eius discidit, ut honestas cicatrices ostenderet. indubitate absolutus est; Cic. de Or. 2.124; 2.194–196; cf. 2.195: quem enim ego consulem fuisse, imperatorem ornatum a senatu, ouantem in Capitolium ascendisse meminissem; Quint. Inst. 2.15.7; Alexander 1990: 44, no. 84; Frazel 2009: 131–132; Prag 2013: 272–273. Sources for Aquillius’ term in Sicily, in Broughton 1951: 570–571; 577; 1952: 2–3; Díaz Fernández 2015: 308–309. Aquillius gained an ouatio c. 99: Itgenshorst 2005: no. 237. See fig. 2.

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tonius, the well-known orator and consul of 99, who theatrically tore the tunic of the defendant and showed his war scars to the Roman people and the jurors, lamenting that “the man whom fortune had saved from the weapons of the enemy, and who had not spared himself, should appear to have been saved not to receive praise from the Roman people, but to endure the cruelty of the judges”.16 Beyond the dramatic tone of the story, Cicero’s words clearly emphasise the importance of military successes not just for the public image of a Roman citizen, but also for any potential trial for maladministration: to have been a bonus imperator, as Cicero says, usually became a more decisive argument than any other in assessing the term of a Roman magistrate in his province before public opinion.17

Fig. 2. Rome. Denarius of M.’ Aquillius M.’ f. M.’ n. (71 B. C.). Helmeted bust of Virtus r. Warrior holding shield in left hand and raising up fallen figure; below SICIL. Crawford 1974: no. 401.

A notable victory, therefore, could not just burnish the image of a provincial government before the Romans, but also save a defendant from condemnation (sometimes even with the support of some of the people, as in the case of Ser. Sulpicius Galba); unworthy conduct in commanding a war, however, or a military disaster, could result in the condemnation of the imperator and the end of his political career, as well as important consequences within Roman politics more broadly. Some 16

17

Cic. Ver. 5.3: uenit enim mihi in mentem in iudicio M.’ Aquili quantum auctoritatis, quantum momenti oratio M. Antoni habuisse existimata sit; qui, ut erat in dicendo non solum sapiens sed etiam fortis, causa prope perorata ipse arripuit M.’ Aquilium constituitque in conspectu omnium tunicamque eius a pectore abscidit, ut cicatrices populus Romanus iudicesque aspicerent aduerso corpore exceptas; simul et de illo uulnere quod ille in capite ab hostium duce acceperat multa dixit, eoque adduxit eos qui erant iudicaturi uehementer ut uererentur ne, quem uirum fortuna ex hostium telis eripuisset, cum sibi ipse non pepercisset, hic non ad populi Romani laudem sed ad iudicum crudelitatem uideretur esse seruatus (translation by the author). Cic. Ver. 5.4: eadem nunc ab illis defensionis ratio uiaque temptatur, idem quaeritur. sit fur, sit sacrilegus, sit flagitiorum omnium uitiorumque princeps; at est bonus imperator, at felix et ad dubia rei publicae tempora reseruandus; Frazel 2009: 125–132; cf. 131–132: “Because the jurors in Verres’ trial were senators, many of whom themselves had experience in provincial government, they might be quite sympathetic to the ‘common fortune of commanders,’ and they might very well consider that military victories were more important than alleged provincial peculations”.

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years ago, Nathan Rosenstein claimed that military failures were not always critical in the public career of their protagonists, stressing that defeated commanders usually had no fewer opportunities for political promotion than their non-prosecuted compeers.18 Although Rosenstein’s conclusions can seem partially convincing, it is clear that the sources also record instances in which a military loss, or a magistrate’s mishandled command of a war, were not just pivotal in his own political career, but also raised so much controversy among public opinion that the cases had major implications for the political scene.19 Addresing these instances, the aim of this chapter is not so much to focus on the consequences of such episodes on the public career of their protagonists (an issue thoroughly analyzed by Rosenstein and, more recently, by John Rich20), but rather, more specifically, to discuss the role played by Roman public opinion in the political evaluation of these cases in Rome. What follows, in short, is a study of the political use of military disasters through the manipulation of the public opinion, as the theme of this book demands. Rather than attempting a comprehensive overview of the topic – which would exceed the limits of these pages – this chapter will concentrate instead on several notable cases from the wars in Hispania which had an important impact upon both Roman society and historiographical tradition. While military success seems to have been key in the acquittals of M.’ Aquillius and (probably also) Ser. Sulpicius Galba – in the latter case thanks to the support of an important proportion of the people – it is interesting to explore what the social response was in the trials of those commanders who seriously failed in their provinces, and the role played by public opinion in the political outcome of such cases in Rome. The impact on Roman politics and public opinion of the actions undertaken by consuls and praetors in their provinces has been widely discussed, to the point that the approval of some legal measures has been interpreted as a political consequence of particularly controversial episodes that took place in the Roman provinces. It should be noted, however, that behind such measures, there is usually an attempt to attack the person involved politically and, especially, to use both the incident itself, and the social reaction provoked by it, for the benefit of private political interests. For instance, the passing of the lex Calpurnia de pecuniis repetundis by the tribune of the plebs, L. Calpurnius Piso Frugi, in 149 (the first of successive laws against extortion in the provinces), and the consequent creation of a permanent senatorial court in Rome to judge such crime, has traditionally been linked with Ser. Sulpicius Galba’s controversial action in Hispania Ulterior.21 Given the title and the probable 18 19 20 21

Rosenstein 1990a: 41–53; cf. 1990b: 255–265. Recent revisions of Rosenstein’s conclusions in Waller 2011: 18–27; Rich 2012: 84–88. Discussion and bibliography in Rich 2012: 83, n. 2. See the commentaries on Rosenstein’s work made by Tatum 1991: 149–152; 1992: 637–641; Hölkeskamp 1994: 332–341; cf. also Harris 1990: 288–289. Rosenstein 1990a: 114–152; 1990b: 255–265; 1992: 117–126; Rich 2012: 83–111; cf. Waller 2011: 18–38. Cic. Brut. 106: L. enim Piso tribunus plebis legem primus de pecuniis repetundis Censorino et Manilio consulibus tulit; Off. 2.75; Cic. Ver. 3.195; 4.56. Sources in Broughton 1951: 459.

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aim of the law, however, it seems that the lex Calpurnia was actually, as Jessica Clark has rightly emphasised, a response to Galba’s seizure of money in Hispania, and not to his controversial victory over the Lusitanians.22 Despite Cicero’s wellknown remark about the role of this kind of law in protecting the socii and amici of the Romans (cum lex ipsa de pecuniis repetundis sociorum atque amicorum populi Romani patrona sit23), moreover, it is likely that the lex Calpurnia was primarily conceived simply as a weapon to discredit political enemies: in fact, if the approval of the lex Calpurnia is somehow related to Galba’s actions in Hispania Ulterior, it should rather be construed as part of the campaign to discredit him undertaken by some of his staunchest enemies (like M. Porcius Cato) once the details of his campaign against the Lusitanians were known in Rome. Following the establishment of the two permanent provinces in 197, Hispania became a common setting for Roman military campaigns, as well as a source of triumphs for the consuls and praetors to whom the senate granted its administration.24 There were not only victories, however: despite the significant number of triumphs gained ex Hispania by the Roman commanders (no fewer than twenty triumphs and seven ovationes are recorded until the beginning of the Civil War in 4925), the peninsula also witnessed a series of military disasters and resounding failures, exacerbated by the attitudes of its governors. As a case in point, the byzantine excerpts from Diodorus record the case of the praetor C. Plautius, who, having been severely defeated by Viriathus in Hispania (146–145), was condemned on his return by the Romans (probably by the comitia centuriata) for “having abased the power” or “dignity” of Rome (ἐπὶ τῷ τεταπεινωκέναι τὴν ἀρχὴν).26 According to Diodorus’ words, Plautius was tried in a standard case of minuta maiestas, but,

22

23 24 25 26

Discussion, in Gruen 1968: 12–16; 33–34; Bauman 1996: 22–23; 2000: 57–58; Burton 2011: 325–326; Betts-Marshall 2013: 47–48. Clark 2014: 153–154: “This court, the quaestio de rebus repetundis established by the lex Calpurnia of 149, may well have been the response to a failed attempt to create an ad hominem venue for the prosecution of Galba’s pecuniary malfeasance. If so, it illustrates the separation of crimes such as extortion from cases of military misconduct. The latter might generate outrage, but public sentiment had been shown to be fickle in holding Romans in Rome to account for crimes committed a long way away and against people who, the last anyone had heard, were enemies of Rome”; cf. Richardson 1987: 7–11; García Riaza 2002: 292–296; 2008: 24–26; Muñiz Coello 2004: 118–119. Cic. Div. Caec. 65; cf. Richardson 1987: 1–12; Bauman 2000: 57–62; Betts-Marshall 2013: 48–54. Bastien 2007: 233; Rich 2014: 224–237; cf. Clark 2014: 147–151; see also for the early second century, Richardson 1975: 50–63; Salinas de Frías 1995: 48–56; 2010: 121–124. Itgenshorst 2005: 267–270; Bastien 2007: 408–413; Rich 2014: 249–252. Diod. Sic. 33.2: ὁ Πλαύτιος ὁ ἑξαπέλεκυς στρατηγὸς τῶν Ῥωμαίων κακὸς προστάτης ἐγένετο ἐν τῇ ἐπαρχίᾳ· ἀνθ’ ὧν κατάκριτος ἐν τῇ πατρίδι γενόμενος ἐπὶ τῷ τεταπεινωκέναι τὴν ἀρχὴν ἔφυγεν ἐκ τῆς Ῥώμης; cf. Liv. Per. 52: post quem C. Plautius praetor nihilo felicius rem gessit; tantumque terroris is hostis intulit ut aduersus eum consulari opus esset et duce et exercitu; App. Hisp. 64. Broughton 1951: 466; Alexander 1990: 3–4, no. 2; Rosenstein 1990a: 196; Brennan 1995: 61–63; 2000: 176; Kelly 2006: 166–167; Salinas de Frías 2010: 131; Rich 2012: 105; Clark 2014: 155–156. According to Cicero (Leg. 3.11; 3.44–45; cf. Sest. 65), the capital cases could only be voted in the comitia centuriata.

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given that the first lex maiestatis is much later (103), most scholars have concluded that the crime could have been perduellio (that is, “high treason”).27 Diodorus adds that Plautius did have to go into exile, while Appian stresses not just his successive losses at the hands of Viriathus (he lost almost all his army), but also his withdrawal with the rest of his soldiers to the towns and their winter quarters, and his refusal to fight again while it was still summer: hence, perhaps, the prosecution for treason or the abasement of Roman dignity.28 Still more interesting for the purpose of this chapter, however, is the fact that, once the Romans learned of Plautius’ unacceptable conduct (presumably in the late summer of 145), they reacted by granting the province to the consul Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus (cos. 145), as both Appian and the Periochae of Livy relay.29 Although the sources do not provide details of the circumstances in which the command was granted to Fabius Maximus, it is possible that he gained the province sine sorte, perhaps thanks to a proposal by a tribune of the plebs and, probably, also to knowing how to exploit the climate of impatience provoked in Roman public opinion by the latest disasters in Lusitania:30 indeed, the Periocha says that it was the dread inspired by Viriathus which gave rise to the dispatch of a consul and his army to Hispania (tantumque terroris is hostis intulit ut aduersus eum consulari opus esset et duce et exercitu). Given the subsequent development of events, it is interesting to explore how far this climate of tension, as well as the accusations of treason made against C. Plautius, may have been exploited among certain sectors of Roman politics with the aim of creating suitable circumstances for the command of the war in Hispania Ulterior to pass immediately (in late 145?) into the hands of the then-consul Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus.31 27

28

29

30 31

For the so-called lex Appuleia de maiestate, Cic. de Or. 2.107; 2.201; Broughton 1951: 563; Bauman 1970: 34–58; Ferrary 2009: 232–237; see below. C. Plautius’ crime as perduellio, rather than maiestas, in Gruen 1968: 29, n. 46; Bauman 1970: 21–23; Ferrary 1983: 556–557; Brennan 2000: 225; Kelly 2006: 166–167; Rich 2012: 105, n. 113; Clark 2014: 155–156. Rosenstein 1990a: 139; Rich 2012: 105; Clark 2014: 156. Appian (Hisp. 64) probably alludes to the summer of 145 (shortly before that Q. Fabius Maximus Aemilianus took over the province as consul), since Livy (Per. 52; cf. Oros. 5.4.2) seems to date the death of C. Vetilius (Plautius’ predecessor) in 146, following the triumphs of Metellus Macedonicus and Scipio Aemilianus. Vetilius was presumably praetor in 147 (or 148 at most), and Plautius should hold the praetorship in 146; Broughton 1951: 464–465, n. 1; 1986: 219; Astin 1967: 343–344; Díaz Fernández 2015: 382–383; 542, n. 117; see, however, Richardson 2000: 155–156. App. Hisp. 64–65: ὁ δ’ Οὐρίατθος τὴν χώραν ἀδεῶς περιιὼν ᾔτει τοὺς κεκτημένους τιμὴν τοῦ ἐπικειμένου καρποῦ καὶ παρ’ ὧν μὴ λάβοι, διέφθειρεν. ὧν οἱ ἐν ἄστει Ῥωμαῖοι πυνθανόμενοι Φάβιον Μάξιμον Αἰμιλιανόν, Αἰμιλίου Παύλου τοῦ Περσέα τὸν Μακεδόνων βασιλέα ἀνελόντος υἱόν, ἔπεμπον ἐς Ἰβηρίαν καὶ στρατιὰν ἑαυτῷ καταγράφειν ἐπέτρεπον; Liv. Per. 52 (see above). Salinas de Frías 2010: 131–132. See Oros. 5.4.3–4. Gruen 1968: 29 was more cautious in his conclusions; cf. Clark 2014: 156–157. Once the Romans decided to recall Plautius to Rome, a part of the senate may have supported Fabius Maximus Aemilianus’ candidacy against that of his colleague, L. Hostilius Mancinus (a well-known political enemy of Scipio Aemilianus), perhaps appealing to the popular will. In any case, it is significant that, just a year later, in 144, Scipio Aemilianus mediated for the war against Viriathus not to be granted to the new consuls (Ser. Sulpicius Galba and L. Aurelius Cotta), who competed for its command in the senate (Val. Max. 6.4.2: cum Ser. Sulpicius Galba et Aurelius

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Apparently, C. Plautius was the first praetor to be recalled to Rome for military misconduct since the scandalous case of Cn. Fulvius Flaccus in 212.32 Like the latter, he was condemned – presumably – by the comitia centuriata for the crime of high treason. If the episode of Plautius was used politically to turn him into scapegoat, moreover, it raises the question of the extent to which public opinion played a defining role in this endeavour; in this sense, the case of Cn. Fulvius seems a revealing parallel. Livy states that Fulvius was accused in contionibus by the tribune of the plebs, C. Sempronius Blaesus, of having lost his army at the hands of Hannibal through misconduct and incompetence (he is said to have abandoned his soldiers in the middle of the battle).33 In order to arouse popular resentment, the tribune underlined the fact that the praetor remained unpunished in Rome, notwithstanding his deplorable attitude, while his soldiers continued in warfare almost like exiles. Apparently, only a fine was demanded from Fulvius initially, but once the witnesses had testified, the displeasure of the people rose to such a pitch that the audience of the contio began to demand a capital trial against him (tanta ira accensa est ut capite anquirendum contio succlamaret).34 C. Sempronius Blaesus then accused Fulvius of perduellio and requested that the praetor urbanus, C. Calpurnius Piso, convene the comitia for the trial. Despite an attempt to get the support of his brother Quintus, then consul at Capua, Cn. Fulvius eventually decided to go into exile, in this case to Tarquinia, while the plebs approved his conviction (id ei iustum exsilium esse sciuit plebs).35 As in the case of Cn. Fulvius, the Roman people presumably had also a decisive role in the trial and later condemnation to exile of C. Plautius for his “abasement” of Roman maiestas during his term in Hispania. Given that Plautius was responsible for losing most of his soldiers (more than ten thousand, according to Appian) at the hands of Viriathus, he probably became the main target of criticism for public opinion, which had already shown its disapproval at the progression of the wars in Hispania and the endless need to send troops to the peninsula36. Significantly, when

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consules in senatu contenderent uter aduersus Viriathum in Hispaniam mitteretur, ac magna inter patres conscriptos dissensio esset, omnibus quonam eius sententia inclinaretur expectantibus, ‘neutrum’ inquit ‘mihi mitti placet, quia alter nihil habet, alteri nihil est satis’, aeque malam licentis imperii magistram iudicans inopiam atque auaritiam. quo dicto ut neuter in prouinciam mitteretur obtinuit); cf. Astin 1967: 99–105. The passage indicates not just that Scipio tried to avoid his brother to be replaced prematurely in the command of the war, but also that the consuls of 144 hoped to obtain the province sine sorte (Astin 1967: 104: “for some reason the matter was not decided by sortition”), as may have happened in the case of Fabius Maximus. Brennan 2000: 176; Clark 2014: 156. Liv. 26.2.7–3.12. Rich 2012: 103–104. Some scholars have discussed the authenticity of Cn. Fulvius Flaccus’ disaster, since it could be a doublet of the defeat suffered by Cn. Fulvius Centumalus in 210 (Liv. 27.1.3–15); bibliography, in Rich 2012: 103, n. 106; cf. Rosenstein 1990a: 207–208. Liv. 26.3.6; Pina Polo 1989: 111–112; for the political use of contiones, see recently Mouritsen 2017: 61–67. Liv. 26.3.12. Kelly 2006: 61–62; 163–164; Rich 2012: 104. Clark 2014: 156. Liv. Per. 48: L. Licinius Lucullus A. Postumius Albinus coss. cum dilectum seuere agerent nec quemquam gratia dimitterent, ab tribunis pl., qui pro amicis suis uaca-

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the command of Hispania Ulterior was granted to Fabius Maximus, the Romans ordered him to levy an army by himself; the consul then decided to rule out the soldiers who had returned home after fighting hard both in Africa and Greece (probably with the aim of attenuating popular displeasure), and enlisted two legions of young men inexperienced in warfare, completing this army on the way to Hispania with a major contingent from the allies.37 A few years later, when the Romans allotted the command of Hispania Citerior sine sorte to Scipio Aemilianus (Fabius Maximus Aemilianus’ brother) in order to end the Numantine War, he opted to recruit an army of volunteers and allies by himself – instead of doing it by means of the usual levy – to avoid worsening the social discontent provoked both by the continuous enlistments and by the incompetence shown by the Roman governors in Hispania.38 As perhaps happened in the case of Fabius Maximus, moreover, it was the people’s weariness with the mishandling of the war in the peninsula, particularly after C. Hostilius Mancinus’ luckless term in 137, that most probably allowed Scipio Aemilianus to reach a second consulship in 134 and to be sent to Hispania without the corresponding sortition. C. Plautius’ episode had probably shown that a military disaster, if duly politicized, could be used before Roman public opinion for gaining personal benefits at the expense of the defendant, thus setting a precedent for the later development of events in Hispania.39 In this context, there is little doubt that the case of Mancinus is one of the best examples of the deliberate use of military disaster for particular aims, in both its political consequences and its impact on Roman society. Mancinus’ loss actually constituted part of another of the Romans’ sustained attempts at subduing the Numantines. The political controversy caused by his term, however, as well as the disastrous handling of the war by most of the magistrates sent to Hispania during these years, contributed both to augment the legend of Numantia as an iconic case of resistance to Rome, and, probably, also to magnify the later victory of Scipio Aemilianus, while Mancinus became a paradigm of misconduct in military command.40 His consulship was indeed preceded by a series of disappointing campaigns which, along with the condescending attitude of the senate and the successive recruitment of troops, ended up increasing popular resentment towards the war in Hispania, as the controversial levy of 151 had already

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tionem impetrare non poterant, in carcerem coniecti sunt; cf. App. Hisp. 49; Polyb. 35.4.1–14; Richardson 2000: 147. See Rich 1983: 316–318. App. Hisp. 65; Astin 1967: 102–103; Brunt 1971: 396–398; Richardson 2000: 156–157. App. Hisp. 84; see nevertheless the version of Plut. Mor. 201a-b (ὡρμημένων δὲ πολλῶν ἐπὶ τὴν στρατείαν καὶ τοῦτο διεκώλυσεν ἡ σύγκλητος, ὡς ἐρήμου τῆς Ἰταλίας ἐσομένης); Astin 1967: 102–103; Rich 1983: 302–303. García Riaza 2002: 302–303. App. Hisp. 80–83; Liv. Per. 55; Iul. Obs. 24; Flor. 1.34.4–7; Vell. 2.1.4–5; Eutr. 4.17; Oros. 5.4.19–5.11; Val. Max. 1.6.7; cf. Broughton 1951: 484. Wikander 1976: 85–104; Crifò 1986: 19–32; Rosenstein 1986: 230–252; García Riaza 2002: 159–171; Brennan 2004: 51–55; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 319–332; 2013: 173–192; Clark 2014: 166–169. A comparison of the destructions of Carthage and Numantia by Scipio Aemilianus in App. Hisp. 98; see also Cic. Mur. 58; Off. 1.35; Quint. Inst. 8.6.30; 43; Val. Max. 4.3.13; Richardson 2000: 177; Salinas de Frías 2007: 31–39.

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shown.41 When Mancinus was sent to the peninsula in early 137, he became the fourth consecutive consul to be put in charge of Hispania Citerior since Q. Metellus Macedonicus’ consulship in 143. Appian and other sources stress that Mancinus was defeated in a series of battles which brought many Roman casualties, so decided at last to withdraw to an old camp built some time ago by Q. Fulvius Nobilior (cos. 153).42 The enemy army surrounded the Roman troops at night, and threatened to slay everyone if they did not agree a peace. According to Plutarch’s version, it was Mancinus himself who decided to send envoys to the Numantines with the aim of coming to terms of peace; they decided then to call on Mancinus’ quaestor, Ti. Sempronius Gracchus, to negotiate the peace, because he enjoyed a certain reputation among the Hispanians thanks to the treaties agreed some time ago by his father as proconsul of Hispania Citerior.43 Tiberius’ intervention apparently saved the lives of many thousands of Romans. The Periochae of Livy underline the magnitude of the disaster by noting that forty thousand Romans had been defeated by just four thousand Numantines,44 and Appian reveals in addition that Mancinus not only had to accept a treaty on equal terms with the Numantines, but also to swear it on oath.45 When the incident became known in the city, the Romans immediately showed their utmost disapproval. M. Aemilius Lepidus Porcina, the other consul of 137, was sent to Hispania Citerior to assume the direction of the war and replace Mancinus in the province, while the latter was summoned to trial in Rome.46 Aemilius Lepidus nevertheless decided not to wait for the resolution of Mancinus’ trial, and attacked the Vaccaei (even laying siege to the city of Pallantia) with the justification that they had seemingly supported the Numantines during the war. Although the senate then forbad Lepidus to continue fighting the Vaccaei, to avoid worsening the situation in the peninsula, he claimed that a withdrawal from the war could be harmful for the Roman position in Hispania at that moment, so he sent away the senate’s envoys and continued with the siege of Pallantia with the support of D. Iunius Brutus (cos. 138), Lepidus’ kinsman and proconsul of Hispania Ulterior.47 Appian relates that Lepidus’ campaign also ended in total disaster, to the extent that he was relieved both of the command in Hispania and the consulship, and returned to Rome as a private citizen.48 News about Lepidus (who did not hesitate to leave sick and wounded soldiers behind during his withdrawal from Pallantia) probably Liv. Per. 48; App. Hisp. 49; cf. also Liv. Oxy. Per. 54. App. Hisp. 80; Plut. TG. 5.1–6; cf. Liv. Per. 55; De uir. Ill. 59.1–4. Plut. TG. 5.3–6. Liv. Per. 55; cf. Flor. 1.34.2; De uir. Ill. 59.3–4; Plut. TG. 5.6. App. Hisp. 80: καὶ μεθ’ ἡμέραν ἐς αὐτὸ συγκλεισθείς, οὔτε κατεσκευασμένον οὔτε ὠχυρωμένον, περιεχόντων αὐτὸν τῶν Νομαντίνων καὶ πάντας ἀποκτενεῖν ἀπειλούντων, εἰ μὴ συνθοῖτο εἰρήνην, συνέθετο ἐπὶ ἴσῃ καὶ ὁμοίᾳ Ῥωμαίοις καὶ Νομαντίνοις. καὶ ὃ μὲν ἐπὶ τούτοις ὤμνυε τοῖς Νομαντίνοις; cf. Plut. TG. 5.6; De uir. Ill. 59.4. 46 App. Hisp. 80: οἱ δ’ ἐν ἄστει πυθόμενοι χαλεπῶς ἔφερον ὡς ἐπὶ αἰσχίσταις πάνυ σπονδαῖς καὶ τὸν ἕτερον τῶν ὑπάτων Αἰμίλιον Λέπιδον ἐς Ἰβηρίαν ἐξέπεμπον, Μαγκῖνον δ' ἀνεκάλουν ἐς κρίσιν. 47 App. Hisp. 80–81. 48 App. Hisp. 82–83; cf. 83: καὶ τάδε μὲν ἦν περὶ τὸν Αἰμίλιον, Ῥωμαῖοι δ’ αὐτὰ πυθόμενοι τὸν μὲν Αἰμίλιον παρέλυσαν τῆς στρατηγίας τε καὶ ὑπατείας, καὶ ἰδιώτης ἐς Ῥώμην ὑπέστρεφεν καὶ

41 42 43 44 45

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worsened the climate of tension in the capital at a time when Mancinus was still awaiting the outcome of his own trial. Although the actions of Lepidus were no less reprehensible than those of Mancinus, the former was simply condemned to pay a monetary fine, while the latter was declared guilty for making such a treaty without senatorial consent, and handed over naked to the people of Numantia, as their forebears had done long ago with the commanders responsible for the treaty concluded with the Samnites after the disaster of the Caudine Forks.49 Beyond the fact that the Numantines did not accept Mancinus, his condemnation (probably by the comitia centuriata) and ritual surrender to the enemy allowed the senate to declare his foedus invalid, thereby revealing its determination to continue the war to the bitter end. In this respect, it seems clear that the senate saw in Mancinus’ prosecution a way to avoid any attempt at ratifying a peace that had been concluded on equal terms with the enemy, under its own conditions of capitulation, since, at least for most of the Roman ruling class, the only acceptable ending for the Numantine War was the unconditional surrender of the Hispanians.50 It is not easy, however, to determine if this was the view of most of the Roman people too. Just a few years before Mancinus’ consulship, the people had indeed ratified a peace settled in similar terms between Viriathus and Q. Fabius Maximus Servilianus (cos. 142) during the latter’s governorship in Hispania Ulterior (142– 140).51 Livy says that Servilianus spoilt his work in Hispania by concluding a peace with Viriathus on equal terms (pace cum Viriatho aequis condicionibus facta), precisely as Appian describes Mancinus doing with the Numantines (συνέθετο ἐπὶ ἴσῃ καὶ ὁμοίᾳ Ῥωμαίοις καὶ Νομαντίνοις).52 Despite popular support for a treaty that meant the end of a war no less long and hard than that of Numantia, however, χρήμασιν ἐπεζημιοῦτο; Liv. Per. 56; Iul. Obs. 25; Oros. 5.5.13–14; Diod. Sic. 33.27. Richardson 2000: 169–170; García Riaza 2002: 308–311. 49 App. Hisp. 83: οἳ δ’ ἐχαλέπαινον μὲν ἀμφοτέροις ὁμοίως, ἀπέφυγε δ’ ὅμως Πομπήιος ὡς περὶ τῶνδε κριθεὶς καὶ πάλαι. Μαγκῖνον δ’ ἔγνωσαν ἐκδοῦναι τοῖς Νομαντίνοις, ἄνευ σφῶν αἰσχρὰς συνθήκας πεποιημένον, ᾧ λόγῳ καὶ Σαυνίταις οἱ πατέρες, ὅμοια χωρὶς αὐτῶν συνθεμένους, ἡγεμόνας εἴκοσιν ἐξεδεδώκεσαν; Cass. Dio 23 fr. 79.1–3; Flor. 1.34.4–7; cf. Cic. Caec. 98; de Or. 1.181; 2.137; Oros. 5.7.1; cf. San Vicente González de Aspuru 2013: 186–190. A discussion on the manipulation of the Caudine Forks’ episode after the disaster of Mancinus, in Wikander 1976: 100–104; Forsythe 1999: 71–72; García Riaza 2002: 287–288; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 325–332. 50 Astin 1967: 147–159; Wikander 1976: 93–94; García Riaza 2002: 282–284; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 326–327. 51 App. Hisp. 67–69; see 69: τήν τε ἄλλην στρατιάν, ἐκταχθεῖσαν ὑπὸ τοῦ Σερουιλιανοῦ, τρεψάμενος ὁμοίως Οὐρίατθος ἐδίωκε καὶ συνήλασεν ἐς κρημνούς, ὅθεν οὐκ ἦν τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις διαφυγεῖν. Οὐρίατθος δὲ ἐς τὴν εὐτυχίαν οὐχ ὕβρισεν, ἀλλὰ νομίσας ἐν καλῷ θήσεσθαι τὸν πόλεμον ἐπὶ χάριτι λαμπρᾷ συνετίθετο Ῥωμαίοις, καὶ τὰς συνθήκας ὁ δῆμος ἐπεκύρωσεν, Οὐρίατθον εἶναι Ῥωμαίων φίλον καὶ τοὺς ὑπ’ αὐτῷ πάντας ἧς ἔχουσι γῆς ἄρχειν; cf. Diod. Sic. 33.1.3–4; Liv. Per. 53; 54; Oxy. Per. 53; 54; Oros. 5.4.12; Broughton 1951: 477–478; 480; Richardson 1986: 189–191; 2000: 159–161; García Riaza 2002: 125–127. 52 Liv. Per. 54; Oxy. Per. 54: [Q.] Fabius a Viriatho deuictus deformem cum hostibus pacem fecit; Diod. Sic. 33.1.4: εἶτα ἀναλαβὼν καὶ κατευδοκιμήσας Φαβίου εἰς συνθήκας αὐτὸν ἐλθεῖν ἀναξίους Ῥωμαίων ἠνάγκασεν; cf. App. Hisp. 80.

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Servilianus’ successor, his own brother Q. Servilius Caepio (cos. 140), began to criticize the peace harshly as unworthy of the Romans, to the extent that the senate gave him permission to attack Viriathus again with the evident aim of undermining the treaty and resuming the war.53 Scholars have discussed the reasons why Servilianus’ peace was publicly ratified, while that of Mancinus was roundly rejected; whatever the causes, however, the treaty seemed likewise doomed to fail, since (as Servilius probably demonstrated to the senate), it implied acceptance of the terms imposed by the enemy as a consequence of military loss, and, in short, renunciation of the principles which ruled Roman politics overseas.54 A passage from Livy’s Periochae, moreover, attributes the refusal to accept the peace of Mancinus to the senate (pacem cum his fecit ignominiosam, quam ratam esse senatus uetuit). The passage not only emphasises Appian’s version, discussed above, but also the customary resistance of the senators to permit any kind of settlement made in such circumstances.55 Just a few months before the Romans passed the treaty made between Servilianus and Viriathus (c. 139), however, the people – as the Periochae also state – had rejected a peace concluded by Q. Pompeius (cos. 141) with the Numantines and the Termestini as proconsul of Hispania Citerior as well (pacem a populo R. infirmatam fecit).56 Appian’s version underlines Pompeius’ concern about the possibility of being prosecuted in Rome (particularly because a senatorial commission was with him in the province at the time), since he had not only been defeated several times by the enemy, but had in addition suffered numerous casualties in his ranks due to his management of the war: hence his attempts to put an end to the war by undertaking secret negotiations with the enemy. According to Appian’s account, Pompeius publicly ordered the Hispanians to surrender because “he knew that no other terms would be regarded as acceptable by the Romans”, while he “secretly promised them what he would do”; the Hispanians handed the hostages, prisoners and deserters over to Pompeius, as well as a 53

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App. Hisp. 69–70: ὧδε μὲν ὁ Οὐριάτθου πόλεμος ἐδόκει πεπαῦσθαι, χαλεπώτατός τε Ῥωμαίοις γενόμενος καὶ ἐπὶ εὐεργεσίᾳ καταλυθείς, οὐ μὴν ἐπέμεινεν οὐδ’ ἐς βραχὺ τὰ συγκείμενα· ὁ γὰρ ἀδελφὸς Σερουιλιανοῦ, τοῦ ταῦτα συνθεμένου, Καιπίων, διάδοχος αὐτῷ τῆς στρατηγίας γενόμενος, διέβαλλε τὰς συνθήκας καὶ ἐπέστελλε Ῥωμαίοις ἀπρεπεστάτας εἶναι. καὶ ἡ βουλὴ τὸ μὲν πρῶτον αὐτῷ; Diod. Sic. 33.1.4: ἀλλ’ ὅ γε Καιπίων στρατηγεῖν καθ’ Ὑριάτθου αἱρεθεὶς τάς τε συνθήκας ἠκύρωσε; cf. Polyb. 35.3.4–8. Richardson 1986: 147–149; 2000: 161–162. Astin 1967: 142–143; see 143: “the treaty of 140 was not conductive to such good will, either in its terms, which probably even included the cession of Roman territory, or in the manner in which it was concluded. It was the product of a humiliating defeat, immensely damaging to Roman military prestige. Provided that her strength permitted, it would be astonishing if Rome, in which political advancement was inextricably entwined with military training and experience, had not found occasion to reverse this situation”; Wikander 1976: 93–94; Rosenstein 1986: 233–236; Salinas de Frías 1995: 77–79. See App. Hisp. 79. Liv. Per. 55: uictus enim a Numantinis et castris exutus, cum spes nulla seruandi exercitus esset, pacem cum his fecit ignominiosam, quam ratam esse senatus uetuit. Liv. Per. 54: Q. Pompeius cos. in Hispania Termestinos subegit. cum isdem et Numantinis pacem a populo R. infirmatam fecit. lustrum a censoribus conditum est; Eutr. 4.17: Q. Pompeius deinde consul, a Numantinis, quae Hispaniae ciuitas fuit opulentissima, superatus, pacem ignobilem fecit; cf. Flor. 1.34.4; Vell. 2.90.3; Oros. 5.4.13; 5.4.21; Diod. Sic. 33.16.1–2; App. Hisp. 76–79; Cass. Dio 22 fr. 77. Richardson 2000: 166–168; García Riaza 2002: 88–95.

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part of the money demanded.57 Once replaced by M. Popilius Laenas (cos. 139) in the command of his province, however, and knowing that the senate would never accept such treaty, Pompeius denied having come to terms of peace with the enemy, thereby provoking the Numantines’ reaction. Several of Pompeius’ officers were sent as witnesses for the Hispanians to resolve the case in the senate, but the senators decided in the end that the war should continue.58 As demonstrated, Appian does not attribute the rejection of Pompeius’ peace to the Roman people, as Livy does, but once again to the senate. In any case, it is likely that the people were limited to ratifying the decision previously taken by the senate, which was not willing to put the Numantine War to an end by means of a deceitful peace, above all when Pompeius himself denied having come to terms with the Hispanians. When Mancinus was tried for his treaty with the Numantines, nonetheless, he blamed Pompeius not just for having passed him a worthless army (despite the fact that he had actually succeeded M. Popilius Laenas and not Q. Pompeius59), but also for having concluded a peace with the Hispanians similar to that made by himself. Mancinus even added that the war had been fateful for the Romans precisely because they had violated Pompeius’ peace, a comment that is unlikely to have pleased the senators.60 Although both treaties had been made in similar circumstances, however, and, like Servilianus’ peace, were doomed to be rejected by the senate, the foedus Mancinum presented in addition the problem of having been sworn on oath by a consul of the Republic, which apparently committed the Romans to respect the accord. Mancinus’ personal oath (a condition no doubt imposed by the Numantines because of Pompeius’ betrayal) meant that the only way to invalidate the treaty was to disempower Mancinus politically and to deprive him both of his rank and, probably, his citizenship rights: hence his prosecution in the senate and ritual surrender to the Numantines, with the intention of resuming the war.61 Significantly, despite the unacceptable actions carried out during their terms, 57 58

59 60

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App. Hisp. 78–79; see 79: ὃ δ’ ἐς μὲν τὸ φανερὸν ἐκέλευεν αὑτοὺς Ῥωμαίοις ἐπιτρέπειν (οὐ γὰρ εἰδέναι συνθήκας ἑτέρας Ῥωμαίων ἀξίας; cf. Diod. Sic. 33.16.1–2. García Riaza: 2002: 93–96; 277–282. App. Hisp. 79; cf. Cic. Off. 3.109; Rep. 3.28; Fin. 2.54; Font. 23; Val. Max. 8.5.1. García Riaza 2002: 296–300. In 151, the senate had rejected the peace made with the Hispanians after M. Claudius Marcellus’ campaigns; App. Hisp. 49: ἀποδοκιμάζουσα δ’ ἡ βουλὴ τὴν εἰρήνην καὶ χαλεπῶς φέρουσα, ὅτι μή, καθάπερ αὐτοὺς ἠξίου Νωβελίων, ὁ πρὸ Μαρκέλλου, Ῥωμαίοις αὑτοὺς ἐπετετρόφεσαν; Polyb. 35.3.1–6; García Riaza 2002: 269–277. App. Hisp. 79; cf. Liv. Per. 55: M. Popilius a Numantinis, cum quibus pacem factam inritam fieri senatus censuerat, cum exercitu fusus fugatusque est. Broughton 1951: 481; 484; Díaz Fernández 2015: 354–357. App. Hisp. 83: ὃ δὲ τὴν αἰτίαν αὐτῶν ἐς Πομπήιον ἀνέφερεν, τὸν πρὸ αὐτοῦ γενόμενον στρατηγόν, ὡς ἀργὸν καὶ ἄπορον τὸν στρατὸν ἐγχειρίσαντά οἱ καὶ δι’ αὐτὸ κἀκεῖνον ἡσσημένον τε πολλάκις καὶ συνθήκας ὁμοίας αὑτῷ θέμενον πρὸς τοὺς Νομαντίνους· ὅθεν ἔφη καὶ τὸν πόλεμον τόνδε, παρὰ τὰς συνθήκας ἐκείνας ὑπὸ Ῥωμαίων ἐψηφισμένον, ἀπαίσιον αὐτοῖς γεγονέναι; Cass. Dio 23 fr. 79.3. Rich 2012: 90; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2013: 182–184. According to Cic. Caec. 98, Mancinus should have preserved his ius ciuitatis because the Numantines did not accept his surrender: ut religione ciuitas soluatur ciuis Romanus deditur; qui cum est acceptus, est eorum quibus est deditus; si non accipiunt, Mancinum Numantini,

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neither Pompeius nor Servilianus were convicted,62 most likely because, unlike Mancinus, they had not compromised the progress of the war in Hispania by means of a peace sworn on oath, so their convictions were of no political interest. In fact, the senate had not problem spurning the treaties made by Pompeius and Servilianus, even when, in the case of the latter, the peace had been approved by the people.63 Although Mancinus’ prosecution seems to have been promoted by the senate, his conviction should have been ratified by the comitia centuriata, as had probably happened in the case of Plautius. A passage from Eutropius indeed states that both the people and the senate resolved to invalidate Mancinus’ peace (C. Hostilius Mancinus consul iterum cum Numantinis pacem fecit infamem, quam populus et senatus iussit infringi64), but certain clues suggest, nevertheless, that a part of the Roman public opinion in some way supported or at least showed some sympathy for the accord settled with the Numantines. When talking about the role played by Ti. Sempronius Gracchus in the peace negotiations of 137, Plutarch indicates that the relatives of the thousands of soldiers saved by the treaty praised Tiberius for having averted their deaths, while blaming Mancinus for what had happened;65 Cicero even remarks that Tiberius’ later political career was a consequence of his resentment against the senate for its refusal to accept the terms of his peace with the Numantines.66 Beyond Cicero’s disputable interpretation, his comment seems to indicate that, while most of the senate was against the accord, a majority of Roman public opinion supported Tiberius for his involvement in the treaty, perhaps even to the extent of being willing to support the peace and, thereby, to end the Numan-

retinet integram causam et ius ciuitatis. See however Cic. de Or. 1.181: P. Rutilius, M. filius, tribunus plebis, iussit educi, quod eum ciuem negaret esse; 1.238; 2.137; Dig. 49.15.4; 50.7.18: quibusdam existimantibus manere, aliis contra, quia quem semel populus iussisset dedi, ex ciuitate expulsisse uideretur, sicut faceret, cum aqua et igni interdiceret. in qua sententia uidetur Publius Mucius fuisse. id autem maxime quaesitum est in Hostilio Mancino, quem Numantini sibi deditum non acceperunt; cf. Broughton 1951: 486–487; Crifò 1986: 19–32; García Riaza 2002: 286–291; Brennan 2004: 52–53; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 328–329; Mouritsen 2017, 65. 62 Vell. 2.1.5 says that Pompeius had gratia impunitum: sed Pompeium gratia impunitum habuit, Mancinum uerecundia poenam non recusando perduxit huc, ut per fetialis nudus ac post tergum religatis manibus dederetur hostibus; see also Cic. Off. 3.109; Rep. 3.28. 63 Astin 1967: 148–151; Wikander 1976: 93. 64 Eutr. 4.17; also Mart. Cap. 5.456 (ut Tiberius Gracchus in Mancinum, qui auctor faciendi foederis fuit, quod tam senatus quam populus improbarat); Astin 1967: 151; García Riaza 2002: 286–291; Brennan 2004: 51–52; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 323–324. 65 Plut. TG. 7.1: ἐπεὶ δ’ εἰς Ῥώμην ἐπανῆλθεν, ἡ μὲν ὅλη πρᾶξις ὡς δεινὴ καὶ καταισχύνουσα τὴν Ῥώμην αἰτίαν εἶχε καὶ κατηγορίαν, οἱ δὲ τῶν στρατιωτῶν οἰκεῖοι καὶ φίλοι μέγα μέρος ὄντες τοῦ δήμου συνέτρεχον πρὸς τὸν Τιβέριον, τὰ μὲν αἰσχρὰ τῶν γεγονότων ἀναφέροντες εἰς τὸν ἄρχοντα, δι’ αὐτὸν δὲ σῴζεσθαι τοσούτους πολίτας φάσκοντες; cf. TG. 5.6. García Riaza 2002: 284–286. 66 Cic. Har. 43: Nam Ti. Graccho inuidia Numantini foederis, cui feriendo, quaestor C. Mancini consulis cum esset, interfuerat, et in eo foedere improbando senatus seueritas dolori et timori fuit, eaque res illum fortem et clarum uirum a grauitate patrum desciscere coegit; Oros. 5.8.3: Gracchus tribunus plebi iratus nobilitati, cur inter auctores Numantini foederis notatus esset; Vell. 2.2.1. Astin 1967: 195–199; García Riaza 2002: 284–285.

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tine War, as had happened some years before with Servilianus’ peace.67 Unlike the latter, however, the senate was aware that, this time, it was not enough to overrule the popular will and overlook the terms of a peace sanctioned by the people: in order to resume the war, the oath had to be invalidated, so Mancinus did have to be publicly convicted (perhaps on a charge of perduellio, too) for his responsibility in the military disaster that had given rise to such a disgraceful peace, and given up to the enemy.68 Some sources relate that, despite the criticisms, Mancinus was consistent with the treaty, to the point that he himself supported his surrender to the Numantines when the consuls L. Furius Philo and Sex. Atilius Serranus presented to the people the rogatio previously passed by the senate69; in such circumstances, it was unlikely that the Roman people rejected the surrender of Mancinus and the invalidation of the peace. Although the sources do not give us many details of the discussions about the treaty in Rome, it is likely that the case was even presented to public opinion in such a way that the conviction of Mancinus, as the man responsible for the military disaster, inevitably implied the annulment of the peace, so that the comitia curiata could have passed both motions at the same time. Mancinus thereby represented for the senate the scapegoat whose condemnation and surrender involved the immediate invalidation of the peace and the resumption of the war, while, for most of the people, he was the man guilty not only of the deaths of many thousands of Roman soldiers, but also of a discreditable episode which meant the continuation of a war that was in itself already unpopular. As seen above, the people’s approval of the treaty made between Servilianus and Viriathus suggests that a considerable part of Roman public opinion was reluctant about, or directly averse to the unnecessary continuation of wars that particularly interested the nobilitas. Besides the scarce benefits that the wars in Hispania usually provided to Roman soldiers, the latter did have to pass at times long periods of campaign in the peninsula under very harsh conditions. Appian tells us, for instance, that some of the young soldiers who were sent to Hispania Citerior to replace Q. Pompeius’ troops (who had served for six years in the province) became sick and even died in some cases because of the rigors of the Hispanian winter.70 This prompted the rising unpopularity of the Roman campaigns in Hispania and the consequent impatience for the end of the wars among the public opin67 68

69 70

Plut. TG. 7.3–4: ἔνθα δὴ καὶ μάλιστα τὴν πρὸς τὸν Τιβέριον εὔνοιαν καὶ σπουδὴν ἐξέφηνεν ὁ δῆμος. τὸν μὲν γὰρ ὕπατον ἐψηφίσαντο γυμνὸν καὶ δεδεμένον παραδοῦναι τοῖς Νομαντίνοις, τῶν δ’ ἄλλων ἐφείσαντο πάντων διὰ Τιβέριον. Cic. Caec. 98: ut religione ciuitas soluatur ciuis Romanus deditur; Eutr. 4.17: ipsum Mancinum hostibus tradi, ut in illo, quem auctorem foederis habebant, iniuriam soluti foederis uindicarent. Rosenstein 1986: 232–233; García Riaza 2002: 286–287; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 321–325; 2013: 182–186. Cic. Rep. 3.28; Off. 3.109; cf. Vell. 2.1.5; Cass. Dio 23 fr. 79.1–3. L. Furius Philo was a wellknown friend of Scipio Aemilianus; see Astin 1967: 132–133; Wikander 1976: 94–95; Rosenstein 1986: 244–252; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 321–324. App. Hisp. 78. Similar situations in Hisp. 47 and 54; cf. also Lucil. 490–491 M.: dum miles Hibera / terras ac meret ter sex aetat quasi annos; Polyb. 35.4.1–6. Rich 1983: 316–318; 321.

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ion.71 In 151, some of the people had already shown their displeasure for the levy carried out by L. Licinius Lucullus and A. Postumius Albinus, to the point that both consuls were imprisoned by the tribunes of the plebs; the situation was repeated in 138, the year before Mancinus’ consulship, coinciding, significantly, with C. Matienus’ condemnation to slavery for having deserted the army in Hispania.72 It also seems that popular discontent about continuous enlistments for the wars in Hispania was one of the reasons why the senate ordered both Fabius Maximus Aemilianus and his brother Scipio to recruit their armies themselves.73 Indeed, a passage from the Periochae talks of pudor publicus when commenting on the people’s reaction to the disproportionate duration of the Numantine War – directly attributed to the incompetence of the Roman commanders – just before the nomination of Scipio Aemilianus to his second consulship in 134.74 Appian seems to agree with the Periochae when he points out that the people were furious about the disappointing campaigns of Mancinus’ successors, L. Furius Philo (cos. 136) and Q. Calpurnius Piso (cos. 135), who did not even bother to attack Numantia. The Romans, wearied “because the war had been far longer and far more difficult for them than they had expected”, decided then to elect Scipio Aemilianus as consul for the second time, since they considered him “the only man capable of defeating the Numantines”.75 According to the sources, it seems clear that the cause of the popular unrest following the episode with Mancinus was not the fact of having concluded a peace on equal terms with the Numantines as such, but the consequent prolongation of a war that, as had indeed happened during Mancinus’ term, had caused too many casualties among the Romans, in part because of the mishandling of the campaigns by the governors and the passivity of the senate. Even more revealing, however, is the fact that most of the sources stress that it was the social discontent over the progression of the war in Hispania – particularly after Mancinus’ consulship – which allowed Scipio Aemilianus to be elected consul 71 72

See Astin 1967: 167–172; Brunt 1971: 391–415; Clark 2014: 154–155. Liv. Per. 55: P. Cornelio Nasica, cui cognomen Serapion fuit ab inridente Curiatio trib. pleb. inpositum, et Dec. Iunio Bruto coss. dilectum habentibus in conspectu tironum res saluberrimi exempli facta est. nam C. Matienius accusatus est aput tribunos pl., quod exercitum ex Hispania deseruisset, damnatusque sub furca diu uirgis caesus est et sestertio nummo ueniit; cf. 48; App. Hisp. 49. A probably additional case in Liv. Oxy. Per. 54: Appius Claudius euicit ne duos [delectus] annus haberet; Brunt 1971: 398. 73 See above. App. Hisp. 84; Plut. Mor. 201a-b. Scipio Aemilianus received troops from the king Micipsa of Numidia (Sal. Iug. 7.2), Attalus of Pergamum (Cic. Deiot. 19; Schol. Ambr. 272 Stangl) and, perhaps, Antiochus of Syria (Liv. Per. 57). Astin 1967: 166–172; Richardson 2000: 171–172. 74 Liv. Per. 56: cum bellum Numantinum uitio ducum non sine pudore publico duraret, delatus est ultro Scipioni Africano a senatu populoque R. consulatus; quem cum illi capere ob legem, quae uetabat quemquam iterum consulem fieri, non liceret, sicut priori consulatu legibus solutus est. 75 App. Hisp. 84: ἐν δὲ Ῥώμῃ κάμνων ὁ δῆμος ἐπὶ τοῖς Νομαντίνοις, μακροῦ καὶ δυσχεροῦς τοῦ πολέμου σφίσι παρὰ προσδοκίαν γεγονότος, ᾑροῦντο Κορνήλιον Σκιπίωνα, τὸν Καρχηδόνα ἑλόντα, αὖθις ὑπατεύειν, ὡς μόνον ἐπικρατῆσαι τῶν Νομαντίνων δυνάμενον; translation by Richardson 2000: 89. See also Plut. Mor. 201a: τῶν δὲ Νομαντίνων ἀμάχων εἶναι δοκούντων καὶ πολλοὺς νενικηκότων στρατηγοὺς ὕπατον ἀπέδειξε Σκιπίωνα τὸ δεύτερον ὁ δῆμος ἐπὶ τὸν πόλεμον.

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for 134, even when he did not meet the legal conditions to hold a second consulship. Some authors directly link Mancinus’ disaster with Scipio’s appointment, thereby crediting the latter with amending the situation caused by the incompetence of several of his predecessors, and restoring Roman supremacy in Hispania.76 Some sources state, nevertheless, that Scipio was not consular candidate in 135, and that he was even elected in absentia; this seems to indicate that he was not aiming at a second consulship at the time and, in short, that he attained both the magistracy and the command of the war in Hispania Citerior through reasons other than his own will.77 The evidence, however, seems to question this. Despite supporting the acquittal of Mancinus’ collaborators (his nephew Gracchus included), it is known that Scipio refused to support the ratification of the treaty with the Numantines.78 Modern scholars have concluded, indeed, that the main opposition to the peace of Mancinus was centered precisely around Scipio, who, like most of the senators, was not willing to accept the end of the war under the terms imposed by the enemy79; some authors have assumed in addition that his refusal to support the peace was conditioned by an alleged political enmity with Mancinus.80 In any case, Scipio presumably knew that, in such circumstances, while a majority of Roman public opinion demonstrated its unrest over the military disasters in Hispania and the disproportionate duration of the war – in contrast to a senate which, notwithstanding the endless number of Roman casualties, still insisted on continuing the war to the bitter end – he could be pointed out as the best solution to end the war, as Appian stresses.81 Scipio saw in the climate of discontent aroused within Roman society, particularly after the episode of Mancinus, an opportunity of recovering a dominant position in Roman politics, just a decade after reaching his first consulship in similar circumstances.82 Both Appian and the Periochae claim nevertheless that at that time the law prohibited a Roman achieving a second consulship, so that the senate decreed that the tribunes of the plebs should temporarily rescind the rule to allow Scipio Aemilianus’s election.83 It is, nonetheless, unnecessary to conclude from the above that the initiative for Scipio’s nomination as consul came directly from the senate, or 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83

Flor. 1.34.7–17; Vell. 2.4.2; Val. Max. 2.7.1; Eutr. 4.17; Oros. 5.7.1; Veg. 1.15.5. Cic. Amic. 11; Rep. 6.11; Val. Max. 8.15.4; cf. Astin 1967: 179–182. Plut. TG. 7.5; see below. See Wikander 1976: 95–97; cf. 95, n. 93, with bibliography; cf. Astin 1967: 179–182; Gruen 1968: 40–44; García Riaza 2002: 171; 283–284; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 321– 325; 2013: 185–186. Gruen 1968: 40; Wikander 1976: 95–96; García Riaza 2002: 159. App. Hisp. 84: ἐν δὲ Ῥώμῃ κάμνων ὁ δῆμος ἐπὶ τοῖς Νομαντίνοις, μακροῦ καὶ δυσχεροῦς τοῦ πολέμου σφίσι παρὰ προσδοκίαν γεγονότος, ᾑροῦντο Κορνήλιον Σκιπίωνα, τὸν Καρχηδόνα ἑλόντα, αὖθις ὑπατεύειν, ὡς μόνον ἐπικρατῆσαι τῶν Νομαντίνων δυνάμενον. Wikander 1976: 95–97; cf. Astin 1967: 181–184. App. Hisp. 84: ἡ οὖν βουλὴ πάλιν, ὥσπερ ἐπὶ Καρχηδονίοις αὐτοῦ χειροτονουμένου [Σκιπίωνος], ἐψηφίσατο τοὺς δημάρχους λῦσαι τὸν περὶ τῆς ἡλικίας νόμον καὶ τοῦ ἐπιόντος ἔτους θέσθαι; BC 1.19; Liv. Per. 56: delatus est ultro Scipioni Africano a senatu populoque R. consulatus; quem cum illi capere ob legem, quae uetabat quemquam iterum consulem fieri, non liceret, sicut priori consulatu legibus solutus est. Broughton 1951: 490–491, n. 1; Richardson 2000: 171.

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that the latter unanimously supported it: in 135, Scipio had lost much of his political sway in the senate, to the point that the majority of the consuls nominated in the years prior to his second consulship were direct political enemies.84 A significant part of the senate must indeed have been reluctant about, or directly opposed to Scipio’s appointment as consul for 134, but, as had happened on the occasion of his first consulship in 147, the social pressure was probably too strong to be ignored.85 Apparently, by 136–135 the popular unrest over the situation in certain provinces was considerable: besides the disappointing progression of the war in Hispania Citerior (Iulius Obsequens still records an exercitus Romanus oppressus by the Numantines in 13586) and the political storm aroused by Mancinus’ episode, an important slave revolt had broken out in Sicily, where at least two praetors had been heavily defeated by the rebel troops, probably prompting major concern among the people over the consequences for the island’s grain supply to Rome.87 Diodorus even adds that the slave mutinies spread on a small scale to some other regions of the Mediterranean, among them to Attica, Delos and Rome itself, though they were quickly quashed.88 A passage from Appian hints in addition that the situation was not reassuring on the other side of the Adriatic, either, where the senate had to send the consul Ser. Fulvius Flaccus to stop the continuous raids by the Ardaei and Palarii on Roman Illyria, exactly coinciding with Scipio’s election in 135.89 All this must have produced a certain impatience both in the senate and, above all, in public opinion, to resolve a war that had already caused too many casualties over too many years, thereby creating the social climate that Scipio Aemilianus skillfully used to recover a leading role in the political scene.90 As Astin previously underscored, one of Scipio’s main virtues was his ability to win and manage popular support, and the circumstances of his election as consul for 134 seem to indicate that this was indeed the result of such ability. Astin even ventured some of the means that Scipio may have used to stir up the people and achieve popular support, such as, for instance, “the incitement of popular feeling; the accusations that this terrible war, with its constant levies and its severe campaigns, had been needlessly prolonged by the incompetent fumbling of the commanders”, as well as “the assertions that Rome had been disgraced by the shameful treaty of Mancinus”.91 Perhaps Scipio Aemilianus did not openly announce his candidacy 84 85

86 87 88 89 90 91

Astin 1967: 177–181. See especially App. Pun. 112; cf. Liv. Per. 51; Flor. 1.31.13–15; Astin 1967: 62–68; cf. 62 (although the comment concerns Scipio’s election for 147, it is also applicable to 134): “It is obvious that one of the basic reasons for the election of Scipio was discontent with the progress of the war, in the sense that without such discontent Scipio would not have been elected”. Iul. Obs. 26: in Numantinis res male gestae, exercitus Romanus oppressus. Diod. Sic. 34/35.2; Liv. Per. 56; Flor. 2.7.7; Oros. 5.6.3–4. Astin 1967: 166–167; cf. Broughton 1951: 483, n. 1; Brennan 1993: 155–174. Diod. Sic. 34/35.2.19. App. Ill. 10; Liv. Per. 56; Str. 7.5.6. Dzino 2010: 64–65. Clark 2014: 147–151. Astin 1967: 182–184; see 184: “Certainly the popular enthusiasm was there, but to accept that it was entirely spontaneous is another matter: given Scipio’s record and character, deliberate incitement seems as probable in 135 as in 148”; Wikander 1976: 95–97.

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for the consulship in 135, but, given the social restlessness over recent events in the provinces and the stance he took on these, his military renown as conqueror of Carthage and, particularly, his notable popularity among the people, it was clear that his second nomination to the consulship and the command of the Numantine War were a matter of time. Most probably, the senate yielded to a public opinion that largely supported Scipio as the best solution for resolving an awkward and endless war, thus at the same time trying to relieve popular dissatisfaction with the senatorial class for its mishandling of the war and its stance in relation to the peace of 137. Velleius claims, indeed, that the episode of Mancinus aroused within the ciuitas a considerable dissensio that the author links to the political controversies that the later occurred during the tribunate of Ti. Sempronius Gracchus.92 Scipio, moreover, was not only appointed consul despite the legal impediments, but even received the province of Hispania Citerior and the command of the Numantine War sine sorte, presumably thanks to a resolution of the plebs – as occurred in 147 – and not of the senate, as Valerius Maximus states93; in fact, if Scipio had not enjoyed popular support, the tribunes of the plebs would undoubtedly have refused to rescind the law preventing him from achieving a second consulship. A passage from Orosius stresses, significantly, that Scipio was elected consensu omnium tribuum, namely, with the unanimous backing of the populace, which also highlights the majority support that his consulship had among the people.94 The approach presented here suggests that Scipio’s second consulship and Mancinus’ controversial trial were therefore two sides of the same coin: they are both consequences of a deliberate politicization of the progress of the wars in Hispania by certain sectors of the Roman ruling class, who were particularly interested in increasing the climate of discontent and impatience among public opinion that would allow them to manipulate the political situation with popular support. Scipio was, in short, the main beneficiary of the rising tensions between a senate mostly opposed to a negotiated solution to the wars in Hispania (as M. Claudius Marcellus’ peace had already demonstrated in 15295) – but actually incapable of ending them due to the incompetence of the Roman commanders – and a people tired and disappointed by the consequences of two decades of fruitless wars, especially after Mancinus’ consulship. While, in the abovementioned cases of Galba and Aquillius, the political use of their victories was possibly decisive in their later acquittals, the politicization of Mancinus’ disaster undoubtedly determined both his condemnation and the invalidation of the peace. Scipio, moreover, seems to have played a large part in both. Apparently, Scipio had the skill to intercede politically for his 92 93

94 95

Vell. 2.2.1–3. Astin 1967: 182–184; Val. Max. 8.15.4 (eidem senatus bis sine sorte prouinciam, prius Africam, deinde Hispaniam dedit) considers that Scipio received the command by senatorial decree: but, as Astin points out, the procedure was probably a proposal by a tribune, supported by the people, and ratified by the senate; cf. Plut. Mor. 201a: τῶν δὲ Νομαντίνων ἀμάχων εἶναι δοκούντων καὶ πολλοὺς νενικηκότων στρατηγοὺς ὕπατον ἀπέδειξε Σκιπίωνα τὸ δεύτερον ὁ δῆμος ἐπὶ τὸν πόλεμον; App. Hisp. 84. Oros. 5.7.1. App. Hisp. 49 (see above); Clark 2014: 147.

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nephew Tiberius Gracchus and the rest of Mancinus’ collaborators for having saved Roman soldiers from dying at the hands of the Hispanians – thereby gaining the sympathies of public opinion – while pointing to Mancinus as the person who must repay Roman society for the disaster that happened in the Numantine War (which entailed not just the condemnation of Mancinus, but also the desired invalidation of the peace that he had sworn on oath).96 As discussed above, Mancinus paid the price for the war to continue, at a time when it was politically expedient for part of the Roman ruling class that he should be publicly convicted:97 the sources point out, indeed, that some years later, most probably after Scipio had died (129) and the political storm had calmed down, Mancinus recovered the citizenship thanks to a lex lata, and was even elected praetor.98 It is thus debatable whether Scipio Aemilianus would have reached a second consulship without the social and political controversy stoked in Rome over Mancinus’ affair. Just two decades later, it would again be the politicization of a series of disasters in the wars of Numidia, Gaul and Sicily, and the tendentious use of the social discontent these disasters provoked in Rome, which would allow certain men to impose their political agenda and, in addition, to attain the principal magistracies through popular support; only in this light is it possible to understand the consecutive consulships reached by a homo nouus like Caius Marius during the last decade of the second century. Sallust is, moreover, especially revealing about the role played by public opinion during the so-called Jugurthine War, which can help us to comprehend better the political use of military losses during the wars in Hispania. As in the case of the Numantine War, the war in Numidia was dominated in its early years by a series of fruitless campaigns, military losses and controversial treaties that increased popular unrest against a senatorial class which was held responsible for the unacceptable behaviour of the consuls and the disappointing progress of the war. In 111, L. Calpurnius Bestia was harshly criticised by the tribune C. Memmius for having agreed peace under secret terms with Jugurtha, who had apparently 96

97 98

See Plut. TG. 7.3–5: ἔνθα δὴ καὶ μάλιστα τὴν πρὸς τὸν Τιβέριον εὔνοιαν καὶ σπουδὴν ἐξέφηνεν ὁ δῆμος. τὸν μὲν γὰρ ὕπατον ἐψηφίσαντο γυμνὸν καὶ δεδεμένον παραδοῦναι τοῖς Νομαντίνοις, τῶν δ’ ἄλλων ἐφείσαντο πάντων διὰ Τιβέριον. δοκεῖ δὲ καὶ Σκιπίων βοηθῆσαι, μέγιστος ὢν τότε καὶ πλεῖστον δυνάμενος Ῥωμαίων· ἀλλ’ οὐδὲν ἧττον ἐν αἰτίαις ἦν, ὅτι τὸν Μαγκῖνον οὐ περιέσωσεν, οὐδὲ τὰς σπονδὰς ἐμπεδωθῆναι τοῖς Νομαντίνοις ἐσπούδασε, δι’ ἀνδρὸς οἰκείου καὶ φίλου τοῦ Τιβερίου γενομένας. Rosenstein 1990a: 148–149; Clark 2014: 166–171. Dig. 50.7.18: lex postea lata est, ut esset ciuis romanus, et praeturam quoque gessisse dicitur; De uir. Ill. 59.4: quo per senatum improbato Mancinus Numantinis deditus nec receptus, augurio in castra deductus, praeturam postea consecutus est; Broughton 1986: 103–104; Crifò 1986: 19–32; Rosenstein 1986: 249–251; Brennan 1989: 486–487; 2000: 741; 2004: 52–53; San Vicente González de Aspuru 2012: 324–325; Mouritsen 2017, 65. Mancinus tried to recover his place in the senate once returned to Rome (perhaps in late 136), but he was denounced by the tribune P. Rutilius (apparently with the support of the praetor P. Mucius Scaveola) by having lost the citizenship as a consequence of his surrender to the Numantines (Cic. de Or. 1.181; 1.238; 2.137; Dig. 49.15.4; 50.7.18). Brennan 2004: 52–53; cf. Broughton 1951: 486–487. Neither the date of his reincorporation to the citizenship nor that of his iteration in the praetorship are recorded, but it is possible to date the latter in the first half of the decade of 120s, once dead Scipio Aemilianus (129).

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bribed the consul.99 The situation considerably worsened, however, one year later when A. Postumius Albinus, brother and legatus pro praetore of the consul Sp. Postumius Albinus in Numidia,100 decided to lay siege to the city of Suthul (where the royal treasure was kept) and was surrounded by the troops of Jugurtha, who forced Aulus to accept peace under severe terms and to pass with his soldiers under the yoke.101 As in the consulship of Hostilius Mancinus, the Romans once again faced a shameful situation caused in this case by the recklessness of a legate. Sallust describes the climate of unease that seized the ciuitas once the news of the disaster reached Rome,102 and when the consul Sp. Postumius Albinus laid the treaty before the senate, the latter resolved, as expected, that “no treaty could be made without its order and that of the people” (senatus, ita uti par fuerat, decernit suo atque populi iniussu nullum potuisse foedus fieri).103 The problem, however, was possibly not that the peace lacked the prior consent of the senate and people, but that it had been made under the conditions imposed by the enemy, as in the case of the foedus Mancinum. A tribune of the plebs, C. Mamilius Limetanus, proposed a rogatio ad populum for prosecuting those who had supported Jugurtha or been bribed as envoys or commanders, as well as those who had made terms of peace and war with the enemy.104 Despite senatorial disapproval, the law was passed by the people mainly due to hatred of the nobilitas (magis odio nobilitatis), according to Sallust’s version. As a result, several eminent senators were condemned, among them four consulares and the abovementioned A. Postumius Albinus.105 As is well known, the command of the war was then handed over to a renowned member of the nobilitas, the consul Q. Caecilius Metellus (109), who achieved some military successes in Numidia and was even prorogued as proconsul in 108.106 The duration of the war, however, began to arouse a certain climate of impatience 99 100

101

102 103 104 105

106

Sal. Iug. 29.1–31.29; cf. Flor. 1.36.7: primus in Numidiam Calpurnium Bestia consul inmittitur; sed rex peritus fortius aduersus Romanos aurum esse quam ferrum, pacem emit; Liv. Per. 64; Eutr. 4.26; Oros. 5.15.4; Plut. Mar. 9.3. Alexander 1990: no. 54. Sal. Iug. 36.4: Albinus Aulo fratre in castris pro praetore relicto Romam decessit; Liv. Per. 64: A. Postumius legatus infeliciter proelio aduersus Iugurtham gesto pacem quoque adiecit ignominiosam, quam non esse seruandam senatus censuit. Broughton 1951: 544. A. Postumius Albinus might be the cos. 99; cf. Sumner 1973: 82–84. Sal. Iug. 37.3–38.10; cf. 38.9: deinde Iugurtha postero die cum Aulo in conloquio uerba facit: tametsi ipsum cum exercitu fame et ferro clausum tenet, tamen se memorem humanarum rerum, si secum foedus faceret, incolumis omnis sub iugum missurum. praeterea uti diebus decem Numidia decederet; Liv. Per. 64; Flor. 1.36.9; Oros. 5.15.6. Sal. Iug. 39.1–5; Rosenstein 1990a: 135–136; 197–198, no. 72. Sal. Iug. 39.3. Sal. Iug. 40.1. Broughton 1951: 546; Gruen 1968: 136–156; Arbizu Orcoyen 2000: 102–103; Yakobson 2009: 46–47; Clark 2014: 188–191; cf. Rosenstein 1990: 135–137. A re-interpretation of the political purpose of the lex Mamilia, in Farney 1997: 23–37. Sal. Iug. 40.3; Cic. Brut. 128: nam inuidiosa lege [Mamilia quaestio] C. Galbam sacerdotem et quattuor consularis, L. Bestiam C. Catonem Sp. Albinum ciuemque praestantissimum L. Opimium, Gracchi interfectorem, a populo absolutum, cum is contra populi studium stetisset, Gracchani iudices sustulerunt; Kelly 2006: 170–171; Clark 2014: 188–189. Sal. Iug. 43.1–5; Liv. Per. 65; Eutr. 4.27.1–2; Vell. 2.11.1–2; Broughton 1951: 545.

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within both the army and in Roman society that, duly stimulated by the then-legate C. Marius from Numidia and his political supporters in Rome, allowed Marius to be appointed consul with the majority support of the people. According to Sallust, Marius’ election took place at a moment when the political situation was particularly at odds with the interests of the nobilitas due to the passing of the lex Mamilia (that is, because of the rogatio introduced ad populum when Aulus Albinus’ disaster became known), to the point that the populace began openly to back the homines noui like Marius.107 When the tribune T. Manlius Mancinus introduced a rogatio to ask the people who should be granted the command of the Jugurthine War (notwithstanding that the senate had already prorogued the command to Metellus), they voted by a majority for Marius again, as the populus probably did when Scipio was elected consul for 134.108 Sallust says that the senators made no rejection of any of Marius’ military measures, and even approved the reinforcements he requested, because they believed the plebs would again show their objection to military service (as had already happened during the wars in Hispania), and that Marius would thereby lose popular support, but this did not happen.109 Like Scipio Aemilianus, Marius did not just show a notable ability to win the sympathies of the Roman people, but also knew how to handle the political circumstances and popular support to the point of being able to dominate the political scene incontestably over several years. If the controversial campaigns in Numidia were decisive in creating the social climate that made possible his nomination as consul for 107, it would be the political use of a series of severe military defeats, mainly in the wars against the Tigurini, Cimbri and Teutoni (107–105) and the slaves in Sicily (104–101), which would allow Marius to achieve five successive consulships (104–100) in a setting especially hostile for a part of the senatorial aristocracy.110 Several laws were passed during those years with the clear aim of lessening the dominant position of the nobilitas: a lex Servilia Glaucia, for instance, again put juries wholly in the hands of the equites,111 while a tribune of the plebs, L. Cassius Longinus, introduced a law (104) providing that persons convicted of a 107 Sal. Iug. 65.4–5: itaque et illum et equites Romanos, milites et negotiatores, alios ipse, plerosque pacis spes inpellit, uti Romam ad suos necessarios aspere in Metellum de bello scribant, Marium imperatorem poscant. sic illi a multis mortalibus honestissuma suffragatione consulatus petebatur. simul ea tempestate plebs nobilitate fusa per legem Mamiliam nouos extollebat. ita Mario cuncta procedere; see also 73.3–7; 84.1; Plut. Mar. 8.5–9.1; Arbizu Orcoyen 2000: 103–104; cf. Yakobson 2009: 46–47. 108 Sal. Iug. 73.7: postea populus a tribuno plebis T. Manlio Mancino rogatus, quem uellet cum Iugurtha bellum gerere, frequens Marium iussit. sed paulo decreuerat: ea res frustra fuit. Broughton 1951: 551. 109 Sal. Iug. 84.3: neque illi senatus, quamquam aduorsus erat, de ullo negotio abnuere audebat. ceterum supplementum etiam laetus decreuerat, quia neque plebi militia uolenti putabatur et Marius aut belli usum aut studia uolgi amissurus. sed ea res frustra sperata: tanta lubido cum Mario eundi plerosque inuaserat; cf. Plut. Mar. 9.1–4. 110 Sal. Iug. 114.1–4; Liv. Per. 67; Plut. Mar. 14.1–8. 111 Cic. Rab. Perd. 20; Brut. 224; cf. Scaur. fr. 1d C.; Asc. 21C. Broughton 1951: 571–572, 573, n. 2; Gruen 1968: 165–169; Lintott 1981: 189–191; Marshall 1985: 134–135; Arbizu Orcoyen 2000: 114; cf. Ferrary 1979: 85–91; 101–105.

