Caesar and Christ

BY WILL DURANT

The Story of Philosophy

Transition

The Pleasure of Philosophy

Adventures in Genius

BY WILL AND ARIEL DURANT

THE STORY OF CIVILIZATION

1. Our Oriental Heritage

2. The Life of Greece

3. Caesar and Christ

4. The Age of Faith

5. The Renaissance

6. The Reformation

7. The Age of Reason Begins

8. The Age of Louis XIV

9. The Age of Voltaire

10. Rousseau and Revolution

11. The Age of Napoleon

The Lessons of History

Interpretation of Life

A Dual Autobiography

Copyright 1944 by Will Durant

Copyright renewed © 1972 by Will Durant

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

including the right of reproduction

in whole or in part in any form

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TO ARIEL

Preface

THIS volume, while an independent unit by itself, is Part III in a history of civilization, of which Part I was Our Oriental Heritage, and Part II was The Life of Greece. War and health permitting, Part IV, The Age of Faith, should be ready in 1950.

The method of these volumes is synthetic history, which studies all the major phases of a people’s life, work, and culture in their simultaneous operation. Analytic history, which is equally necessary and a scholarly prerequisite, studies some separate phase of man’s activity—politics, economics, morals, religion, science, philosophy, literature, art—in one civilization or in all. The defect of the analytic method is the distorting isolation of a part from the whole; the weakness of the synthetic method lies in the impossibility of one mind speaking with firsthand knowledge on every aspect of a complex civilization spanning a thousand years. Errors of detail are inevitable; but only in this way can a mind enchanted by philosophy—the quest for understanding through perspective—content itself with delving into the past. We may seek perspective through science by studying the relations of things in space, or through history by studying the relations of events in time. We shall learn more of the nature of man by watching his behavior through sixty centuries than by reading Plato and Aristotle, Spinoza and Kant. “All philosophy,” said Nietzsche, “has now fallen forfeit to history.”^*

The study of antiquity is properly accounted worthless except as it may be made living drama, or illuminate our contemporary life. The rise of Rome from a crossroads town to world mastery, its achievement of two centuries of security and peace from the Crimea to Gibraltar and from the Euphrates to Hadrian’s Wall, its spread of classic civilization over the Mediterranean and western European world, its struggle to preserve its ordered realm from a surrounding sea of barbarism, its long, slow crumbling and final catastrophic collapse into darkness and chaos—this is surely the greatest drama ever played by man; unless it be that other drama which began when Caesar and Christ stood face to face in Pilate’s court, and continued until a handful of hunted Christians had grown by time and patience, and through persecution and terror, to be first the allies, then the masters, and at last the heirs, of the greatest empire in history.

But that multiple panorama has greater meaning for us than through its scope and majesty: it resembles significantly, and sometimes with menacing illumination, the civilization and problems of our day. This is the advantage of studying a civilization in its total scope and life—that one may compare each stage or aspect of its career with a corresponding moment or element of our own cultural trajectory, and be warned or encouraged by the ancient aftermath of a modern phase. There, in the struggle of Roman civilization against barbarism within and without, is our own struggle; through Rome’s problems of biological and moral decadence signposts rise on our road today; the class war of the Gracchi against the Senate, of Marius against Sulla, of Caesar against Pompey, of Antony against Octavian, is the war that consumes our interludes of peace; and the desperate effort of the Mediterranean soul to maintain some freedom against a despotic state is an augury of our coming task. De nobis fabula narratur: of ourselves this Roman story is told.

I wish to acknowledge the invaluable and self-sacrificing aid of Wallace Brockway at every step in the preparation of this book; the patience of my daughter, Mrs. David Easton, and of Miss Regina Sands, in typing 1200 pages from my minuscule script; and above all to the affectionate toleration and protective guidance accorded me by my wife through many years of dull and plodding and happy scholarship.

* Human, All Too Human, Eng. tr., New York, 1911, vol. II, p. 17.

Table of Contents

INTRODUCTION: ORIGINS

Chapter I. ETRUSCAN PRELUDE: 800-508 B.C.

I. Italy

II. Etruscan Life

III. Etruscan Art

IV. Rome Under the Kings

V. The Etruscan Domination

VI. The Birth of the Republic

BOOK I: THE REPUBLIC: 508-30 B.C..

