We now come to Catiline, who, as an English writer says of Cromwell, is “damned to everlasting fame;” a saying which is far more applicable to him, as even Cromwell was an angel when compared with Catiline. In Italian tales (in Malespini, for instance), he is so much the hero of crime, and become such a popular character, that the vulgar corruption of his name, which indeed is but a slight one (Catellina), has found its way into the Latin manuscripts. I refer you for his history to Sallust, who has written it with great truthfulness, giving every one his due, and doing full justice even to Cicero, without heeding the silly gossip of the people. He was himself, at that time, already a young man and capable of observation; and he also became very soon afterwards acquainted with the first men, such as Cæsar and Crassus.

Catiline, according to Cicero and Sallust, was indeed an extraordinary being, endowed with all the qualities of a great man in such times: he was of unequalled bravery and daring, and of giant strength of body and mind; yet so thoroughly Satanic a creature, that his like is hardly to be found in history, even though his oath, in taking which he drank the blood of a child mixed with wine, and caused his conspirators to do the same, may be but an idle tale. He had been a soldier of Sylla, and had greatly distinguished himself in his days: he therefore found himself in the same condition as the Terroristes and the Septembriseurs were under the consulship, after the eighteenth of Brumaire. After terrible civil wars, there remains for many persons who have allowed themselves the greatest excesses, nothing but to return to bloodshed, even though they have nothing particular to gain by it. It is altogether a doubtful question, and one concerning which I have not been able to form any positive opinion, what Catiline had in view. If we suppose that he had a definite purpose, to attain which his crimes were only as means, his object cannot be made out; but if crime itself was his object, then we may understand his character. We have only to represent to ourselves clearly the utter demoralization of that age: the anarchy of Athens which is so much spoken of, was nothing in comparison to that of Rome; it had settled down into forms of its own, and Athens was but a small state. But in Rome there were some hundreds, or at most some thousands of men, who were the masters of the world: these were divided among themselves, recognising no law, no order, and striving by hook or by crook to get their own ends, whilst the republic was a mere name and no one paid any regard to the existing laws. There were, for instance, heavy penalties denounced against bribery at elections, which moreover had often been re-enacted and increased; and yet every body knew that, except in extraordinary cases, as in that of Cicero, no one could be consul at Rome unless he spent huge sums. The Romani rustici had no weight whatever: besides the men of rank, the rabble alone had still some importance left; and it was employed by the leading citizens to fight their battles against each other. In such times, even a man like Catiline might in the eyes of very ambitious people seem to be a useful tool; and the accusation against Crassus, a man of most middling abilities, that he wanted to use him for his own ends, is to me not at all unlikely, although Catiline, had he been successful, would have certainly trampled him under his feet. If Catiline had any object at all, it was perhaps to become a second Sylla, a perpetual dictator with absolute power; and then he would not have troubled himself for anything more. Two years before Cicero’s consulship, he had already intended to murder those who were consuls at that time, and to make himself master of the republic. We know him in his most brilliant light from Cicero himself, the very man whom he hated above all others: for he says of him, that he had a magic power by which he fascinated and enslaved all who came near him; that it was not uncommon for young people, having been attracted by his gigantic qualities, to attach themselves to him; and that whoever had once been within his reach, had never been able to get out of his clutches. Cicero himself had defended Catiline before a court of justice. Catiline had been an officer of high rank under Sylla, and afterwards prætor, and an action (repetundarum) was brought against him from which he had a very narrow escape: it may have been on this occasion that Cicero was his advocate. On the whole, people had their eyes upon him, and his designs were dreaded, though no one had the courage to face him: it was believed that he would burn and pillage, if he once got into power. The most opposite characters, even many of Sylla’s partisans, were convinced that they, just as well as any one else, would fall his victims.

Cicero now stood for the consulship. Yet though his integrity and his transcendent talents commanded general esteem, his prospects were but poor. With the people indeed, he was a great favourite; but the men of rank opposed him as a homo novus; prætor he had been already. The well-grounded news, however, that Catiline and the conspirators meant to murder the candidates for the consulship, and the belief that there was no preventing the election of C. Antonius, an uncle of the triumvir, who was greatly suspected of a connexion with Catiline, induced the nobles to declare for Cicero. Thus he became consul in the year 698.