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crime or deprived of imperium by the people should be excluded from the senate.112 Still more significant was the passing of the first lex maiestatis in 103, proposed by the tribune L. Appuleius Saturninus with the primary intention, possibly, of prosecuting those commanders who had severely debased the maiestas of the Roman people by displaying unworthy behaviour in their responsibilities as governors or in warfare, as had been the case with Q. Servilius Caepio and Cn. Mallius Maximus, the consuls vanquished two years previously in Arausio.113 Indeed, several Roman commanders were condemned during this time for mishandling wars overseas: besides the names mentioned above, we can also cite L. Licinius Lucullus (pr. 104) and C. Servilius (pr. c. 102), the praetors of Sicily whose resounding failures in the Slave War resulted in the command being handed over to M’. Aquillius, a politically ally of Marius who reached the consulship with him in 101 and who, as noted above, escaped condemnation some years later precisely because of his renowned victory over the slaves in Sicily and the support of men like Marcus Antonius or Marius himself.114 As J. Clark recently indicated, during the last decades of the second century, Roman society witnessed a shift both in the perception and, especially, in the assessment of military disasters, which became political weapons within a social climate dominated by rising tensions between the senate and the people.115 Although the management of provincial politics had habitually belonged to the senate, the discontent aroused in a large proportion of the people by the disasters and controversial episodes in Hispania over two decades, and its deliberate manipulation by certain sectors of the political class, put cases like those of C. Plautius or C. Hostilius Mancinus in the eye of the political storm. As this chapter has sought to demonstrate, in this context, the political use of a public opinion better informed and much more aware of the events occurring in the provinces (not just because of the 112 Asc. 78C.; see Cic. Dom. 83; de Or. 2.197–201; Rhet. ad. Her. 1.24. Broughton 1951: 559; Gruen 1968: 161–164; Ferrary 1979: 92–101; Marshall 1985: 270–271. 113 Cic. de Or. 2.107; 2.109; cf. 2.164: si maiestas est amplitudo ac dignitas ciuitatis, is eam minuit, qui exercitum hostibus populi Romani tradidit, non qui eum, qui id fecisset, populi Romani potestati tradidit; Inv. 2.53: maiestatem minuere est de dignitate aut amplitudine aut potestate populi aut eorum, quibus populus potestatem dedit, aliquid derogare; Rhet. ad Her. 2.17; cf. Sal. Iug. 31.9–10; Tac. Ann. 1.72: nam legem maiestatis reduxerat, cui nomen apud ueteres idem, sed alia in iudicium ueniebant, si quis proditione exercitum aut plebem seditionibus, denique male gesta re publica maiestatem populi Romani minuisset. Broughton 1951: 563; Gruen 1968: 167–169; Bauman 1970: 34–58; Ferrary 1983: 556–571; 2009: 232– 237; Rosenstein 1990: 124–128; Clark 2014: 195–198. Cn. Mallius Maximus was sent to exile through a rogatio of L. Appuleius Saturninus; Gran. Lic. 21 B. (Cn. Malius ob eandem causam quam et Cepio L. Saturnini rogatione e ciuitate cito eiectus); cf. also Cic. Brut. 135; de Or. 2.124–125; 2.197–201; Asc. 78 C.; Rhet. ad Her. 1.24; Val. Max. 4.7.3; Liv. Per. 67. Kelly 2006: 173–175; Waller 2011: 25. 114 Diod. Sic. 36.8.1–9.2; Plut. Luc. 1.1; Flor. 2.7.1–12; cf. Broughton 1951: 564; 568. Gruen 1968: 176–178; Rosenstein 1990: 142–144; Kelly 2006: 176–178. Marius supported openly Aquillius during the trial: Cic. de Or. 2.196. Aquillius was probably legate of Marius in 103; Plut. Mar. 14.7; Broughton 1951: 564. 115 Particularly, Clark 2014: 169–171; cf. Gruen 1968: 179–184; Rosenstein 1990a: 159–161; García Riaza 2008: 18; Yakobson 2009: 45–55.

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self-serving manipulation of the news by certain politicians, but also because of the direct consequences that such episodes had for them), was pivotal in the unfolding of Roman politics. Arguably, all this accounts for events like the second consulship of Scipio Aemilianus, for instance, in the same way that it would account some decades later for the repeated consulships of Marius. At the same time, the political use of military disasters before public opinion was in some cases lethal for the commanders involved, several of whom seem not to have been condemned as perpetrators of reprehensible actions so much as to have ended up as collateral damage to political interests.116 If Scipio Aemilianus’ controversial election as consul for 134 can be explained by the scandal caused in Roman society by the episode of Hostilius Mancinus, the latter’s severe condemnation by the people seems to be mostly explained by the role played in the case by Scipio and his political associates. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexander, M. C. (1990) Trials in the Late Roman Republic, 149 BC to 50 BC, Toronto. Arbizu Orcoyen, J. M. (2000) Res publica oppressa. Política popular en la crisis de la República (133–44 a. C.), Madrid. Astin, A. E. (1967) Scipio Aemilianus, Oxford. Bastien, J.-L. (2007) Le Triomphe romain et son utilisation politique à Rome aux trois derniers siècles de la République, Rome. Bauman R. A. (1970) The Crimen Maiestatis in the Roman Republic and Augustan Principate, Johannesburg. Bauman, R. A. (1996) Crime and Punishment in Ancient Rome, London. Bauman, R. A. (2000) Human Rights in Ancient Rome, London – New York. Beltrán Lloris, F. (2011) “… Et sola omnium provinciarum vires suas postquam victa est intellexit. Una aproximación a Hispania como referente identitario en el mundo romano”, in Roma generadora de identidades: la experiencia hispana, eds. A. Caballos Rufino and S. Lefebvre: 55– 77. Madrid. Betts, I. M. and Marshall, B. A. (2013) “The Lex Calpurnia of 149 B. C.”, Antichthon 47: 39–60. Brennan, T. C. (1989) “C. Aurelius Cotta, praetor iterum (CIL I2 610)”, Athenaeum 67: 467–487. Brennan, T. C. (1993) “The Commanders in the First Sicilian Slave War”, RFIC 121: 153–184. Brennan, T. C. (1995) “Notes on Praetors in Spain in the Mid-Second Century B. C.”, Emerita 63, 47–76. Brennan, T. C. (2000) The Praetorship in the Roman Republic, Oxford. Brennan, T. C. (2004) “Power and Process under the Republican ‘Constitution’”, in The Cambridge Companion to the Roman Republic, ed. H. I. Flower: 31–65. Cambridge. Broughton, T. R. S. (1951) The Magistrates of the Roman Republic. I. (509 B. C. – 100 B. C.), New York. Brunt, P. A. (1971) Italian Manpower, 225 B. C. – A. D. 14, Oxford. Burton, P. J. (2011) Friendship and Empire. Roman Diplomacy and Imperialism in the Middle Republic (353–146 BC), Cambridge. Clark, J. H. (2014) Triumph in Defeat. Military Loss and the Roman Republic, Oxford. Crawford, M. H. (1974) Roman Republican Coinage, Cambridge.

116 See Clark 2014: 155–159; cf. Waller 2011: 25: “Defeated generals were only exceptionally put on trial, and always because special circumstances came into play, as when generals were held specially culpable […] or were the victims of a hostile political climate”.

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Crifò, G. (1986) “Sul caso di Ostilio Mancino”, in Studies in Roman Law in Memory of A. Arthur Schiller, eds. R. S. Bagnall and W. V. Harris: 19–32. Leiden. Díaz Fernández, A. (2015) Prouincia et imperium. El mando provincial en la República romana (227–44 a. C.), Sevilla. Drogula, F. K. (2015) Commanders and Command in the Roman Republic and Early Empire, Chapel Hill. Dzino, D. (2010) Illyricum in Roman Politics, 229 BC – AD 68, Cambridge. Farney, G. D. (1997) “The Fall of the Priest C. Sulpicius Galba and the First Consulship of Marius”, MAAR 42: 23–37. Ferrary, J.-L. (1979) “Recherches sur la législation de Saturninus et de Glaucia. II. La loi de iudiciis repetundarum de C. Servilius Glaucia”, MEFRA 91: 85–134. Ferrary, J.-L. (1983) “Les origins de la loi de majesté à Rome”, CRAI 127: 556–572. Ferrary, J.-L. (2009) “Lois et procès de maiestate dans la Rome républicaine”, in La repressione criminale nella Roma repubblicana fra norma e persuasione, ed. B. Santalucia: 223–249. Pavía. Forsythe, G. (1999) Livy and Early Rome. A Study in Historical Method and Judgment, Stuttgart. Frazel, T. D. (2009) The Rhetoric of Cicero’s, Verrem, Göttingen. Gabba, E. (1984) “Il consenso popolare alla politica espansionistica romana fra III e II sec. a. C.”, in The Imperialism of Mid-Republican Rome, ed. W. V. Harris: 115–129. Rome. García Riaza, E. (2002) Celtíberos y lusitanos frente a Roma: diplomacia y derecho de guerra, Vitoria. García Riaza, E. (2007) “Tempus poenae. Represalias contra poblaciones sometidas durante la expansion romana en Hispania”, in Formas y usos de la violencia en el mundo romano, eds. G. Bravo and R. González Salinero: 19–30. Madrid. García Riaza, E. (2008) “Las fronteras de la ley. Servio Sulpicio Galba y el gobierno provincial de Hispania”, in La corrupción en el mundo romano, eds. G. Bravo and R. González Salinero: 17–26. Madrid. Gruen, E. S. (1968) Roman Politics and the Criminal Courts, 149–78 B. C., Cambridge Massachusetts. Harris, W. V. (1979) War and Imperialism in Republican Rome. 327–70 B. C., Oxford. Harris, W. V. (1990) “On Defining the Political Culture of the Roman Republic: Some Comments on Rosenstein, Williamson, and North”, CPh 85: 288–294. Harris, W. V. (2016) Roman Power. A Thousand Years of Empire, Cambridge. Hölkeskamp, K. J. (1994) “Review to N. S. Rosenstein, Imperatores Victi”, Gnomon 66: 332–341. Itgenshorst, T. (2005) Tota illa pompa. Der Triumph in der römischen Republik, Göttingen. Kelly, G. P. (2006) A History of Exile in the Roman Republic, Cambridge. Lintott, A. W. (1981) “The Leges de Repetundis and Associate Measures under the Republic”, ZSS 98: 162–212. Marshall, B. A. (1985) A Historical Commentary to Asconius, Columbia. Mouritsen, H. (2017) Politics in the Roman Republic, Cambridge. Muñiz Coello, J. (2004) “El proceso de Galba, las quaestiones y la justicia ordinaria (Roma, siglos II/I a. C.)”, L’antiquité classique 73: 109–126. Pina Polo, F. (1989) Las contiones civiles y militares en Roma, Zaragoza. Pina Polo, F. (1997) “Las comisiones senatoriales para la reorganización de Hispania (App., Iber., 99–100)”, DHA 23: 83–104. Prag, J. R. W. (2013) “Provincials, patrons, and the Rhetoric of Repetundae”, in Community and Communication: Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom: 267–283. Oxford. Rich, J. (1983) “The Supposed Roman Manpower Shortage of the Later Second Century B. C.”, Historia 32: 287–331. Rich, J. (2012) “Roman Attitudes to Defeat in Battle Under the Republic”, in Vae victis! Perdedores en el mundo antiguo, eds. F. Marco Simón, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal Rodríguez: 83–111. Barcelona.

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Rich, J. (2014) “The Triumph in the Roman Republic: Frequency, Fluctuation and Policy”, in The Roman Republican Triumph Beyond the Spectacle, eds. C. H. Lange and F. J. Vervaet: 197–258. Roma. Richardson, J. S. (1975) “The Triumph, the Praetors and the Senate in the Early Second Century B. C.”, JRS 65: 50–63. Richardson, J. S. (1986) Hispaniae: Spain and the Development of the Roman Imperialism, 218– 82 B. C., Cambridge. Richardson, J. S. (1987) “The Purpose of the Lex Calpurnia de Repetundis”, JRS 77: 112. Richardson, J. S. (2000) Appian. Wars of the Romans in Iberia. Introduction, Translation and Commentary, Warminster. Rosenstein, N. S. (1986) “Imperatores Victi: The Case of C. Hostilius Mancinus”, ClAnt 5: 230–252. Rosenstein, N. S. (1990a) Imperatores Victi. Military Defeat and Aristocratic Competition in the Middle and Late Republic, Berkeley-Los Angeles-Oxford. Rosenstein, N. S. (1990b) “War, Failure, and Aristocratic Competition”, CPh 85: 255–265. Rosenstein, N. S. (1992) “Nobilitas and The Political Implications of Military Defeat”, AHB 6: 117–126. Rosenstein, N. S. (2007) “Military Command, Political Power, and the Republican Elite”, in A Companion to the Roman Army, ed. P. Erdkamp: 132–147. Oxford. Rosenstein, N. S. (2010) “Aristocratic Values”, in A Companion to the Roman Republic, eds. N. S. Rosenstein and R. Morstein-Marx: 365–382. Oxford. Salinas de Frías, M. (1995) El gobierno de las provincias hispanas durante la República romana (218–27 a. C.), Salamanca. Salinas de Frías, M. (2007) “Violencia contra los enemigos: los casos de Cartago y Numancia”, in Formas y usos de la violencia en el mundo romano, eds. G. Bravo and R. González Salinero: 31–39. Madrid. Salinas de Frías, M. (2010) “El proceso contra Galba, la lucha de facciones en Roma y el gobierno de las provincias”, in Doctrina a magistro discipulis tradita. Estudios en homenaje al professor Dr. Luis García Iglesias, eds. A. J. Domínguez Monedero and G. Mora Rodríguez: 121–135. Madrid. San Vicente González de Aspuru, J. I. (2012) “El foedus de Mancino, la pax Caudina y Tito Livio”, in Mundus vult decipi. Estudios interdisciplinares sobre falsificación textual y literaria, ed. J. Martínez García: 319–334. Madrid. San Vicente González de Aspuru, J. I. (2013) “La victoria como justificación del bellum pium y la pax deorum: el caso de Numancia”, Arys 11: 173–192. Sumner, G. V. (1973) The Orators in Cicero’s Brutus. Prosopography and Chronology, Toronto. Tatum, W. J. (1991) “Military Defeat and Electoral Success in Republican Rome”, AHB 5: 149–152. Tatum, W. J. (1992) “Review to N. S. Rosenstein, Imperatores Victi”, AJPh 113: 637–641. Waller, M. (2011) “Victory, Defeat and Electoral Success at Rome, 343–91 B. C.”, Latomus 70: 18–38. Wikander, Ö. (1976) “Caius Hostilius Mancinus and the Foedus Numantinum”, ORom 11: 85–104. Yakobson, A. (2009) “Public Opinion, Foreign Policy and ‘Just War’ in the Late Republic”, in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World, ed. C. Eilers: 45–72. Leiden-Boston.

THE IMPERIA EXTRAORDINARIA OF THE 70S TO 50S B. C. AND PUBLIC OPINION Wolfgang Blösel We know what many of the topics of daily politics were in the last decades of the Roman republic, since Cicero’s detailed letters inform us which discussions preoccupied public opinion in the capital. The annual election campaigns for the regular higher magistracies were as always heated, but when they were over Roman citizens lost their interest in the magistrates’ performance, especially in domestic politics, as well as in individual nobiles’ persistent rivalries.1 But matters of war form a great exception to this general political indifference. If either the senate or the people’s assembly vested a commander with far-reaching powers over more than one province or for more than one year because the existence or at least the undisputed hegemony of the Roman Republic was in danger, it became an issue of public concern. But it was not the vast powers bestowed upon one man which proved the decisive criterion for the label imperium extraordinarium, pace Mommsen’s opinion in his seminal work on Roman Constitutional Law.2 Crucial for the labelling of an imperium as extraordinarium was, instead, the circumvention of the sortition of the provinces, as I have shown in my habilitation.3 This definition is valid for all seventeen examples of the expression imperium extraordinarium or imperium extra ordinem (datum).4 Consequently, the terminus technicus was used not only for imperia given to former privati5 – their provinces were assigned directly, normally by a plebiscite to the commander –,

1 2 3

4 5

Cf. Mouritsen 2001: 33; 102. – Victor Parker (Christchurch) took on the laborious task of correcting my English, for which I thank him heartily. Mommsen 1887: 2,651–657. Blösel 2009 (not yet published). For now cf. Blösel (forthcoming) at the beginning. The circumvention of sortition of the provinces was already recognized as a crucial criterion of an imperium extraordinarium by de Grouchy 1558: 179D–180F: Alio modo extra ordinem fieri aliquid dicebatur, si extra sortem nominatim provincia aliqua cuipiam decerneretur. Tum enim si collega pati nollet beneficio sortis se excludi, populus rogari solebat, ut designaret quem vellet eam provinciam obtinere. Quia enim legitima ordinariaque ratio erat decernendi provincias, ut de iis provinciis, quas Senatus pro necessitate Reipublicae nominasset, sortes mitterent, eamque obtineret quisque quam sors ei dedisset. as well as by Sigonio 1574: 335–337; 352; 392; 423. Cf. especially Cic. Dom. 24 with the list of synonyms: extra ordinem sine sorte nominatim dedisti non consulibus (sc. Gabinio et Pisoni), sed rei publicae pestibus. Similarly Liv. 3.2.2; 6.22.2; 6.30.6: sine sorte, sine comparatione, extra ordinem; 7.23.2; 10.24.3; 24.9.5. E. g. Pompey in 77 B. C. against Sertorius and in 67 B. C. against the pirates.

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but also for imperia given directly to one of the two consuls.6 The sortition of the provinces between the consuls was the manifest expression of the principle that both were equally capable of leading an army to victory. Therefore, when sortition was circumvented, nothing less than the equality of the magisterial colleagues was denied.7 Favouring one nobilis over his colleague in the case of the consuls or over all his peers in the case of an imperium for a privatus was so blatant that the Romans coined a particular term for it: imperium extraordinarium.8 It is not my aim in this paper to explain the many peculiarities of this special constitutional phenomenon, which occurs by my count around fifty times in the Republican period. Rather I shall measure the degree in which public opinion at Rome was concerned with this anomaly in the last three decades of the Republic. Therefore, I will analyse in detail five cases of an imperium extraordinarium from the seventies to the fifties B. C. Although four of them belong to Pompey, the circumstances behind them are different and therefore enable us to discern the diverse arguments of both sides used either to support or to oppose the award of an imperium extraordinarium. We will thus be able to reconstruct the relevant public discussion, because to implement such an imperium, the vote of the Roman people was necessary. Its vote about the need for such an imperium was a decision about a factual issue, not an election between many candidates of whom one or several would get the magistracy no matter what. So not only because it involved the granting of a special privilege, but also for structural reasons, the discussions in Rome about imperia extraordinaria were a priori much more intensive than those during the election campaigns since the necessity of such an anomalous command had to be evident to the Roman people. But the first case which we will study, Pompey’s command against Sertorius from 77 onwards, was initiated and imposed by senators. They had recognized that after the Sullan proscriptions there was a tremendous need for capable commanders in the fight against the remaining Marian holdouts. Just a few months earlier they had been forced to invest the 29-year-old Pompey, then only an eques who had held no magistracy, with a legateship under the Proconsul Q. Lutatius Catulus for the 6 7

8

E. g. Scipio Aemilianus as consul of 147 against the Carthiginians and as consul of 134 against the Numantians; and Marius as consul of 107 against Iugurtha by the lex Manlia. Liv. 10.24.17 (from the speech of P. Decius Mus, consul of 295, complaining about the direct assignment of the command against the Samnites and Gauls to his colleague, Q. Fabius Maximus Rullianus): Omnes ante se consules sortitos provincias esse: nunc extra sortem Fabio senatum provinciam dare, – si honoris eius causa, ita eum de se deque re publica meritum esse, ut faveat Q. Fabi gloriae, quae modo non sua contumelia splendeat. Cui autem dubium esse, ubi unum bellum sit asperum ac difficile, cum id alteri extra sortem mandetur, quin alter consul pro supervacaneo atque inutili habeatur? Cicero polemicizes in his eleventh Philippic from 43 B. C. against the award, to a man without any office (privatus), of the command against the rebellious Proconsul Cornelius Dolabella. So he demands that not just one senator, but all senators should be eligible for it; Phil. 11.17: Quodsi comitia placet in senatu haberi, petamus, ambiamus; tabella modo detur nobis, sicut populo data est. Cur committis, Caesar, ut aut praestantissimus vir, si tibi non sit adsensum, repulsam tulisse videatur aut unus quisque nostrum praeteritus, si, cum pari dignitate simus, eodem honore digni non putemur? For the issue of privileging one nobilis by circumventing the sortition see also Tac. Hist. 4.8.

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struggle against the rebellious M. Aemilius Lepidus.9 After the removal of that direct threat to the Sullan regime in Italy, the victories of Sertorius in the Iberian Peninsula against the Sullan commanders preoccupied the senate the most. But both consuls of the year 77 B. C., D. Iunius Brutus and Mam. Aemilius Lepidus Livianus, refused to take over the supreme command there. Their true motives for declining the task10 are as obscure as those of the other higher magistrates or even senators of consular or praetorian rank. In the end the senate could not avoid giving the privatus Pompey a consular imperium. The Scholiasta Gronovianus11 hints, and Cassius Dio12 even explicitly asserts, that the Roman people’s assembly voted for Pompeyʼs extraordinary command. In order to get the approval of the citizens, the senators supposedly had to bring forward arguments. The quip of the consular L. Marcius Philippus in answering a fellow senator’s objection that a privatus should not be sent out pro consule was obviously memorable:13 He said that Pompey would not be sent out in the place of one consul (pro consule), but rather in that of more than one (pro consulibus). The Scholiast and Plutarch interpret this quip as a sideswipe at both consuls for cowardice although Cicero, the earliest source for the quip, lauded them both as viri clarissimi fortissimique. In his discussion of the lex Manilia of 67 concerning Pompey’s command against the pirates, Cassius Dio has all three of his orators, the initiator A. Gabinius, Pompey himself, and his adversary, the consular Q. Lutatius Catulus, lament the dearth of generals particularly during the Sertorian war.14 In my Plut. Pomp. 16.2–3 explains that Pompey was declared commander against Lepidus because Q. Lutatius Catulus was thought to be more experienced in domestic affairs than in war. Although Catulus is called “his (i. e. Pompey’s) colleague” (συνάρχων αὐτοῦ) Hillman 1998 (similarly Brennan 2000: 430 and Girardet 2001: 166) makes it probable that Pompey was only Catulus’ legate with a delegated praetorian (?) imperium. Mommsen 1887: 2,652 f., Vervaet 2009: 410–412 and Arena 2011: 303, however, consider Pompey’s position independent. 10 The hypothesis of Badian 1958: 277 f. that both consuls had a popular attitude is refuted by Lepidus who unmasks the Brutii and Aemilii as Sullan minions, Sall. Hist. 1.55.2. 11 Scholiasta Gronovianus ad Ciceronis orationes, p. 322 Stangl: Consulibus Sertorianum bellum detrectantibus Pompeius electus est. Cum interrogarentur patres, quali debeat cum potestate mitti, Philippus, consulum ridens ignaviam‚ pro consulibusʼ dixit. Cicero hoc rapuit, quasi hoc dixerit laude Pompei, non consulum vituperatione. 12 Cass. Dio (all speeches to the people) 36.25.3: Pompeius: … παρ' ὑμῶν ἠξιώθην … 36.27.4: Gabinius: … ἀντὶ ἀμφοτέρων τῶν ὑπάτων ἐξεπέμψαμεν. 36.28.3: … ἐπὶ τὸν Σερτώριον ἐχειροτονήσατε. 13 Cic. Leg. Man. 62: Quid tam inusitatum quam ut, cum duo consules clarissimi fortissimique essent, eques Romanus ad bellum maximum formidolosissimumque pro consule mitteretur? Missus est. Quo quidem tempore, cum esset non nemo in senatu qui diceret ‘non oportere mitti hominem privatum pro consule’, L. Philippus dixisse dicitur non se illum sua sententia pro consule, sed pro consulibus mittere. Tanta in eo rei publicae bene gerendae spes constituebatur, ut duorum consulum munus unius adulescentis virtuti committeretur. Also Cic. Phil. 11.18. 14 Cass. Dio 36.27.4 (Gabinius): μέμνησθε δὲ ὅσα καὶ οἷα ἐπάθομεν ἐν τῷ πρὸς τὸν Σερτώριον πολέμῳ στρατηγοῦ δεόμενοι, καὶ ὅτι οὐδένα ἕτερον οὔτε τῶν νεωτέρων οὔτε τῶν πρεσβυτέρων ἁρμόζοντα αὐτῷ εὕρομεν, ἀλλὰ [καὶ] τοῦτον καὶ τότε μηδέπω μήθ' ἡλικίαν ἔχοντα μήτε βουλεύοντα καὶ ἀντὶ ἀμφοτέρων τῶν ὑπάτων ἐξεπέμψαμεν. 36.32.3 (Catulus): καὶ διὰ τοῦτό γε οὐχ ἥκιστα ἐν τῷ πρὸς τὸν Σερτώριον πολέμῳ στρατηγοῦ ἠπορήσατε, ὅτι τὸν πρὸ τούτου χρόνον [ἐν] τοῖς αὐτοῖς ἐπὶ πολὺ ἐχρῆσθε. Hurlet 2010: 114 and Arena 2011: 311 f. and van der Blom 2016: 124 with further literature in n. 53 present convincing arguments that Cassius Dio gives 9

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view the lament had a factual basis.15 This argument for investing the young eques Pompey seems to have been convincing to the people since we hear of no further opposition against it. Only three years later imperia extraordinaria seem to have been much more disputed. In Plutarch’s biography of L. Licinius Lucullus we find a strange story recounted about how he obtained his command in the war against Mithridates VI of Pontus. Since there were many competitors for the governorship of Cilicia – because of the combined command against Mithridates –, one consul of 74, Lucullus, demeaned himself to win the favour of a courtesan named Praecia. According to Plutarch she was the real power in Rome because C. Cornelius Cethegus, a mighty senator, was captivated by her charms. According to Plutarch, no official decision could be made if Cethegus and consequently Praecia did not approve of it. In this scarcely honourable way Lucullus won Cethegus’ support and eventually the province of Cilicia.16 But the reliability of Plutarch’s report is in doubt. Legitimate aspirations on the part of many people, besides Lucullus, for this province are as historically unlikely as the overwhelming political power of Cethegus and Praecia. Cethegus with his consularis auctoritas, even if it is attested by Cicero, remains shadowy for us in any case.17 And Plutarch himself casts doubt on the whole story by closing it with the matter-of-fact statement that in the end all the people together awarded the Mithridatic war to Lucullus because he, having been an experienced general in Sullaʼs war against Mithridates, was alone able to win it since Pompey was fighting in Hispania

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at least an outline of the points the orators of the year 67 B. C. did in fact produce (recently on the problem Burden-Strevens 2015); the speech is seen as the exclusive product of Dio by Rodgers 2008. Of the former consuls and praetors in the senate (cf. the list in Evans 1983), C. Valerius Flaccus, the consul of 93, from 92 to 81 governor of both Hispaniae, seems to have been the only competent commander who might have been a match for Sertorius. The fight against this rebel had by 77 cost the lives of a proconsul and a legate so that a nobilis feared for his life if he went to Hispania. Cicero at length bewailed the shortage of competent military leaders as early as the Social war, Font. 42 f. (from the year 69): Quid nunc vobis faciendum est studiis militaribus apud iuventutem obsoletis, autem hominibus ac summis ducibus partim aetate, partim civitatis discordiis ac rei publicae calamitate consumptis, cum tot bella aut a nobis necessario suscipiantur aut subito atque improvisa nascantur? Plut. Luc. 6.1–4: σπαργώντων δὲ πολλῶν πρὸς τὴν ἐπαρχίαν καὶ Κέθηγον ὡς δυνατώτατον ὄντα διαπράξασθαι θεραπευόντων, αὐτῆς μὲν ὁ Λεύκολλος Κιλικίας οὐ πολὺν εἶχε λόγον … καὶ τελευτῶν ἔργον οὐ σεμνὸν οὐδ’ ἐπαινετόν, ἄλλως δ’ ἀνύσιμον πρὸς τὸ τέλος ἐκ τῆς ἀνάγκης ὑπέμεινε παρὰ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ φύσιν. Πραικία τις ἦν ὄνομα τῶν ἐφ’ ὥρᾳ καὶ λαμυρίᾳ διαβοήτων ἐν τῇ πόλει … ἴσχυσε μέγιστον. ὡς δὲ καὶ Κέθηγον ἀνθοῦντα τῇ δόξῃ τότε καὶ φέροντα τὴν πόλιν ὑπηγάγετο καὶ συνῆν ἐρῶντι, παντάπασιν εἰς ἐκείνην περιῆλθεν ἡ τῆς πόλεως δύναμις· οὐ[δὲ] γὰρ ἐπράττετό τι δημοσίᾳ Κεθήγου μὴ σπουδάζοντος, οὐδὲ Πραικίας μὴ κελευούσης παρὰ Κεθήγῳ. ταύτην οὖν ὑπελθὼν δώροις ὁ Λεύκολλος καὶ κολακείαις … εὐθὺς εἶχε τὸν Κέθηγον ἐπαινέτην καὶ προμνώμενον αὐτῷ Κιλικίαν. Cf. also Hillard 1989: 168–170. Cic. Brut. 178, for the meaning of his expression cf. Ryan 1994. It is unlikely that during the Sullans’ rule in the seventies Cethegus was able to exert pressure by the mobilisation of the masses, as Vervaet 2006: 645 and Rauh 2011: 199 suppose. He might have exerted influence in the senate through the backbenchers, as Keaveney 1992: 68 f. thinks.

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and Metellus Pius was too old.18 And it is surely true: just as in the year 77, the Romans had an urgent need of capable generals in 74. Consequently, the story of Praecia and Cethegus is likely to have originated in some denunciation of Lucullus as a plotting intriguer. Obviously, Plutarch did not subscribe wholly to this calumny which he found in his source, but qualified it by ascribing to Lucullus a good character and by providing an alternative and much more convincing explanation for his imperium extraordinarium. We would like to know who produced this calumny and when. Plutarch found the story about Lucullus and Praecia presumably in Sallustʼs Historiae which covered Roman History from the year 78 to 67 B. C. Since this historian gives an ambivalent picture of Lucullus by praising his victories as well as castigating his haughtiness against his soldiers, Sallust should not be seen as the inventor of this slanderous story.19 There are two admittedly slight hints in the Historiae that Sallust dealt with Cethegus and Praecia.20 Since Lucullusʼ imperium did not occasion much discussion in 74, and he was quite successful in the next years to 70 B. C., I suspect that this awkward narrative arose in the period from 69 to 67 B. C. when his dismissal was sought in Rome. Since Lucullus, in spite of many victories in these years, was not able to catch Mithridates and his ally Tigranes, he was suspected of artificially prolonging the war by letting them escape in order to plunder the whole East.21 According to Sallust, Lucullus bribed the tribune of the plebs Quinctius to hinder his recall from the East.22 Pseudo-Asconius gives a further hint23: according to him the praetor of 74, M. Antonius, got his imperium extraordinarium over the whole of the Mediterranean Sea for fighting the pirates only by the favour of the consul Cotta and through the factio of Cethegus in the senate. Antoniusʼ imperium extraordinarium – he died in 72 while plundering Crete – was a complete disaster as was that of Lucullusʼ colleague as consul of 74, C. Aurelius Plut. Luc. 6.5–6: ἐπεὶ δ’ ἅπαξ ἔτυχε ταύτης, οὐδὲν ἔτι Πραικίαν οὐδὲ Κέθηγον ἔδει παρακαλεῖν, ἀλλὰ πάντες ὁμαλῶς ἐκείνῳ φέροντες ἐνεχείρισαν τὸν Μιθριδατικὸν πόλεμον, ὡς ὑφ’ ἑτέρου μηδενὸς ἄμεινον διαπολεμηθῆναι δυνάμενον, Πομπηίου μὲν ἔτι Σερτωρίῳ προσπολεμοῦντος, Μετέλλου δ’ ἀπειρηκότος ἤδη διὰ γῆρας, οὓς μόνους ἄν τις ἐναμίλλους ἐποιήσατο Λευκόλλῳ περὶ τῆς στρατηγίας ἀμφισβητοῦντας. 19 For the probable picture of Lucullus in Sallust’s Histories cf. Schur 1934: 277–279; McGushin 1994: 2,200–202 and Tröster 2008: 116. Heftner 1995: 48–53 and Tröster 2008: 23 f., 88, 94 f., 107, 112, 115–117 have shown that Plutarch often used Sallustʼs Histories especially for the biographies of Pompey, Sertorius and Lucullus. 20 Cethegus: Sall Hist. fr. 3.17 Maurenbrecher: male iam adsuetum ad omnis vis controversiarum; besides explicitly 1.77.20 Maurenbrecher (in a speech of L. Marcius Philippus): parate vobis Cethegi atque alia proditorum patrocinia). – Praecia: Sall. hist. 3.18 Maurenbrecher: Cultu corporis ornata egregio. Cf. Hillard 1989: 169. 21 Sall. Hist. 4.70 Maurenbrecher: imperii prolatandi percupidus habebatur, cetera egregius; Cic. Sest. 93; Vell. 2.33.1; Plut. Luc. 33.5; 37.2; Cass. Dio 36.2.2. Cf. Keaveney 1992: 112–4. 22 Sall. Hist. 4.71 Maurenbrecher: ut dicit Sallustius, Lucullus pecuniam Quintio (sic!) dedit, ne illi succederetur. Similarly Schol. Gronov. ad Cic. imp. Pomp. 37, p. 321 Stangl. 23 Pseudo-Asconius in Cic. Verr. 2.2.8, p. 259 Stangl: hic est M. Antonius qui gratia Cottae consulis et Cethegi factione in senatu curationem infinitam nactus totius orae maritimae, et Siciliam et provincias omnes depopulatus est et ad postremum inferens Cretensibus bellum morbo interiit. 18

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Cotta24. Although the senate bestowed on Cotta in 70 a triumph and the honorific title Ponticus for the conquest of Heraclea Pontica, in the year 68 or 67 he lost all of that together with his senatorial status because of his conviction in a maiestas trial, since he had burnt down Heraclea and sold its inhabitants into slavery in spite of their previous surrender.25 In sum, all holders of the three imperia extraordinaria of the year 74, Lucullus, Cotta and Antonius, were in the end slandered as rapacious and base minions of Cethegus and his clique of senators. After the end of the Sullan regime in 70 politicians of the populares presumably used this remarkable cluster of constitutional anomalies in 74 and their meagre success in order to accuse the senate of blatant favouritism.26 Significantly, after Pompey and Crassus had ended in their consulate of 70 the regime of the Sullans, we find countermeasures against this corruption: a law of Antius Restio from 70 B. C. or a little bit later forbade all magistrates, even the designated ones, from participating in external banquets.27 An even more controversial law was promulgated by the tribune of the plebs of 67, C. Cornelius, which allowed exemptions from the laws only if two hundred senators were present and the peopleʼs assembly approved them.28 The rumours about the extraordinary commands of 74 not only supported these acts, but in particular the gossip about Lucullus and the prostituteʼs help also served to discredit him and to justify his being replaced in the command against Mithridates by the consul of 67, Mʼ. Acilius Glabrio, through a plebiscite of the tribune of the plebs A. Gabinius, who consequently created another imperium extraordinarium. Since Glabrio was not prepared to engage with Mithridatesʼ army which was regaining strength, his command appears more as simple preparation for Pompeyʼs.29 So the indelicate anecdote about Lucullus and the entirely corrupt senate might have been the product of the circle around Pompey. Especially in the early years of the sixties B. C. sharp criticism against the Sullan senate and its members reached a peak, as several contemporary sources confirm.30 If Roman public opinion bought into the rumours about the favouritism of the senators when attributing imperia extraordinaria, then senators had lost their justification for contradicting the peopleʼs assembly whenever they chose to do so in these matters. According to Plut. Luc. 6.6, Cotta had got his command in Bithynia by imploring the Senate (πολλὰ λιπαρήσας τὴν σύγκλητον ἀπεστάλη). 25 For the fate of C. Aurelius Cotta Memnon FGrHist 434 F 35 f.; 39 and Linderski 1995. 26 Even in 73 the popular tribune C. Licinius Macer might have blamed the holders of those imperia, if Sallust reflects the factual content of Macer’s speech in his Histories 3.48.18 Maurenbrecher: gerant habeantque suo modo (!) imperia, quaerant triumphos, Mithridatem, Sertorium et reliquias exsulum persequantur. Cf. Latta 1999. 27 Gell. 2.24.13; Macr. Sat. 3.17.13. 28 Asc. p. 58–9 Clark. Cf. Reduzzi Merola 2001: 97–101 and Lewis 2006: 261–3 ad loc. 29 Cass. Dio 36.17.1; App. Mith. 90.411 and cf. Williams 1984. 30 Varro Sat. Men. 264; 378; 452; 499; Ciceroʼs Verrines; further his imp. Pomp. 37 f.; 64–66; Asc. p. 57–59, 72 f. Clark; Sall. Cat. 12 f.; Hist. 4.46 Maurenbrecher. For the grievances of these years cf. Griffin 1973; Rosillo-Lopez 2010: 139–143 and Millar 1998: 73–93. For corruption as a familiar explanation in public opinion for late Republican politics cf. at length RosilloLópez 2016. 24

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But before Pompey could take over the command against Mithridates, he wanted a command against the pirates in 67. That demanded complex preparations. Indeed, in his oration in favour of Pompeyʼs command against Mithridates in the following year 66, Cicero suggests that in that year, 67, the city of Rome could have been threatened by famine because the pirates were disrupting the corn trade in the Mediterranean. To this end Cicero summarised all piratical raids on the Italian coasts during the last decades in a threatening scenario – the capture of two praetors, the plundering of Caieta in Southern Latium, the destruction of a whole Roman fleet in front of Ostia, the kidnapping of the daughter of a former triumphator over the pirates.31 But since Cicero does not give names or dates, de Souza rightly doubts that there was a tremendous increase of piratical raids in the months or even years before Gabiniusʼ rogation.32 The sudden drop in the price of corn immediately after the peopleʼs assembly gave Pompey the command demonstrates that there was no dearth of corn in Rome because of piracy, but instead suggests that corn had been hoarded in the granaries of Rome and Ostia in order to drive up the price.33 With such hoarding Pompey’s partisans might have alarmed the people in the City and thus have produced an attitude that only an outstanding general like Pompey might free them from the urgent danger. But even the legislative process for Pompeyʼs command against the pirates was planned out in detail by his followers. A. Gabinius first presented his rogation in the senate; as expected the senators showed their contempt for and hooted down Gabinius because he proposed to constitute an unprecedented command by giving an unnamed general authority over the whole Mediterranean, 20 legions and 200 ships and the free choice of 12 legates. Having fled out of the curia before the force which he claimed to have been threatened with, Gabinius mobilized his gang of thugs to masquerade as the real Roman people and threw the senators out of the curia by force.34 After positions had hardened, Gabinius introduced his rogation in the peopleʼs assembly; when one pro-optimate tribune of the plebs stubbornly clung to his veto against the voting on this, Gabinius had the citizens vote on the discharge of that tribune who eventually withdrew his veto.35 In this way Gabinius used the well-known example of Tiberius Gracchus in 133 to combine his fate with the vote on a revolutionary law. All the same the consular Q. Lutatius Catulus finally got the opportunity to bring forward the objections of the conservative senators, in particular that such enormous powers must not be given to one single man, even if Pompey were by far the most competent general. The oration of Catulus in Cassius Dio gives so many arguments appropriate to the historical situation that many scholars wonder whether Cassius Dio actually had the authentic speech (perhaps 31 32 33 34 35

Cic. imp. Pomp. 32 and 55. De Souza 1999: 164: “I am … reluctant to see a sudden, dramatic wave of piratical attacks across the whole Mediterranean, encompassing hundreds of cities and islands as the primary motivation for the Gabinian law”. Cic. imp. Pomp. 44. The manipulation of the corn price is supposed by Ruffing 1993: 92 and Drumann & Groebe 1908: 419, but denied by Virlouvet 1985: 49. Plut. Pomp. 25.7–26.3; Cass. Dio 36.23.4–24.4. Cass. Dio 36.30.1–4.

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via Sallustʼs Historiae).36 Catulus proceeded from the lack of capable generals to argue that the Romans ought to distribute the command against the pirates to several commanders with equal powers in order to train enough nobiles for further wars.37 Cicero records Catulusʼ desperate question to the people, whom they would have for further wars if something ill should betide Pompey in the war against the pirates, and the answer was “Thee, Catulus!”.38 Catulus’ question had been an open admission of the incompetence of the whole nobilitas because he obviously expected from the mass a desperate reply that there would be no one left and therefore the people should spare Pompey for an absolute emergency case. The debate around Pompeyʼs command against the pirates demonstrates the great importance of influencing public opinion. His partisans drove up the price of corn in the city and encouraged a state of alarm on that account, stage-managed the intransigence of the senators, and reminded the public of the Gracchan example. In the face of Pompeyʼs military excellence his adversaries in the senate could not win support for their chief arguments concerning the control of power and equilibrium in the nobilitas. Obviously the optimates, vainly relying upon their social power, had failed to lay the groundwork with the public to gain support in advance. That was impossible because for the first time in decades the plebs urbana felt directly threatened in its existence and sought refuge with the only military commander who seemed able to bring relief. Although Pompey’s adherents had influenced public opinion till now through many channels, the dispute over the lex Manilia on Pompeyʼs extraordinary command against Mithridates in the following year 66 B. C. opened new possibilities to sway the mass of Roman citizens. Cicero as incumbent praetor held a speech before the people in favour of that law. My paper is not the proper place to do justice to the complexity and sophistication of this oration. But I feel entitled to stress here its highly popular character in contrast to many scholars who emphasize its conciliatory tone.39 First of all, Cicero has to play up the overall importance of the war against Mithridates for the Romans: If they were defeated, they would lose their tax income and their empire in general. For, without the danger of an existential threat, the citizens might not award an imperium extraordinarium at all. Further, Cicero makes Pompey stand out in contrast to Lucullus not primarily through his military competence, but far more through his political and social virtues like innocence and integrity (innocentia), self-restraint (continentia), moderation (temperantia), 36

For the question of authenticity of the orations in Cass. Dio 36.23–36 cf. the literature cited above n. 14. 37 Cass. Dio 36.32.2 f.: ἔτι τοίνυν ἐν μὲν τῷ τοιούτῳ πολλούς τε ἐν ταῖς πράξεσιν ἐγγυμνάζεσθαι καὶ ῥᾳδίαν ὑμῖν τὴν αἵρεσιν τῶν πιστευθῆναι δυναμένων πρὸς πάντα τὰ πρακτέα ἀπὸ τῆς πείρας ὑπάρχειν συμβαίνει, ἐκείνως δὲ δὴ πολλὴν τὴν σπάνιν καὶ τῶν ἀσκησόντων τὰ προσήκοντα καὶ τῶν ἐπιτραπησομένων ἀνάγκη πᾶσα γίγνεσθαι. 38 Cic. imp. Pomp. 59; Sall. Hist. 5.24 Maurenbrecher; Vell. 2.32.1; Val. Max. 8.15.9; Plut. Pomp. 25.10. 39 Shackleton Bailey 1971: 18 sees Lucullus and the other nobiles treated by Cicero “with respect bordering on the sycophantic”. Yakobson 2010: 287: “His assertion of popular supremacy here is not at all a subversive innovation; it is no less traditional than the respect and consideration with which he treats the ‘right honourable gentlemen opposite’”.

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trustworthiness (fides), openness (facilitas), and leniency (mansuetudo). These are qualities less of a Roman aristocrat than of a monarch of Hellenistic times.40 But Cicero is far more subversive when he bluntly denies all those virtues to Lucullus and the other members of the Roman nobility. It is even worse: he reproaches them as boundlessly avaricious and corrupt and for having caused fierce resentment on the part of all allies and provincials against the Romans in general.41 Cicero uses this allegedly obvious corruption of most Roman governors to blacken the reputation of Q. Lutatius Catulus, consul of 78, and Q. Hortensius, consul of 69, who on principle ruled out overwhelming power for a single commander like Pompey. Directly before describing at length the crimes of Romans, of high and low rank alike, in the provinces, Cicero states that Catulus and Hortensius “know the wounds of the allies, see their misery, hear their queries”. And when he concludes his description, Cicero ironically bristles at those principes’ ignorance of all those misdeeds. As he insinuates, the people cannot trust the conservative senators when they on principle adduced rules against necessary emergency measures. As he puts it explicitly, Pompey is recommended less by his own moral excellence than by the vices of his peers.42 It was the foundation of Roman political culture, the Roman people’s trust in the senators, that he undermines first by recalling that the citizens had triumphed over the senators’ objections to Pompeyʼs command against the pirates in the year before and then arguing that therefore the senators ought once again to yield to the citizens’ better insight.43 Ciceroʼs verbal attack on nearly the whole nobility is much more than the popular rhetorical attitude necessary for a young orator before the people (Cicero was just forty years old at the time!).44 Likewise, his request to ignore the opposition of the conservative senators is much more than the ‘ideological monotony’ that Morstein-Marx highlights based on the every speaker’s obligation to bow his head before the people’s right to have the final decision.45 Cicero combines the nobiles’ moral disqualification for an urgent task with a discrediting of the opponents of 40 41 42

43

44 45

Cic. imp. Pomp. 36. Cf. Gruber 1988. Cic. imp. Pomp. 37; 64–66. Cic. imp. Pomp. 66: Libenter haec coram cum Q. Catulo et Q. Hortensio, summis et clarissimis viris, disputarem. Noverunt enim sociorum volnera, vident eorum calamitates, querimonias audiunt. 67: Nunc qua cupiditate homines in provincias, quibus iacturis et quibus condicionibus proficiscantur, ignorant videlicet isti, qui ad unum deferenda omnia esse non arbitrantur? Quasi vero Cn. Pompeium non cum suis virtutibus tum etiam alienis vitiis magnum esse videamus. Cic. imp. Pomp. 63 f.: praesertim cum iam suo iure populus Romanus in hoc homine suam auctoritatem vel contra omnis qui dissentiunt possit defendere, propterea quod, isdem istis reclamantibus, vos unum illum ex omnibus delegistis quem bello praedonum praeponeretis. Hoc si vos temere fecistis, et rei publicae parum consuluistis, recte isti studia vestra suis consiliis regere conantur. Sin autem vos plus tum in re publica vidistis, vos eis repugnantibus per vosmet ipsos dignitatem huic imperio, salutem orbi terrarum attulistis, aliquando isti principes et sibi et ceteris populi Romani universi auctoritati parendum esse fateantur. Cf. David 1980. Morstein-Marx 2004: 206; 229–240. Similarly Jehne 2013: 54–60 in his analysis of the Ciceronian passage.

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Pompey’s imperium.46 The fact that Cicero mentions by name four important consulars who supported the assignment of the war against Mithridates to Pompey (68) does not compensate for the considerable damage he has inflicted on the senate’s leadership of public opinion and on the leading principes. A passage of the Commentariolum petitionis demonstrates that an obviously considerable number of leading senators had not forgiven Cicero this attack when he campaigned for the consulship in 64.47 But in order to secure the benevolence and even support of Pompey for his campaign, Cicero had to risk the enmity of some principes, especially since the eventual vote of the people in favour of Pompey’s command was anything but certain.48 For Cicero and Pompey alike, however, playing for a prize as high as an imperium extraordinarium required the very highest stakes. The next example does not deal with an actual military command in one of the Roman provinces, but rather the authority over the city’s corn supply (cura annonae). In the year 57 B. C. Pompey intended to regain his popularity with the Romans of the City, a popularity which he had lost in the last years of the triumvirate, by demonstrating a paternal care for their lives. In this he could humiliate his fiercest adversary, P. Clodius Pulcher, who till then had been responsible for the corn supply. Since Clodius controlled the peopleʼs assembly and the high-ranking senators were averse to Pompeyʼs aspirations, he played his adversaries off against each other: he exacerbated the existing dearth of corn in the summer of 57 – Rome was in any case overcrowded by the tens of thousands of visitors to the ludi Romani which lasted from the 4th to 19th of September – by ordering his thousands of clients from all around Italy to go to Rome and into the peopleʼs assembly in order to vote for Ciceroʼs recall from exile.49 Furthermore, there are several hints that Pompey once again manipulated the corn price through middlemen.50 Clodius walked into this trap by accusing Pompey of letting the people starve and by sending his bands of thugs to the Capitol where the senate sat. They wounded even the consul Metellus Nepos, but the next day were driven from the Capitol by Pompey’s fighters who in their turn put pressure on the senators.51 On the 7th of September 57, the day of his return, Cicero propagated the cura annonae for Pompey. Since the principes of the senate were absent because of the turbulent atmosphere and the threatening bands, the backbenchers of the senate voted for Pompeyʼs cura. Pompey used a 46 47

48 49 50 51

The modern analyses ignore this combination in the chapters 63 to 68. Comm. pet. 5: Ii (sc. consulares) rogandi sunt omnes diligenter et ad eos adlegandum est persuadendumque est iis nos semper cum optimatibus de re publica sensisse, minime popularis fuisse; si quid locuti populariter videamur, id nos eo consilio fecisse, ut nobis Cn. Pompeium adiungeremus, ut eum, qui plurimum posset, aut amicum in nostra petitione haberemus aut certe non adversarium. Cf. also Cass. Dio 36.43.5: τότε πρὸς τοὺς συρφετώδεις μετέστη (although Dio is anything but objective here). The crucial role of Cicero’s oration is stressed by Seager 2002: 50. Cic. P. red. in sen. 31; Dom. 30; Har. resp. 46; Prov. cons. 43; Pis. 80. Cf. Łopozko 1979: 115 f.; Vanderbroeck 1987: 250; Ruffing 1993: 85–92; Vervaet 2010: 150– 153. Pompey’s manipulations of the corn price are denied by Virlouvet 1985: 45–48. Cass. Dio 39.9.2. Plut. Pomp. 49.5; Cic. 33.4 f. – Cic. Att. 4.1.6; Dom 6 f., 15 f.: He calls Pompey’s thugs populus Romanus and even boni.

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manoeuvre, making one of his senatorial adherents, C. Messius, move an imperium maius over all provincial governors and for a large army. In comparison to that proposal, the “normal” extensions of the cura eventually were by far preferable to the majority of senators.52 In sum, Pompey combined the violence which Clodiusʼ bands produced with that of his own partisans to exert pressure on the senate. The riots of the urban masses enraged by the increased prices of corn were only the background to the concerted employment of thugs. Obviously, public opinion was only one part, and not the most important, of Pompeyʼs complex strategy to get commands. Since many senators in the years after the foundation of the first so-called triumvirate in 60 between Pompey, Caesar and Crassus had given up their principled opposition from the years 67 and 66 against extraordinary commands, they could now be influenced by the vagaries of the mob. Nevertheless there was one case when Pompey’s ambition for an extraordinary command was frustrated by his rivals in the senate as well as by public opposition. Only a few months after the assignment of the cura annonae to Pompey, the issue arose over who should restore the Egyptian king Ptolemaeus XII Auletes to his residence in Alexandria.53 That man could expect an abundant reward from the king. To make this task unattractive, however, the tribune C. Porcius Cato, an ally of Clodius, produced an alleged prophecy of the Cumaean Sibyl which forbade the repatriation of the king by an armed force. Even worse, Clodius himself, perhaps in tacit concordance with Crassus, who wanted to curb Pompey’s power, criticized him publicly for his pursuit of this command. During a court hearing on the 7th of February in 56, Pompey was hooted down and heard his name shouted by Clodius’ minions as a reply to his question “Who lets the people starve?” and “Who wants to go to Egypt?”. Shocked by the public animus, Pompey eventually gave up this ambition.54 But in sum the weight of public opinion in general and for extraordinary commands in particular had been declining since the end of the sixties B. C.: when in January 62 B. C. the tribune Q. Caecilius Metellus Nepos filed a motion in the as52

53 54

Cic. Att. 4.1.6 f.: Eo biduo, cum esset annonae summa caritas et homines ad theatrum primo, deinde ad senatum concurrissent, impulsu Clodi mea opera frumenti inopiam esse clamarent, cum per eos dies senatus de annona haberetur et ad eius procurationem sermone non solum plebis verum etiam bonorum Pompeius vocaretur idque ipse cuperet multitudoque a me nominatim ut id decernerem postularet, feci et accurate sententiam dixi. cum abessent consulares, quod tuto se negarent posse sententiam dicere, praeter Messallam et Afranium, factum est senatus consultum in meam sententiam ut cum Pompeio ageretur ut earn rem susciperet, lexque ferretur. (…) Postridie senatus frequens et omnes consulares, nihil Pompeio postulanti negarunt. ille legatos quindecim cum postularet, me principem nominavit et ad omnia me alterum se fore dixit, legem consules conscripserunt qua Pompeio per quinquennium omnis potestas rei frumentariae toto orbe terrarum daretur; alteram Messius, qui omnis pecuniae dat potestatem et adiungit classem et exercitum et maius imperium in provinciis quam sit eorum qui eas obtineant. illa nostra lex consularis nunc modesta videtur, haec Messi non ferenda. Pompeius illam velle se dicit, familiares hanc. consulares duce Favonio fremunt. Cf. Morrell’s chapter in this volume. Cic. Cass. 1.1; QFr. 2.3; cf. Siani-Davies 1997.

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sembly that the proconsul Pompey, who was still in Asia minor, should be entrusted with defeating the Catilinarian troops left over in Italy, he used a band of gladiators to drive optimate opponents from the Forum Romanum. Previously the optimates around the younger Cato had tried to win the plebs urbana over by considerably enhancing the monthly corn distribution; in the end they had to resort to brutal violence to get rid of Nepos and his followers.55 Even in his consulship of 59, the darling of the plebs urbana, C. Iulius Caesar, needed Pompey’s veterans in order to drive optimate opponents like his colleague M. Calpurnius Bibulus and M. Porcius Cato from the forum and to push through central projects.56 Since the triumvirs were quite unpopular with the plebs in April to July of 59,57 it is probable that Caesar used violence as well to secure passage of the lex Vatinia which gave him an extraordinary command in Gallia cisalpina and Illyricum for five years.58 Clodius as well trusted more in his bravos’ clubs than in arguments in the assembly with his rogations for such commands as that of Cato in Cyprus and those of the consuls of 58, Piso and Gabinius, in Macedonia and Syria respectively. Even when the Triumvirs controlled political life in Rome, they could not rely on the assembly’s docility. In 55 only Caesar’s soldiers on furlough from the campaign in Gaul were the guarantors for the prolongation of his command in Gaul as well as the assignment of both Hispaniae and Syria to the consuls Pompey and Crassus respectively.59 The political situation since 53 was so chaotic because of politicians’ power struggles at several levels in the hierarchy that the fatal absence of any regulatory force in Rome became more and more obvious. After Clodius’ murder by his rival Milo and the burning of the curia in January of 52, the plebs urbana urgently demanded a strong man from the senate. Now, even the staunchest optimates could not avoid assigning a sole consulship and other extraordinary powers to Pompey. In the escalating conflict with Caesar he was the last resort for the senatorial regime. In regard to the influence of public opinion on the awards of imperia extraordinaria from the seventies to the fifties B. C. we can assert that there was a rapid development. After Sulla had disempowered the peopleʼs assembly and especially the tribunate of the plebs, the Sullan senate of the seventies was free to award such commands without any interference from the assembly. All the same senators publicly justified these measures for Pompey against Sertorius and for Lucullus against Mithridates with the dearth of generals. But in retrospect in the early sixties the populares defamed the extraordinary commands of the year 74 as the products of a corrupt clique. It should be stressed that this fundamental vilification of the Sullan Schol. Bob. Cic. Sest. 62, p. 134 Stangl; Plut. Cat. min. 26–29; Dio 37.43.2 f. Cf. for details Meier 1962 and Seager 2002: 72–74. 56 Cic. Vat. 5; 22; Suet. Iul. 20.1; Plut. Caes. 14.9 f.; Pomp. 48.1 f.; Luc. 42.6; Cat. min. 32.3 f.; App. BC. 2.11.38–41; Cass. Dio 38.6.1–4. Cf. Lintott 1968: 134 f.; 189 f.; 213. 57 Cic. Att. 2.13; 2.19–21. 58 Already De Grouchy 1558: 186F and Sigonio 1574: 392 recognized Caesar’s imperium as extraordinary because of the direct attribution of his provinces by the people. 59 Plut. Pomp. 52; Crass. 15; Cat. min. 41; Cass. Dio 39.31.1 f.; App. BC. 2.17 f.; 65 f. 55

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senate in public was a central means for enabling the great commands of Pompey in the East. Therefore, the external menace was exaggerated in public speeches, and the price of corn was even driven up through manipulations. Against the military excellence of Pompey, who was presented as the sole saviour, the principled objections of the optimate senators cut no ice with the Roman populace. Cicero went a step further in 66 by dismissing all nobiles apart from Pompey as avaricious and corrupt especially when in the provinces. The assembly reached its political zenith when Cicero summoned it to pour scorn on the objections of envious senators. But afterwards the use of bands of thugs was more important than the mobilization of the masses for pushing through or prohibiting extraordinary commands. Even in September of 57, the cry of the plebs urbana for affordable corn was only the intensifying background for Pompey’s employment of violent bands against those senators who were reluctant to assign him the cura annonae. Afterwards only mobs’ cudgels and soldiers’ swords secured imperia extraordinaria, which after 52 seemed to be the sole means of rescue for the Republic – in the end, however, to no avail. BIBLIOGRAPHY Arena, V. (2011) “The consulship of 78 B. C. Catulus versus Lepidus: an optimates versus populares affair”, in Consuls and res publica. Holding High Office in the Roman Republic, eds. H. Beck et al.: 299–318. Cambridge. Badian, E. (1958) Foreign Clientelae (264–70 B. C.), Oxford. van der Blom, H. (2016) Oratory and Political Career in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Blösel, W. (2009) Imperia extraordinaria liberae rei publicae: Studien zur Demilitarisierung der römischen Nobilität, habilitation, Köln (yet unpublished). Blösel, W. (forthcoming) “The sortition of consular and praetorian provinces in the Roman Republic” in Sortition and democracy. Practices, instruments, theories, eds. L. Rabatel and Y. Sintomer. Exeter. Brennan, T. C. (2000) The Praetorship in the Roman Republic, 2 vols., New York – Oxford. Burden-Strevens, C. W. (2015) Cassius Dioʼs speeches and the collapse of the Roman Republic, PhD thesis University of Glasgow. David, J.-M. (1980) “Eloquentia popularis et conduites symboliques des orateurs de la fin de la République: problèmes d’efficacité”, Quaderni di Storia 12: 171–211. De Grouchy, N. (1558) De comitiis Romanorum libri tres, Venice. De Souza, Ph. (1999) Piracy in the Greco-Roman World, Cambridge. Drumann, W. and Groebe, P. (1908) Geschichte Roms in seinem Uebergange von der republikanischen zur monarchischen Verfassung, oder Pompejus, Caesar, Cicero und ihre Zeitgenossen, vol. 4, 2nd ed., Leipzig. Evans, R. J. (1983) “The consulares and praetorii in the Roman Senate at the beginning of Sulla’s dictatorship”, Athenaeum 61: 521–528. Girardet, K. M. (2001) “Imperia und provinciae des Pompeius 82 bis 48 v. Chr.”, Chiron 31: 153–209. Griffin, M. T. (1973) “The Tribune C. Cornelius”, Journal of Roman Studies 63: 196–213. Gruber, J. (1988) “Cicero und das hellenistische Herrscherideal”, Wiener Studien 101: 243–258. Heftner, H. (1995) Plutarch und der Aufstieg des Pompeius. Ein historischer Kommentar zu Plutarchs Pompeiusvita, Teil I: Kap. 1–45, Frankfurt a. M. Hillard, Th. (1989) “Republican Politics, Women and the Evidence”, Helios 16: 165–182. Hillman, T. P. (1998) “Pompeiusʼ Imperium in the War with Lepidus”, Klio 80: 91–110.

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Hurlet, F. (2010) “Pouvoirs extraordinaires et tromperie. La tentation de la monarchie à la fin de la République romaine (82–44 av. J.-C.)”, in Private and public lies. The discourse of despotism and deceit in the Graeco-Roman world, eds. A. J. Turner et al.: 107–130. Leiden. Jehne, M. (2013) “Feeding the Plebs with Words: The Significance of Senatorial Public Oratory in the Small World of Roman Politics”, in Community and Communication. Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom: 49–62. Oxford. Keaveney, A. (1992) Lucullus. A Life, London – New York. Latta, B. (1999) “Die Rede des Volkstribunen C. Licinius Macer in den Historien des Sallust (III 48)”, Maia 51: 205–241. Lewis, R. G. (2006) Asconius: Commentaries on Speeches of Cicero, Oxford. Linderski J. (1995) “A Missing Ponticus”, American Journal of Ancient History 12, 1987 [1995]: 148–166. Lintott, A. (1968) Violence in Republican Rome, Oxford. Łoposzko, T. (1979) “La famine à Rome en 57 avant J.-C.”, Quaderni di Storia 10: 101–121. McGushin, P. (1992/1994) Sallust: The Histories, 2 vols., Oxford. Meier, C. (1962) “Pompeiusʼ Rückkehr aus dem mithridatischen Kriege und die Catilinarische Verschwörung”, Athenaeum 50: 103–125. Mommsen, Th. (1887) Römisches Staatsrecht, vol. 2, Leipzig. Morstein-Marx, R. (2004) Mass Oratory and Political Power in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Mouritsen, H. (2001) Plebs and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Rauh, N. K. (2011) “Prostitutes, Pimps, and Political Conspiracies during the Late Roman Republic”, in Greek Prostitutes in the Ancient Mediterranean, 800 BCE – 200 CE, eds. A. Glazebrook and M. M. Henry: 197–221. Madison/Wis. Reduzzi Merola, F. (2001) Iudicium de iure legum. Senato e legge nella tarda repubblica, Naples. Rodgers, B. S. (2008) “Catulusʼ Speech in Cassius Dio 36,31–36”, Greeks, Roman, and Byzantine Studies 48: 295–318. Rosillo-López, C. (2010) La corruption à la fin de la République romaine (IIe–Ier s. av. J.-C.): Aspects politiques et financiers, Stuttgart. Rosillo-López, C. (2016) “The workings of public opinion in the Late Roman Republic: the case study of corruption”, Klio 98: 203–227. Ruffing, K. (1993) “Ein Fall von politischer Getreidespekulation im Jahr 57 v. Chr. in Rom”, Münstersche Beiträge zur antiken Handelsgeschichte 12: fasc. 1, 75–93. Ryan, F. X. (1994) “The meaning of consularis auctoritas in Cicero”, Mnemosyne 47: 681–685. Schur, W. (1934) Sallust als Historiker, Stuttgart. Seager, R. (2002) Pompey the Great. A Political Biography, 2nd ed., London. Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1971) Cicero, London. Siani-Davies, M. (1997) “Ptolemy XII Auletes and the Romans”, Historia 46: 306–340. Sigonio, C. (1574) De antiquo iure populi Romano libri XI, Bologna. Tröster, M. (2008) Themes, Character, and Politics in Plutarch’s Life of Lucullus. The Construction of a Roman Aristocrat, Stuttgart. Vanderbroeck, P. J. J. (1987) Popular Leadership and Collective Behaviour in the Late Roman Republic (ca. 80–50 B. C.), Amsterdam. Vervaet, F. J. (2006) “The Scope of the Lex Sempronia concerning the assignment of the consular provinces (123 BCE)”, Athenaeum 94: 625–654. Vervaet, F. J. (2009) “Pompeiusʼ Career from 79 to 70 BCE: Constitutional, Political and Historical Considerations”, Klio 91: 406–434. Vervaet, F. J. (2010) “Arrogating despotic power through deceit: the Pompeian model for Augustan dissimulation”, in Private and public lies. The discourse of despotism and deceit in the GraecoRoman world, eds. A. J. Turner, J. H. Kim On Chong-Gossard and F. J. Vervaet: 133–166. Leiden-Boston. Virlouvet, C. (1985) Famines et émeutes à Rome des origines de la République à la mort de Néron, Rome.

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Williams, R. S. (1984) “The Appointment of Glabrio (cos. 67) to the Eastern Command”, Phoenix 38: 221–234. Yakobson, A. (2010) “Traditional Political Culture and the People’s Role in the Roman Republic”, Historia 59: 282–302.

“WHO WANTS TO GO TO ALEXANDRIA?” POMPEY, PTOLEMY, AND PUBLIC OPINION, 57–56 BC Kit Morrell One of the most contested questions in Roman politics in late 57 and early 56 BC was whether – and by whom – Ptolemy XII “Auletes” should be restored to the Egyptian throne. Some wanted the king restored by Lentulus Spinther, the proconsul of Cilicia, as decreed by the senate in 57, while some sought to transfer the task to Pompey and others felt that Ptolemy should not be restored at all. The debate was carried out not only in the senate but in rumours, pamphlets, and public meetings, including orchestrated heckling by P. Clodius and his gang and the exposure, by the tribune C. Cato, of a Sibylline oracle warning against assisting Ptolemy with military force. Cicero’s letters, and much modern scholarship, focus primarily on the political question: whether Pompey or Lentulus should restore the king. But the sources also reveal considerable ill-will towards Ptolemy, who had bribed Roman senators and arranged the murder of the Alexandrian ambassadors who opposed his restoration. Neither should we underestimate the weight of the Sibylline prophecy, even if Cicero considered it a sham. In short, the so-called “Egyptian question” was not just a political question or a “Pompey question” but a religious issue and a foreign policy matter with a strong moral element. This paper examines the role of public opinion in this complex and contested episode. First, I show how displays of negative public opinion in the assembly and in the senate prompted Pompey to abandon any hope of an Egyptian command. Secondly, I consider the impact of widespread invidia and the discovery of the Sibylline oracle on Ptolemy’s hopes of restoration, and the extent of division these issues produced, both inside and outside the senate. Thirdly, I argue that C. Cato’s actions in publicising the oracle were intended, in part, as a critique of Ptolemy, and offer a chronological reconstruction which suggests that the move to transfer the Egyptian command to Pompey was prompted by the discovery of the oracle, rather than vice versa. This reconstruction not only casts doubt on conventional political analyses of this period, but also highlights the power of state religion to affect major policy questions. Finally, I consider the ramifications for A. Gabinius of restoring the king in defiance of the senate and the Sibyl, which reveal continuing public concern with the religious and foreign policy aspects of the “Egyptian question”. In sum, this analysis sheds light both on the nature and content of public opinion in Rome in the 50s BC, and on the capacity of public opinion in various forms to affect political action.

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I I begin at the end, in effect, with the events of 7–9 February 56, when Pompey suffered a fall from grace in the eyes of the Roman people in connection with the ongoing debate over the restoration of Ptolemy Auletes.1 A well-known letter of Cicero’s (QFr. 2.3.2 SB 7) describes Pompey’s appearance at the trial of T. Annius Milo on 7 February. This was a iudicium populi brought by Clodius in respect of Milo’s conduct as tribune in 572 – so, nothing to do with Ptolemy, yet the episode makes clear that the Egyptian question, and Pompey’s ambitions, were at the forefront of public opinion. Cicero relates that Pompey spoke for Milo, so far as he could, over the booing and shouting of Clodius’ mob. Next it was Clodius’ turn, and Milo’s supporters returned the favour. But the coup de grâce belonged to Clodius, who had orchestrated a round of call-and-response at Pompey’s expense: ille furens et exsanguis interrogabat suos in clamore ipso quis esset qui plebem fame necaret: respondebant operae “Pompeius”. quis Alexandriam ire cuperet: respondebant “Pompeius”. quem ire vellent: respondebant “Crassum” (is aderat tum Miloni, animo non amico). (Cic. QFr. 2.3.2 SB 7)3 White with rage, the man [Clodius] began to question his supporters in the middle of the shouting: “Who’s killing the plebs by starvation?” The mob replied: “Pompey.” “Who wants to go to Alexandria?” They replied: “Pompey.” “Whom do you want to go?” They replied: “Crassus” (who was then present for Milo, though not in a friendly spirit).

After that, the Clodians started spitting and a fight broke out between the two sides. When the senate convened that afternoon to discuss the incident, the absent Pompey was assailed by M. Bibulus, C. Curio, M. Favonius, and the younger P. Servilius Isauricus (QFr. 2.3.2 SB 7). In the following days a senatus consultum was passed declaring the events of 7 February contra rem publicam and Pompey in particular was criticised.4 Cicero likened the tribune C. Cato’s attack on Pompey in the senate to a prosecution speech in a criminal trial, and Pompey afterwards claimed that Cato, Clodius, and his other enemies were plotting against his life (QFr. 2.3.3 SB 7). More or less immediately following these events, Pompey renounced any hope of an Egyptian command. Cicero wrote to P. Lentulus Spinther shortly after 9 February: 1

2 3 4

Versions of this paper were presented in Seville and at the Australasian Society for Classical Studies conference in Wellington in February 2017. I am grateful to all those who participated in discussion on each occasion. Particular thanks go to Josiah Osgood and Roger Pitcher for commenting on written versions, and to Cristina Rosillo-López for her helpful comments and the opportunity to be part of this project. All translations are my own. For the background, see e. g. Shatzman 1971; Wiseman 1985: 54–62; Siani-Davies 2001: 1–38. Alexander 1990: no. 266. The episode made enough of a splash to be recorded also in Cass. Dio (39.19.1–2) and Plutarch (Pomp. 48.7) and echoed in contemporary poetry (C. Licinius Calvus ap. Sen. Contr. 3.19); see below. Tatum 1999: 203 argues that the contra rem publicam decree “was tantamount to a vote of censure against Pompey”; Gruen 1974: 299 and Bonnefond-Coudry 1989: 636 that it was directed at Clodius. It seems likely to me that the SC was presented as censuring both sides.

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Postea quam Pompeius et apud populum a. d. VII Id. Febr., cum pro Milone diceret, clamore convicioque iactus est in senatuque a Catone aspere et acerbe inimum magno silentio est accusatus, visus est mihi vehementer esse perturbatus. itaque Alexandrina causa … videtur ab illo plane esse deposita. (Cic. Fam. 1.5b.1 SB 16) Pompey seemed to me to be greatly disturbed after he was jostled with shouting and abuse in front of the people on 7 February when he spoke for Milo, and in the senate when he was attacked excessively roughly and bitterly by Cato, amid profound silence from his opponents. Thus it seems he has entirely given up the Alexandrian business …

By the end of March, the tribune L. Caninius’ plan to send Pompey to Egypt had gone cold (Cic. QFr. 2.5.3 SB 9), whereas his bill had seemed certain to pass as late as 5 February.5 Cicero goes on to explain that Pompey had fallen out of favour with both the mob and the good men,6 and this combination seems to have been decisive: where previously Cicero had expected Pompey to snare the Egyptian command despite opposition in the senate, after the scene at Milo’s trial, Pompey ruled himself out altogether. Thus what we see here is a fairly clear-cut case where public opinion (and, on 7 February, the “stage-management” of public opinion) had direct political consequences.7 This episode also affords an insight into the complex ecology of public opinion,8 which meant that the ongoing controversy over Ptolemy’s restoration bled over into other matters, including Milo’s trial,9 the administration of Pompey’s grain command,10 and later the trial of Sex. Cloelius.11 At the same time, Pompey’s alleged desire to go to Alexandria was only one point on which he was assailed by Clodius and others. Besides Egypt and the grain supply, Plutarch (Pomp. 48.7) 5 6

7 8 9

10 11

Cic. Fam. 1.5a.3 SB 15 (c. 5 February); cf. QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6 (17 January). By mid-year Caninius’ bill was certainly off the table: Fam. 1.7.3 SB 18. Cic. QFr. 2.5.3 SB 9 (end of March 56): nam quod de Pompeio Caninius agit sane quam refrixit. neque enim res probatur et Pompeius noster in amicitia P. Lentuli vituperatur. et hercule non est idem; nam apud perditissimam illam atque infimam faecem populi propter Milonem suboffendit et boni multa ab eo desiderant, multa reprehendunt. (“Now, what Caninius is doing about Pompey has gone quite cold. For the matter is not approved, and our friend Pompey is criticized on account of his friendship with P. Lentulus. He [Pompey] is certainly not the man he was; for he has given some offence to the most debased and lowly dregs of the people on account of Milo, and the good men find much wanting in him and much to censure”.) Cf. Tatum 1999: 201: “The question of Pompey’s role in the restoration of Ptolemy Auletes would be decided not in senatorial debate, however, but in popular demonstrations”. On Clodius’ manipulation of rumour, see Laurence 1994: 68–72. Cf. Millar 1998: 161. Cf. Cass. Dio 39.18.2, who states that Clodius brought proceedings not because he expected to secure a conviction but in order to attack Milo’s supporters, Cicero and Pompey. Dio proceeds to give a version of the question-and-answer session (39.19.1–2), the effect of which, he says, was that Pompey “was being convicted without defending himself” (μηδ’ ἀπολογούμενον ἁλίσκεσθαι). Qui plebem fame necaret (Cic. QFr. 2.3.2 SB 7) refers to Pompey’s grain commissionership. Pompey evidently had encountered difficulties in procuring grain (cf. Cass. Dio 39.24.1–3; Tatum 1999: 211). Cic. QFr. 2.5.4 SB 9 (end of March 56) attributes the acquittal of Cloelius (an associate of Clodius) in part to Pompey’s unpopularity (offensio). On the trial, see Alexander 1990: no. 273.