Chronological Table

Chapter II. THE STRUGGLE FOR DEMOCRACY: 508-264 B.C.

I. Patricians and Plebs

II. The Constitution of the Republic

1. The Lawmakers

2. The Magistrates

3. The Beginnings of Roman Law

4. The Army of the Republic

III. The Conquest of Italy

Chapter III. HANNIBAL AGAINST ROME: 264-202 B.C.

I. Carthage

II. Regulus

III. Hamilcar

IV. Hannibal

V. Scipio

Chapter IV. STOIC ROME: 508-202 B.C.

I. The Family

II. The Religion of Rome

1. The Gods

2. The Priests

3. Festivals

4. Religion and Character

III. Morals

IV. Letters

V. The Growth of the Soil

VI. Industry

VII. The City

VIII. Post Mortem

Chapter V. THE GREEK CONQUEST: 201-146 B.C.

I. The Conquest of Greece

II. The Transformation of Rome

III. The New Gods

IV. The Coming of Philosophy

V. The Awakening of Literature

VI. Cato and the Conservative Opposition

VII. Carthago Deleta

BOOK II: THE REVOLUTION: 145-30 B.C.

Chronological Table

Chapter VI. THE AGRARIAN REVOLT: 145-78 B.C.

I. The Background of Revolution

II. Tiberius Gracchus

III. Caius Gracchus

IV. Marius

V. The Revolt of Italy

VI. Sulla the Happy

Chapter VII. THE OLIGARCHIC REACTION: 77-60 B.C.

I. The Government

II. The Millionaires

III. The New Woman

IV. Another Cato

V. Spartacus

VI. Pompey

VII. Cicero and Catiline

Chapter VIII. LITERATURE UNDER THE REVOLUTION: 145-30 B.C.

I. Lucretius

II. De Rerum Natura

III. Lesbia’s Lover

IV. The Scholars

V. Cicero’s Pen

Chapter IX. CAESAR: 100-44 B.C.

I. The Rake

II. The Consul

III. Morals and Politics

IV. The Conquest of Gaul

V. The Degradation of Democracy

VI. Civil War

VII. Caesar and Cleopatra

VIII. The Statesman

IX. Brutus

Chapter X. ANTONY: 44-30 B.C.

