by Allan Massie
For I must say this: I did not believe I was acting in such a way as would benefit myself. I had no confidence that I was joining the winning side.
I ask you fervently to believe that.
No man, except perhaps Cicero, was better acquainted with both Caesar and Pompey than I. Indeed, I can claim a deeper knowledge of both men than Cicero could possess, for he has met them chiefly at dinner-tables and in the Senate, while I have served under both in the field. Consequently I was aware that Caesar's star was in the ascendant, Pompey's in decline. Fortune, my dear Decimus, reflects character and capacity. I could not fail to compare Caesar's swiftness and certainty of judgment and the lucidity of his intellect, even the imperturbability of his courage, with my poor Pompey's ever-growing tendency to vacillation, and his inability to distinguish between illusion and reality. He still, as the clouds of crisis enfolded the Republic, could not perceive the nature of his own moral, intellectual and physical deterioration. At most, I could hope that, in adhering to him, I could supply the deficiencies I remarked in him.
Vain hope, as events have proved, for my advice was disregarded while it might have been valuable, and my counsels adopted only when matters were beyond remedy.
My judgment has been proved right, my fears justified, and yet I do not regret the course I took.
Now, when defeat, death, and even dishonour (for I can trust Caesar to see that I am dishonoured) stare me in the face, I can still maintain that I have no regrets.
Nevertheless, Decimus, since no man wishes to go down to the Shades without first speaking for himself and finding at least one man of virtue to attend to his words, I take this opportunity to try to explain my reasons for acting as I did. The world may howl against me, and I am indifferent to its execration; but I would not wish you to think badly of me.
Let me say therefore that I admire Caesar. I retain an affection for Caesar. I recognise the grandeur of Caesar's achievements, to which both you and I have made telling contributions. But none of this prevents me from seeing that the course on which Caesar has embarked is pernicious. It can lead to nothing but the destruction of the Republic which has been the means of Rome's greatness, and which can alone, through its time-honoured institutions, guarantee the survival of liberty in Rome.
The government of a single person sounds the death-knell of liberty. It will convert Roman noblemen into courtiers. Little by little, an Oriental despotism will be established in place of our free institutions. Men will no longer dare to speak their minds; they will suit their words to the wishes of the dictator.
I have heard Caesar talk of the corruption of Republican institutions and of the corruption of feeling which this breeds. I do not dispute that this has happened, though I would lay the blame principally on men like Caesar himself. Yes, and on Pompey too; I do not deny that. When these two, and Marcus Crassus came together at Lucca, they engaged themselves in a criminal conspiracy against the Free State.
If I adhered to Pompey rather than Caesar, it was not because I had greater respect for him. It was simply because I considered him less dangerous. He was weak where Caesar was strong. He was indecisive where Caesar was determined. I never thought the Republic safe in Pompey's hands, but I knew that his dominance was less secure than a victorious Caesar's would prove to be.
You may argue that Caesar plans many beneficial reforms. My respect for Caesar is sufficiently strong to deter me from offering contradiction. Instead I offer this warning: the means by which a reform is effected may negate any benefit which in other circumstances that reform would bring.
If you can believe in your heart that Caesar intends to restore the Republic and retire into private life, then my fears may be unfounded, and my course of action may have been misguided.
But can you believe that?
And, even if you could, can you believe that a Republic restored by Caesar's hand and as a result of Caesar's methods, could possess any vitality?
I accept that I am heading for failure. So be it. I shall fight my cause honourably to the death. And I shall die convinced that posterity will judge me more favourably than Caesar's friends may do. I address this letter to you, however, because there is one friend of Caesar's whose good opinion I still value and seek, and because I hope that it may give you occasion to reflect on the dangers for Rome of the path which you have chosen to follow. You will understand, my dear Decimus Brutus, that I do not question your virtue. I do not doubt that you have adhered to Caesar for the best and most selfless of motives. I ask only that you should consider anew where Caesar is heading, that you should consider the implications for Rome, the Empire, the institutions of the Republic, the great noble families that have made that Republic and finally for liberty itself, which no good man surrenders save with his life, of Caesar's dominance.
Caesar, you may still say, can be trusted. Very well; so be it again. But Caesar will have successors. Will it be possible to trust them in like manner?
Caesar may continue to show outward respect for the institutions of the Republic, even while he subverts them. Consuls may still be elected, even though Caesar may fix the elections and though the consuls will be powerless. But in time the office of consul will become a merely decorative honour. Power will rest with the dictator, who should more properly be termed, in the Greek fashion, the tyrant. Free speech will wither, for it cannot nourish when the government is in the hands of a single person. Orientals will hasten to designate the tyrant a god. Even the Senate will cravenly follow suit. Caesar may accept divine honours with the scepticism proper to a Roman nobleman. His successors will come to think of themselves as gods, with the power of gods, the liberty of gods.
That is the future which Caesar is constructing. When the day comes on which a Roman nobleman thinks it proper to prostrate himself before the tyrant, as Orientals do before the despots to whom they are utterly subjugated, that will be the result of Caesar's victory.
