Although they did not want their involvement to become known, the First Triumvirate was complicit with Clodius, who, in another ingenious initiative, managed to temporarily remove the obstructive Cato from the scene, sending him on a commission to annex Cyprus. Special commands were his bane, but, as a strict constitutionalist, Cato felt obliged to accept an officially conferred duty. He was absent from Rome for two years. Clodius’s move had two purposes: to further weaken the optimates and to provide revenue to pay for his planned free distribution of corn.
Caesar and Pompey knew what was going on but posed as candid friends, giving Cicero cordial if conflicting advice. Caesar said he should accept a command with him in Gaul; in that case, he would be seen to be acting from a position of strength. Pompey criticized Caesar for his advice, remarking that to quit Rome precipitately would be cowardly; Cicero should defend himself openly and, naturally, his old friend would be on hand to help him.
AS the crisis came to a head, Pompey became increasingly embarrassed by his own double-dealing and withdrew to his splendid villa in the Alban Hills outside Rome. Cicero went to seek him out and plead for assistance. According to Plutarch, when the great man heard of Cicero’s arrival he
could not face seeing him. He was bitterly ashamed when he remembered how in the past Cicero had fought his battles on many important occasions and had often taken a particular line in politics for his sake; but he was Caesar’s son-in-law, and at his request betrayed his previous obligations. He slipped out of the house by another door and so avoided the interview.
Clodius shared with Cicero an inability to hold his tongue. He was indiscreet about Caesar’s connivance and there were signs that public opinion was swinging to Cicero. Now that he had officially taken up his military command, Caesar was not allowed to enter the city. He was studiedly reasonable, assuring the crowd that, as everyone well knew, he had disapproved of Lentulus’s execution—but he equally disapproved of retrospective legislation.
Wherever Cicero turned, support was lukewarm and he slowly came to realize that his position was untenable. He could hardly leave his house without being pelted with mud and stones by the Tribune’s gangs. Even friends were counseling retreat. At a meeting in his house, senior optimates, led by Hortensius, advised him to leave the city, promising him an early return—advice he took but never forgave. Most people were sympathetic in principle (or appeared to be), but nobody in practice would act against Clodius.
Despairing, Cicero carried a little statue of Minerva down through the Forum and up to the summit of the Capitol, where he dedicated it with the inscription: “To Minerva, Guardian of Rome.” He had once been Rome’s guardian and now he asked the goddess to protect the Republic during his enforced absence. Then, escorted by friends, he slipped out of the city, on foot in dead of night in order to avoid detection.
AS soon as Cicero’s departure was discovered, a furious Clodius placed a new, bolder measure before the People, this time condemning Cicero by name and confiscating his goods. He was to be refused fire and water and was forbidden to live closer than 400 miles from Rome. It is a sign of the affection in which Cicero was widely held, of his fundamental likeability, that most people paid little attention to the new law and happily put up the exile on his journey from Italy. There were exceptions, though: the Praetor of Sicily asked him to avoid the island, so he made his way instead through Macedonia and settled in Thessalonica, where the Roman Quaestor, Cnaeus Plancius, generously and not uncourageously took him into his official residence.
Cicero was always prone to excessive mood swings. He easily became overconfident when his affairs went well and a setback could drive him into an exaggerated depression. The present crisis was unlike anything he had faced before. Even the most sanguine mind would have been daunted. If we are to believe what he writes in his letters, he may have suffered something like a mental breakdown and seems to have attempted, or at least considered, suicide.
Before too long, though, the exile returned to something approaching his old form, scheming and arguing for his recall. He decided that Terentia, probably now in her early forties, should not join him because she would be more useful to his interests in Rome. Atticus bore the brunt of his newfound agitations, receiving a constant flow of suggestions, instructions and criticisms without apparent complaint.