I. Antony and Brutus

II. Antony and Cleopatra

III. Antony and Octavian

BOOK III: THE PRINCIPATE: 30 B.C..-A.D. 192

Chronological Table

Chapter XI. AUGUSTAN STATESMANSHIP: 30 B.C.-A.D. 14

I. The Road to Monarchy

II. The New Order

III. Saturnia Regna

IV. The Augustan Reformation

V. Augustus Himself

VI. The Last Days of a God

Chapter XII. THE GOLDEN AGE: 30 B.C.-A.D. 18

I. The Augustan Stimulus

II. Virgil

III. The Aeneid

IV. Horace

V. Livy

VI. The Amorous Revolt

Chapter XIII. THE OTHER SIDE OF MONARCHY: A.D.14-96

I. Tiberius

II. Gaius

III. Claudius

IV. Nero

V. The Three Emperors

VI. Vespasian

VII. Titus

VIII. Domitian

Chapter XIV. THE SILVER AGE: A.D. 14-96

I. The Dilettantes

II. Petronius

III. The Philosophers

IV. Seneca

V. Roman Science

VI. Roman Medicine

VII. Quintilian

VIII. Statius and Martial

Chapter XV. ROME AT WORK: A.D. 14-96

I. The Sowers

II. The Artisans

III. The Carriers

IV. The Engineers

V. The Traders

VI. The Bankers

VII. The Classes

VIII. The Economy and the State

Chapter XVI. ROME AND ITS ART: 30 B.C..-A.D. 96

I. The Debt to Greece

II. The Toilers’ Rome

III. The Homes of the Great

IV. The Arts of Decoration

V. Sculpture

VI. Painting

VII. Architecture

1. Principles, Materials, and Forms

2. The Temples of Rome

3. The Arcuate Revolution

Chapter XVII. EPICUREAN ROME: 30 B.C.-A.D. 96

I. The People

II. Education

III. The Sexes

IV. Dress

V. A Roman Day

VI. A Roman Holiday

1. The Stage

2. Roman Music

3. The Games

VII. The New Faiths

Chapter XVIII. ROMAN LAW: 146 B.C..-A.D. 192

I. The Great Jurists

II. The Sources of the Law

III. The Law of Persons

IV. The Law of Property

V. The Law of Procedure

VI. The Law of the Nations

Chapter XIX. THE PHILOSOPHER KINGS: A.D. 06-180

I. Nerva

II. Trajan

III. Hadrian

1. The Ruler

2. The Wanderer

3. The Builder

IV. Antoninus Pius

V. The Philosopher as Emperor.

Chapter XX. LIFE AND THOUGHT IN THE SECOND CENTURY: A.D. 96-192

I. Tacitus

II. Juvenal

III. A Roman Gentleman

IV. The Cultural Decline

V. The Emperor as Philosopher

VI. Commodus

BOOK IV. THE EMPIRE: 146 B.C.-A.D. 192

Chronological Table

Chapter XXI. ITALY

I. A Roster of Cities

II. Pompeii

III. Municipal Life

Chapter XXII. CIVILIZING THE WEST

I. Rome and the Provinces

II. Africa

III. Spain

IV. Gaul

V. Britain

VI. The Barbarians

Chapter XXIII. ROMAN GREECE

I. Plutarch

II. Indian Summer

III. Epictetus

IV. Lucian and the Skeptics

Chapter XXIV. THE HELLENISTIC REVIVAL

I. Roman Egypt

II. Philo

III. The Progress of Science

IV. Poets in the Desert

V. The Syrians

VI. Asia Minor

VII. The Great Mithridates

VIII. Prose

IX. The Oriental Tide

Chapter XXV. ROME AND JUDEA: 132 B.C..-A.D. 135

I. Parthia

II. The Hasmoneans

III. Herod the Great

IV. The Law and Its Prophets

V. The Great Expectation

VI. The Rebellion

VII. The Dispersion

BOOK V THE YOUTH OF CHRISTIANITY 4 B.C..-A.D. 325

Chronological Table

Chapter XXVI. JESUS: 4 B.C..-A.D. 30

I. The Sources

II. The Growth of Jesus

III. The Mission

IV. The Gospel

V. Death and Transfiguration

Chapter XXVII. THE APOSTLES: A.D. 30-95

I. Peter

II. Paul

1. The Persecutor

2. The Missionary

3. The Theologian

4. The Martyr

III. John

Chapter XXVIII. THE GROWTH OF THE CHURCH: A.D. 96-305

I. The Christians

II. The Conflict of Creeds

III. Plotinus

IV. The Defenders of the Faith

V. The Organization of Authority

Chapter XXIX. THE COLLAPSE OF THE EMPIRE: A.D. 193-305

I. A Semitic Dynasty

II. Anarchy

III. The Economic Decline

IV. The Twilight of Paganism

V. The Oriental Monarchy

VI. The Socialism of Diocletian

Chapter XXX. THE TRIUMPH OF CHRISTIANITY: A.D. 306-325

I. The War of Church and State

II. The Rise of Constantine

III. Constantine and Christianity

IV. Constantine and Civilization

EPILOGUE:

I. Why Rome Fell

II. The Roman Achievement

Bibliography

Notes

Index

List of Illustrations

Following page 224

FIG. 1. Caesar (black basalt)

FIG. 2. An Etruscan Tomb at Cervetri

FIG. 3. Head of a Woman from an Etruscan Tomb at Corneto

FIG. 4. Apollo of Veii

FIG. 5. The Orator

FIG. 6. Pompey

FIG. 7. Caesar

FIG. 8. The Young Augustus

FIG. 9. Augustus Imperator

FIG. 10. Vespasian

FIG. 11. Relief from the Arch of Titus

FIG. 12. The Roman Forum

FIG. 13. Temple of Castor and Pollux

FIG. 14. Two Roman Mosaics

FIG. 15. The Gemma Augusta

FIG. 16. An Arretine Vase

Following page 416

FIG. 17. The Portland Vase

FIG. 18. Frieze from the Altar of Peace

FIG. 19. Frieze of Tellus from the Altar of Peace

FIG. 20. Portrait of a Young Girl

FIG. 21. “Clytie”

