Indeed, any sense that senators that day were pointing out fixed criteria for triumphs vanishes when the general practices for granting triumphs in the period are considered. In the Samnite wars at the beginning of the third century, Roman commanders were awarded triumphs explicitly against the Samnites for five of the six years from 295 to 290.16 Quintus Fabius Maximus Rullianus celebrated the first of these in 295, even though the Samnites invaded Etruria after Rullianus led the army out of the region.17 The next year’s consuls both celebrated triumphs against the Samnites by taking several cities, though there were still other cities in the region left untouched.18 Triumphs in the third century, in short, were awarded for great military successes, not because they marked permanent ends to any given conflict in a region.
Perhaps though, some requirement to pacify a region was instituted only after the Samnite Wars, as Roman armies were drawn further afield and could not as easily return home in the winter months. During the First Punic War, however, a conflict in which Marcellus and many other senior senators fought, there is no evidence of any rule requiring an enemy to be defeated permanently if a general was to win a triumph. Commanders celebrated triumphs for victories on land over the Carthaginians in 263, 259, 258, 257, and 250.19 Indeed, at the beginning of the war, Marcus Valerius Maximus Messala celebrated a triumph over the Carthaginians and the king of Sicily.20 True, Hiero was no longer a threat to Rome, but the Carthaginians, regardless of Messala’s triumph, remained a force on the western part of the island for another twenty years.21 It strains credulity too far to suppose that the Romans awarded triumphs to commanders in these years on the premise that Carthage had been driven from Sicily and the island had been wholly pacified. Rather, as in the Samnite Wars, triumphs were granted for significant victories, not ultimate victories. This practice continued during the Gallic wars that were of recent memory for many senators. Lucius Aemilius Papus’ victory over the Gauls, according to Polybius, encouraged the Romans to think they might soon drive the enemy completely out of the Po Valley22 clearly, they had not done so yet when Papus was granted a triumph in 225. Gaius Flaminius then triumphed over the Gauls in 223,23 and while the Gauls made peace overtures in the subsequent year, the Romans opted to remain at war.24 Finally, as seen in the first chapter, Marcellus won his triumph over the Gauls for Clastidium.25
These trends in granting triumphs suggest that there was nothing like a requirement for total victory at the time the senate debated Marcellus’ claim. Rather, the award of such a celebration depended upon the general consensus of senators and the assembly that the victories of the general in question were worthy of such recognition. It was Marcellus’ detractors, then, that brought up this alleged rule because it helped their case. Not uncommonly, most rivalries between senators were played out in this fashion, with each side suggesting that the traditions and rules favoured their point of view. Though there were undoubtedly exceptions, most of the time, the introduction of rules was probably not an act of outright fabrication – not in the modern sense. In an age without extensive records and fact checking, without even extensive written rules – there was no written Roman constitution – it was up to the collective consensus at any given time to determine what the rules and traditions exactly were. Traditions and memories about those traditions varied then just as they do now, and one Roman’s sacred custom could be another’s spurious fabrication. Ultimately, it was up to the collective to determine which rules were truly sanctioned. Accordingly, individuals and groups could often challenge their rivals by suggesting they were breaking the rules. With this in mind, Plutarch’s account of the senate debate becomes particularly helpful. According to him, Marcellus’ enemies opposed his triumph both because war still existed in Sicily and because another triumph would arouse envy.26 A self-serving phrasing in a sense, since presumably it would only arouse envy in those very rivals who felt Marcellus did not deserve it. As noted earlier, though, a tension existed when any individual aristocrat went beyond the bounds of normal honour and fame, and it was not at all uncommon for a significant portion of the aristocracy to work collectively, consciously or not, to limit or even humble one of their own who aspired to too many honours. Marcellus certainly fit the bill. Truly, celebrating a single triumph was a rare achievement for any Roman aristocrat. Celebrating two triumphs was almost unheard of. Celebrating two triumphs in addition to the probably controversial celebration for winning the spolia opima was simply without precedent.