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reports that Clodius’ mob attacked Pompey for licentiousness and effeminacy,12 taunts paralleled in an epigram by the contemporary poet C. Licinius Calvus.13 The events of 7 February made a splash in more ways than one. II Cicero’s letters from early 56 give the impression that the “Egyptian question” was very much a “Pompey question”, and that is how it is often treated in modern scholarship. However, tracing how the debate unfolded in 57 reveals other issues at play, and other instances of public opinion in action, before any proposal was made for sending Pompey to Alexandria. In 59 BC Ptolemy XII “Auletes” was recognised as “friend and ally” of the Roman people, thanks to the consul Caesar and (reportedly) a bribe of 6,000 talents, part of which was borrowed from Roman financiers.14 Just a year later, however, Ptolemy was expelled from his kingdom, partly on account of the additional taxation necessary to raise the money he owed, and partly because he had failed to prevent the annexation of his brother’s kingdom of Cyprus as a Roman province (Cass. Dio 39.12). Ptolemy travelled to Rome, where he petitioned the senate to restore him to his throne. Besides his claim as friend and ally,15 the king had Pompey’s support,16 and may have used further bribery to solicit the support of other senators.17 In the meantime, the Alexandrians sent an embassy of 100 men to Rome to oppose Ptolemy’s request (Cass. Dio 39.13.1). Public opinion in Alexandria was clear enough: they had expelled their king and did not want him back.18 Unfortunately for them, however, Ptolemy got word of the embassy and had most of the ambassadors murdered even before they reached Rome.19 He then did his best to hush-up the matter with threats and yet more money (Cass. Dio 39.13.2–14.1). 12 13 14 15 16

17

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Plut. Pomp. 48.7: `Τίς ἐστιν αὐτοκράτωρ ἀκόλαστος; τίς ἀνὴρ ἄνδρα ζητεῖ; τίς ἑνὶ δακτύλῳ κνᾶται τὴν κεφαλήν; (“Who is a licentious general? What man desires a man? Who scratches his head with one finger?”). Cf. Plut. mor. 89e. Ap. Sen. Contr. 3.19; see e. g. Skinner 2003: 111. See e. g. Shatzman 1971: 364–5 and Westall 2010: esp. 26–8, with references. Cic. Rab. Post. 6 refers to a foedus signed on the Capitol; Caes. BC 3.107 to a lex and SC. Cf. Wiseman 1985: 59. Pompey accommodated Ptolemy in his Alban villa and rendered him assistance (Cass. Dio 39.14.3; Cic. Rab. Post. 6), which included recommending his cause to the senate (Strab. 17.1.11). Strabo also makes Pompey responsible for the murder of the ambassadors, but the allegation seems likely to represent a hostile rumour (cf. Plut. Pomp. 49.7; Gruen 1974: 307–8; Wiseman 1985: 61). Cass. Dio 39.14.1, 39.15.1; Cic. Rab. Post. 4–7. Dio associates Ptolemy’s bribery particularly with the hush-up of the murders and Cicero dates Rabirius’ second loan, at least, after the task of restoring Ptolemy had been assigned to Lentulus Spinther (Rab. Post. 6), but the broader allegations of bribery possibly included bribery to secure a vote for Ptolemy’s restoration in the first place. In Ptolemy’s absence his daughter Berenice IV was installed on the throne and a consort secured for her (see e. g. Sullivan 1990: 239–43; Hazzard 2000: 147; Siani-Davies 2001: 21–4). Cass. Dio 39.13.2; Strab. 17.1.11; Cic. Cael. esp. 23; Har. resp. 34.

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Despite all this, in 57 the senate assigned the task of restoring Ptolemy to P. Lentulus Spinther, who was due to govern the province of Cilicia.20 But some senators, at least, had reservations about Ptolemy. Sometime in 57, M. Favonius called for an inquiry into the murder of the ambassadors and bribe-taking by senators.21 Favonius got his way, initially, which tells us something about the mood within the senate generally, even if some of its members had been corrupted. Accordingly, the embassy leader Dio was called before the house – but Ptolemy saw to it that he did not appear, and later had him murdered as well.22 Cassius Dio (39.14.3) remarks that Ptolemy suffered no punishment for these actions, largely due to Pompey’s influence.23 But there were consequences. It was probably around this time that Ptolemy found it prudent to move away from the city.24 Moreover, Ptolemy saw the whole question of his restoration blown open again at the beginning of 56, after a thunderbolt struck the statue of Jupiter on the Alban Mount.25 The Sibylline books were consulted and a verse discovered which read, “Should the king of Egypt come, in need of any aid, do not deny him friendship, nor yet assist him with any great number; otherwise you will have both toils and dangers.”26 The oracle was publicized by the tribune C. Cato, and the effect was Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12; Pis. 50; Cass. Dio 39.12.3. See below on the date of the decree (probably around September); it is not clear whether this was before or after the murders, but the latter seems more likely. 21 Cass. Dio 39.14.1. Again, we cannot be certain whether this took place before or after the senate voted to restore Ptolemy. On the bribery, cf. n. 17. The issue was raised again at Rabirius’ trial in 54 (Cic. Rab. Post. 6). 22 Cass. Dio 39.14.2–3; cf. Cic. Cael. 23. 23 Cf. Cic. Cael. 23. Others were prosecuted in connection with the murders. According to Cass. Dio 39.14.4, many Alexandrians were convicted. In 56 Cicero successfully defended P. Asicius and M. Caelius Rufus (Alexander 1990: nos 267 and 275). 24 Cass. Dio 39.14.2–3 indicates that Ptolemy left Rome after the first murders but before the murder of Dio. Cf. n. 88, below. Note that Ptolemy resided in Pompey’s Alban villa for at least part of his time in Italy: Cic. Rab. Post. 6. Either Dio does not distinguish between Alba and Rome (cf. 39.13.2) or Ptolemy stayed at one of Pompey’s other houses before removing to Alba. Indeed, Fenestella’s description of Ptolemy’s departure ex urbe (FRH no. 70, F2, quoted below) should mean that he had been within the city of Rome itself (i. e. within the walls, or at any rate within the first milestone: see e. g. Dig. 50.16.87; Gai. Inst. 4.104–5; Gargola 2017: esp. 131–2, 195). 25 Cass. Dio 39.15.1: οἱ μὲν οὖν ἄνθρωποι τοιαῦτα ὑπὸ τῶν χρημάτων ἐποίουν, τὸ δὲ δὴ θεῖον κεραυνῷ κατ' ἀρχὰς εὐθὺς τοῦ ἐχομένου ἔτους τὸ ἄγαλμα τοῦ Διὸς τοῦ ἐν τῷ Ἀλβανῷ ἱδρυμένου βαλὸν τὴν κάθοδον τοῦ Πτολεμαίου χρόνον τινὰ ἐπέσχε. (“So, while men were acting thus under the influence of money, at the very beginning of the next year the divinity struck with a thunderbolt the statue of Jupiter erected on the Alban Mount and held up Ptolemy’s return for a time”.) Dio’s account seems to present the prodigy as divine judgement on the behaviour of Ptolemy and the corrupt senators (cf. Santangelo 2013: 145). 26 Cass. Dio 39.15.2: `ἂν ὁ τῆς Αἰγύπτου βασιλεὺς βοηθείας τινὸς δεόμενος ἔλθῃ, τὴν μὲν φιλίαν οἱ μὴ ἀπαρνήσασθαι, μὴ μέντοι καὶ πλήθει τινὶ ἐπικουρήσητε· εἰ δὲ μή, καὶ πόνους καὶ κινδύνους ἕξετε. Cf. Cic. QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6; Fam. 1.7.4 SB 18 (cum multitudine). I suspect Dio’s text is a re-translation into Greek of the Latin translation that was made public (Cass. Dio 39.16.1). The oracle and its significance within Dio’s history is discussed further in a forthcoming paper by Josiah Osgood, “Dio and the Voice of the Sibyl” (I am grateful to the author for allowing me to read an early version). Presumably, following the report of the prodigy, the senate directed the 20

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to comprehensively rule out the use of an army to restore the king.27 Within two weeks or so, the senate had passed a decree to that effect.28 Lentulus’ commission was not cancelled (Cic. Fam. 1.5b.1 SB 16, 1.7.4 SB 18), but a number of alternatives were proposed which serve to illustrate the depth of division this issue created, not just within the senate but even between optimates such as Q. Hortensius and M. Bibulus.29 Lentulus’ friends in the senate – Hortensius, Cicero, and M. Lucullus – proposed that he should restore the king, but without using his army. Crassus proposed that the task should go to a commission of three, potentially including Pompey, since he did not exclude imperium-holders;30 Bibulus proposed a commission of three privati. All other consulars concurred with Bibulus, except for L. Volcacius Tullus and L. Afranius, who moved that Pompey should have the command as proposed by the tribune P. Rutilius Lupus, and the elder P. Servilius Isauricus, who moved that Ptolemy should not be restored at all. In addition, there was Caninius’ bill, which would have sent Pompey to Egypt as mediator, with two lictors and no army (although cum imperio).31 Rutilius Lupus had brought his motion before the senate (Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12, 1.2.2 SB 13) while Caninius seems to have gone directly to the people; otherwise it is not clear if or how Caninius’ proposal differed from Lupus’. Certainly Lupus cannot have proposed an army for Pompey, as it is clear that Volcacius’ motion endorsing Lupus’, like the other proposals, accepted the religious impediment (Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12). Possibly the two tribunes were competing to give the task to Pompey.32

quindecemviri to consult the Sibylline books, in accordance with normal procedure (for which see e. g. Cic. Div. 2.112; Liv. 22.9.8; Szemler 1972: 27; Linderski 1993: 58). Lightning prodigies were more usually referred to the haruspices, but we do have other examples where the Sibylline books were invoked (Liv. 26.62.4–6, 40.45.1–5; Orlin 1997: 96 n. 73). 27 Even before the senate’s decree to that effect: Cic. Fam. 1.1.1–3 SB 12 (13 January 56). Cicero states (§ 2) that the consul Cn. Lentulus Marcellinus had already brought the matter of the oracle before the senate many times (saepe) prior to 13 January. 28 Cass. Dio 39.15.1 dates the thunderbolt to the very beginning of 56. On 14 January the senate voted that Ptolemy should not be restored with an army (Cic. Fam. 1.2.1 SB 13; cf. QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6). See below, however, for the possibility that the oracle was discovered in December 57. 29 The various proposals before the senate are set out in Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12. Brunt 1988: 486 suggests that such complexity was probably not unique. On procedural aspects of this debate, see Bonnefond-Coudry 1989: 531–4, 549–50. 30 Pompey held proconsular imperium as grain commissioner (sources in MRR 2.203). 31 Plut. Pomp. 49.6; cf. Cic. QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6, 2.5.3 SB 9; Fam. 1.7.3 SB 18; Cass. Dio 39.16.1. The provision of two lictors is probably best understood as the standard equipage of an ambassador (see Cass. Dio 54.10.1 for the example of envoys sent to Augustus in 19 BC with two lictors each; as governor of Cilicia, Cicero granted lictors to senators travelling in his province: Cic. Fam. 12.21 SB 429). Presumably, however, Pompey already had lictors by virtue of his imperium as grain commissioner; Caninius’ bill therefore presents a curious situation, in that it seems to have treated Pompey as if he were a private citizen. 32 Compare Cic. QFr. 3.6.4 SB 26 (November 54) for competition between two tribunes-elect to make Pompey dictator. Geiger 1972: 133 suggests that Caninius was working for Ptolemy; although he goes too far in pronouncing Caninius “not a Pompeian”, the suggestion that Ptolemy was appealing directly to Pompey’s friends is plausible.

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Ptolemy’s preference was that he should be restored by Pompey,33 an opinion he made known through pamphlets distributed in the forum and a letter read publicly by the tribune A. Plautius.34 This is interesting for present purposes, because it amounts to a direct attempt by a foreign king to influence the Roman people in his own interests, in addition to determined lobbying (and yet more largesse) by Ptolemy’s agents and creditors, most of which was presumably directed at senators.35 As for Pompey’s own intentions, Cicero seems to have been genuinely unsure, even after private conversations.36 Publicly, Pompey supported Lentulus (Cic. Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12), but the actions of Pompey’s friends told a different story. On 13 January Cicero wrote to Lentulus that support for Volcacius from Afranius and other friends of Pompey “increases suspicion as to Pompey’s wishes”,37 and that: “The open activity and struggle of Libo and Hypsaeus and the zeal of all Pompey’s friends have led to the opinion that Pompey seems to desire the assignment.”38 But it was Caninius’ bill that Cicero considered most suspect. Later he referred to “that most suspicious Caninian episode”.39 In any case, Cicero believed Pompey would get the commission – as apparently did most people. On 17 January Cicero expected Caninius to pass his bill per vim (QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6). Around 5 February he told Lentulus he did not wish to see the task of restoring the king “transferred to the person to whom it is thought to have been virtually transferred already”.40 Just a few days later, any prospect of an Egyptian commission for Pompey came crashing down, as we have seen. But still

33 34 35 36

37

38 39 40

Cic. Fam. 1.1.1, 4 SB 12, 1.5b.2 SB 16; Plut. Pomp. 49.6; Cass. Dio 39.16.2. Pamphlets: Plut. Pomp. 49.6; cf. Rosillo-López 2017: 114. Letter: Cass. Dio 39.16.2. Cic. Fam. 1.1.1, 4 SB 12, 1.2.3 SB 13; QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6. On 14 January Cicero dined with Pompey (Cic. Fam. 1.2.3 SB 13). The next day he told Lentulus, “When I listen to the man himself, I entirely acquit him of all suspicion of covetousness; but when I look at his friends of all orders, I perceive what is now clear to everyone, that the whole matter has now been corrupted for a long while by certain individuals, not against the will of the king himself and his advisers” (quem ego ipsum cum audio, prorsus eum libero omni suspicione cupiditatis; cum autem eius familiaris omnium ordinum video, perspicio, id quod iam omnibus est apertum, totam rem istam iam pridem a certis hominibus non invito rege ipso consiliariisque eius esse corruptam). Writing to Quintus on 17 January (QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6), Cicero seems less certain: “What Pompey wants in this matter I cannot discern, but everyone sees what his friends desire” (in ea re Pompeius quid velit non dispicio; familiares eius quid cupiant omnes vident). Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12. After stating that Afranius supported Volcacius, Cicero goes on, quae res auget suspicionem Pompei voluntatis; nam advertebatur Pompei familiaris adsentiri Volcacio (“That circumstance increases suspicion as to Pompey’s wishes, for it was noted that Pompey’s friends supported Volcacius”). It seems possible that Volcacius himself (not otherwise attested as a supporter of Pompey) was acting not for Pompey but for Ptolemy (cf. n. 32 on Caninius). Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 6: Libonis et Hypsaei non obscura concursatio et contentio omniumque Pompei familiarium studium in eam opinionem rem adduxerunt ut Pompeius cupere videatur. Cf. Fam. 1.2.3 SB 13; QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6. Cic. Fam. 1.7.3 SB 18: ipso suspiciosissimo tempore Caniniano. Plutarch (Pomp. 49.6) says that Pompey “seemed not displeased with [Caninius’] bill” (ἐδόκει τῷ νόμῳ μὴ δυσχεραίνειν). Cic. Fam. 1.5a.3 SB 15: ad eum deferri ad quem prope iam delata existimatur.

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there was no clear resolution. At some point before mid-year the senate voted that Ptolemy should not be restored by anyone at all, which is what the elder Servilius had proposed in January.41 Cicero (Fam. 1.7.4 SB 18) ascribes the decree to “the zealousness of angry men” (iratorum hominum studium) rather than the considered policy of the senate, but, given that he is encouraging Lentulus to ignore the decree and restore the king anyway (§§ 4–6), we should not exclude that the senate wished to wash its hands of Ptolemy. At any rate, the decree was vetoed (§ 4), and ultimately A. Gabinius restored the king to his throne, without authorisation but with encouragement from Pompey and Ptolemy.42 Something that is immediately striking in the sources for these events is the number of references to public opinion, belief, and rumour, often of a negative kind: the malevolentia and invidia aroused by the royal handouts (Cic. Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12) and the whole affair (§ 4); the opinio that Pompey wanted the task of restoring the king (Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12, 1.7.3 SB 18); the suspicio that to support Lentulus was to oblige Pompey (1.1.4 SB 12); “the belief of the Roman people” that the oracle was a pretext (1.4.1 SB 14: opinio … populi Romani). Similarly, Dio comments on the notoriety of Ptolemy’s murders,43 and Fenestella on the popularity of C. Cato’s attacks against Ptolemy and Lentulus.44 Furthermore, while Cicero’s comments often refer to senators, we are in fact dealing with a number of “publics”, from the consulars down to the mob in the forum, with various diverging or intersecting viewpoints. To take just the senate, for instance, the tribunes Caninius and Cato were opposed over Pompey yet united against Lentulus Spinther.45 The consul Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus made known that he would support Spinther in all matters except for the restoration of 41 42

43 44 45

Cic. Fam. 1.7.4 SB 18 (written in late June or July 56): ut ne quis omnino regem reduceret. Servilius’ motion: Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12. Sources in MRR 2.218. Gabinius (cos. 58) was proconsul of Syria. He had been preparing for a Parthian campaign when he instead led his army into Egypt, probably in summer 56 (see e. g. Siani-Davies 2001: 25–32). According to Dio (39.55.3, 39.56.3), Pompey had written to Gabinius instructing him to restore Ptolemy. This is entirely credible, in view of Pompey and Cicero’s joint advice to Lentulus (Cic. Fam. 1.7.4–7 SB 18). Gabinius’ actions, in defiance of the senate and the Sibyl’s warning, saw him tried for maiestas and repetundae and convicted on the latter charge (see Alexander 1990: nos 296, 303 and below). Gabinius himself claimed to have been acting rei publicae causa (Cic. Rab. Post. 20; cf. Williams 1985). Cass. Dio 39.14.1: καίτοι τὸ πρᾶγμα οὕτω περιβόητον ἐγένετο ὥστε καὶ τὴν βουλὴν ἀγανακτῆσαι δεινῶς … (“However, the affair became so notorious that even the senate was extremely displeased …”) Fenestella (FRH no. 70) F2, quoted below. Caninius’ bill would have transferred the Egyptian assignment from Lentulus to Pompey, while Cato proposed to abrogate Lentulus’ command altogether (QFr. 2.3.1 SB 7; Fam. 1.5a.2 SB 15) and also attacked Pompey (QFr. 2.3.3–4 SB 7; Fam. 1.5b.1 SB 16). Cf. Shackleton Bailey 1977: 297. Possibly Cato positioned himself as opposing any restoration (see below on the Sibylline oracle and Cato’s attacks on Ptolemy), though Pompey, at least, thought that Cato (and Clodius) were acting in Crassus’ interests (QFr. 2.3.3–4 SB 7). Note that Crassus’ name came up on 7 February as a contender for the Alexandrian mission (QFr. 2.3.2 SB 7). He had shown interest in annexation in the 60s: Schol. Bob. 92St; Plut. Crass. 13.1; cf. Cic. Leg. agr. 2.44.

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Ptolemy (Cic. Fam. 1.1.2 SB 12). Pompey himself was widely thought to be aiming at the command himself while claiming to support Lentulus.46 Meanwhile Pompey and Crassus were at odds, to the point that Pompey accused Crassus of conspiring to assassinate him (QFr. 2.3.3–4 SB 7), and Ptolemy’s creditors were also divided, some barracking for Lentulus, others for Pompey – and their influence, behind the scenes, should not be underestimated.47 Finally, it seems the people were also divided, so that, even as Caninius’ bill seemed certain to pass (QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6), Clodius’ mob pilloried Pompey and proclaimed their preference for Crassus.48 The one point on which all parties could agree, however grudgingly, was the religious impediment to the use of an army. This was despite the fact that both the senate and the populus Romanus considered it a fraud, or so Cicero says.49 Cicero himself referred to it as religionis calumnia (Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12); however, we should not be too quick to assume that Cicero’s scepticism extended to all Romans, or even all senators.50 In any case, it shows the power of religion in Roman public life that a few words from the Sibyl could effectively wipe out the prospect of (authorised) military intervention in Egypt.51 It also says something about the 46 47

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Cic. Fam. 1.1.2 SB 12, 1.2.3 SB 13, 1.7.3 SB 18; QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6. Cicero refers to the king’s agents and creditors working against Lentulus with money (Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12; QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6). Not all the creditors had the same agenda, however. Q. Selicius, a known money-lender (Shackleton Bailey 1965: 298), supported Lentulus (Fam. 1.5a.3 SB 15), and around July Cicero advised Lentulus to assist Ptolemy, “if the king discharges his promises to your friends who lent him money throughout your province and imperium” (Fam. 1.7.5 SB 18: si rex amicis tuis, qui per provinciam atque imperium tuum pecunias ei credidissent, fidem suam praestitisset). Shatzman (1971: 367–8) likewise distinguishes two groups of lenders, one linked with Pompey (including C. Rabirius Postumus, who had lent money to Ptolemy in 59 and again after his expulsion: Cic. Rab. Post. 4) and the other with Lentulus; in his view, the prior group did not trust Lentulus. Yet Rabirius was content to rely on Lentulus, initially at least (Cic. Rab. Post. 21; cf. 6), and Lentulus’ friends were prepared to put up money in the expectation that he would restore the king. Therefore, the fact that many creditors were lobbying against Lentulus in 56 seems to point to some change in circumstances, and perhaps the likeliest explanation is the discovery of the Sibylline oracle. Once the use of armed force was ruled out, Pompey must have seemed a safer prospect (see below); possibly the group Cicero describes as Lentulus’ friends continued to support him because they expected to rely on his influence in recovering their money from the heavily indebted king (Cic. Fam. 1.7.5 SB 18 might imply as much). As it happened, some creditors struggled to collect what they were owed (Fam. 7.17.2 SB 31), while Rabirius looked after his interests (and his friends’) by having himself appointed treasurer in Alexandria (Cic. Rab. Post. 25, 28, etc.); cf. Shatzman 1971: 268; Siani-Davies 2001: 32–3. Cic. QFr. 2.32. SB 7. Crassus’ own motion (Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12) had already fallen out of contention (it was not among the three put to the house on 14 January: Fam. 1.2.1 SB 13). Possibly the call for Crassus represented a call for a different policy – perhaps even annexation, despite the role of the people and Crassus’ friends in blocking the use of an army to restore the king. Cic. Leg. agr. 2.41–4 suggests popular support for annexation in the 60s. Fictae religionis: Cic. Fam. 1.4.2 SB 14 (to Lentulus), quoted below. Osgood (forthcoming) emphasises that Cassius Dio treats the oracle as authentic, and attests popular acceptance of it. Cf. Mazurek 2004: 162. The authority accorded to the Sibylline books in particular is reflected in their storage on the Capitoline and their description as the libri fatales (Santangelo 2013: 129, 143).

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power of public opinion. Dio’s account indicates that it was not the discovery of the Sibylline prophecy but Cato’s actions in making it public that served to rule out the use of an army: κἀκ τούτου τὴν συντυχίαν τῶν ἐπῶν πρὸς τὰ τότε γενόμενα θαυμάσαντες ἀπεψηφίσαντο πάντα τὰ περὶ αὐτοῦ ἐγνωσμένα, Γαΐῳ Κάτωνι πεισθέντες δημάρχῳ. ταῦτα δὲ ἐχρήσθη μὲν οὕτως, ἐδημοσιεύθη δέ (οὐ γὰρ ἐξῆν οὐδὲν τῶν Σιβυλλείων, εἰ μὴ ἡ βουλὴ ψηφίσαιτο, ἐς τὸ πλῆθος ἐξαγγέλλεσθαι) διὰ τοῦ Κάτωνος. (4) ἐπειδὴ γὰρ τάχιστα ὁ νοῦς τῶν ἐπῶν διεθρυλήθη, ὥσπερ εἴωθε γίγνεσθαι, ἔδεισε μὴ συγκρυφθείη, καὶ ἔς τε τὸν ὅμιλον τοὺς ἱερέας ἐσήγαγε, κἀνταῦθα, πρὶν ὁτιοῦν τὴν γερουσίαν ἐπ’ αὐτοῖς χρηματίσαι, ἐξεβιάσατό σφας ἐκλαλῆσαι τὸ λόγιον· ὅσῳ γάρ τοι μᾶλλον οὐκ ἐδόκει σφίσιν ἐξεῖναι τοῦτο, … τὸ πλῆθος ἔσχε. [16] καὶ ἐκεῖνο μὲν ἔσχεν οὕτως, ἐς τὴν τῶν Λατίνων γλῶσσαν γραφὲν ἀνεκηρύχθη· γνώμας δὲ αὐτῶν μετὰ τοῦτο ποιουμένων, καὶ τῶν μὲν ἄνευ στρατοῦ τῷ Σπινθῆρι τὴν τοῦ Πτολεμαίου κάθοδον προσταττόντων, τῶν δὲ δὴ καὶ τὸν Πομπήιον μετὰ (2) ῥαβδούχων δύο καταγαγεῖν αὐτὸν κελευόντων (ὅ τε γὰρ Πτολεμαῖος μαθὼν τὸ χρησθὲν ἠξίωσε τούτου τυχεῖν, καὶ τὰ γράμματα αὐτοῦ Αὖλος Πλαύτιος ἐς τὸ κοινὸν δημαρχῶν ἀνέγνω), δείσαντες οἱ βουλευταὶ μὴ μείζων ἔθ’ ὁ Πομπήιος καὶ ἀπ’ ἐκείνου γένηται, ἀντέπραξαν αὐτῷ τῇ τοῦ σίτου προφάσει χρησάμενοι. (Cass. Dio 39.15.3–16.2) After this, amazed at the coincidence between the words and current events, they retracted everything that had been done about the king, having been persuaded by the tribune C. Cato. For this was what the oracle proclaimed, and it was made public by Cato, for it was not permitted to announce to the people any of the Sibylline verses unless the senate so voted. For after the sense of the words quickly came to be talked about, as usually happens, he feared that it would be covered up, and brought the priests before the people and there, before the senate had deliberated on the matter, forced them to divulge the oracle. For the more it seemed inappropriate to them to do so, [the more insistent]52 was the crowd. So thus was the oracle, and it was translated into the Latin tongue and proclaimed. When the matter was discussed, some favoured appointing Spinther to restore Ptolemy without an army and some judged that Pompey with two lictors should lead him home, for Ptolemy, having learned what had been proclaimed, wanted this to happen, and a letter of his was read in public by A. Plautius as tribune. But the senators opposed this, fearing that by this means Pompey would become more powerful, and claimed the grain supply as pretext.

That is, everything from ταῦτα δὲ ἐχρήσθη μὲν οὕτως onwards elaborates on the first sentence, so it was the proclamation of the oracle in Latin that forced the senate’s hand and led to fresh proposals for restoring Ptolemy without an army. Notably, Dio specifies that Cato compelled the priests to proclaim the oracle before the people because he feared that it would be suppressed otherwise (much as Ptolemy’s murders had been). Dio also indicates that the oracle was the topic of keen public interest. It quickly came to be talked about, and the priests’ objections to announcing it only made the people more insistent. In other words, Cato seems to have recruited the power of popular opinion to keep the senate accountable and to ensure that proper respect was paid to the Sibyl’s words – roles which the people took on avidly, if Dio may be believed.

52

I have followed Cary’s Loeb translation in supplying a balance to ὅσῳ in 39.15.4.

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III So far I have examined the “Egyptian question” in terms of the mechanics of public opinion and its effect on political action. But the episode also tells us something about the standards that public opinion sought to enforce, and in this case specifically the extent of moral outrage at Rome against the Egyptian king in 57 and 56. The Sibylline oracle can be seen as an expression of this outrage. We know that C. Cato attacked Ptolemy in his own right; moreover, the oracle seems to have been discovered before any attempt was made to transfer the Egyptian command to Pompey (see below). For this reason, I suggest, the prophecy probably should not be explained as an attempt to thwart Pompey’s ambitions, but was more likely prompted by misgivings about Ptolemy and particularly the murder of the Alexandrian ambassadors. Indeed, the oracle seems to form part of a pattern, in the 50s, of the use of state religion to intervene in foreign policy questions. Cicero suggests a political motivation for the “discovery” of the oracle. He wrote to Lentulus around 17 January, haec tamen opinio est populi Romani, a tuis invidis atque obtrectatoribus nomen inductum fictae religionis non tam ut te impediret quam ut ne quis propter exercitus cupiditatem Alexandream vellet ire. (Cic. Fam. 1.4.2 SB 14)53 This, however, is the belief of the Roman people: that the religious fiction was introduced by your enemies and critics not so much to hinder you, but so that no one should want to go to Alexandria out of desire for an army to command.

Politics was certainly a factor. C. Cato was personally hostile to Lentulus, and in early February proposed a bill that would have entirely abrogated Lentulus’ imperium, whatever happened to Ptolemy.54 Meanwhile Pompey’s opponents were using the oracle to prevent him (or Lentulus)55 from leading an army into Egypt, and much modern scholarship holds that it was trumped up for that purpose.56 But 53

I have translated Shackleton Bailey’s supplement (cf. Shackleton Bailey 1977: 300); however, I am not certain it is necessary, in view of C. Cato’s hostility to both Lentulus and Ptolemy (see below). Cicero could certainly portray a move against restoring the king as inimical to Lentulus. Incidentally, if Shackleton Bailey’s emendation is correct, the passage is evidence that the original intention behind the oracle was not to obstruct Pompey (see further below). But the vulgate need not point to Pompey either, if the intention behind the oracle was to obstruct any restoration. 54 Cic. QFr. 2.3.1 SB 7; Fam. 1.5a.2 SB 15; cf. Rotondi 1912: 403–4. It is possible Cato had already moved to deprive Lentulus of the Egyptian command specifically. Laturos in Fam. 1.4.1 SB 14 indicates that he (like Caninius) had promulgated a bill in December 57 (see Shackleton Bailey 1977: 299), though nothing more is known of it. Cf. Reid 1901: 292, who thinks of a bill along the lines of Servilius’ motion (that Ptolemy should not be restored). Dio (39.55.1; cf. 39.15.3, 39.56.4) refers to a popular vote against restoring Ptolemy, but it seems clear from Cicero that no law was passed; possibly this is a garbled reference to the senatus auctoritas referred to in Cic. Fam. 1.7.4 SB 18, or to a rogatio that was not passed. 55 Pompey’s opponents also opposed Lentulus: Cic. Fam. 1.1.3–4 SB 12. 56 E. g. Mommsen 1905, 122–3; Heitland 1909: 179; Brunt 1988: 484–5; Sherwin-White 1992: 272. Cf. (implicitly): Gruen 1969: 90; Shackleton Bailey 1977: 293 (cf. 300); Wiseman 1985: 61; Seager 2002: 111–12.

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it seems likely there was more to the oracle than obstructing individual ambitions. Cicero hints at this in an earlier letter, when he comments that “The senate is approving the religious ploy not out of religious scruple but out of hostility and ill-will on account of the royal handout.”57 This and other evidence raises the prospect that the oracle was publicised and interpreted (if not invented)58 in part to pass censure on Ptolemy. First, C. Cato’s activities suggest this. We know from a fragment of Fenestella that, when Cato entered his tribunate in December 57, he began to arouse invidia simultaneously against Ptolemy and Lentulus: Itaque ut magistratum tribuni inierunt, C. Cato, turbulentus adulescens et audax nec imparatus ad dicendum, contionibus assiduis inuidiam et Ptolomaeo simul, qui iam profectus ex urbe erat, et Publio Lentulo consuli, paranti iam iter, cogitare secundo quidem populi rumore coepit. (Fenestella FRH no. 70, F2 [ap. Non. 385M])59 Therefore, when the tribunes entered office, C. Cato, a tempestuous and daring youth, not illequipped for speaking, began in endless contiones to arouse ill-will both towards Ptolemy, who had already left the city, and at the same time towards P. Lentulus the consul, who was now preparing for his journey, and indeed did so to popular acclaim.

As the editors note, the use of itaque “clearly links to a preceding narrative of the events that prompted C. Cato’s attack”, and those events must have included, above all, the murder of the Alexandrian ambassadors and their leader Dio, as well as the senate’s failure to investigate the murders and bribery, and perhaps also re-

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Cic. Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12: senatus religionis calumniam non religione sed malevolentia et illius regiae largitionis invidia comprobat. The procedure for consulting the Sibylline books involved a formal referral of the prodigy from the senate to the quindecemviri, who would then consult the books and make a report to the senate (references in n. 26). It was probably at this point that C. Cato intervened by making the oracle public: Cass. Dio 39.15.4 indicates that the oracle had begun to be talked about, but had not yet been debated by the senate (cf. Mazurek 2004: 164 on “leaked” oracles). Finally, the senate would decide what action was to be taken. Evidently prophecies could be falsified (see e. g. Cic. Div. 2.110–12; Parke 1988: 208–9; Mazurek 2004: 162–3), and Cicero, at least, considered the warning about Ptolemy a fiction (Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12, 1.4.2 SB 14). Some degree of manipulation is certainly possible. As Tatum (1999: 200) notes, C. Cato’s friend Clodius was one of the quindecemviri, and it may also be significant that the Sibylline books were consulted rather than the haruspices, which seems to have been the more usual course in the case of lightning prodigies (see n. 26). However, we should perhaps think of calculated selection and interpretation, rather than outright invention of either the lightning strike (conveniently close to Ptolemy’s lodgings in Pompey’s Alban villa) or the oracular text. It is quite possible that the new collection of prophecies made in 76 (see n. 63) referred to an Egyptian king, and both the senate and the quindecemviral college accepted the oracle. Cf. Parke 1988: 208–9; Tatum 1999: 200; Mazurek 2004: 162; Osgood (forthcoming). Invidia is the same word use by Cicero to describe public hostility towards Ptolemy (Cic. Fam. 1.1.1 SB 12; cf. Hellegouarc h 1963: 196–7). It is also worth noting that Fenestella does not mention Pompey in this connection. On Fenestella, see Drummond in Cornell 2013: 1.489–96. The fragment comes from book 22 of his Annales, a detailed historical work of Augustan or Tiberian date. Fenestella later had a reputation as diligentissimus scriptor (Lact. Inst. 16.14) and seems to have been unusual in his use of exact dates (e. g. F13).

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sentment of Lentulus, because he had supported Pompey’s grain command.60 In other words, Cato seems to have attacked Ptolemy on largely moral grounds (and much the same grounds that had prompted Favonius to call for a senatorial inquiry: Cass. Dio 39.14.1).61 What is more, says Fenestella, Cato’s actions met with popular approval.62 It seems likely, therefore, that Cato was pursuing the same agenda in publicising the oracle63 – not just as a pretext for a political attack on Lentulus, but because Ptolemy’s reprehensible behaviour (and senators’ complicity in it) was a topic of interest to the Roman people.64 At any rate, there is good evidence that the murder of the ambassadors, in particular, was a source of public outrage. Dio (39.14.1) says so explicitly, prosecutions were brought in 56,65 and the response of haruspices later in the year was widely interpreted as condemning the murders.66 Dio also attests that Ptolemy’s bribery remained the subject of popular indignation at the time of his restoration (39.55.1).67 Secondly, the warning against the use of a “multitude” may not have been all the Sibyl had to say about Ptolemy. At the trial of C. Rabirius Postumus in 54,68 in outlining his client’s ill-fated relations with the Egyptian king, Cicero states that Ptolemy came to Rome “with deceitful intentions, as the Sibyl said, and as Postumus learned” (dolosis consiliis, ut dixit Sibylla, sensit Postumus).69 The most Cornell 2013: 572. For hostility towards Lentulus over the grain command, see Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12 with Shackleton Bailey 1977: 296. 61 Possibly Cato was opposing any restoration. Cf. Reid 1901: 292, who suggests he was a supporter of Servilius Isauricus; Servilius may well have opposed restoration from the outset, though the motion in Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12 will have been framed after the oracle. 62 See Cornell 2013: 3.572 on the Ennian phrase populi rumore, which they translate “roars of popular approval”. 63 Presumably Fenestella proceeded to relate the discovery of the oracle. Another fragment (F19) describes the delegation sent in 76 to retrieve Sibylline oracles from Erythrae after those kept in the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus were destroyed by fire (cf. Dion. Hal. 4.62.6). Cornell 2013: 3.582 suggests that Lactantius’ phrase introducing the fragment, de quindecemviris dicens (“speaking of the quindecemviri”), “may imply that … Fenestella recorded the action taken in 76 in the course of a digression on that priesthood”. C. Cato’s actions in 57–56 would be one possible context. At any rate the fragment suggests an interest in Sibyls. 64 Even if Cato himself had no strong moral scruples (and there is no evidence that he pursued any positive reform programme, unlike e. g. C. Gracchus or C. Cornelius, tr. pl. 67), there was a strong tradition of tribunes attacking senatorial corruption, and political advantage to be gained in this way (cf. Rosillo-López 2016, esp. 226–7). 65 See above, n. 23. Cicero’s evasive strategy in Pro Caelio is itself testament to the outrage surrounding the murders (see e. g. Berry 2000: 127). Wiseman 1985: 72 suggests that Caelius’ prosecutor P. Clodius (not the tribune) got full mileage out of the story of Ptolemy and the murders. 66 Cic. Har. resp. 34 (see below). There are other expressions of concern with the ius legatorum in this period. In 56 and 55 Cicero accused Clodius and L. Piso of murdering ambassadors (Cic. Har. resp. 34–5; Pis. 85) and in 55 Cato seems to have accused Caesar of mistreating German legati (see Morrell 2015: 76, 86–7). 67 Cf. below on the trial of C. Rabirius Postumus. 68 On the date of the trial, see Morrell 2017: 165–71. 69 Cic. Rab. Post. 4. Siani-Davies (2001: 121) takes dolosis consilis with pulsus, and thinks of a separate oracle prophesying the plotting which resulted in the king’s expulsion, but I would 60

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natural interpretation of these words is that Cicero is referring to, or even quoting from, the same prophecy made public by Cato,70 and that the prophecy commented on Ptolemy’s “deceitful intentions” (or could be interpreted in that way). The idea that Ptolemy’s arrival was bad news from the beginning was certainly current in 56. Speaking at Caelius’ trial in April, Crassus quoted Ennius’ Medea to the effect that it would have been better if Ptolemy had never come to Rome.71 Since Crassus’ part of the defence dealt with the murder of the Alexandrian ambassadors (Cic. Cael. 23), it seems likely he was commenting particularly on the king’s murderous and corrupt activities. Thirdly, as I have noted, none of the proposals for sending Pompey to Egypt involved the use of an army. Plutarch says so explicitly regarding Caninius’ bill,72 and Cicero makes clear that all the proposals before the senate (including Volcacius’ endorsement of Rutilius Lupus’ motion) accepted the religious impediment (Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12, 1.2.1–2 SB 13). This suggests that the oracle was announced before any move was made to transfer the command to Pompey, and thus that there were other reasons for it than obstructing Pompey’s ambitions. Fuller understanding depends on the chronology. Not all the evidence can be discussed in detail here, but it is worth reviewing, briefly, the sequence of events. The task of restoring Ptolemy was assigned to Lentulus Spinther in the course of 57, perhaps in September,73 and at any rate before the Sibylline oracle. Dio (39.15.1) instead take dolosis consiliis with venit (as does Klodt 1992: 101, though she does not regard the phrase as part of the oracle). 70 That is, the Latin translation (Cass. Dio 39.16.1), also quoted by Cicero at QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6 and Fam. 1.7.4 SB 18. Ut dixit Sibylla, without further explanation, presumes that the Sibyl’s words were (and remained) well known to Cicero’s audience (cf. Parke 1988: 208, though he refers dolosis consiliis to Ptolemy’s expulsion). For that reason, Cicero is unlikely to have fabricated the content of the prophecy, though he exploits it here for forensic purposes. 71 Cic. Cael. 18: Utinam ne in nemore Pelio … (“Would that, in Pelion’s forest, [the ship] had not …”) Cf. Alexander 2002: 227. 72 Plut. Pomp. 49.6: οὐ μὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ Κανίδιος εἰσήνεγκε δημαρχῶν νόμον, ἄνευ στρατιᾶς Πομπήϊον ἔχοντα ῥαβδούχους δύο διαλλάττειν Ἀλεξανδρεῦσι τὸν βασιλέα. (“But Caninius as tribune brought in a law, that Pompey without an army but with two lictors should reconcile the king with the Alexandrians”.) (The Κανίδιος of the MSS is clearly to be identified with the tribune L. Caninius; cf. Geiger 1972: 130.) Cic. Fam. 1.4.1 SB 14 and QFr. 2.2.3 SB 6 likewise give no hint that Caninius’ bill contravened the senate’s decree on the religious point. In Cass. Dio 39.16.1, the proposal is unambiguously a response to the oracle. 73 The task of restoring Ptolemy was assigned to Lentulus on his own relatio during his consulship in 57 (Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12; Pis. 50). Since the senate had determined that no other business would be decided in 57 until the matter of Cicero’s recall was settled, a date after 4 August seems likely (see Red. sen. 6, where Cicero specifies that, from January 57, the senate would give no reply to citizens, allies, or kings until his case was resolved, and Att. 4.1.4 SB 73 for the date of the centuriate law) and before Lentulus’ departure for his province, which Fenestella (F2) places after 10 December. (Linderski 1965: 431–2 argued that, because Metellus Nepos convened the senate and had responsibility for aedilician elections in November 57, his colleague Lentulus must already have departed for his province, but Fenestella’s direct evidence is probably to be preferred; cf. Pina Polo 2011: 288 n. 180; Cornell 2013: 3.571.) Since Plut. Pomp. 49.6 reports the opinion that Lentulus supported Pompey’s grain commissionership to keep him out of the running for the Egyptian command, Stein 1930: 35 and Tatum

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dates the thunderbolt to “the very beginning of the year” 56 (κατ’ ἀρχὰς εὐθὺς τοῦ ἐχομένου ἔτους), and all the proposals before the senate in mid-January post-date the discovery of the oracle. Caninius’ bill may have been earlier. As Shackleton Bailey points out, Cicero’s reference to the possibility of voting on it before 20 January (Fam. 1.4.1 SB 14) implies that it had been promulgated in December.74 But it is hard to understand why Caninius would have proposed a purely diplomatic (and dangerous)75 mission for Pompey, if the religious obstacle had not yet arisen – especially if the alternative grain commissionership proposed by C. Messius in September 57 is taken to imply that Pompey was looking for the command of troops.76 Moreover, Dio himself places Caninius’ bill after the publication of the oracle (39.16.1). We should therefore consider the possibility that Dio has slightly misdated the oracle, perhaps through an entirely plausible confusion between the tribunes’ entry into office on 10 December and the beginning of the calendar year,77 and that it was in fact discovered in December 57, before Caninius promulgated his bill. This hypothetical reconstruction would also help to explain why Ptolemy (and Pompey’s friends) began lobbying for Pompey only after the command had been assigned to Lentulus.78 With a senatus consultum and a consular army be-

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1999: 195 suggest September as the likeliest month. In my view, Plutarch’s evidence is suspect (see n. 78); however, the lack of any reference to the controversy over Ptolemy in Cicero’s letters of late 57 or in Dom. 20 is consistent with the matter having been settled prior to Cicero’s actual return to Rome. Bonnefond-Coudry (1989: 440) places the assignment of the Egyptian command to Lentulus between May and July 57. That is, in order for the legally required trinundinum to have elapsed: Shackleton Bailey 1977: 299. Cicero does not mention Caninius’ bill in his résumé of motions before the senate in January (Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12), though that may be because Caninius took his proposal directly to the people. Plut. Pomp. 49.6 says that the senate rejected Caninius’ bill “putting forward the reasonable pretext that they feared for his person” (εὐπρεπῶς σκηψαμένη δεδιέναι περὶ τἀνδρός). Ambassadorial duties could be dangerous, and there are some reports of Roman ambassadors killed in the course of their duties (see e. g. Cic. Phil. 9.4–5; Brennan 2009: 173–5; Gruen 1984: 360–2). A pertinent example is Diodorus’ story of a Roman murdered by the Egyptian mob for accidentally killing a cat (Diod. Sic. 1.83.8, c. 59 BC; how official the visit was is not clear); cf. Cass. Dio 39.58.2 and Osgood (forthcoming) on Alexandria’s reputation for sedition and murder. At any rate, the prospects of restoring Ptolemy to his throne without armed force were not strong. Cic. Att. 4.1.7 SB 73; cf. e. g. Mommsen 1905: 122, who regards the Egyptian affair as essentially a second attempt to procure an army for Pompey. Messius’ bill would have given Pompey a fleet, an army, and maius imperium over the other governors, as well as control of all money and grain supplies. Incidentally, if Pompey had designs on the Egyptian commission in 57, there is no reason why Messius or another tribune could not have proposed to assign him the task, without the religious limitation in place after the discovery of the Sibylline oracle. A similar sort of confusion may have affected Dio’s treatment of the tribunate of Q. Pompeius Rufus (see Linderski 1972: 182–3). At any rate, Dio’s thematic composition sometimes results in faulty chronology (see e. g. Lintott 1997) and the thunderbolt and oracle could easily have become attracted into his narrative of 56. In this case, however, Dio’s narrative seems logical and internally consistent; I am suggesting only that the date may need revision, not the sequence of events. The only evidence that Pompey had prior designs on the Egyptian command comes from Plutarch, and Plutarch himself casts doubt on its veracity. At Pomp. 49.5 he says, regarding Pompey’s grain commissionership, “others claim that this was a clever device of the consul

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hind him, Lentulus probably seemed a safe pair of hands, and there is no evidence that Ptolemy was dissatisfied, initially, with the senate’s decision. Dio states that Ptolemy “was successful, in that he was to be restored by Spinther, to whom Cilicia had been assigned”;79 only later, after the publication of the oracle, did Ptolemy express his preference for Caninius’ bill (39.16.3). Roman financiers, too, had confidence that Lentulus would succeed in restoring the king.80 With the use of the army ruled out, however, it made sense for Ptolemy and his creditors to look to Pompey’s greater auctoritas, resources, and (perhaps) willingness to disregard the will of the senate in order to secure his restoration.81 Thus the move to send Pompey to Egypt would be not the prompt for the “discovery” of the oracle, but rather prompted or facilitated by it82 – just as Dio describes.83 Indeed, it is not clear that Pompey made any (open) move to secure the Egyptian assignment prior to the oracle. Cicero does attest covert agitation “long before” (multo ante quam) Lentulus left Rome,84 which might suggest before the oracle (at most a few weeks prior to Lentulus’ departure),

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Spinther, who wanted to confine Pompey in a higher office, so that he (Spinther) might be sent out to aid King Ptolemy’ (ἕτεροι δὲ τοῦ ὑπάτου Σπινθῆρος ἀποφαίνουσι τοῦτο σόφισμα, κατακλείσαντος εἰς ἀρχὴν μείζονα Πομπήϊον, ὅπως αὐτὸς ἐκπεμφθῇ Πτολεμαίῳ τῷ βασιλεῖ βοηθῶν). But such subjective motivations are impossible to prove, and the attribution to unnamed ἕτεροι introduces a further level of uncertainty. (Cf. Vervaet, forthcoming, who rejects the story on historical grounds.) At Pomp. 49.7 Plutarch reports Timagenes’ claim that Ptolemy had left his kingdom without good cause and at Theophanes’ urging, in order that Pompey might have the task of restoring him, a claim which Plutarch promptly rejects, by reason both of Timagenes’ character and Pompey’s. At Cat. Min. 35.5 (probably composed in tandem with the Pompey: Pelling 1979), Plutarch attributes Ptolemy’s departure to a disagreement with the Alexandrians. Already in 63 the king had sought Roman aid in suppressing a rebellion (App. Mith. 114). Cass. Dio 39.12.3: ἔτυχεν ὥστε ὑπὸ τοῦ Σπινθῆρος, ᾧ ἡ Κιλικία ἐπετέτραπτο, καταχθῆναι. Moreover, Pompey seems to have helped secure the vote for Ptolemy’s restoration (e. g. Strabo 17.1.11; Cass. Dio 39.14.3) – that is, by Lentulus. It seems possible that Pompey looked to Lentulus in this matter as an instrument, as he would later look to Gabinius (Cass. Dio 39.55.3, 39.56.3). In 57 Lentulus cooperated with Pompey to secure Cicero’s recall and in late 58 Atticus had described Lentulus as “entirely in [Pompey’s] power” (totum esse in illius potestate): Cic. Att. 3.22.2 SB 67. Cic. Rab. Post. 6 says C. Rabirius lent his money to a king “whose restoration he saw entrusted to a consul by the senate” (cuius reditum consuli commendatum senatu videbat). Cf. 21. That is, if any living Roman had a hope of walking into a hostile Alexandria and persuading the people to take back their hated king, it was Pompey. Ptolemy may also have hoped that Pompey would call on his friends Lentulus or Gabinius to assist with their proconsular armies (which is close to what actually happened). The push to transfer the command to Pompey may very well have come from the king himself. Pompey cannot have been behind the oracle, however, since C. Cato was hostile, and Pompey would hardly have chosen to exclude the use of armed force. The sequence of events is clear in Dio (and is not disturbed by redating to the oracle to December). Those scholars who see the oracle as an attempt to block Pompey’s ambitions generally disregard or distort the order of Dio’s narrative. This seems unwarranted, especially as Dio’s account of the whole episode appears very well informed (cf. Osgood, forthcoming). Cic. Fam. 1.1.4 SB 12: Ut in rebus multo ante quam profectus es ab ipso rege et ab intimis ac domesticis Pompei clam exulceratis, deinde palam a consularibus exagitatis et in summam invidiam adductis, ita versamur. (“Thus we are facing a situation aggravated covertly long be-

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but such time phrases cannot be pressed. In any case Cicero refers to secret activity, not an open proposal for Pompey to restore the king, and the religionis calumnia would be a rather elaborate way of opposing ambitions that had not yet even been aired in public. It remains to explain the oracle (leaving aside the possibility of pure coincidence). In Dio’s account, and probably also Fenestella’s, C. Cato’s actions follow a narrative of Ptolemy’s murders and bribery, culminating in the death of the embassy leader Dio.85 Cicero confirms the invidia aroused by Ptolemy’s largesse and the existence of moral outrage over the murders.86 I suggest, therefore, that it was (at least in part) this outrage that prompted the “discovery” of the oracle, and/or influenced its interpretation.87 If Dio’s murder happened before the oracle, as seems likely,88 that may well have been the “final straw”. In short, I am proposing a possible reconstruction according to which the murder of the Alexandrian ambassadors prompted the “discovery” of the oracle and the prohibition on the use of an army, and that that circumstance served to reopen the issue of who would restore Ptolemy. The “Egyptian question” would thus be more strongly moral than Cicero’s letters to Lentulus (and some modern reconstructions) allow us to perceive.89 Similarly, the unpopularity Pompey incurred in early 56 can

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fore you left by the king himself and by Pompey’s closest friends and familiars, and then stirred up openly by the consulars, resulting in the greatest odium”.) Cf. § 1. Plutarch discusses only private motivations (see n. 78). See above. Neither gives any hint that Cato was acting against Pompey. See esp. Cic. Cael. 23: Vellem dictum esset ab eodem etiam de Dione. De quo ipso tamen quid est quod exspectetis? quod is qui fecit aut non timet aut etiam fatetur; est enim rex … (“I might wish [Crassus] had also said something about Dio. Yet what can you expect on that matter? The man who did it is not afraid, and indeed confesses guilt, for he is a king …”) Cf. Har. resp. 34. The fact that Cicero’s letters make no mention of the murders is explicable in view of the fact that he (and Lentulus) were advocating Ptolemy’s restoration. If so, it is conceivable that the initiative came not from C. Cato but from one of the number of senators opposed to restoring Ptolemy or, at least, to rendering him armed assistance (see below). Tatum 1999: 200 proposes that Clodius (a quindecemvir) played a key role. Santangelo 2013: 145 suggests that the prophecy “called for a change of policy” on Ptolemy’s restoration. Cass. Dio 39.14.2–3 indicates that the murder took place after Ptolemy’s departure from Rome (cf. Wiseman 1985: 61), and Fenestella (F2) places Ptolemy’s departure before 10 December, thus before the oracle. Admittedly Dio also says that Ptolemy went to Ephesus after the discovery of the oracle (39.16.3), but a simple solution is that Ptolemy did not go directly to Ephesus when he left Rome. (Pace Klodt 1992: 29, Cic. Fam. 1.5b.2 SB 17 shows only that, in February, Ptolemy was not wherever Lentulus Spinther was.) Possibly Ptolemy went to Alba in the interim (see n. 24, above). For instance, Shatzman 1971: 367 writes, “The letters of Cicero which describe the discussions in the senate make it pretty clear that the factors and motives that influenced senators had nothing to do with the question itself, that is, with relations between Rome and Egypt. Pretexts apart, this was not what influenced senators. Doubtless, some were influenced by bribes; others, especially consulars and principes ciuitatis, took up positions according to purely personal considerations.” But, even if we accept this reading of Cicero’s letters, we should not assume that they tell the whole story. Cicero’s involvement with the king is relevant here. He supported Ptolemy’s restoration and was remembered as having conferred a beneficium upon him (Sen. Suas. 6.11), he defended men accused of murdering the Alexandrian ambassadors (Alexander

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be ascribed not simply to suspicion of his ambitions, but also to his association with a king who bribed Roman senators and murdered his own subjects.90 Of course, the moral point had been made before. It was sometime in 57 that Favonius had called for a senatorial inquiry into the murder of the ambassadors and bribe-taking by senators. Bibulus’ motion before the senate can also be understood as a critique of Ptolemy, without going so far as the elder Servilius (who opposed any restoration: Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12). What Bibulus proposed was a traditional embassy of tres legati without imperium,91 who would attempt to persuade the Alexandrians to take back their king.92 It must have seemed a real possibility that the embassy would fail, like similar embassies in the past,93 and conceivably it was intended to fail, while still complying with the Sibyl’s prescription, that Rome should not refuse to help Ptolemy (Cass. Dio 39.15.2). Interestingly, Cicero tells us that Bibulus’ proposal was favoured by most of the consulars, who presumably

1990: nos 267 and 275), and at some point even seems to have made a journey in Ptolemy’s royal litter (QFr. 2.9.2 SB 12); cf. Lenaghan 1969: 150 for the suggestion that Clodius accused Cicero of whitewashing the murders. It was natural, therefore, for Cicero to emphasise political rather than ethical facets of the Egyptian question, and especially in writing to Lentulus, who hoped to be even more closely involved with Ptolemy. 90 Cicero (Fam. 1.1.2 SB 12) possibly hints at this when he says he has urged Pompey to “avoid a great disgrace” (magnam infamiam fugiat; cf. Seager 2002: 112), though the more obvious reference is to Pompey’s perceived breach of friendship with Lentulus (cf. QFr. 2.5.3 SB 9). 91 MRR reveals numerous instances of embassies of three, and tres legati / legati tres is common in Livy (cf. Phillipson 1911: 322, who suggests that three was the usual minimum number of envoys). To Egypt alone, embassies of three were sent for various purposes in 273, 201, and 168 (sources in MRR 1 under the relevant years; other examples under 203, 200, 193, 185, 183, 174, 172, 167, 155, 149). In 60 the senate appointed three legati cum auctoritate to dissuade the Gallic tribes from allying themselves with the Helvetii (Cic. Att. 1.19.2–3 SB 19). 92 Delegations of one or more ambassadors were often charged with arbitrating disputes within or between foreign kingdoms. Of particular relevance, for present purposes, is the (unsuccessful) embassy of T. Manlius Torquatus and Cn. Cornelius Merula in 162, charged with reconciling Ptolemy VI and Ptolemy VII and transferring Cyprus to the younger brother “without war” (χωρὶς πολέμου, Polyb. 31.10.10; further references in MRR 1.442). Other examples include the embassies sent in 193 to settle a boundary dispute between Carthage and Masinissa (sources in MRR 1.348) and in 185 to arbitrate disputes between Philip and his neighbours (MRR 1.373). Interestingly, what Bibulus proposed in 56 was more or less what M. Porcius Cato (Bibulus’ father-in-law and political associate) is said to have offered Ptolemy in 58, namely mediation between the king and his people, but not military support. Cato was on his way to Cyprus when Ptolemy Auletes (newly expelled from his kingdom) called on him on Rhodes and told him of his plan of seeking Roman assistance in regaining his throne (Plut. Cat. Min. 35; cf. Morrell 2017: 125–6). According to Plutarch (35.4), Cato warned Ptolemy not to subject himself to the greed and corruption of leading Romans and instead to seek reconciliation with his people, even offering his own services as negotiator. 93 E. g. the embassy of 162, while that of 193 left the dispute unresolved (see previous note). Cicero’s advice to Lentulus in mid-56 indicates that restoring Ptolemy was expected to require military force. Ultimately Gabinius led his army into Egypt (see e. g. Cass. Dio 39.56.3–58.3; Cic. Pis. 49; Strab. 12.3.34; Plut. Ant. 3.2–4) and saw fit to leave a garrison in Alexandria (Caes. BC 3.103, 110; Cass. Dio 42.5.4).

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were among the majority that later voted against further involvement with Ptolemy Auletes (Cic. Fam. 1.7.4 SB 18).94 There is no evidence that Favonius, Bibulus, and friends were collaborating with C. Cato in publicising the prophecy. In February, however, we find them working together in attacking Pompey. Cicero wrote to Quintus, “Now Pompey understands, and tells me, that there is a plot against his life, that Crassus is supporting C. Cato and supplying Clodius with money, and that both are also getting encouragement from [Crassus] and from Curio, Bibulus, and his other critics.”95 The latter probably included Favonius and the younger Servilius Isauricus, who (with Curio and Bibulus) attacked Pompey in the senate on 7 February (QFr. 2.3.2 SB 7). While the senate meetings of 7–9 February were primarily concerned with the rowdyism at Milo’s trial, Pompey’s Alexandrian ambitions were very much part of that picture, as we have seen. It seems likely, too, that C. Cato’s attack on Pompey (§ 3) also dealt the Egyptian question. At any rate, it was after the trial and the senate meeting on 9 February that Pompey gave up the Alexandrina causa (Fam. 1.5b.1 SB 16). Furthermore, the same senators who opposed Pompey were also opposed to Lentulus.96 It seems possible, therefore, that Bibulus and the others cooperated with C. Cato to oppose Ptolemy’s restoration by military means, or at least that they co-opted his efforts to their own purposes.97 Cato was certainly prepared to work with others (including Crassus and Clodius),98 and also showed considerable political flexibility: later in 56 he did a back-flip on Pompey, assisting Pompey and Crassus by delaying the consular elections.99 If Favonius, Bibulus, and the others were indeed behind the religious obstruction to Ptolemy’s restoration, it would be consistent with the known interests and methods of this group, in particular M. Cato’s proposal in 55 to surrender Caesar to the German tribes – a proposal that used the essentially religious instrument of deditio to make a moral and political point about Roman dealings with foreigners.100 94 95

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Cf. Brunt 1988: 485, who suspects the optimates who supported Bibulus secretly agreed with Servilius, without wishing to renege openly on the senate’s previous commitment to Ptolemy. Cic. QFr. 2.3.4 SB 7 (12–15 February): nam Pompeius haec intellegit nobiscumque communicat, insidias vitae suae fieri, C. Catonem a Crasso sustentari, Clodio pecuniam suppeditari, utrumque et ab eo et a Curione, Bibulo, ceterisque suis obtrectatoribus confirmari. For cooperation between Clodius and Pompey’s optimate opponents, cf. § 2 of this letter and n. 97. Cic. Fam. 1.1.3 SB 12: cui qui nolunt, idem tibi, quod eum ornasti, non sunt amici (“those who oppose him [Pompey] are also not your friends, because of the honour you have conferred on him”). Cf. § 4. This is more or less what Cic. Fam. 1.4.2 SB 14 says, if Shackleton Bailey’s supplement is accepted (see above). Cf. Cic. Fam. 1.1.4 SB 12 (palam a consularibus exagitatis). Cooperation with Clodius is possible, too. Clodius was one of the quindecemviri (Cic. Har. resp. 26), and this was the period in which Cicero accused the optimates of becoming too cosy with Clodius (Har. resp. 46, 48, 50, 52; Fam. 1.9.10, 15, 19 SB 20). Cic. QFr. 2.1.2 SB 5, 2.3.3–4 SB 7 Cf. Tatum 1999: 197–8. Cass. Dio 39.27.3; Liv. Per. 105. For C. Cato’s hostility to Pompey prior to 56, see Cic. QFr. 1.2.15 SB 2, written in late 59. See Morrell 2015, with references. I argue that Cato proposed deditio (surrender) on the grounds that Caesar had committed a breach of fides (breach of truce and/or mistreatment of

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Finally, the interpretation of the oracle I have proposed would also parallel the response of the haruspices later in 56.101 The responsum complained, inter alia, that “ambassadors have been slain contrary to law human and divine”.102 Cicero relates this to crimes against ambassadors allegedly perpetrated by Clodius and L. Calpurnius Piso (Har. resp. 34–5). But he also acknowledges that these words were widely understood to refer to the Alexandrian embassy – an interpretation which he does not dispute (34). Indeed, the use of sermo suggests a topic of considerable public interest.103 In other words, the responsum is another instance where a religious medium was used (or interpreted) to make a moral and political point about Roman dealings with foreigners. Taken with the Sibylline prophecy and M. Cato’s deditio proposal (the latter decidedly unpopular),104 we see a pattern of state religion used as a means to highlight and police the appropriate bounds of foreign relations. IV The “Egyptian question” generated strong opinions throughout Roman society, from the consulars in the senate to the crowd in the forum, and these opinions had a discernible impact not only on individual behaviour but on the determination of public policy. In two cases in particular it is possible to trace a direct relationship between public opinion and political action.105 First, the proclamation of the Sibyl-

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ambassadors) and thus an offence against the gods. Deditio was a means of expiation, so that Caesar alone should suffer for his crime, as in the famous case of C. Hostilius Mancinus in 136. The religious element added weight to Cato’s moral and political critique, even if there was no real prospect of the senate voting to surrender Caesar. Cato also seems to have supported Trebonius’ attempt to obstruct Crassus’ Parthian campaign in 55, partly through religious means (Morrell 2017: 179). Cf. Lenaghan 1969: 20, who notes that the incident involving the Sibylline oracle was a “forerunner” of De Haruspicum as “an example of manipulation of the state religion”. Cic. Har. resp. 34: “‘Oratores contra ius fasque interfectos’. Quid est hoc? De Alexandrinis esse video sermonem; quem ego non refuto.” (“‘Ambassadors have been slain contrary to human and divine law.’ What is the meaning of this? I see talk of the Alexandrians, and I do not deny this opinion.”) On sermo (talk, gossip, rumour), see e. g. Rosillo-López 2017: 77–8, and on rumour more generally, Laurence 1994; Dubourdieu and Lemirre 1997: esp. 294–5; Rosillo-López 2017: esp. ch. 3. Plut. Comp. Nic. et Crass. 4.3. In fact Caesar received a twenty-day supplication for his achievements (Caes. BG 4.38.5; Plut. Caes. 22.4; Cat. Min. 51.1). There is a parallel here with Rome’s dealings with Jugurtha: see e. g. Sall. Iug. 15.5, 25.5, 27.3, 39.2; Yakobson 2009: 47. Indeed, the resonances between Sallust’s Jugurthine War and the Ptolemy saga are strong enough to suggest that Sallust wrote Jugurtha in part as an allegory for the Egyptian king. Note particularly the invidia aroused by Jugurtha’s bribes (Sall. Iug. 15.5, 25.5, etc.), outrage over the murder of Adherbal and the Numidians, and the king’s attempt at a cover-up thwarted by the tribune C. Memmius (26.3–27.3). If so, the parallel might indicate that what was particularly abhorrent, in 57–56, was the influence exercised by a foreign king over the Roman senate. Sallust (Iug. 31.25) has Memmius say: “The senate’s authority has been abandoned to a most bitter enemy; your imperium has been betrayed; the res publica has been put up for sale at home and abroad.” (hosti acerrumo prodita senatus auctoritas, proditum im-

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line prophecy by C. Cato served to rule out the use of an army and to reopen the debate over who should restore Ptolemy. Second, Clodius’ orchestrated heckling during Milo’s trial, followed by attacks in the senate, prompted Pompey to abandon any hope of an Egyptian command. More generally, the number of references to invidia, opinio, suspicio, and so forth in the sources for this period underscore the significance of public opinion in Roman politics. At the same time, we see that the “Egyptian question” was not simply a political matter but a foreign policy debate with religious and moral elements. The murder of the Alexandrian ambassadors provoked outrage not only in the senate but also in C. Cato’s contiones, and I have suggested that this outrage (rather than Pompey’s ambitions) prompted the proclamation of the Sibylline oracle. All of this adds weight to Yakobson’s argument that the Roman people were not only interested in foreign policy matters, but were sensitive to their ethical dimensions.106 The key role played by the Sibylline oracle in this episode also sheds light on the authority of state religion and the ways in which religion could be used to intervene in political and foreign policy matters. Neither widespread invidia nor the Sibyl’s warning ultimately prevented Ptolemy’s restoration. However, that was the case only because Gabinius was prepared to lead his army into Egypt in violation of senatus consultum and religio.107 The consequences for Gabinius illustrate the seriousness with which these issues were regarded and, once again, the significance of public opinion. In mid-56, Cicero and Pompey had advised Lentulus Spinther that, if he chose to intervene in Egypt, his actions would be judged according to the results.108 That was not so for Gabinius. Of course, politics and Gabinius’ unpopularity were also important factors, but the nature and strength of public opinion against him is nonetheless informative. Already in 55, Cicero accused Gabinius of violating the command of the gods and the advice of the priests and selling himself and his army to the Egyptian king (Pis. 48). He also called for the Sibylline books to be consulted again, in order to discover the appropriate punishment for Gabinius’ actions.109 When Gabinius returned to

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perium vostrum est; domi militiaeque res publica venalis fuit.) It appears that similar claims were made about Ptolemy at Rabirius’ trial in 54, by another C. Memmius (esp. Cic. Rab. Post. 6; the prosecutor, tribune in 54, was actually grandson of the tribune of 111: Sumner 1973: 87; Shackleton Bailey 1992: 68). Cf. Pis. 48, where Cicero accuses Gabinius of selling his army, the auctoritas of the senate, and the nomen ac dignitas imperi to the king of Egypt. Yakobson 2009: esp. 57–61 on Egypt. Cf. Rosillo-López 2010: 136–43 on bribery by foreign powers and 2016 on public concern with corruption (also 2016: 212 and 2017: 216 on continuing public interest in Egypt). Even if C. Cato and others acted from political motives in stoking outrage surrounding Ptolemy and the senate, their actions presuppose the existence of standards of acceptable behaviour which had been violated in this case. See e. g. Cic. Pis. 48–50; Cass. Dio 39.55.3, 39.56.4. Cic. Fam. 1.7.5 SB 18 (ut ex eventu homines de tuo consilio existimaturos) – that is, that Lentulus would likely get away with a somewhat loose interpretation of the Sibyl’s words if he was successful in restoring the king. As it happened, Lentulus took no action on Egypt. Cass. Dio 39.59.3–60.1. In 54 the senate did move that the books be consulted, but no punishment was discovered (39.60.2–4, 39.61.4). Dio’s account (39.59–63) emphasises hostility towards Gabinius both from senators and the people, and the continuing relevance of the Sibylline oracle.

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Rome in 54, he crept into the city by night and tried to keep to his house, but was savagely was attacked in the senate and forum and promptly charged with maiestas and repetundae.110 He escaped conviction on the first charge thanks to Pompey’s influence and money,111 but the verdict was itself a scandal and was even blamed for the flooding of the Tiber.112 Subsequently Gabinius was convicted of repetundae in what was effectively a retrial on the charge of restoring Ptolemy.113 In addition, the trial of C. Rabirius Postumus became a platform for the sort of moral concerns aired in 57–56. Rabirius stood accused of receiving money Ptolemy had paid to Gabinius, but the case amassed against him had little to do with the technical charge. Instead, it threw the spotlight on the impropriety of a Roman eques employed as treasurer at the Egyptian court and the corruption of the senate by a foreign king.114 Cicero’s defence strategy was to present Rabirius as a victim of the king, and, in doing so, he could exploit still-powerful hostility towards Ptolemy on the part of the jurors.115 Thus we see that public opinion still raged against Ptolemy well after his restoration, and well after the “Pompey versus Lentulus’ question had been forgotten. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexander, M. C. (1990) Trials in the Late Roman Republic, 149 BC to 50 BC, Toronto. Alexander, M. C. (2002) The Case for the Prosecution in the Ciceronian Era, Ann Arbor. Berry, D. H. (2000) Cicero. Defence Speeches, Oxford. Bonefond-Coudry, M. (1989) Le Sénat de la République romaine de la guerre d’Hannibal à Auguste, Rome. Brennan, T. C. (2009) “Embassies gone wrong: diplomacy in the Constantinian Excerpta de Legationibus”, in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World, ed. C. Eilers: 171–91. Leiden. Broughton, T. R. S. (1951–86) The Magistrates of the Roman Republic, New York. Brunt, P. A. (1988) The Fall of the Roman Republic and Related Essays, Oxford. Cornell, T. J. (ed.) (2013) The Fragments of the Roman Historians, Oxford. Dubourdieu, A. and Lemirre, E. (1997) “La rumeur dans l’affaire des Bacchanales”, Latomus 56: 293–306. Geiger, J. (1972) “Canidius or Caninius?”, CQ 22: 130–4. Gruen, E. S. (1969) “Pompey, the Roman aristocracy, and the conference of Luca”, Historia 18: 71–108. 110 Cic. QFr. 3.1.15, 24 SB 21, 3.2.1, 3 SB 22; Cass. Dio 39.62.1. 111 See e. g. Cic. QFr. 3.2.1 SB 22, 3.3.3 SB 23, 3.4.1 SB 24; Cass. Dio 39.62.2–3. 112 Cic. QFr. 3.5.8 SB 25; cf. Cass. Dio 39.61, where the flood is placed earlier and attributed to divine anger over the restoration of Ptolemy. Cic. QFr. 3.4.1 SB 24 says Gabinius’ acquittal was so scandalous (tam gravi fama) that he seemed certain to be convicted of extortion. According to Cass. Dio 39.63.1, the jurors came under threat from the people. 113 Like the maiestas trial, Gabinius’ repetundae trial focused on the restoration of Ptolemy, with the addition of a pecuniary element, namely that he had accepted a bribe of 10,000 talents from the king. See Morrell 2017: 169–70. 114 Note especially Cic. Rab. Post. 6: Hinc primum exoritur crimen illud; senatum corruptum esse dicunt. (“Here arises the first charge: they say the senate has been corrupted”.) Cf. 6–7, 22, 28–9; Morrell 2017: 174–8. 115 Cic. Rab. Post. 1, 4, 6, 22, 29, 39. Cf. Siani-Davies 2001: 1.