Cicero was born on the 3rd of January, in the year 647 according to Cato (649, according to Varro, which is easier to remember, as it reminds one of the year of Goethe’s birth);^[3] he was a native of the municipal town of Arpinum, from which Marius also had come. Arpinum was by no means a small place; on the contrary, for a provincial town in the interior of the country, it was very large and important, and it was also one of those which are called the Cyclopian towns: now indeed it is only a poor place. All the men of Arpinum undoubtedly were proud of Marius, an impression which Cicero had shared from a youth, especially as there was some kind of relationship between his family and that of Marius. His own family was very respectable; in a petty feud in his town, his grandfather was on the side of the optimates. His father and grandfather were acquainted with the first families in Rome, and indeed with the enemies of Marius, with Scævola and others of the aristocratical party; so that the discord which runs through the whole life of Cicero, takes its beginning even then. To Marius Gratidianus he was also akin.

Of Cicero’s youth, we only know that he very early showed activity of: intellect, and soon began to write. His first tastes were poetical, the first things he wrote being poems in the old Roman form: (his “Pontius Glaucus” was written versibus longis.) In his poetry, he had all his life long the old Roman tinge, whereas his prose was altogether ahead of that of his age. What the first teaching then given in the schools was, one cannot quite tell: thus much only is certain, that instruction in the Greek literature and language was one of the earliest subjects in which youthful minds were trained; just as in Germany, in my time, children had first to learn French. Cicero came to Rome shortly before the outbreak of the Italian war, in his fourteenth or fifteenth year; the reason why his father sent him to Rome, was perhaps because Arpinum lay on the borders of the Italians. At Rome, he was much with Greek philosophers and rhetoricians, and with the most distinguished men of the republic: he was like one of the family in the house of both the Scævolas, and was connected with Crassus and others. He came in a time of the greatest excitement, which is one of the lucky circumstances of his life. It is very doubtful whether he was what we would call aide de camp to Sylla: he does not mention the fact himself; at any rate, it can only have been for a short time, and this military career of his had no influence upon the rest of his life, as his was anything but a warlike mind. He also studied civil law with the great lawyer Scævola: young men would get leave to be present in the Atrium of a jurisconsult, to listen to the legal decisions and advice which he gave there; just as in England one still learns the law to this day, and as was formerly done in France, a way of studying which is of infinite advantage for able minds. Although Cicero has been reproached with not having a systematic knowledge of the law, it was not an empty word of his when he said, “If I wished to get up the law, it would cost me only a few months;” for he knew an endless number of cases in point.

If we compare Cicero’s veneration for his high born patrons, with his affection for P. Sulpicius, whose political views were diametrically opposed to those of his older friends, we are somewhat startled; but he follows up the truth wherever he finds it, and we may recognise in this the inward struggle of his mind. Those old gentlemen were very respectable; but they had not highly intellectual minds: P. Sulpicius was full of intellect, and as he was a partisan of Marius, there was a closer bond between him and Cicero, who felt a patriotic enthusiasm for Marius, and, when a youth, even sang of him in a poem. When the revolutions began, he was in no danger from either of the parties, as he was true-hearted and friendly to both; that of Marius protected him with good will, and that of Sylla was not fierce against him: he was grieved to see that the wrong was on both sides. Thus, although the distracted state of his country well nigh broke his heart, he worked by himself, making shift with a sort of neutrality. When the time of Sylla’s rule began, he was in his twenty-seventh year, and had already pleaded several causæ privatæ. The earliest of his orations is the one pro Roscio comœdo, which is much older than is generally thought, being several years earlier than the oration pro Quinctio, as Garatoni has proved. The oration pro Quinctio seems first to have drawn much attention to him, owing to the boldness with which he defended his persecuted client: still more did he gain the high esteem of the public by the oration pro Sexto Roscio Amerino, whom Chrysogonus, a freedman of Sylla, wanted to send out of the world. It needed a truly heroic courage for a young man not to be afraid of this dangerous favourite of Sylla, especially for one who was himself connected with the Marian party. He carried his point; but his friends advised him to leave Rome, that Chrysogonus might forget him. Thus he went to Rhodes and Asia, and completed his study of Greek. What he was deficient in, was the knowledge of mathematics, of which he had very little, whereas the Greeks at that time regularly made them a part of their education. Moreover, he never systematically studied Roman history, and its writers were not to his taste. He was fond of poetry, yet only in a limited style: his chief favourites in literature were the Greek historians Herodotus and Thucydides; he was also well read in Theopompus, Timæus, and the rest of these: he enthusiastically admired the Athenian orators, in reading whom he felt called upon to vie with them. He had the greatest facility for work, an excellent memory, readiness and richness of expression, all the talents of a speaker. The predominant faculty of his mind was wit, in which he was not equalled by any man of ancient times: it was striking, easy, lively and inexhaustible, what we should perhaps call the French manner.