The debate in the senate that day illustrates quite well the competition at which the aristocracy played for centuries. Previously, it was suggested that the system of political competition in the Republic could be helpfully conceptualized as a game. Again, the goal for players was to gain prestige, fame, and a reputation for virtus. Winning election to offices and achieving memorable deeds while in office, particularly military deeds, were the critical means by which players moved toward their goals. In addition, aristocrats could win additional fame and glory by claiming special rewards for their deeds. Success bred success; if an aristocrat managed to carve out the kind of reputation that made him appealing to peers and voters, he would continue to hold higher offices, possibly even repeating the consulship. Marcellus’ career exemplifies how successful one could be at this practice: crowns for single combat, the spolia opima, one triumph celebrated and now a second one claimed. As for his political career, by the beginning of 210, he had been elected consul three times, once as the first ever plebeian to hold a spot reserved for patricians. He had been named proconsul for years, and the one year the senate chose not to grant him that power, the popular assembly asserted its will and voted him a command anyway.
What the debate in the Temple of Bellona illustrates so well is another of the plays senators could make to keep their rivals in check. It was fully recognized and condoned by practice that one could raise objections to an individual’s efforts to gain posts, honours, and power by casting them in terms of points of law, points of religion, points of tradition, really points of propriety. So Livy and Plutarch’s versions need to be combined to get a complete picture of what happened that day and why. There were senators envious of Marcellus earning another triumph who used the language of procedure and propriety to express their objections. They did so not because that technical language was superficial or disingenuous, but because it was a vocabulary that spoke to the recognized need the Romans felt to follow the traditions and procedures that had brought them favour from the gods, and success in this world.
When all was said and done, the move to block Marcellus’ triumph succeeded – at least in part. True, he would not be granted a formal triumph. A decisive group of senators, however, must have found it unreasonable that he receive no recognition for the victory over Syracuse, a victory that, as his supporters that day had noted, had earned him a public thanksgiving. This argument must have had traction with undecided senators; in the end, Marcellus had rendered a critical service to the Republic by subduing the keystone of eastern Sicily and virtually guaranteeing Roman control of the region. Senate meetings were times of deliberation, not necessarily voting; so far as we know, only when the leading senators had debated the issues thoroughly and reached no consensus did matters come to an actual vote. A compromise was reached. Marcellus was granted the right to process in Rome in an ovatio (‘ovation’), a form of parade junior in grade to the triumph.27
The choice of compromise was a striking one. The celebration itself was extremely rare. Plutarch describes it as similar to the triumph, but ‘in conducting [the ovation] the general does not mount upon a four-horse chariot, nor wear a wreath of laurel, nor have trumpets sounding about him; but he goes afoot with shoes on, accompanied by the sound of exceedingly many flutes, and wearing a wreath of myrtle.’28 So far as the historical record goes, Marcus Fabius Ambustus was the last to celebrate an ovation in 360. The anonymous fourth century AD writer of De Viris Illustribus Urbis Romae (‘About Famous Men of the City of Rome’) suggests one ovation was ce
lebrated in 290 or 289, but this is not corroborated elsewhere, and it is likely this was some other kind of celebration. Either way, Marcellus was granted the right to celebrate a ceremony that either had not been used for 150 years or had been used twice in 150 years, the last time 80 years earlier. For practical purposes, he had revived an archaic ceremony to suit his needs.29 Nor, it should be recalled, was this the first time. Historians have noted regularly that Marcellus seemed to have been fond of archaic ceremonies and antiquated rituals. It may be that Marcellus fancied himself an aficionado of antique ceremonies, perhaps in part viewing himself as a representative of the traditional Roman virtus, which earned favour from the gods.
