some notes on cicero

I finished reading Anthony Everitt's biography of Cicero recently. It was marvelously written. The man and his story really came to life in its pages. I knew how it would end, of course, but when it finally happened, I felt as if I had lost someone I knew. This entry (which, full disclosure, is an adaptation of an email I wrote Nanochip right after I'd finished the book, which means my thoughts as expressed here are as raw and unfiltered as I can ever permit them to be) is as much a discussion of interesting facts about the archetypal orator and statesman, with whom I have mentioned elsewhere I feel a deep kinship, as it is an attempt to give expression to certain feelings of sorrow and dissatisfaction at the way in which this bright light in the history of western civilization was snuffed out.

It is, first and foremost, interesting to note the artistic liberties that Shakespeare took in Julius Caesar. In the play it seemed as if the conspiracy, the assassination, and Caesar's final revenge all took place within the space of one or two days, but in reality they were spaced out, as you might expect. The Second Triumvirate did not form until much later. Octavian was in fact wary of Mark Antony at first and was poised to fight against him on behalf of Rome. Cicero, who was the de facto leader of Rome during the tumultuous months following Caesar's death, wove elaborate plans of pitting these hostile characters against each other so that they would not unite their forces against Rome. Cicero's goal, above all else, was to preserve the Republic and the constitution. In the end Cicero fell prey to strokes of ill fortune rather than to any shortcomings in his strategy or character. Moderate Caesarians who had aligned themselves with Cicero and the Republic joined Octavian's army after the unfortunate deaths of two prominent generals in skirmishes with Antony. Octavian, who was ambitious like his great-uncle and adoptive father, saw an opportunity to combine his forces with Antony's in order to defeat Brutus and Cassius. Contrary to what Shakespeare led us to believe, our characters from our old play did not run around like frightened mice after Caesar's assassination. They commanded seventeen legions between them in provinces outside Italy and were a force to be reckoned with. They would only kill themselves much later (two years after Caesar's assassination and a year after Cicero's murder), after the Second Triumvirate had formed and the Republic had been defeated.

It was then that the Triumvirate decided to launch their devastating proscription against prominent opponents. This lowly prescription, appalling even by Roman standards, went so far as to target people for no other reason than that they had a lot of money or for some reason or other had had disputes with its architects. Mark Antony, who was an ass of the highest order, took especial glee in putting down Cicero's name, since that noble statesman and orator had in the recent past launched fourteen colorful and devastating speeches (his Philippicae or Philippics) against that debauched piece of mediocrity. Octavian, who was colder and more calculating even than Julius Caesar, was not one to form close bonds with people; yet he apparently had a deep respect for Cicero, even though he was not necessarily always overfond of him, and argued with Antony for two days over the inclusion of Cicero's name in the proscription.

Cicero's brother Quintus and Quintus' son were among those proscribed as well. The two brothers, sensing that the Triumvirate would come after them, departed together. Cicero wanted to go by sea to Macedonia and join up with Brutus. They were short on funds, so Quintus decided to go back home and get some money and other necessities. The biography includes a very moving account of Quintus' and his son's final moments:

"The decision to return was disastrous. Bounty hunters were already on the family's tail and Quintus was betrayed by servants. His son was either with him or within reach: according to one account, he found a hiding place for his father and, when tortured to reveal its whereabouts, did not utter a syllable. As soon as Quintus was told about this, he came out into the open and gave himself up. Each man begged to be killed first. The conflicting requests were reconciled, for they were taken away to separate parties of executioners and, on an agreed signal, put to death simultaneously."

Cicero had been waiting for his brother and might have received news of his death, because he lost his resolve and made his forlorn journey back toward Rome. His servants took him to his seaside villa, where he had spent many happy summers in the past, and he reposed there. The servants could not bear standing around and waiting for their master to be murdered, so after many entreaties, Cicero agreed to let them take him down to the sea and help him escape.

They were too late. A tribune whom Cicero had once defended in a trial broke down the door to his house. Cicero's servants pretended ignorance of their master's whereabouts. Then one of Quintus' freed slaves, whom Cicero had personally educated, told the tribune and a centurion who was with him that Cicero was being carried in a litter toward the sea. When Cicero heard the men approaching, he told his servants to put him down. He knew this was would be the end, and he was not going to run away.

"There is nothing proper about what you are doing, soldier, but do try to kill me properly," he said.

He saw the soldier hesitate, so he bent his head and extended his neck to make the job esay for him. "It took three sword strokes and some sawing to detach the head and then the hands were cut off."

His head was brought back to Rome, where it was desecrated by Antony and his wife.

A decade or so later Octavian and Antony had a falling out, but it had never been Octavian's intention to share power with anyone. Antony and Cleopatra committed suicide in Alexandria, and Cicero's son Marcus, who was a Consul then and whom Octavian liked, had the satisfaction of reading out in the Forum Octavian's dispatch announcing the death of Antony. The Senate, which had always had it in for Antony but been too pusillanimous to follow through on Cicero's plans for keeping him in check, took down Antony's statues, rescinded all honors that had been extended to him, and (here's the fun part) decreed that no member of Marcus Antonius' family should bear the name of Marcus, which was also Cicero's praenomen. The historian Plutarch commented: "In this way Heaven entrusted to the family of Cicero the final acts in the punishment of Antony." The comment echoes the bitter satisfaction that I felt in my heart on reading this account of Cicero's death.

Many years later, when Octavian had become the Emperor Augustus, founder of the Roman Empire, he stumbled upon a grandson of his reading a book by Cicero. The grandson attempted to hide it from Augustus, believing that he would be angry if he saw what he was reading. Augustus took the book, read the entire text (if you can believe that), and handed it back, saying, "An eloquent man, my child, an eloquent man and a patriot."

Though Cicero lived over 2,000 years ago, something about his story and the way in which his life ended has left a sort of void in my heart, and I can't help wondering how history would have turned out if Fate had been as kind to him in life as it has been to his memory.

The Republic of Rome officially came to an end with Cicero's death.

Brutus and Cassius killed themselves a year after Cicero's murder when Octavian and Antony closed in on them in Philippi, as we know all too well, with all the might of their combined armies and forces from the fallen Republic that they had picked up, and these voices - these powerful voices, unmatched in their character and principle and importance - became but echoes in history.

I feel more than mere admiration for Cicero. The parallels between his character and my own are striking, if I may be so bold as to say to myself. Whereas these traits that I share with that great man are inchoate in me, they were realized in their full extent, or very nearly, in Cicero's life, and that gives me something to strive for. Cicero was witty and often let his sense of humor do serious damage to his prospects, as I have a tendency to do myself. He was a man of varied intellectual tastes. He was a consummate literary man, whose legacy consists of pretty much the Latin language and the literary traditions of all European languages all the way down to the present day. In spite of all this, he, like me, was a less than successful poet. The historian Tacitus wrote of him: "Caesar and Brutus also wrote poetry - no better than Cicero, but with better luck, for fewer people know that they did." In spite of the bulk of his fame resting on his oratorical skill, Cicero was deathly afraid of public speaking and susceptible to the worst kind of nerves, which is another trait I share with him and an aspect in which I can follow Cicero's example to overcome my shortcomings.

All this time I thought I was Caesar, but in fact I was Cicero.