As to his personal connexions, he seems in his youth to have been without any bosom friend: it was only in his later years that there sprang up that pure fine friendship with Atticus which was a true and sincere union. His brother, for whom he had indeed much brotherly affection and love, was a worthless man, and in no way whatever to be compared with him. Nor was he happy in his married life, having allied himself, chiefly at the instigation of his friends, to Terentia, a domineering disagreeable woman, who exercised an influence over him which strangely contrasts with the fact of his never having really loved her; for on the whole, owing to his affectionate nature, he was easily led by those around him. She egged him on to the most dangerous enmities, as for instance, that of Clodius. The men of the oldest standing all looked upon him with great esteem, but none of them had any hearty love for him.

On his return from Asia, Sylla was dead, the troubles caused by Lepidus were over, and a reaction against the tyranny of the oligarchs had begun. Such a reaction has in its outset a peculiarly refreshing and conciliatory influence; the most different persons agree, and become friends. An example of this was seen in France, from the year 1795 to 1797, when men of the most opposite kind united in their endeavours; and also in Germany, at the time when the people rose against French tyranny: of ten who had then been sworn allies, there are now perhaps not two together. The general feeling at Rome was against Sylla, although his party had still the ascendency. This shows how they lost their power: they resigned it themselves, being tired of it; just as the national convention did, after the death of Robespierre. Very likely, people at Rome felt at that time much more comfortable than they had any reason for being: the danger without from Spartacus was so great, that it was necessary to keep close together.

Although Cicero was a homo novus, and had not distinguished himself in war, he yet resolved to obtain the highest offices. One step after another was given him with the greatest goodwill of the people; and he acquitted himself in the most creditable manner, not for the sake of mere show, but from the bent of his noble disposition. He was thoroughly a man of honour, far above even the thought of anything like meanness: to put forth all his powers, and to display them most brilliantly, was his generous ambition. The necessity of making himself conspicuous in order to rise, was the source of that boastfulness with which he has been so often reproached, and which perhaps he would not have had under other circumstances. He distinguished himself by his accusation of Verres, but yet more by his defences; whereas the other great orators were always engaged as accusers. It is quite striking, how many he undertook to defend; but he also pleaded for people for whom I could not have said one word, but rather would have accused them. This was in many cases to be accounted for by his kindliness of soul; as for instance, there was in the defence of M. Æmilius Scaurus, the son, an apostrophe to the father, that deep hypocrite, who, in his later years, it is true, was really the worthy man that he had wished to seem in his earlier ones. Cicero had personally much admiration for him, having been kindly received by him when a youth; and it might perhaps have immensely flattered him to be noticed by such a man. Scaurus was a grand seigneur, the first man of the republic as princeps senatus and censor, and Cicero did not know him from history as we do. Thus I confess that a certain great statesman, in whose house I almost lived in my youth, appears to me in quite a different light from what he would if I had not personally known him. Cicero may after all have been chiefly led by the feeling, that he was sparing the manes of a man, who as it were had inaugurated him for life, the grief of having his son condemned. Vatinius he also defended, after having once pleaded against him. Vatinius, however, was not that bad man which he would seem from Cicero’s passionate speech; the latter had dealt his blows too hard. Cicero had forgiven him, as he could not but pity him when he was in such distress; and his gratitude to Cicero, as expressed in his letters, shows him to have been no villain. Cicero thought it a dispensation of providence, that he had power to take his part: the consciousness of being able to give protection by his talent, was the highest delight of his life. For having pleaded for Gabinius, he is indeed to be blamed; but this was a sacrifice which he made to the republic in order to gain Pompey over to the good cause, and it was very hard for him to do. For it was the misfortune of that age, that to do good, one had to be friendly to very bad people. It is a sad pity that this defence has been lost; but the oration pro Rabirio Postumo being a close continuation of the same arguments, we may form some notion of that pro Gabinio; he surely did not make out Gabinius to be innocent. The courts indeed at that time were not juries, whose business is only to find out whether the defendant is guilty or not guilty, and where a higher authority may step in and grant a pardon or commute the punishment; but the quæstiones perpetuæ had come into the place of the former popular tribunals, and combined both of these functions: they gave a verdict as to innocence or guilt, and also had the right of pardoning. This latter power must not be wanting in any state, summum jus being only too often summa injuria: as no one else had it in Rome, the courts of justice themselves had to be invested with it. This is the point of view from which we are to judge the tribunals and advocates of that time. When Kant in his Kritik der Urtheilskraft (Critical Enquiry into the Faculty of Judgment) assails the eloquence and the profession of advocate, he is in some measure in contradiction with himself; for even on this occasion, he has written with the greatest eloquence when inveighing against political, and still more against forensic eloquence. Before our (German) tribunals, eloquence indeed is not allowable: the question in our mode of administering justice being “guilty or not guilty,” the Judge has to throw aside anything that might beguile or mislead him. If, as has been often proposed, but cannot be carried out, there were a board which had to inquire whether there be room for pardon, a generous orator pleading for mercy would be very much in his place.^[4]