FIG. 22. “Spring,” a Mural from Stabiae

FIG. 23. Details of Mural from the House of the Vettii

FIG. 24. Mural from the Villa Farnesina

FIG. 25. “Sappho”

FIG. 26. The Colosseum

FIG. 27. Interior of the Colosseum

FIG. 28. Roman Soldier and Dacian, from the Column of Trajan

FIG. 29. Antinoüs

FIG. 30. Altar Found at Ostia

FIG. 31. Arch of Trajan at Benevento

FIG. 32. Ruins of Timgad

Following page 544

FIG. 33. Pont du Gard at Nîmes

FIG. 34. Temple of Iuppiter Heliopolitanus at Baalbek

FIG. 35. Temple of Venus or Bacchus at Baalbek

FIG. 36. Arch of Septimius Severus, Rome

FIG. 37. Reconstruction of Interior of Baths of Caracalla

FIG. 38. Mithras and the Bull

FIG. 39. Sarcophagus of the Empress Helena

Maps of Ancient Rome and Ancient Italy and Sicily will be found on the inside covers. A map of the Roman Empire faces page 456.

INTRODUCTION

ORIGINS

CHAPTER I

Etruscan Prelude

800-508 B.C.

I. ITALY

QUIET hamlets in the mountain valleys, spacious pastures on the slopes, lakes upheld in the chalice of the hills, fields green or yellow verging toward blue seas, villages and towns drowsy under the noon sun and then alive with passion, cities in which, amid dust and dirt, everything from cottage to cathedral seems beautiful—this for two thousand years has been Italy. “Throughout the whole earth, and wherever the vault of heaven spreads, there is no country so fair”: thus even the prosaic elder Pliny spoke of his fatherland.¹ “Here is eternal spring,” sang Virgil, “and summer even in months not her own. Twice in the year the cattle breed, twice the trees serve us with fruit.”² Twice a year the roses bloomed at Paestum, and in the north lay many a fertile plain like Mantua’s, “feeding the white swans with grassy stream.”³ Like a spine along the great peninsula ran the Apennines, shielding the west coast from the northeast winds, and blessing the soil with rivers that hurried to lose themselves in captivating bays. On the north the Alps stood guard; on every other side protecting waters lapped difficult and often precipitous shores. It was a land well suited to reward an industrious population, and strategically placed athwart the Mediterranean to rule the classic world.

The mountains brought death as well as splendor, for earthquakes and eruptions now and then embalmed the labor of centuries in ashes. But here, as usually, death was a gift to life; the lava mingled with organic matter to enrich the earth for a hundred generations.⁴ Part of the terrain was too steep for cultivation, and part of it was malarial marsh; the rest was so fertile that Polybius marveled at the abundance and cheapness of food in ancient Italy,⁵ and suggested that the quantity and quality of its crops might be judged from the vigor and courage of its men. Alfieri thought that the “man-plant” had flourished better in Italy than anywhere else.⁶ Even today the timid student is a bit frightened by the intense feelings of these fascinating folk—their taut muscles, swift love and anger, smoldering or blazing eyes; the pride and fury that made Italy great, and tore her to pieces, in the days of Marius and Caesar and the Renaissance, still run in Italian blood, only awaiting a good cause or argument. Nearly all the men are virile and handsome, nearly all the women beautiful, strong, and brave; what land can match the dynasty of genius that the mothers of Italy have poured forth through thirty centuries? No other country has been so long the hub of history—at first in government, then in religion, then in art. For seventeen hundred years, from Cato Censor to Michelangelo, Rome was the center of the Western world.

“Those who are the best judges in that country,” says Aristotle, “report that when Italus became king of Oenotria, the people changed their name, and called themselves no longer Oenotrians but Italians.”⁷ Oenotria was the toe of the Italian boot, so teeming with grapes that the word meant “land of wine.” Italus, says Thucydides, was a king of the Sicels, who had occupied Oenotria on the way to conquer and name Sicily.⁸ Just as the Romans called all Hellenes Graeci, Greeks, from a few Graii who had emigrated from north Attica to Naples, so the Greeks gradually extended the name Italia to all the peninsula south of the Po.