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Gruen, E. S. (1974) The Last Generation of the Roman Republic, Berkeley. Gruen, E. S. (1984) The Hellenistic World and the Coming of Rome, Berkeley. Hazzard, R. A. (2000) Imagination of a Monarchy: Studies in Ptolemaic Propaganda, Toronto. Heitland, W. E. (1909) The Roman Republic, vol. 3, Cambridge. Hellegouarc h, J. (1963) Le vocabulaire latin des relations et des partis politiques sous la République, Paris. Kaster, R. A. (2006) Cicero. Speech on Behalf of Publius Sestius, Oxford. Klodt, C. (1992) Ciceros Rede Pro Rabirio Postumo, Stuttgart. Laurence, R. (1994) “Rumour and communication in Roman politics”, Greece & Rome 41: 62–74. Lenaghan, J. O. (1969) A Commentary on Cicero’s Oration De Haruspicum Responso, The Hague. Linderski, J. (1972) “The aedileship of Favonius, Curio the younger, and Cicero’s election to the augurate”, HSCP 76: 181–200. Linderski, J. (1993) “Roman religion in Livy”, in Livius. Aspekte seines Werkes, ed. W. Schuller: 53–70. Konstanz. Lintott, A. W. (1997) “Cassius Dio and the history of the late Roman republic”, ANRW II 34.3: 2497–523. Mazurek, T. (2004) “The decemviri sacris faciundis: supplication and prediction”, in Augusto Augurio, ed. C. F. Konrad: 151–68. Stuttgart. Millar, F. (1998) The Crowd in Rome in the Late Republic, Ann Arbor. Mommsen, T. (1905) The History of Rome (trans. W. P. Dickson), vol. 5, New York. Morrell, K. (2015) “Cato, Caesar, and the Germani”, Antichthon 49: 73–93. Morrell, K. (2017) Pompey, Cato, and the Governance of the Roman Empire, Oxford. Orlin, E. M. (1997) Temples, Religion, and Politics in the Roman Republic, Leiden. Osgood, J. (forthcoming) “Dio and the Voice of the Sibyl” in Cassius Dio and the Late Roman Republic, eds. C. Baron and J. Osgood. Parke, H. W. (1988) Sibyls and Sibylline Prophecy in Classical Antiquity, London. Pelling, C. B. R. (1979) “Plutarch’s method of work in the Roman lives”, JHS 99: 74–96. Phillipson, C. (1911) The International Law and Custom of Ancient Greece and Rome, vol. 1, London. Pina Polo, F. (2011) The Consul at Rome, Cambridge. Reid, J. S. (1901) “‘Atakta’ on Cicero’s letters”, Hermathena 11: 288–302. Rosillo-López, C. (2010) La corruption à la fin de la République romaine (11e–Ier s. av. J. C.), Stuttgart. Rosillo-López, C. (2016) “The workings of public opinion in the Late Roman Republic: the case study of corruption”, Klio 98: 203–27. Rosillo-López, C. (2017) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Rotondi, G. (1912) Leges Publicae Populi Romani, Milano. Santangelo, F. (2013) Divination, Prediction and the End of the Roman Republic, Cambridge. Seager, R. (2002) Pompey the Great, 2nd edn, Oxford. Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1965) Cicero. Letters to Atticus, vol. 1, Cambridge. Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1977) Cicero. Epistulae ad Familiares, vol. 1, Cambridge. Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1992) Onomasticon to Cicero’s Speeches, Stuttgart. Shatzman, I. (1971) “The Egyptian question in Roman politics (59–54 B. C.)”, Latomus 30: 363–9. Sherwin-White, A. N. (1992) “Lucullus, Pompey, and the East” in Cambridge Ancient History, 2nd edn, vol. 9, eds. J. A. Crook, A. Lintott, and E. Rawson: 229–73. Cambridge. Siani-Davies, M. (2001) Cicero’s Speech Pro Rabirio Postumo, Oxford. Skinner, M. B. (2003) Catullus in Verona: A Reading of the Elegiac Libellus, Poems 65–116, Columbus. Stein, P. (1930) Die Senatssitzungen der Ciceronischen Zeit, Münster. Sullivan, R., (1990) Near Eastern Royalty and Rome, 100–30 BC, Toronto. Sumner, G. V. (1973) The Orators in Cicero’s Brutus: Prosopography and Chronology, Toronto. Szemler, G. J. (1972) The Priests of the Roman Republic, Brussels. Tatum, W. J. (1999) The Patrician Tribune: Publius Clodius Pulcher, Chapel Hill.

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Vervaet, F. J. (forthcoming) “No grain of salt: casting a new light on Pompeius’ cura annonae”, in Neuen Perspektiven auf die Politik des Cn. Pompeius Magnus, eds. H. Klinkott and G. Schietinger. Heidelberg. Westall, R. (2010) “The loan to Ptolemy XII, 59–48 BCE”, REAC 12: 23–41. Williams, R. S. (1985) “Rei publicae causa: Gabinius’ defense of his restoration of Ptolemy Auletes”, CJ 81: 25–38. Wiseman, T. P. (1985) Catullus and His World: A Reappraisal, Cambridge. Yakobson, A. (2009) “Public opinion, foreign policy and ‘just war’ in the Late Republic”, in Diplomats and Diplomacy in the Roman World, ed. C. Eilers: 45–72. Leiden.

THE SPACE AND TIME OF POLITICS IN CIVIL WAR Clifford Ando disponis gladios, ne quo non fiat in orbe, heu, facinus civile tibi. Lucan, De bello civili 8.603–604

INTRODUCTION One aspect of the argument of this essay is well captured by its epigraph, an indictment of Fortune by the narrator of Lucan’s De bello civili. The utterance is expressed at the moment of Pompey’s death at the close of book 8: “You station swords so that there is nowhere in the world, alas, that a civil crime may not be done for you.” The lament, of course, concerns violence, expressed above all in the jarring juxtaposition of facinus civile, “civil” or “citizenly crime.” But Lucan also draws our attention to the fact that Pompey’s death in civil conflict occurred in Egypt, and if citizenly crimes can take place in Egypt, they can take place anywhere. But how can it be that something civile is conducted anywhere in orbe? This question gestures at the “space” of my title: in the Caesarian civil war and, more or less, in all later civil wars, the space of politics was suddenly enlarged, so that decisions about the conduct of Roman politics were effectively made wheresoever crime, or strife, or war among citizens – facinus civile, dissensio civilis or bellum civile – were conducted.1 This, of course, is a variant upon Tacitus’s claim that the Neronian civil war first revealed a secret of empire, an arcanum imperii, to the effect that a princeps might be made alibi quam Romae, elsewhere than Rome (Hist. 1.4.2). Tacitus thus foregrounds the concept of place – legitimate politics being conducted only at Rome – but even in the text of Tacitus, it is merely the thin edge of the wedge. Rather, the concept of place is synecdochic for broad transformations in the nature of public power that had been on-going for a century, whose many axes defied articulation in the narrative conventions of ancient historiography. What is more, there was a grand conspiracy, as it were, to leave many of these 1

As regards more traditional notions of space, place and republican politics, amidst a large and distinguished literature on Roman political culture as a normative matter and the topography of republican Rome, I am particularly fond of Hölkeskamp 2011, 2016. Of course, communication about politics was conducted, and public opinion formed, outside statally controlled spaces and without (in Livy’s terms) the presence of legitimus rector: for two immensely creative investigations of the spaces and forms of such communication see O’Neill 2003 and RosilloLópez 2017. On the representation of space in Roman historiography in general, see Riggsby 2009.

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unexpressed. This was so in at least two domains of relevance to this project. Let me proceed from the more to the less familiar. At the opening of the Annales, Tacitus observed that the concentration of power in the hands of the princeps – indeed, the formation of the principate itself – took place even as eadem magistratuum vocabula, the titles of magistracies remained the same (Ann. 1.3.7). His point was that the successful cooptation of the language of republican constitutionalism on the part of Augustus and his collaborators deprived the public sphere of any normative language through which to launch a critique of existing arrangements. More broadly, we might say that the normative representations generated within any political system do not and probably can never exhaust the possibilities of critique. With this lesson in mind, let us return to the juxtaposition between Lucan’s assertion that Egypt was a viable space wherein to conduct citizenly action already in the 40s BCE, and Tacitus’s assertion that there remained a secret of empire still to be revealed in the Neronian civil war. What was that secret? Or, better yet, what was still secret about this truth of politics as late as 69? For one thing, neither emperors in power nor senators in Rome wanted to admit that monarchic power might be won by violence rather than conferred through the regular operation of institutions that were perforce located in Rome. Thus, as the author of the Historia Augusta observed in the Life of Firmus, emperors did not label as tyranni those who “assailed the purple” or “entered the principate” – the language is normally invadentes purpuras or invadentes principatum – but instead called them latrunculi, “little bandits.”2 Within one interpretive framework, what was being denied was that violence was a legitimate means to claim the office of emperor. But it might be closer to the mark to say that the recourse to the language of banditry amounted to an attempt to deny that usurpation was a form of politics at all. The interested and ideological nature of this claim is revealed, once again, by the language of Tacitus, who tells us that the fate of Vitellius was sealed ubi imperium Vespasianus invaserit, “when Vespasian commenced his grab for imperium” (Hist. 3.66.2). Vespasian had been emperor – of that, there was no doubt – but his imperial career, as it were, had been launched via usurpation. The precedent set by Vespasian was therefore simply that of retroactive legitimation through the operation of the institutions of public power at Rome, in a double movement by which the Senate’s reward for legitimating him was his concession that the Senate had the unique authority so to act.3 In short, as the compressed, nearly cryptic language of Tacitus makes clear, it was the brute fact of the acquisition and exercise of power that set the institutions of legitimation in motion: the secret of empire was that a princeps could be created elsewhere than Rome (posse principem … fieri), but beyond creation much work then remained. The languages of banditry and tyranny were thus intended by emperors and their allies to efface precisely the problem to which Tacitus alludes. What is more, the retroactive authorization via normative politics of questions that 2 3

Hist. Aug. Quad. Tyr. 2.1–2. On the language of usurpation see Austin 1972, Szidat 1989, and Paschould and Szidat 1997. Ando 2013: 929–931.

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had already been settled by brute force left a gap, never wholly closed, of the following kind: there persisted a lack of social consensus about the means by which legitimacy was secured and sustained, with the result that contestation was nearly always possible, and the only final means of settling the matter, once it was opened, was death.4 To employ a different perspective, the sort of retroactive legitimation effected by Otho and Vespasian, whether through election to separate offices (in Otho’s case) or the passage of a lex de potestatibus (in that of Vespasian), being born from violence, could perforce never be complete, which meant that neither they nor we could ever know when stability had been achieved. In the perspective of Tacitus, this was the new terrain of politics and political communication forced upon the world by the Augustan settlement, nor, of course, was he wholly mistaken. One purpose of the present paper is to ask in what sense the civil wars of the first century BCE reveal the novelty of this terrain to be a product not of monarchy but of (republican) empire. Let me sum up these remarks on the space of politics in a provisional fashion. I have contrasted two normative discourses on Roman politics: one located “politics” in the city of Rome and, indeed, in institutionally and ritually ordained moments and spaces where the people might listen to those socially authorized to speak; the other excluded from the political actors who expressly contested the legitimacy of those in power. The interested and normative nature of the latter representations regarding bandit-usurpers cannot be contested. It may therefore shed interpretive light on the former. The isolation of the properly political to particular space-times amounted to a claim as to where and how communication occurred and, naturally, whose opinion ought to count in any assessment of public or popular opinion.5 My point as regards Lucan and Tacitus is that where Tacitus reveals an on-going anxiety about where issues of politics and public power might be contested and settled, Lucan suggests that this problem was visible already in the civil wars of the late republic. This occurred in part because of the demographic shape of the citizen body, whose dispersal around the Mediterranean occurred in the same context of empire that rendered so many non-Roman landscapes suitable venues for civil war. The argument advanced in this paper sits in dialogue with the description of the multiple overlapping, not-fully-harmonious notions of religious and political space excavated and analyzed in Daniel Gargola’s new work, focusing as he does (following the Romans themselves) on Rome as central and Italy as the proper home of the citizen body.6 Before I turn to the notion of time as it is referenced in the title of this essay, it might be useful to emphasize one shortcoming of Tacitus’s perspective that modern scholars often endorse definitionally, albeit, I suspect, without sustained reflection. This is the problem that we understand the contest for public power at Rome as “political” or, perhaps, we define as “politics” the contest among Romans over the 4 5 6

This a major theme of Ando 2012b. See, once again, O’Neill 2003, Rosillo-López 2017; see also Pina Polo 1989, 1996. Gargola 2017. Gargola’s work is new, but my provisional reading suggests that pp. 69–82 and 201–206 are particularly relevant to considerations of the expansion of Roman political space outside of Rome itself. The book deserves sustained and careful reading.

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occupation and nature of the imperial office. But it is important to recognize that by so defining politics, we make Tacitus’s suppositions regarding the “secret of empire” our own, rather than contesting them as the interested assumptions of a member of the imperial elite. For of course the de facto monarchic power held already by Octavian in the aftermath of Actium had fundamentally altered the topography of political power, and the nature of this change was perceived and acted upon nearly instantaneously, as Fergus Millar showed beautifully in 1984: this is why communities throughout the empire sent embassies to Octavian, wherever he was, and no longer to Rome (Millar 1984). But so long as we treat relations between Romans and their subjects under the rubric of “governing” (for example) rather than “politics,” we can exclude from the compass of the political all questions except matters of etiquette and the allocation of power within a ruling elite that understood itself to be based in Rome. The “time” of my title refers to the temporality of politics, and in particular to the discrepant experiential fields of political participation that were entailed by the distension of politics in space.7 I refer here to the problem, which exists on the planes of communication, knowledge and phenomenology, that politics conducted in a singular space, to wit, in the forum in Rome, is experienced by all relevant parties at the same time. In other words, all relevant parties experience it simultaneously. But the extension of the space wherein politics might be conducted shattered any such illusion of simultaneity. To what extent did the unity and legitimacy of politics depend on widespread subscription to a notional unity of its space-time? To anticipate one later development that I will discuss briefly, I believe an effort was made in late antiquity to foster the illusion, and perhaps even the reality, that certain political rituals were conducted in multiple places simultaneously.8 In this way, the extension of the empire in space, which threatened to disjoin the political body, was surmounted by collapsing the distance that separated population units in another dimension, that of time. Distance was thereby overcome via a conceit of simultaneity. We can’t be at the same place, but we can be at the same time.9 Analyses of the representation of politics between the late Republic and late empire suggest a number of ideological polarities at work, which one might represent schematically as follows:

7 8 9

Ando 2012a. Ando 2016. The concept of time and temporality relevant to my analysis is thus very different from that obtaining in standard treatments of periodization in Roman history or the relationship of calendrical to political time, and so forth. For a wonderfully clear treatment of these issues see Feeney 2009.

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Republic

Republican monarchy

Rome (& eventually Italy): solum Romanum (sive Italicum)

empire: provinciae, orbs

Democracy (actualized in the forum)

Monarchy (where the emperor is)

Domi

Militiae

Sovereignty as a matter of law, expressed and conferred through legislative and electoral bodies (comitia)

Sovereignty as a matter of political legitimacy, recognized and actualized via ceremonial (adventus)

Contio

Acclamation

Populus

Population

Temporality: simultaneous

Temporality: iteration, lag

Communication: bilateral

Communication: multipolar, multinodal

Several features of this schema deserve elucidation. First, the chart contains a mixture of languages: it employs terminology expressive of Roman ideological and representational commitments, and it uses terminology tied to our own analytic priorities. There are, of course, areas where these conceptual domains overlap, and areas where they don’t. (Self-consciousness about the extent of consonance in such mappings always pays dividends.) Second, up to a point, the polarities identified here map systems of normative evaluation, between what is or should be normal and what is abnormal and aberrant. Third, although I list these in a chart, we would do better to conceive them – and employ them – in a multi-dimensional matrix. In other words, any given event or representation should be interpreted or plotted in light of multiple polarities, even if only one or two axes of analysis are granted salience at a particular moment or in any given act of ancient evaluation. Fourth and last, as the first pair of items suggests (Republic :: Republican monarchy), the movement from left to right along any given axis frequently expresses a development across time, so that what was abnormal and aberrant in one period was gradually normalized over time.10 But it lay in the nature of the Roman imperial politics that no development toward absolute monarchy could ever be complete. Rather, to use Gibbon’s language, the façade of republican institutions – or, to use the terms of the Cambridge school, the languages of republican politics – long remained operative and available. In this way, political conduct, and the representation of particular forms of conduct as normative at any given moment, should always be understood as temporary (and interested) stabilizations of systems that were forever in flux, both moving forward and anchored to the past. Mutatis mutandis, there were, on close inspection, very few revolutions in the conduct of politics: most of the trends visible in 69 or in the Severan civil wars or under the Gordians or late antiquity, for that matter, are also visible in statu nascendi in 49 BCE. 10

The item “Rome (& eventually Italy)” is intended to capture the gradual but never complete assimilation of Italy as juridical space to the qualities that under the Republic had attached very narrowly to Rome itself and sometimes to land that was legally Roman.

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In what follows I approach these issues by considering in turn representations of politics and the formation of public opinion – or, more precisely, the representation of public opinion in politics – in contexts of empire and civil war, relying principally on Ammianus Marcellinus and above all Julius Caesar. As my interests lie in the form of politics and the ideological commitments on view in its representation, I set aside the task of evaluating Caesar’s career – whether as tyrant, butcher or slaver – and its reception, necessary though that task is.11 I also eschew any overview of the contexts of production and publication, rhetorical and literary qualities of Caesar’s text: many aspects of these topics have recently received distinguished attention.12 That said, it remains true that the Bellum Civile has not received the same level of literary, cultural- and cognitive-historical attention as the Bellum Gallicum.13 My ambition in what follows is to trace how Caesar’s representational commitments track and respond to the changing nature of politics in a context of republican empire. It is this Janus-faced quality that differentiates my own project from many other, quite splendid recent studies of Roman politics in this period that nevertheless succumb to the interested and partial claim by some Roman actors, to the effect that politics rightly understood was still located in Rome.14 Nothing was further from the truth. FASTER THAN RUMOR: JULIAN AT SIRMIUM In order to clarify the ideological stakes in the traditions of representation that emerge from the civil wars of the first century, one might commence with a reading of tropes generated by the system of representation that issued from that period. Several such are on display in the narrative provided by Ammianus Marcellinus of the reign of Julian. I commence with his account of Julian’s march to the east against Constantius II, and focus on his arrival at Sirmium: But Julian, like a meteor or a blazing dart (ut fax vel incensus malleolus), hastened with winged speed (volucriter) to his goal; and when he had come to Bononea, distant nineteen miles from Sirmium, as the moon was waning and therefore making dark the greater part of the night, he unexpectedly (improvisus) landed and at once sent Dagalaifus with a light-armed force to summon Lucillianus, and if he tried to resist, to bring him by force. (21.9.6, trans. Rolfe, emphasis added) Then, after getting rid of Lucillianus, thinking that it was no time for delay or for inaction, bold as he was and confident in times of peril, he marched to the city, which he looked on as surrendered. And advancing with rapid steps, he had no sooner come near the suburbs, which were large and extended to a great distance, than a crowd of soldiers and people of all sorts

11 12 13 14

Useful surveys may be found Yavetz 1983: 10–57, Badian 1990, and Christ 1994. See esp. Batstone and Damon 2006 and Raaflaub 2009. See, e. g., Welch and Powell 1998 and Riggsby 2006, the latter being a particularly splendid book. See, e. g., Raaflaub 2010, Wiseman 2010, and the related, somewhat retrospective analysis offered by Lange 2009.

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(militaris et omnis generis turba), with many lights, flowers and good wishes, escorted him to the palace, hailing him as Augustus and Lord (Augustum appellans et dominum). (21.10.1, trans. Rolfe, emphasis added) There, rejoicing in his success and in the good omen, and with increased hope of the future, since he believed that following the example of a populous and famous metropolis, the other cities would also receive him as a health-giving star (quod ad exemplum urbium matris populosae et celebris, per alias quoque civitates ut sidus salutare susciperetur), he gave chariot races on the following day, to the joy of the people. (21.10.2, trans. Rolfe, emphasis added)

In this context I draw attention to four aspects only of these passages.15 (i) Legitimate emperors move faster than rumor. This is thematized already in Caesar, who explicitly contrasts the speed of his own movement and the problematics of rumor and public opinion.16 (ii) The emphasis laid on the fact that Julian moved so fast that his arrival was unforeseen (improvisus) also frames the ceremony of adventus performed at Sirmium itself, where the display of consensus by soldiers and civilians of every type, to wit, the unanimity of public opinion, must be represented as having been spontaneous. (iii) In addition, this shorthand – militarius et omnis generis turba – is emphatically non-juridical. The population is broken down into groups and reconstituted as a totality, but the performance of politics is not a matter of public law – it is not, for example, the senate or the populus that greets him. In that sense, the world of Ammianus and its politics are no longer republican. (iv) Finally, one should attend to the reasoning attributed to Julian, to the effect that the report of this carefully choreographed ceremony will condition his reception elsewhere: not only do population groups look to one another (as the municipia of Italy do, when Caesar arrives), but the communication is multinodal.17 The confidence of Ammianus’s language and the unanimity at Sirmium that he seeks to attest can and should also be deconstructed. The pragmatics of communication and traditions of rhetoric in the Roman world required that social consensus had always to be fashioned via claims that it was somehow spontaneous and already existed: it was there, as soon as Julian arrived. To this one might compare the language in panegyrics about the benefits of imperial military action: these are nearly always in the present tense, so that the benefits of imperial action exist before they can possibly have been realized.18

On the ceremony of adventus – the formal “arrival” of an emperor – and its politics, and likewise the representation of such arrivals and their politics, see MacCormack 1981: 17–89. 16 See, e. g., Caes. BC 3.36: hoc adeo celeriter fecit, ut simul adesse et venire nuntiaretur. 17 Cf. Caes. BC 3.80: quibus rebus effectis cohortatus milites docuit, quantum usum haberet ad sublevandam omnium rerum inopiam potiri oppido pleno atque opulento, simul reliquis civitatibus huius urbis exemplo inferre terrorem et id fieri celeriter, priusquam auxilia concurrerent. 18 Pan. Lat. 8(4).9.1–3 (trans. Nixon and Rodgers): “It is a pleasure, by Hercules, to exult in the name of all the Gauls together and – I say this by your leave – to attribute the triumph to the provinces themselves. And so it is for me now that the Chamavian and Frisian plows …” (aratu ergo nunc mihi Chamavus et Frisius …). 15

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THE ILLUSION OF SIMULTANEITY: JULIAN IN PERSIA On the night of 18 March 363, shortly after leaving Antioch on his Persian expedition, the emperor Julian suffered from nightmares and ordered a watch to be taken for omens throughout the day. Nothing was observed in Persia. In Rome, however, “[it was] afterwards learned, [that] on that same night (hac eadem nocte) the temple of Palatine Apollo, under the prefecture of Apronianus, burned in the eternal city …” (Ammianus 23.3.3).19 Of course, this example concerns a religious matter, and simultaneity in the observation of prodigia is scarcely surprising. But the centrality of Rome within a sacred topography of the empire cannot easily be dissociated from its centrality to politics. In any event, I cite this example because it expresses in compressed fashion a phenomenon that is much harder to document as regards political ceremony, namely, the iteration of political ceremonies both outside the capitol cities and at Rome or Constantinople.20 Such iterations take at least two different forms: in some cases, ceremonies are performed in succession, once in the presence of the emperor outside the capitol and again when he arrived there – some such instances are known because the same panegyric was delivered on both occasions, as with the fifth oration of Themistius; in other cases, as with the triumph of Honorius at Rome in 416, theatrical games and chariot races were performed in Constantinople only 9 days later, and the ceremonies may well have been intended to be simultaneous. The iteration of ceremonies at one or another capitol is evidence, of course, that we should not endorse too strongly Herodian’s famous dictum, “Rome is where the emperor is.”21 The distribution of political action in space also gestures toward a problem of representation. Ancient narrative – not least Roman narrative – located politics in particular places, but focalized war through the movements in space of particular individuals. Caesar’s Civil War is no different, events and chronology being focalized through Caesar and his allies. But occasionally, upon Caesar’s arrival (as it were) at any given location, our gaze must move backwards, so that it is clear that “politics” has been going on, but the conventions of narrative mean that a truly chronological narrative of the totality of action is never provided. If we were 19

20 21

For another example, see Ammianus 26.1.4: “And as it was agreed without contradiction that this was to the advantage of the state, envoys were sent to urge him to hasten his coming; but for ten days no one held the helm of the empire, which the soothsayer Marcus, on inspection of the entrails at Rome, declared to have happened at the time (tunc).” Caesarian examples are also available: see Caesar, Bellum Civile 3.105: Ita duobus temporibus Ephesiae pecuniae Caesar auxilium tulit. Item constabat Elide in templo Minervae repetitis atque enumeratis diebus, quo die proelium secundum Caesar fecisset, simulacrum Victoriae, quod ante ipsam Minervam collocatum esset et ante ad simulacrum Minervae spectavisset, ad valvas se templi limenque convertisse. Eodemque die Antiochiae in Syria bis tantus exercitus clamor et signorum sonus exauditus est, ut in muris armata civitas discurreret. Hoc idem Ptolomaide accidit. Pergami in occultis ac reconditis templi, quo praeter sacerdotes adire fas non est, quae Graeci adyta appellant, tympana sonuerunt. Item Trallibus in templo Victoriae, ubi Caesaris statuam consecraverant, palma per eos dies inter coagmenta lapidum ex pavimento exstitisse ostendebatur. Ando 2016 explores this theme in late antiquity. Herodian 1.6.5: ἐκεῖ τε ἡ Ῥώμη, ὅπου ποτ᾿ ἂν ὁ βασιλεὺς ᾖ.

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to imagine the system graphically, civil war narratives generally consist of lines moving through space, which are interrupted by orthogonal lines that both admit and disallow the existence of “politics” elsewhere. SPACE, TIME AND POLITICS IN CAESAR’S CIVIL WAR If we turn now to Caesar’s Civil War, many of the problematics that I have already sketched are clearly visible. In the space available to me, I concentrate on three issues: first, the necessity of Rome as the site of politics, namely, the place where public power is both exercised and conferred; and second, the demographics of an imperial republic (or republican empire), to wit, the fact that the citizens who constitute the sovereign populus are not confined either to Rome or Italy; and lastly, that politics among a citizen body so dispersed cannot operate simply through legislative or electoral institutions as these existed under Rome. In this light, it must be admitted in advance that a full exposition of this argument will ultimately have to include at least a minimal account of Rome’s failure to extend the institutions of the republican city-state – juridical, electoral, deliberative, and legislative – throughout the territory that it denominated “Roman.” To begin with, Caesar strongly affirms the view that the appropriate context of public deliberation and the only proper site for the operation of electoral and legislative institutions is the city of Rome. Two representative statements are his overture to Pompey in bk. 3, to the effect that “since they had not been able to agree in the past, conditions of peace should be sought from the Senate and People at Rome” (BC 3.10: condiciones pacis, quoniam antea convenire non potuissent, Romae ab senatu et a populo peti debere) – the phrasing is presumably intended to evoke the other formulation, in which Romanus is adjectival – or the partisan claim in book one that the consuls left the city, “which before that time had never happened before” (BC 1.6: consules, quod ante id tempus accidit nunquam, ex urbe proficiscuntur …).22 The normative power of the locatives ad urbem, Romae, ex urbe, and so forth, can scarcely be overemphasized. By the same logic, Caesar emphasizes the failure of his enemies to observe proper distinctions between operation of public powers within the citizen body, which are literally civilian and located in the city, and military power, which is exercised outside the city, over others. A central plank of Caesar’s indictment of Pompey and all those allied against him is precisely their desertion of Rome and, where Pompey is concerned, his effort to wield power both domi and militiae simultaneously: “All these things have been under preparation against him now for a long time; against him, commands of a new type are established, such that one and the

22

The fallout of this situation continues the theme (Caes. BC 1.26): Libo a colloquio Canini digressus ad Pompeium proficiscitur. Paulo post renuntiat, quod consules absint, sine illis non posse agi de compositione.

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same person presides over urban affairs from near the gates and has held two very warlike provinces in absentia for many years …”23 These concerns, that decisions about public powers should be made at Rome because the Senate and People were or should be there, animate a series of tensions in the narrative for two reasons above all. First, the facts of power and political conduct belied all the talk of procedural legitimacy. This was emphatically true of Caesar himself. Second, not only had the Senate scattered at this moment, but in an on-going way the Roman citizen body lived neither wholly at Rome nor even in Italy. Instead, Roman citizens were commingled as minority immigrant groups within populations and on land that were legally alien in respect of Rome. The result is an on-going dissonance between the normative expectations that the parties use to assess each other’s conduct (“one should consult the Senate and People at Rome”) and the democratic and material conditions of both their actions and existence. For example, as a normative matter, magistrates addressed citizens in assembly in an inaugurated space, while magistrates and their legates presided over military contiones under strictly analogous terms. Caesar thus makes much of the legalitarian display by which the praetor Caelius Rufus was deprived of the power to contionari, to address the people (BC 3.21). However, contiones are held by magistrates throughout the space of the civil war – not least by Cato in Sicily (BC 1.30) and Caesar at Cordoba, before an audience that explicitly included aliens (BC 2.21): Caesar contione habita Cordubae omnibus generatim gratias agit (“A contio having been organized at Cordoba, Caesar gives thanks to all, type by type”). The importance of the legalitarian adverb generatim (“type by type”) cannot be overemphasized. The various gradus include citizens, aliens, and soldiers: civibus Romanis; Hispanis; Gaditanis; tribunis militum centurionibusque. As in a ceremony of adventus, the totality of the audience-participants is disjoined for analytic purposes according to some taxonomy, only to be reconstituted into a unified whole through its shared sentiment. This is a distinctly imperial mode of politics.24 A more strictly normative conception of the locus (or loci) of sovereignty is voiced by Caesar and his allies when they cite the opinion of a unified Italy. This occurs in two forms that merit reflection. One occurs in Caesar’s narrative of his efforts to avoid violence at Massilia, by urging the town not to hold against him: “He summons to himself 15 chief men of Massilia. He pleads with them lest the start of war-making should arise on the part of the Massiliots: they ought to follow the authority of all Italy rather than yield to the will of single person” (BC 1.35: debere eos Italiae totius auctoritatem sequi potius quam unius hominis voluntati obtemperare). Part of the force of the claim rests on the adjective tota: it is a claim 23 24

Caes. BC 1.85: Omnia haec iam pridem contra se parari; in se novi generis imperia constitui, ut idem ad portas urbanis praesideat rebus et duas bellicosissimas provincias absens tot annis obtineat … My point is not that non-citizens, nor soldiers, for that matter, should not have been in the audience. I seek, rather, to unpack the commitments underlying this way of representating and understanding the audience on this occasion. It seems to me to hearken forward to an imperial, rather than backward to a republican way of understanding the audience for political communication. On late republican contiones in general see Pina Polo 1989, 1996.

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of consensus, to which one should want to assimilate. But part of its force also derives from the claim to speak for Italy, which is the seat of empire. This aspects is made clear in a later instance of this argument, regarding the Apolloniates, but this time it is advanced by the townspeople in opposition to an illegitimate claim advanced by the Pompeians: “But [the Apolloniates] refuse to surrender, nor would they shut their gates against the consul, nor would they take upon themselves a decision contrary to what all Italy and the Roman people had decided.”25 The phrase effects an assimilation of place and population, to a particular effect. In reality, Italy was a peninsula, on which resided persons other than Roman citizens, while the Roman people as citizen body were scattered throughout the world. But the language employed here invites us to commingle public law categories (the populus is sovereign) with a purely ideological claim (Italy is its natural home). Of course, as the reference to the presence of citizens at the contio at Cordoba already revealed, all Roman citizens were not in Italy, nor, as the Massiliots knew, was Italy unified in sentiment. They responded to Caesar’s invocation of tota Italia with the remark that they understand the populus Romanus to be divided in partes duas. Italy may be unified, but the Roman people are not. The massive increase in the size of the Roman citizen body and its distribution in space raised a series of further problems, not least in those contexts when its actual legislative and electoral powers were not at issue. These existed at the level of representation – what were the constituents of the greater populus, even merely in Italy? – as well as communicative practice. Where was the populus, that one might address it? In this provisional treatment, I focus on experiments in language as regards the citizen body at large, but it might be useful to recall that such experiments also occurred at Rome itself, in peacetime. I have already cited ceremonial as an alternative to politics stricto sensu: emperors could refer to acclamations on the occasion of adventus as a way of eliding the importance of public law institutions like the Senate. Likewise, the Augustan age witnessed much experimentation in efforts to represent the people as striving within itself to express loyalty to Augustus and his house, all while bypassing the institutions whereby the juridically constituted populus legally expressed its view. Consider, for example, the insistence in documents of first two decades CE that the equites lament the death of one or another prince (Rowe 2002). What had been the public law function of the equites as a body under the Republic? Where did they gather? What was their assembly? Consensus in practice, and representations of consensus in rhetoric, are constructed via interested dissections of some whole into parts, whose examples are cited to one another by way of exhortation. The possibility of dissent is imaginatively estopped, competition being channeled into a culture of loyalism. The principal units by which Caesar imagines the distribution of the population across the landscape of empire are the municipium and the conventus. For example, in the second book, Curio grants heft to his claim in regard to Italy – magna pars Italiae, not tota Italia! – by disaggregating Italy into municipia, all of which 25

Caes. BC 3.12: Illi vero daturos se negare, neque portas consuli praeclusuros, neque sibi iudicium sumpturos contra atque omnis Italia populusque Romanus iudicavisset.

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agree: “For all the municipia then followed you and your deed” (BC 2.32: vos enim vestrumque factum omnia … deinceps municipia sunt secuta). The claim in respect of the whole is vindicated by a claim in respect of its constituent parts. Of course, the soldiers themselves, feeling and acting on shared sentiment organized in part around the natural sociability of locale, recognized that Italy is divided, which is to say, that the municipia are attached to different sides (BC 2.29): “The municipia were joined to different sides (municipia etiam diversis partibus coniuncta): for example, the men who deserted on the previous night came from among the Marsi and Paeligni.” Similar arguments might be advanced about the practices both of addressing conventus and also of broadcasting representations of their views. Very different practices are observed in texts about the Caesarian civil wars, both as regards the unity of conventus as an internal matter and regarding the power exercised by conventus of Roman citizens in the locales wherein they reside. But it is frequently in Caesar’s interest, on occasions where the local populations favors him, to represent the conventus as unified in its sentiment. At Salona, for example, Marcus Octavius “was unable to move the conventus [of Roman citizens] with either promises or threat of dangers, [and so] set about to besiege the town.”26 By these means, the population of Italy was represented as unified to the Roman diaspora, and the diaspora was represented as unified to an audience in Rome and Italy. In its geography, the system of representation on view in Caesar’s text offers a politics and a communicative practice appropriate to empire; and insofar as its elides the language of public law and effaces the operation of legislative institutions, it is a politics and practice that looks forward to monarchy. CONCLUSION In this paper I have focused on how Caesar represents the conduct of politics and the content of public opinion, and I have suggested that in each case, the form of his representation represented a reaction to the changing nature of republican politics in a context of civil war. A fuller study of my topic would naturally give due attention to the organization of public opinion in practice, and also to the Romans’ own reflections on the psychological fragility of both soldiers and civilians at such moments. The fuller, pan-Mediterranean context of political communication even within the Roman diaspora – and the dispersal of Roman political authorities – would naturally also require that one analyze the emergence and importance of multipolar, rather than strictly bilateral, networks of communication in the Caesarian civil wars and the wars that followed down to Actium.27

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Caes. BC 3.9: conventum Salonis cum neque pollicitationibus neque denuntiatione periculi permovere posset, oppidum oppugnare instituit. See also 2.19: Simul ipse Cordubae conventus per se portas Varroni clausit … For now see Caes. BC 2.37 (Iamque Caesaris in Hispania res secundae in Africam nuntiis ac litteris perferebantur) and 3.101–3. Although there have been a number of intelligent surveys of political communication in the ancient world (including Kuhn 2012), the problems that in-

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Allow me instead to conclude by remarking on the account offered by Caesar of the senators in Pompey’s camp on the eve of the final battle: instead of preparing, they allocate amongst themselves offices and priesthoods. After their defeat, he focalizes through his soldiers our disgust with the very un-Roman luxury of their camp. Returning to the chart that I offered at the start of this essay, it is important to see in how many instances the Pompeians operated at the wrong end of the polarity: they deliberated in the provinces; they settled domestic public law arrangements while in camp; they made a mockery of the operation of electoral institutions; they spoke privately rather than before an assembly. The luxury of their camp was only a trifle, the visible signifier of their profound loss of faith with the institutions they claimed to defend. BIBLIOGRAPHY Ando, C. (2012a) “Empire, state and communicative action”, in Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, ed. C. Kuhn: 219–229. Stuttgart. Ando, C. (2012b) Imperial Rome AD 193 to 284. The critical century, Edinburgh. Ando, C. (2013) “The origins and import of republican constitutionalism”, Cardozo Law Review 34: 917–935. Ando, C. (2016) “Triumph in the decentralized empire”, in Der römische Triumph in Prinzipat und Spätantike, eds. J. Wienand and F. Goldbeck: 397–417. Berlin. Austin, N. J. E. (1972) “A usurper’s claim to legitimacy”, Riv. storica dell’antichità 2: 77–83. Badian, E. (1990) “Review of C. Meier, Caesar (Berlin: Severin und Siedler, 1982)”, Gnomon 62: 22–39. Batstone, W. W. and Damon, C. (2006) Caesar’s Civil War, Oxford. Christ, K. (1994) Caesar. Annäherungen an einen Diktator, München. Feeney, D. (2009) “Time”, in The Cambridge companion to the Roman historians, ed. A. Feldherr: 139–151. Cambridge. Gargola, Daniel J. (2017) The Shape of the Roman Order: The Republic and its Spaces, Chapel Hill. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2011) “The Roman republic as theatre of power: the consuls as leading actors”, in Consuls and Res Publica. Holding high office in the Roman Republic, eds. H. Beck, A. Duplá, M. Jehne and F. Pina Polo: 161–181. Cambridge. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2016) “In the web of (hi-)stories. Memoria, monuments and their myth-historical ‘interconnectedness’”, in Memory in Ancient Rome and Early Christianity, ed. K. Galinsky: 169–213. Oxford. Kuhn, C., (ed.) (2012) Politische Kommunikation und öffentliche Meinung in der antiken Welt, Stuttgart. Lange, C. H. (2009) Res publica constituta. Actium, Apollo and the accomplishment of the triumviral assignment, Leiden. MacCormack, S. G. (1981) Art and Ceremony in Late Antiquity, Berkeley. Millar, F. (1984) “State and subject: the impact of monarchy”, in Caesar Augustus. Seven aspects, eds. F. Millar and E. Segal: 37–60. Oxford. O’Neill, P. (2003) “Going round in circles: popular speech in ancient Rome”, Classical Antiquity 22: 135–166. Paschoud, F. and Szidat. J. (eds.) (1997) Usurpationen in der Spätantike, Historia Einzelschriften 111, Stuttgart. here in this transitional moment in Roman politics have not receive the specific attention they deserve.

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Pina Polo, F. (1989) Las Contiones civiles y militares en Roma, Zaragoza. Pina Polo, F. (1996) Contra Arma Verbis: Der Redner vor dem Volk in der später römischen Republik, trans. E. Liess, Stuttgart. Raaflaub, K. (2009) “Bellum Civile”, in A Companion to Julius Caesar, ed. M. Griffin: 175–191. Malden, MA. Raaflaub, K. A. (2010) “Creating a grand coalition of true Roman citizens: on Caesar’s political strategy in the civil war”, in Citizens of discord. Rome and its civil wars, eds. B. W. Breed, C. Damon, and A. Rossi: 159–170. New York. Riggsby, A. M. (2006) Caesar in Gaul and Rome. War in words, Austin, TX. Riggsby, A. M. (2009) “Space”, in The Cambridge companion to the Roman historians, ed. A. Feldherr: 152–165. Cambridge. Rosillo-López, C. (2017) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Rowe, G. (2002) Princes and Political Cultures, Ann Arbor, MI. Szidat, J. (1989) “Usurpationen in der römischen Kaiserzeit. Bedeutung, Gründe, Gegenmaßnahmen”, in Labor omnibus unus. Gerold Walser zum 70. Geburtstag, eds. H. E. Herzig and R. Frei-Stolba: 232–243. Stuttgart. Welch, K. and Powell, A. (1998) Julius Caesar as artful reporter: the war commentaries as political instruments, Swansea. Wiseman, T. P. (2010) “The two-headed state: how Romans explained civil war”, in Citizens of discord. Rome and its civil wars, eds. B. W. Breed, C. Damon, and A. Rossi: 25–44. New York. Yavetz, Z. (1983) Julius Caesar and his public image, Ithaca, NY.

PUBLIC OPINION AS PUBLIC DIALOGUE

RHETORIC OF FEAR IN REPUBLICAN ROME: THE CICERONIAN CASE Francisco Pina Polo Modern electoral campaigns, and surely also those in previous decades, are dominated by the rhetoric of fear.1 Political parties frequently attempt to generate trepidation among voters, going so far as to base their campaigns upon it: fear that taxes may rise, fear that their pensions may be cut, fear of immigrants who take their jobs, etc. In short, fear of the supposed enemy, in many forms. During the campaign preceding the referendum on Brexit in the United Kingdom, both those who advocated leaving the European Union as well as those who advocated remaining competed to generate among voters the greatest fear possible of the outcome of the other side winning. Some warned of, and possibly exaggerated, the terrible effects that leaving the European Union would have on the British economy. Others appealed to British patriotism in the face of the supposedly massive invasion of immigrants who wanted to steal jobs from the British people and change British culture. Ultimately, the fear of the other won the election, the fear of difference. It did not matter that Brexit supporters sometimes used data that was exaggerated or simply false, their rhetoric succeeded in creating a sense of fear among a substantial part of the British population, and the appeal to fear was sufficient to win. For many years in Spain, it has been more important in electoral campaigns for parties to provoke fear about their rivals than to defend their own policies. The two-party system dominant until 2015 assisted the job of the campaign managers and their copywriters, who competed to devise the most ingenious slogans and 1

I will use the word “fear”, knowing that it is a general concept which incorporates more specific terms within its semantic field, along a spectrum which includes emotions of varying intensity, such as terror, alarm, anxiety, etc. The Oxford English Dictionary offers this definition: “the emotion of pain or uneasiness caused by the sense of impending danger, or by the prospect of some possible evil”. It is possible, nevertheless, to broaden this basic definition: fear is an emotional response to a threat which may be real or imaginary, but which in either case is accepted as a threat, and which is believed will result in pain and suffering. As such, fear is closely connected with the uncertainty caused by the near future. Fear is a primal emotion which does not require a sophisticated mental apparatus, but can be induced (Aron 1968: 20: “Fear needs no definition. It is a primal, and so to speak, sub-political emotion”). Given that it is directed towards ensuring the individual’s survival and wellbeing, the only pre-requisite is the existence of a danger that triggers that emotion (Ferraro 1995: 12: “To produce a fear reaction in humans, a recognition of a situation as possessing at least potential danger, real or imagined, is necessary. This conception of potential danger is what we may call perceived risk and is clearly defined by the actor in association with others”). This danger may not be certain, or may be exaggerated, but, in order to generate fear, it should appear genuine.

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videos to discredit their opponents and generate anxiety among the voters. The emergence of new parties modified the rules of the game, but not the game itself. In the elections in June 2016, three of the main parties opted to create fear among the voters by every conceivable means to prevent Podemos winning the elections, an outcome which polls suggested was possible: the country could fall into the hands of communism; Spain could be a new Venezuela and become a failed state; Spain could leave the Euro and Europe; the economic situation would immediately become catastrophic, etc. It is impossible to know to what extent the discourse of fear influenced Spanish voters, but it seems beyond doubt that such a vigorous campaign of panic about the future, supported on a massive scale by the mass media, must have had some influence. In the last debate of the French campaign for the presidential election, which was held on 3rd May 2017, fear permeated the discussion between the two candidates. Macron accused Le Pen of playing on the fears of the citizens when she spread her apocalyptic discourse about the Euro, migrants and terrorism. Macron went so far as to describe his adversary as “la grande prêtresse de la peur” (“the high priestess of fear”). Indeed, no one can deny that Le Pen based her campaign on the fear of the other, economic collapse, an increase in violence, and ultimately the destruction of France as an idea and as a community. Paradoxically, Le Pen was herself defeated by the fear aroused by her adversaries within French society towards the deeply negative consequences, for the country and for Europe, of her hypothetical presidency. The rhetoric of fear is neither an invention of the modern era, nor, of course, unique to democratic systems. Aristotle dedicated a section of his Rhetoric to explaining to the orator the importance of generating fear among the audience in order to achieve his objectives, as well as the ways in which this emotion may be aroused and spread.2 He started by defining fear:3 “Let fear be defined as a painful or troubled feeling caused by the impression of an imminent evil that causes destruction or pain; for men do not fear all evils … but only such as involve great pain or destruction, and only if they appear to be not far off but near at hand and threatening, for men do not fear things that are very remote.”4 For Aristotle, fear was a mental construct, the sense that some great misfortune was going to occur in the future. Ultimately, fear comes from ignorance, from the unknown.5 Fear, therefore, goes hand in hand with uncertainty about the future, which is perceived as a threat. In order for someone to feel genuinely afraid, the potential damage should not only be sufficiently serious, but also perceived as some2 3 4

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Cf. Fields 2012: 15. All the English translations of Aristotle are by J. H. Freese (London – New York 1926). Arist. Rhet. 2.5.1 = 1382a: δὴ ὁ φόβος λύπη τις ἢ ταραχὴ ἐκ φαντασίας μέλλοντος κακοῦ φθαρτικοῦ ἢ λυπηροῦ: οὐ γὰρ πάντα τὰ κακὰ φοβοῦνται, οἷον εἰ ἔσται ἄδικος ἢ βραδύς, ἀλλ᾽ ὅσα λύπας μεγάλας ἢ φθορὰς δύναται, καὶ ταῦτα ἐὰν μὴ πόρρω ἀλλ σύνεγγυς φαίνηται ὥστε μέλλειν. τὰ γὰρ πόρρω σφόδρα οὐ φοβοῦνται. Blits 1989: 424: “While we can desire something only if we know it, we naturally fear something precisely because we do not know. Knowledge is a necessary condition for desire; ignorance is a sufficient condition for fear.”

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thing real and immediate, not in the far-distant future. All human beings, Aristotle says, know that they will die, but do not necessarily feel frightened by that knowledge, unless death seems close. Human beings accordingly experience fear when they think or feel that they are in danger, such that fear and danger are two closely connected sensations: “If then this is fear, all things must be fearful that appear to have great power of destroying or inflicting injuries that tend to produce great pain. That is why even the signs of such misfortunes are fearful, for the fearful thing itself appears to be near at hand, and danger is the approach of anything fearful.”6 The danger, furthermore, must not only be immediate, but also above all feasible and credible; that is, a person only feels afraid if they think that they may truly suffer harm from something or someone with sufficient power to inflict it: “Let us now state the frame of mind which leads men to fear. If then fear is accompanied by the expectation that we are going to suffer some fatal misfortune, it is evident that none of those who think that they will suffer nothing at all is afraid either of those things which he does not think will happen to him, or of those from whom he does not expect them, or at a time when he does not think them likely to happen. It therefore needs be that those who think they are likely to suffer anything should be afraid, either of the persons at whose hands they expect it, or of certain things, and at certain times.”7 From these premises, Aristotle’s argument goes on to offer specific advice to the orator who believes that arousing fear would serve his objectives, proposing that he should use his oratorical skills to reveal to the audience that they are in danger, and that others have previously suffered in similar situations: “So that whenever it is preferable that the audience should feel afraid, it is necessary to make them think they are likely to suffer, by reminding them that others greater than they have suffered, and showing that their equals are suffering or have suffered, and that at the hands of those from whom they did not expect it, in such a manner and at time when they did not think it likely.”8 As we have seen, Aristotle did not at any time speak of seeking the truth, but instead of how the audience may envisage the situation, and of the power of oration to direct their imaginary dread. In summary, to incite fear in his audience and to create a certain public opinion, Aristotle recommended the orator to demonstrate that wellbeing and even life are endangered; that the threat is imminent; that their

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Arist. Rhet. 2.5.2 = 1382b: εἰ δὴ ὁ φόβος τοῦτ᾽ ἐστίν, ἀνάγκη τὰ τοιαῦτα φοβερὰ εἶναι ὅσα φαίνεται δύναμιν ἔχειν μεγάλην τοῦ φθείρειν ἢ βλάπτειν βλάβας εἰς λύπην μεγάλην συντεινούσας: διὸ καὶ τὰ σημεῖα τῶν τοιούτων φοβερά: ἐγγὺς γὰρ φαίνεται τὸ φοβερόν: τοῦτο γάρ ἐστι κίνδυνος, φοβεροῦ πλησιασμός. Arist. Rhet. 2.5.13 = 1382b: εἰ δή ἐστιν ὁ φόβος μετὰ προσδοκίας τινὸς τοῦ πείσεσθαί τι φθαρτικὸν πάθος, φανερὸν ὅτι οὐδεὶς φοβεῖται τῶν οἰομένων μηδὲν ἂν παθεῖν, οὐδὲ ταῦτα ἃ μὴ οἴονται ἂν παθεῖν οὐδὲ τούτους ὑφ᾽ ὧν μὴ οἴονται, οὐδὲ τότε ὅτε μὴ οἴονται. ἀνάγκη τοίνυν φοβεῖσθαι τοὺς οἰομένους τι παθεῖν ἄν, καὶ τοὺς ὑπὸ τούτων καὶ ταῦτα καὶ τότε. Arist. Rhet. 2.5.15 = 1383a: ὥστε δεῖ τοιούτους παρασκευάζειν, ὅταν ᾖ βέλτιον τὸ φοβεῖσθαι αὐτούς, ὅτι τοιοῦτοί εἰσιν οἷον παθεῖν (καὶ γὰρ ἄλλοι μείζους ἔπαθον), καὶ τοὺς τοιούτους δεικνύναι πάσχοντας ἢ πεπονθότας, καὶ ὑπὸ τοιούτων ὑφ᾽ ὧν οὐκ ᾤοντο, καὶ ταῦτα ἃ καὶ τότε ὅτε οὐκ ᾤοντο.

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enemies are powerful and can execute their threats; that people should feel vulnerable and unable to control the situation; that the orator should appear trustworthy. Fear is by nature personal – it is substantially narcissistic, because it appeals to the innate instinct of self-preservation: all human beings tend instinctively to protect themselves, although secondarily they may be able to rationalise a situation and try to protect their loved ones, such as their children, as well as themselves. Although danger and its consequent distress are perceived in personal terms, fear nevertheless can be socialised: if the preservation of the communal good is believed to be at risk, a collective fear can arise. Politicians, both current and ancient, can contribute to creating this collective fear with their claims and speeches. This is what happens in electoral campaigns, and what happened in the months prior to the invasion of Iraq in 2003, when some supposed world leaders propagated the (false) idea that a large number of weapons of mass destruction were stockpiled in that country, which endangered the survival of the “free world”.9 In other words, the primary, selfish fear, inherent in human beings, can become – and more specifically, can be induced to become – a collective fear, a political fear, so long as an individual is a member of a community.10 This political fear nonetheless always retains a fundamental, selfish component: the anxiety of losing that which you personally possess. People are not afraid if they think they are in control of a situation, so they have to be convinced, or must be persuaded, that there is a serious risk of social and economic chaos which could have repercussions for their personal circumstances. Of course, it is necessary to take into account the cultural context in which a collective fear is generated, given that social and political circumstances completely alter perceptions of danger and fear. In modern times, an abandoned package at a train station or airport can cause panic among those who happen to be there, because they immediately think of scenes of terrorist attacks with dozens of dead. In Antiquity, what could cause collective fear? Civil war, a change of political regime, the destruction of the city in which an individual lived, economic ruin, the loss of belongings …? Clearly, a fundamental difference between Antiquity and our era is the method of fomenting this collective fear then, and generating it now. Groups of individuals can be suggestible, and fear can be contagious and easily spread within the group, thereby influencing public opinion. How can this effect be achieved? The most obvious and defining transformation in this field is the existence of the mass media in the modern world. During the twentieth century, the mass media have made it possible to create a collective mental state among individuals who are physically separated from one another. This was possible initially with the written press, and 9 10

The Iraq Inquiry (also called the Chilcot Inquiry), published on the 6th July 2016, revealed the clear misrepresentations upon which was based the campaign in 2003 to build public support for the invasion of Iraq. Cf. Robin 2004: 2: “By political fear, I mean a people’s felt apprehension of some harm to their collective well-being – the fear of terrorism, panic over crime, anxiety about moral decay – or the intimidation wielded over men and women by governments or groups. What makes both types of fears political rather than personal is that they emanate from society or have consequences for society.”

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later, more quickly and extensively, with radio and television. In recent years, the internet – and social networking in particular – has revolutionised personal and community relationships, since this collective mental state can be achieved within minutes, even on a global scale. Obviously, ancient Romans could not have conceived of something akin to the panic created when Orson Welles’ radio programme, The War of the Worlds, based on the novel by H. G. Wells, prompted millions of listeners in the USA to believe simultaneously that a Martian invasion was underway. Paradoxically, while in 1938 the majority believed that an extra-terrestrial invasion was taking place, in 2001 many initially believed that the attacks of September 11th were just such a hoax as Orson Welles’, despite them being transmitted live on television – or precisely because of this: it seemed implausible. Since the mass media did not exist in Antiquity, fear had to be incited and spread essentially through physical contact, by word of mouth. In Rome, the assemblies in which speeches to the plebs were delivered, contiones, served as the principal megaphone for the propagation among the city population of ideas, announcements, and canards. At an assembly, however, a few hundred people, at best, were present, a tiny proportion of the inhabitants of Rome. The subsequent rumours that spread from the orator’s tribune, spontaneously or by instigation, were an excellent and effective medium for dispersing news and opinions, and in short for creating a particular mood among the population.11 In a fundamentally oral society, the combination of popular assemblies and rumours spreading across the city was therefore the medium which a Roman politician needed to use if he wanted to circulate a sense of collective fear amongst the residents of Rome. In this context, the oration practised in the contiones was essential as a point of departure, as a point of ignition. Speeches were often delivered to the people in Rome, and the sources refer to them frequently. It is, however, very rare for an orator’s exact words to have been preserved – or even an approximation of his words, given the editorial process that followed the delivery of a speech. In fact, only the texts of some of the speeches Cicero gave in contiones have survived, and it is upon those which this article will focus, specifically upon the second and third speeches De lege agraria, delivered at the start of his consulate in 63;12 the second and third Catilinariae, also from 63; and the fourth and sixth Philippics, delivered respectively on 20th December 44 and 4th January 43, in the context of Cicero’s campaign against Antonius.13 In all these speeches, Cicero tried to promote hostility towards those whom he considered enemies of the Republic: the tribune of the plebs Rullus, for his proposed agrarian law; 11 12 13

Rosillo-López 2007; Pina Polo 2010. The second speech De lege agraria, which was the first delivered before the assembly, is of most interest, since the third is a very brief speech with limited content. The seventh of Cicero’s speeches to the people which has been preserved is the one Cicero delivered immediately upon his return from exile (Post reditum ad Quirites). The tone of the speech, in which Cicero thanked the Roman people for their support during his banishment, is completely different from the others that are preserved, and is therefore of little use for exploring Cicero’s use of the rhetoric of fear.

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Catiline, for his conspiracy to seize power; and Antonius, for his politics, which Cicero considered a continuation of the Caesarian “tyranny”. They were the collective threat against which immediate action was necessary, and Cicero devoted all his efforts to demonstrating this.14 In those speeches, it was not only important to demonstrate the risks that such enemies posed to Roman society, it was also essential to vilify those enemies even to the point of dehumanising them.15 Cicero used this strategy against Catiline and Antonius, and to a lesser extent against Rullus. Their dehumanisation was very important, because it rendered any violent action against them both reasonable and legitimate. In the case of the Catilinarians, the final outcome was the execution of those who had been captured, with neither trial nor appeal, while Cicero covered his back with the senatus consultum ultimum and senatorial condemnation of the Catilinarians, neither of which held legal force, as well as with his previous moral disqualification of the accused. In the case of Antonius, Cicero contested that it was ethically just to declare war on him, because of everything that he had already done and everything he could do if he was not confronted. In his speeches, Cicero went to great lengths to present Catiline and Antonius as depraved creatures, full of every kind of vice, as well as dangers to society. The message was therefore very clear and simple: the enemy (of the fatherland) was a vile, despicable and dangerous individual, whom it was therefore acceptable to destroy, physically if necessary. In his speeches delivered to the people against Catiline and Antonius, as well as against Rullus’ agrarian rogatio, one of Cicero’s principal tactics was to draw on the rhetoric of fear. Fear derives from human vulnerability, as an individual and as a member of a collective. As discussed above, fear must be felt and internalised, based on a plausible and immediate threat. What causes fear in a human being, and by extension in the group to which a person belongs? Loss, in particular: loss of liberty, of possessions, of life … This formed one of the central points of Cicero’s speeches, in which he emphasised to his audience what they could lose if they did not confront the enemies of the fatherland. Rullus’ draft agrarian bill is known only generally, and only along the particular lines of criticism that Cicero levelled at it in his speeches. We therefore do not know its details, and it is more than probable that Cicero misrepresented and distorted some aspects of the bill in order to present a totally negative image of it, to support his own thesis. What is not in doubt is the existence of a serious social problem in the first century in relation to the unequal access to land ownership, which was reflected in the draft agrarian bills which were brought throughout the period. In every instance, those attempts at agrarian reform met with steely opposition from a majority of senators, among whom undoubtedly was Cicero. If his opposition was more apparent in 63, that was due to his position of consul, which meant he led the obstruction of the tribune of the plebs’ bill. 14 15

I would like to clarify that it is not my intention to offer a study of the Latin vocabulary relating to the semantic field of “fear”. On that subject, see Riggsby. 2009; Fields 2012: esp. 27–45; Vanderpool 2016. See Duplá Ansuátegui (2017).

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In his second speech against Rullus’ rogatio, the first to be delivered to the people, Cicero ignored the crux of the issue throughout. He said nothing about the agrarian problems, nor proposed alternative solutions. In fact, social concerns never seem to have formed part of the political agenda of Cicero, who was always preoccupied with the maintenance of the status quo, and always conscious that his natural allies were the locupletes, the wealthy.16 His only intention was to demonstrate to his audience that Rullus’ bill was in reality an illegitimate attempt to seize power, and that passing it would bring with it the loss of public property in the economic arena, the loss of liberty in the political arena, and, ultimately, the fall of the res publica.17 To that end, he endeavoured to instil in his listeners the anxiety that a tyranny of the few would be established, and for that reason he recurrently counterposed liberty and tyranny, libertas and regnum, throughout his oration. Cicero began by claiming that, when he became consul on 1st January 63, the res publica was imperilled by the schemes that the villains were concocting against her and against the welfare of her citizens. It appears to be a passage added a posteriori upon the publication of the speech, with the clear intention of emphasising Cicero’s role as saviour of Rome during his consulship, in particular with his suppression of the Catilinarian conspiracy. It did, however, in any case serve the self-interest of the orator to introduce one of the central themes of the speech, the terror that tyranny would supplant the Republic: “The people believed that there was a tendency towards new forms of domination (dominatio), not regarding the concession of extraordinary power, but rather in the introduction of tyranny (regnum)”.18 Rullus’ rogatio simply served, according to Cicero, to confirm those suspicions and give a specific form to the danger. The agrarian law, which the orator ironically described as pulchra et popularis, had not been designed to benefit the people, but rather a very few, to whom it gave everything, while it drained public property.19 Cicero emphasised that the sale of public property represented a robbery, not only for the state, but also for every Roman citizen, even when these estates were in a territory as distant as Anatolia, because their sale – with the aggravating circum16 17

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On Cicero’s relationship with wealth and money, see Pina Polo 2016. In his first speech against Rullus’ draft bill, delivered before the senate, Cicero had especially emphasised the economic problems that its approval would bring, particularly the loss of income for the Roman state. Contrary to his tactics in the assembly, however, he did not pursue the argument that the law implied the loss of liberty and establishment of tyranny, probably because that was not a credible argument to most of the senators. Cicero undoubtedly thought that the members of a popular assembly would be more sensitive to this catastrophising argument. Cic. Leg.agr. 2.8: Ego qualem Kalendis Ianuariis acceperim rem publicam, Quirites, intellego, plenam sollicitudinis, plenam timoris; in qua nihil erat mali, nihil adversi quod non boni metuerent, improbi exspectarent; omnia turbulenta consilia contra hunc rei publicae statum et contra vestrum otium partim iniri, partim nobis consulibus designatis inita esse dicebantur; sublata erat de foro fides non ictu aliquo novae calamitatis, sed suspicione ac perturbatione iudiciorum, infirmatione rerum iudicatarum; novae dominationes, extraordinaria non imperia, sed regna quaeri putabantur. Cf. Walter 2013: 52–53. Cic. Leg.agr. 2.15: Sic confirmo, Quirites, hac lege agraria pulchra atque populari dari vobis nihil, condonari certis hominibus omnia, ostentari populo Romano agros, eripi etiam libertatem, privatorum pecunias augeri, publicas exhauriri … Cf. Walter 2013: 61–62.

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stance of not being carried out at public auction – would mean less rental income for the public purse: “Shall we allow them to sell our property assets, of which we would be permanently divested, far away in the shadows of Paphlagonia and the wildernesses of Cappadocia? … Shall the decemvirs sell your revenue (vectigalia), not only without your oversight but even without the public witness of a crier (praeco)?”20 While the economic damage was important, however, even worse was the political danger. The decemvirs who were to be charged with implementing the law, should it be passed, would be endowed with so many powers that they could be considered “kings (reges) of the public treasury, of taxes, of all the provinces, of the whole Republic, of the dominions, of the free peoples, in the end, of all the world”.21 The orator thus foretold the end of the Republic as it was known to his audience, because in its place, kings would be the new rulers of the city (reges in civitate constitui). And this became even more distressing when it was recalled that the proponent of such an outrage was a tribune of the plebs, an office upon which the forefathers had bestowed the role of “protector and guardian of liberty” (praeses et custos libertatis). This argument was repeated by the orator throughout the speech as a kind of mantra. Again and again Cicero repeated that the decemvirs would be tyrants, that the res publica would be replaced by a tyranny (regnum), and that freedom (libertas) would disappear from Roman society: “I will say to you again what I said at the start: with this law they want to institute tyranny (regnum) and destroy your freedom (libertas)”.22 Roman invective in the first century B. C. frequently used the term tyrannus, of Greek origin, as well as rex and dominus, as a means of discrediting an adversary, who was automatically dehumanised and transformed into a being devoid of morality and an enemy of the fatherland. It is unsurprising that the Gracchi, and other politicians during the Late Republican period, were accused of aspiring to tyranny in order to legitimate their deaths.23 The word tyrannos, in particular, was nevertheless rarely used by Cicero in his speeches before the people, in which he preferred to use terms more typical of Latin vocabulary and, therefore, more familiar to his audience: rex, regnum, dominus, dominatio.24 The meaning of Cic. Leg.agr. 2.55–56: Venire nostras res proprias et in perpetuum a nobis abalienari in Paphlagoniae tenebris atque in Cappadociae solitudine licebit?… xviri vestra vectigalia non modo non vobis, Quirites, arbitris sed ne praecone quidem publico teste vendent? 21 Cic. Leg.agr. 2.15: Atque ego a primo capite legis usque ad extremum reperio, Quirites, nihil aliud cogitatum, nihil aliud susceptum, nihil aliud actum nisi uti x reges aerari, vectigalium, provinciarum omnium, totius rei publicae, regnorum, liberorum populorum, orbis denique terrarum domini constituerentur legis agrariae simulatione atque nomine. Cf. Walter 2013: 60–61. 22 Cic. Leg.agr. 2.24: renovabo illud quod initio dixi, regnum comparari, libertatem vestram hac lege funditus tolli. On the counterposition of regnum and libertas, see Wirszubski 1950; Arena 2012. 23 See Pina Polo 2006; 2017. On the use of “tyranny” in Late Republican invective, and in particular in Cicero, Sirago 1956; Dunkle 1967. 24 In his second speech against Rullus’ rogatio, Cicero only used the word tyrannus once: Formam adhuc habetis, Quirites, et speciem ipsam tyrannorum (Cic. Leg.agr. 2.32). He used it 20

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all those words was very clear and very easy to understand for his listeners, always as the antithesis of the res publica libera. The regnum-libertas antithesis recurs throughout the speech: “Citizens, what is being instated are tyrants (reges), not decemvirs, and as such, not merely from the start of their magistracy, but from the moment they are instated, your rights (ius), your powers (potestas), your liberty (libertas) will have vanished”.25 In the final part of the speech, his warnings take on an almost apocalyptic tone: “Is it not clear that they want to establish a tyranny (regnum) in secret and destroy your liberty (libertas)? Because when those men, with the powers that will be available to them, get hold of everyone’s money – in one word, of all Italy – when they have besieged your liberty (libertas) with their garrisons and their colonies, what hope, what possibility will remain to you to regain your liberty (libertas)?”26 The logical solution could be none other than the failure of Rullus’ draft bill, to which of course Cicero offered no alternative to solve the agrarian and social problems that it pointed out. By approving the bill, the Roman citizens would lose everything and could even find themselves obliged to abandon the city to live in some revolting area of Italy: “You, citizens, if you choose to believe me, preserve your influence, your liberty, your right to vote, your dignity, your city, your forum, the games, the festivals, and all your other advantages; unless you prefer to abandon all that along with the splendour of the Republic to go and live in the arid lands of Sipontum or the pestilent plains of Salapia, where Rullus would take you”.27 The threat was clearly exaggerated, but the image of abandoning the great city to go and live in remote, desolate places would function well to create anxiety and rejection among the audience, probably including those who lived in insalubrious conditions in Rome. His opposition to Rullus’ agrarian reform was the first significant episode in Cicero’s consulship. The bill was not voted upon because, apparently, it was withdrawn by the tribune of the plebs, but we do not know how much that was due to the pressure exerted by Cicero. Undoubtedly, the events surrounding the Catilinarian plot

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again in the third speech, but in reference to Sulla’s dictatorship (Cic. Leg.agr. 3.5). In the Catilinarians delivered to the people, he used it explicitly to reject the possibility that the term tyrannus may be applied to himself (Cic. Cat. 2.14). In the Philippics, while Cicero used tyrannus on several occasions in his speeches to the senate, he did not do so even once in in his speeches to the people. On this, Rosillo-López 2017. Cic. Leg.agr. 2.29: Reges constituuntur, non xviri, Quirites, itaque ab his initiis fundamentisque nascuntur, ut non modo cum gerere coeperint, sed etiam cum constituentur, omne vestrum ius, potestas libertasque tollatur. Cic. Leg.agr. 2.75: Num obscure maiores opes quam libertas vestra pati potest, et maiora praesidia quaeruntur, num obscure regnum constituitur, num obscure libertas vestra tollitur? Nam cum idem omnem pecuniam, maximam multitudinem , idem totam Italiam suis opibus obsidebunt, idem vestram libertatem suis praesidiis et coloniis interclusam tenebunt, quae spes tandem, quae facultas recuperandae vestrae libertatis relinquetur? Cic. Leg.agr. 2.71: Vos vero, Quirites, si me audire voltis, retinete istam possessionem gratiae, libertatis, suffragiorum, dignitatis, urbis, fori, ludorum, festorum dierum, ceterorum omnium commodorum, nisi forte mavoltis relictis his rebus atque hac luce rei publicae in Sipontina siccitate aut in Salpinorum pestilentiae finibus Rullo duce conlocari.

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in the second part of 63 marked Cicero’s consulate, at the time and in the future. Cicero presented his fight against Catiline as his great triumph as consul and, above all, as his personal endeavour, firstly in bringing the conspiracy to light, and then in supressing it. Cicero delivered two speeches to the people, the second and third Catilinarians. The first was given on 9th November 63, when Catiline had already abandoned Rome, which appeared to be an implicit admission of guilt; the second was delivered on 3rd December, when the conspiracy was obvious and had been laid bare, since the Allobroges’ evidence had allowed some of the most prominent conspirators to be arrested in Rome. As he did in his opposition to Rullus’ agrarian law, Cicero focussed on two rhetorical tactics which avoided the heart of the issue: the personal denigration of the enemy, and the propagation of fear. In both speeches, the orator emphasised the danger posed to the survival of the res publica if Catiline and his men succeeded in seizing power. As in the case of Rullus’ agrarian rogatio, according to Cicero the dilemma was implicitly framed in terms of liberty or tyranny. On this occasion, however, Cicero preferred to draw upon an even more direct approach, with the objective of causing panic among his audience28. Catiline, whom Cicero presented as a depraved and dishonest creature, not only aspired to putting an end to the institutions of the Roman republic, but supposedly wanted to destroy the city of Rome. Cicero offered no evidence of this, nor explained for what purpose Catiline should wish to burn the city, but he accused him again and again, directly or indirectly, of having planned to set fire to Rome. That is, the problem was not merely a political one, but was indeed a question of survival: if Catiline and his men were not suppressed and their plot crushed, the Romans were at risk of losing their livelihoods and all their possessions. In the second Catilinarian, Cicero chose to make veiled accusations, which nevertheless left no doubt about the alleged intentions of the conspirators: “I can see to whom they have assigned Apulia, who has Etruria, who has taken charge of Picenum and who of the Gallic region, who has requested for themselves the treachery of bringing blood and flames to the city”.29 As in his speech against Rullus’ rogatio, Cicero suggested that the Catilinarians aspired to instate tyranny in the midst of the city’s destruction: “And when they achieve what in their extreme madness they crave, do they perchance expect to become consuls or dictators, or even kings (reges) among the ashes of the city and the blood of the citizens?”30 Once the plot was uncovered and made public, in his second appearance before the people Cicero enhanced the drama of his speech, and directly accused the Catilinarians of having as objective to set fire to the houses and temples of Rome, once again without offering evidence or testimony that this was true: “For this reason, these conspirators deserve the greatest hatred (odium) and the greatest punishment 28 29 30

See now Neel 2017. Cic. Cat. 2.6: Video, cui sit Apulia adtributa, quis habeat Etruriam, quis agrum Picenum, quis Gallicum, quis sibi has urbanas insidias caedis atque incendiorum depoposcerit. Cic. Cat. 2.19: Quodsi iam sint id, quod summo furore cupiunt, adepti, num illi in cinere urbis et in sanguine civium, quae mente conscelerata ac nefaria concupiverunt, consules se aut dictatores aut etiam reges sperant futuros?