Cicero having thus passed through the quæstorship, ædileship, and prætorship, was now, in his forty-third year, unanimously chosen consul. It cannot be denied that, at the end of his consulship, he became giddy; but he entered upon it with cheerful confidence, and the circumstances in which he was placed were exceedingly difficult. The tribunes everywhere abused their recovered power. The speeches against Rullus are some of the most brilliant examples of eloquence, when he demanded a small sacrifice from the people, and induced them not to accept the bounty which was proffered them in the scheme for the division of the lands. Moreover, when the sons of the proscribed (some of whom were of the first families, and had become impoverished, inasmuch as Sylia had deprived them of all prospect of office), had by the motion of a tribune been given to hope that they might recover their honours, he persuaded them concordiæ causa to renounce them. The person who from the very first withstood him, was Catiline. How Cicero was to be murdered; how he discovered those plots; how he saw into the secrets of the conspirators, without being seen himself; you may read in his own writings, and in Sallust. Matters came to such a pass, that Cicero found it necessary to attack Catiline in the senate; whereupon the latter left Rome, which was considered a great advantage. He betook himself to Tuscany where one of his partisans had gathered together some thousands of armed men, a number of vagabonds and outcasts, part of them Etruscans driven from their homes, others military colonists and such like. The accomplices, however, who had remained behind in Rome were men of the highest standing: among others was the prætor Lentulus, who had already been consul, but had been struck off from the list of the senate ambitus causa; so that he had once more to pass through all the offices, beginning at the lowest, to be able again to come into the senate. As to him, Cicero knew of his guilt for certain; in other cases, the connexion was very probable, though it was never proved; in that of M. Crassus, it was very likely. Julius Cæsar was also mentioned; yet Cicero believed him innocent: it is my conviction, that he could not have engaged in anything of the kind, the conspiracy being such, that this is not to be thought of. To get such evidence that the crime might, according to the Roman law, be delictum manifestum, Cicero made use of a stratagem. The envoys of the Allobroges, who since Pompey’s return from the war with Sertorius, were Roman citizens, and just then were present at Rome to negotiate a loan, and to obtain relief, he persuaded to disclose to him the offers made them by the conspirators: they were also to get the letters of these to Catiline, and then to give them up to him. The envoys being thereupon arrested, for the sake of appearance, by the prætor Valerius Flaccus, those letters were found among their papers. The punishment to be inflicted, was the question now mooted in the senate. According to the Roman law, there was no doubt but that, the identity of the signatures being proved, the culprits might be condemned to death, and this was moved by Dec. Silanus: but Cæsar argued that this would be a highly dangerous step; that great odium would be incurred by it, as one would have to return to the former mode of wholesale executions; that one should rather disperse the men, and keep them imprisoned for life in different places. I believe that, if in later years the question had been put to Cicero, what would have been best for the republic, he himself would have wished that Cato had not spoken, however honest a man Cato was: it was a misfortune for the republic that those men were executed. That the events are here very much crowded, must not surprise us; for the greatest things may happen within a few weeks. On the other hand, it startles us when Cicero in the oration for Sextius says, “what would have happened, if the conspiracy had been discovered later, if Catiline had had time during the winter, and thrown himself into the mountains?” This seems enigmatical; for those familiar with Cicero’s writings, are aware that he designates his triumph as Nonæ illæ Decembres, and in Tuscany it is certainly winter in December. Yet this comes from the derangement of the calendar; just as Cæsar also once betakes himself into winter-quarters in February.