Any intrinsic interest Marcellus had in such rituals, however, cannot be separated cleanly from the fact that these rituals formed a critical part of his political persona and were a formidable tool of competition. The rhetoric of competition among aristocrats in the Republic – much as it still is today among all sorts of legislators – was cast in terms of what was and was not beneficial to the Republic. Where modern politicians assert – at times it seems with reckless abandon – that their positions represent the will of the people, the general claim of the Roman aristocrat, the standard by which the public measured his actions, was that his behaviour and character were consistent with the best Roman traditions and his deeds were all in the service of the Republic. Taking this a step further, consider that the well-being of the Republic, in Roman eyes, generally depended on following the mores maiorum, the customs of the ancestors. This meant following the proper rituals and practices, and observing the customs that had been demonstrated over centuries to win the favour of the gods and keep the Republic strong. In these respects Roman society, like essentially all ancient societies, tended to value the old and established, the traditional and proven far more than the novel and innovative.
Marcellus’ skill at resurrecting moribund customs allowed him to trumpet his victories, emphasize the favour in which the gods held him, and, no less importantly, show that he particularly respected the ancestral customs. It was a classic packaging: accomplish the extraordinary under the mantle of following the traditional. Sincere belief may have moved him deeply; a fascination with and reverence for the antique customs of his elders may have inspired him; there is no question, however, that this ability to revive old customs served him personally. If nothing else, an ovation could have been more noteworthy because of its novelty. Presumably, to any Romans’ mind, the triumph was the supreme honour, but if that was to be denied Marcellus, people would well remember an unusual ceremony that had not been used in their lifetime but had the patina of tradition.
Marcellus’ next steps only reinforce the conclusion that he was a particularly shrewd player of politics. The day before he was scheduled to the enter the city for his ovation, he celebrated a triumph Monte Albano, ‘on the Alban Mount’.30 This sacred peak in nearby Alba Longa was used to celebrate triumphal processions several times by generals who had been denied formal triumphs in Rome. Interestingly enough, these alternative triumphs, though they lacked the formal approval of senate and people, were officially recorded on the Fasti, suggesting they were considered legitimate ceremonies.31 According to later Romans, the first to celebrate such a triumph was Gaius Papirius Maso, slightly over two decades before Marcellus. It has been suggested, however, that Maso was actually reviving a tradition that had lapsed in the distant past, perhaps a triumph celebrated by Latins rather than Romans.32 Certainly, this would fit with Marcellus’ penchant for reviving ancient customs. In this way, Marcellus circumvented his opposition in the senate. And what a way: Marcellus was the first, so far as we know, ever to hold two victory celebrations for the same achievement. So while obeying the dictates of the senate, Marcellus still managed to claim exceptional honours for himself.33 He also did so in a way that must have seemed shockingly novel to many, even as his actions had the mantle of venerated custom. Marcellus’ rivals and detractors must have been disturbed, if not incensed, by the way he had snatched an extraordinary victory from the jaws of defeat.
Whether the triumph on the Alban Mount followed the same outlines and used the same props as the ovation is lost to us. What is clear is that Marcellus was determined to make his ovation, regardless of its junior status, appear more magnificent than any triumph. Livy describes the ceremony:
An enormous quantity of spoil was carried before [Marcellus] together with a model of Syracuse at the time of its capture. Catapults and ballistae and all the engines of war taken from the city were exhibited in the procession, as were also the works of art which had been accumulated in royal profusion during the long years of peace. These included a number of articles in silver and bronze, pieces of furniture, costly garments and many famous statues with which Syracuse, like all the principal cities of Greece, had been adorned. To signalize his victories over the Carthaginians eight elephants were led in the procession. Not the least conspicuous feature of the spectacle was the sight of Sosis the Syracusan and Moericus the Spaniard who marched in front wearing golden crowns. The former had guided the nocturnal entry into Syracuse, the latter had been the agent in the surrender of Nasos and its garrison.34
While the splendor of the celebration in general is most the important point to note, it is also striking that rather than limit the promotion of his achievements to Syracuse, Marcellus also made sure to claim a victory over the Carthaginians. This was a bold display.