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(supplicium), because they have not only sought to set fire tragically and sacrilegiously to your homes and hearths, but also to the temples and sanctuaries of the gods”.31 As previously discussed, to generate political fear, the threat should seem real and ought to be perceived collectively. For that, it is important to identify precisely the danger that may frighten the audience, because when a person feels fear, it seems directly in front of them, as something that is immediate, and their whole attention is directed towards it. On occasions, it can suffice to imply something that the minds of the listeners or viewers identify rapidly as a threat. When Cicero accused Catiline of being an arsonist, with no concrete evidence whatsoever, he relied on the probability that it would arouse fear among a substantial part of the Roman population, which knew the risk of fires in the city was real: it was a discourse of intimidation, stemming from a threat which was in itself credible. Additionally, the fear should lead to anger – even hatred – against the individuals who endangered the possessions of the citizens. Outrage leads to action; anger spawns the desire to punish the enemy, once the danger and its consequent fear are internalised.32 To this end, in the passage previously cited (cf. n. 31), Cicero closely linked hatred (odium) with punishment (supplicium): “For this reason, these conspirators deserve the greatest hatred (odium) and the greatest punishment (supplicium) …”33 It is impossible to know whether Cicero’s accusation served as the source of a rumour which spread throughout Rome and which perceived the Catilinarians as arsonists, or if, conversely, the orator actually echoed a rumour that had already been circulating in the city.34 It seems, however, that the allegation penetrated public opinion enough to influence the creation of a current of hostility towards the conspirators. Sallust states this explicitly. According to him, once the conspiracy was laid bare, the plebs, who had initially been in favour of it, became totally opposed to 31 32 33

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Cic. Cat. 3.22: Quo etiam maiore sunt isti odio supplicioque digni, qui non solum vestris domiciliis atque tectis sed etiam deorum templis atque delubris sunt funestos ac nefarios ignes inferre conati. See Knight 2015: 72 and 78. In his speech to the senate, Cicero had already claimed that the country hated and feared Catiline: Nunc te patria, quae communis est parens omnium nostrum, odit ac metuit et iam diu nihil te Iudicat nisi de parricidio suo cogitare (Cic. Cat. 1.17). Aristotle had recommended that the orator provoke anger amongst the audience against his adversaries in order to achieve his goals: “It is evident then that it will be necessary for the speaker, by his eloquence, to put the hearers into the frame of mind of those who are inclined to anger, and to show that his opponents are responsible for things which rouse men to anger and are people of the kind with whom men are angry” (Arist. Rhet. 1380 a = 2.2.27). Cf. Knight 2015: 43. It must be remembered that Cicero had already alluded to the conspirators’ alleged arson plans in the first Catilinarian to the senate: Catilinam orbem terrae caede atque incendiis vastare cupientem nos consules perferemus? (Cic. Cat. 1.3); Muta iam istam mentem, mihi crede, obliviscere caedis atque incendiorum (1.6); … discripsisti urbis partes ad incendia … (1.9); An, cum bello vastabitur Italia, vexabuntur urbes, tecta ardebunt tum te non existumas invidiae incendio conflagraturum? (1.29). In his fourth Catilinarian, again to the senate, Cicero repeated his indictments, going so far as to accuse Cassius of having the specific mission to set fire to Rome: … urbem inflammandam Cassio … (Cic. Cat. 4.13); Tenentur ii, qui ad urbis incendium, ad vestram omnium caedem … (4.4).

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the Catilinarians and aligned themselves with Cicero. Sallust claims the main reason that the plebs changed their position was precisely the threat that the conspirators wanted to set fire to Rome and that that would mean they would lose all their possessions.35 Whether or not the accusation was true, it is clear that Cicero knew how to make good use of his trump card, and successfully created panic among the population of Rome, which thoroughly distanced it from the conspirators and ensured that the rebellion would not take place within the city. Excessive fear can, however, be paralysing, and that is not what Cicero wanted to achieve – nor is it what contemporary politicians aspire to today. On the contrary, Cicero sought rather to mobilise the Roman citizenry against the Catilinarians. To do that, once the danger is isolated and the fear of it incited, it is expedient to offer a solution to the collective fear, which is what Cicero did. In modern times, a political party or leader offers themselves as the solution, sometimes even going so far as to claim, calculatingly, that the choice is “me or chaos”. Cicero in fact did the same: he had the solution; his ideas and his actions were the solution; for that matter, he was the solution. The Roman citizens did not need to fear, because he would stand watch over their safety: “In these circumstances, you, citizens, continue defending your houses with guards and watchmen; I, for my part, have already taken the measures and made the provisions necessary for the city to be suitably protected, and free from unrest or tumult.”36 Ultimately, it was a question of confidence and credibility, because people tend to belief information and recommendations that come from a person in whom they trust. Naturally, this also makes it easier to manipulate the audience. In contrast with the vilification and dehumanisation of his adversary, Cicero strove to identify himself with the good citizens, including with the state per se. His position as consul in 63 played in his favour, or at least, was a trump card that Cicero could not fail to play: his words would seem more credible because they came from the highest magistrate in the Roman state, a figure historically endowed with auctoritas. If Cicero succeeded in painting Rullus – who was, after all, a tribune of the plebs – and the Catilinarians as enemies of Rome, he would get his audience to distance themselves from them, because they would fear and hate them. In exchange for support for his proposals, Cicero offered peace and the re-establishment of order, in contrast to the concern which he sought to provoke with his accusations. This is indeed how he presented himself to the people in his third Catilinarian: he had saved Rome and her Republic. He began his speech thus: “Citizens, the republic, the lives of all of you, and your possessions, your fortunes, your wives and children, as well as the seat of this great empire, this most beautiful and fortunate 35

36

Sall. Cat. 48: Interea plebs coniuratione patefacta, quae primo cupida rerum novarum nimis bello favebat, mutata mente Catilinae consilia exsecrari, Ciceronem ad caelum tollere, veluti ex servitute erepta gaudium atque laetitiam agitabat. Namque alia belli facinora praedae magis quam detrimento fore, incendium vero crudele, inmoderatum ac sibi maxume calamitosum putabat, quippe cui omnes copiae in usu cotidiano et cultu corporis erant. Cic. Cat. 2.26: Quae cum ita sint, Quirites, vos, quem ad modum iam antea dixi, vestra tecta vigiliis custodiisque defendite; mihi, ut urbi sine vestro motu ac sine ullo tumultu satis esset praesidii, consultum atque provisum est.

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city, have all been saved today from flames and the sword … by the love that the immortal gods profess for you, and everything has been conserved and restored to you thanks to my efforts, my vigilance, and the dangers I have faced”.37 Towards the end of the speech, he again capitalised on his success in the first person: “… and when your enemies thought that no more citizens would survive than as many as could escape the sword, nor any more of the city remain that that which the flames could not devour, I preserved the city intact, and kept the citizens safe and sound”.38 According to Cicero, an act of thanksgiving to the gods (supplicatio) had been decreed, which the orator in practice presented as an act of thanksgiving to himself, with the text referring specifically to the consul: “For I have liberated the city from flames, the citizens from having their throats slit, and Italy from war.”39 Actually, Cicero had not acted alone, since he had enjoyed the invaluable collaboration of the gods of Rome. In claiming this, Cicero transformed himself into the messenger and executive arm of the gods, and thus he legitimated his action: “To say that it was I who defeated them would be an excessive presumption on my part, which would be intolerable in me; it was Jupiter, yes, Jupiter, who confronted them; it was he who wished to save the Capitol, these temples, the whole city, and all of you. It is the inspiration of the gods which has directed my mind, citizens, which has upheld my will and which led me to uncover evidence.”40 Twenty years later the political context was very different. Cicero had applauded the assassination of Caesar, whom he considered a tyrant,41 but had later lamented the failure of the anti-Caesarians, whom he called tyrannicides, to articulate a credible alternative politics. In that situation, Cicero believed that the tyrant had died, but that the tyranny had not been decisively defeated. Antonius represented, to him, the continuation of Caesar’s regime, and consequently Cicero perceived him as a new tyrant. He directed his so-called Philippics against him, speeches that were delivered to the senate and to the people in the final months of 44 and early months of 43. Cicero’s position was very clear: Antonius was a tyrant, and as such was an enemy of Rome, whether or not the senate officially declared him a hostis publicus.42 37

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Cic. Cat. 3.1: Rem publicam, Quirites, vitamque omnium vestrum, bona, fortunas, coniuges liberosque vestros atque hoc domicilium clarissumi imperii, fortunatissimam pulcherrimamque urbem, hodierno die deorum inmortalium summo erga vos amore, laboribus, consiliis, periculis meis e flamma atque ferro ac paene ex faucibus fati ereptam et vobis conservatam ac restitutam videtis. Cic. Cat. 3.25: et, cum hostes vestri tantum civium superfuturum putassent, quantum infinitae caedi restitisset, tantum autem urbis, quantum flamma obire non potuisset, et urbem et civis integros incolumesque servavi. Cic. Cat. 3.15: quod urbem incendiis, caede civis, Italiam bello liberassem. Cic. Cat. 3.22: Quibus ego si me restitisse dicam, nimium mihi sumam et non sim ferendus; ille, ille Iuppiter restitit; ille Capitolium, ille haec templa, ille cunctam urbem, ille vos omnis salvos esse voluit. Dis ego inmortalibus ducibus hanc mentem, Quirites, voluntatemque suscepi atque ad haec tanta indicia perveni. See Pina Polo 2002. Cic. Off. 3.32. Cf. Fields 2012: 54: on his Philippics, “Cicero’s most powerful tool for distorting information and arousing fear is character assassination”. Fields compares the third and fourth Philippics on pp. 98–123.

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He initially sought to convince the people of Rome of this:43 “Who does not see that with this decree Antonius has been judged enemy (hostis) of the fatherland? Indeed, who can be judged an enemy, if not the person against whom armies march under the command of generals whom the senate has considered worthy of receiving extraordinary honours?”44 Antonius desired the destruction of Rome and wanted to bring about an outright massacre of citizens: “For this man does not wish, as in previous times, for your slavery, but rather, ruled by anger, he is thirsting for your blood. No spectacle seems more delightful to him than blood, murder, and the slaughter of citizens before his eyes. You are not struggling against a criminal and sacrilegious man, but against a monstrous and cruel beast, who must be destroyed, since he has fallen into the trap.”45 As he did with the Catilinarians, Cicero strove to paint a catastrophic scenario for the inhabitants of Rome if Antonius were not destroyed, going so far as to compare him to Spartacus and Catiline, both figures who could arouse fear among Roman citizens: “Your present enemy is fighting against the republic, while he has no republic himself; he longs to destroy the senate … he has squandered your money … So then, citizens, this fight of the Roman people, of the conquerors of all peoples, is a battle against a murderer, against a thief, against a Spartacus. Indeed, as for his habit of boasting of being like Catiline, he is like him in the crimes he commits, but not in his planning of them.”46 Cicero ended his fourth Philippic by offering himself as the solution to the problem, and promised his audience to fight with all his strength for the preservation of liberty, which he once again implicitly contrasted with Antonius’ tyranny: “And certainly, whatever I may achieve with my dedication, my efforts, my vigilance, my authority and my advice, I shall not neglect to do anything which I consider in the interests of your liberty (libertas) … Today … for the first time in a long The third Philippic, which took place in the senate that same morning, was a much longer and more verbose speech than the one delivered to the people. Cicero’s objective was of course the same: to undermine Antony and create a majority opinion against him. The speech, however, was full of names and facts which Cicero preferred to omit for the people. In any case, he also warned the senate that, in his opinion, Antony wanted to instate a tyranny: … quae vis quaedam paene fatalis, (quae tamen ipsa non tulimus) etiamne huius impuri latronis feremus taeterrimum crudelissimumque dominatum? (Cic. Phil. 3.29). The Romans were a people born for freedom, and there was nothing more shameful than slavery: Nihil est detestabilius dedecore, nihil foedius servitute. Ad decus et ad libertatem nati sumus … (3.36). 44 Cic. Phil. 4.5: Quo decreto quis non perspicit hostem esse Antonium iudicatum? Quem enim possumus appellare eum, contra quem qui exercitus ducunt, iis senatus arbitratur singulares exquirendos honores? 45 Cic. Phil. 4.11–12: Neque enim ille servitutem vestram ut antea, sed iam iratus sanguinem concupivit. Nullus ei ludus videtur esse iucundior quam cruor, quam caedes, quam ante oculos trucidatio civium. Non est vobis res, Quirites, cum scelerato homine ac nefario, sed cum immani taetraque belua, quae quoniam in foveam incidit, obruatur. 46 Cic. Phil. 4.14–15: hic vester hostis vestram rem publicam oppugnat, ipse habet nullam; senatum, id est orbis terrae consilium, delere gestit, ipse consilium publicum nullum habet; aerarium vestrum exhausit, suum non habet … Est igitur, Quirites, populo Romano, victori omnium gentium, omne certamen cum percussore, cum latrone, cum Spartaco. Nam quod se similem esse Catilinae gloriari solet, scelere par est illi, industria inferior. 43

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time we have burned with hope for liberty (libertas), with myself as its promoter and defender.”47 That speech was delivered on the 20th December 44. The sixth Philippic was given on the afternoon of the 4th January 43, and by then Cicero’s position had radicalised. In this speech to the people, much shorter than the one Cicero had delivered that same morning in the senate (the fifth Philippic), the orator defended clearly the need to declare open war on Antonius, and once again framed the conflict in terms of tyranny or liberty.48 This is how Cicero finished his speech: “It is sacrilegious that the Roman people, whom the immortal gods elected to set over all peoples, should serve as slaves. The situation has reached a critical moment; we must fight for liberty (libertas) … We must win, fellow citizens … or end in any other way than as obedient slaves. Other peoples may tolerate slavery, but the attribute of the Roman people is liberty (libertas).”49 War against the internal enemy was therefore the only advice possible, since Cicero declared that any negotiation with Antonius was useless. Dialogue was therefore precluded; it was time to take action: “I promise, I proclaim, I predict that Marcus Antonius will not fulfil any of the requests entrusted to the legates [*an embassy had been sent by the senate to negotiate with Antonius], but instead will lay waste to the land, prolong his siege of Mutina, and raise conscripts wherever he can. For in truth, Antonius has always scorned the opinion and the authority of the senate, in the same way as he has scorned your will and power.”50 It is always difficult to justify and legitimise war to the population, and is even more so if it is a civil war such as Cicero was proposing in 43, in a context of internal violence which had already lasted a long time and which had exhausted Roman society. Cicero’s rhetoric followed the logical steps to try to create a public opinion that favoured war against Antonius: he presented Antonius as a dishonest individual who was full of vices; he wanted to make his audience believe that Antonius wished only for the destruction of Rome and would cause a bloodbath in the city; Cicero knew the truth and had the solution: it was necessary to stand up to Antonius, and for that they had to declare war on the man, who was no longer a Roman citizen 47 48

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Cic. Phil. 4.16: Equidem quantum cura, labore, vigiliis, auctoritate, consilio eniti atque efficere potero, nihil praetermittam, quod ad libertatem vestram pertinere arbitrabor … Hodierno … longo intervallo me auctore et principe ad spem libertatis exarsimus. The previous speech in the senate, the fifth Philippic, is much longer than the speech to the people. As with the third compared to the fourth, it is a rambling speech, full of information. In it, Cicero also warned of the risk of losing their liberty (see for example Cic. Phil. 5.6: … populum Romanum servitute opprimendi …), but the message is less simple than the one in his speech to the people. Cic. Phil. 6.19: Populum Romanum servire fas non est, quem di immortales omnibus gentibus imperare voluerunt. Res in extremum est adducta discrimen; de libertate decernitur. Aut vincatis oportet, Quirites, quod profecto et pietate vestra et tanta concordia consequemini, aut quidvis potius quam serviatis. Aliae nationes servitutem pati possunt, populi Romani est propria libertas. Cic. Phil. 6.5: Testificor, denuntio, ante praedico nihil M. Antonium eorum quae sunt legatis mandata, facturum, vastaturum agros, Mutinam obsessurum, dilectus, qua possit, habiturum. Is est enim ille, qui semper senatus iudicium et auctoritatem, semper voluntatem vestram potestatemque contempserit.

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but an enemy of Rome. In short: discourse of fear; dehumanisation of the enemy; violent solution. Cicero’s rhetoric was not novel in Antiquity, nor can it in any way be considered unusual throughout history down to modern times. If we read some of the speeches that George W. Bush gave after September 11th 2001, it is easy to recognise a very similar method to the one deployed by Cicero.51 The following passages provide some examples. The fight against terrorists is the fight of all humanity for freedom: “Fellow citizens: We’ve been tested these past 24 months, and the dangers have not passed. Yet Americans are responding with courage and confidence. We accept the duties of our generation. We are active and resolute in our own defense. We are serving in freedom’s cause, and that is the cause of all mankind.”52 Enemies are individuals without scruples who are impossible to negotiate with, and therefore it is necessary to be prepared for the immense harm they can cause: “In other words, one of the biggest dangers we face is if a biological, chemical, or nuclear device gets in the hands of terrorists. Listen, they will use them. By the way, you can’t negotiate with these people or reason with them. That’s what you’ve got to understand. These are not the kind of people you sit down and send a counsellor over and hope to convince them to change their ways. These are cold-blooded ideologues who will kill. And therefore, we’ve got to plan for the worst.”53 Since it is impossible to negotiate with terrorists, the only solution was that which Bush proposed, which was to attack them wherever they were to be found, in a total war which would mean they could not take action on American soil: “We have learned that terrorist attacks are not caused by the use of strength; they are invited by the perception of weakness. And the surest way to avoid attacks on our own people is to engage the enemy where he lives and plans. We are fighting that enemy in Iraq and Afghanistan today so that we do not meet him again on our own streets, in our own cities.”54 To conclude, Cicero’s speeches had an implicit educational function, as they interpreted the world and taught how it should be understood, which naturally coincided with Cicero’s own vision; he sought to impose this vision through the auctoritas conferred upon him as consul in 63, and prominent senior senator in 43. Cicero declared himself qualified to decide which danger threatened Roman society, what its origin and nature were, and what response was required to eliminate it. Of course, this attitude is not exclusive to Cicero: political leaders, in Antiquity as now, assume one of their functions is to alert society to the dangers that stalk them. The choice of those dangers is not obvious, but depends rather on the politicians’ own ideologies and objectives. Appealing to fear is not intended to stimulate a critical discussion in search of the truth. On the contrary, the rhetoric of fear tends to replace debate, because 51 52 53 54

Cf. Campos Vargas 2011. Bush 2003. Bush 2005. Bush 2003.

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its internal logic only permits of one solution, which corresponds to the solution proposed by the very person who is generating the fear, and who is the person who knows what needs to be done: it is the person who possesses the truth, the saviour-leader, be he Cicero or Bush. In reality, to overcome collective fear, it is more important to believe that there is a solution to it than to know the truth. The discourse of fear is ultimately a political instrument that seeks to achieve particular short-term objectives.55 From the polarisation that the rhetoric of fear embeds in its discourse, fear can, on the one hand, become a powerful instrument for social cohesion, uniting society against whomever is designated the common enemy,56 but on the other hand, it is also an instrument of social control exercised by those in power, since anxiety about an uncertain future tends to favour the preservation of the established order and the failure of the new.57 Cicero did not suggest changes or reforms in his speeches; on the contrary, he recommended the established order as guarantor of peace and concord.58 With his rhetoric of fear, Cicero attempted to influence public opinion by polarising political reality to create two clearly defined groups, two simple, black-andwhite categories: good against bad, us versus them. On one side, there were the bad citizens who sought the destruction of the existing political system and, even worse, of the city of Rome herself, thus wiping out the possessions of her inhabitants; on the other side were ranged the good citizens, the true Romans, who wished for order and harmony, and who, with their ideas and actions, ensured the welfare of the community. The polarisation between good and bad citizens was accompanied by a glorification of the fatherland, which of course was associated with the boni, that is, with those who thought like Cicero. Once the danger was clearly demonstrated, once apprehension and uncertainty about the future had been injected into the population, the implicit questions were clear: in which camp did the audience wish to position themselves, among the good or the bad citizens? Did they wish to destroy 55

56

57

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Robin 2004: 16: “Political fear … is a political tool, an instrument of elite rule or insurgent advance, created and sustained by political leaders or activists who stand to gain something from it, either because fear helps them pursue a specific political goal, or because it reflects or lends support to their moral and political beliefs – or both.” Cf. Robin 2004: 3. Discussing the reaction in the USA after the attacks of September 11th, Robin says: “Only fear, we believe, can turn us from isolated men and women into a united people”. Or, further on: “Afraid, we are like the audience in a crowded theatre confronting a man falsely shouting fire: united, not because we share similar beliefs or aspirations, but because we are equally threatened”. Wood 1995, defines what he calls “Sallust’s Theorem” thus: “Fear of an external enemy promotes internal social unity” (p.181). Altheide – Michalowski 1999: 476: “The prevalence of fear in public discourse can contribute to stances and reactive social policies that promote state control and surveillance”. Obviously, the authors’ perspective is contemporary and based in the crucial role played by the mass media in the creation of public opinion. The essence of the idea, nevertheless, can be translated to the ancient world. In his first speech against Rullus’ agrarian law, Cicero claimed there was nothing as popular and cherished by the population as peace and concord: Etenim, ut circumspiciamus omnia quae populo grata atque iucunda sunt, nihil tam populare quam pacem, quam concordiam, quam otium reperiemus (Cic. Leg.agr. 1.23). On concordia as a political tool see Marco Simón – Pina Polo 2000; Akar 2013.

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or preserve the republic? In Cicero’s terms: which option was preferable: tyranny or liberty, regnum or libertas? In this simplified and reductionist discourse, there was only one possible answer to conquer the fear, and that was none other than the one that Cicero was suggesting.59 BIBLIOGRAPHY Akar, Ph. (2013) Concordia: un idéal de la classe dirigeante romaine à la fin de la République, Paris. Altheide D. L. and Michalowski, R. S. (1999) “Fear in the News: A Discourse of Control”, The Sociological Quarterly 40: 475–503. Arena, V. (2012) Libertas and the Practice of Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Aron, R. (1968) Main Currents in Sociological Thought I: Montesquieu, Comte, Marx, de Tocqueville, Sociologists and the Revolution of 1848, Garden City, N. Y. Blits, J. H. (1989) “Hobbesian Fear”, Political Theory 17: 417–431. Bush, G. W. (2003) Update in the War on Terror. Washington D. C. September 7, 2003. Accessed 11th July 2016 from http://www.presidentialrhetoric.com/speeches/09.07.03 html. Bush, G.W (2005) The Future of the Patriot Act, Baltimore, Maryland, July 20, 2005. Accessed 11th July 2016 from http://www.presidentialrhetoric.com/speeches/07.20.05 html. Campos Vargas, H. (2011) “La lógica del temor en el discurso político de George W. Bush”, Revista de Lenguas Modernas 14: 395–412. Dunkle, J. R. (1967) “The Greek Tyrant and Roman Political Invective of the Late Republic”, TAPA 98: 151–171. Duplá Ansuátegui, A. (2017) “Incitement to violence in Late Republican political oratory”, in Political Communication in the Roman World, ed. C. Rosillo-López: 181–200. Leiden. Ferraro, K. F. (1995) Fear of Crime: Interpreting Victimization Risk, Albany. Fields, B. M. (2012) Fear Mongering in Late Republican Rome, 88–28 BCE, PhD University of Florida. Knight, J. E. (2015) The Politics of Anger in Roman Society: A Study of Orators and Emperors, 70 BCE–68 CE, PhD University of British Columbia, Vancouver. Marco Simón, F. and Pina Polo, F. (2000) “Concordia y libertas como polos de referencia religiosa en la lucha política de la República tardía”, Gerión 18: 261–292. Neel, J. (2017) “Cicero’s Rhetoric of Terror”, Museion 14: 437–453. Pina Polo, F. (2002) “Cicerón, elegido de los dioses: la reprobación religiosa del adversario político como recurso retórico”, in Religión y propaganda política en el mundo romano, eds. F. Marco, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal: 57–69. Barcelona. Pina Polo, F. (2006) “The Tyrant must die: Preventive Tyrannicidium in Roman Political Thought”, in Repúblicas y ciudadanos: formas de participación cívica en el mundo antiguo, eds, F. Marco, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal: 71–101. Barcelona.

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With a different approach to the rhetoric of fear, Rosenblitt 2016, has recently suggested that Sallust’s representation of the rhetoric of popular champions (M. Aemilius Lepidus, consul in 78, C. Memmius, tribune of the plebs in 111, and C. Licinius Macer, tribune of the plebs in 73) shows a distinctive and coherent popular discourse in the late Republic: “Sallust shows us a demagogic ideology … It is an ideology through which political relationships are constructed on a hostile model and the people are told that inflicting fear is the only effective means to their political ends. It is an ideology of social collapse and the rhetoric of a damaged society: a rhetoric of anger” (683).

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Pina Polo, F. (2010) “Frigidus rumor: The Creation of a (Negative) Public Image in Rome”, in Private and Public Lies: The Discourse of Despotism and Deceit in the Graeco-Roman World, eds. A. Turner, J. H. K. on Chong-Gossard and F. Vervaet: 75–90. Impact of Empire 11, Leiden. Pina Polo, F. (2016) “Cupiditas pecuniae: Wealth and Power in Cicero”, in Money and Power in the Roman Republic, eds. H. Beck, M. Jehne and J. Serrati: 165–177. Brussels. Pina Polo, F. (2017) “The ‘Tyranny’ of the Gracchi and the Concordia of the optimates: An Ideological Construct”, in Costruire la memoria. Uso e abuso della storia fra tarda repubblica e primo principato, eds. R. Cristofoli, A. Galimberti and F. Rohr Vio: 5–33. Rome. Riggsby, A. (2009) “The Lexicon of Fear”, Center for the Humanities and the Public Sphere. University of Florida, 14 Nov. 2009 (lecture). Robin, C. (2004) Fear. The History of a Political Idea, Oxford. Rosenblitt, J. A. (2016) “Hostile Politics: Sallust and the Rhetoric of Popular Champions in the Late Republic”, American Journal of Philology 137: 655–688. Rosillo-López, C. (2007) “Temo a los troyanos’: rumores y habladurías en la Roma tardorrepublicana”, Polis 19: 113–134. Rosillo-López, C. (2017) Public Opinion and Politics in the Late Roman Republic, Cambridge. Sirago, V. (1956) “Tyrannus. Teoria e prassi antitirannica in Cicerone e suoi contemporanei”, Rendiconti della Accademia di Archeologia, Lettere e Belle Arti di Napoli, n. s. 36: 179–225. Vanderpool, E. (2016) “Towards a New Lexicon of Fear: A Quantitative and Grammatical Analysis of pertimescere in Cicero”, Midwest Journal of Undergraduate Researchi 6: 52–93. Walter, U. (2013) Cicero. Zweite Rede an das Volk gegen den Volkstribunen Publius Servilius Rullus über das Ackergesetz, Bielefeld. Wirszubski, C. (1950) Libertas as a Political Idea at Rome during the Late Republic and Early Principate, Cambridge. Wood, N. (1995) “Sallust’s Theorem: A Comment on ‘Fear’ in Western Political Thought”, History of Political Thought 16: 174–189.

VENTUS POPULARIS? ‘POPULAR OPINION’ IN THE 70S AND ITS SENATORIAL RECEPTION* T. W. Hillard What could be more desirable, Judges, and offer so extraordinarily the singular opportunity of ameliorating the ill-will towards your Order and the degraded reputation of the courts (ad invidiam vestri ordinis infamiamque iudiciorum sedandam), gifted not by human design, but almost divine, and offered to you, it seems, at this most critical juncture for the State (summo reipublicae tempore)? For a belief (opinio) has established itself, most harmful for the State and perilous for us [sc. who belong to this Order] (perniciosa reipublicae nobisque periculosa); it has spread not merely at Rome but even amongst foreign nations – by the talk of all (omnium sermone). It is that these Courts, constituted as they now are (his iudiciis quae nunc sunt) will never convict a wealthy man, no matter how guilty he might be. And now, at this decisive moment for your Order and your courts (in ipso discrimine ordinis iudiciorumque vestrorum), when plans are in train, by way of contiones and legislation, to enflame this ill-will directed at the senate (hanc invidiam senatus), the accused is brought before you: Gaius Verres, a man already condemned in the everyone’s opinion (omnium iam opinione damnatus) … In this case, Judges, I stand forward as the prosecutor, with the strong support and expectations of the Roman People (cum summa voluntate et exspectatione populi Romani), not with the intention of increasing the invidia of the Order, but to offer aid in facing this common infamia.

Thus Cicero, on August 5th, 70, opened his blistering and successful prosecution of C. Verres.1 Virtually all the keywords of this paper are contained within that epigraph. In particular, note the repetition of invidia. (It is frequently translated as ‘unpopularity’, but a stronger word is required, as will be discussed below.) The strength of that ill-will is underlined by a sense of urgency.2 There can be no doubt that Cicero chose to initiate his case on an electrifying note, with a speech crafted to make the jurors feel that they were in the dock. It is a theme hammered both in this speech and those Verrines subsequently published; the Senate was on show and on *

1 2

I thank Dr Cristina Rosillo-López for the invitation to submit this contribution, and all other participants in the Sevilla conference for a deeply stimulating exchange of views. I also thank Em. Prof. Edwin Judge and Dr Lea Beness for their assistance and a number of helpful suggestions (although they are not to share any responsibility for what I provide here). All translations, unless otherwise stated, are my own. Cic. 1Verr. 1–2. English translations tend to use the word ‘crisis’ – a word of which we should be careful (Flower 2010: ix). Perhaps Cicero’s use of the word discrimen a few lines further on seems to licence this language, but Cicero has a vested interest in conjuring a picture of urgency. For Flower’s own brief, and very fine, summation of the 70s, see Flower 138–142. Many would see the year 70 as pivotal; see, e. g., Chr. Meier 1966: 267. The matter is debated; see Flower, 142 n. 12.

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trial.3 It will also be no surprise to those who had already read Pina Polo’s contribution to this collection that Cicero chooses, in no subtle way, the rhetoric of fear. He emphasises that their situation is periculosa, switching at that moment (as can be seen in the second sentence of the opening epigraph) to self-inclusion, professing empathy. That strategy of (intermittent) inclusion does not lessen the sense of danger, but merely empowers his professed concern.4 The references to legislation clearly pointed to the preparation of bills concerning the composition of jury panels (and the diminution or elimination of senatorial jurors).5 THE THREAT TO THE SENATE The threat to which Cicero alludes was, of course, real – even if its precise nature is open to debate. It was extrinsic; it came from outside the curia. My purpose in taking 70 BC as a case study is twofold. Firstly, I wish to reflect upon the constituent parts of that external threat (‘public opinion’); secondly, to propose that, although Cicero nodded, in 70, to the extrinsicality of that threat (exaggerated in his revisionist version of events), he utilized the rhetoric of fear by exploiting the dread of self-reflection. I shall explore why it was that the establishment ‘buckled.’ My concluding hypothesis will be that the most effective dynamic harnessed by Cicero at this moment was the Senate’s perception of a body of condemnatory communal opinion and the resultant sense of shame. Cicero hammered the theme of reputation and the senators’ sense of worth. His direction to the jury, not of course as praetor in charge of the court, but as prosecutor, is to deliver a verdict severe ac religiose so that they may retain the auctoritas that ‘ought’ to be theirs. If wealth prevails over what is appropriate, it will be seen that the Republic lacks the right judges.6 The tactic had already worked effectively in the preceding competition with Q. Caecilius Niger for the right to prosecute Verres, with Cicero depicting Niger as manifestly less competent and, it is suggested, a ‘dummy-prosecutor’. In his peroration to the Divinatio in Caecilium, Cicero tells the jurors that if he is not selected, the populus Romanus will conclude that neither the jurors nor the senatorial ordo wants an honest, rigorous and diligent accusator: “Look to it (providete)!”7 Those who are anxious that the courts are reserved for senatorial membership, Cicero had already insisted, profess themselves at a loss to find the right accusatores; the populus Romanus, buffeted by so many adversities, regret nothing more than the absence of the force and gravity of the ‘old courts.’ It is because of this lack, he says, that there is a desire for the restoration of tribunician power, that is, as an alternative source of justice. It is because of the irresponsibility of the courts that a different membership is sought (iudicio3 4 5 6 7

Cf. Berry 2003: 224–5; Vasaly 2009: 122. Cf. Vasaly 2009: 127–8. Within his opening salvo, as throughout the speech, he switches backward and forth; at once, the accuser – and then again, their fellow in danger. Cic. 1Verr. 3. Cic. Div. in Caec. 73.

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rum levitate ordo quoque alius ad res iudicandas postulatur). It is because of the disgraceful conduct of jurors that the reinstatement of the censorship is deemed desirable.8 Thus, the jurors ‘divined’ that Cicero would be an appropriate choice, and Verres’ days were numbered. Whatever the merits of the case, the threat to the Senate’s auctoritas required the sacrifice of a scapegoat. Cicero pledges himself to the elimination of the infamia iudiciorum: his vow to the populus Romanus.9 This will require a full catalogue of all the senatorial misdemeanours of the past decade – “from the time that the courts were transferred ad senatum.” A chronicle follows.10 And, then, a solemn admonition: At this juncture (or, perhaps, with regard to the reputation of our Order),11 by the immortal gods, Judges, reflect and think ahead. I am warning you and I am giving notice of what is clear to me, that this moment has been given to you by heaven itself to free the whole Order from hatred, ill-will, dishonour and disgrace (ut odio, invidia, infamia, turpitudine totum ordinem liberetis). It is generally judged that [our] courts have no rigour (severitas), no conscience (religio) – nothing worthy of the name iudicia. Thus we are condemned and despised by the people of Rome (a populo Romano). We have been suffering now for a long time under this heavy burden of infamy (gravi diuturnaque iam flagramus infamia).12

He repeats: this is why the populus Romanus wants the restoration of tribunicia potestas.13 Thus, Cicero says, Pompey has acted; at his first contio, as consul-designate, just outside the pomerium, in accord with ‘general expectation’ (id quod maxime exspectari videbatur), he had announced his support for this reform and won a murmuring noise of grateful approval from the gathering (factus est in eo strepitus et grata contionis admurmuratio). In the same speech he announced that he would also turn his attention to the corrupt courts – and was met not with a murmur, but a mighty roar, the ‘Roman People’ thus demonstrating its disposition and approval (tum vero non strepitu, sed maximo clamore, suam populus Romanus significavit voluntatem).14 That contio, by the way, represented the populus (according to our faithful reporter), and its judgements, its priorities and its will are easily discerned. Cicero admits no doubt.15 The eyes of the world are upon them, and public opinion will manifest itself in action. But now (all) men are on the watchtowers; they are observing how every one of you behaves with due regard to conscience and the preservation of the laws (nunc autem homines in speculis sunt; observant quem ad modum sese unus quisque vestrum gerat in retinenda religione conservandisque legibus). They see that, ever since the passing of the law for restoring the power of the tribunes, only one senator, and he too a very insignificant one, has been condemned. And 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

Ibid, 8–9. Ibid. 36; cf. 37–8. Ibid. 37–40. Cui loco: ‘at this point’? or on this point? This statement follows a passage dealing with the need to preserve the existimationem nostri ordinis (ibid., 42). Ibid., 43. Ibid., 44. Ibid., 45. This passage sits nicely with Russell’s argument in her contribution to this collection: ‘The populus and the public realm in late republican Rome’.

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T. W. Hillard though they do not criticize this, yet they have nothing here they can very much praise. For there is no credit in integrity where no-one has been able or attempted to corrupt you.16 This is the trial by which, as you judge the accused, you will be judged by the populus Romanus.17

Many more passages might be cited.18 In all these there is an underlying presumption. The court of public opinion (as it would be termed in the modern world) is sitting in judgement on the senate. And public opinion is ‘known’ (it is clear and present), whether the opinio populi Romani, exspectatio p. R., voluntas p. R., omnium existimatio, and expressed and/or transmitted by a variety of media: murmures, strepitus, clamor, rumor, sermo vulgi, sermo omnium – or, indeed, the cotidianus sermo querimoniaque populi Romani.19 What ‘everyone knew’, of course, could be conjectured, conjured or manufactured by a public speaker, but in 70 BC Cicero could clearly tap into some phenomenon that made his prosecution of Verres so effective.20 The forces at play in the 70s (let us not too sharply define them at this stage) are of special interest because they clearly exercised a significant role in the disCic. 1Verr. 46. The law will have been the lex Pompeia Licinia de tribunicia potestate, which will have been passed early in 70 and which, it is clearly implied, should have shaken the senatorial order into an immediate sense of accountability. Pompey had signalled this as consul-designate (as above) and, for what it is worth, the epitomator of Livy makes it the first item for the year (Per. 97). With no real opposition, it will have been passed expeditiously; Gruen 1974: 27–8; Seager 1979: 37. The law was certainly ‘history’ at 2Verr. 5.163. 17 1Verr. 47. 18 A number are cited in Russell’s paper: 2Verr. 1.1; 5; 12–13; cf. 5. 143–4 (underlined by Millar 1998: 71–72); and 5. 177. In the penultimate of those passages, Cicero asks an imagined Verres had he never thought that he would have to return and face the hostile glare of the crowd. 19 For the last, see 2Verr. 1.129. It may be of passing interest that the word consensus will not be found in these speeches. The Senate, on this issue, stood apart – or so Cicero would have it. On the means by which news spread, there is not space here for a fuller statement. See Laurence 1994 and Rosillo-López 2016: 206 n. 15 for earlier scholarship, and 206–214 for her discussion, distinguishing between rumour and gossip. Here we deal with fama which is the product principally of rumores and sermo. (Cicero does not make it easy to distinguish between these modes of dissemination. On fama and its efficacy, the key passages are [Cic.] ad Herenn. 2.12 and Quintil. Inst. 5.3 (with which Rosillo-López deals thoroughly [207–8]); cf. Rosillo-López 2017: 203–204. I would add another important medium: graffiti (Morstein Marx 2012; Hillard 2013; RosilloLópez 2017: 144–152; cf. 129–30). Nor should we forget letters, a medium of proven efficacy by this stage; Appian Pun. 112; Sall. Iug. 65.4; 73.3. Another conduit of ‘news’ would have been the collegia (obviously of sufficient significance in 64 to be restricted; Ascon. 75C), though their strength in the 70s is not vouchsafed by evidence. (We must be wary of anachronism; Laurence 1994: 68–71 sees a radical break with Clodius’ organization of opinion.) There may have been a collegium of Sulla’s liberti; Treggiari 1969: 171; Santangelo 2007: 98. Not to be overlooked, however, are the women’s networks connected with the great religious cultic festivals; Polybius testifies to their efficacy in spreading ‘gossip’ (31.26.10). The item is easily ignored because of the unattractively gendered aspect of the comment, but it remains a valuable observation. On women and gossip, Rosillo-López 2017: 76–77; 222. 20 On the oratorical manufacture of faux claims of articulating a ‘majority opinion’, see RosilloLópez 2016: 205–6. 16

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mantling, only eight years after Sulla’s death, of the more dramatic elements of the Sullan res publica – that is to say, his return of the courts to senatorial jury-panels and the emasculation of the tribunate.21 The growth of anti-senatorial feeling in the seventies, coupled with a growing crisis of confidence within the senatorial order (so soon after Sulla seemed to have re-established the Senate’s gubernatorial role) is a matter of fascination.22 A question running throughout this collection is that which asks how public opinion worked. Important papers by Rosillo-López and Pina Polo explore exactly this point: the nature of public opinion and “the thorny issue of the politicisation of the plebs.”23 Rosillo-López makes, at the outset, an essential point. Public opinion, whenever it seems to be brought to light in the surviving source material, needs to be contextualized – according to the issue, the speaker, and the political context of the time.24 THE 70S AS A CASE STUDY The 70s would seem, it will be apparent from the passages quoted above, to offer a most attractive case study in this regard – and Rosillo-López has not ignored it; it provides important grist for her mill.25 The decade has long since ceased to be treated as a footnote in the rise of Pompeius Magnus and has now often been used as an illumination of various interpretations of the Roman republican political process and/or political culture – and has in the process, as Steel observes, “been subject to widely differing assessments.”26 Millar sees nothing less than the demand for the restoration of popular sovereignty. He opens with a powerful observation: “The decade from 80 to 70 represents the only time in the history of the Republic since (at least) the early third century when the people did not possess the unrestricted right to legislate, by passing leges put before them by the tribune of the plebs. … Though the evidence is relatively poor and scattered until we reach the year 70, we then see [in Cicero’s Verrines] … a more 21 22

23 24 25 26

Sulla’s more substantial reform, the standing courts, is often left forgotten in the shade. It has long fascinated me; Hillard 1981, 1984, a study quickly overtaken by the wave of scholarship that explored the notion of a democracy in Rome, clearly a much broader topic, and one for which a select bibliography risks inadvertent offence, but see Millar 1984 and 2002: 85– 182; 200–214; and 1998 (devoting one its opening chapters to the 70s with the relatively straight-forward message that the “full awareness of popular opinion” and the “weight of popular demands” mattered, picking up the cues offered by Brunt 1966). His aim was to reinstate the forum as the physical locus of the res publica. The impact substantial; e. g., Bradley 1999:140– 147; Wiseman, 1999: 537–40; Cornell 2003: 351–2; Holkeskamp 2004: 257–280. See also Jehne 1995: esp. 1–9 (and the bibliography contained therein); and North 1990: 3–21 (proposing a middle road). For the view that Sulla handed the helm to the Senate, see the pungent observations of Badian 1970: 28–32 and the more succinct evaluation of Flower (2006: 98). This is problematized by Steel 2014a and b, to which we shall return. Rosillo-López 2016: 203–227; Pina Polo (2010). For a thorough discussion of the problem of ‘public opinion’, Rosillo-López 2017: 19–27. Cf. Vasaly 2009:103. Rosillo-López 2016: 205. 2016: 213–14; 215; 217–18; 219–20; 2017: 210–14. 2014b: 324–339, at 324.

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T. W. Hillard vivid literary reflection of the force of popular opinion than in any other evidence. … it may seem paradoxical to argue that crowd politics in the Forum was at its most effective precisely in the only period when the unconditional power to legislate had been lost. But so, it may be suggested, it was.”27

I must admit that I cannot, in that evidence to the sparsity of which he alludes (and discusses rigorously), see the picture emerging from the Ciceronian testimony of an epic struggle regarding which political ideology was to prevail. Perhaps, if Sallust’s Historiae (to the fragments of which Millar does indeed have recourse) had survived, that story would have emerged as a theme of the historian.28 In the speeches which Sallust puts into the mouths of his actors will be found denunciations of the tyrannis Sullae and the dominatio paucorum, references to the cura libertatis and ius, laments that quies et otium cum libertate nulla sunt and for the present state of servitude of the populus Romanus, all rounded off with rallying calls ad recipiundam libertatem.29 But that History has not survived. Arena sees a revival of the clash between optimates and populares, with Q. Lutatius Catulus (cos. 78) utilizing the tenets of Stoicism to defend the recently established status quo.30 Again, this hypothesis (providing as it does another valuable perspective to a multi-faceted scenario) privileges conscious ideological debate.31 THE SULLAN ‘ESTABLISHMENT’ The most recent dissection of the period has been provided in the valuable analysis of Santangelo, focusing, I think rightly, on the debate over certain central issues, a tidying-up, in some respects, of the loose ends left behind the Sullan settlement.32 To those valuable perspectives, I wish to provide still another by asking, given that public opinion seems to have been a major factor (Cicero would have us think so), by what means the principes of the senatorial order were brought to cede so much ground when they seemed to hold the trump cards? They were not, initially, inclined towards giving ground. Rattled by the challenge to the Sullan settlement that M. Aemilius Lepidus posed in 78/77, L. Marcius Philippus (cos. 91, cens. 86), one of the few men in that conclave who personally remembered senatorial tradition, stood forward to propose (what we would call) the SCU; and although he did so in the formulaic terms that the res publica be saved from harm, he formally proclaimed that Lepidus’ criminal delinquency lay in his defiance of the auctoritas senatus.33 Again, 27 28 29 30 31 32 33

1998: 49. Though one cannot, given Sallust’s sour take on history, imagine the historian embracing with any relish such a theme. See, e. g., the oratio Lepidi, 1; 4; 9; 11; 27 etc.; oratio Macri 1; 6; 11 etc. Arena 2011: 299–318. She develops this further in 2012: 139. For her fuller exploration of the two variant traditions on the concept of libertas, 77–168. Santangelo 2014: 27. As is pointed out by Arena 2011: 303. For the proclamation, Sall. Hist. 1.77M [67 McG] 22; cf. 19 (on the fate of the Senate in 87). On the slogan of senatorial authority, Hellegouarc’h 1963:311–12.

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in passing, I acknowledge the force of Steel’s problematization of the conventional notion that the Senate had been gifted by Sulla with power and authority: “The view that Sulla strengthened the Senate can only be maintained if one believes that larger bodies are more effective than smaller ones. That is clearly not the case.”34 This is true, though it might be qualified by the obvious point that Sulla enhanced the senate’s putative auctoritas (and more) when he gave the senators sole membership of the courts, and certain principes could be depicted as controlling events. Sallust chooses (or at least puts into the mouth of C. Licinius Macer, purportedly during his tribunate in 73 BC) the word factio, which, of course, carries the connotation of an untoward monopoly on power. The word is clearly pejorative; and in that polemical context the factio noxiorum is aligned with the opes nobilitatis and dominatio.35 A few lines further on it has become the dominatio paucorum, with those smug (and malevolent) ‘few’ secure within a metaphorical fortress (arx) built upon the toil of others. They control the treasury, the armies and external affairs.36 It was, according to Sallust’s Macer, an association first led by Q. Lutatius Catulus (cos. 78) ‘who was more savage [than Sulla]’; then by C. Scribonius Curio (cos. 76), as dominus – lording it over a servile multitude.37 Curio, according to polemic preserved by Sallust, was able to engineer the demise (however exitium is to be interpreted) of the tribunician champion of reform in 76: L. (or Cn.) Sicinius.38 In the following year, C. Aurelius Cotta (cos. 75) is spoken of as coming “from the middle of the factio” (ex factione media).39 Cotta proved amenable to reform if it served to avert any ill-will directed at himself.40 In the process he may have been commemorated (by some) in a putative popularis honour roll;41 but this did not endear himself to his peers. The 34

35

36 37 38 39

40 41

Her opening catalogue of the ways in which the senate was not empowered (2014a: 659) is a powerful one. The reflection may well have been a contemporary one. Sulla enlarged the curia Hostilia in 81 or 80: Plin, NH. 34.26. In a dialogue set in 79 BC, during a stroll around Athens, Cicero has M. Pupius Piso Calpurnianus talk of the inspiration (in terms of historical memory) fired by the sight of the curia Hostilia. He means, he quickly corrects himself, the old one, not the new “which seems [to him] smaller for the augmentation”: fin. 5.2. Sall. Hist. 4.48M [34 McG] (oratio Macri), 3; On the word, Robin Seager, ‘Factio: some observations’, JRS 62 (1972), 53–58; cf. Hellegouarc’h 1963: 100–109. Sall. Iug. 31.15 (… haec inter bonos amicitia, iner malos factio est), again, plucked from a popularis speech. Sall. Iug. 41 (esp. 6) demonstrates Sallust’s own usage. oratio Macri 6. Ibid., 10. On Curio’s Sullan service, Plut. Sull. 14.7; App. Mithr. 39; Paus. 1.20.6. For references, Hillard 1984: 82–3; Santangelo 2014: 7–8. Ibid., 8 (as problematic as that term might be); cf. Hillard – Beness 2015: 758 n. 9. This political placement of Cotta is doubted by Malitz 1972: 373 (who, quite plausibly, suspects that Sallust has Macer exaggerate. Cotta certainly had been a ‘Sullan’. He considered himself ‘reborn (bis genitus)’; Orat. Cottae 3, a reference to Sulla having recalled him from exile in 82; cf. Shackleton Bailey 1965: 156. On his avidity for popularity, Sall. Hist.2. 42 M [40McG]. He was cupiens gratiam. Sallust has Cotta personally acknowledge the trait in the speech which he has Cotta deliver in 75 (ibid. 47.4M). So he is found at Cic. Corn. 1, frg. 52, as preserved by Asconius (p. 78C), who identifies the Cotta; cf. 66–67C. See also Jewell (forthcoming); Cotta was certainly not part of that roll at

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nobiles, Cicero suggested, were his inimicissimi;42 and in the year that followed, they showed their colours – and their strength (through the courts). Since this part of story is omitted from the polemical history provided by Sallust’s Macer, we must turn instead to the subtler, no less treacherous, rhetorical allusions of Cicero.43 The picture, however, is essentially the same. The tribunician champion of reform in 75, Q. Opimius, who may or may not have cooperated with Cotta, was charged with having used his veto in contravention of Sulla’s interdiction (his real crime having been to offend – or speak against the wishes of – a certain well-known man [contra alicuius hominis nobilis voluntatem]) and was brought to ruin with almost playful ease by a handful of arrogant men (pauci homines arrogantes).44 What is most telling is the fact that Cicero, writing four years later, still speaks in such a circumspect way.45 A background briefing is provided by later antique scholarship (of indeterminate worth at this point): the arrogantes were, we are informed, Catulus, Q. Hortensius (cos. 69) and Curio; the offended gentleman was Catulus, whom our scholiast has no hesitation styling, from the historical evidence he had to hand (and with no compunction about using the f-word), as the ‘leader of the Sullan factio’ (Catulum significat, qui tunc princeps fuit Syllanae factionis).46 Let us fast-forward to 70 (I shall treat the intermittent period below) and note that, whatever the impression given by the Ciceronian passages with which this paper opened, the conservative establishment was not unremittently on the backfoot.47 The mid-summer consular elections had gone according to the wishes of this bloc (if so they may be called). Hortensius and Q. Caecilius Metellus were consuls-elect. Hortensius is spoken of as being escorted home by a large and supporting crowd.48 Indeed, Curio himself, characteristically effervescent and unpredictable in his speaking style, all too carelessly drew a line between two dots – a line that

42 43 44

45 46 47 48

Cic. Acad. post. 13–14 (Cicero’s attempt, perhaps, to ‘protect’ the memory of Cotta). Too much ink has already been spilled on the question of Cotta’s motivation; it seems clear to me that the evidence is not sufficient to divine his thinking, but that his action earned the enmity of his peers, though I am aware that Marshall (1975: 146; 1985: 237; 271) might not agree. See the discussions of Malitz (1972) and Crawford (1994: 132–3). Cic. Corn. l. c. The ‘Sallustian’ silence is treated by Vedaldi Iasbez 1983. Perhaps Opimius’ collaboration (see below) with the consul Cotta disqualified him; cf. McGushin 1994: 91. Vedaldi Iasbez (1983) speculates on other reasons as well. Cic. 2Verr. 1.155. The praetor of the court was Verres! As to the term arrogantes, Cicero say that he is speaking moderately: ut levissime appellem. For further references, Hillard 1984: 83–7; Santangelo 2014: 8. Cf., on the quashing of Opimius, Beness and Marshall 1987: 370 (in an article which generally plays up the vulnerability of the reformers). One of the interested parties was, it should be acknowledged, serving on the jury-panel. Ps-Ascon., p.255 St. The scholiast, whatever his academic credentials, had not invented that category (and it is no mere gloss on material found elsewhere in the speech). Curio’s participation is problematic; Alexander 1990: 79 n. 2. Cf. Vasaly 2009:103. Cic. 1Verr. 18: cum maxima frequentia ac multitudine … tanto in conventu. Here, indeed, was a multitude quite different to that conjured by Cicero in other passages of the same speech (and I draw attention to the ramifications of Russell’s reflections in this collection on who constituted the Roman People).

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ought not in public utterance to have been drawn – and predicted the forthcoming acquittal of Verres (in the upcoming trial that would take place in August).49 THE NATURE OF DISCONTENT How, then, did mere sermo and rumor have an impact upon such grandees?50 In taking up that question, there is a great temptation to take up the label Cicero so conveniently provides in his defence, in 66, of Aulus Cluentius: ventus popularis.51 The reforms that went through in 70 (encompassing both the full re-empowerment of the tribunate and the abolition of the senate’s monopoly of the jury-panels) were accompanied with a severe purge of senatorial membership (something approximating a decimatio) and Cicero ties the actions of the censors to this “certain wind.”52 This falls within a section of the speech devoted to illuminating what it was that prompted the censors (in this severe culling), opening with the question: quid igitur censores secuti sunt?53 The censors, Cn. Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus and L. Gellius Publicola (coss. 72), are depicted as followers, their passivity assumed. Cicero provides the answer to his own question immediately (‘verballing’ them); they will not deny that their actions were based upon anything other than sermo and fama – common talk and rumour (affecting reputation). Powerful hearsay, indeed. Sixty-four senators were stigmatized: an aspera censura.54 Cicero need provide no evidence for this claim regarding the censors’ motivations; he makes his appeal to ‘common knowledge.’ ‘We all know that [the censorial notae of 70 B. C.] were a bid for, or a seeking out of, this wind (the precise translation of which I leave unglossed for the moment)’: verum omnes intellegimus in istis subscriptionibus ventum quendam popularem esse quaesitum. The orator has shifted his metaphorical characterization; the censors are now opportunistic sailors, seeking to catch the current wind. The victims, Cicero alleges here, had been condemned by the court of public opinion (as problematic as is that modern concept); their trial, such as it was (not), was not conducted in court but in contione; the jury, the multitudo (a very deIbid., 18–19. On Curio’s oratorical style, Cic. Brut. 216–7; Quintilian 11.3.129. A similar question was posed, located with this paradox, by Bruhns 1980: 270–71: “Wie fügt sich die hier sichtbare relative stärkere Stellung des Senats in der Verhandlungen über die Gerichtsreform in das Bild der Politik des Jahres 70, die – wie Cicero später einmal formuliert hat – von einem ventus popularis?” (on which wind, see immediately below). 51 Cic. Cluent. 130. 52 It is not surprising that Cicero’s mind would be drawn to this analogy of military discipline in this very context. At Cluent. 128, he asks ‘did the censors follow the analogy of military usage?’ and suggests that decimatio (the name is not used) was introduced so that, after the drawing of those dreadful lots, ‘all’ would feel the punishment of a few. The result would be that even a coward might yet prove to be a better soldier, a good man and a useful citizen. Then follows a tortuously sophistical argument that shows the censorial rigour of 70 B. C. was hopelessly misplaced. In very few places was Cicero’s professional pride in his talent for obfuscation more blatantly on display; cf. Quintil. 2.17.21 (on Cicero’s boast that he had befogged the jurors in this case). 53 Cluent. 126. 54 [Liv.] Per. 98. 49 50

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liberate avoidance on Cicero’s part of the word populus). The reference to contiones refers back to those of the tribune L. Quinctius (illae Quinctianae contiones) in 74, reminding us that this wind had been blowing (gathering force, it would seem) for some time.55 This is the phenomenon that we shall explore in the rest of the chapter. In truth, we all know that these [censorial] subscriptores were a bid to catch [this wind]. The matter was taken up at contiones and, ignorant of the [facts of the] case, the multitudo adopted the stance presented. No one spoke to the counterpoint; no one worked to present the contrary case. The courts, moreover, had come under great suspicion, and, indeed, a few months later fell into further bad odour [again, as in the case of the above suspicion, the word invidia is used] because of the marked ballot tablets.56 It seemed that this stain on the courts could simply not be ignored by the censors; they (sc. the censors) saw men, who were disgraced by other vices and every manner of infamy (homines, quos ceteris vitiis atque omni dedecore infames videbant) and they wanted these people stigmatized still further by means of the subscriptiones, the more so because at this very time and during their censorship the courts had been opened to the equestrian order and they would seem, by bringing their auctoritas to bear in the degradation of appropriate individuals, to be calling to account those courts (sc. as formerly constituted).57 From all this, [the censors] sought gossip and popular applause (ex tota ista subscriptione rumorem et plausum popularem esse quaesitum).58

Rumor has two faces. The censors sought, in their actions, to be the talk of the town. Its other side was the damage it had wrought on the Senate. Cicero has provided the context for the ‘ill-fame’ dogging the ordo senatorius: the one-sided tub-thumping of Quinctius on the one hand (as above) and the extent to which the senatorial courts were, at that time, the subject of odium: in invidia porro magnam illa iudicia venerant. The problem was magna invidia, for which neither the translation ‘unpopularity’ nor ‘ill-will’ will suffice. The concept conveys a destructively hostile gaze, not entirely free of the more primitive fear of the evil eye, capable of inflicting real harm if not countered.59 On the ill-will directed at superiores who act in some outrageous manner, Cicero dilates in the de oratore (2.208–10), both on the ways to excite it and, as importantly here, the need to assuage it. 55

56 57 58 59

Cluent. 127; cf. Pina Polo 1989: 287 [#236–238]. This was the message that Cicero had pounded from the very beginning of his first Verrine. It will be remembered that in the passage with which this paper opened he made reference to threatening contiones and legislation. Pseudoasconius (p. 206Stangl) specifies that the former refers to the activity of Quin[c]tius and the latter to the proposed legislation to restore the ordo equester to the juries. On that scandal of the ballots, I shall touch briefly below. Cluent. 130. Ibid. 131. I have chanced my arm there, and translated popularis. The interpretation remains debatable. To the extent that the concept of the evil eye still flourished, see most famously, Catull. 5.12–13 (so intrinsically bound up with the rumores … senum severiorum [ib., 2]; 7.11–12). On invidia, see Wünsch 1914: 133–135; Stiewe 1959): 162–71, see esp. 166; Hellegouarc’h, 1963: 195–9. I owe the first two of these references to Professor Emeritus Edwin Judge, and they remain well worth the consultation. Wünsch, in particular, offers a useful discussion of (for us) the key passage: Cic. de Oratore 2.209. For readers seeking more recent treatments, they might have recourse, inter alia, to Lenardon 1997: 41 (without specific reference to invidia); and Fantham 2004: 175–77. See also Barton 2001: 248–50 (on ‘visual assassination’, without mentioning invidia, which she treats as covering a different topic: ‘envy’; 1983: 92–93); cf. 2002: 22325.

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But what of the ventus that disseminated this ill-will, unpopularity, envy, jealousy, odium and contempt? Was it, then, something perceptible? When Cicero used the term he clearly intended that the jurors he was addressing knew exactly what he meant, yet it is not open to facile translation. The idea of a wind in public affairs was relatively commonplace.60 In fact, it is such a recognized formula as to permit degrees. There was an aura popularis, a breeze that brought joy to those whose sails it filled. Vergil was to speak of the shade of Ancus Martius as ‘even [in the afterlife] overly fond of such breezes’ (nunc quoque iam nimium gaudens popularibus auris).61 It is usually read, following Servius, ad loc., as synonymous with the favor populi, though some commentators discern the meteorological hint of its treacherous and fickle nature.62 Compare the seductive aura popularis said to have led P. Sulpicius Rufus (trib.pl. 88) astray.63 What makes the term so difficult to render literally is that it clearly had an idiomatic force conveying at one and the same time the rustle of common talk, the means by which rumour was spread about, and the expression of popular goodwill (whatever the latter might be in real terms) which manifested itself as a form of political support: a verbal currency which by repeated performance became a collective speech-act.64 60 61 62

63 64

See, e. g., Cic. 2Verr. 3.98 (the winds of ill-will that blew against the Senate); Sull. 41 (a reference to some wind raised by enemies of the state against the best people [vento aliquo in optimum]); Pis. 21 (classed with procellae and tempestates, gradations discussed below). Aen. 6.816 Serv. Aen. ad loc.: AURIS favoribus: unde et aurarii (i. e., patrons) dicuntur favisores; cf. Fletcher 1941: 91; for the hint of unreliability, Page 1958: 91 (doubtless influenced by Horace’s distinctly un-Republican notion of the lesser desirability of offices taken up or lost more or less at the whim of popular favour (arbitrio popularis aurae); carm. 3.2.19–20. Cf. Liv. 22.27.1 and the reference to the favor volgi – for the popularity shown to M. Minucius Rufus in 217. It was the type of popular affection that led to immoderatio and immodestia in a careless recipient (Liv. 22.27.2). It is a common metaphor for favor in poetry and prose; Williams 1972: 510. Compare Horace’s arbitrio popularis aurae; Carm. 3.2.19–20. Cic. de har.resp. 43. See Liv. 30.45.6 on the alternate roles of militaris favor and popularis aura with regard to Scipio Africanus. See also Ap. Claudius Crassus Inrigillensis (decemvir 451), enjoying the favor plebis as plebicola and omnis aurae popularis captator (Liv. 3.33.7). On favor, Hellegouarc’h 1963: 178–9; favor manifests itself publicly in laudes, gratulationes, plausus and clamor; Hellegouarc’h renders aura as la faveur populaire. For an aura as the means by which news travelled, Cic. Mur. 35. Can the breeze, like other natural forces, be harnessed – or simply ridden? One is reminded of Braudel’s ‘true man of action’ taking advantage of the weight of the inevitable; Braudel 1949/1973: 2, 1243–44. Pertinent here, though drawn from the following decade, is Q. Cicero’s concern with popularis fama; Comm. Pet. 49. From around the same time, we have Cicero’s disingenuous lament over the vagaries of same: nihil est incertius vulgo, nihil obscurius voluntate hominum, nihil fallacius ratione tota comitiorum [Cic. Mur. 36]). The reference to the vulgus is interesting with regard to the present enquiry; the context implies that Cicero is referring to the comitia centuriata. Of direct relevance is the observation that the space of twenty-four hours was sufficient for a parva aura rumoris to change everything (perturbat omnia) and alter tota opinio (ibid., 35). By Quintilian’s time, the aura popularis was a scenario; the orator must consider to whom he is speaking and the distinct circumstances: gravitas senatoria or aura popularis (11.1.45).

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The ventus was, we may presume, an intensification (in weather categories), and less benign in some circumstances. Breezes, in nautical metaphors generally had, as would be expected, a welcoming tone.65 It is tempting to think that political commotions might be graded according to degree – perhaps aurally: murmur(es), aura, fremitus, strepitus, ventus, fluctus, procella, clamor, tempestas66 – though only the foolhardy would tread the road of confident definition there (in terms of gale-force categories). The problem is that, in terms of contional noise, the terms elided.67 At the upper end of the scale, one thinks of the uproar that brought down a bird over the forum during a turbulent meeting in 67.68 Such tumults, whether well or ill-intentioned, had their immediate impacts. A public figure must navigate these gusts and squalls.69 Cicero’s solemn posthumous judgement upon Catulus (that princeps Syllanae factionis to whom mention has already been made) is apropos; he was, according to Cicero, never deflected, through hope or fear, from what he saw as the correct course of action by either tempestates (perhaps an allusion to the ructions of 70, 67 and 66) or any honoris aura.70 To return to the question of perceptible gradation (and specifically to the 70s), we have seen that Cicero ‘reports’ that in a contio of 71, an appreciative murmur being overtaken by a great roar.71 Surely it is better to eschew a strict literal meaning. It belongs with the term ‘political climate’. It is assumed that everyone will recognize immediately le climat politique actuel, the current climate: so specific and yet undefined by any explanatory elaboration. Cicero is using metaphor because the phenomenon is so difficult to define; it is, appropriately, aetherial, airy and nebulous, confounding specificity.72 The qualifying adjective poses its own problems. The various nuances of popularis (from ‘popular’, in the word’s most neutral sense, to an indication of political persuasion) cannot, of course, be covered in length here, and the conundrum posed by Ciceronian usage is well enough known.73 For Cicero, the word itself was not pejorative, though in certain contexts a note of disapprobation can be discerned;74 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73

74

Breezes as welcome; Hor. carm 3.29.64. Such allusions could be multiplied. On the other hand, breezes, though gentle, can startle – and be unsettling. See Nisbet & Hubbard 1970: 275–6 on Hor. carm. 1.23.4. For the last of those, see the Sullana tempestas at Florus 2.13 (4.2).3. See Liv. 45.1.2–3, grading a fremitus as louder than a murmur; Rosillo-López 2017: 63. Cic. Mil. 5, where tempestates and procellae are part of the fluctus contionum. Plut. Pomp. 25.6–7; Flam. 10.6 (suggesting that this barometric function was not singular!). Certainly the phenomenon was not unique; Coel. frg. 39Peter [36Cornell] = Liv. 29.25.4; Val. Max. 4.8.5. Cic. Mil. 5. Sest. 101. Robert Kaster’s commentary (2006: 326–7) is excellent on this matter. Above, n. 14. Here I express gratitude to my former colleague, Larry Welborn (Fordham University, NY) for conversations on this subject. On advice, I have excised fuller discussion here. See Robb 2010: 69–93, providing a lexicographical analysis and full repertory (69–71; 179–85). Cf. Lapyrionok 2005: 145–151(dealing with Ciceronian usage between 64 and 54). As North observed, the word was ambiguous – and Cicero often played with that ambiguity (2011:40). Cic. Off. 2.10.35 (popularia verba, best employed when dealing with opinio communis); leg. 1.19 (populariter interdum loqui necesse erit); Off. 2.73 (agere populariter); Cic. 2 Verr. 1.

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in others, it was rallying.75 Two items, however, seem particularly relevant. The first is Cicero’s distinction in a confidential letter to Atticus (about a decade after the years in which we are interested here) between popularis existimatio and bonorum existimatio.76 Both were of importance to Cicero, the former coming as close to ‘public opinion’ as we are likely to find; yet the juxtaposition and implied contrast are value-laden. Can that be used as a guide to what Cicero intended his audience to ‘hear’ in 66? The second item can. In the pro Cluentio itself, Cicero had, a number of sections prior to the introduction of the term ventus popularis, introduced the jurors to this type of gust. It coincided with his profiling of L. Quinctius, homo maxime popularis (which I am not assuming was intrinsically disparaging as a label), who is then described as a man who plotted to concentrate all the winds of rumores and contiones (qui omnes rumorum et contionum ventos colligere consuesset) to bring together to his own advantage the invidia felt towards the senate, on account of the current judgement of the Populus on the senatorial juries.77 There followed a number of contiones; their character was vehemens et gravis.78 I think there can be little doubt about the way in which Cicero expected his auditors to receive the label ventus popularis: it was akin to a force of nature, it had its origins in ‘public opinion’, and it was not intended to give comfort to the established order. It could also be fanned. INTERROGATING THE SOURCES We return to what it was that moved the senatorial jurors of 70. We must distinguish at least four distinct lines of enquiry – focussing respectively upon: (i) what it was that had so unsettled the senators in that year (upon which Cicero could play); (ii) what it was that Cicero conjured up qua rhetorical tactic in 70;79

75

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77 78 79

151–53 (again, the term is agere populariter – in this case, a slur, in 70, by Hortensius, against Cicero); J.-M. David 1992:617; & n. 66; Hall 2014: 36–37. See further on the question of erudita and popularis forms of communication, Price Wallach 1990: 172. Most recently this has been interrogated by Steel (forthcoming), taking as her starting point Brut. 113–114. Cicero famously proclaimed himself a popularis consul; leg. agr. 2.7; cf. 91.23; 2. 102. For the word in a political context, see, inter alios, Robb 2010: 182–4 and the multiple views of Meier 1965: 549–615; Seager 1972; 328–338 (finding the word generally negative); cf. 1977: 377–90 (touching upon Ciceronian usage and thought); McGushin 1977: 152 (on Sall. Cat. 22.1); Roman 1994 (‘defusing’ the word at Cic.Brut.160); Tracy 2008/2009 (on the tyranny of Ciceronian usage and undermining his definitions); and Duplá 2011 (on the polysemous nature of the term). I regret the selectivity of this note. Att. 1.12.1. See also the troika of sibili vulgi, sermones honestorum and fremitus Italiae that made that other troika (to wit Caesar, Crassus and Pompey) take notice; Att. 2.21.1 (a reference to the situation in mid-59 and therefore not to be carelessly applied to 70 – though the concept of hissing was probably not anachronistic; cf. Q Rosc. 11.30). Indeed, that letter and the preceding one (2.20.3–5) are central texts for the notion of ‘popular opinion’, and are addressed by Rosillo-López 2017: 158.I shall return to Italia presently. Cluent. 77. I have left that gloss deliberately awkward to underline the words used. Loc.cit. And here we may have recourse to Pina Polo’s chapter.

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The last three pose methodological problems. The first is, in this present collection, the endgame. The second is relatively straightforward (as has already been illustrated). Cicero, to unnerve the jury, paints a picture of a relatively isolated ordo senatorius threatened by the hostile glare of the Roman People, and it is presumed that the latter has the will and the agency to effect political change harmful to current senatorial privileges. It is also presumed that public opinion can be discerned.80 In 66, by contrast (and this brings us to the third line of enquiry), Cicero does not need or want to isolate the jury. His object is, instead, to isolate the force that had acted so effectively on the jurors of 70. In 66, it was a forensic necessity for Cicero, given the defence of a highly-suspect client, to depict whatever had prompted such significant political commotion in 70 as Other, both dissociating it from the mixed senatorial and equestrian jury he was now addressing and stepping aside himself from his role as participant three years earlier. It was now to be seen as a ventus popularis, thus presenting the obverse image of consensus omnium. This had not been the will of the Roman People. It was a force; it was potent and it prevailed. But it is in Cicero’s interests, in 66, to suggest that there had been some untoward aspects to this phenomenon; he promotes the notion that in 70 there had been something of what we might call a witch-hunt – though, again, the term he uses carefully does not in itself carry that meaning. Excessive rigour and undue suspicions (whipped up by a political activist) had led to unwarranted collateral damage. Cicero’s strategy drew upon phenomena with which their auditors might be familiar: public displeasure aroused by suspicions of corruption and galvanized by members of the elite.81 It is, however, very different from that utilized in the Verrines. In both cases, chronology and circumstance are essential; Cicero’s ‘observations’ stem from forensic rhetoric, and the filter requires scrutiny.82 Approaching the period through the lens offered by Sallust (it well serves those who see an ideological contest dominating the public stage) might seem to offer 80 81 82

The populus, in Cicero’s fiction, was always of one mind. This clearly did not correspond to fact – but that was the way Cicero presented it; see Russell’s paper in this collection and her ‘The divided populus and the rule of law’ (forthcoming). This is the aspect of ‘public opinion’ explored by Rosillo-López (2016). We must never forget that the defence of Cluentius was a masterpiece of obfuscation; this was Cicero’s proud boast (Quintil. 2.17.21); cf. Quintil. 5.10.68; 11.13; 13.32–3; 6.5.9; Seager 2011: 100–103, and 107. He was, at the time, twitted for his about-face; Vasaly 2009:119–20; 2013: 150–51. Cicero simply could not, strategically speaking, admit that Cluentius might have bribed a senatorial jury in 74 – and, thus, he had recourse to “a device so artificial, so crudely mechanical and so transparently dishonest, a device that repeatedly led him into implausibility, absurdity and the suppression or falsification of widely known facts.” (Seager:107).