But if Cicero was determined that one day he would return to Italy, his enemy had different ideas. Clodius did all he could to ensure that his victim’s disappearance was permanent. He had his house on the Palatine burned down, together with some if not all of his villas in the country and arranged for the site of the house to be consecrated and reserved for a Temple of Liberty.
7
EXILE
The Rise of Caesar: 58–52 BC
Cicero was shattered by his downfall; he reported to Atticus that he was losing weight and crying a lot. Expulsion from Rome, the world city, and its center, the Forum, seemed to annihilate all he was and stood for.
He longed for his family, which must have gone through a terrifying time when the house in Rome was demolished. Terentia, the “frailty” of whose health caused him anxiety, and the seven-year-old Marcus were now homeless. Perhaps Quintus and Pomponia put them up, but we do not know, for, in the surviving correspondence, Cicero, preoccupied with his own emotions, does not discuss the matter. Atticus was a tower of strength and Terentia repeatedly told her husband how grateful she was for his help as she tried to put some order into their domestic affairs.
Cicero’s thoughts often turned to Tullia, his favorite child. “I miss my daughter, the most loving, modest and clever daughter a man ever had, the image of my face and speech and mind.” She was living with her husband, Calpurnius Piso, a model son-in-law, who was a Quaestor in 58 but gave up his foreign posting to work for Cicero’s return.
The exile indulged himself by translating his grief and shock into high rhetoric. “Has any man ever fallen from so fine a position, with so good a cause, so strong in resources of talent, prudence and influence, and in the support of all honest men? Can I forget what I was, or fail to feel what I am and what I have lost—rank, fame, children, fortune, brother?” One senses here less a broken man than an orator looking for an admiring audience.
When it came to the allocation of blame for what had been done to him, Cicero’s resentment overmastered him. His paranoia enriched with plausibility, he blamed the aristocrats in the Senate who had never accepted him as one of them and, he felt, had taken pleasure in abandoning him. He was particularly angry with his old rival Hortensius, who (he believed) had never forgiven him for outdoing him in the law courts. It was about such people that he complained to Atticus: “I will only say this, and I believe you know I am right: it was not enemies but jealous friends who ruined me.”
It was, of course, the First Triumvirate that was really to blame: the three had knowingly let Clodius engineer Cicero’s ruin. Curiously, though, Cicero said little against them and never directly criticized Pompey. Did he not see the link between his refusal to join the alliance and his subsequent political destruction? With the benefit of hindsight, the connection seems inescapable.
AS soon as he had settled down in Thessalonica, he sent off letters to various public figures, including one to Pompey. Although he was familiar with Pompey’s faults, he may have become too fond of him to credit his duplicity. More probably, he knew he would need his support in the future. Cicero was sure that at heart Pompey was no radical; sooner or later he would make common cause with the Senate. And in the short run, Cicero needed Pompey for a more practical reason. Without his active backing it was clear that he would never be allowed to return to Rome.
Atticus came in for his share of criticism. If only he had loved Cicero enough he would have given him better advice; instead he had “looked on and done nothing.” Atticus very sensibly paid no attention to this unfair jibe and went on doing all he could to help, even offering to place his personal fortune, now much augmented by the death of an �
�extremely difficult” but extremely wealthy uncle, at Cicero’s disposal. This was a gesture of some significance for, with the confiscation of his property, Cicero’s financial affairs were in a very poor state. Cicero’s letters to Atticus are full of practical advice, complaints and queries.
In June 58 the Senate attempted to pass a motion reprieving him, but a Tribune friendly to Clodius blocked it. In October eight Tribunes drafted a law to revoke the second of Clodius’s two laws (the one naming Cicero). It failed too, but Cicero was not too disappointed, for he thought it “carelessly drafted.” AS the year drew to a close he expressed growing worries about the Tribunes-Elect and the likely attitudes of the incoming Consuls. One of these was his old enemy Metellus Nepos, who had opened the sniping against him on the last day of his Consulship five years before.