Doubtless many chapters of Italy’s story lie silent under her crowded soil. Remains of an Old Stone Age culture indicate that for at least 30,000 years before Christ the plains were inhabited by man. Between 10,000 and 6000 B.C. a neolithic culture appeared: a longheaded race called by ancient tradition Liguri and Siceli fashioned rude pottery with linear ornament, made tools and weapons of polished stone, domesticated animals, hunted and fished, and buried their dead. Some lived in caves, others in round huts of wattle and daub; from these cylindrical cottages architecture pursued a continuous development to the round “House of Romulus” on the Palatine, the Temple of Vesta in the Forum, and the Mausoleum of Hadrian—the Castel Sant’ Angelo of today.

About 2000 B.C. northern Italy was invaded—presumably not for the first time—by tribes from central Europe. They brought with them the custom of building their villages upon piles sunk in water, for safety from animal or human attack. They settled on Garda, Como, Maggiore, and the other enchanted lakes that still lure aliens to Italy. Later they moved south and, finding fewer lakes, built their homes upon land, but still upon a foundation of piles. Their habit of surrounding these settlements with rampart and moat passed down to form features of Roman camps and medieval châteaux. They pastured flocks and herds, tilled the soil, wove clothing, fired pottery; and out of bronze, which had appeared in Italy toward the end of the Neolithic Age (about 2500 B.C.), they forged a hundred varieties of tools and weapons, including combs, hairpins, razors, tweezers, and other timeless implements.⁹ They allowed their rubbish to accumulate so lavishly around the villages that their culture has received the name of terramare—earth marl—from the fertilizing potency of these remains. So far as we know, they were the direct ancestors of the basic population of Italy in historical times.

In the valley of the Po the descendants of these terramaricoli, about 1000 B.C., learned from Germany the use of iron, made from it improved implements, and, so armed, spread their “Villanovan” culture from its center at Villanova, near Bologna, far down into Italy. From them, we may believe, came the blood, languages, and essential arts of the Umbrians, Sabines, and Latins. Then, about 800 B.C.., a new flood of immigrants arrived, subjugated the Villanovan population, and established between the Tiber and the Alps one of the strangest civilizations in the records of mankind.

II. ETRUSCAN LIFE

The Etruscans are among the irritating obscurities of history. They ruled Rome for a hundred years or more, and left upon Roman ways so varied an influence that Rome can hardly be understood without them; yet Roman literature is as mute concerning them as a matron anxious to forget, publicly, the surrenders of her youth. Italian civilization, as literate provision, begins with them: 8000 inscriptions, as well as many works of art, mingle with their remains; and there are indications of a lost literature in poetry, drama, and history.¹⁰ But only a few unrevealing words of the language have been deciphered, and scholarship stands in deeper darkness today before the Etruscan mystery than that which shrouded the Egypt of the Pharaohs before Champollion.

Consequently men still debate who the Etruscans were, and when and whence they came. Perhaps the old tradition has been too readily set aside; pedants love to disprove the accepted, which mischievously survives. Most Greek and Roman historians took it for granted that the Etruscans had come from Asia Minor.¹¹ Many elements in their religion, dress, and art suggest an Asiatic origin; many, again, seem natively Italian. Most likely the civilization of Etruria was an outgrowth of the Villanovan culture, commercially influenced by Greece and the Near East, while the Etruscans themselves, as they believed, were invaders from Asia Minor, probably Lydia. In any case, their superior killing power made them the ruling caste in Tuscany.

We do not know where they landed; but we know that they founded, conquered, or developed many cities—not mere villages of mud and straw as before them, but walled towns with geometrically laid-out streets, and houses not only of beaten earth, but often of baked brick or stone. Twelve of these communities joined in a loose Etruscan Federation, dominated by Tarquinii (now Corneto), Arretium (Arezzo), Perusia (Perugia), and Veii (Isola Farnese).^* Hardships of transportation through mountains and forests collaborated with the jealous pugnacity of men, here as in Greece, to form independent city-states, seldom united against external foes; each cherished its separate security, often stood aside while others were attacked, and, one after another, succumbed to Rome. But through most of the sixth century B.C. these allied municipalities constituted the strongest political force in Italy, with a well-organized army, a famous cavalry, and a powerful navy that for a time ruled what is still called the Tyrrhene (i.e., Etruscan) Sea.†