The spectacle was not yet complete, for Marcellus lavished Rome with the riches he had stripped from Syracuse. The sources agree on these points: the wealth, especially objects of art, taken from Syracuse was greater than any seized before by the Romans, and Marcellus spread it around. As a result, a great deal of Greek art was put on display throughout the city. Much of it was used to decorate the temple to Honos and Virtus. In fact, the riches from Syracuse were used to enable Marcellus to complete this vowed victory temple. It had not yet been built when Syracuse was taken; historians have often assumed, based on a passing reference in Plutarch,35 that Marcellus renewed the vow at Syracuse. Whether this is the case or he simply followed through on the original vow from 222, the temple to Honos and Virtus began to be constructed and decorated with Syracusan art.
There is no compelling evidence that Marcellus’ contemporaries were either unexposed to Greek art and culture or categorically upset by the importation of such rich spoils. However, his rivals did seem to make use of the amount of spoils Marcellus brought from the city to argue that he had acted with a profound lack of restraint in his treatment of the city. Later writers adopted the stance – though here modern readers must be very skeptical – that the importation of such wealth was corrupting. Polybius offers the earliest surviving sermon on this matter no more than a century after the event. He first notes, ‘A city is not adorned by external splendors, but by the virtue of its inhabitants,’ and later suggests:
There were indeed perhaps good reasons for appropriating all the gold and silver [from Syracuse]: for it was impossible for them to aim at a world empire without weakening the resources of other peoples and strengthening their own. But it was possible for them to leave everything which did not contribute to such strength, together with the envy attached to its possession, in its original place, and to add to the glory of their native city by adorning it not with paintings and reliefs but with dignity and magnanimity.36
Livy, writing yet another century later, preached:
As regards the adornments of the city, the statues and paintings which Syracuse possessed in abundance, [Marcellus] carried them away to Rome. They were the spoils of the enemy, to be sure, and acquired by right of war. Yet from that came the very beginning of enthusiasm for Greek works of art and consequently of this general license to despoil all kinds of buildings, sacred and profane, a license which finally turned against Roman gods and first of all against the very temple which was magnificently adorned by Marcellus. For temples dedicated by Marcus Marcellus near the Porta Capena used to
be visited by foreigners on account of their remarkable adornments of that kind; but of these a very small part is still to be seen.37
Plutarch provides the fullest description of the kinds of decorations Marcellus transferred from Syracuse to Rome:
When Marcellus was recalled by the Romans to the war in their home territories, he carried back with him the greater part and the most beautiful of the dedicatory offerings in Syracuse, that they might grace his triumph and adorn his city. For before this time Rome neither had nor knew about such elegant and exquisite productions, nor was there any love there for such graceful and subtle art; but filled full of barbaric arms and bloody spoils, and crowned round about with memorials and trophies of triumphs, she was not a gladdening or a reassuring sight, nor one for unwarlike and luxurious spectators. ... Therefore with the common people Marcellus won more favour because he adorned the city with objects that had Hellenic grace and charm and fidelity; but with the elder citizens Fabius Maximus was more popular. For he neither disturbed nor brought away anything of the sort from Tarentum, when that city was taken, but while he carried off the money and the other valuables, he suffered the statues to remain in their places, adding the well-known saying: ‘Let us leave these gods in their anger for the Tarentines.’ And they blamed Marcellus, first, because he made the city odious, in that not only men, but even gods were led about in her triumphal processions like captives; and again, because, when the people was accustomed only to war or agriculture, and was inexperienced in luxury and ease, but, like the Heracles of Euripides, was ‘Plain, unadorned, in a great crisis brave and true,’ he made them idle and full of glib talk about art and artists, so that they spent a great part of the day in such clever disputation. Notwithstanding such censure, Marcellus spoke of this with pride even to the Greeks, declaring that he had taught the ignorant Romans to admire and honour the wonderful and beautiful productions of Greece.38
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