However, Metellus agreed (more or less) to a reconciliation and the senior Consul, Publius Cornelius Lentulus Spinther, turned out to be a strong supporter. The Tribunes were sympathetic too. Atticus was successful in his informal role as campaign manager for Cicero’s recall. With his aptitude for networking and the freedom with which he could cross enemy lines, he gradually and discreetly pushed matters forward.
Even more helpful than Atticus was the deteriorating situation in Rome. Only a few weeks after Cicero’s melancholy departure for Greece, Clodius turned his attentions to Pompey and a supporter of his, the Consul Aulus Gabinius (a onetime friend of Catilina’s or, in Cicero’s dismissive phrase, his “pet dancer”). With his gangs of supporters he made life so dangerous for Pompey that the former general shut himself up for much of the time in his villa outside the city.
It is possible that Clodius was being egged on by Caesar or Crassus, the idea being to keep Pompey’s hands full and so reduce the chances of his coming to terms with the optimates. More probably, Clodius was simply asserting his independence from his patrons and putting himself beyond their reach. He was aware that the pressure for Cicero’s recall would grow and may have guessed that the beleaguered Pompey, skulking helplessly at home, might be tempted to change his mind. There were repeated riots and disorder throughout the city, and it was becoming difficult to conduct public business. On January 1, 57, after the close of Clodius’s term as Tribune, Consul Lentulus proposed a motion in the Senate allowing Cicero’s return. It was passed with a good majority. Clodius deployed a troop of gladiators, already assembled for the funeral of a relative, to prevent the bill from being put to the People. Some Tribunes were wounded in the Forum—a scandalous development—and Cicero’s brother, Quintus, only just escaped with his life. He was left lying unnoticed among the corpses in the square and for a time was presumed dead.
The only way to deal with Clodius was to fight fire with fire. Two Tribunes, Titus Annius Milo, a rich conservative who was popular with the urban masses because he had paid for sumptuous theatrical performances and gladiatorial shows, and Publius Sestius, a long-standing supporter of Cicero, recruited their own armed groups. Many weeks of street fighting ensued. In his defense of Sestius against charges of violence in 56, Cicero described in graphic terms the effects of this gang warfare: “The Tiber was full of citizens’ corpses, the public sewers were choked with them and the blood that streamed from the Forum had to be mopped up with sponges.” To begin with, the cure was worse than the disease and public business once more came to a standstill. However, by the summer Clodius, while by no means defeated, was at least being contained.
Pompey was now persuaded to back Cicero’s recall, but Caesar’s approval was more difficult to win. Although he was preoccupied with the conquest of Long-haired Gaul, he managed to devote much attention to monitoring and, so far as he could from a distance, managing the political situation in Rome. Cicero was no longer a major force either with his traditional constituency, the equites, or with the optimates in the Senate, but he was one of the few politicians of the day who could have an impact on events as an individual. AS Rome’s best-known advocate and with his mastery of the art of rhetoric, his opinions carried a certain weight. To some extent, his political isolation worked in his favor, for it contributed to a reputation for independence of mind. He was growing into an elder statesman.
Caesar finally gave his reluctant consent to Cicero’s return, presumably realizing that it was pointless to resist what he could not prevent. But he insisted that, in return, Cicero promise not to attack the First Triumvirate openly. Quintus offered Pompey a guarantee, on his brother’s behalf, of future good behavior.
Enthusiasm for Cicero’s cause grew. He became, briefly, the focus for a coming together of almost every shade of political opinion. He had suffered at the hands of Clodius and his rehabilitation was an economical and elegant way of publicly rejecting mob rule. How this was to be achieved, though, required a degree of care. It was possible to mount a plausible case against the legality of all Clodius’s acts as Tribune—on the grounds that his renunciation of patrician status had been handled improperly and, accordingly, his election was invalid. However, his reforms had attracted enthusiastic popular support and it would be unwise to disturb them. Even Cato took a lenient line on this topic, because he did not want to see his annexation of Cyprus nullified. It is disconcerting that the uncompromising constitutionalist was willing to bend his principles when his interests were at stake. Cicero was much put out by this, and for a while relations between the two men were icy.