Catiline had joined C. Manlius in Etruria. Cicero adopted the most excellent arrangement. Q. Metellus Celer, who was posted with an army in the ager Gallicus Picenus, marched to the northern slope of the Apennines, to cut off the passes which lead from Fæsulæ to Rome. C. Antonius, whom Cicero with wonderful cleverness had detached from the conspirators, and had quite neutralized by giving up all sorts of advantages to him, had likewise the command of an army; but whilst he was ill, Petreius, his lieutenant, led the troops into action. Catiline, as all retreat from Etruria to Gaul was cut off from him, was obliged to accept the battle. He died as he had lived, like a valiant soldier: the whole band fought like lions; they fell like the soldiers of Spartacus.

For this consulship, Cicero indeed got thanks for the moment; but instead of gaining for him lasting gratitude, it only brought upon him enmity and detraction. This is one of the saddest lessons taught us by the observation of human affairs. It is quite natural for a distinguished man to put forth his claims to acknowledgment; just as the striving after truth is a deep-rooted impulse of our nature:—a true saint, like Vincent de Paul, could alone have raised himself above such a weakness. Plato justly says, “the last garment which the pure man doffs, is the love of fame;” and when he does cast it off, he generally stands on most dangerous ground. When I bethink myself of the crying evil of our age, then I see with pain that there are so few who are bent upon seeking deathless fame: this wretched unsatisfying life, which is all for the present moment, leads to no good. He who yearns after glory from posterity, is sure to be a good man; and even his own age also must acknowledge, and must honour him. The only poetical genius among the Germans now living, Count Platen, has a painful longing after renown, and often speaks of his not being appreciated by the men of his day. Cicero was of a morbid sensibility: if it is in the power of a great man always to command and to act, he cares less whether he is honoured or not; but if he is only able to command the souls of men, and not their bodies, he is much more susceptible with regard to such matters. Cicero was keenly, and even morbidly alive to anything like a slight; any injury, or ill-will, any kind of envy upset him. Unhappily, he tried to overcome this by putting himself forward to show to the people what he was, sometimes chiding, and at other times remonstrating with them. They were certainly the vainest of all men, who in the most highly edifying language forsooth! have written on Cicero’s vanity: I am grieved at it, as I love Cicero as if I had known him, and also feel hurt by the scoffs which even the ancients already uttered against him. A source of great heart-burning to him, was the mortification which he suffered from Pompey’s indifference. He must have known very little of the latter before he went to Asia, and they can only have met during Pompey’s first consulship; on what terms of friendliness they were, cannot be known: at that time, Cicero was ædile. Afterwards, Pompey was for the most part absent, whereas Cicero was always at Rome. Pompey, full of his victories over Mithridates, thought of no one in all the republic but himself; and when Cicero wrote an unfortunate letter to him in Asia, in which he told him of the events in Rome, to make him aware of what he himself had done for the good of the country, he answered coldly: he took it as an offence, that Cicero should have presumed, in the face of his own achievements, to speak of what he too had done for his country. Another motive were the aristocratical airs which Pompey was pleased to give himself towards a homo novus like Cicero, although his own ancestor was but a low musician.

Hardly was Cicero’s consulship at an end, when he met with enmity. The whole college of tribunes in the following year, with the exception of Cato, was seditious: party names had no longer any meaning, and Metellus and Bestia, who belonged to the plebeian nobility, were playing the part of demagogues, and attacking him with the greatest impudence. His oration for Murena breathes the inward quiet joyfulness, which, just after his victory, made him happy for some time: it is by no means appreciated as it ought to be, and least of all by those jurists who have taken up the gauntlet as knights errant for the great lawyer Servius Sulpicius. People never bethink themselves of the state of mind in which the speaker is, but they are offended by trifling expressions; a thing which has often been the case with myself. This went on for centuries; no one understood how innocently Cicero here laughs at the Stoic philosophy as well as at the lawyers.