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the hope that the sober historian’s craft is at our disposal,83 though the moral outrage and political edge of that work also demand caution. The scepticism and pessimism so manifest in his better-preserved works abide, if anything amplified.84 Still, in what survives lies a mine of useful details (diverting thumbnail sketches of some key players, not the least). And if Plutarch has, in fact, conveyed the tone of Sallust’s chronicle, the demos was depicted as having a mind of its own and the readiness to express it; it was the demos that had set its most fervent hopes upon the restitution of the tribunate.85 Everything, of course, that Plutarch here has garnered from Sallust is rendered even less subtle by his own reductive tendency with regard to a view of Roman politics dominated by the boule – demos divide.86 Our chief sources, then, indicate that public opinion, a clear and present danger, weighed heavily upon senatorial minds; or that public fervour was whipped up by inflammatory political activity; or that an ideological contest was articulated by activists who spoke to the auctoritas senatus and/or alternative interpretations of the libertas populi Romani. The last of those three, as things stand, leaves unexplained how things came to a head in 70, a question that may have been answered had Sallust’s Historiae survived intact. Plutarch simplistically has it that the People made its hopes unmistakably apparent and that these were answered by the unstoppable Pompey. The latter half of that observation is driven by the biographer’s focus; the first comes close to the picture present in the Verrines. I find the latter, particularly the first actio, compelling (in the sense of useful) as primary evidence. The jury condemned Verres. Allowing for the possibility that his manifest guilt led to that outcome (we lack the case for the defence, though we know that this would have embraced his defence of Sicily against pirates and the insurrectionary forces of Spartacus),87 this document indicates that the jury could be swayed by the argument that the Senate was under threat from the ill-will of the Roman People. Why was the Senate so vulnerable to unpopularity (a question inextricably tied up with the definition of the People)?88 Russell argues persuasively in her contribution to this collection that the ‘People’ in the context of Roman rhetoric usually comprised those citizens who happened to be present at a given assembly (unless the gathering, or elements of it, could be disqualified in some way – i. e., to the satisfaction of the observer).89 That offers little cheer to modern historians seeking

83 84 85

86 87 88 89

For the contest of ideologies, see Millar 1998 and Arena 2011; 2012 (above, notes 28 & 31). Earl 1966: 41–2; 104–110; cf. Syme 1964: 178–213; McGushin 1992: 15–18. For Pompey’s flirtation with the Roman people (ho Romaion … demos) and the polloi, Plut. Pomp. 21.3–5; 22.2–4. The demos was also happy to provide an appreciative audience to the sheer spectacle of Pompey’s consulship; witness their rowdy reaction to his unprecedented behaviour at the equestrian review of 70 (22.6). Pelling 2002: 207; 211–17. See Prag 2007: vi. Hints of a defence may be spotted here and there; cf. Prag 2003. No easy answer presents itself to the latter question. See Rosillo-López 2016: 204–5 (and for some earlier scholarship, see her n. 6). Cf. Flaig 1995: 86 n. 27. How many citizens participated is, of course, a moot point; MacMullen 1980; Mouritsen 2001: 20–39 (minimalizing the numbers). Who really attended? The short answer is that certitude is not possible; Yavetz 1965: 307; Jehne 2006.

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a degree of demographic specificity with regard to any particular occasion.90 If, however, we are set on isolating the existimatio pR that Cicero proclaimed as the determining factor in 70, we are concerned not simply with those who presented themselves in the forum in the August of that year but a broader community and with the circulation of rumour beyond the forum.91 HOW WAS PUBLIC OPINION CREATED IN 70? WHO CONSTITUTED THE ‘PUBLIC’? Whose gaze prompted senatorial anxiety? To answer that question thoroughly would require a paper twice as long. The briefest review must suffice.92 It was the ordo equester that carried the greatest clout in the comitia centuriata.93 This cannot be gainsaid (reforms to the comitia notwithstanding), though it could, and should, be noted that from the beginning of 70, the concilium plebis had re-entered the lists as a legislative player. Could Cicero be denoting the equites when talking about the People? Yes. Polybius’ delineation of the function of the People within Rome’s politeia seems to have principally in mind the equites. That same equation can be read into Cicero’s pronouncement in the first Verrine that Sulla’s transferral of the courts to the Senate had taken away the power of the People.94 At the head of this sector were the publicani and les financiers de l’aristocratie.95 Even before their readmission to the jury panels, equestrian wealth demanded respect. Whilst in many ways the two elites were as one and bound by many ties, mutual suspicions and distrust are documented for this period.96 In so far as they can be spoken of as a class,

90 91 92 93

‘Measuring’ public opinion is even more difficult. See Rosillo-López in this volume. On rumours circulating outside Rome, Rosillo-López 2017: 87–93. This shall be expanded in a fuller treatment of the seventies (in preparation). Cic. Rep. 2.39–40; Liv. 1.43.9–11; Dion. Hal. 4.19.3; 21.1–3; 7.59.7; cf. Nicolet 1980: 220–23; 260–64 (on the not-to-be-forgotten importance of the praerogativa); Lintott 1999: 55–61; esp. 60 (for discussion and references to earlier scholarship. The importance of this sector is underlined in Tatum’s contribution. Sometimes an equestrian presence in an assembly or public gathering is specifically registered; Jehne 2006: 225 nn. 30–31. Does that indicate it was unusual? The notion that political participation fell on a more regular basis to leisured gentlemen is championed by Mouritsen 2001: 39–40; 60–62, but see Jehne 2006: 229–30 94 1Verr. 38; cf. to Polyb. 6.17; Cic. Cluent. 151; Phil. 4.15; 8.8. Here I follow F. W. Walbank 1970: 692, and Brunt 1962: 118–119 = 1969: 84–85 (on the ‘virtual equation’); 1988: 148; Nicolet 1966, 1974: 382–3 95 Andreau 1978: 48–50; 1999: 9–29. These principes equestris ordinis had arrogated to themselves the identity of the whole ordo; Bruhns 1980: 269–70; cf. Meier 1966: 73–4; Nicolet 1966, 1974: 551–3. Bruhn’s reference (1980: 267 n. 24) to the publicani as a lobby group in 70 is apropos, but probably antedates the said activity by one year (see the following note). 96 The propertied elite as one: Andreau 1999: 9. Tensions between the classes is caught by Appian (with regard to 91 BC), together with, inter alia, the observation that the equites had grown fond of the power that followed from judicial office; BCiv 1.34.159–161, esp. 160. On the courts, Balsdon 1938.

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there were reasons for equestrian discontent in the 70s.97 The credit squeeze of the 80s which they had just survived (whilst some had not) can only have exacerbated unease.98 Their displeasure mattered.99 Those below the equestrian census? There were the merchantmen upon whom the grand entrepreneurs relied. ‘Our forefathers’, Cicero was to proclaim four years later, had often undertaken wars to protect the interests of ‘our’ mercatores or navicularii.100 They were industrious and worthy.101 Their calling was not considered one of prestige, but they were not discreditable. In 70, Cicero could refer to the merchants of Puteoli as homines locupletes et honesti, and that made them men of whose opinion account should be taken.102 Cicero also describes maritime traders at the same time as homines tenues, obscuro loco nati and observes that such men rarely visited Rome.103 But a tenuous existence was relative. A tenue vectigal might be an income of HSS 100,000 a year, and a gentleman might live on that (with some economy):104 less than a quarter of the equestrian census, but it allowed a decent living – to put it mildly. More to the point, these men were, in 70, in Rome – in great numbers (frequentissimi venerunt ad hoc iudicium mercatores).105 That passage is interesting. Verres thinks, Cicero postulates, he can get away with murder (literally): because Sicilians rarely complain; negotiatores rarely come to Rome; and equites do not have control of the courts anymore (quid enim iam nocere possunt quibus non licet iudicare). Of two of those assumptions he had been disabused; a question-mark hovered ominously over the last. These mercatores did not pass without trace. When L. Herennius, described as having a banking business in Lepcis and as a negotiator, was beheaded in Syracuse on suspicion of being a Sertorianus, 100 Roman citizens from the Roman community of traders in Syracuse, if Cicero may be trusted on the status and the number of the congregation, had appealed on his behalf.106 In the 70s, these voices from outside Rome could be effective; the cries of the conventus Syracusanus could be 97

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100 101 102 103 104 105 106

A hint of equestrian alienation in 88: Plut. Sull. 8.2; Mar. 35.2. More current tensions: most had probably, in the 80s, been on the ‘Marian’ side; Brunt 1969:128. The consequences for many individuals had been severe. Tensions in 75: Sall. Hist. 2.43M = 2.41McG; cf. McGushin 1992: 208. Lucullus’ rigorous reforms in the province of Asia (in particular, the curbing of the tax-gatherers and money-lenders) were arousing equestrian anger in 71; Plut. Luc. 20. A class? The term ordo equester is used throughout the Verrines (Davenport, forthcoming: 38, n. 12); Cicero was himself largely responsible for the ‘recognition’ of the order (38–41). Cic. Man. 19; Kay 2014: 243–255. Retribution would follow dissatisfaction with Lucullus in 69: Dio 36.2.2 (though this belongs to the era of a renewed equestrian presence in the courts [and thus a period when the publicani might make senators tremble; Cic. fam. 1.9.26]). In 66 (though, again, this draws from the era of equestrian re-empowerment), Cicero would equate equestrian welfare with that of the State; Man. 14–18. Leg.Man. 11. Ibid. 18. 2Verr. 5.154. 2Verr. 5.154; 3.96, respectively; cf. Brunt 1969: 126–7; 1988: 168–171. Cic. Parad. 49; cf. Brunt 1969: 83. 2Verr. 5.154. 2Verr. 5.155; cf. 1.14 (negotiator).

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heard (if only by report) and resonate in Rome. And delegations, if the cause was weighty enough, might appear in person. These men mattered.107 And they crossed a number of social divisions. They were present in Rome in 70 to protest the unfair treatment of their business partners (socii): some freedmen, some fellow-freedmen.108 These men would be heard.109 Veyne proffers the label ‘middle plebs’.110 The term plebs media (a group we might see in distinction from the plebs humilis) is not one to be found in republican testimonia, but the absence of a contemporary classification need not negate the concept as a useful demographic one – if it is understood that a variety of more specific descriptors (e. g., negotiatores) served to designate those people (thus avoiding the perils of anachronism). Even at times of relative communal unanimity, the count in the comitia centuriata went below the first classis,111 and Yakobson would argue strongly that the urban plebs, comprising men whom Cicero might dismiss as tenues, vulgus imperitorum or multitudo indocta, exercised a degree of electoral power in the centuriata not to be dismissed.112 And with the reinstated legislative power of the concilium plebis, an even broader range of representation was assured. This brings us to the plebs contionalis, a category (if designating a political force) of which some scholars remain sceptical but for which a body of evidence is coming together.113 The forum brought together a vibrant cross-section of citizens.114 Amongst them, the small retailers, the craftsmen and shopkeepers.115 For what it was worth, these were the people routinely suspected of scripting politicized graffiti.116

107 See Q. Lucceius, the largest banker in Rhegium. Ditto, M. and P. Cottii, the most well-known men in the Taormina district (nobilissimi homines ex agro Tauromentano; Cic. 2 Verr., 5.165. Other will be found in Kay 2014: 237. 108 2Verr. 5.155 109 On freedmen, see also Lintott 1999: 51. Space precludes here treatment of the 10,000 Cornelii, the slaves whom Sulla had freed in the wake of the civil war and proscriptions and settled in or around the city. A potent (and threatening) force: App. BCiv. 1.104. 489. Like the strategically-placed veterans (1.96.448; 100.469–470; 105; cf. Sall. Hist. 1.77.21M), they are not, at first sight, likely to have been opponents of the Sullan order, yet the ground had shifted for some (Cic. Mur. 49 – not necessarily characteristic of the rest). See the valuable discussion of these men, Santangelo 2007: 88–99; esp. 98–99 (on the Cornelii). One of Sulla’s ‘creatures’ had ventured into transmarine trade; Santangelo 74 n. 28; 94–5. On Tarula Sullae l., see now the recently recovered thoughts of Syme; Syme and Santangelo 2017: 11. For a rather different take, Santangelo 2014: 2; certainly as a pro-Sullan force, they disappear from history. 110 Veyne 2000: 1170–1171; cf. Rosillo-López 2016: 205. 111 Cic. Rep. 2.39–40. 112 Yakobson 1992; 2004. It should not be forgotten, however, that vulgus was another elastic word. 113 Meier 1966: 114; Jehne 2006: 228; sceptical: Mouritsen 2011: 20–62. 114 Purcell 1995: 327–8; Russell 2016a: 43–76; 77–95; Rosillo-López 2017: 47–64. 115 Morstein-Marx 2004: 128–31; Jehne 2006: 230–231; Russel 2016b. The plebs contionalis felt, indeed, a degree of auctoritas; Jehne 2013: 60. 116 Morstein-Marx 2012: 210–11; Hillard 2013: 113–4.

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An interesting dynamic was in play; on the one hand, the elite ‘lecturing’ their auditors;117 on the other, the expectation that the citizens will express themselves.118 With regard to the less privileged end of the spectrum, we have the notice of the effective agency (in 142 BC) of the “frequenters of the forum”, of low birth, some of them ‘recently’ slaves, but able to force issues by both solicitations and clamour.119 Their influence might go beyond assemblies. Even when an assembly had not been called, we might find here the susurratores, or the subrostrani, individuals gathered at various places in the Campus Martius or in the forum for news and gossip.120 And there were those Plautus called the subbasilicani, presumably those who lounged under the porticoes, and whom only the occasional stench of the fishmongers’ wares could drive from their shady arcades.121 Sermunculus became sermo, thence rumor.122 And thus fama (so important to the political elite) was formed.123 Some of these individuals fancied themselves humorists. During Verres’ praetorship in 74, these satirists had turned to porcine puns, proclaiming that ius verrinum was of a very poor quality.124 Of interest here is Cicero’s suggestion to the jurors that they ‘have often heard this.’ Cicero disingenuously says that this humour is beneath commemoration; it is not particularly witty – nor appropriate to the dignified gravity of the court. But rehearsal is justified as a reminder of how Verres’ nequitia and iniquitas were on the tongues of the crowd and communally ‘proverbial’ (in ore vulgi atque in communibus proverbiis.) Those people had time on their hands (if our wealthy informants are a reliable guide). Labourers, less at leisure, might also decide that an issue was important enough to down tools. And when they did do they could be effective.125 And the year 70 presented a special case; beyond the denizens of the city, beyond even the plebs rustica whose attendance was irregular, the Italians were coming (potentially a major disruption to the established behaviour of the electorate no matter how expeditiously handled). Cicero observed great concourse: “this great multitude from the whole Italy simultaneously converging on Rome for the elec117 Jehne 2011; cf. North 1990: 17 [= 2004: 152]. 118 Russell 2016a: 20; 70–75. Sulla has counselled the plethos against free speech (BCiv 1.101.472); immediately upon his abdication, it re-emerged (104.486). 119 Plut. Aem. 38.4–6. 120 Cic. Quinct. 59. Certain localities, like the columna Maenia, had seedy reputations according to the company kept there; Div.Caec. 50. Cf. Rosillo-López 2017: 11; 53; 151. 121 Captivi 811. I thank Lea Beness for first pointing to me out these forensic habitués. On the subbasilicani, see also Rosillo-López 2017: 52–3; 183; and on all these groups, see Pina Polo 1996:130–31; 2010: 79. 122 Rosillo-López 2016: 206 utilizes the distinction, set by Dubourdieu and Lemirre 1997: 294–5. between rumour (which enjoyed a wider circulation) and gossip (which had a restricted diffusion). On rumours, see Rosillo-López 2017: 75–97. 123 On the scarce difference between fama and existimatio, Yavetz 1974, with reference to 2Verr. 1.76. Cf. 2Verr. 1.148; 3.133 (existimatio omnium); 3.137; 210 (existimatio hominum). See also Meier 1966: 9 n. 15; cf. 8 (on existimatio); Rosillo-López 2017: 7–8; 203–4. 124 2Verr. 1.121. L. H. G. Greenwood (Loeb) suggests ‘pork gravy’. 125 The election of Marius to his first consulship in 107 provides the locus classicus (Sall. Iug.73.6), Yakobson (1999: 13–19) the key modern discussion. For the the plebs sordida, the plebs humilis and the plebs misera et ieiuna, see also Rosillo-López 2016: 205 n. 7.

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tions, the games – and the census (haec frequentia totius Italiae … quae convenit uno tempore undique comitiorum ludorum censendique causa)”.126 This provided Cicero with the opportunity to offer the senators both carrot and stick.127 They had the chance to garner the fruit of popularity or the hazard of disapproval (et laudis fructum et offensionis periculum vestrum). The phenomenon of the frequentia is one to which Cicero returns later in the Verrines.128 TALES OF INCOMPETENCE AND CORRUPTION From all these quarters, the members of the senatorial order might seriously be concerned about ill-will. And the latter might be multi-faceted. The key issue, Cicero has insisted, was corruption in the senatorial courts, but his character assassination of Verres takes him to a broader issue: the credibility of senatorial government.129 That must have struck a nerve. A survey of the 70s easily brings forth a chronicle of mismanagement and uninspiring leadership. With Sulla’s ashes scarcely cool, the poverty of leadership amongst the new establishment was indicated by the leading role now undertaken by the young war-leader Pompey, both against Lepidus and then, at his own suggestion, against Sertorius, with L. Marcius Philippus, the second oldest surviving consular within the Senate, wryly observing that Pompey was worth both consuls put together.130 Scribonius Curio, who would be consul in the following year, has stood aside to give the older Mamercus Aemilius Lepidus a shot. A certain reluctance to serve abroad becomes apparent.131 In the same, the senatorial court having proved its readiness to issue negative judgements upon its own, a convicted praetorius announced the going rate for a conviction of one of his rank was now HS3,000,000, the implication being both that the court was corrupt and would not normally convict a senator.132 In the following year, both consuls were the subject of ridicule, one for ill-health and the other for ineffective phreneticism. Yet the latter managed to quash reform with extreme prejudice.133 The consuls of 75 hardly presented a new face. One was sluggish; the other too eager to 126 1Verr. 54. On the rustici, see Jehne 2006:227, arguing that such men “attended elections regularly and in relevant numbers.” 127 Cf. Flaig 1995: 86 n. 27, suggesting that Cicero has in mind a social rather than geographic representation. 128 2Verr. 5.143. Cf. Vasaly 2009:109. 129 And the integrity of government was something that more people in the last generation of the libera res publica took seriously than is customarily appreciated. Morrell touches upon this in the present volume, and more thoroughly in Morrell 2017. 130 Hillard 1984: 78; 115 n. 36; Steel 2014b: 333. 131 Badian famously denounced the ‘unworthy’ Sullan establishment on these grounds; Badian 1970: 30–32, esp. 30 n. 81. Blösel 2016 has investigated the phenomenon thoroughly, and discerns a reluctance based on the lack of financial attraction and the ‘demilitarisation of the Roman nobility’ (81). Steel 2014b: 333 sees this as a result of Sulla having created a political culture in which domestic affairs were becoming increasingly distinct from military activity. 132 Hillard 1984: 79–80; Alexander 1990: 70–71 [#139]. 133 Hillard 1984: 82–3; Santangelo 2014: 7–8. On Curio as a risible orator, Wisse 2013: 176; 178; 186–7; Rosillo-López 2013: 294–5. Partial defence: Tatum (1991).

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please. (The latter expressed the burden of age, not yet fifty, but feeling every year, it would seem.)134 In mid-year, it seems that a serious food shortage (the result in part no doubt of the instability of the Mediterranean world) brought public temper to a boil, and the plebes rose in great tumult and attacked both consuls.135 Which section of the community resorted to this violence? The evidence does not say, and we should make no assumptions.136 The consul C. Aurelius Cotta addressed the citizenry (Quirites) seeking placation; he offered nothing less than a form of devotio, if self-sacrifice would assuage popular anger.137 Doubtless the crowd had something more practical in mind. Reform was proposed, probably in collaboration with the tribune Q. Opimius, and it is remarkable that it was expected that the partial restoration of tribunician powers might quieten discontent, a clear indication that the populace associated suspected mismanagement with the present leadership.138 This concession was a significant milestone en route to 70. The year 74 was not one of consolidating public faith, and opened with senatus auctoritas still further compromised. Pompey wrote from Hispania, acknowledging that the war against Sertorius was faring badly, but demanding with scarcely disguised menace further aid. The senate, eschewing reprimand, complied, prompted by the incoming consuls, Lucullus and M. Cotta, partly from fear and partly from self-interest.139 Lucullus’ machinations to secure his command against Mithridates (unfinished Sullan business) were marked by sordid intrigue, involving a party-boss and an influential courtesan.140 This was the Year of the Courtesan. The erratic application of his edict by the praetor Verres was attributed to the influence of the meretrix Chelidon.141 The irregularities of his administration have been alluded to above (and would be a theme of Cicero’s attack on the man in 70). The presidency of the courts was doubly under a cloud. Another praetor was P. Cornelius Lentulus Sura. Stories of his arrogantly self-proclaimed vices were many and circulated.142 Whether true or not is hardly the point here. Scandal blazed around the corruption of the courts, in particular, the debâcle of the notorious Oppianicus trial, and, in another trial (it was said), Hortensius’ use of marked ballots to monitor the votes of those jurors whose judgements

134 Sall. Hist. 2.42M; 40McG; cf. 47M [=44McG].2. 135 Sall. Hist. 2.45M; 42 McG; cf. 2.46M; 43McG. 136 As noted above, members of the ordo equester might resort to violence; Plut. Mar. 35.2 (alluding to considerable numbers). 137 Sall. Hist. 2.47M; 44McG. 138 Hillard 1984: 83–5; Santangelo 2014: 8–9. 139 Sall. Hist.2. 98M [82McG]. 140 Hillard 1984: 89–90. The term courtesan may well be anachronistic (Plutarch, Luc. 6.2–4 drifts towards the more gentile label gyné hetairoûsa); in Latin, Praecia would have been simply dubbed meretrix. Her ‘role’ is dealt with in this volume by Blösel; the allegations were partisan and polemical (and possibly suspect). I agree with Blösel that the allegations were probably given oxygen in the disputes of the 60s. The hostile rumours upon which they were based, however, may well have circulated in the 70s. 141 Hillard 1984: 87–89 for references and discussion. Cicero was not squeamish about the label. (See the preceding note.) 142 Ibid: 88–89.

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had been purchased.143 Lentulus Sura had been the praetor overseeing the latter case. As has been noted above, Verres presided over the trial in which the reforming tribune of the previous year, Q. Opimius, was brought to ruin (with the loss of civic status and the confiscation of his property).144 The Oppianicus affair, in particular, brought the tribune L. Quinctius into action, and his inflammatory speeches have already been discussed. They were pivotal.145 The rostra, Cicero says, was brought to life in a way that had not been seen since before the time of Sulla. … the rostra had long stood vacant, nor had the tribunicia vox been heard from it ever since the advent of Sulla … So Quinctius himself seized possession of the platform. The multitudo, long since unaccustomed to contiones, was recalled by Quinctius revived to some sort of semblance of the ancient practice (ad veteris consuetudinis similtudinem).146

Quinctius enjoyed some specific success. Many involved in this apparently sordid affair were brought to account. It suited Cicero’s forensic needs (in 66) to depict this storm as manipulated. This was a fine illustration of an often noted phenomenon; that the sea, habitually calm, under the force of strong winds (vi ventorum) becomes rough and stormy. So it is with the populus Romanus. When left to themselves, they are peaceful, but by the speeches of seditious individuals (hominum seditiosorum vocibus) can be roused with the effect of a furious hurricane (ut violentissimis tempestatibus concitari).147

Quinctius, in Cicero’s revisionist hands, has graduated, by implication (and implication only), from popularis to seditiosus. And he is depicted as standing alone.148 Perhaps there is a kernel of truth to this general spin. The activist tribune of the following year, C. Licinius Macer, depicted himself as isolated and addressing a citizenry marked by torpor – sluggish and dull-witted (languidos socordesque), inclined ad ignaviam (to idleness, listlessness and/or cowardice), exchanging the illusion of peace for servitude. Revolution was not around the corner.149 If Sallust’s ‘Macer’ provides a liable guide, there was, then, no continuity of popular pressure. And yet, an interesting paradox emerges from the same source, breaking through Sallust’s thematic structure. The principes, who posed as the vindices uti se ferunt libertatis (the so-called champions of liberty) still, faced with 143 Ibid: 90–95; Alexander 1990: 75–6 [#149]; 79 [#158]; on the pro Cluentio (our chief source for the Oppianicus affair), Rosillo-López 2017: 210–14; cf. 57. 144 Alexander 1990: 78–9 [#157]. 145 Hillard 1984: 86; 92–3; Robinson 2013: 74 also sees the year as a watershed. Cf. Santangelo 2014: 8 n. 53 for further references. 146 Cic. Cluent. 110. 147 Ibid., 137. 148 Russell 2013: 103–4 sees Quinctius as isolated. Macer (following) paints himself in the same way. Mouritsen (2001: 46; 50) sees Quinctius as controlling events. Likewise, Morstein-Marx, 2004: 179 n. 81 (the contiones not being designed for the debating of alternative views). I can accept that to a point; but such interpretations risk accepting what Cicero wants the jurors of 66 to accept – and choose not to underline the allusion to Quinctius catching the ventus. RosilloLópez 2017: 212 is inclined to see Quinctius as a mere ‘vessel’. 149 Sall. Hist. 3.48M[34McG].8; 13; 26; cf. Santangelo 2014: 7–9.

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this popular-passivity, feared ill-will.150 That is a theme to pursue here (and will be taken up in closing). The slave insurrection in 73 was of major significance, and we know that Sallust gave it due attention.151 The length of the Italian peninsula was under threat, and the vindices uti se ferunt libertatis proved dreadfully inadequate. Space precludes detail, but this ‘episode’ surpassed the crisis of 75 in every sense, and even after the conclusion of the protracted war in 71, anxieties and memories lingered.152 Travel in southern Italy was still dangerous in 70.153 To the mix, we add religio. The word might cover a multitude of things from conscience to dread of the supernatural (those two concepts are not unconnected). Following hard upon the heels of the trials of two Vestals,154 there was an earthquake in Rome that brought down many buildings.155 Rome was rattled; the elite was rattled. SHAME There is no lack of evidence explaining public discontent. It is not possible to say, and perhaps not profitable to speculate upon, which section of the Roman community expressed the most effective displeasure – but I should like to close by suggesting that the most potent aspect of public opinion was the way in which it was perceived by the Senate itself. In a culture within which honor occupied so prominent a place, with honos both a personal quality and the consequent reward, shame must not be underestimated.156 In what they perceived to be the public opinion, the senators saw themselves reflected. I suggest that many were prepared to cede privilege through profound discomfort.157 In August 70, Cicero exploited this senatorial mortification to the hilt; his cue, senatorial self-perception. 150 151 152 153 154

155 156 157

Ibid. 22; 8, respectively. See, e. g., Hist. 3.98M[66McG]. See, e. g., Hor. Carm. 3.14, for memories. On anxieties, see, inter alios, Bradley 1994: 112–115. Cic. 2Verr.2.99 (on fugitivi and praedones). Unsettled condition extended into the 60s; Cic. Cat. 3.14; Sall. Cat. 46.3–4. MRR 2.114, for references. The two women escaped. The fact of investigation may be significant in itself; it was a phenomenon not dissociated from community-anxieties; Eckstein (1982); cf. Kraemer 1992: 84. The definition of ‘human sacrifice’ is disputed (Schulz 2010 [not dealing specifically with this episode]), but not this point. Phleg. FGrHist. 257 F 12 = Phot. Bibl. 2.97; cf. Guidoboni 1989: 590–91. Honos: see e. g. CIL 6.1289 [= EDCS 17800194]; cf. CIL 6.1288 [= EDCS 17800193]. Did Roman senators have a conscience? The concept lurks in Cicero’s repeated allusion to religio; 1Verr. 3; 30; 43; 46; 51. Rome as a shame culture: Lenardon 1997: 41. The theme was one underlined by Cicero in later works. See, e. g. Rep. 5.6: the best state was that in which the optimi strove for laus and decus, shunning ignominia and dedecus, the greatest deterrent vituperationis non inustae timor (the fear of justified censure) – the cue, opinio; the result pudor stronger than metus. Certain conciliatory gestures had already been set in place; e. g., the lex Cornelia de pecunia quam Sulla bonorum emptoribus remiserat exigenda, preceded by a senatus consultum (indeed Cicero speaks of several resolutions) which compelled the beneficiaries of property sales arising from the civil war and proscriptions to actually pay the State the risible sums nominally

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T. W. Hillard Now I entreat you, Judges, by the immortal gods, to take thought, and to think ahead on this point [the “reputation of our Order”] … we are viewed with contempt and despised by the people of Rome. We have been groaning, and that for many years, under a heavy load of infamy.158

This is not to deny, of course, external pressure. Towards the end of the fifth Verrine, Cicero invites the jurors to contemplate developments that will be beyond their control, and driven by others – ‘for in matters concerning the State, as in all things, great forethought must be allotted to the inclinatio temporum. The populus Romanus is keen to see judicial authority transferred to another ordo.’159 But that low (or at least diminished) self-esteem was reflected clearly in the purging of the senate that followed: the lectio of Cn. Lentulus Clodianus and L. Gellius Publicola. In part, to be sure, making space. Santangelo argues that, given the induction of 220 quaestorii since Sulla’s lectio of 81, the censors might have cleared the decks by not enrolling those Sullan nominees who had failed, in the interim, to win elections in their own right – especially those who had failed to win a quaestorship (the prerequisite under Sulla’s new laws for advancement to higher office).160 But this was a Senate seriously wanting in auctoritas, with “an unprecedently tenuous connection in terms of membership with the body that had existed ten years’ earlier …”161 From the lectio of 81, two-thirds of the senators were new, with a great number compromised by being so personally beholden to Sulla.162 In that last observation Steel touches ever so briefly upon an important point, underlying the moral uncertainty of so many: the Sullan victory had been ‘hollowed’ by the attendant violence.163 Steel plausibly sees the Senate after Sulla as a two-tiered body: the majority, the lesser-ranked, the result of 20 quaestors now being elected annually and automatically admitted to the curia, with scarce prospect of advancement, and those who held (or had held) imperium.164 Both groupings, both principes and pedarii, might feel a certain embarrassment in being the beneficiaries of a violent regime and of the corruption that had so regularly come to light since.

158 159

160 161 162 163 164

applied; Rotondi 1966: 366–367; Santangelo 2007: 93 (and n. 18); McGushin 1994: 139 (unaware of the Ciceronian evidence). The longest modern discussion of which I am aware is offered by Hinard 1985: 186–188 (taking a very different line). In 70, the concessions proceeded. The lex Pompeia Licinia de tribunicia potestate had already passed through the comitia centuriata. Cic. 1Verr. 43 (a fuller rendition of this passage has been offered above, n. 12). The point is restated at 46–7. 2Verr. 5.176–78. Cicero conjures a scenario where the trial had continued, and the ‘new law’ which had not been spoken of at the outset had now been promulgated and was in the offing. If Verres escapes justice, they – the jurors – will not; they, the old, will be tried by novi iudices under a lex nova. Santangelo 2006:12; 14 n. 27. Steel’s comments have been noted above (around n. 33): Steel 2014a: 660–61. Ibid., 663–66. Cf. Hawthorn 1962:55. The locus classicus (for the denunciation of Sulla’s extremes) comes at Ros. Amer. 141–2 and 2Verr. 3.80–82, respectively; cf., inter alia, Rosc. Amer. 154; Parad. 6.2.46. Ibid., 659. Steel 2014b.

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“HELL IS OTHER PEOPLE” I am drawn to the climactic dictum of Joseph Garcin, one of the three principal characters in Jean-Paul Sartre’s existential classic Huis Clos (1944):165 l’enfer, c’est les autres. Like so many aphorisms that become almost idiomatically proverbial, the lines are customarily taken out of context. Three characters (who are, in fact, deceased) inhabit a windowless, ever-lit room – each of them, it emerges, fully aware that he or she merits Hell. It is a truly terrifying image of what might constitute eternal torment. Towards the close of the play (within the last four minutes, to be more precise), Garcin cries out: “Hell is other people” – and the outburst has taken on a life of its own. In the all-important context, Garcin is not the fount of wisdom; this is not an authorial observation (let alone ‘Sartre’s hypothesis’, as I have heard it called). Garcin’s ‘Hell’ is damning self-contemplation as prompted by an awareness of (and, just as importantly, a perception of) the judgement of others. We may seem to have drifted some way from the brief of the present paper, but I hope the point will have been immediately clear. Rome’s elite craved applause and approbation (for in those desiderata lay fama, gloria and, indeed, nobilitas and without which virtus wallowed, unrecognised). The elite needed public opinion as much as it must have resented being subject to its ‘whims’ (or so they liked to think).166 In so far as the principes were luminaries, they reflected the attention visited upon them by public attention: the very essence of nobilitas.167 This severely qualified a tool of such importance to them: self-fashioning.168 This external validation came with a cost. It was, in a very real sense, threatening (or, more importantly, open to the perception of threat); the gaze is often perceived as adversarial (and is thought by many to be irreducibly so).169 That which Roman leadership craved was also an unrelenting burden. Visibility was the key to fame; even private houses must serve that function.170 The temple of the Twins, where so much business at this time was to be conducted was in oculis cotidianoque aspectu populi Romani.171 In that visibility was vulnerability (and the invitation for self-assessment). The last words go to Catulus, that

165 No Exit in the most popular English translation. 166 For the reliance of the political elite upon the people for their legitimacy (and therefore for their need to cooperate in the notion of a sovereign Roman people), Mouritsen 2001:12–13. 167 This was famously formulated at Sall. Iug. 85.23. Cf. Welch 2005, arguing that the illuminated elite reflected the light of public recognition. 168 Hölkeskamp 2011. 169 The pertinence of the Sartre-analogy becomes clear in an observation made by another of the three principal characters, the hard-headed Inez Serrano (who, it is worth noticing in passing, has been judged, in moments, closest to Sartre’s own ‘voice’ in the cold reality of her observations; it is she who announces that an individual is, at any given moment, what s/he is “with a line drawn neatly underneath, ready for summing up”). Coming gradually to grips with the idea that she is to be Garcin’s tormenter for eternity, she wonders at her own potency: “Yet, look at me … a mere breath on the air, a gaze observing you, a formless thought which fixes you.” 170 Hesberg 2005: 32; Stein-Hölkeskamp 2006: 302; Russell 2016: 12–16; 81–3. 171 Cic. 2Verr. 1.129.

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princeps Syllanae factionis discussed above – and a man whom Cicero hailed as one not moved by the aura popularis. In early 70 B. C.: … when Gnaeus Pompeius, vir fortissimus et clarissimus, introduced his measure to restore the powers of the tribunes, Q. Catulus, homo sapientissimus atque amplissimus, on being called upon to offer a sententia, began his speech with a most impressive declaration (summa cum auctoritate) that the patres conscripti were proving ineffective and immoral in the courts of justice; and that had they only chosen, in their capacity as judges, to satisfy the existimatio populi Romani, men would not have felt so acutely their loss of the tribunes’ powers.172

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Steel, C. (2014b) “The Roman Senate and the Post-Sullan Res Publica”, Historia 63.3: 324–33. Steel, C. (forthcoming), “Nec satis populari adsensioni accommodatum: searching for ‘popular’ oratory in the Roman Republic”, in Australasian Society for Classical Studies 2017 Annual Conference 38. Wellington. Steel, C. and van der Blom, H. (eds) (2013) Community and Communication. Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, Oxford. Stein-Hölkeskamp, E. (2006) “Das römische Haus – die memoria der Mauern”, in Erinnerungsorte der Antike. Die römische Welt, eds. E. Stein-Hölkeskamp and K.-J. Hölkeskamp: 300–320. München. Stiewe, K. (1959) “‘Invidia, invideo’, in K. Alt et al., ‘Beiträge aus der Thesaurus-Arbeit XI’”, Museum Helveticum 16: 159–171. Syme, R. (1964) Sallust, Berkeley, Los Angeles & London. Syme, R. and Santangelo, F. (2017) Approaching the Roman Revolution: Papers on Republican History, Oxford. Tatum, J. (1991) “Cicero, the Elder Curio, and the Titinia Case”, Mnemosyne 44: 364–71. Tracy, C. (2008/2009) “The people’s consul: the significance of Cicero’s use of the term popularis”, Illinois classical studies 33–34: 181–199. Treggiari, S. (1969) Roman Freedmen During the Late Republic, Oxford. Vasaly, A. (2009) “Cicero, domestic politics, and the first action of the Verrines”, CA 28.1:101–37. Vasaly, A. (2013) “The political impact of Cicero’s speeches”, in The Cambridge Companion to Cicero, ed. C. Steel: 141–59. Cambridge. Vedaldi Iasbez, V. (1983) “Un silenzio di Macro. Sall.Hist. 3.48.9.11M”, Mélanges d’Archéologie et d’Histoire de l’École Française de Rome 95: 139–161. Veyne, P. (2000) “La ‘plèbe moyenne’ sous le Haut-Empire romain”, Annales HSS 6: 1167–1199. Walbank, F. W. (1970) Polybius. A Historical Commentary on Polybius 1, Oxford. Welsh, K. (2005) “Lux and lumina in Cicero’s Rome: a metaphor for the res publica and her leaders”, in Roman Crossings. Theory and Practice in the Roman Republic, eds. K. Welch and T. Hillard: 313–37. Swansea. Williams, R. D. (1972) The Aeneid of Virgil Books 1–6, Houndmills, Basingstoke. Wiseman, T. P. (1999) “Democracy alla romana”, JRA 12: 537–40. Wisse, J. (2013) “The Bad Orator: Between Clumsy Delivery and Political Danger”, in Community and Communication. Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom: 163–194. Oxford. Wünsch, R. (1914) “Anmerkungen zur lateinischen Syntax” RhM 69:123–138. Yakobson, A. (1992) “Petitio et Largitio; Popular Participation in the Centuriate Assembly”, JRS 82: 32–52. Yakobson, A. (1999) Elections and Electioneering in Rome. A Study in the Political System of the Late Republic, Stuttgart. Yakobson, A. (2004) “The people’s Voice and the Speaker’s Platform: Popular Power, Persuasion and Manipulation in the Roman Forum”, SCI 23: 201–212. Yavetz, Z. (1965) “Plebs sordida”, Athenaeum 43: 295–311. Yavetz, Z. (1974) “Existimatio, Fama, and the Ides of March”, HSCP 78: 35–66.

SELLING PROSCRIPTION TO THE ROMAN PUBLIC Kathryn Welch Australian national television occasionally hosts a series in which industry experts and a comedian analyse advertising and advertising strategies.1 One segment is particularly relevant to this paper: advertising firms are invited to ‘sell the unsellable’. The results of their efforts are as revealing of advertising strategies as they are poignant. They are a wonderful exercise in anticipating public expectation – and counterbalancing it by surprising but logical mental gymnastics. They only work if they play to an idea that is widely acceptable to the public who will be asked to buy ‘the pitch’. This paper takes as a premise that the newly-minted Triumvirate attempted just such an exercise in 43 BCE and with equal expectation of, if not success exactly, then hope at least that a broad section of the Roman public would accept the decision to proscribe a significant number of Rome’s elite. Ancient authors do not inform us as to how Lucius Cornelius Sulla attempted to justify the practice when he became dictator rei publicae constituendae almost forty years earlier.2 The situation was very different for the Triumvirs. By then, Sulla himself was part of the background noise, and so was Caesar’s decision to not proscribe.3 For Caesar’s political heirs, the decision to implement a process which Caesar himself had publicly rejected, and thereby winning huge praise, could not have been taken lightly, nor without reference to public opinion at Rome. Whatever their pitch was, we know it largely failed to convince. Accounts of the proscriptions abound, and they uniformly suggest that sympathy lay with the victims.4 However, that uniformity masks a more complicated historiography, not least in the fact that historians and other commentators sifted and recast both the general and anecdotal coverage to make it more suitable for consumption in a post-Augustan world. The most obvious manifestation of this is a desire to deflect

1 2

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ABC (Australia): Gruen (http://www.abc net.au/tv/programs/gruen). On Sulla’s proscriptions, Cic. Rosc. Am. 16, Clu. 161; Sall. Cat. 11.4–8, 51.32–34; Diod. 38.19.1; [Liv] Per. 88; Vell. 2.28.2–4; Plut. Sull. 1.6–7, 31.1–12; Flor. 2.9.25–26; App. BC. 1.95–96, 104; Dio Cass. fr.109.8–21; Hinard 1985: 17–66; Butler 2002: 6.23; Thein 2002; Keaveney 2013: 125–32. Thein (2002: 226, 412) makes a case that Sulla did respond to public opinion, going so far, for example, as to speak in a popular style at contiones. On the importance of distinguishing the two series of proscriptions, Hinard 1985: 260–2. E. g. Caesar’s declaration: Att. 9.7c[147c].1. Cn. Pompeius accused of planning proscription: Att. 9.10[177].6. Comparisons: Vell. 2.28.3; App. BC 4.1.2; Cass. Dio 47.3.1. Sympathy for the victims is a feature of Velleius (2.66–7), Plutarch (Cic. 47–8; Ant. 20), Suetonius (Aug. 27.1–2), Florus (2.16.3–6), Appian (BC 4.6–51) and Dio Cassius (47.3–14).

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blame away from Caesar’s heir, and to emphasise his willingness to assist the victims at the time or repatriate them if they survived.5 WHAT WAS PROSCRIPTION? In Roman law, proscriptio took two forms. The first, proscriptio bonorum, was either a private posting of goods for sale or a forced sale following a sequestration or confiscation of goods in consequence of a bankruptcy, a default or a fine. In the case of a forced sale, the creditor had to obtain an edict from the praetor allowing the auction of goods to go ahead. Otherwise, a vendor could simply post a notice to advertise a time and place for the auction.6 In response to hostility and open warfare between citizens, Sulla in 82–81 and the Triumvirs in 43–42 employed a different but related form of proscription, proscriptio de capite civis. In this more specialised application, the summus magistratus – either dictator or Triumvir, each with power equal to the consuls – promulgated an edict that proscribed people. Those placed on the lists were subject to summary capital punishment as well as confiscation of property.7 In neither respect was there provision for a trial or any form of appeal.8 It was a use imperium in a way that hundreds of years of legislation had tried to control. The distinction between the two forms of proscription is quite clear. For example, a bankrupt suffering proscriptio bonorum faced acute public embarrassment and loss of status, but his life was not in danger and he could even recover, as did Gaius Antonius, who was ejected from the Senate in 70 but elected consul in 63 (Comm. Pet. 8). Eliding the two processes, however, offered the potential for forensic and political point-scoring. As Hinard and Butler have argued, Cicero used the horror of Sulla’s massacre of citizens in 81 to reinforce the pathetic fate faced by his client P. Quinctius, who was fighting proscriptio bonorum.9 The strategy has worked the other way: commentators, both ancient and modern, could lessen the gravity of proscription by concentrating on the motive of wealth acquisition rather than the violent elimination of opposition.10 However, while filling coffers was a significant incentive, Hinard demonstrates that only a minority escaped the fate of being killed and decapitated for a reward. The purpose of proscription de capite civis was the death of the proscript without due process. 5 6 7 8 9 10

Vell. 2.66.1; Dio Cass. 47.7.2–3. Note, however, Suetonius’ allegation that, having been the last to agree to proscription, the younger Caesar undertook it with greater cruelty (Aug. 27.1: acerbius exercuit). Quinct. 15, 25, 48–50; Comm. Pet. 8. Praetorian Edicts, ch XXXIX: de bonis possiendis proscribendis vendundis. RE, s. v. proscriptio 23.2, 2440–2441 (Fuhrmann); Balsdon 1963: 247; Frederiksen, 1966: 128–9; Butler 2002: 9–14. Note the language of Cicero (Rosc. Am. 16): cum proscriberentur homines. Also Clu. 16: Cn. Decidio Samniti, ei qui proscriptus est. Hinard 1985: 65–87 Hinard 1975: 102–5; Butler 2002: 9. Rauh (1989: 463–70) develops this point further in his examination of the social status of auctioneers (praecones). Syme 1939: 192; Hinard 1985: 301–3; Powell 2008: 55–61; 2015: 338; Galinsky 1999: 171.

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ALTERNATIVE NARRATIVES: ‘LOOK OVER THERE’! Velleius, whose short history of Rome dates to 29 CE, offers an interesting case study of how an early Imperial author presents the Triumviral proscription in which the first princeps was so deeply implicated. The most important thing to note is his order of events; the second is the level of distortion. Velleius introduces proscription with a problematic description, beginning with the death of the tribune Cannutius and ending with the death of Cicero.11 According to Appian, the death of Cicero occurred before the more extensive list was even published.12 Moreover, the tribune associated with the outbreak was Salvius, not Cannutius.13 At 2.65, Velleius relates the formation of the Triumvirate, then comments on their actions, including the massacres. They were the fault, he says, of the older triumvirs, M. Antonius and M. Lepidus: Furente deinde Antonio simulque Lepido, quorum uterque, ut praediximus, hostes iudicati erant, cum ambo mallent sibi nuntiari, quid passi essent, quam quid meruissent, repugnante Caesare, sed frustra adversus duos, instauratum Sullani exempli malum, proscriptio. (Vell. 2.66.1)14 Arising out of the rage of Antonius, as well as Lepidus, both of whom, as I noted above, had been adjudged public enemies, because both preferred to have their suffering rather than their deserts announced, and against the will of Caesar (but against two his opposition was futile), the evil of Sulla’s example was renewed: proscription.

Cicero then returns to view as Velleius engages in some full-blown rhetoric about the famous death of one of Rome’s best-known figures.15 Important to note is the way in which Velleius then manages the chronology. The description of the massacres, such as it is, is given at 2.67. Then, after inserting an account of the activities of Marcus Caelius Rufus and Titus Annius Milo (which took place in 48, four years earlier), he describes the passing of the lex Pedia, which led to the condemnation of Caesar’s assassins by a Roman court (at 2.69.5). In fact, the assassins of Caesar were condemned in August 43 under the lex Pedia, while the proscriptions followed the formation of the Triumvirate in November. Velleius does not simply get this wrong. Rather, there appears to be a deliberate attempt to disconnect the court process from the formation of the Triumvirate and the massacres. This narrative arrangement ensures that no connection would be made between the decision to proscribe and the need to avenge the dictator.

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Vell. 2.64.4: sed tribuni sanguine commissa proscriptio, Ciceronis velut satiato Antonio paene finita (“but proscription began with the tribune’s blood just at it almost ended with Cicero’s, as if this was enough for Antonius”). Woodman (1983: 140–1) provides details of the textual problems, some of which occur because editors vainly tried to ‘fix’ Velleius’ historical errors. Hinard (1985: 444–5) suggests that Velleius has confused Tiberius and Gaius Cannutius. App. BC 4.5–6; Powell 2015: 56. App. BC 4.17. Woodman, 1983: 144–6. Bloomer 2011: 105. Vell. 2.66.2–5. Cicero’s death looms large in the literature of the Triumviral and Augustan periods. For references and analysis see Roller 1997; Wright, 2001, 2008, passim.

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Velleius’ arrangement is the most extreme example of deliberate disassociation between revenge and proscription, but signs of the strategy can be seen in other authors. Plutarch offers no excuse or justification for the decision. The proscriptions are introduced as a simple act of terror (Ant. 19), followed by an account of the death of Cicero, one of 300 to be killed (Ant. 20.1–2), and the heroics of Julia, Antonius’ mother, in saving her proscribed brother (Ant. 20.3). Antonius and Lepidus were blamed not just for the proscriptions but for all the excesses of the period, including the sale of Cn. Pompeius Magnus’ property, which took place while Caesar was still alive (Ant. 21.1–2).16 The biography then jumps abruptly to Plutarch’s account of Philippi. Appian includes a revealing discussion of the place of proscription in the policy platform of the new Triumvirate (BC 4.2–6), turns from it to anecdotes about the suffering of the victims and their families arranged on moral criteria, as Powell (2008, 57) notes.17 His stories span the whole Triumviral period, from the earliest deaths down to the fate of those who survived to fight at Actium in 31, as well as that of Lepidus and his son in 30. The arrangement lets the reader lose sight of Appian’s introductory material, including an allegedly verbatim quotation of the edict through which the Triumvirs attempted to justify their deadly policy. Instead, we are drawn into the stories of great escapes, near misses, pathetic deaths and heinous treachery. At the end of Book 46, Dio describes the formation of the Triumvirate (46.54– 56). His description of the Triumvirs’ arrival in Rome (47.2) and the decision to proscribe (47.3.1) are reserved for the opening of Book 47. Immediately the process of massacre takes centre stage (47.3.2–6.6). The villains are, of course, Antonius and Lepidus. At 47.7.2, the young Caesar is explicitly excused: he was too young to have made political enemies; he was not naturally cruel; rather, his nature was more akin to his clement adoptive father; once he detached himself from his colleagues, he refrained from the arbitrary misuse of power. There follows a series of anecdotes to illustrate the efforts of the younger Caesar to mitigate the horror and of Antonius and Lepidus to increase it (47.7.3–8.5), after which Dio moves to a more general treatment of the carnage, including the death of Cicero (47.9–11). Dio makes no effort to explain why the policy of proscription was adopted, what it was meant to achieve, or how it was ‘sold’: as with Velleius, it seems to be a product only of cruelty and resentment on the part of the senior Triumvirs, while the youngest member of the Triumviral team was exonerated. At a vital point, Dio loses interest in motive and instead also turns, if much more briefly than Appian, to the tales of cruelty, tragedy and great escapes.

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See also Pelling 1988: 164–71. Plutarch’s treatment in the Cicero (Cic. 46.2–49.4) offers more detail but similarly no justification on the part of the Triumvirs. It, along with the other accounts of Cicero’s death, is heavily influenced by declamation and other contaminants (Roller 1997: 115, 125–7; Wright 2001). App. BC 4.17–51; Powell 2008: 57.

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NOT TO BLAME, BECAUSE … These attempts to shift blame away from Caesar and onto his colleagues have been rightly criticised. Ronald Syme is a particularly scathing – and interesting – example (1939, 191): For the youth of Octavianus, exposed to an iron schooling and constrained through form of law and not in the heat of battle to shed the noblest blood of Rome, compassion and even excuse was found in later generations … other apologists artfully suggested that the merciful reluctance of Octavianus was overborne by the brutal insistence of his older and more hardened colleagues … It may be doubted whether contemporaries agreed. If they had the leisure and the taste to draw fine distinctions between the three terrorists, it was hardly for Octavianus that they invoked indulgence and made allowances. Regrets there may have been to see a fine soldier and a Roman noble like Antonius reduced to such company and such expedients. … That splendid name was now dishonoured. Caesar’s heir was no longer a rash youth but a chill and mature terrorist.

Syme proposes that Octavianus, and not his colleagues, was the ‘chill and mature terrorist’.18 Contemporaries, he alleges, would have been more inclined to find excuses instead for Antonius, a ‘fine soldier and a Roman noble’. He proposes the view without any suggestion that ancient evidence can be found to substantiate his claim, and admits the hopelessness of even attempting to defend Antonius at the end of the quoted paragraph: ‘Condemnation and apology, however, are equally out of place.’ On both counts, one must wonder why he tried. Syme does recognise one justification that Antonius and Lepidus, but not their young colleague, might have made: ‘For Antonius there was some palliation, at least – when consul he had been harried by faction and treason, when proconsul outlawed …’. This justification is present in our source tradition.19 Florus, possibly following Livy, inserts it into his compact account of the motivations of the three Triumvirs: cum solus etiam gravis paci, gravis rei publicae esset Antonius, quasi ignis incendio Lepidus accessit. Quid contra duos consules, duos exercitus? Necesse fuit venire in cruentissimi foederis societatem. Diversa omnium vota, ut ingenia. Lepidum divitiarum cupido, quarum spes ex perturbatione rei publicae, Antonium ultionis de his qui se hostem iudicassent, Caesarem inultus pater et manibus eius graves Cassius et Brutus agitabant. (Flor. 2.16.13–16) Although Antonius by himself was burden enough to peace and to the state, Lepidus joined him, as fire on the flames. What could be done against two consuls, what against two armies? (Caesar) had to become a partner of a bloody compact. Each motive was distinct, as was the level of talent. Desire for wealth drove Lepidus who expected to profit from turmoil in the state; Antonius wanted vengeance on those who had adjudged him an enemy; an unavenged father and Cassius and Brutus, weighing heavily on his shade, drove Caesar.

We see desire for wealth, desire for retribution against personal enemies and pietas toward a parent listed as motives for the foedus cruentissimum. Lepidus, the enabler, is ranked last in ingenium and also acts from the basest motive, cupido divi18 19

Stone (forthcoming) argues that in coded form Sallust blamed the younger Caesar even more than his colleagues because as consul he chose not to prevent proscription. Vell. 2.66.1; App. BC 4.8.32, 4.9.38.

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tiarum. Antonius, introduced as the enemy of both peace and the res publica, seeks vengeance, but only for himself.20 There are two distinct but friendly thoughts concerning the younger Caesar: the first, in line with Velleius and Dio, says that his older colleagues forced his hand; the second excuses the alliance because it was a means by which he avenged his murdered father. Moreover, although the young Caesar was part of the proscribing team, he alone ‘was satisfied’ (contentus fuit) with proscribing the percussores of his father, and then only to demonstrate that the assassination was an unjust act (ideo ne, si inulta fuisset, etiam iusta eius caedes haberetur).21 Of the three excuses, Florus indicates that only the last was reasonable and it pertained only to the younger Caesar. Each of these justifications – wealth, personal retribution and vengeance for Caesar – recurs in our sources. They were part of a larger attempt to justify, excuse and reassign blame. All three warrant careful attention. Attempts to exonerate the young Caesar should be seen for what they are, but this should not prevent us from exploring the connection between proscription and avenging Caesar. Without diminishing the tragic and terrifying reality that proscription posed in its day and afterwards, it is still worth thinking about how the Triumvirs themselves attempted to sell their message to a public that felt strongly about the proper treatment of citizens as well as justice for the murdered dictator.22 PROSCRIPTIO AND ULTIO: THE CONNECTION Even if the evidence is difficult, we are very well informed about aspects of public opinion in 44–43. One needs to develop techniques to filter out the hindsight that obstructs our view while still using the full range of surviving sources.23 We can say the following without controversy: the period after Caesar’s death was marked by powerful popular sentiment regarding changes of policy and strategy.24 It was the people of Rome who first took up the cause of avenging the murder;25 it was veterans who put paid to the compromise, forged on 17 March, between a Caesarian senate and the assassins’ friends; it was the Roman people who ran the assassins out of Rome a few weeks later;26 it was the veterans (again) who insisted in the 20 21 22

23 24 25 26

Appian (BC 4.5.16) expresses a similar sentiment, as does Velleius, even if in a back-handed way (2.66.1: quid passi essent …). Flor. 2.16.6.6. In this context, one should pause to note the treatment of Amatius (also known as the ‘false’ Marius) and his followers who were violently dispersed by Antonius’ armies, with some later suffering summary execution at the hands of Dolabella. Cicero and other senators loudly applauded Dolabella’s actions. Att. 8.1[151], 14.6[360].1; Phil. 1.5; [Liv.] Per. 116.6–8; Nic. Dam. Frg. 128.14.31–33; Val. Max. 9.15.1; App. BC 3.2–4, 3.16, 3.36, 3.57; Dio Cass. 44.51.1–3. For a recent attempt and an evaluation of the effectiveness of this approach, see Powell (2013), with Fronda (2015). Wiseman 2009: 219–21; Mahy 2010: 13, 29–30, 92, 178–9, 218. For details of Amatius’ intervention, see also Deniaux 2001; Toher 2004: 176, 181–2; Cowan 2009; Koortbojian 2013: 26–7. Att. 15.8[385].1; Plut. Brut. 21.3–6.

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middle of the year that Antonius and the newly-arrived Octavius, soon to be Caesar Mark II, solve their differences and form an alliance against the murderers.27 At each point, our sources, including Cicero, depict leaders listening to, responding to, and placating particular audiences.28 Whether or not we have a record of the exact words they used, or the exact chronology of when people forced a confrontation, we do know that speeches were made and public meetings were held. In other words, this is the period in which public opinion had the most profound and immediate effect on the course of Roman history. By refusing to accept or dismissing as specious any link between the hated proscriptio of citizens and the program to avenge Caesar, historians miss an opportunity to trace this impact. Two factors are important: first we must resist the trope that assigns this almost ‘honourable’ justification to the younger Caesar alone; second, we must understand that many Romans would have accepted punishment of the assassins and their accomplices as the proper consequence of their actions.29 THE TRIUMVIRS AND THE PROSCRIPTION EDICT: A JOINT PROJECT It is time to return to Appian. In the early chapters of Book 4, Appian provides a level of detail simply not recorded in any other extant author.30 He draws a link with the Sullan proscriptions (BC 4.1.3) even before he describes the Triumviral pact (BC 4.2–3). He emphasises the younger Caesar’s status of consul and the prominence this gave him, especially in that he had the task of informing the assembled troops of the Triumviral program, including the land confiscations designed for their profit (BC 4.2.5–6, 4.3.13). At that stage, remarks Appian, Caesar refrained from any mention of proscription.31 Apart from this, Appian speaks of the Triumvirs as a group: ‘they’ proscribed men whose power they feared, personal enemies (including relatives), and the wealthy.32 He dwells on the Triumvirs’ need for money, but implies that it was for the most part a later consideration arising from the cost of the impending war of revenge (BC. 4.5.19). Following this (BC 4.6–7), Appian describes the two stages of the proscription: some (the alternative numbers of twelve and seventeen are given) were to be killed quickly, even before the Triumvirs returned to Rome and published the main list, which, at the time, was kept secret even from Caesar’s consular colleague, 27 28 29 30 31

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App. BC 3.32, 41–42; Wiseman 2009: 216–21. Att. 14.11[365].1; App. BC 2.124.520; 3.32–38; Gowing 1992: 225–239; Hölkeskamp 2013: 17–27; Mahy 2013: 330–4; Welch 2015: 287–9. Welch 2012: 173–95. Hinard (1985: 262–4) demonstrates this effectively, especially with respect to the two lists. App. BC 4.3.13; Magnino 1998, 152. The remark is friendly as once again it marks a separation between the younger Caesar’s personal involvement and the decision to proscribe. That Caesar’s role led to intense criticism among contemporaries cannot be doubted, especially as it led directly to the death of his former ally Cicero (Stone forthcoming). App. BC 4.5. Note the number of third person plural verbal forms at this point of the text, including συνέγραφον, ὑφορώμενοι, καταλέγοντες, ἐδέοντο, ἐπέγραψαν, ἐπενόησαν.

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Q. Pedius. Pedius prevented outright panic by promising that those on this first list were the only intended victims but the stress this caused brought on his sudden death. Only after the Triumvirs returned to Rome, each ceremonially entering the city in triumph on consecutive days, did they reveal the longer list via edict. Once again, Appian emphasises the unanimity of the three men. Appian then ‘renders into Greek’ a document he believed was the actual edict issued by the Triumvirs in 43.33 Quite reasonably, scholars have been suspicious, but Wallmann more or less accepted the historicity of the document, arguing that earlier scepticism was misplaced.34 Most accept that Appian did not create the document, although they argue that it has been manipulated in different ways.35 Henderson accepts that the edict is not an Appianic invention, but states, without argument, that it had nothing to do with the players of 43 either.36 In my view this goes too far. Later intervention is demonstrable, but so too is a connection to the original, as some of the language explicitly indicates. The edict forms a pivotal moment in Appian’s text. Up until this point, the account focuses on the competition between Antonius and the younger Caesar. After his citation of the edict, Appian’s focus falls on the victims. Only at the very end of book 4 does he return to the horror caused by Caesar’s death and the reason why the fight took place (BC 4.134–8). Thus, the proscription edict marks the end of one narrative moment and the introduction of a another. It cannot be the exact text of the official proclamation, even if Appian thought it was. Most obvious is the use of the name ‘Octavius’ in a context where the younger Caesar would have avoided it. Moreover, Cassius and Brutus’ more violent attacks against allied cities, especially Rhodes and Xanthus, along with their appeal for help to the Parthians (BC 4.9.35), were still to happen at the end of 43, so this section at least shows signs of reworking to include later events.37 Nevertheless, it is also wrong to divorce it completely from the players of 43, as Henderson wants to. The edict preserves a ‘pitch’ that runs counter to the interests of many of the survivors of civil war, both Caesarian and Republican alike. Its politics belong to the specific context of 43–42, when all three Triumvirs, and Antonius in particular, had everything to play for and did not know the future. The contemporary and specific nature of the opening chapters of Civil Wars book 4 has been further demonstrated by Hopwood’s analysis of the thematic links between the edict and Hortensia’s speech at BC 4.34–5.38 Hopwood argues persuasively that the ‘speech of Hortensia’ really is based on the speech of Horten33

34 35 36 37 38

App. BC 4.8–11. For the possibility of translation BC 4.11.45: ὧδε μὲν εἶχεν ἡ προγραφὴ τῶν τριῶν ἀνδρῶν, ὅσον ἐς Ἑλλάδα γλῶσσαν ἀπὸ Λατίνης μεταβαλεῖν (“So ran the Triumvirs ‘edict’ in as much as it has been possible to translate it into Greek from Latin”). Lange 2009: 18–26; Westall 2015: 135–7; Hopwood 2015: 307–12. Wallmann 1989: 43–52. Hinard 1985: 228 n. 4; Levick 1991: 256; Gowing 1992: 251–2; Osgood 2006: 63–4; Lange 2009: 18–26, Westall 2015: 125–6; 135–7. Henderson 1988: 17 n. 15. Wallmann 1989: 52. Hopwood 2015: 307–12. On Hortensia see also Alexis 2005.

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sia, who was, in part, reacting to the edict itself.39 In both cases, speech and edict appear to have been lightly reworked and introduced into a mainstream narrative soon after 43. That Hortensia’s response has been juxtaposed with the text of the edict suggests that whoever was responsible for this introduction was probably not friendly to the Triumvirs, who are revealed as completely cold, calculating and self-serving. The original wording of the decree might have masked this to some extent, but certain features of theme and vocabulary must have been present in the original if, as Hopwood argues, they were there for Hortensia to subject to such deeply ironical comment. At the heart of Appian’s version of the edict lie several charges, all of which relate to the murder of Caesar.40 The man himself was such, it is claimed, that he should have been valued by a grateful community for his deeds (BC 4.8.34), as well as for his policy of clementia. Juxtaposed with Caesar’s unique and supreme status is the ingratitude of the individuals he forgave and preferred. The first part of the edict stresses the heinous guilt of the conspirators; their crime is called a μύσος (‘defilement’). At BC 4.8.35, the Senators who granted these murderers amnesty (οἱ λοιποί) are characterised as socii, partners in crime, who abetted the ‘escape’ of the assassins and enabled them to take over provinces and (eventually) destroy allied cities.41 οἱ λοιποί, the principal victims of proscription, are therefore just as deserving of punishment as the assassins. Antonius and Lepidus (the present would-be avengers) had suffered the injustice of being designated public enemies, and, along with their armies, claimed the right to retribution (BC 4.10.39–40). Over the whole edict hangs the presence of the gods, who will award the victory to those who righteously inflict punishment on men who have broken divine and human law.42 The key term is μύσος, indicating abomination and defilement (BC 4.8.34). It is a word associated more than once with Antonius.43 The Pedian law had made a different choice about whom to pursue. The senators who supported the assassins, and their leader Cicero, were not included in its net.44 Given the deep resentment attested among civilian and veteran communities that arose from the Senate’s protection of the assassins, the Triumvirs could have hoped that punishing those responsible for delaying justice would resonate with those who firmly believed that the killers and their friends deserved punishment.45 Why did it fail, and fail so spec-

39 40 41 42 43 44 45

See also App. BC 4.5.19. Wallmann 1989: 45–8; Lange 2009: 22–4. Welch 2015: 287–8; forthcoming a. App. BC 4.8.34; Magnino 1984: 160; Wallmann 1989: 46. App. BC 2.124; 3.63. Josephus BJ 14.309. Welch 2015: 282. In my own view, Halfmann (2011: 96–8) does Antonius a disservice by minimising his role in the proscriptions, and proscription generally, in his biography. Welch forthcoming b. This attitude is especially apparent in the speech that Appian gives to Antonius after Caesar’s murder in March 44 and the exchange between him the military tribunes later in the year (App. BC 2.124–5; 3.30–8).

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tacularly, especially when the victor Caesar Augustus built his position on pietas erga parentem, as we are told by so many later sources?46 Public opinion mattered in 43. Because a huge proportion of the population wanted to see the assassins of Caesar brought to justice, while a very powerful and well-represented group was equally adamant that they be protected, the field was wide open for the political players to accrue important political capital by taking up this popular but difficult cause. Obviously, Caesar’s heir, arriving in Italy only a month after the assassination, had the clearest run and the most to gain, but he was structurally disadvantaged by his extreme youth and lack of access to any official position from which to launch his crusade. Later accounts that state that he wanted to prosecute the murderers from the outset look very much like later rewriting to record what actually happened – well over a year after the younger Caesar’s arrival in Rome. Antonius was even more hamstrung. In the first six weeks after the assassination, he had in fact worked closely with the very senators he was later to proscribe in organising a political compromise, a fact that Cicero used to challenge him in the first Philippic.47 Part of that compromise was an agreement not to prosecute Caesar’s assassins, which he more or less kept until well into 43.48 The arrival of the younger Caesar and the possibility that he would unseat Antonius by leading the cause of revenge put him under tremendous pressure. It was the basis of a perfect political storm which caught Antonius between the determination of his senatorial colleagues to protect the assassins and the determination of Caesar’s heirs and his backers to outflank him. And, as Plutarch in particular noted, Antonius was at his best and most dangerous when backed into a corner.49 Cicero’s correspondence, along with a careful reading of the Philippics, allows us to see that Antonius answered his critics by developing a new line of attack which we can first observe in late April 44.50 At this point we see him blaming the Senate for supporting the assassins who had murdered a great man (clarissimus vir). ‘Anyone who rejoiced at the death of Caesar’ was under threat.51 Whatever Antonius might have said or not said at Caesar’s funeral, I suggest it was around 46 47 48 49

50 51

Note the elision demonstrated by Lange of the Triumviral revenge program and that of the younger Caesar (2009, 17–26). Phil. 1.1–6; Ramsey 2003: 86–98. The first open sign of a break with this policy comes in the form of Antonius’ letter to Hirtius and the younger Caesar helpfully quoted by Cicero in the thirteenth Philippic (Phil.13.22–46; Frisch 1946: 252–5; Ramsey 2010; Welch 2012: 142–53; Stone forthcoming). Mutina: Plut. Ant. 17.2–3, esp 17.2. ἀλλὰ φύσει παρὰ τὰς κακοπραγίας ἐγίνετο βέλτιστος ἑαυτοῦ καὶ δυστυχῶν ὁμοιότατος ἦν ἀγαθῷ (“but it was his nature to rise to his highest level when in an evil plight, and he was most like a good and true man when he was unfortunate”). Parthia: Plut. Ant. 43. For arguments that this characterisation is contemporary and even partly Antonian, Welch forthcoming c, though note Pelling’s comments on the literary tropes in this passage (Pelling 1988: 23). Att. 14.10[364].1; Att. 11[365].1; 13[367].2. Att. 14.13[367].2: quemcumquam enim haec pars perditorum laetatum Caesaris morte putavit (laetitiam autem apertissime tulimus omnes), hunc in hostium numero habebit. (“Anyone in the opinion of this party of desperadoes was glad at Caesar’s death, and we all showed our delight without the faintest concealment, will be considered by them as an enemy”).

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this time that he published a probably much-enhanced version of his laudatio funebris.52 At the same time, he shored up his support with the veterans by self-managing the land distributions in Campania.53 This may have been the real cause of the breakdown of the relationship between himself and Cicero which, by 1 June 44, was beyond repair. So much from the correspondence. For what happened over the next few months we must turn to Appian’s account, though his story requires modification. Appian would have us believe that Antonius and Lepidus were spruiking one thing to the veterans and people and another to the Senate even while the Senate was meeting in the wake of the assassination.54 This is simply not credible. Even so, it is still possible that much of the speech material derives ultimately from Antonius himself.55 And the theme of a guilty, polluted Senate looms large. Disentangling Antonius’ pitch from that of the younger Caesar in this period is possible and necessary. Later accounts uniformly grant Caesar’s heir the title of avenger, even when they realise how significant Antonius was to achieving revenge. The Augustan message is simple and effective: the assassins were punished in August 43 via the Pedian court.56 Their penalty was interdiction and, as Augustus himself tells us (RGDA 2.1), when they would not go quietly he twice defeated them in battle pro re publica. Of course, he ultimately pursued the assassins down to the last man,57 but, goes the main line, no-one else (read Antonius and Lepidus) had anything to do with avenging Caesar. This makes it all the more likely that Appian’s account, and the proscription edict, contain contemporary material. What he tells us about the months between Caesar’s death and the formation of the Triumvirate runs completely counter to the Augustan narrative and yet does not promote the cause of the assassins and their friends either. It is not even uniformly pro-Antonian, but it allows us, if we use caution, to reconstruct some of Antonius’ efforts to win over public opinion to his position. Who put it all together and formulated the narrative which Appian appropriated is anyone’s guess. But someone did, and it cannot have been the same author who stands behind Appian’s account of the proscriptions themselves or the two battles at Philippi, which are far more in keeping with the sentiments, vocabulary and narrative detail of other extant authors. If I am right, then the specific ‘pitch’ of the proscription edict emphasises the sacrilegious nature of murdering not just anyone, but the unique person of Caesar. It was principally aimed at those who had protected the murderers but who had escaped the Pedian law. This was the culmination of position Antonius had developed during 44 and 43, in response to a series of conditions: his need to placate 52 53 54 55 56 57

Att. 15.20[397].2 connects the rhetoric to Antonius. Hölkeskamp (2013: 11) takes Cicero to be referring to the funeral oration itself at Att. 14.13[367].2, but I doubt that Cicero would have described a laudatio funebris as a contio. See also Kennedy 1968: 100. Att. 14.17[371].2; 14.21[375].2; 15.4[381].1; Phil. 2.100–5; Stone 2008: 237. App. BC 2.130–35. Welch forthcoming a and c. See also Vell. 2.69.5; Liv. Per. 120; Plut. Brut. 27.3; Suet. Aug. 10.1; Ner. 3; Gal. 3.2; App. BC 3.95.392–3; 4.27.117; 5.61–2; Dio 46.48; 47.12.2. Either Cassius Parmensis or Turullius, depending on the source. Vell. 2.87.3; Val. Max. 1.1.19; Dio 51.8.2; Woodman 1983: 237.