I urge you to think on these matters, dear Decimus, and draw back before you become an agent in the destruction of the liberty that depends on the survival of the Republic.
I am as ever your friend and equal, Labienus, now equal in honour, but one who in the future I envisage, which I shall not survive to experience, would find himself your equal only in dishonour and servitude.
This was a dangerous letter to receive. I was incensed that he should have thought to send it to me. Fortunately, minute enquiries revealed that he had taken the precaution of having it secretly delivered. It was probable, therefore, that it had not been intercepted and copied for Caesar's eyes. Nevertheless I took care to observe him closely when we next met and for some months after, to see whether his manner to me had changed or whether he was regarding me with some suspicion.
Naturally, too, I rejected Labienus' arguments. They were an attempt at putting a brave face on his desertion. Few men can resist seeking public reasons to justify their private behaviour. Labienus had realised that he had made the wrong choice. He had been betrayed by his own ambition. Therefore he now pretended to me, even perhaps to himself, that he had joined himself to Pompey not because he thought Pompey would win, but rather because he recognised his cause as being morally and politically to be preferred. That was nonsense, of course.
Of course it was nonsense. I assured myself time and again that it was nonsense. Only I found myself returning to his letter, extracting it from its place of concealment, and brooding on its message.
Why, I was even tempted to show it to young Octavius. That, of course, was in the weeks of my infatuation with the boy. Prudence restrained me. I might dote on the youth, but my judgment was not so far destroyed as to make me suppose that he could be trusted not to reveal the existence of this compromising letter to Caesar.
Often since, I have told myself that if I had not found something in the letter from the first, I would have burned it straightaway.
Now, I recall words attributed to Cicero when he heard of Labienus' defection.
"Labienus is
a hero. Never was an act more splendid. If nothing else comes of it, he has at least made Caesar smart. We have a civil war upon us, not because we have quarrelled among ourselves, but on account of one abandoned and ambitious citizen."
Sedition, as I thought at the time.
After Munda, I sought out Labienus' corpse. The expression on the face was calm. Did a tear escape me?
CHAPTER 11
For the moment, however, all was sunshine and general rejoicing. Even those who had supported the defeated party could not disguise from themselves their relief that the terrible civil wars were over. All felt as if a great weight had been lifted. Women, happy to think that their sons, husbands and lovers would no longer be sacrificed to Mars, united in praise of Caesar. An uncommonly large number of children were conceived in noble families that autumn. When Longina confided her own pregnancy to me, I scarcely doubted that I was the father.
In the Senate, men tumbled over each other in their eagerness to lavish honours on Caesar. Cicero, it must be said, while urging such honours, also recommended that they be kept "within the measure of humanity". But power attracts toadies, and they soon overstepped that measure. It was reasonable to order a temple to be built in honour of Clemency, since none could deny that, except in Spain, Caesar's clemency to his defeated opponents had been remarkable, an honour to Caesar himself and to the Roman people in general. When one thought of how barbarian princes and Orientals were accustomed to make a hecatomb of their conquered rivals, the clemency that Caesar displayed renewed one's pride in Romanitas (to use a word then coming into fashion). It was perhaps appropriate that my cousin Marcus Brutus, who was such a conspicuous example of the dictator's forbearance, should introduce this proposal in the Senate; and few people were as critical of his leaden delivery and pompous platitudes as I was. Indeed, the general opinion was that Brutus had spoken in a manner worthy of his noble ancestors. I have never understood how Markie so easily attracted golden opinions. I suppose there was something in his manner - his lack of humour, his incapacity for irony - which appealed to the dullards who in any assembly are bound to be in the majority.
Caesar, with a self-consciously noble gesture, ordered that Pompey's statues be restored to the place from which they had been cast down. Cicero now declared that "Caesar, by resurrecting Pompey's statues, has established his own for all time". This rhetorical flourish was greeted with loud applause.
If those of us who had been Caesar's loyal friends and collaborators from the first perilous days of civil war were disgusted by the sycophancy now displayed by those who had previously declared him a wild beast that must be pulled down, well, that is hardly a matter for surprise.
Antony, however, was distrustful as well as disgusted. He could not believe in the sincerity of those who now declared themselves utterly reconciled to Caesar.
"It does not make sense," he said, "and yet Caesar appears to accept it at face value. Damned if I do."
He persuaded me that we should approach Caesar and urge him to form a guard for his protection. We cited the example of those from the elder Gracchus onward who had been murdered while they thought themselves the favourites of the people. I did not scruple to add the names of certain Greek tyrants to the list, for I wanted Caesar to understand the loneliness of his position, and the dangers to which this exposed him.
Caesar listened to our arguments, and then repeated them in a loud voice so that they might be more generally known.
Then he raised his hand, and smiled.
"I respect your motives, my friends, but Caesar will not condescend to live like an Oriental despot. It is better to die once, than to live in fear of death."
We could not move him.
"Did you ever hear such bloody nonsense?" Antony said.
It was not the first time he refused my advice. I argued against the proposal that he should celebrate his victory in Spain by a Triumph.