In his later years, Cicero displayed much kindliness towards younger men, whom he took by the hand and attached to himself; which was quite different from what most of his contemporaries did, Hortensius especially. Thus he behaved to Brutus, thus also to Cælius Rufus, a very opposite character; Catullus he likewise knew, and was most kind to; nor did he repel young men whom he found astray in evil paths, and whom he mourned over: such was the highly gifted Curio, a man whom he tried by every means to lead to better ways. In the epistles of M. Aurelius to Fronto, the Emperor says, “We have no word for φιλοστοργία, nor have we the thing itself.” This tenderness of heart which very few Romans had, this fatherly and friendly affection Cicero possessed, and therefore he was ridiculed as unmanly and soft: his mourning for the death of his daughter, arose from this inward depth of feeling. He was not a weak character; on the contrary, he showed in great emergencies a very decided strength of will: but he was a most impressible being, and easily upset; he needed “a nice and subtle happiness,” as Milton calls it, and thus the indignum utterly overpowered him. Friedrich Heinrich Jacobi was reproached with vanity, irritability, and weakness; he was just such a character, and in him Cicero often becomes clear to me.

The event soon happened which gave rise to the misfortunes of his whole life. The root of the conspiracy was torn up; but many fibres of it had still remained in the ground, and grew up again. P. Clodius was descended in the direct line from old Appius Claudius, being the youngest of the three sons of one Appius Claudius. The eldest of these, who bore the hereditary name of Appius, was a good-natured man, very superstitious, narrow-minded, and commonplace, though on account of his high rank he was raised to the first dignities. There were also two sisters, one of whom was married to Lucullus. Thus Clodius belonged to the very noblest aristocracy: but mere nobility was no longer thought of, and power was all that men cared for. In that profligate age, P. Clodius was among the most abandoned: he is one of those persons who have had most to do with the ruin of Rome. At the festival of the Bona Dea, which, like the Thesmophoriæ, was celebrated only by women in the house of the pontifex maximus, he smuggled himself in, in disguise, that he might meet with Pompeia, the wife of Julius Cæsar; but he was discovered, and tried for it. According to the true Roman law, the trial ought to have been before the spiritual court of the pontiffs, where he would undoubtedly have been condemned: but we see from this instance that the real jurisdiction, except in cases which were strictly ceremonial, must have been taken away from them. Clodius wanted to prove an alibi, and had the impudence to call in Cicero as a witness. The latter is said till then not to have had any quarrel with him, and the fellow was so dangerous that he ought to have contented himself with declining to give evidence; but Cicero, as we are told, to clear himself with his domineering wife of all connection with that family, not only bore true witness, but also gave free vent to his wit: he said things of Clodius in open court which put him in a ridiculous light, and could not but have caused his conviction. But Clodius had bought himself off from the condemnation of the Judges; he had actually lodged the money for his acquittal. For this day’s work, Clodius never forgave Cicero, and he thirsted for revenge.

Pompey now came back to Rome, where he renewed his former behaviour to Cicero, treating him not only with indifference but with scorn; and he encouraged Clodius to undertake something against him. Clodius, having now got a plebeian to make a show of adopting him, stood for the tribuneship, and was returned. Such transitiones ad plebem were quite lawful: even in former times, no adoption would have been needed at all; for one had only to go over to the plebs, as many patricians did, when all that was required was that the censor admitted them. But people had now no longer any clear notions in these things, and Cicero himself impugns the validity of that tribuneship.

One of the atrocities of the age was now perpetrated. Ptolemy Auletes, who on account of his utter worthlessness had been driven from Alexandria, came to Rome; and there he bargained with those who were in power about the price of his restoration. The people of Alexandria sent a counter embassy with the most bitter complaints, to prove his guilt; but Ptolemy was powerful enough, with the connivance of the leading men at Rome, to have those who were of highest rank in that Alexandrine embassy assassinated: Clodius had a hand in all this. His tribunate took place in the year after Cæsar’s consulship.