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the Roman people, and especially the veterans, who had made their resentment at the Senate’s failure to punish the murderers very clear; his desire to differentiate himself from the offending senatorial policies of early 44, even though he had been consul at the time,58 and to outflank the younger Caesar, who had already dealt with the murderers and their accomplices (including the absent Sextus Pompeius). The decision to proscribe put Antonius back into the revenge project. He capitalised on this by bringing about the subsequent victory at Philippi. The younger Caesar had to perform some interesting political acrobatics to erase the considerable credit that his rival eventually accrued through that success.59 Cicero confirms the picture. In letters as well as the Philippics, he complains of how Antonius painted him as leader of a gang of parricides and assassins (Fam. 12.3[345].1–2). When this information is placed alongside Appian’s account, it is possible to reconstruct the politics. Antonius’ strategy, hinted at in April 44, was to include among the guilty those senators who allowed Caesar’s assassins first to escape the courts and then to assume control of the armies of the empire.60 Appian depicts an Antonius who was not exactly eager to proscribe his enemies. He has Antonius respond to the senatorial ambassadors who came to negotiate in early 43 by asking for Decimus Brutus alone be punished; this, he said, would cleanse the Senate of pollution (μύσος).61 Antonius’ stance at this point seems all the more reasonable because Appian has told his readers that Cicero meddled with the senatorial direction to be reasonable in drafting the terms of reference for the negotiators (BC 3.61.251). Decimus remained protected. The proscription edict has the Triumvirs again attempt to limit the damage by promising that only the most guilty would be proscribed – a promise that proved hollow, as Antonius’ enemies were quick to point out – but quite possibly made with some sincerity at the time. It is noteworthy also that Antonius was the first to undertake productive negotiations with the defeated survivors of Philippi.62 Times changed. The proscriptions offended the Roman public just as much as the murder of Caesar.63 Survivors and princeps alike could eventually paint them as a baseless crime against humanity or an attempt to extract the wealth of Rome’s elites to fill the Triumvirs’ war chest. Most importantly, by the historiographical strategies noted above, the action was divorced from the story of revenge. Appian, however, drew upon a more complicated tradition which bound the three Triumvirs 58

59 60 61

62 63

We find Antonius making a series of excuses in speeches Appian ascribes to him (App. BC 2.124; 127; 133–4; 144–6; 3.34–38). ‘Piso’ assists him in the speech Appian assigns to him (App. BC 3.52–60). The dialogue between the younger Caesar and Antonius offers another opportunity (App. BC 3.15–20). App. BC 4.107–29; 5.14; 53; 59; Barden Dowling 2006: 33. Hinard 1985: 301–18. App. BC 3.63.257. … καὶ τοῦ φόνου δίκας ἀπαιτήσω μόνον ὑπὲρ ἁπάντων, ἵνα καὶ ἡ βουλὴ καθαρεύσῃ ποτὲ τοῦ μύσους, ἐμπιπλαμένη νῦν διὰ Κικέρωνα Δέκμῳ βοηθοῦντα (“As representative of them all, I shall exact a penalty from him alone for the murder, so that the Senate too may finally be purged of the pollution with which it is now thoroughly tainted through Cicero’s support of Decimus”). Ferriès 2007: 149–40; 171–5; Welch 2012: 230–8. Powell 2008: 55–64; Welch 2012: 174.

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equally in a decision that was, in fact, a logical extension of the strategy Antonius developed in 44 and that maintained his status of co-avenger even after the Pedian process had convicted the assassins. Hoc voluerunt. “They wanted it that way!” This was Caesar’s famous justification for crossing the Rubicon in 49 (Suet. Iul. 30.4). In a sense, it was also the ‘pitch’ made by Antonius and his fellow Triumvirs to justify proscribing a specific group of people. The proscribed, it was alleged, had supported the murderers of Caesar; they had refused to listen to popular calls for revenge; they had persecuted those who had (however belatedly) taken up the causa pietatis.64 Had Antonius triumphed in the military contest that ensued with his rival Caesarian colleague, any attempt at apology for the hated proscriptions would have emphasised the need to punish not just the murderers of Caesar but those who had later assisted them. That Antonius and his fellow Triumvirs in 43 justified their decision in detail and then continued to explain, excuse and defend it is testament to the power and significance of public opinion at Rome. BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexis, D. (2005) “Hortensia”, in Classical Rhetorics and Rhetoricians, eds. M. Ballif and G. Moran: 219–22. Westport. Balsdon, J. V. P. D. (1963) “The Commentariolum Petitionis”, CQ 13: 242–250. Barden Dowling, M. (2006) Clemency and Cruelty in the Roman World, Ann Arbor. Bloomer, M. (2011) “Transit admiratio: memoria, invidia, and the historian”, in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 93–120. Swansea. Butler, S. (2002) The Hand of Cicero, London. Cowan, E. (2009) “‘Marius’ in Nicolaus of Damascus: some implications of chronology”, Athenaeum 97: 159–68. Deniaux, E. (2001) “Amatius et la naissance du culte de Cèsar au forum romain”, in Rome an 2000 [Cahiers de la MRSH 33], ed. F. Lecoq: 113–21. Caen. Ferriès, M. C. (2007) Les partisans d’Antoine, Bordeaux. Frederiksen, M. W. (1966) “Cicero, Caesar and the Problem of Debt”, JRS 56: 128–141. Fronda, M. (2015) “Historical Hindsight”, CR 65: 512–4. Fuhrmann, M. (1959) “Proscriptio”, RE 23.2: 2440–2444. Galinsky, K. (1999) “Artificial Vitality”, Arion 7: 168–86. Halfmann, H. (2011) Marcus Antonius, Darmstadt. Henderson, J. (1998) Fighting for Rome: Poets and Caesars, History and Civil War, Cambridge. Hinard, F. (1977) “Le pro Quinctio: un discours politique?”, REA 77: 86–107. Hinard, F. (1985) Les proscriptions de la Rome républicaine, Rome. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2013) “Friends, Romans, Countrymen: Addressing the Roman People and the politics of inclusion,” in Community and Communication: Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom: 11–28. Oxford. Hopwood, B. (2015) “Hortensia Speaks: an authentic voice of resistance?”, in Appian’s Roman History: Empire and Civil War, ed. K. Welch: 305–22. Swansea. Keaveney, A. (2013) Sulla: the last Republican (second edition), London. Kennedy, G. (1968) “Antony’s speech at Caesar’s funeral”, QJS 54: 99–106. 64

Wiseman (2009: 128) suggests something close to this in his reconstruction of history after the Ides of March, as does Halfmann (2011: 96). It is a harsh judgement, but, as I hope to have shown, not out of keeping with the view of some contemporaries.

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Koortbojian, M. (2013) The Divinization of Caesar and Augustus: precedents, consequences, implications, Oxford. Lange, C. H. (2009) Res Publica Constituta: Actium, Apollo and the Triumviral Assignment, Leiden. Levick, B. (1991) “Review: Triumviri Rei Publicae Constituendae, Untersuchungen zur politischen Propaganda im zweiten Triumvirat (43–30 v. Chr)”, NC 151: 255–6. Magnino, D. (1998) Appiani Bellorum Civilium Liber Quartus, Como. Mahy, T. (2010) After the daggers: politics and persuasion after the assassination of Caesar, Diss. St Andrews. Mahy, T. (2013) “Antonius: Triumvir and orator: career, style, effectiveness”, in Community and Communication: Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom, Oxford: 328–44. Pelling, C. B. R. (1988) Plutarch: Life of Antony, Oxford. Powell, A. (2008) Virgil the Partisan, Swansea. Powell, A. (ed.) (2013) Hindsight in Greek and Roman History, Swansea. Powell, A. (2015) “Appian: canary in the mine of Roman history? Modern translations, and the history of the triumviral period”, in Appian’s Roman History: Empire and Civil War, ed. K. Welch: 323–40. Swansea. Rauh, N. (1989) “Auctioneers and the Roman Economy”, Historia 38: 451–71. Roller, M. (1997) “Color-Blindness: Cicero’s Death, Declamation, and the Production of History”, CPh 92: 109–30. Stone, A. M. (forthcoming) “Caesar prophesies the future? Sallust Catiline 51.35–6: an exercise in historiography”, in The Roman Civil Wars of 49–30 BCE: History and its Representations. Hermathena, ed. R. Westall. Syme, R. (1939) The Roman Revolution, Oxford. Thein, A. (2002) Sulla’s Public Image and the Politics of Civic Renewal, Diss. Penn State. Toher, M. (2004) “Octavian’s Arrival in Rome, 44 B. C.,” CQ 54: 174–84. Wallmann, P. (1989) Triumviri Rei Publicae Constituendae: untersuchungen zur Politischen Propaganda im Zweiten Triumvirat (43–30 v.Chr), Frankfurt am Main. Welch, K. (2015) “Programme and Narrative in Civil Wars 2.118–4.138”, in Appian’s Roman History: Empire and Civil War, ed. K. Welch: 277–304. Swansea. Welch, K (forthcoming: a) “History Wars: who avenged Caesar and why does it matter?”, in Augustus and the Destruction of History, ed. I. Gildenhard. Welch, K. (forthcoming: b) “The Lex Pedia and its aftermath” in The Roman Civil Wars of 49– 30 BCE: History and its Representations. Hermathena, ed. R. Westall. Welch, K. (forthcoming: c) “Marcus Antonius and the Cardinal Virtues”. Westall, R. (2015) “The sources for the Civil Wars of Appian of Alexandria”, in Appian’s Roman History: Empire and Civil War, ed. K. Welch: 125–67. Swansea. Wiseman, T. P. (2009) Remembering the People, Oxford. Woodman, A. J. (1983) Velleius Paterculus. The Caesarian and Augustan Narrative, Cambridge. Wright, A. (2001) “The Death of Cicero. Forming a Tradition: The Contamination of History”, Historia 50: 436–52. Wright, A. (2008) Cicero Reflected: the image of a statesman in the century after his death, and its ideological significance, Ann Arbor (orig. 1997).

THE TRANSMISSION OF PUBLIC OPINION

CANVASSING THE ELITE: COMMUNICATING SOUND VALUES IN THE COMMENTARIOLUM PETITIONIS W. Jeffrey Tatum In the communication of sound political values in an attempt to sway public opinion, even amid the cacophony of canvassing for office, verbosity was hardly a requirement. Consider the following, a fairly typical specimen from the programmata of Pompeii: CN HELVIVUM SABINVM AED V B D R O V F (CIL 4.417)

This concise text supplies the voter with everything he needs to know: the candidate’s identity, the office he seeks, and a robust attestation of the qualities that render him electable.1 He is a vir bonus and dignus rei publicae. And, importantly, this is not Helvius boasting of his own virtues: this is instead the view of a third party, who, on the candidate’s behalf, strikes as surrogate the appropriately servile posture the public demanded of anyone seeking elevation to office.2 This poster beseeches its reader to elect Helvius aedile (aedilem … oro vos faciatis). This concise poster teems with commonplaces – so much so that nearly everything in it can be abbreviated. Which is the best proof of its absolute soundness. Indeed, the very vehicle of Helvius’ recommendation does as much as its contents to convey Helvius’ pertinent merits to its popular audience. In cultivating the support of the aristocracy, a vital and influential segment of public opinion during political campaigns, the sensibilities of whom were animated by different pretensions, candidates and their backers employed different approaches, amongst these, letters. No medium excelled epistolography as a signifier of friendship.3 And although it was ordinarily more a mannerism than a reality, the sentiments conveyed in a letter between friends were staged as candid expressions on the part of their author. Naturally, then, letters played a vital role in canvassing,

1 2

3

On Pompeian programmata, see Castrén 1975: 114–18; Franklin 1980; Mouritsen 1988; Biundo 2003. A candidate’s servile posture: Cic. Planc. 7–9; 11–12; 24; De or. 1.112; cf. (e. g.) Plut. Cat. min. 49.4–50.3; Dio 37.37.3; 37.54.3–4; 40.58.3; more generally, Sall. Iug. 85.1; Dion. Hal. 8.31.2; Liv. 3.35.5–6; Vell. 2.126.2; Tac. Ann. 1.15.1; Symm. Or. 4.7; Auson. Grat. act. 3.13; see Tatum 2007, with further literature. Demetr. Eloc. 225, 231; cf. Koskenniemi 1956: 35–7; Trapp 2003: 40–2; Hall 2009: 53–6; White 2010: 24–9; Wilcox 2012; Bernard 2013: 71–6; Rollinger 2014: 180–220.

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especially by way of epistolary recommendations, a practice that came to be known as commendatio.4 Four letters by Cicero are preserved in which the orator appeals for support on behalf of a favoured candidate. Three of these letters contributed to L. Aelius Lamia’s successful campaign for a praetorship of 42, and a comparison of the three is instructive.5 In each letter Cicero emphasises his longstanding friendship with Lamia, but foregrounds his profound debt of gratitude to the man – as well as the indebtedness Cicero will inevitably feel toward each letter’s recipient if he takes Lamia’s part. This correspondence positively teems with gratia, that crucial ingredient for electoral success. Nor does Cicero ignore Lamia’s merits: he possesses splendor, dignitas too, and his wealth and generosity were made clear by the magnificence of his aedilician games. Furthermore, his gratia – gratia again – is unexcelled.6 It obvious how carefully Cicero has suited each letter to its recipient, even if the substance of each letter is more or less identical (today we might speak of ‘talking points’). This was no small feat, since it is as clear as these things can be that even letters at this register were largely formulaic. Cicero more or less concedes this point at Fam. 12.29.2, where, flattering his reader as a man of the world, he leaves it to him to fill in the blanks with predictable particulars: non puto te iam exspectare quibus eum tibi verbis commendem. causa enim tanti amoris intellegis quae verba desideret. iis me omnibus usum putato. I know that you are in no doubt whatsoever as to what kind of words I will use in recommending him to you. In view of my profound friendship [with Lamia], you recognise exactly what words are called for. So do take it as read that I have employed them all.

Other kinds of texts also circulated during elections, including verses, copies of old speeches, and unflattering documents, like damaging depositions from past trials. Pseudepigrapha also played their part.7 All these publications were intended to advance or demolish the reputations of those men who were competing for office. There was clearly a good deal to read, nearly all of it highly conventional in sentiment as well as format. Breaking through this intense if monotonous buzz was anything but easy. 4

5 6 7

See, e. g., Dio 37.44.3; Hirtius B.Gall. 8.50; Cic. ad Brut. 1.6.2; Suet. Iul. 41; cf. Levick 1967. Letter-writing campaigns: for Scipio Aemilianus: App. Pun. 112; cf. Astin 1967: 63–9 (on the likely content of these letters, see App. Pun. 104; 109); for Marius: Sall. Iug. 64–65.5; 73.3; cf. Plut. Mar. 7.4; cf. Yakobson 1999: 13–15. Letters for Lamia: Cic. Fam. 11.16 (to D. Brutus); Fam. 11.17 (to M. Brutus); Fam. 12.29 (to Q. Cornificius). The fourth of Cicero’s canvassing letters is Fam. 2.6 (to C. Curio on behalf of T. Annius Milo). On the importance of gratia to winning an election, see Cic. Att. 4.15.8; Q. F. 2.15.4; cf. Hellegouarc’h 1963: 399–400; Tatum 2015a: 257–62 (with further references). On gratia in the Comm. Pet., see Panni 2007. Poetry: e. g. Cic. Q.Fr. 1.3.9 (verses by Q. Cicero were deployed against him during his campaign for the aedileship). Unflattering documents: e. g. Asc. 87C; Comm. Pet. 10 (damaging depositions from Catilina’s repetundae trial were circulated in 64). Pseudepigraphica: e. g. Asc. 94C (speeches were circulated in 64 under the names of Catilina and Antonius).

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Which brings us to the Commentariolum Petitionis. I do not intend to address the tedious question of this work’s authenticity here. Others have done that in detail.8 Instead, I will take as my premise that this text was part of the mix in the canvassing of 64.9 And my attention will be focused on the literary pretensions of the work and on its author’s exertions in constructing for his reader a Cicero who, in his attitude toward the nobility, could only be regarded as traditional and unthreatening. Which is to say, sound. The Comm. Pet., like the Lamia letters, is written with the sensibilities of its elite readership very much in mind. And, like the Pompeian poster with which we began, the medium of the Comm. Pet., no less than the specifics of its message, makes a case that its subject is dignus rei publicae. This was not a case born of desperation. It is a point so obvious that it is easy to overlook that, in the competition for the consulships of 63, Cicero was the clear frontrunner. He had attained every prior magistracy at the earliest possible age, and he was elected praetor at the top of the polls, a recognised advantage (Cic. Mur. 35). And his rivals for office were mostly undistinguished or inept.10 The coitio formed by Catilina and Antonius (Asc. 83C) was hardly motivated by confidence, and lent itself to sinister insinuations.11 Granted that the outcomes of Roman elections were always unpredictable,12 the smart betting was on Cicero, who did not need the Comm. Pet. to establish his credentials. Instead, this is a work designed to make influential voters comfortable with Cicero by emphasising his very conventional virtues – but in a novel manner, conflating, in good Roman fashion, tradition and originality. The Comm. Pet. is a letter from Q. Cicero to his brother. And, unlike the programmata, it is verbose. And literary. And although the Comm. Pet. will never be confused with, say, De Oratore, Franz Buecheler went too far when he dismissed the work’s style as ‘dry, sober, unlovely’ (sicca, sobria, invenusta).13 The Latin of the Comm. Pet. is in fact urbane, sprinkled with literary devices and enlivened by instances of rhetorical technique14 – and it is scaffolded throughout by orthodox 8 9

Nardo 1970 is now fundamental. See, also, Duplá, Fatás, and Pina Polo 1990: 23–8. The Comm. Pet. as electoral propaganda: Petersson 1920: 198; Ciaceri 1939: 173–4; Wikarjak 1966: 12–19.; Nardo 1970: 76–7; Bruggisser 1984; McCoy 1987; Flores Santamaria 1998; Fezzi 2007. 10 Many of the promising men of Cicero’s cohort had vanished from the scene by 64: e. g. P. Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus, quaestor pro praetore in 75 (MRR 2.97) M. Caecilius Metellus (pr. 69: MRR 2.131–2 – his brother was consul in that year); P. Cornelius Dolabella (pr. 69 or 68: MRR 2.132; 3.65); C. Licinius Macer (pr. 69 or 68: MRR 2.138; his death: Val. Max. 9.127; Plut. Cic. 9.1–2); M. Iunius (pr. 67: Brennan 2000: 449). Cicero fretted about C. Marcius Figulus, but he was elected consul for 64: Cic. Att. 1.1.2 (that the Thermus referred to in Cicero’s letter was in fact C. Marcius Figulus is now generally agreed: see, e. g., Shackleton Bailey 1965: 292). Cicero was clearly heartened by the incompetence of P. Servilius Galba (pr. by 66), who was undone by ‘premature glad-handing’ (praepropera prensatio: Cic. Att. 1.1.1); he also lacked gratia (Cic. Mur. 17) and vigour (sine nervis: Comm. Pet. 8). 11 See, e. g., Cic. Parad. 46. Romans tended to associate coitio and ambitus: Staveley 1972: 205–6. 12 Broughton 1991; Evans 1991; Pina Polo 2012. 13 Buecheler 1869: 7; cf. Leo 1895: 447 (“von rhetorischem Stil in in der Schrift keine Spur”). 14 A (by no means complete) sample of the work’s rhetorical features includes alliteration (e. g. Comm. Pet. 2, 3, 8, 9, 10, 17, 18, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 31, 34, 35, 49), anaphora (e. g. Comm.

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prose rhythms.15 There are even moments of wit and charm,16 and, in its extended invective against Antonius and Catilina (Comm. Pet. 7–12), the Comm. Pet. offers its readers searing defamation (Catilina as child-molester) and vivid melodrama (the torture and decapitation of M. Marius Gratidianus). All of which one may regard as stuff of the sufficiently gripping variety, notwithstanding Dacre Balsdon’s notorious remark that the Comm. Pet. ‘hardly even troubles to be interesting’.17 Critics of the work’s style, one suspects, have been distracted by its admittedly dry and detailed didactic section (Comm. Pet. 16–53). But the Comm. Pet.’s elevated style must not, and did not, go unobserved: like any proper letter exchanged between aristocrats, because it represents a transaction in cultural capital, it displays literary flourishes in order to demonstrate its author’s and to affirm its recipient’s education.18 Now the Comm. Pet. takes some pains to foreground its status as a letter. It commences with an epistolary salutation and its opening lines include gestures characteristic of Roman correspondence, such as the correlatives etsi … tamen which routinely signal the polite epistolary dispensation of personal advice, as well as, still in the first sentence, an epistolary tense.19 Significantly, it is the only epistolary tense in the whole of the work, the singularity of which underlines the work’s posture as a personal communication. And yet clearly the work is a public letter,20 the kind of document that had become familiar in Rome by the second century and pervaded political life in the late republic.21 The Comm. Pet., unmistakably, was framed as an assertion of Quintus’, and Cicero’s, political values.

15 16

17 18 19 20 21

Pet. 8, 10, 11, 12, 16 and elsewhere), antithesis (e. g. Comm. Pet. 2, 7, 9, 11, 12), exclamatio (Comm. Pet. 9), homoeoteleuton and homoeoptoton (e. g. Comm. Pet. 4, 18, 19, 23, 27, 28, 29, 33, 42, 51), paronomosia (e. g. Comm. Pet. 8, 10, 12, 31), and synonomia (e. g. Comm. Pet. 3, 20, 23, 36, 42, 55) – as well as devices like rhetorical questions (e. g. Comm. Pet. 7, 28), sermocinatio (Comm. Pet. 9), subiectio (Comm. Pet. 8), and the work’s strong preference for organizing its material into threefold subdivisions and expressing itself by way of tricola (e. g. Comm. Pet. 2, 4, 9, 10, 13, 16, 18, 21, 24, 34, 40). Hendrickson 1904: 87–9; Nardo 1970: 135; Núñez González 1999. On Quintus’ epistolary style generally, see Cugusi 1970. Doubtless these lie in the eye of the beholder, but see (e. g.) Comm. Pet. 2, where Quintus’ three questions (which lend structure to the letter) receive their answers in direct discourse and by way of a chiastic arrangement and in phrases that are neatly parallel in their prose rhythms, or Comm. Pet. 3, where recordare recalls Demosthenes’ difficulties in pronouncing the letter rho, or Comm. Pet. 4. Balsdon 1963: 243. The importance of epistolary style: Cic. Att. 7.17.2; 14.7.2; 15.16; cf. Hall 2005. Literariness, cultural capital, and politics: Schneider 1998; Eich 2000. etsi … tamen (Comm. Pet. 1), commonplace in letters proffering advice: Nardo 1970: 25 accumulates 33 examples; discussion in Hall 2009: 118–27. Epistolary tense: sum … arbitratus (Comm. Pet. 1). On epistolary openings, see Trapp 2003: 34–8. That the Comm. Pet. is a public letter is signalled by its style, especially its heavy use of rhythmic prose (cf. Quint. 9.4.19). Early public letters in Rome: Scipio Africanus: Polyb. 10.9 (to Philip V); Polyb. 21.11 (to Prusias); P. Cornelius Scipio Nasica (cos. 162): Plut. Aem. 15.5; 21.7 (to ‘a king’); Metellus Numidicus: Gell. 15.13.6; 17.2.7 (to Cn. and L. Domitius Ahenobarbus); Gaius Gracchus: Cic.

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The Comm. Pet. is of course not simply a public letter: it also a didactic epistle. In fact, it is, fragments aside, our earliest extant Latin didactic epistle. The didactic epistle in Rome derives, unsurprisingly, from Hellenistic habits. It is unclear how early it was when Romans took up the practice, perhaps so early as the Elder Cato. In any case, by the late republic it was well established.22 Cicero’s familiarity with Greek didactic epistles is patent, as is their role in the orator’s creative operations.23 The author of the Comm. Pet. was also aware of Greek letters, even though there was nothing in the way of an apt Greek model for him to rely on. Nevertheless, there are unmistakable similarities between the structure and style of Epicurus’ Letter to Herodotus and the Comm. Pet.24 Now I am certainly not suggesting that the Comm. Pet. is modelled specifically on the Letter to Herodotus, although the text will have been familiar enough during the late republic.25 Instead, I wish to make the point that the similarities between the two works suffice to demonstrate the extent to which the Comm. Pet. is self-consciously implicated in the tradition of the Hellenistic didactic epistle, a feature of its text that contemporaries could hardly fail to notice. The format of the Comm. Pet. mattered to its message. The didactic epistle was at once something elevated and something accessible, and it offered its readers a concise statement of its topic’s fundamental rules and principles.26 It also carried moral implications, as all didactic texts did in Rome: it promulgated its instructions as normative and paradigmatic, which naturally suggested positive things about its author and its recipient.27 The routine relationship figured by a didactic epistle between its author and recipient, however, was not in Cicero’s interests at all: ordinarily, the recipient is taken to be needy of instruction. That would hardly do here, and so Quintus is explicit, at the beginning and ending of the Comm. Pet., in describing Cicero as his superior in the matter of canvassing (Comm. Pet. 1, 58), an inversion of the usual pattern.

22 23 24

25 26 27

Div. 1.36; 2.62; Plut. Ti. Gracch. 8.7 (to M. Pomponius). On the Hellenistic background to Roman practices, see Ceccarelli 2013: 160–78. Peter 1901; Sykutris 1931: 202–220; Langslow 2007. E. g. Cic. Att. 12.40.2; 13.26.2 (to be read with Shackleton Bailey 1966: 331); cf. Hutchinson 1998: 4–5. (i) greetings and personal address: Epic. Ep. Hdt. 35: ‘Epicurus to Herodotus, greetings. Some are unable, etc.’ (Ἐπίκουρος Ἡροδὸτῳ χαίρειν. τοῖς μὴ δυναμένοις); cf. Comm. Pet. 1: ‘Quintus Marco fratre S. D. etsi tibi … (ii) Organization and terminology: Epic. Ep. Hdt. 36: ‘fundamental elements and definitions’ (στοιχειώματα καὶ φωνὰς); cf. Comm. Pet. 1: ea quae in re dispersa atque infinita viderentur esse ratione et distributione sub uno aspectu ponerentur. (iii) Letter explicitly a treatise: Epic. Ep. Hdt. 37: ‘I have prepared for you this epitome, an elementary handbook of all my doctrines’ (τοιαύτην τινὰ ἐπιτομὴν ⟨συνέθηκα⟩ καὶ στοιχείωσιν τῶν ὅλων δοξῶν); cf. Comm. Pet. 58: hoc commentariolum petitionis. (iv) Conclusion: Epic. Ep. Hdt. 83: ‘These, Herodotus, are the things which are the chief points concerning the science of nature, organized for you in the form of an epitome’ (ταῦτά σοι, ὦ Ἡρόδοτε, ἔστι κεφαλαιωδέστατα ὑπὲρ τῆς τῶν ὅλων φύσεως ἐπιτετμημένα); cf. Comm. Pet. 58: haec sunt quae putavi … me … colligere in locum posse et ad te perscripta mittere. Epicurus’ influence on Roman epistolography: Morrison 2007; Inwood 2007. Boscherini 2000. The normative implications of didactic texts: Christes 2003; Fögen 2009.

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Quintus complements his Hellenistic pretensions, however, by endeavouring to underline the conventional and native qualities of his composition by describing it as a commentariolum.28 Early commentarii, it appears very likely, included aidesmémoire and functional instructions for priests and magistrates, a pedigree that sustained the essential Romanness of commentarii even into the late republic, when the genre became suffused by the influence of Hellenistic scholarly literature.29 And we know of republican commentarii, or at the very least of works that by the late republic were retrospectively deemed to be commentarii, dealing with the practicalities and technicalities of Roman law, Roman religion, and the Roman constitution, all of which contributed further to the native connotations of any work that designated itself a commentarius.30 Or commentariolum. Now it does not become obvious that the Comm. Pet. is a commentariolum until its concluding remarks, closure, however, that emphatically characterizes the work as a whole (Comm. Pet. 58: … hoc commentariolum petitionis). The implications of this identification are important. The Comm. Pet. aligns itself with traditional commentaries on practical Roman topics even while its author associates himself with venerable Roman authorities. This effect is made clear by consulting a passage from Vitruvius (De arch. 7 pr. 1): maiores cum sapienter tum etiam utiliter instituerunt per commentariorum relationes cogitata tradere posteris ut ea non interirent sed singulis aetatibus crescentia voluminibus edita gradatim pervenirent vetustatibus ad summam doctrinarum subtilitatem. Our ancestors acted with wisdom as well as practicality when they established the custom of transmitting their ideas to later generations by means of commentarii. This way their ideas, which had been published in volumes, did not perish but instead were expanded on and gradually, over the ages, they reached the most advanced level of learning.

Vitruvius’ comment alludes to another aspect of commentarii: their (ostensibly) provisional character. It is no accident that the Comm. Pet. announces its status as a commentariolum in the same breath in which it seeks revision from Cicero. I have noted already the negative attention which Quintus’ technical exposition of canvassing, sections 16 through 53, has attracted from modern scholars. But these strictures miss the point. What one finds in this section of the Comm. Pet. are features entirely appropriate to elevated Latin technical literature, such as repetitive diction, recurring asyndeton, an abundance of explicit directions, frequently of the of the first … then … then … variety, and, unsurprisingly, direct commands.31 In issuing his instructions, Quintus ordinarily, if perhaps tediously, employs second-person imperatives and often resorts to so-called future imperatives in – to.32 Intrigu28 29 30 31 32

On commentarii, see von Premerstein 1900); Bömer 1953; Formisano 2001: 141–50. Commentarii and Romanness: Bömer 1953; Riggsby 2006: 134–45. E. g. works on Roman law by Aelius Paetus Catus (cos. 198) and M. Iunius Brutus (pr. 142); cf. Cic. De or. 1.240; 2.224; on religion by Fabius Pictor; cf. Varro ap. Non 835L; on the magistracies by C. Sempronius Tudianus (cos. 129); cf. Gell. 13.15.4. Technical writing and literary style: Nicolet 1996; Formisano 2001; Horster and Reitz 2003); Langslow 2007; Fögen 2009; Taub and Doody 2009; Hutchinson 2009. E. g. Comm. Pet. 29–30: et primum … elaborato, appetito, adlegato … deinde habeto … postea … denique.

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ingly, Quintus’ habits strongly resemble those of the Elder Cato in what remains of his didactic and technical writing. And it appears (though it can hardly be certain) that Cato’s brand of imperatival writing was distinctive in Latin technical prose. In any case, on the present state of our understanding, in the conspicuous matter of imperatival practice, no text is so similar as the Comm. Pet. to the Elder Cato. Which draws our attention to its author’s effort to adorn his hip Hellenistic-style didactic epistle with highly traditional features derived from commentarii and Catonian prose style.33 Did his contemporaries notice? At the very least, it should have been clear that, in managing the difficult task of writing elevated technical literature as elevated technical literature, Quintus displayed his literary versatility and his self-conscious inscription into traditional Latin exposition.34 Not without originality, of a distinctly Roman sort. By the first century, and not only amongst the Romans, knowledge was deemed to be created and advanced by way of definition and subdivision, the fundamental pattern of technical writing that most modern readers find unattractive. That was the essential work involved in shifting a cultural practice from a knack to a skill, a techne or an ars. Cicero describes this transformation at De Oratore 1. 187–89: omnia fere quae sunt conclusa nunc artibus dispersa et dissipata quondam fuerunt … adhibita est igitur ars quaedam extrinsecus ex alio genere quodam quot sibi totum philosophi assumunt quae rem dissolutam divulsamque conglutinaret et ratione quadam constringeret. … tum sunt notanda genera et ad certum numerum paucitatemque revocanda … omnia quae sunt vel generum vel partium nomina, definitionibus … est exprimendum. almost everything that is now confined in the form of an art was once scattered and unorganized … art comes from the philosopher’s ability to combine and connect … then the different classes are to be marked, and reduced to a small and definite number; the classes and their subdivisions are to be delineated; names for them must be defined.

This degree of necessary classification, the Romans conceded, eluded early commentarii. When Vitruvius, for instance, contrasts his own work on architecture with the commentarii he hopes to supersede, he stresses their lack of orderliness and his own careful arrangement of his discipline’s various categories (De arch. 4 pr. 1; cf. 7 pr. 10), and the argument has been advanced that it was a characteristic of commentarii to eschew finely articulated structures in favour of more miscellaneous dispositions.35 That may be going too far: Cicero’s De Inventione is a commentariolum (Cic. De or. 1.5) and yet its systematic classification is without question finely articulated. But then Cicero, like other Latin writers, had Greek exemplars from which to borrow, or perhaps I should say adapt and elaborate. Quintus, by contrast, in a work devoted exclusively to native Roman phenomena, had no mediating text on which to rely. Which is perhaps why the central claim that the Brief Handbook makes for itself is that it analyses its subject by way of an appropriately rational organisation (Comm. Pet. 1): 33 34 35

Gibson 1997; Hine 2011. On the difficulties of writing didactic prose Mayer 2005. Riggsby 2006: 137–45.

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W. Jeffrey Tatum non ut aliqud ex his novi addisceres, sed ut ea quae in re dispersa atque infinita viderentur esse ratione et distributione sub uno aspectu ponerentur. Not that you will learn anything new from what follows. My purpose is instead to arrange in systematic form and in a logical order matters which, in actual practice, appear unrelated and indeterminate.

This was real cultural work: the codification of tradition by way of learned prose structured by logical organisation.36 The Comm. Pet., then, exhibits a clear blending of tradition and originality. But, for all its normative claims as a didactic work, the Comm. Pet. is not universal in its application. This point is made explicitly in the work’s closing section (Comm. Pet. 58): quae tametsi scripta ita sunt ut non ad omnis qui honores petant sed ad te proprie et ad hanc petitionem tuam valeant … I have written an essay that does not pertain to everyone who seeks a magistracy, but rather to you in particular and to your campaign …

This commentariolum, in other words, is specifically a guide to Cicero’s canvass, not every canvass. And this is unmistakably the case. Quintus leaves out much of what we know to have been routine in canvassing. Instead, much stress is laid on Cicero’s distinctly close relationship with the equestrian order, especially the publicani (Comm. Pet. 3. 8. 29, 33, 50, 55) as well as on the gratia to be gained from oratory (Comm. Pet. 3, 8, 19, 38, 50, 51, 55). The undeniable purchase attaching itself to noble rank is ignored, presumably because Cicero was not a noble. Instead, in the Comm. Pet., nobles appear as glamorous and influential connections, who must be cultivated: Cicero’s outsider status in admitted, even foregrounded. More on this presently. This is not altogether surprising, either from a practical or a literary perspective. Didactic texts commonly organised their material around the career of individual and exemplary practitioners of an art or skill. And it was unusual for any didactic text to be truly comprehensive. Still, it is important to mind this gap between the generalising tone of at least the didactic exposition of the Comm. Pet. and the work’s clear portrayal of Cicero’s canvass as distinctive, even unique. It draws attention to the reality that, in the world of the Comm. Pet., Cicero, for all his expertise and self-knowledge, is not portrayed as the paradigm of the ideal candidate. After all, he is instructed to model himself after the noble C. Aurelius Cotta (Comm. Pet. 47). In the Comm. Pet., then, Cicero is depicted, not as the paradigm, but rather as a candidate whose canvass fits suitably into the paradigm of Roman electioneering. But was this helpful to Cicero? Andrew Wallace-Hadrill has stressed the degree to which technical codification in Rome could compete with the personal authority of the city’s nobility as the grounds for determining what is authentically Roman and traditional. As he puts it, ‘social authority and academic learning pull in opposite di-

36

Rawson 1985: 132–42; Rawson 1991: 324–51; Moatti 1997: 217–26.

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rections’.37 And one can see, certainly in the development of Roman jurisprudence, a basis for Wallace-Hadrill’s claim.38 At the same time, academic learning, when devoted to Roman topics, could also be viewed as a patriotic assertion of Roman identity within the larger environment of Hellenistic scholarship: that is, as an affirmation of the establishment and not, or at least not exclusively, a challenge to it.39 Consider Varro’s Commentarius Eisagogikos, the handbook on senatorial procedures he composed for Pompeius (Gell. 14.7). Here was an instance when academic learning simultaneously served to emphasize a violation of Roman custom (Pompeius’ unique elevation to the consulship) and to assimilate this potential subversion by inscribing the great man’s deference to the conventions of senatorial authority: the work promulgated Pompeius’ exceptionalism and the senate’s traditional values. Similarly, the Comm. Pet. underscores Cicero’s circumstances as a novus seeking the consulship (exceptionalism of a less impressive strain than Pompeius’) while endeavouring to make it clear that he represents no threat to the established order because he subscribes to conventions hallowed by time and now elevated by scholarship. Let us turn now to a central aspect of Cicero’s characterisation in Comm. Pet.: his condition as a novus homo. This is his fundamental identity in the work. Here even Cicero’s standing as an orator – the basis of his fame, the generator of his gratia – is subordinated to his novitas. Indeed, Cicero’s eloquence, in the Comm. Pet., serves chiefly as compensation for his novitas. And it is Cicero’s novitas that constitutes one of the three principal divisions of the work. (¶2–14). Of course it does. Cicero’s novitas represented his candidature’s most conspicuous liability. Even candidates who were not nobles could and did calumniate candidates who were new men (e. g. Cic. Fam. 8.2.2). In the case of Cicero, his rivals for office, and not only his rivals, denounced him on that very score.40 Naturally he and his supporters saw it coming. Which is at least one of the reasons Cicero’s campaign cunningly concentrated its energies on raising senatorial anxieties over the danger of ambitus (hence another of the three principal divisions of the work: Comm. Pet. 54–7), an accusation to which novi were vulnerable.41 In doing so, they successfully turned the tables on Cicero’s noble competitors, especially Catilina, whose campaign found itself on the wrong side of this controversy.42 But, in the matter of novitas, Cicero’s vulnerabilities went beyond his inherited condition. He was on record as asseverating the moral superiority of the new man by comparison with Rome’s spoiled and indolent nobility, an antagonistic discourse that, although it can hardly have been formulated first by Cicero, nevertheless found in the orator its most influential spokesman.43 From the peroration of his Verrines 37 38 39 40 41 42 43

Wallace-Hadrill 1997: 14; cf. Wallace-Hadrill 2008: 236–7. Frier 1985: 269–88. Moatti 1997: 109–24; 183–94; Formisano 2001: 145–50. Asc. 86C, 93–4C; App. B.Civ. 2.2; Sall. Cat. 35.2; Quint. 9.3.94; Schol. Bob. 80St. Ambitus and new men: Liv. 7.15.12–13, with Oakley 1998: 175–7. On Cicero’s ambitus strategy, see Tatum 2015b: 147–50. The rhetoric of novitas: Syme 1958: 566–84; Wiseman 1971: 109–16; Brunt 1982; Dugan 2005: 6–15; van der Blom 2010: 35–59; Yakobson 2014.

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through the oratory and private discourse of his senior years, Cicero remained unrelenting in underscoring the unfair conditions confronted by new men and the arrogance of the degenerate nobility who despised them.44 All of this is too familiar to require an extended discussion here. But the sheer notability of Cicero’s Verrines, and its denunciation of the nobility by a novus, can only have been a potential public relations problem when that novus became a leading candidate for the consulship. Recently, John Dugan and Emma Dench have independently suggested that, instead of viewing Cicero’s rhetoric of novitas as his reaction to noble obstruction, we should appreciate its aggressive and strategic qualities.45 For Dugan, Cicero embraces novitas as a means of appealing to the equestrian order. For Dench, the conceit of novitas was Cicero’s device for attracting the support of the new electorate, the prosperous Italians whose entrance into Roman electoral rolls threatened to transform the operations of Roman politics forever. Now in the case of Cicero’s Verrines, I think Dench must be right. In 70, when Cicero prosecuted Verres, no one could have been confident that the nobility’s longstanding hold on the comitia centuriata could persist, and so it is perfectly understandable and even plausible that an ingenious and ambitious aedile from a municipality might probe the new politics by appealing to common ground between himself and the freshly enrolled members of the prosperous classes.46 By 64, however, it was as obvious to the Romans as it is to us that the nobility had entirely mastered their new circumstances. Which is why, after the Verrines, it seems clear that Cicero’s resort to the rhetoric of novitas tends to be reactive in nature – not an aggressive posture. Still, even in Cicero’s later speeches and letters, like the later historiographical texts they inspired, the basic dynamic of the discourse of novitas remains fairly constant: new men possess ingenium and virtus which, by way of industry and probity, entitles them to recognition, a state of affairs that contrasts with the unmerited privileges of the nobility. And, in modern discussions of novitas, the Comm. Pet. is routinely folded in with these Ciceronian texts – as if it adopted the same perspective.47 Which is a mistake. It doesn’t. The Comm. Pet.’s examination of Cicero’s novitas, in sections 2 through 14, is roughly bookended by the suggestion that, if Cicero has made any enemies amongst the nobility, that is owing to his past applications on behalf of Pompeius. This is a clever distraction, not merely because it advertises Cicero’s willingness to defend Pompeius’ interests, but also because, by 64, a great many of the nobility had already fallen all over themselves in rushing to take advantage of that very influence.48 Nothing novel, then, in the Comm. Pet.’s reference here, and it gestures 44 45 46 47 48

Cicero on novitas and nobilitas in the Verrines: Cic. Verr. 2.5.180–82. For Cicero’s rhetoric of novitas thereafter, see the passages from his oratory collected by van der Blom 2010: 50–1 The topic was also a recurring one in his correspondence: e. g. Cic. Fam. 1.7.8; 3.7.5. Dugan 2005: 7–8; Dench 2013: 130–34. On the circumstances, see Bispham 2007: 161–204 (with further literature). See, e. g., Dugan 2005: 6; van der Blom 2010: 51; Dench 2013: 130–1. Pompeius’ interests: Comm. Pet. 5 (followed immediately, at Comm. Pet. 6, by the admonition: adulescentis nobilis elabora ut habeas … multum dignitatis adferent); Comm. Pet. 14. Nobles benefitting from Pompeius’ commands: Seager 2002: 46–7.

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toward a conspicuous common ground shared between Cicero and the nobility, or at least a large slice of it. In-between his references to Pompeius, Quintus emphasises the paramount value to Cicero of the nobility’s support: at Comm. Pet. 4 the importance of the nobility for Cicero’s prospects is in fact separated off from the attachments he enjoys with equestrians and other friends at other levels of society (cf. Comm. Pet. 3). The reality of invidia directed against Cicero’s ambitions is not denied, but in the Comm. Pet. it is attributed equally to all who have hit the glass ceiling of praetorian standing, nobilis and novus alike: neither sort of person, and here they are virtual equivalents, relishes being surpassed by anyone.49 As for the populus Romanus, they, too, exhibit an aversion to new men in the consulship, even ‘in recent years’, that is, since the sudden expansion of the citizenry. But that is hardly the nobility’s fault, and nothing in the Comm. Pet. suggests that the nobility are the biggest obstacle confronting Cicero’s election. In the world of the Comm. Pet., the capacities that render Cicero worthy of the consulship are by no means unique to him or to novi generally. At Comm. Pet. 11, for instance, when Quintus compares Cicero’s situation with that of C. Coelius Caldus, the novus who was elected consul for 94, he underlines the reality that Coelius’ noble rivals were themselves brilliant men, endowed with intelligence and probity. They also possessed ingenium, that remarkable property of talented novi, and they were distinguished by generosity, hard work, and sophistication in the art of canvassing. Coelius defeated one of them, though Coelius was hardly the better man.50 And it is worth observing that Coelius’ colleague in the consulship, the noble whom he could not surpass, was L. Domitius Ahenobarbus, the uncle of L. Domitius Ahenobarbus (cos. 54), who was one of Cicero’s principal champions in 64 (Cic. Att. 1.1.3). Even in this sole account in the Comm. Pet. of a new man’s electoral success, we find an oblique compliment addressed to Cicero’s noble backer. As for Cicero and his competitors, the orator finds himself in circumstances much more advantageous than Coelius’ – but that he owes to fortuna, an explanation for the success of new men that originates amongst their noble critics.51 Now much of Comm. Pet. 2–14 is taken up with invective against Antonius and Catilina. Cicero’s other noble rivals, P. Servilius Galba and L. Cassius Longinus, are simply dismissed as feeble (sine nervis). In the case of Cassius, worse could have been said: he was apparently fat (Cic. Cat. 3.16) and stupid (Asc. 82C). But Quintus wastes little time on them. Catilina and Antonius, by contrast, are each of them excoriated by way of vituperation that, inasmuch as it corresponds with much of what 49 50

51

Invidia on the part of men ex equestri loco and consularibus families nati whom Cicero is surpassing: Comm. Pet. 13; on the part of the populus Romanus: Comm. Pet. 14. Comm. Pet. 11: quanto melior tibi fortuna petitionis data est quam nuper homini novo, C. Coelio! ille cum duobus hominibus ita nobilissimis petebat ut tamen in iis omnia pluris essent quam ipsa nobilitas, summa ingenia, summus pudor, plurima beneficia, summa ratio ac diligentia petendi; ac tamen eorum alterum Coelius, cum multo inferior esset genere, superior nulla re paene, superavit. Fortuna and new men: Wiseman 1971: 109 (“… any success scored by a novus must be put down to the whim of Fortuna, ‘indignorum fautrix’”); cf. Plin. N. H. 2.22 (Wiseman collects further passages).

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survives from In Toga Candida, doubtless derives from the campaign’s core strategy for going negative.52 For us, the pertinent point is that this invective is specific, not generic, in focus, whereas the rhetoric of novitas elsewhere takes a collective approach in contrasting new men with the nobility. By contrast with Coelius’ noble competitors, Antonius and Catilina are aberrations, men who have failed to live up to the legitimate expectations of their heritage.53 Not that nobles have a monopoly on virtue in the Comm. Pet. But they are never collectively deprecated. Quite the contrary: they are repeatedly courted. That this contest is solely about individuals is perhaps made clearest at Comm. Pet. 28, where Antonius is once again disparaged in detail. But here the Comm. Pet. is explicit in insisting that if anyone (read: Cicero) should lose to the likes of a loser like Antonius, he has only himself and his negligence to blame: his fault lies not in the stars, nor in the social prejudices of the nobility or the populus Romanus.54 Now it is true that, immediately after his election to the consulship, Cicero denied that he owed his success to the inferiority of his competitors (Cic. Leg. agr. 2.3) – but then he would, wouldn’t he? Still, although in this same speech he draws attention to the nobility’s firm grip on the consulship (which he claims to have loosened), he again eschews any actual criticism of the nobility. Coelius, as Henriette van den Blom has demonstrated, was, out of the novi, one of Cicero’s favourite exemplars.55 But here he serves less as an exemplum than a comparandum and is really there to make Cicero something along the lines of what Saul Bellow would call a ‘contrast gainer’.56 In the whole of the Comm. Pet., the reader is presented with only one real exemplum: C. Aurelius Cotta (cos. 75), in ambitione artifex and a noble (Comm. Pet. 47). Although he is noble, it is important to observe, Cotta, like Coelius’ noble competitors at Comm. Pet. 11, succeeds because he is adept at canvassing.57 In this respect, because the Comm. Pet. reposes so much importance on skill at canvassing, one might be tempted to invoke here Wallace-Hadrill’s view that technical literature erodes noble authority. But the Comm. Pet., both at Comm. Pet. 47 and at Comm. Pet. 11, takes pains to make it 52

53 54 55

56 57

Invective in Comm. Pet. and In Toga Candida: Comm. Pet. 8 ~ Asc. 83C; Comm. Pet. 10 ~ Asc. 87C, 90–1C; Comm. Pet. 12 ~ Asc. 93C. There is no reason to think of these resemblances in terms of literary borrowings: doubtless they were talking points repeated frequently throughout Cicero’s campaign, by himself and his surrogates. Cf. Yakobson 2014: 295: “Marius [in Sallust] does not at all reject the idea, or the principle, of nobility”. Comm. Pet. 28: … ut quidem homo nequam, iners, sine officio, sine ingenio, cum infamia, nullis amicis, hominem plurimorum studio atque omnium bona existimatione munitum praecurrat, sine magna culpa neglegentiae fieri non potest. van der Blom 2010: 158–65. It is routinely observed that Cicero tends to ignore the new men M. Herennius (cos. 93), C. Norbanus (cos. 83), and M. Tullius Decula (cos. 81): Wiseman 1971: 108–9; van der Blom 2010: 162. Herennius, however, was probably not a novus (cf. Badian 1990: 389), and the status of Decula remains unknown (Badian 1990: 391). As for the remaining two, there is insufficient testimonia to draw certain conclusions (but see Evans 1987: 121–28, arguing that Norbanus was not a novus). In the case of Norbanus, his disreputable career rendered him anathema to Cicero: see Hinard, 2011: 147–50. Saul Bellow, Letter to William Kennedy, 7 January 1981. Nobles need canvassing skills: Morstein-Marx 1998: 278–9.

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plain that nobles – the right sort of noble anyway – possess that skill in abundance, and in any case Cicero, again the Comm. Pet. is explicit, possessed the same skill before Quintus’ letter transformed it into an ars. But skilled though be may be, Cicero is urged to model himself, not after Coelius or any other new man, but after the noble Cotta. Now it has been urged, in a long and learned argument, that the Comm. Pet. is in reality a political satire, that this Cotta was in actuality so unattractive a figure that his presence in our text can only be ironic in its significance.58 Admittedly, Cotta had a variegated career, and Sallust didn’t like him very much.59 But Cicero did. And whatever irritation he caused his fellow nobles in 75 by restoring the rights of tribunes, this did nothing to stop the senate from awarding him a triumph (which he did not live to celebrate) in the very next year. As for Cicero’s attitude, Cotta is an interlocutor in De Oratore, his speeches are admired in Brutus, and in De Natura Deorum he speaks for the Academy.60 In other words, like the Cicero of the Comm. Pet., Cotta was homo Platonicus.61 And since the restoration of the republic in 79, no family had by 64 excelled the Aurelii Cottae in acquiring consulships. Quintus has more than one reason for introducing Cotta as in ambitione artifex, but his singular presence in the Comm. Pet. as the exemplum for the aspiring Cicero is significant in its implications for the work’s expression of respect for the nobility. A respect which, it is the clear message of the Comm. Pet., Cicero shares. In 64, Cicero was the clear frontrunner. Like any modern politician, his greatest risk resided in the possibility of his putting a foot wrong and taking a stumble. Canvassing in Rome was not a forgiving process, so better to be boring and conventional than attract the wrong kind of attention by way of adventurous blundering. Hence Cicero’s declaration to Atticus that he will exhibit all due diligence in carrying out a candidate’s each and every obligation (Att. 1.1.2), the foremost of which, obviously, was not to offend or alienate elite voters. Cicero’s soundness was a message he endeavoured to communicate to the whole of the Roman public, and especially to its influential elite. The rituals of Roman canvassing, it has been observed, tend to affirm the very hierarchy that elections both test and sustain.62 A good candidate was obliged to recognise the people’s majesty. He was also obliged to acknowledge the social articulations obtaining amongst the elite, including the pretensions and the very real clout of the nobility. This was an endeavour in which the Comm. Pet. was designed to be useful, by rendering Cicero’s exceptional canvass unexceptionable by way of inscribing its soundness in a document that formulated Cicero’s campaign as an ideal campaign – for a new man.

58 59 60 61 62

Alexander 2009: esp. 53–7 (on Cotta). Sallust on Cotta: Sall. Hist. 2.42M; 2.45M; 2.47M. C. Aurelius Cotta (cos. 75): Comm. Pet. 47; cf. Tatum 2007: 127–8. The events of his consulship: MRR 2.96. The award of his triumph: MRR 2.111. Cicero on Cotta: De or. passim; Brut. 305, 317; Nat. D., esp. book three. Cicero a homo Platonicus: Comm. Pet. 46. E. g. Tatum 2003/4; Hölkeskamp 2010: 99–100; 107–24.; Jehne 2010; Jehne 2013.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Alexander, M. C. (2009) “The Commentariolum Petitionis as an Attack on Election Campaigns”, Athenaeum 97: 31–57; 369–95. Astin, A. E. (1967) Scipio Aemilianus, Oxford. Badian, E. (1990) “The Consuls, 179–49 BC”, Chiron 20: 371–413. Balsdon, J. P. V. D. (1963) “The Commentariolum Petitionis”, CQ 57: 242–50. Bernard, J.-E. (2013) La sociabilité épistolaire chez Cicéron, Paris. Bispham, E. (2007) From Asculum to Actium: The Municipalization of Italy from the Social War to Augustus, Oxford. Biundo, R. (2003) “La propaganda elettorale a Pompei: la funzione e il valore dei programmata nell’oranizzazione della campagna”, Athenaeum 91: 53–119. van der Blom, H. (2010) Cicero’s Role Models: The Political Strategy of a New Comer, Oxford. Bömer, F. (1953) “Der Commentarius: zur Vorgeschichete und literarischen Form der Schriften Caesars”, Hermes 81: 210–50. Boscherini, S. (2000) “La dottrina medica communicata per epistulam. Struttura e storia de un genere”, in Les Texts médicaux latins comme literature, eds. A. Pigeaud and J. Pigeaud: 1–22. Nantes. Brennan, T. C. (2002) The Praetorship in the Roman World, Oxford. Broughton, T. R. S. (1991) Candidates Defeated in Roman Elections: Some Ancient Roman “Also Rans”, Philadelphia. Bruggisser, P. (1984) “Le Commentariolum Petitionis, acte électoral?”, Les Études Classiques 52: 115–30. Brunt, P. A. “Nobilitas and Novitas”, JRS 72: 1–17. Buecheler, F. (1869) Quinti Ciceronis Reliquae, Leipzig. Castrén, P. (1975) Ordo Populusque Pompeianus: Polity and Society in Roman Pompeii, Rome. Ceccarelli, P. (2013) Ancient Greek Letter Writing: A Cultural History (600 BC – 150 BC), Oxford. Christes, J. (2003) “Texte im Elementarunterrich als Träger sittlicher Werter in republikanischer Zeit”, in O tempora, o mores! Römische Werte und römische Literatur in den letzen Jahrzehnten der Republik, eds. A. Haltenhoff, A. Heil, and F.-H. Mutschler: 51–70. Leipzig. Ciaceri, E. (1939) Cicerone e i suoi tempi, 2nd. ed., Milan. Cugusi, P. (1970) “Un letterato della tarda repubblica: Q. Tullio Cicerone”, Ann. Fac. Lettere Magistero Cagliari 33: 5–34. Dench, E. (2013) “Cicero and Roman Identity”, in The Cambridge Companion to Cicero, ed. C. Steel: 122–40. Cambridge. Dugan, J. (2005) Making a New Man: Ciceronian Self-fashioning in the Rhetorical Works, Oxford. Duplá, A., Fatás, G., and Pina Polo, F. (1990) El Manual del Candidato de Quinto Cicerón (el Commentariolum Petitionis), Bilbao. Eich, A. (2000) Politische Literatur in der römischen Gesellschaft: Studien zum Verhältnis von politischer und literarischer Öffentlichkeit in der späten Republik und frühren Kaiserzeit, Wien. Evans, R. J. (1987) “Norbani Flacci: the Consuls of 38 and 24 BC”, Historia 36: 121–28. Evans, R. J. (1991) “Candidates and Competition in Consular Elections at Rome between 218 and 49 BC”, Acta Classica 34: 111–36. Fezzi, L. (2007) “Il Commentariolum Petitionis: sguardi dalle democrazie contemporanee”, Historia 56: 14–26. Flores Santamaría, P. (1998) “Un ejemplo de literatura propagandística: el Commentariolum Petitionis de Q. Cicerón”, Actas del IX Congreso Español de Estudios Clásicos, Madrid: 77–81. Fögen, T. (2009) Wissen, Kommunikation und Selbstdarstellung: zur Struktur und Charakteristik römischer Fachtexte der frühen Kaiserzeit, München. Formisano, M. (2001) Tecnica e scrittura: Le letterature tecnico-scientifiche nello spazio letterario tardolatina, Roma.

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Franklin Jr., J. L. (1980) Pompeii: The Electoral Programmata, Campaigns and Politics, A. D. 71– 79, Rome. Frier, B. (1985) The Rise of the Roman Jurists, Princeton. Gibson, R. K. (1997) “Didactic poetry as ‘popular’ form: a study of imperatival expressions in Latin didactic verse and prose”, in Form and Content in Didactic Poetry, ed. C. Atherton: 67–98. Bari. Hall, J. (2005) “Cicero Fam. 16.21, Roman Politeness, and the Socialization of Marcus Cicero the Younger”, in Roman Crossings: Theory and Practice in the Roman Republic, eds. K. Welch and T. W. Hillard: 259–78. Swansea. Hall J. (2009) Politeness and Politics in Cicero’s Letters, Oxford. Hellegouarc h, J. (1963) Le vocabulaire latin des relations et des partis politiques sous la République, Paris. Hendrickson, G. L. (1904) “The Commentariolum Petitionis Attributed to Quintus Cicero”, Decennial Publications of the University of Chicago 6: 69–93. Hinard, F. (2011) Rome, la dernière République: Recueil d’articles de François Hinard, Bordeaux. Hine, H. M. (2011) “‘Discite … Agricolae’: Modes of Instruction in Latin Prose Agricultural Writing from Cato to Pliny the Elder”, CQ 61: 624–54. Hölkeskamp, K.-J. (2010) Reconstructing the Roman Republic: An Ancient Political Culture and Modern Research, Princeton. Horster, M. and Reitz, C., (eds.) (2003), Antike Fachschriftsteller: Literarischer Diskurs und sozialer Kontext, Stuttgart. Hutchinson, G. O. (1998) Cicero’s Correspondence: A Literary Study, Oxford. Hutchinson, G. O. (2009) “Read the Instructions: Didactic Poetry and Didactic Prose”, CQ 59: 196–211. Inwood, B. (2007) “The Importance of Form in Seneca’s Philosophical Letters”, in Ancient Letters, eds. R. Morello and A. D. Morrison: 133–48. Oxford. Jehne, M. (2010) “Die Dominanz des Vorgangs über den Ausgang: Struktur und Verlauf der Wahlen in der römischen Republik”, in Technik und Symbolik vormoderner Wahlverfahren, eds. C. Dartmann, G. Wassilowsky, and T. Weller: 17–34. München. Jehne, M. (2013) “Politische Partizipation in der römischen Republik”, in Politische Partizipation: Idee und Wirklichkeit von der Antike bis in die Gegenwart, eds. H. Reinau and J. von Ungern-Sternberg: 103–44. Berlin. Koskenniemi, H. (1956) Studien zur Idee und Phraseologie des griechischen Briefes bis 400 n. Chr., Helsinki. Langslow, D. (2007) “The Epistula in Ancient Scientific and Technical Literature, with Special Reference to Medicine”, in Ancient Letters, eds. R.Morello and D. A. Morrison: 211–34. Oxford. Leo, F. (1895) “Die Publication von Ciceros Briefen an Atticus”, NGG: 447–50. Levick, B. M. (1967) “Imperial Control of the Elections under the Early Principate: Commendatio, Suffragatio, and ‘Nominatio’”, ZPE 16: 207–30. Mayer, R. G. (2005) “The Impracticality of Latin ‘Kunstprosa’”, in Aspects of the Language of Latin Prose, eds. T. Reinhardt, M. Lapidge, and J. N. Adams: 195–210. Oxford. McCoy, M. B. (1987) “Quintus Cicero, the Commentariolum Petitionis, and the Political Aspirations of the Ciceros”, AnW 15: 99 ff.–104. Moatti, C. La Raison de Rome: naissance de l’esprit critique à la fin de la République (IIe – Ier siècle avant J.-C.), Paris. Morrison, A. D. (2007) “Didacticism and Epistolarity in Horace’s Epistles 1”, in Ancient Letters, eds. R. Morello and A. D. Morrison: 107–32. Oxford. Morstein-Marx, R. “Publicity, Popularity and Patronage in the Commentariolum Petitionis”, CA 17: 259–88. Mouritsen, H. (1988) Elections, Magistrates and Municipal Élite: Studies in Pompeian Epigraphy, Rome.

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Nardo, D. (1970) Il ‘Commentariolum Petitionis’: la propagand elettorale nella ‘Ars’ di Quinto Cicerone, Padova. Nicolet, C. (ed.) (1996) Les Littératures techniques dans l’antiquité romaine, Genève. Núñez González, J. M. (1999) “En torno al estilo del Commentariolum Petitionis”, Corona Spicea: In Memoriam Cristóbal Rodríguez Alonso, Oviedo: 233–42. Oakley, S. P. (1998) A Commentary on Livy, vol. 2: Books 7 and 8, Oxford. Panni, M. (2007) “Il modello dell’obligazione sociale nel Commentariolum Petitionis”, in Forme di aggregazione nel mondo Romano, eds. L. Lo Cascio and G. D. Merola: 303–312. Bari. Peter, H. (1901) Der Brief in der römischen Literatur, Leipzig. Petersson, T. (1920) Cicero: A Biography, Berkeley and Los Angleles. Pina Polo, F. (2012) “Veteres candidati: Losers in the Elections in Republican Rome”, in Vae Victis! Perdedores en el Mundo Antiguo, eds. F. Marco Simón, F. Pina Polo and J. Remesal Rodríguez: 63–82. Barcelona. von Premerstein, A. (1900) “commentarii”, RE 4.1: 726–59, Stuttgart. Rawson, E. (1985) Intellectual Life in the Late Roman Republic, Baltimore. Rawson, E. (1991) Roman Culture and Society, Oxford. Riggsby, A. (2006) Caesar in Gaul and Rome: War in Words, Austin. Rollinger, C. (2014) Amicitia sanctissime colenda: Freundschaft und soziale Netzwerke in der späten Republik, Heidelberg. Schneider, W. (1998) Vom Handeln der Römer: Kommunikation und Interaktion der politischen Führungsschicht vor Ausbruch des Bürgerkriegs im Briefweschsel mit Cicero, Hildesheim. Seager, R. (2002) Pompey the Great, 2nd ed., Malden, MA. Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1965) Cicero’s Letters to Atticus, vol. 1, Cambridge. Shackleton Bailey, D. R. (1966) Cicero’s Letters to Atticus, vol. 5, Cambridge. Staveley, E. S. (1972) Greek and Roman Voting and Elections, Ithaca. Sykutris, J. (1931) “Epistolographie”, PW Suppl. 5: 185–220, Stuttgart. Syme, R. (1958) Tacitus, Oxford. Tatum, W. J. (2003/4) “Elections in Rome”, CJ 99: 203–16. Tatum, W. J. (2007) “Alterum est tamen boni viri, alterum boni petitoris: the good man canvasses”, Phoenix 61: 109–35. Tatum, W. J. (2015a) “The Practice of Politics and the Unpredictable Dynamics of Clout in the Roman Republic”, in A Companion to Greek Democracy and the Roman Republic, ed. D. Hammer: 257–73. Malden, MA. Tatum, W. J. (2015b) “Campaign Rhetoric”, in Community and Communication: Oratory and Politics in Republican Rome, eds. C. Steel and H. van der Blom: 133–50. Oxford. Taub, L. C. and Doody, A., (eds.) (2009) Authorial Voices in Greco-Roman Technical Writing, Trier. Trapp, M. (2003) Greek and Latin Letters, Cambridge. Wallace-Hadrill, A. (1997) “Mutatio morum: the idea of a cultural revolution”, in The Roman Cultural Revolution, eds. T. Habinek and A. Schiesaro: 3–22. Cambridge. Wallace-Hadrill, A. (2008) Rome’s Cultural Revolution, Cambridge. White, P. (2010) Cicero in Letters: Epistolary Relations of the Late Republic, Oxford. Wikarjak, J. (1966) Brochure électorale de Quintus Cicéron, Wroclaw. Wilcox, A. (2012) The Gift of Correspondence in Classical Rome: Friendship in Cicero’s Ad Familiares and Seneca’s Moral Epistles, Madison. Wiseman, T. P. (1971) New Men in the Roman Senate, 139 BC-14 AD, Oxford. Yakobson, A. (1999) Elections and Electioneering in Rome: A Study in the Political System of the Late Republic, Stuttgart. Yakobson, A. (2014) “Marius Speaks to the People: ‘New Man’, Roman Nobility and Roman Political Culture”, SCI 33: 283–300.

VELLEIUS PATERCULUS, IMPERIAL IDEOLOGY AND THE OLD REPUBLIC Alexander Yakobson ‘REBUKE OF LOST CAUSES’? The reputation of Velleius Paterculus as an historian has mostly been rather unflattering. He is routinely spoken of as Tiberius’ eulogist and panegyrist, an ‘obsequious royalist’1 whose writings should be regarded as official propaganda rather than genuine history. Ronald Syme has been particularly scathing. He devoted a whole paper to the ‘Mendacity in Velleius’.2 Elsewhere, he writes that Velleius composed ‘a history of Rome fulsome in praise for the government and bitter in rebuke of lost causes and political scapegoats.’3 ‘His loyal fervour insists everywhere on rendering praise where praise is safe and profitable, with manifold convolutions of deceit and flattery’.4 J. Woodman argues, in Velleius’ defence, that there was a tradition of patriotic and chauvinistic historiography [in Rome going back to the days of the Republic]; [i]t was therefore only natural that the Roman historian’s traditional enthusiasm for the res publica should be transferred to the princeps himself, [a]nd the most effective method of communicating such enthusiasm was by panegyric.

He urges various legitimate reasons that may have led Velleius to adopt a markedly more positive attitude towards Tiberius than Tacitus did. These include the affection he ‘naturally developed’ while serving under Tiberius’ command, which he ‘retained in later years’, as well as the likelihood that Tacitus’ account of Tiberius’ reign, from the beginning, was coloured by his knowledge of the second half of that reign and the ‘apparent excesses of some later emperors’.5 Without dismissing any of these considerations, the main point in this context is, surely, that Velleius, writing history under Tiberius, could simply not have afforded to refer to Tiberius – or to his deified father – except as a panegyrist. This holds true regardless of his true feelings about Tiberius and his reign. While there seems to be no reason to doubt that his admiration for Tiberius as a victorious gen1

2 3 4 5

A ‘typical example’ of how Velleius is regarded, according to Woodman1977: 51. Cf. ‘the subservient Velleius (Shotter 1989: 164); ‘marred by an overbearing urge to please the Emperor Tiberius, and a vehicle of the imperial propaganda (Gowing 2007: 411); ‘this work, so often criticized as base adulation of those in power’ Bispham 2011: 44; ‘imperial propaganda’ – Bloomer 2011: 93; ‘[Tiberius’] panegyrist Velleius’ – Gruen 1996: 196. Syme 1978: 45–63. Syme 1939: 384. Syme 1958: 367. Woodman1977: 51–53.

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eral under Augustus, and his fundamental loyalty to the regime, were genuine, loyalty to emperor and to the regime was, for an historian who published his work at that time, a matter of safety, whatever his inner convictions. The case of Cremutius Cordus had recently demonstrated unambiguously the political sensitivity of historical writing in that period. In this respect, comparisons with Tacitus, who wrote of the Julio-Claudians and their excesses under the ‘enlightened emperors’, or with Livy, who had written in more liberal times under Augustus (more on this shortly), are wholly out of place.6 However, there is in fact one crucially important ‘lost cause’ which does not, surprisingly, receive a ‘bitter rebuke’ from Velleius Paterculus – the cause of the Republic, the greatest lost cause of them all. It receives a remarkably lenient, and sometimes actually sympathetic, treatment from the imperial historian. This applies not merely of those who fought against Caesar, but, more significantly, to those who fought for the Republican cause – and hence, inter alia, against Augustus – following Caesar’s assassination. To a considerable extent, this applies even to Caesar’s assassins themselves – above all to Brutus. While Velleius denounces the assassins’ deed, what he has to say about Brutus is, as we shall see, not at all what one would naturally expect from an imperial propagandist and Tiberian panegyrist. Beyond the question of Velleius’ personal views, and of his qualities as an historian, the way he deals with these sensitive issues may perhaps shed light on the attitudes prevalent, at that time, among an important section of Roman society to which he belonged. Velleius’ account demonstrates the continued relevance of the ‘old Republic’, and of the drama of its demise, to the educated public opinion in the 30s CE, as well as the complicated interaction between perceptions of the Republican past and people’s attitudes to current political realities. THE PERSPECTIVE OF 30 CE One should bear in mind how things looked in this respect in 30 CE – the year when M. Vinicius, to whom Velleius’ work is dedicated, was consul, and the presumed year of its publication. The downfall in 25 CE of Cremutius Cordus, driven to suicide following his maiestas prosecution on the unprecedented (as Tacitus stresses – Ann. 4.34) charge of having praised Brutus and Cassius in his history, had clearly demonstrated the limits of the regime’s tolerance to ‘unorthodox’ history under Tiberius. According to Suetonius and Dio, the history had been published under Augustus. Dio writes that it was read by him (57.24.3); Suetonius relates that it was read in public in his presence and earned praise (quamvis probarentur ante aliquot 6

Cf. Pelling 2011: 172: ‘a positive view of Tiberius … in the later twenties was … compulsory … Would – could – Tacitus have written any differently if he had been writing around 30 [CE]?’ He goes on to point out that Tacitus has nothing but praise for ‘the glories of the present age at the beginning of Agricola and Histories’. Tacitus’ sense of relief and gratitude under Nerva and Trajan, after the trauma of Domitian’s tyranny, may well have been genuine, but he could hardly have afforded to give expression to a different view – even under the ‘enlightened emperors’.

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annos etiam Augusto audiente recitata – Tib. 61.3). This seems to imply that the work was praised by Augustus himself. A doubt arises: one would have expected any praise, or even tolerance, offered to this history by Augustus, to be mentioned in Cordus’ defence speech, as related by Tacitus. At any rate, the content of that history became fatal to the author under Tiberius.7 In his speech, the accused indeed claims that Livy, in his history, mentions Brutus and Cassius honourably, as distinguished men, rather than calling them brigands and parricides, as is the fashion nowadays (nusquam latrones et parricidas, quae nunc vocabula imponuntur, saepe ut insignis viros nominat); so did Asinius Pollio and Mesala Corvinus – and all three were on good terms with the first princeps. This implies (assuming that quae nunc vocabula imponuntur refers to more than just the prosecutors’ arguments in the case at hand) that between Tiberius’ accession in 14 and the trial in 25 CE, a sort of norm had emerged under which people were expected to denounce Caesar’s assassins in bitter terms – something that was not considered obligatory under Augustus.8 It is possible that, contrary to the impression that his speech seeks to create, Cremutius Cordus had treated that sensitive topic in a way that was more problematic, from the imperial regime’s viewpoint, than the authorities he cites. Calling Cassius ‘the last of the Romans’9 and assailing the people and the senate (a charge mentioned by Dio) seems to indicate that the historian not merely praised the ‘liberators’ for their personal virtues, but expressed sympathy for their political cause.10 Unsurprisingly, there are indications that recent history was a sensitive issue under Augustus too, despite his relative tolerance.11 Tacitus, indeed, implies that a change for the worse took place already in Augustus’ later years, though he does not speak of actual persecution: ‘intellects of distinction were not lacking to tell the tale of the Augustan age, until the rising tide of adulation deterred them’.12 Under Tiberius, 7

8 9 10 11

12

The fact that, according to Seneca, other motives (i. e. personal resentment on the part of Sejanus) were involved in the affair (Marc. 1.2; 22.4), would not weaken the message to contemporaries that it conveyed, on the dangers of ‘subversive’ historical writing. Cf. Bloomer 1992: 147, note 2. Furneaux and Koestermann ad loc. understand the phrase in this way, referring to the writings of Valerius Maximus who indeed calls Caesar’s assassins ‘parricides’: Furneaux 1883: 530; Koestermann 1965: 120; cf. note 44 below. Quoting Brutus – Plut. Brut. 44.1; App. B Civ. 4.114. Quint. Inst. 10.1.104 strengthens this impression. Cf. Suet. Aug. 51–56; Sen. Rhet. Controv. 2.4.13; Sen. Ben. 3.27.1–3; Ira 3.23.4–8. See Syme 1958: 140–141 on the sensitivities involved in writing the history of civil wars under Augustus, and the emperor’s relative tolerance. See Wilkinson 2012: 39–41 on Augustus’ tolerance ‘towards published and spoken criticism’, including critical history. Raaflaub and Samons 1990: 417–454 present a similar picture, with some qualifications. Seneca the Elder relates the case of Titus Labienus, a notoriously outspoken and truculent person known for his Republican (‘Pompeian’) sympathies, who once chose not to read aloud some parts of his history (presumably dealing with sensitive matters) saying that would be read after his death (Controv.10 praef.4–5; 8). His writings were eventually burned by a decree of the senate. It is natural to assume that political censorship was at least part of the motivation, though Raaflaub and Samons note (441) that what is stressed by Seneca is that Labienus’ style had earned him many personal enemies. Tac. Ann. 1.1. Suet. Claud. 41.2 may possibly be relevant.