As in the case of Rome, the government of the Etruscan cities began as a monarchy, became an oligarchy of “first families,” and gradually gave over to an assembly of propertied citizens the right of choosing the annual magistrates. So far as we can make out from the tomb paintings and reliefs, it was a thoroughly feudal society, with an aristocracy owning the soil and enjoying in luxury the surplus product of Villanovan serfs and war-won slaves. Under this discipline Tuscany was reclaimed from forest and swamp, and a system of rural irrigation and urban sewage was developed beyond anything discoverable in contemporary Greece. Etruscan engineers built drainage tunnels to take the overflow of lakes, and cut drained roadways through rock and hill.¹² As early as 700 B.C. Etruscan industry mined the copper of the western coast and the iron of Elba, smelted the iron ore at Populonia, and sold pig iron throughout Italy.¹³ Etruscan merchants traded up and down the Tyrrhene Sea, brought amber, tin, lead, and iron from northern Europe down the Rhine and the Rhone and over the Alps, and sold Etruscan products in every major port of the Mediterranean. About 500 B.C. Etruscan towns issued their own coins.

The people themselves are pictured on their tombs as short and stocky, with large heads, features almost Anatolian, complexion ruddy, especially in women; but rouge is as old as civilization.¹⁴ The ladies were famous for their beauty,¹⁵ and the men sometimes had faces of refinement and nobility. Civilization had already advanced to a precarious height, for specimens of dental bridgework have been found in the graves;¹⁶ dentistry, like medicine and surgery, had been imported from Egypt and Greece.¹⁷ Both sexes wore the hair long, and the men fondled beards. Garments followed the Ionian style: an inner shirt like the chiton, and an outer robe that became the Roman toga. Men as well as women loved ornament, and their tombs abounded in jewelry.

If we may judge from the gay pictures of the sepulchers, the life of the Etruscans, like that of the Cretans, was hardened with combat, softened with luxury, and brightened with feasts and games. The men waged war lustily, and practiced a variety of virile sports. They hunted, fought bulls in the arena, and drove their chariots, sometimes four horses abreast, around a dangerous course. They threw the discus and the javelin, pole-vaulted, raced, wrestled, boxed, and fought in gladiatorial bouts. Cruelty marked these games, for the Etruscans, like the Romans, thought it dangerous to let civilization get too far from the brute. Less heroic persons brandished dumbbells, threw dice, played the flute, or danced. Scenes of bibulous merriment relieve the paintings in the tombs. Sometimes they are symposia for men only, with vinous conversation; now and then they show both sexes, richly dressed, reclining in pairs on elegant couches, eating and drinking, waited on by slaves, and entertained by dancers and musicians.¹⁸ Occasionally the meal is adorned with an amorous embrace.

Probably the lady in this case was a courtesan, corresponding to the Greek hetaira. If we may believe the Romans, the young women of Etruria, like those of Greek Asia and Samurai Japan, were allowed to obtain dowries by prostitution;¹⁹ a character in Plautus accuses a girl of “seeking in the Tuscan way to earn her marriage by the shame of her body.”²⁰ Nevertheless, women enjoyed a high status in Etruria, and the paintings represent them as prominent in every aspect of life. Relationship was traced through the mother in a manner suggesting again an Asiatic origin.²¹ Education was not confined to the male, for Tanaquil, wife of the first Tarquin, was versed in mathematics and medicine as well as political intrigue.²² Theopompus ascribed a communism of women to the Etruscan,²³ but no confirming evidence has come down to us of this Platonic utopia. Many of the pictures are scenes of marital concord and family life, with children romping about in happy ignorance.

Religion provided every incentive to a negative morality. The Etruscan pantheon was fully equipped to terrify the growing ego and ease the tasks of parentage. The greatest of the gods was Tinia, who wielded the thunder and the lightning. About him, as a committee pitilessly carrying out his commands, were the Twelve Great Gods, so great that it was sacrilege (and we may therefore neglect) to pronounce their names. Especially fearsome were Mantus and Mania, master and mistress of the Underworld, each with an executive horde of winged demons. Least appeasable of all was Lasa or Mean, goddess of fate, brandishing snakes or a sword, and armed with stylus and ink to write, and hammer and nails to affix, her unalterable decrees. Pleasanter were the Lares and Penates—little statuettes kept on the hearth, and symbolizing the spirits of field and home.