Lentulus decided to proceed by stages. In May 57 the Senate endorsed his proposal that the various Roman officials and citizens who had helped Cicero during his banishment be formally thanked. It also agreed to convene a meeting of the Military Assembly later in the summer to consider his recall. This was a little odd because for many years this Assembly’s main function had been the election of senior magistrates; its use on this occasion was probably due to the fact that its voting system was more manageable than that of the General Assembly. The meeting was extensively publicized throughout Italy, and citizens were encouraged to come to Rome and vote. The political establishment was taking no chances with the Roman mob, which was still largely under Clodius’s thumb.
Then, in July, an unusually well-attended meeting of the Senate called on the Consuls and magistrates to prepare legislation for Cicero’s recall. No Tribune vetoed the proposal and Clodius was the only one to speak against it. Except for Clodius’s brother Appius and two Tribunes (“bought at auction,” as the word went), the entire magistracy came together behind a motion to repeal the law that had banished Cicero. No reference was made to the general measure condemning the execution of Roman citizens without trial, which had in fact precipitated Cicero’s hurried departure from Rome. The assumption now was that it simply did not apply to him.
The campaign accelerated. Thanks largely to lobbying by Pompey, all kinds of institutions—town councils, associations of tax farmers, craft guilds—passed resolutions in favor of recall. Pompey instructed his veterans to attend the Military Assembly, which was held in Rome on the Field of Mars in August. The most important men in the State, led by Pompey, addressed the meeting, which was guarded by Milo’s gangs and teams of gladiators. Senior Senators superintended the voting. The bill was passed triumphantly.
Apart from his appearance at the Senate, there is no record of where Clodius spent his time during these weeks. His career shows that he was no coward and he is likely to have made his presence felt in some way, if not directly on the Field of Mars. He had suffered a serious setback, but he soon demonstrated that he was by no means routed.
In Greece Cicero’s moods had been seesawing between pessimism and elation. Some months earlier he had written to Atticus: “From your letter and from the facts themselves I see that I am utterly finished.” Now he had every justification for euphoria. AS the news improved, he decided it was safe to leave boring Thessalonica and stay somewhere closer to Italy. He moved to Dyrrachium, a port on the Adriatic Sea, which was only a few days’ sail to Brundisium; he was “patron” of the town and had “warm friends” among th
e townsfolk. Confident enough to anticipate the outcome of events in Rome, he set sail before the vote was taken and arrived on Italian soil on the Nones of August. It was an auspicious day, for it happened to be the anniversary of Brundisium’s foundation. The town was en fête and Cicero’s arrival added an excitingly topical dimension to the civic celebrations. Even more joyfully, it was Tullia’s birthday and she was there to greet him. In her early twenties and as always the apple of his eye, she was now a widow. Her first husband, Calpurnius Piso, had recently died—from what cause is unknown. Although it had been an arranged marriage, the union had been a happy one.
Cicero’s journey up Italy and his reception in Rome were as close to a Triumph as a nonmilitary man could aspire to. There were massive demonstrations in his favor and he said later that Italy had taken him on its shoulders and carried him back to Rome. He described it all in a long, excited letter to Atticus. Official delegations came out to meet him from every township and gave him “the most flattering marks of regard.” AS usual he overreacted: speaking a few days later, he said that their decrees and votes of congratulation and confidence were like a ladder “by which I did not simply return home but climbed up to heaven.” When he reached the outskirts of Rome on September 4, almost everybody on his list of VIPS turned out to welcome him. Only his enemies stayed away. At the Capena Gate the steps of the temples were packed with ordinary citizens who greeted Cicero with loud applause. The Forum and Capitol were filled with “spectacular” crowds.
Cicero Page 19