"Caesar," I said, "what is proposed is both unprecedented and distasteful. Even Sulla never held a Triumph to celebrate victories over Roman citizens. The Triumphs which you held last year were different. I grant you there was some dishonesty in the suggestion that they all celebrated victories over foreigners. Nevertheless, it is true that, for instance, even if Scipio and Cato were your chief enemies in Africa, the Triumph could be justified on account of the part that King Juba played in that campaign. But it was different in Spain. There we encountered and defeated none but Romans, and it is improper to rejoice in the defeat and death of men to whom we were united by ties of blood and ancient friendships. You have displayed your magnanimity by your decision to honour Pompey. You are in danger of destroying the effect this has had, if you now insist on a display of public rejoicing on account of the death of Labienus, and the destruction of Pompey's family."
I knew at once that I had gone too far. A nerve twitched in his cheek, sure sign that he was moved to anger.
"You are talking nonsense, Mouse. Labienus betrayed me, as Pompey never did. He was a man I valued, and I had frequently given public evidence of the high regard in which I held him. For him to desert me was treasonable. Besides, Munda was the hardest battle I ever fought. Don't ask me not to rejoice in that victory and Labienus' death."
"Private rejoicing is one thing. Perfectly natural. You know I share your feelings, even though I cannot stifle regret that our old colleague was not loyal and so condemned himself to ignominy. But a public Triumph is another matter. It is wrong in itself, for the reasons I have given. It is also impolitic. It will reopen the wounds which in all other ways you have set yourself to heal. You cannot suppose that all those who are connected by family and friendship with the men we defeated in Spain will not bitterly resent the holding of such a Triumph. That resentment will fester. Besides, it seems to me that in order to enjoy a day of glory, you will not only alienate hundreds of people now ready to be well-disposed to you, but you will pin on yourself a badge of undying shame."
"You forget yourself, Mouse. You forget you are talking to Caesar."
I was dismayed by his obstinacy. In former days, I told myself, Caesar was open to reason. He knew he was given to rashness, but he could be persuaded from unwise courses by those whom he had good reason to trust and respect. I had done nothing to impair that trust and respect, but he received my warning as if I was an insolent fellow of no account. I was grieved by his behaviour, not only because of the cavalier manner in which he set my advice aside, disregarding all I had done for him, but, more particularly, because I was certain that my advice was good and his conduct foolish.
So he pressed on with the Triumph, and insisted that I should myself take a place of honour in the procession. Unfortunately, I was stricken with an ague the day before, and my Greek doctor readily signed a certificate stating that he could not answer for my health if I took part. Caesar pretended to accept this at face value, but I knew he was displeased.
The reception of the Triumph was as I had predicted. Of course the vulgar throng, ever delighted by spectacle, applauded with their usual enthusiasm, but among men who mattered it made a bad impression. People said it was shameful to rejoice in this manner at the calamities which had overtaken the Republic, and in wars which nothing but dire necessity could excuse, either in the eyes of men or before the gods. So Caesar's reputation suffered, and Cicero asked, "What price clemency now? True clemency should extend to the memory of Roman dead, in whatever cause they perished. How is concord to be restored if we are invited to celebrate, rather than mourn, the slaying of our friends and relations?"
My argument, I might add, went against my own interest. I had recently acquired the principal stake in a school of gladiators, who were naturally in great demand on account of the Games held in conjunction with the Triumph. Prices were high, and I received a considerable pecuniary advantage; but I would willingly have forgone that to spare my country and my general the dishonour of this Triumph.
I was so perturbed by this episode that I took the risk of expressing my feelings
in a letter to Octavius.
My dear Octavius (I wrote)
You will have received news that Caesar has determined to hold a Triumph in honour of our victories in Spain. I am certain that your feelings on this matter will be the same as mine.
Nothing can tarnish Caesar's glory. Nothing can make me doubt the necessity of these terrible wars. No man, as you can attest, fought harder in Spain than I, and I am sure you will agree that none has been more diligent in your uncle's cause, nor has served him more faithfully.
It is on account of the love I bear him, and the love I bear you whom I presume to be his heir, that I take pen now to urge you to exert your influence with him in the same manner and the same direction that I do myself.
It is a time for moderation and reconciliation. It is necessary to cultivate these qualities if the Republic is to be reconstituted in the manner we should both desire, and of which we have discoursed. We are agreed, are we not, that the central problem is how to combine liberty with order, how to reinvigorate the noble traditions of the Republic without sacrificing what we have fought to gain?
There is no one (except, of course, Caesar) whose wisdom I respect, and whose counsel I value, as I do yours; and I never cease to be amazed by your ability to combine youthful ardour with prudence more to be expected of a man twice your age. And yet I pause on that sentence, for I cannot but observe that advancing years may impair judgment, and success may breed rashness.
I write this also to warn you of the dangers we still run, and of course to assure you of my undying affection.
You will be pleased to learn that I am to become a father.
I trust your studies go well, and that you will soon return to Rome that I may enjoy the charm of your company, and avail myself of the benefit of your opinion which will always, I am certain, be directed towards the restoration of sound principles of public virtue.
