The Historians' History of the World 05 [The Roman Republic]

DEATH OF CICERO

Among the victims far the most conspicuous was Cicero. With his brother Quintus the old orator had retired to his Tusculan villa after the battle of Mutina; and now they endeavoured to escape in the hope of joining Brutus in Macedonia: for the orator’s only son was serving as a tribune in the liberator’s army. After many changes of domicile, they reached Astura, a little island near Antium, where they found themselves short of money, and Quintus ventured to Rome to procure the necessary supply. Here he was recognised and seized, together with his son. Each desired to die first, and the mournful claim to precedence was settled by the soldiers killing both at the same moment.

Meantime Cicero had put to sea. But even in this extremity he could not make up his mind to leave Italy, and put to land at Circeii. After further hesitation, he again embarked, and again sought the Italian shore near Formiæ (Mola di Gaëta). For the night he stayed at his villa near that place; and next morning would not move, exclaiming, “Let me die in my own country,—that country which I have so often saved.” But his faithful slaves forced him into a litter, and carried him again towards the coast. Scarcely were they gone when a band of Antony’s bloodhounds reached his villa, and were put upon the track of their victim by a young man who owed everything to the Cicerones. The old orator from his litter saw the pursuers coming up. His own followers were strong enough to have made resistance; but he desired them to set the litter down. Then, raising himself on his elbow, he calmly waited for the ruffians, and offered his neck to the sword. He was soon despatched.

The chief of the band, by Antony’s express orders, hewed off the head and hands and carried them to Rome. Fulvia, the widow of Clodius and now the wife of Antony, drove her hair pin through the tongue which had denounced the iniquities of both her husbands. The head which had given birth to the Second Philippic, and the hands which had written it, were nailed to the rostra, the home of their eloquence. The sight and the associations raised feelings of horror and pity in every heart.

Cicero died in his sixty-fourth year. He had fallen on evil times; and being eminently a man of peace was constantly called upon to mingle in counsels of civil war. From his first appearance in public during the dictatorship of Sulla to the great triumph of his consulship, he rose with a vigorous and unflagging energy, which gave promise of a man fit to cope with the dangers that were then closing round the constitution. But the performance was not equal to the promise. When once Cicero had joined the ranks of the senatorial nobility, his political conduct is marked by an almost peevish vacillation. His advances were coldly rejected by Pompey. He could not make up his mind to break entirely with Cæsar. His new senatorial associates never heartily welcomed the new man, whose laborious habits contrasted disadvantageously with their own. As the first orator of the day, he thought he had a claim to be considered as equal to the first statesman; and the rejection of this claim even by his own party threw him still more out of harmony with that party.

If we turn from his public to his private character, our commendations need less reserve. None but must admire the vigorous industry with which from early youth he prepared for his chosen profession of advocate, full of the generous belief that every branch of liberal studies must be serviceable to one who is expected to bring out of his treasure things new and old. To mould his multifarious knowledge he possessed a readiness of speech which sometimes betrayed him into verbosity. The advocate with an eye only to his verdict is sometimes forgotten in the orator who desires to display his own powers. When the Forum and the senate house were closed to him, he poured the overflowing abundance of his acquirements into those dialogues and treatises which we still read with delight. He wrote rapidly and fluently as he spoke, rather to amuse and employ his mind in times of enforced idleness than as one who feels a call to instruct or benefit mankind.