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official policy on the limits of the acceptable in relating the politically sensitive past took a much more sinister turn, in line with the generally more repressive character of the regime. It is against this background that one should assess what Velleius Paterculus writes on these topics. Any discussion of what he has to say on matters that were, at least potentially, politically sensitive must be based on an awareness of the political constraints under which he laboured. In such a situation, speaking a half-truth on a sensitive subject may well be regarded as an act of courage on the part of an historian, rather than a display of cowardice. On the other hand, we cannot assume that whatever Velleius has to say in favour of the regime and of Tiberius personally was necessarily dictated by fear and did not reflect his true opinions. The true opinions of someone who writes history under such conditions must always, in the final analysis, remain a matter of conjecture. There seems to be no reason not to conjecture that Velleius was indeed sincerely loyal to the imperial regime, and a sincere admirer of Tiberius. But it is when he says things that were not obviously welcome to the regime that the views he expresses are most reliably his own – even when he expresses them in a cautious and qualified way. And it is precisely by assuming that he was, fundamentally, a sincere loyalist that we can hope to learn from what he says on politically sensitive matters something important on the worldview that such a person – and, presumably, people of a similar social and cultural background, at that stage of Roman history – might hold. MELIOR CAUSA The outbreak of the civil war in 49 CE is described by Velleius in the following way: In the consulship Lentulus and Marcellus … the civil war burst into flame. The one leader seemed to have the better cause, the other the stronger; on the one side was the appearance, on the other the reality of power; Pompey was armed with the authority of the senate, Caesar with the devotion of the soldiers. The consuls and the senate conferred the supreme authority not on Pompey but on his cause (Alterius ducis causa melior videbatur, alterius erat firmior: hic omnia speciosa, illic valentia: Pompeium senatus auctoritas, Caesarem militum armavit fiducia. Consules senatusque causae non Pompeio summam imperii detulerunt). No effort was omitted by Caesar that could be tried in the interest of peace, but no offer of his was accepted by the Pompeians. Of the two consuls, one showed more bitterness than was fair, the other, Lentulus, could not save himself from ruin without bringing ruin upon the republic, while Marcus Cato insisted that one should die rather than allow the republic to accept conditions of any kind from a citizen. The stern Roman of the old-fashioned type would praise the cause of Pompey, the politic would follow the lead of Caesar, realizing that while there was on the one side greater prestige, the other was the more formidable. (Vir antiquus et gravis Pompei partes laudaret magis, prudens sequeretur Caesaris, et illa gloriosiora, haec terribiliora duceret).13

13

2.49.1. English translations will mostly follow the Loeb edition. Earlier, Velleius had given an ‘optimate’ account of the establishment of the ‘second triumvirate’ and its baleful consequences; Caesar and his partners are described as striving for potentia – 2. 44.

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According to Pelling, ‘Velleius [in this passage] almost but not quite indicates that Pompey’s causa was the better one’. I would argue that the passage, taken as a whole, indicates that Pompey’s causa was indeed, in Velleius’ view, the better one in terms of traditional Roman political morality, though he does not say so explicitly. Pelling draws attention to the words ‘one general’s cause seemed the better’. In his view, ‘the reservation will be more strongly felt because of the striking ‘on the side of Pompey – that is, so it was thought at the time, (ut tunc habebatur), on the side of the republic …’ that had just preceded (48.4)’.14 It is true that the cause of Pompey only ‘seemed’ (videbatur) better, while that of Caesar ‘was’ stronger (which, of course, follows inevitably from the outcome of the war). But ‘videbatur’ here hardly indicates a strong reservation; rather, taking the whole context of the passage, it seems to indicate, as it often does in Latin, a strong positive presumption. The cause that ‘seemed’ better is said to have had the authority of the senate on its side; on the side of Caesar what is mentioned is the devotion of the soldiers. The populus Romanus is not adduced in order to counter-balance the authority of the senate, as it might have been, in the spirit of Caesar’s own justification for the war – though in fact Caesar, unlike Velleius, presented himself as confronting not of the senate as a whole, but the dominant pauci who had imposed their will on the senate illegitimately.15 The violation of the tribunes’ rights and their inviolability by the other side, which provided Caesar with his casus belli in terms of public law and legitimacy, is wholly absent from Velleius’ narrative. When soldiers, rather than the people of Rome (or their tribunes) are described as the source of ‘authority’ for someone fighting against the authority of the senate, this is as good as saying that what confronted the legitimate public authority in this case was simply physical force – though saying so explicitly may well have been problematic for an historian writing under Tiberius. Velleius then repeats that the senate and the consuls gave legitimacy to Pompey’s cause. Naturally, the Pompeian camp included unsavoury personalities, like one of the consuls, and this fact is duly noted. On the other hand (autem), this cause was supported by Cato – the very embodiment of Roman virtue.16 It is true that Cato’s stance is formulated in a way that denotes unrealistic intransigence. But a cause that enjoying Cato’s support was presumably righteous, even if unrealistic. And everybody knew that it was, by definition, wrong, and criminal, for a private citizen to try to impose conditions on the republic – even if the conditions were not in themselves unreasonable, and even if it would have been more prudent not to fight over the issue. Then, the judgement of ‘vir antiquus et gravis’. As Pelling concedes, ‘the notion that a ‘traditional and weighty man’ would follow Pompey then again almost but not quite conveys a clear authorial signal’.17 This is perhaps strengthened by the fact that the ultimate ‘vir antiquus et gravis’ – Cato – has just 14 15 16 17

Pelling 2011: 174, note 37. According to Woodman 1983: 83, Velleius’ language ‘echoes that of the period, esp. Cael. ap. Cic. Fam. 8.14 (97), 3’. Of course, Caelius freely acknowledges that the Pompeians had a better cause. Caes. B Civ. 1.1–6; esp. 1 and 3. Thus Vell. Pat. 2.35.1–3. Pelling 2011: 174 note 37. See also Vell. Pat. 2.5.2 on the dignatio of Pompey’s party.

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been mentioned. Finally, presenting one side as ‘gloriosior’ and another as ‘terribilior’ looks, again, like another way of affirming that the Pompeians had ‘Republican’ legitimacy on their side, while Caesar’s side was the stronger one (as obviously it was). Given all that, Velleius’ earlier remark that Pompey’s side was ‘thought then (ut tunc habebatur) to be the side of the republic’ strengthens rather than weakens the impression that Pompey’s cause was the better one. This is the view that a ‘vir antiquus et gravis’ would presumably have espoused – and it implies no less than that Caesar was fighting against the republic, as traditionally understood. The reader might think that, with hindsight, Caesar’s victory in the civil war was still for the benefit of the state, and (or) that it was at any rate inevitable, and resistance to him futile from the outset. But the reader is certainly invited by Velleius not merely to honour the illustrious Romans who fought for the other side (something which would have been quite uncontroversial, as regards Pompey and his followers) but to sympathise with the political cause for which they were fighting. This is anything but a ‘bitter rebuke’ of a ‘lost cause’, as Syme would have it. It is true that Velleius also stresses that Caesar spared no effort to avoid the war, while the other side rejected his proposals (though in 2.48 the historian had presented a picture that is rather more complicated).18 This, indeed, puts Caesar in a favourable light in this respect. Velleius may well have felt that making this (not obviously unreasonable) point was the ‘politically correct’ thing for him to do. But in traditional Roman terms, this could not outweigh the fact that it is the cause of Caesar’s enemies that is described as that of the republic from the standpoint of a ‘vir antiquus et gravis’. According to Woodman, the latter remark illustrates the dilemma which faced men of Velleius’ temperament in the early empire. By instinct conservative and traditional … they tended naturally to sympathize with Pompey, the senate’s man; yet they lived under a government made possible by Pompey’s victorious opponent and the latter’s adopted son. The dilemma was resolved, as in Velleius’ case, by glorifying Pompey himself, ‘the soldier-citizen’ whose death was a tragedy, but by criticizing the Pompeiani in general and his son Sextus in particular.19

But while Velleius’ history certainly (and uncontroversially) shows sympathy and appreciation for ‘Pompey himself’, this is not what is conveyed by the remark on ‘vir antiquus et gravis’, and by the whole passage that includes it. Rather, they reflect positively on Pompey’s causa in the civil war against Caesar.

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In this passage, Velleius puts the blame for the outbreak of the war mainly on Curio, the duplicitous (and possibly corrupt – 4) tribune who ‘in his heart was for Caesar’ (4). This man, ‘more than anyone else, applied the flaming torch which kindled the civil war’ (3);’when peace was on the point of being concluded’ on fair terms providing for mutual disarmament ‘proposed by Caesar and accepted by Pompey without protest, it was in the end broken and shattered by Curio’ despite Cicero’s best efforts (5). See on this Woodman 1983: 80–81. Here, too, Caesar is portrayed as anxious to avoid the war, and Velleius holds that ‘all fair-minded men’ favoured the mutual disarmament (1), but Pompey, though initially unwilling (1) is described as eventually prepared to accept the compromise. Woodman 1983: 85.

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It might be argued that this finding is not, in itself, very dramatic. It is well known that under Augustus, honouring Pompey and others who fought with him against Caesar (including Cato, Caesar’s bitter enemy) was, so far from being considered politically problematic, rather fashionable. This reflected the attitude of the educated higher classes, with the canonical stature achieved by Cato as representing Roman virtue, and by Cicero mainly because of his contribution to Roman culture. This tendency was enhanced by Augustus’ consistent policy of giving the great Romans of the past (with Pompey widely recognized as one of them) their due. Moreover, as far as political sensitivities were concerned, this state of things followed not only from Augustus’ (relative) tolerance, but from the political posture he adopted in public. It is not merely that Augustus did not bear a grudge against Livy for being a ‘Pompeian’ – a princeps that presented itself as a ‘restorer of the Republic’ could hardly be an ‘anti-Pompeian’ himself.20 Moreover, it seems that ‘the son of the divine Julius’, to whom his connection with Caesar was vital during the early stages of his career, tended, as Augustus the princeps, to distance himself to some extent from Caesar the dictator.21 What was the situation, in this respect, during the reign of the second princeps? Valerius Maximus, writing under Tiberius and in a hardened political atmosphere, still displays great respect for Pompey, has the highest praise for Cato as the paragon of virtue, greatly admires Cicero and bemoans his death. But the picture of these men, however positive on the personal level, is mostly divorced from political content and context, and Valerius certainly nowhere displays a political preference for their causa in the civil war.22 Indeed, the opposite seems to be the case when Valerius speaks of ‘the civil war whereby Cn. Pompeius had torn himself from amity with Caesar in a policy disastrous to him and not advantageous to the republic’ (1.8.10).23 Velleius’ treatment of the civil war that started in 49 BCE seems markedly more ‘Pompeian’ than that of Valerius Maximus; he certainly does not write, in referring to this conflict, as a ‘Caesarian propagandist’.24 But what is more significant is the way he treats later, and more politically sensitive, topics. 20

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Cf. Wilkinson 2012: 41. This assumes that Augustus indeed portrayed himself as having ‘restored the Republic’ in the sense of the traditional form of government – ‘prisca illa et antiqua rei publicae forma revocata’, in Velleius’ words (2.89.3). This point is controversial, but cannot be argued here. If it is not accepted, then tolerance towards different views should suffice as an explanation. See Syme 1939: 317–318; Ramage 1985. Valerius’ account of Cato’s suicide in 3.2.14 is admiring but apolitical – Cato is said to have given his life for dignitas – not for libertas. In 6.2.5 libertas is indeed said to have been inseparable from Cato – but the context is Cato’s readiness to offend Pompey in order to uphold the law. See Bloomer 1992: 187–191 on Valerius’ treatment of Cato as a canonical and apolitical representation of Roman virtus; 191–204 – Cicero similarly depoliticized, while glorified, by Valerius. Similarly, 1.6.12 – Jupiter warning Pompey not to rush into the war with Caesar. Bloomer 2011: 113. Bloomer speaks here of Velleius ‘displacing Pompey in favour of Caesar’ as regards his distinction as a military commander (cf. Ibid 107–108). Velleius, indeed, portrays Caesar as an even greater man, in this respect, than Pompey – but not as one who fought for a better cause in the civil war.

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CAESAR THE DICTATOR AND HIS ASSASSINS First, the political character of Caesar’s rule. This was, surely, a delicate subject. How could Caesar’s rule be described, with any degree of veracity, without admitting that he was an autocrat – a tyrant, in fact, in traditional (and never openly discarded, up to that point) Roman terms? Caesar’s assassination, naturally, had to be strongly condemned. But how could it be prevented from appearing as a tyrannicide in the readers’ eyes, considering that the traditional notions of res publica and libertas still appear, in Velleius’ narrative, as the normative ones? The official ideology of the regime, as far as we can reconstruct it, required, at that point in time, a historical narrative stressing the continuity between the ‘old’ republic and the ‘restored’ one under Augustus, as well as between the principate of Augustus and that of Tiberius.25 At any rate, a ‘loyalist’ narrative could not admit a breach of this continuity, at any point – either on the part of Augustus or that of Tiberius.26 Things would change with time. Seneca the Younger could write that Brutus, despite his personal virtues, made a grave error when he decided to assassinate Caesar: he should have known as a Stoic that the best form of government is the rule of a just king, and should have understood, realistically, that liberty and the prisca forma civitatis were no longer possible in the corrupt Roman society of his time (Ben. 2.20). This line of argument against the assassination of Caesar required an open acknowledgement, unproblematic by Seneca’s time,27 that the principate was a monarchy and the old republic was indeed a thing of the past. But this rhetorical option was not yet open to Velleius. At the time he was writing, the values of the traditional res publica, among which the categorical rejection of autocratic rule always played a crucial role, had not been openly repudiated, or proclaimed obsolete, at any point. This holds true despite the incessant glorification of the princeps (now, the second one in a row) that was utterly inconsistent with the old norms, and had created, de facto, a very different standard as regards the leadership of the state. This norm of acknowledged and celebrated supremacy of the princeps was at the heart of official and loyalist discourse – but it had to be somehow made compatible with an historical narrative that glorified the old republic, with its values, and refused to admit that it had been done way with by the Caesars. Autocracy can afford inconsistencies in its official version and narrative28 – but how could one write a (passably) honest history of this period under such constraints? Velleius’ solution to this dilemma is, no doubt, deeply unsatisfactory, especially if one expects a Tacitean forthrightness from an historian writing under Tiberius. 25

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This is not affected by the suggestion of Ramage that the ‘panegyric’ of Tiberius in 2.126.2–3, with a list of improvements introduced by the second princeps, implies ‘mild criticism’ of Augustus – a method used ’routinely to separate the person being eulogized from a predecessor, in order to portray him as successful in his own right” – Ramage 1982: 266–267. ‘Tiberius’ rule, like Augustus’, depended on the pretense of continuity with the republican past’ – Bloomer 1992: 148 note 2. Whether or not this pretense was in reality consistently maintained, it could not be openly disavowed by an historian writing under Tiberius. Cf. Marincola 2011: 135: no ‘break between Republic and Empire’ in Velleius; Gowing 2007. Cf. Gowing 2005: 74. See on this Cotton and Yakobson 2002: 203–209.

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The whole issue is dodged – no doubt, deliberately. Caesar’s position in the Roman state, following his victory in the civil war, is nowhere defined or described in any detail; hence, there is no need to refer to it as either compatible or incompatible with Republican norms. Caesar is praised for his clemency to defeated enemies; the glory of his five triumphs is related; Velleius points out that this great man, despite his clemency, enjoyed quiet while in power (principalis quies) for only 5 months (2.56.1–3); but the nature of this power is not explained. The term ‘dictator’ does not appear at all. However, the way Velleius relates the famous episode of the crown offered to Caesar by Marcus Antonius looks very much like an indirect confirmation of the gravest charge raised against Caesar – that he aspired to actual kingship: Returning to the city in October, [Caesar] he was slain on the ides of March. Brutus and Cassius were the leaders of the conspiracy … There were also in the plot … some of the most intimate of all his friends, who owed their elevation to the success of his party, namely Decimus Brutus, Gaius Trebonius, and others of illustrious name. Marcus Antonius, his colleague in the consulship, ever ready for acts of daring, had brought great odium upon Caesar by placing a royal crown upon his head as he sat on the rostra at the Lupercalia. Caesar put the crown from him in such a way that he did not seem to be displeased (ita repulsum erat ut non offensus videretur).29

The concluding remark could easily have been dispensed with: it would have been enough to mention Antonius’ ‘daring’ in offering the crown, and the indisputable fact that Caesar rejected it. The invidia resulting from the incident could easily then have been blamed solely on Marcus Antonius, a convenient scapegoat.30 If, however, Caesar is said to have looked not displeased with Antonius’ heinous (by Republican standards) deed, the invidia does not in fact seem wholly unjustified under these standards. Though Velleius does not tackle the question of Caesar’s position in the state directly, he refers to it, en passant, once as a principatus (2.57.1)31, and on another occasion using a stronger and more problematic term – dominatio. He relates ‘an untimely and intemperate display of liberty’ on the part of Marullus Epidius and Flavus Caesetius, tribunes of the plebs: ‘in charging [Caesar] with the desire for the kingship, [they] came near feeling the force of his dominance (dum arguunt in eo regni voluntatem, paene vim dominationis expertos).’ Vis dominationis is a strong term indeed. The reader is not really induced to believe that the tribunes’ charge of regni voluntas (given at least some credence by Velleius himself, as we have just seen) was substantively wrong. At least arguably, the libertas displayed by them was ‘untimely and intemperate’ only because the Roman state did in fact have a dominus. Of course, Caesar was a clement master, as masters go (something that not even his assassins and their supporters disputed), and his clementia towards the tribunes on this occasion is duly noted and praised by Velleius (2.68.4–5). The historian relates (2.58.1–2) that Brutus had opposed Cassius’ intention to kill Marcus Antonius as well as Caesar, ‘insisting that citizens ought not to seek 29 30 31

Vell. 2. 56.3–4.(ita … offensus Rhenamus; id … offensum AP) Nicolaus of Damascus, in a detailed account of this scene that probably draws on Augustus’ autobiography, gives no indication that Caesar’s rejection of the crown was insincere – Life of Augustus, 21. Cf. 2.56.3 (principalis quies).

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the blood of any but the tyrant – for to call Caesar thus placed his deed in a better light (ita enim appellari Caesarem facto eius expediebat). Naturally, the term ‘tyrant’, applied to Caesar in justification of his assassination, could not be mentioned without the historian distancing himself from it, as he duly does. But the charge of tyranny is not refuted, or even merely rejected, and the reader is given no reason to reject it. In fact, the reader might well feel that it was not unreasonable to regard as a tyrant someone who practiced a dominatio and seemed not unwilling to accept a royal crown (and may, therefore, have rejected it only because of the negative reaction of the crowd). The passage does nothing to dispel the main charge against Caesar. And it certainly portrays Brutus favourably, as unwilling to shed Roman blood without extreme necessity. In this he is made to look similar to Caesar – except that in his case this attitude is presented as a civic virtue and not an autocrat’s kindness. Likewise, in 2.69.6, the Caesarian virtue of clementia (with the express term used) is attributed to Brutus, describing his conduct during the civil war that followed Caesar’s assassination. It is in his attitude to Brutus that Velleius most clearly fails to measure up to the standards of a proper “Caesarian propagandist”. Of course, Brutus’ deed – the assassination of Caesar – is strongly condemned. We may assume that an historian writing under Tiberius (and especially after the trial of Cremutius Cordus) could simply not afford not to condemn it. Velleius condemns it on the grounds of personal ingratitude to Caesar, in view of the clementia he has shown to Brutus (2.52.5). This is the only clear answer provided by Velleius to the unspoken question which he nowhere addresses directly: why, actually, was this deed wrong – since all knew that it was justified by its perpetrators as a tyrannicide. Since Caesar’s clementia was, as Velleius stresses, his general policy, and applied, as he notes, to many other conspirators as well, the others, too, were guilty of ingratitude (2.55.1). Condemning Caesar’ assassins for personal ingratitude and treachery to their benefactor was the best that Velleius could do, given that they definitely had to be condemned. This, indeed, was a grave charge, in traditional Roman terms; but it was not enough to decide the case against them, within the normative framework accepted in the historian’s narrative. Everybody knew that, under the traditional norms, one’s duty to the Republic was above any personal consideration or debt of gratitude;32 that tyrannicide was a highly praiseworthy patriotic deed; that an autocratic ruler was considered a tyrant whether he was cruel or merciful; and that Caesar had as a matter of fact been, as Velleius Paterculus’ narrative makes no attempt to deny or conceal, an autocratic ruler. 32

Seager 2011: 304 holds that ‘Velleius is savagely hostile to the conspirators, but his disapproval is couched in personal, not constitutional terms; their ingratitude is his constant theme’. Similarly, Rawson 1986: 106. In fact, despite his strong condemnation of their deed, Velleius’ attitude to Brutus is far from “savage hostility”, and even as regards Cassius this is not unambiguously the case (see below). He does show great hostility to Decimus Brutus: his ingratitude and treachery, coming from ‘the foremost of Caesar’s friends’, are particularly emphasized, and his inglorious death gives occasion for gloating (2.64.1–2; cf. 69.1 on Gaius Trebonius). Nothing similar accompanies Velleius’ account of Brutus and Cassius’ death. He describes them as meeting their end courageously (2.70.1–5), and proceeds to his summary of Brutus’ life (see below).

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In traditional Republican terms, the assassination of Caesar could not, in light of what Velleius relates, be convincingly condemned – although, of course, he does condemn it. This is not to say that Velleius himself, or his readers, had no choice but to accept that the ‘liberators’ had done the right thing. No doubt, many of Velleius’ readers felt that Caesar’s assassination was, however justified in terms of traditional political morality, a tragic error. They may well have felt that the Republic was already beyond redemption at that point (as Seneca, unlike Velleius, could afford to admit), that an attempt to bring it back was always bound to lead only to disastrous civil wars, and that a merciful ruler and a great man like Caesar was the best thing the Roman state could hope for at the time. They may also have thought that the imperial regime signified a change for the better, after the turbulent and corrupt late Republic and the civil wars. It seems quite likely that this was, fundamentally, Velleius’ own attitude.33 If so, he must have thought that Brutus and his friends had been misguided, on the wrong side of history. But his account also implies that they – or at least Brutus, who was regarded as representing the idealistic side of the conspiracy34 – had acted out of noble motives: for the liberty of the Republic. Velleius does not say so, but this seems to be the most natural conclusion, for the reader, from what he says. This reconstruction of Velleius’ attitude towards the ‘liberators’ is of course only a conjecture compatible with his narrative. At all events, this narrative is far from what one would have expected from a ‘Caesarian propagandist’ in some simplistic sense, at a time when, at least according to what Tacitus puts into Cremutius Cordus’ mouth, people were expected to describe Caesar’s assassins as brigands and parricides. In 2.52.5 Velleius first refers to the future assassination as an act of ingratitude on Brutus’ part. Relating to Caesar’s orders to spare Pompey’s defeated men at Pharsalus (with Brutus, as it was said, specifically mentioned in this context35), Velleius exclaims: ‘Ye immortal gods! What a reward did this merciful man afterwards receive for his kindness to Brutus’. This condemnation of Brutus is much more successful in putting Caesar in a favourable light, for his clementia, than in undermining what everybody knew was Brutus’ own justification for his deed. Then, in speaking of the conspiracy, Velleius says that Caesar ‘had failed to win [Brutus] by the promise of the consulship, and had offended [Cassius] by the postponement of his candidacy’ (2.56.3). This implies that Cassius’ motives were at least partly personal – but does not impugn Brutus’ motives. Finally, the remarkably lenient summary of Brutus’ life offered by Velleius. While condemning the deed (assassination), it sounds, overall, more like an encomium of sorts than like a genuine condemnation of the man: This was the end reserved by fortune for the party of Marcus Brutus. He was in his thirtyseventh year, and had kept his soul free from corruption until that day which, through the rashness of a single act (unius temeritate acti) bereft him, together with his life, of all his virtuous qualities. Cassius was as much the better general as Brutus the better man. Of the two, one would rather have Brutus as a friend, but would fear Cassius more as an enemy. The one 33 34 35

Cf. Bloomer 2011: 94. Plut. Brut. 1.4, see also note 37 below and text. Plut. Brut. 5.2.

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The comparison with Cassius, traditionally considered less virtuous than Brutus,37 serves mainly to provide an occasion for complimenting Brutus and stressing his personal and civic virtues.38 These are said to have been extinguished by one act of rashness – surely a remarkably mild way to refer to a ‘parricide’ – on the the Ides of March 44 BCE; but the clear impression given by the passage is that they in fact characterized Brutus throughout his life, till the end. Though the passage clearly favours Brutus over Cassius, it should be noted that in other passages, Cassius is presented in a way that is less hostile than what might have been expected. In 2.46.4 he is given credit for having saved the remnants of the Roman army, and successfully defending Syria against the Parthians, following Crassus’ disastrous defeat at Charrae in 53 BCE. Velleius adds that Cassius would later become ‘the perpetrator of a most atrocious crime (atrocissimi mox facinoris auctor), using a markedly harsher language than when he speaks of Brutus in the ‘encomium’; if Velleius felt that a genuinely harsh condemnation of the deed itself could not be dispensed with in his work, it is possible that he preferred it to apply to Cassius rather than to Brutus But in his short and rapid, as he often stresses, overview of Roman history, it would have been quite easy for Velleius to pass over in silence, had he so wished, the whole story which is so highly creditable to the ‘parricide’; another, less complimentary occasion could have been found to denounce Cassius’ facinus. Moreover, a tradition hostile to Cassius in this matter, claiming that he invented the Parthian attack in order to cover up his rapacity, existed (Cic. Fam. 8.10.2) but is not used by Velleius. In 2.69.6 Velleius says that [in Macedonia] Cassius ‘outdid even Brutus in clemency, contrary to his nature’. The remark on Cassius’ natura is of course hostile – but on the other hand, was it at all necessary to mention Cassius’ clemency? Moreover, it is mentioned in a way that serves to emphasize the fact that clementia was Brutus’ usual practice – in Macedonia (after his virtues had allegedly been extinguished) and generally. This sentence is the only trace, in Velleius’ narrative, of the hostile tradition that charged the ‘Liberators’, and especially Cassius, with cruelty and rapacity in their conduct of the war.39 It has been suggested that the ‘fashion’ of calling the assassins latrones (alongside the ‘parricidae’) related specifically to Brutus and Cassius having been ‘notoriously brutal, e. g. on Rhodes and in Lycia in 42 B. C.’40 A good Caesarian propagandist might have been expected to 36 37 38 39 40

Vell. Pat. 2. 72.1–2. Cf. Shotter 1989: 164 (commenting on this passage): ‘It is worth noting that even the subservient Velleius is not wholly damning, though he is careful to condemn their behaviour from 44 B. C.’ On the later point, see some doubts below. Rawson 1986. Although in this passage Cassius is described as a better general, elsewhere Velleius finds an occasion to praise Brutus highly in that capacity too – ‘cuilibet ducum praeferendus’. See on this Rawson 1986: 106, note 26: ‘curiously favourable to Brutus’. Rawson 1986: 105, cf. Val. Max. 1.5.8. Martin and Woodman 1989: 180.

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subscribe to this tradition. But Velleius’ remark on Cassius’ inclement nature – in itself historically well-founded, for all we know – looks more like a lip service paid to this tradition (perhaps the ‘politically correct’ thing for a historian writing under Tiberius to do), than like genuinely subscribing to it; and the phrase taken as a whole undermines this view rather than supports it. Velleius’ summary in 2. 72.1–2 may be compared with what is said by the other author writing under Tiberius,41 whose judgement on Brutus’ life and character, in a similar context, is available to us: M. Brutus, who murdered his own virtues before becoming the parricide of the father of his country (suarum prius virtutum quam patriae parentis parricida) – for by a single act he hurled them into the abyss and drenched all memory of his name with inexpiable detestation – when he was going into his last battle, was told by someone that it should not be hazarded. ‘I go into the battle with confidence’ Brutus said. ‘Today either all will be well or I shall not be caring’.42

Valerius Maximus, too, is influenced by the tradition that regarded Brutus as a man of virtus. Though ‘murdered’ by his unforgivable crime, this virtus in fact finds expression in the saying quoted, which appears under the heading of ‘impressive (graviter) saying and doings’. But Valerius’ condemnation of Brutus and his deed is much harsher than that of Velleius. Brutus is not called (or portrayed as) a latro, but he is definitely a parricida – here and (together with his co-conspirators) elsewhere, branded as such repeatedly and with great emphasis. ‘Suetonius reveals that, by vote of the senate, the Ides of March was parricidium (Divus Julius, 88). The designation ‘parricide’ was thus part of the official (Augustan) version of the events’.43 It is regularly applied by Valerius,44 but is not mentioned by Velleius. Writing under Augustus, Ovid speaks of ‘the impious hand [that] raged to blot out the Roman name with the blood of Caesar’ (Met. 1.200–201). Velleius, writing under Tiberius and after Cremutius Cordus’ downfall, employs no such language.45 A carefully planned assassination of a ‘father of his country’ by a group of conspirators is either, indeed, a ‘parricide’ of sorts, or, logically, a tyrannicide. It is in any case hardly an act of ‘rashness’, temeritas, as Velleius would have it. It seems that Velleius was looking here for the mildest possible way to phrase the inevitable condemnation of the deed. The reader may well get the impression that the deed was justified in terms of Rome’s traditional political morality. In retrospect, the deed may have appeared misguided and tragic: new realities had made this morality 41 42 43 44 45

The writings of Seneca the Elder contain much that might be problematic from a pro-imperial standpoint, but there is no certainty that they were published under Tiberius and not later. This topic requires further elaboration, and I hope to return to it elsewhere. Val. Max. 6.4.5. Bloomer 1992: 208, note 31. Val. Max. 1.5.7; 1.7.2; 1.8.8 (‘C. Cassius, never to be named without prefix of public parricide’); 3.1.3; 4.5.6; 6.8.4. Lobur 2011: 214–215 finds it ‘curious that Velleius could show this type of appreciation for republican anti-Caesarians [a few years after the fall of Cremutius Cordus]. His works were burnt, yet Velleius has the temerity to say that Brutus’ suicide was rash [2.87.3], and that he preserved his virtue to the end, and that, because of his moral virtues, he was more comparable to Octavian than Cassius was’. Cf. Shotter 1989: 164: ‘even the subservient Paterculus is not wholly damning’ in his treatment of Brutus and Cassius in this passage.

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obsolete – though they did not allow it to be openly discarded. But this did not make the motives of those who had tried to uphold it in 44 BCE any less honourable. The concluding remark of Velleius’ summary, to the effect that Brutus would have made a better princeps than Cassius, had their side won, just as Caesar (Augustus) provided the state with a better princeps by defeating Marcus Antonius, has led Woodman to argue that, according to Velleius, Brutus and Cassius were not in fact fighting for the cause of the Republic: “the sentence … suggest that had their side won, they would not have restored the republic, but installed principatus. Libertas conspicuously absent from the end of their story …”46

Mentioning libertas in this context – i. e., stating that Caesar’s assassins were fighting for liberty – was indeed out of the question for Velleius, since this would have amounted to putting, more or less explicitly, a seal of political approval on their deed. But the reader is hardly discouraged from drawing this conclusion. It follows naturally from what Velleius has said (and left unsaid) about Caesar’s rule and about his enemies’ cause in the civil war. This impression is further strengthened, as we shall presently see, by the references to Cicero as a ‘Pompeian’, as a strong supporter of Brutus and Cassius, and as someone who died for the cause of liberty. Moreover, someone who has murdered a friend and a benefactor merely for the sake of replacing one man’s dominatio with another – his own, hardly fits Velleius’ ‘profile in virtue’ accorded to Brutus; so this is probably not what the historian is trying to say. Given all this, the term principatus, used by Velleius to describe Brutus’ hypothetical standing in the Roman state after a hypothetical victory, should not be taken to imply that he was, according to the historian, striving for an ‘un-republican’ dominatio, opposed to libertas. A hypothetical comparison with Augustus does not, strictly, lead to this conclusion, since Velleius does not describe Augustus’ own principatus in this way.47 Admittedly, there is no certainty that the historian’s readers accepted at face value his (inevitable) assurances that the principate of Augustus – and hence, that of Tiberius – fully conformed to the prisca illa et antiqua rei publicae forma. But overall, it seems likely that the double comparison, of Brutus with Cassius and Augustus with Marcus Antonius, was meant simply to stress that Brutus was preferable to his co-conspirator as a public figure and not merely as regards his personal qualities. CICERO AND LIBERTAS Finally, Cicero. He had become a canonical figure (next only to Cato) transcending politics, a Roman cultural hero. There is nothing remarkable in the fact that Velleius celebrates him and bemoans his murder – especially since the latter could 46 47

Woodman 1983: 174. Similarly, Rawson 1986: 106: ‘Velleius … sees no constitutional issues at stake’. Cf. Vell. Pat. 2. 44.2: principatus as Crassus’ political ambition within the framework of the ‘first triumvirate’ – excessive power by ‘Republican’ standards, but presumably not autocracy.

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be conveniently blamed on Antonius. So does Valerius Maximus, in his dramatic account of Cicero’s murder that heavily downplays its political context. According to Valerius, the executioner, sent on his way personally by Marcus Antonius, ‘cut off the head of Roman eloquence, and the illustrious right hand of Roman peace in perfect leisure and security (caput Romanae eloquentiae et pacis clarissimam dexteram per summum et securum otium amputavit)’. Liberty, for the sake of which Cicero had been waging a civil war, rather than cultivating peace and quiet, is not mentioned. And Valerius sums up: ‘there exists no Cicero who could adequately lament Cicero’s fate; such a fate’ (5.3.4). It has been claimed that Velleius’ lamentation for Cicero (66.2–5) is similarly depoliticized, with Antonius’ guilt stressed (while Octavian is exonerated with the claim that he had opposed the proscriptions but could not hold out against his two colleagues – 2.66.1) and Cicero bemoaned as a man of genius and Rome’s pride and glory, but not as someone who served a just political cause and gave his life for it.48 It is true that the whole passage, consisting mostly of the elaborate direct outburst against Marcus Antonius (a departure, according to Velleius, from his usual forma, prompted by indignation – 66.3), is heavy on emotion and sympathy for Cicero but light on political context. Very possibly, Velleius is taking the regime’s political sensitivities into account. That Antonius’ crime ‘decapitated the public voice’ (vox publica) may be taken as referring to the res publica, but might conceivably be understood as mainly highlighting Cicero’s eloquentia and its loss to Rome.49 However, Cicero is explicitly said to have paid with his life for defending liberty – not indeed in this passage but earlier, in 2.64.3. Though the context is Cicero’s attack on Marcus Antonius in his ‘Philippics’, this is not a liberty displayed (towards Antonius) but liberty defended (vindicta libertatis) – i. e. the liberty of the Republic. What seems still more significant is that this remark, on Cicero giving his life for liberty, is part of a coherent account of where Cicero stood, politically, during the last months of his life. This account, so far from trying to downplay his political stance (which, admittedly, could not be wholly suppressed in a historical narrative), very explicitly and consistently portrays him as a ‘Pompeian;’ an ardent supporter of Brutus and Cassius, and an enemy of the “Julian party” (2.63.3). The reader is certainly not discouraged from concluding that it was in this general capacity, and not merely in his quarrel with Antonius, that Cicero was defending libertas during the events leading up to his murder. After the battle of Mutina, according to Velleius, the real feelings of the senate were revealed (erupit voluntas), and the Pompeian party took heart; the senate voted to confirm Brutus and Cassius in the possession of the provinces which they had seized without public authority (2.62.1–2). The senate granted a triumph to 48 49

Gowing 2005: 48. Wilkinson 2012: 118 holds, more generally, that ‘Cicero is depoliticized in Velleius’. Livy’s encomium to Cicero, in the remaining fragment (Book 120), makes it clear that Cicero fought and died for a political cause. It is also much more restrained and balanced – though on balance, highly complimentary to Cicero – and points out that he ‘suffered nothing more cruel at the hands of his victorious enemy than he would himself have inflicted’ if victorious.

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Decimus Brutus, while ignoring Caesar (Octavian) and snubbing him (4–5). Just as in Velleius’ account of the outbreak of the civil war in 49 BCE, there is no attempt here to ascribe the ‘Pompeian’ stance of the senate to some ‘pauci potentes’ who had taken hold of it; the senate, and its spokesman Cicero, are described as ‘Pompeian’ and ‘anti-Caesarian’ out of genuine conviction. It was at this time that Cicero, with his deep-seated attachment to the Pompeian party, expressed the opinion which said one thing and meant another, to the effect that Caesar [Octavian] should be commended and then moved up (orndandum et tollendum).

In their correspondence leading up to the agreement on the ‘second triumvirate’, Antonius reminded Caesar how hostile to him the Pompeian party was, to what a height they had risen, and how zealously Cicero was extolling Brutus and Cassius … He said that Caesar was under a greater obligation to avenge a father than he to avenge a friend.50

No effort at all is made in all this to spare the feelings of a reader who might be a ‘Caesarian’ in his sympathies regarding the events of 43 BCE (rather than just a loyalist of the existing imperial regime). He is bluntly reminded that Cicero – the great and admired Cicero – not merely went out of his way to support the assassins of the Divine Julius, but perhaps contemplated a similar fate for the young Augustus. The latter point could surely have been suppressed without much damage to the historical narrative. Given this, the rather casual remark that Cicero eventually paid with his life for defending liberty, and the outburst of feelings at the conclusion of the story of his life, may be seen as assuming a greater political significance than if they are examined out of context. Perhaps, indeed, this outburst could not, taking political constraints into account, have been quite as emotional if it had been heavily political; but the reader had been made fully aware of the political background before reaching this point. It seems that the vir antiquus et gravis who thought that the Pompeians had a better cause, and stood for the Republic, in 49 BCE, would naturally regard the Pompeians of 44–43 BCE as carrying on the same fight – for Republican liberty (facing, in the latter case, a much more obvious danger of dominatio than in the former). This conclusion did not require, in either case, idealizing the men in question. Velleius duly notes the senate’s ingratitude towards Octavian after Mutina and the propagandistic manipulations of Brutus and Cassius (62.3; 5). But this hardly affects the fundamental justness of their cause, from the viewpoint of traditional Republican norms. The senate’s – and Cicero’s – attitude after Mutina is attributed to their genuine commitment to the ‘Pompeian’ cause, i. e., at least arguably, to the cause of the Republic. And Brutus and Cassius were first, according to Velleius, ‘in real fear of Antonius’ arms’; only later they ‘pretended to fear in order to increase Antonius’ unpopularity’. At first sight, Velleius might seem to support (quite properly, no doubt, for a loyalist historian writing under Tiberius) the Caesarian charge that Caesars’ assassins instigated the renewed civil war.51 He points to the wide gap between their pub50 51

2.62.6; 65.1. See Rawson 1986: 104–105.

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lic professions of a readiness to go into exile, if need be, in order not to provoke another civil war, and their active military preparations (62.3). On closer inspection, Velleius’ narrative goes a considerable way toward undermining this charge, since the Liberators’ fear of Marcus Antonius is described as originally authentic – i. e., their military preparations were fundamentally defensive. And would the reader find it likely that their originally justified fear of Antonius was allayed by subsequent developments? Another charge, that of cruelty and rapacity in the conduct of the war, has received, as we have seen, precious little support from Velleius. Brutus and Cassius are said to have seized provinces and armies without public sanction, ‘pretending that the republic existed wherever they were’ (62.3). Velleius mentions this claim while distancing himself from it – just as he had done, as we have seen, in the case of Brutus’ designation of Caesar as a tyrant. In neither case, however, does the historian explicitly reject the ‘subversive’ claim; and, more importantly, he gives the reader no good reason to reject it. The retroactive authorization by the senate for the seizure of provinces and armies was, according to Velleius, given wholeheartedly, with Cicero’s enthusiastic support. A cause legitimized by an authentic expression of senatorial authority (with no mention of any popular authority supporting the opposite side) was presumably legitimate. A vir antiquus et gravis would probably not reject the claim of those who enjoyed such legitimacy to stand for the republic. CONCLUSION It remains nevertheless likely that the perspective of this vir antiquus et gravis, however respectable and normative in the traditional sense, was not, in the final analysis, Velleius’ own perspective. It seems likely that the historian was indeed a sincere imperial loyalist, who fully accepted the new regime. It is probable that he found much to admire in Augustus as princeps who had put an end to civil wars and benefited the state in many ways, in Tiberius as a general under whom he had served, and, likely, in the first years of his principate. If, by any chance, he did not think that Tiberius had been a great commander, he naturally could neither say so nor keep silent on the matter in his history, precisely because he had served under him; he would have had to glorify Tiberius in any case. But isn’t it more natural to assume that a man whose successful service in victorious campaigns had contributed to his advancement looked back on those years with pride and on his general with appreciation? If Velleius was unhappy with what he saw around him during the years of Sejanus’ ascendancy – something which, after all, seems not unlikely for an admirer of Cato and Cicero – he could not, naturally, give any expression to such misgivings. On the contrary, he was obliged to praise Sejanus, and the emperor’s wisdom in raising him up, as he duly does. In any case, the principate was a fact of life. There was clearly no going back to the old republic – though it was still so close that the very breach of continuity

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with it could not be openly acknowledged.52 The main political principle of the old republic – that Rome could not have a sole ruler – was clearly no longer operative – however admirable it was in theory, and despite the fact that the glory of Rome in former days had been, as all knew, closely connected with it. It had clearly been well on its way to become inoperative during the 40s. The men who fought for this principle in its dying days had been on the wrong side of history – but they could not be considered morally wrong. The assassination of the first Caesar had to be condemned by the historian writing under the third one. His narrative does not, however, present it as worthy of moral condemnation. The way Velleius treats the ‘tyrannicides’, and, more generally, the ‘lost cause’ of the Republic, is careful, cautious and sometimes, apparently, disingenuous – with keen awareness of political constraints. It is not, for this reason, craven and subservient, as is sometimes suggested. Rather, it may well have required considerable courage on the historian’s part. This is, to be sure, a rather melancholy and seemingly unheroic sort of courage – one to which repressive regimes sometimes give rise. It is displayed by ‘planting’ half-truths, hints and an occasional inconvenient truth, discreetly formulated, in a loyalist narrative. It seeks to make this narrative somewhat more honest at the risk, never to be taken lightly, of rendering it less welcome – though still not intolerable – to the powers that be. We cannot know for sure just how much courage was required in Velleius’ case, since we cannot fully and accurately reconstruct the atmosphere of Tiberius’ days. It has been argued that the surprising degree of sympathy that Velleius can afford to show to the losing side in the civil wars shows that the principate (of Tiberius) cannot really be compared to ‘modern totalitarian regimes’53. Perhaps so. But the times of Sejanus’ ascendancy were surely a bleak period in this respect; the fate of Cremutius’ Cordus must have been before everybody’s eyes; and Tacitus’ testimony that it had become normative to denounce the dictator’s assassins as ‘brigands and parricides’ is strengthened by the available example of a contemporary author who treated sensitive historical topics in a considerably more ‘Stalinist’ spirit than Velleius – namely, Valerius Maximus. On the other hand, it should be borne in mind that while political continuity with the old republic was largely a fiction, there was certainly a cultural continuity, and, moreover, much family continuity in the ruling class and in leading aristocratic clans. Tiberius’ own father was the man who once proposed in the senate that Caesar’s assassins should be rewarded (Suet. Tib. 4.1), and Velleius mentions that Livia’s father had fought under Brutus and Cassius at Philippi, killing himself after the defeat (2.71.2). Moreover, many important former Republicans had made an 52

53

Gowing 2007: 410 suggests that Velleius ‘believed [seriously] that the republic survives under Tiberius’, having been restored under Augustus, and that there was no ‘separate, distinct political entity we call the principate’. Of course we cannot know with certainty where exactly, in Velleius’ view, the Roman state of his days stood vis-à-vis the old republic. But the way he treats the first two principes leaves little room for doubt that he regarded them as supreme rulers of a kind that Brutus, Cassius and Cicero would have considered incompatible with traditional Roman libertas. Lobur 2011: 215.

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excellent career under the new regime. Hence, treating all those who once fought on the other side as ‘enemies of the people’ in the full modern totalitarian fashion would have been out of place. However, Velleius certainly goes much further than what was required by this consideration. He also went much further than what was required by considerations of minimal honesty in a historical narrative.54 There was, for example, no minimally honest way to portray Caesar, during his dictatorship, as merely a republican magistrate in the traditionally normative sense. However, there was nothing unavoidable about calling his rule a ‘dominatio’, or saying that he looked not unwilling to accept the diadem. While we cannot know what degree of courage was required of Velleius, we may assume that he did not provoke the regime by taking wild risks – something that would presumably have resulted from a more explicit endorsement of the Republican perspective. When it came to more recent events, the regime was, apparently, more sensitive. The treatment of Agrippa Postumus in Velleius’ history, for example, is, unsurprisingly, much more subservient to the regime and it propagandistic needs, and downright misleading, than that of Brutus and Cassius.55 Velleius Paterculus is a representative of the ‘new class’ of the imperial governing elite – people who did not belong to the old Republican aristocracy. These people owed their advancement to the imperial monarchy and were its most natural loyal servants. It might be assumed that they were less influenced by republican traditions, scruples and prejudices than the old nobility (though the latter, too, certainly produced its fair share of loyal servants of the imperial regime). Velleius’ attitude to the old republic and its last heroes may indicate that republican traditions influenced the new elite as well as the old one. The cultural unity and continuity of the broad stratum of the Roman elite as a whole appears to have been considerable. Public opinion on those matters among the broader popular strata is virtually impossible to gauge, but it cannot be ruled out that such attitudes could exist these too. At any rate, if what is suggested here about Velleius’ attitude is accepted, this probably tells us something important about public opinion within the elite. Respect for the Republican past – including its recent and politically sensitive aspects – might be fully compatible with loyalty to the emperors, as it very probably was in the case of Velleius Paterculus. But this was not merely a matter of nostalgia. The attitudes of the governing elite and the cultural baggage of its members inevitably influenced the way the Roman state was ruled under Caesar’s successors.

54 55

In this sense, the comparison with Valerius Maximus, who was not a historian, is not straightforward. But the gap between Valerius and Velleius in the language they use in referring to Caesar’s assassins, for example, cannot be accounted for by a difference in genre. Syme 1978: 62.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY Bispham, E. (2011) “Time for Italy in Velleius Paterculus”, in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 17–58. Swansea. Bloomer, W. M. (1992) Valerius Maximus and the Rhetoric of the New Nobility, Duckworth. Bloomer, W. M. (2011) “Transit admiratio: memoria, invidia and the historian”, in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 93–120. Swansea. Cotton, H. M. and Yakobson, A. (2002) “Arcanum Imperii: The Powers of Augustus”, in Philosophy and Power in the Graeco-Roman World, eds. G. Clark and T. Rajak: 193–209. Oxford. Furneaux, H. (1883) The Annals of Tacitus, Vol. I, Oxford. Gowing, A. M. (2005) Empire and Memory: The Representation of the Roman Republic in Imperial Literature, Cambridge. Gowing, A. M. (2007) “The Imperial Republic of Velleius Paterculus”, in A Companion to Greek and Roman Historiography, Vol. II, ed. J. Marincola: 411–418.Oxford. Gruen, E. S. (1996) “The expansion of the empire under Augustus”, in Cambridge Ancient History Vol. X (Second Edition), eds. A. K. Bowman, E. Champlin and A. Lintott: 147–197. Cambridge. Koestermann, E. (1965) Cornelius Tacitus. Annalen. Band II Buch 4–6, Heidelberg. Lobur, J. A. (2011) “Resuscitating a text: Velleius’ history as cultural evidence”, in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 157–177. Swansea. Marincola, J. (2011) “Explanations in Velleius”, in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 121–140. Swansea. Martin, R. H. and Woodman, A. J. (1989) Tacitus. Annals. Book IV, Cambridge. Pelling, Ch. (2011) “Velleius and biography: the case of Julius Caesar”, in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 157–177. Swansea. Raaflaub, K. A. and Samons II L. G. (1990) “Opposition to Augustus”, in Between Republic and Empire. Interpretations of Augustus and His Principate, eds. K. A. Raaflaub and M. Toher: 417–454. Berkeley, Los Angeles and London. Ramage, E. S. (1982) “Velleius Paterculus 2.126.2–3 and the Panegyric Tradition”, Classical Antiquity 1: 266–271. Ramage, E. S. (1985) “Augustus’ Treatment of Julius Caesar”, Historia 34: 223–245. Rawson, E. (1986) “Cassius and Brutus: the memory of the Liberators”, in Past Perspectives. Studies in Greek and Roman Historical Writing, eds. I. S. Moxon, J. D. Smart, A. J. Woodman: 101–120. Cambridge. Seager, R. (2011) “Paene omnium vitiorum expers, nisi …” in Velleius Paterculus: Making History, ed. E. Cowan: 287–308. Swansea. Shotter, D. C. A. (1989) Tacitus, Annals IV, Warminster. Syme, R. (1939) Roman Revolution, Oxford. Syme, R. (1958) Tacitus (Vol. 1), Oxford. Syme, R. (1978) “Mendacity in Velleius”, American Journal of Philology 99: 45–63. Wilkinson, S. (2012) Republicanism during the Early Roman Empire, London and New York. Woodman, A. J. (1977) Velleius Paterculus. The Tiberian Narrative, Cambridge, London, New York and Melbourne. Woodman, A. J. (1983) Velleius Paterculus. The Caesarian and Augustan Narrative, Cambridge, London, New York and Melbourne.

APPENDIX

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Clifford Ando, University of Chicago, United States Wolfgang Blösel, Universität Duisburg-Essen, Germany Alejandro Díaz Fernández, Universidad de Málaga, Spain Enrique García Riaza, Universitat de les Illes Balears, Spain Tom Hillard, Macquaire University, Australia Frédéric Hurlet, Université Paris-Nanterre, France Kit Morell, University of Sydney, Australia Francisco Pina Polo, Universidad de Zaragoza, Spain Cristina Rosillo-López, Universidad Pablo de Olavide, Spain Amy Russell, Durham University, United Kingdom W. Jeffrey Tatum, Victoria University of Wellington, New Zealand Kathryn Welch, University of Sydney, Australia Alexander Yakobson, Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel

INDEX OF NAMES1 A Acilius Glabrio, M’. (cos. 191) 72–73, 93, 96–97, 103, 110–112 Acilius Glabrio, M’. (cos. 67) 140 Aelius Lamia, L. (aed. 45) 258–259 Aelius Tubero, Q. (tr. pl. 177) 48, 96 Aemilius Lepidus Livianus, Mam. (cos. 77) 137, 230 Aemilius Lepidus Porcina, M. (cos. 137) 117 Aemilius Lepidus, M. (cos. 46, 42) 68, 243–245, 249, 251 Aemilius Lepidus, M. (cos. 78) 208, 216 Aemilius Paullus, L. (cos. 182, 168) 86, 88, 90, 92, 94, 96, 100–101 Aemilius Scaurus, M. (pr. 56) 71–72 Afranius, L. (cos. 60) 157 Afranius, L. (cos. 60) 156 Agrippa Postumus 291 Amatius 246 Ammianus Marcellinus 180–182 Ancus Martius 221 Anicius Gallus, L. (cos. 160) 91, 94 Annius Milo, T. (pr. 55) 146, 152–153, 169, 171, 243, 258 Antiochus III, King of the Seleucid Empire 72–73, 93, 97–98, 100, 123 Antius Restio, C. 140 Antonius, C. (cos. 63) 242 Antonius, M. (cos. 99) 110–111 Antonius, M. (pr. 74) 139 Antony (Antonius, M., cos. 34) 11, 16, 68, 78, 130, 139–140, 195–196, 203–205, 243–253, 258–260, 267–268, 281, 284, 286–289 Appian 68, 109–110, 114–115, 117–120, 122–125, 214, 226, 241, 243–244, 246–249, 251–252 Appuleius Saturninus, L. (tr. pl. 100–99) 130 Aquillius, M’. (cos. 101) 110, 112, 126, 130 Arrius, Q. (pr. 64) 67 Arrius, Q. (pr. by 64) 67 Asconius 217, 224 Asicius, P. 155 Asinius Pollio, C. (cos. 40) 275 1

All dates are BCE unless otherwise stated.

Atilius Serranus, Sex. (cos. 136) 122 Attalus, king of Pergamon 123 Aufidius Lurco (tr. pl. 61) 71 Augustus (emperor) 11, 68, 78, 156, 176, 178, 181, 185, 187, 247–248, 250–251, 274–275, 279, 280–281, 284–290 Aurelius 114 Aurelius Cotta, C. (cos. 75) 69, 139–140, 217–218, 231, 264, 268–269 Aurelius Cotta, L. (cos. 144) 114 Aurelius Cotta, L. (leg. 181) 86, 94, 96 Aurelius Cotta, M. (cos. 74) 231 Aurelius Cotta, M. (leg. 189) 93, 96, 100 B Baebius Tamphilus, M. (cos. 181) 86 C Caecilius Metellus Creticus, Q. (cos. 69) 218 Caecilius Metellus Macedonicus, Q. (cos. 143) 94–95, 97, 114, 117 Caecilius Metellus Nepos, Q. (cos. 57) 144–146, 164 Caecilius Metellus Numidicus, Q. (cos. 109) 260 Caecilius Metellus Pius, Q. (cos. 80) 139 Caecilius Metellus, L. (cos. 247) 107 Caecilius Metellus, M. (pr. 69) 259 Caecilius Metellus, Q. (cos. 109) 128–129 Caecilius Niger, Q. (q. 72) 212 Caelius Rufus, M. (pr. 48) 33, 66, 76–77, 155, 163–164, 184, 243, 277 Caesetius Flavus, L. (tr. pl. 44) 281 Caesonius, M. 71 Caesonius, M. (pr. by 66) 71–72 Calpurnia 77 Calpurnius Bestia, L. (cos. 111) 127–128 Calpurnius Bibulus, M. (cos. 59) 76, 146, 152, 156, 168, 169 Calpurnius Piso, C. (cos. 180) 94, 99, 115 Calpurnius Piso, Q. (cos. 135) 123 Calpurnius Piso Caesoninus, L. (cos. 58) 76–77, 146, 163, 170, 252 Calpurnius Piso Frugi, C. (q. 58) 77

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Index of Names

Caninius Gallus, L. (tr. pl. 56) 153, 156–159, 161, 164–166 Cannutius, Ti. (tr. pl. 44) 243 Cassius Dio 16, 29, 68, 137, 141, 155, 158, 160–167, 171, 201, 241, 244–246, 248, 251, 274–275, 281–291 Cassius Longinus, L. (tr. pl. 104) 129 Cassius Longinus, L. (pr. 66) 267 Cassius Parmensis, C. (q. 43) 251 Cincibilis, rex Gallorum 95 Claudius Marcellus, M. (cos. 166, 155, 152) 120, 126 Claudius Nero, C. (cos. 207) 87, 94, 96 Claudius Pulcher, Ap. (cens. 50) 46, 123 Clodius Pulcher, P. (aed. 56) 44–46, 51, 55, 66, 144–146, 151–154, 158–159, 162–163, 167–171, 214 Cloelius, Sex. 153 Cluentius, A. 219, 224 Coelius Caldus, C. (cos. 94) 267–269 Constantius II 180 Cornelius Cethegus, C. (cos. 197) 138, 140, 163 Cornelius Cethegus, L. 108 Cornelius Cethegus, P. (pr. 184) 74 Cornelius Cethegus, P. (pr. 181) 86 Cornelius Dolabella, P. (cos. suff. 44) 136, 246, 259 Cornelius Lentulus Clodianus, Cn. (cos. 72) 219, 234 Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus, Cn. (cos. 56) 156, 158 Cornelius Lentulus Marcellinus, P. (q. 75) 259 Cornelius Lentulus Spinther, P. (cos. 57) 151–152, 154–169, 171 Cornelius Lentulus Sura, P. (cos. 71) 231–232 Cornelius Lentulus, ?L. 94, 97 Cornelius Merula, Cn. (leg. 154) 168 Cornelius Scipio Africanus, P. (cos. 205, 194) 41–42, 48, 91–93, 95–96, 101, 115, 221, 260 Cornelius Scipio Africanus Aemilianus, P. (cos. 147, 134) 15, 114, 116, 122–127, 129, 131, 136, 258 Cornelius Scipio Asiaticus, L. (cos. 190) 93, 96–97, 99, 115 Cornelius Scipio Nasica, P. (cos. 162) 260 Cornelius Scipio Nasica Serapio, P. (cos. 111) 61, 77 Cornelius Sulla, L. (cos. 88, 80) 58, 78, 138, 140, 146–147, 199, 214–218, 222, 226, 228–234, 241–242, 247 Cornificius, Q. (pr. by 66) 71, 258

Cottii, P. 228 Cremutius Cordus, A. 16, 274–275, 282–283, 285, 290 D Decius Mus, P. (cos. 265) 136 Decius Subolo, P. (leg. 168) 94 Diodorus 113–114, 125, 165 Domitius Ahenobarbus, Cn. (cens. 92) 58 Domitius Ahenobarbus, L. (cos. 54) 48, 66, 70, 72, 267 Domitius Calvinus, Cn. (cos. 53) 71, 72, 75 E Epidius, C. (tr. pl. 44) 281 Eumenes II, King of Pergamon 100 F Fabius Maximus Aemilianus, Q. (cos. 145) 90, 93–94, 96–97, 114–116, 123 Fabius Maximus Rullianus, Q. (cos. 322, 310, 308, 297) 136 Fabius Maximus Servilianus, Q. (cos. 142) 118–122 Favonius, M. (pr. 49) 152, 155, 163, 168–169 Fenestella 158, 162–164, 167 Flavius, Cn. 49 Florus 49, 241, 245–246 Fulvius Flaccus, Cn. (pr. 212) 115 Fulvius Flaccus, Q. (cos. 237, 224, 212, 209) 115 Fulvius Flaccus, Q. (cos. 179) 73–74, 90, 94, 99 Fulvius Flaccus, Ser. (cos. 135) 125 Fulvius Maximus Centumalus, Cn. (cos. 298) 115 Fulvius Nobilior, Q. (cos. 153) 108–109, 117 Furius Philo, L. (cos. 136) 122 Furnius, C. (tr. pl. 50) 67, 76 G Gabinius, A. (cos. 58) 69, 76–77, 135, 137, 140–141, 146, 151, 158, 166, 168, 171–172 Gellius Publicola, L. (cos. 72) 219, 234 Gentius 100 H Hanno 89, 96, 99 Helvius Sabinus, Cn. 257 Herennius, L. (negotiator) 227 Herennius, M. (cos. 93) 268 Herodotus 261 Hirtius, A. (cos. 43) 68, 250

Index of Names Hortensia 248–249 Hortensius Hortalus, Q. (cos. 69) 143, 156, 218, 231 Hostilius Mancinus, L. (cos. 145) 114 Hostilius Mancinus, C. (cos. 137) 14, 116–128, 130–131, 170 Hypsaeus 157 I Iulius Caesar, L. (cos. 64) 71, 75 Iulius Caesar, C. (cos. 59) 10–11, 15–16, 48, 58–59, 67, 72, 74, 76–78, 136, 145–146, 154, 163, 169–170, 180–187, 203, 223, 242–244, 246–253, 274–284, 286, 288–291 Iulius Obsequens 125 Iunius Brutus Albinus, D. (cos. des. 42) 252, 258, 281–282, 288 Iunius Brutus, D. (cos. 138) 117 Iunius Brutus, D. (cos. 77) 137 Iunius Brutus, M. (cos. 178) 98 Iunius Brutus, M. (pr. 142) 262 Iunius Brutus, M. (pr. 67) 259 Iunius Brutus, M. (cos. desig. 41) 16, 68, 245, 248, 258, 269, 274–275, 280–291 Iunius Silanus, D. (cos 62) 71–72 Iuventius Thalna, L. (leg. 184) 94 J Jugurtha, king of Numidia 54, 127, 128, 136, 170 Julia (mother of M. Antonius) 244 Julian I (emperor) 180–182, L Labienus, T. (tr. pl. 63) 58, 275 Lactantius 163 Laelius, C. (cos. 190) 93–96, 99 Laelius Sapiens, C. (cos. 140) 48 Licinius Crassus, C. (cos. 168) 92 Licinius Crassus, P. (cos. 55) 67, 70, 76, 140, 145–146, 152, 156, 158–159, 164, 167, 169, 223, 284, 286 Licinius Lucullus, L. (cos. 151) 110, 115, 123, Licinius Lucullus, L. (pr. 104) 130 Licinius Lucullus, L. (cos. 74) 138–139, 140, 142, 146, 227, 231 Licinius Macer, C. (tr. pl. 73) 140, 208, 217, 232, 259 Licinius Macer Calvus, C. 152, 154 Licinius Murena, L. (cos. 62) 60–61, 77 Licinius Nerva, C. (pr. 167) 94 Licinius Varus, P. (pr. 208) 94 Livius Salinator, M. (cos. 207) 87, 93–94, 96

299

Lollius Palicanusm, M. (pr. by 69) 71 Lucan 177 Lucceius, Q. 228 Lucilius Hirrus, C. (tr. pl. 53) 66, 76 Lutatius Catulus, Q. (cos. 78) 58–59, 136–137, 141–143, 216–218, 222, 235–236 M Maenius, T. (pr. 186) 90, 94 Mago 99 Mallius Maximus, Cn. (cos. 105) 130 Mamilius Limetanus, C. (tr. pl. 109) 128 Manlius Acidinus, L. (tr. mil. 171) 87, 89, 92 Manlius Mancinus, T. (tr. pl. 107) 129 Manlius Torquatus, T. (cos. 165) 168 Marcius Figulus, C. (cos. 64; cf. Minucius Thermus, A.) 75, 259 Marcius Philippus, L. (cos. 91) 137, 139, 216, 230 Marcius Ralla, M. (pr. 204) 93, 96 Marius Gratidianus, M. (pr. 85) 260 Marius, C. (cos. 107) 78–79, 127, 129, 130–131, 136, 229, 246, 253, 258, 268 Matienus, C. (pr. 173) 123 Memmius, C. (pr. 104 or 103) 54 Memmius, C. (pr. 58) 71–72, 76, 127, 170–171, 208 Messius, C. (tr. pl. 57) 145, 165 Micipsa, king of Numidia 123 Minucius Rufus, M. (cos. 221) 221 Minucius Thermus, A. (cf. Marcius Figulus, C.) 71–72, 75, 259 Minucius, L. (leg. 180) 90, 94 Minucius Thermus, L. (leg. 180) 94 Mithridates VI, king of Pontus 138–142, 144, 146, 231 Mucius Scaveola, P. (cos. 133) 127 Mummius, L. (cos. 146) 100 N Nero (emperor) 49 Norbanus, C. (cos. 83) 268 O Octavian, see Augustus Octavius, M. (aed. cur. 50) 186 Opimius, Q. (tr. pl. 75) 218, 231–232 Oppius, C. 59 P Paetus Catus, Ael. (cos. 198) 262 Pedius, Q. (cos. suff. 43) 68, 248 Perperna, M. (leg. 168) 94

300

Index of Names

Perseus, king of Macedon 95–96 Plautius, A. (pr. 51) 14, 157, 160 Plautius, C. (pr. 146) 113–116, 121, 130 Plautus 93, 229 Polybius 99, 103, 214, 226 Pompeius, Q. (cos. 141) 119–122 Pompey (Pompeius Magnus, Cn., cos. 55) 15, 69, 70, 72, 76–78, 119–121, 136–147, 152–175, 18, 187, 213, 223–235, 230–231, 241, 244, 265–267, 272–273, 277–279 Pompeius Magnus Pius, Sex. (cos. desig 35) 252, 278 Pompeius Rufus, Q. (cos. 88) 165 Pomponius Atticus, T. 57, 59, 66–67, 71–72, 74–76, 166, 223, 269 Popilius Laenas, M. (cos. 139) 120 Porcius Cato the Elder, M. (cens. 184) 97–98, 108, 113, 261, 263 Porcius Cato Uticensis, M. (pr. 54) 73, 76, 145–146, 151–153, 155, 158, 160–164, 166–171, 184, 276–277, 279, 289 Postumius Albinus, A. (cos. 180) 90 Postumius Albinus, A. (cos. 151) 107–108, 115, 123, 128 Postumius Albinus, L. (cos. 173) 108 Postumius Albinus, Sp. (cos. 110) 108, 128 Praecia 138–139, 231 Pseudo-Asconius 139 Ptolemy XII “Auletes”, king of Egypt 145, 151–172 Pupius Piso Frugi Calpurnianus, M. (cos. 61) 217 Q Quinctilius Varus, T. (leg. 184) 94 Quinctius, L. (pr. 68) 51, 139, 223, 232 Quinctius, P. 242 Quinctius Crispinus, L. (pr. 186) 94, 99 Quinctius Flamininus, T. (cos. 198) 89 Quintilian 219, 221 R Rabirius Postumus, C. (pr. 48?) 154–155, 159, 163, 166, 171–172 Rutilius, P. (tr. pl. 136) 127 Rutilius Lupus, P. (pr. 49) 156, 164 S Sallust 54, 127–129, 139, 142, 170, 201–202, 207–208, 216–218, 224–225, 232–233, 245, 268, 269 Salvius (tr. pl. 43) 243

Scribonius Curio, C. (tr. pl. 50) 152, 169, 185, 217–219, 230, 258, 278 Scribonius Libo, L. (cos. 34) 157 Scribonius P, L. (tr. pl. 149) 108–109 Sejanus (Aelius Sejanus, L.) 275, 289–290 Selicius, Q. 159 Sempronius Blaesus, C. (tr. pl. 212) 115 Sempronius Gracchus, C. (tr. pl. 123–122) 49, 128, 163, 260 Sempronius Gracchus, Ti. (cos. 163) 90–92, 94–95, 99, 101 Sempronius Gracchus, Ti. (tr. pl. 133) 48, 51, 117, 121, 126, 128, 141 Sempronius Tudianus, C. (cos. 129) 262 Sergius Catilina, L. (pr. 68) 196, 200–201, 204, 258–260, 265, 267–268 Sertorius, Q. (pr. before 83) 135–139, 146, 230–231 Servilius, C. (pr. c. 102) 130 Servilius Caepio, Q. (cos. 140) 119, 130 Servilius Galba, P. (pr. 66) 71, 259, 267 Servilius Isauricus, P. (cos. 48, 41) 152, 156, 163, 169 Servilius Rullus, P. (tr. pl. 63) 195–200, 202, 207 Servilius Vatia Isauricus, P. (cos. 79) 158, 161, 168–169 Servius 221 Spartacus 204, 225 Strabo 154 Suetonius 59, 241–242, 274, 285 Sulpicius Galba, Ser. (cos. 144) 108–114, 126 Sulpicius Gallus, Ser. (cos. 166) 86, 96 Sulpicius Rufus, P. (tr. pl. 88) 221 Sulpicius Rufus, S. (cens. 42) 76 Sulpicius Rufus, Ser. (cos. 51) 76–77 Syphax, king of Numidia 93, 95, 99 T Tacitus 49, 175–178, 273–275, 283, 290 Terentius Massiliota, L. (pr. 187) 90, 94 Terentius Varro Lucullus, M. (cos. 73) 156 Terentius Varro Reatinus, M. (pr. before 67) 49, 140, 262, 265 Tiberius (emperor) 273–277, 279–280, 282, 285–286, 288–290 Tigranes, king of Armenia 139 Timagenes 166 Trebonius, C. (cos. suff. 45) 170, 281–282 Tullius Cicero, M. (cos. 63) 10, 13–16, 33, 41–55, 57, 59–62, 65–69, 71–72, 74–79, 107, 110–111, 113, 121, 135–138,

Index of Names 141–144, 147, 151–159, 161–172, 195–208, 211–214, 216, 217–224, 226–234, 236, 242–244, 246–247, 249–252, 258–259, 261, 263–269, 278–279, 286–290 Tullius Cicero, Q. (pr. 62) 72, 76, 157, 169, 221, 258–264, 267, 269 Tullius Decula, M. (cos. 81) 268 Turullius, D. (q. 44) 251 V Valerius Flaccus, C. (cos. 93) 138 Valerius Maximus 126, 275, 279, 285, 287, 290–291 Valerius Messalla Corvinus, M. (cos. suff. 31) 275

301

Valerius Messalla Rufus, M. (cos. 53) 66, 71–72, 75 Valerius, C. 73 Velleius Paterculus 16–17, 59, 126, 241, 243–244, 246, 273–274, 276–291 Verres, C. (pr. 74) 52–54, 111, 211–214, 218–219, 225, 227, 229–232, 234, 266 Vespasian 176–177 Vetilius, C. (pr. 147) 114 Veturius Philo, L. (pr. 209) 93–96 Vibius Pansa Caetronianus, C. (cos. 43) 68 Vinicius, M. (cos. 30 CE) 274 Viriathus 113–115, 118–119, 122 Vitellius (emperor) 176 Vitruvius 262–263 Volcacius Tullus, L. (cos. 66) 156–157, 164

SUBJECT INDEX A Ambassadors 14, 96, 151–172, 252 C Civil war 175–188, 241–253, 273–291 Climate of opinion 14, 56–61, 65, 67–69, 73, 114, 124–130, 221–223 Contio 9, 12, 23, 43–46, 50–51, 53–55, 74, 79, 86, 89–90, 94, 99, 101–102, 115, 162, 171, 179, 184–185, 195, 211, 213, 219–220, 223–228, 232, 241, 251 Corruption 13, 44, 59–60, 62, 71, 73, 76, 96, 128, 139–140, 143, 154–157, 163, 168, 171–172, 224, 230–232, 234, 283 E Electoral polls 61–77 Electoral predictions 57–79, 265–269 F Fear, rhetoric of 191–208 H Habermas and public opinion 8–9, 23–38, 49–50 I Imperium extraordinarium 135–147 Information, levels of 90–93 Information, transmission of 87–90, 98–100, 128 L Legitimation 176–177 M Messengers 86–100 P Peace treaties 119–123, 127–128 Political uncertainty 57–62, 78–79, 87 Politics, space of 175–188 Proscription 241–253 Provincial government 107–133

Public opinion and announcements of victory 85–105 Public opinion and elections 43–45, 57–79, 109, 124–136, 135, 191, 194, 257–269 Public opinion and letters 51, 92, 214, 257–269 Public opinion and oratory 44–46, 51–54, 110–111, 141–144, 192–236, 265–266 Public opinion and populus Romanus 41–55, 100–104, 115–116, 122–126, 129–131, 136–147, 157–160, 163, 183, 185–186, 197–206, 213–236, 246–247, 250–253 Public opinion and religion 151, 155–156, 159–161, 163–171, 182 Public opinion and representation 34–35 Public opinion and warfare 85–147, 183–186, 205 Public opinion in the Republic, Imperial view of 243–244, 273–291 Public opinion, communication 30–32, 87–93, 247–253, 257–269 Public opinion, historiography of 8–13 Public opinion, levels of 142, 153, 158–159, 170, 207, 226–230, 250–253, 265–291 Public opinion, opposition against power 30– 32 Public sphere (Öffentlichkeit) 8–9, 13–14, 25, 27, 30–34, 37–38, 42, 49–50, 55 R Reason, rationality 27–29, 66 Restauration of Ptolemy Auletes 151–172 Rumours 9, 11–12, 16, 59, 31–32, 60–61, 87–89, 102, 140, 151, 158, 181, 195, 200–201 S Senate 12, 14–15, 17, 23, 45, 48, 52, 58, 68–69, 73–74, 79, 85–86, 89–92, 95, 97–104, 109, 113–114, 116–130, 135, 137–147, 151–172, 176, 181, 183–185, 197, 199, 201, 203–205, 211, 217, 219–220, 223, 225–226, 230–231, 233–234, 242, 246, 249–252, 265, 269, 275–278, 285, 287–290

304 T Trials 52–54, 65, 69, 73, 108–111, 113, 115–118, 130, 152, 169, 172, 211–236 Triumphs 14, 85–105, 107–108, 113–114, 140, 248, 269, 281, 288 V Verres, trial of 52–54, 111, 211–236, 266

Subject Index