The sacred science of ascertaining the future by studying the livers of sheep or the flight of birds had probably come down to the Etruscans from Babylonia; but according to their own traditions it had been revealed to them by a divine boy, grandson of Tinia, who sprang to life from a furrow freshly turned, and at once spoke with the wisdom of a sage. Etruscan ritual culminated in the sacrifice of a sheep, a bull, or a man. Human victims were slaughtered or buried alive at the funerals of the great. In some cases prisoners of war were massacred as a propitiation of the gods; so the Phoceans taken at Alalia in 535 B.C. were stoned to death in the forum of Caere, and some 300 Romans captured in 358 B.C. were sacrificed at Tarquinii. The Etruscan appears to have believed that for every enemy slain he could secure the release of a soul from hell.²⁴

The belief in hell was the favorite feature of Etruscan theology. The dead spirit, as seen in the sepulchral representations, was conducted by genii to the tribunal of the Underworld, where in a Last Judgment it was given an opportunity to defend its conduct in life. If it failed, it was condemned to a variety of torments that left their mark on Virgil (reared on Mantua’s Etruscan lore), on the early Christian conception of hell, and, through these and twenty centuries, on Tuscan Dante’s Inferno. From such damnation the good were spared, and the sufferings of the damned might be shortened by the prayers or sacrifices of their living friends. The saved soul passed from the Underworld to the society of the gods above, there to enjoy feasts, luxuries, and powers depicted hopefully on the tombs.

Normally the Etruscans buried their dead. Those who could afford it were laid to rest in sarcophagi of terra cotta or stone, and the lid was topped with reclining figures carved partly in their likeness, partly in the smiling style of the archaic Greek Apollos; here, again, Etruscan traditions contributed to medieval art. Occasionally the dead were cremated and placed in cinerary urns, which also might be adorned with the figure of the deceased. In many cases the urn or tomb simulated a house; sometimes the tomb, cut into the rock, was divided into rooms, and was equipped for post-mortem living with furniture, utensils, vases, clothing, weapons, mirrors, cosmetics, and gems. In a tomb at Caere the skeleton of a warrior lay on a perfectly preserved bed of bronze, with weapons and chariots beside it; and in a chamber behind his were the ornaments and jewelry of a woman presumably his wife. The dust that had been her beloved body was clothed in her bridal robes.²⁵

III. ETRUSCAN ART

Etruscan art is nearly all that we know of Etruscan history. We can trace in it the manners and morals of the people, the power of religion and caste, and the changing tides of economic and cultural contact with Asia Minor, Egypt, Greece, and Rome. It was an art fettered by ecclesiastical conventions and liberated by technical skill; it reflected a brutal and obscurantist civilization, but expressed it with character and force. Oriental influences—Ionic, Cypriot, Egyptian—dictated its earlier forms and styles, and Greek models dominated its later sculpture and pottery. In architecture and painting, however, in bronze statuary and the working of metals, Etruscan art spoke with its own voice and was unique.

The architectural remains are never more than fragments or tombs. Parts of Etruria’s city walls still stand—heavy structures of uncemented masonry firmly and accurately joined. The homes of rich Etruscans defined the classic design of the Italian house: a deliberately forbidding external wall, a central atrium or reception room, an opening in the roof of the atrium to let rain fall into a cistern below, and a circuit of small chambers surrounding the atrium and often faced by a colonnaded porch. Vitruvius has described Etruscan temples, and the tombs sometimes take their form. Essentially they followed Greek models; but the “Tuscan style” modified the Doric by leaving the column unfluted, giving it a base, and planning the cella on a six-to-five proportion of length to breadth, instead of the more graceful Attic relation of six-to-three. A cella of brick, a peristyle of stone, architraves and pediments of wood, reliefs and ornaments in terra cotta, the whole resting on a podium or elevation, and brightly painted outside and within: this was the Etruscan temple. For secular mass architecture—for city gates and walls, aqueducts and drains—the Etruscans (so far as we know) introduced the arch and vault to Italy. Apparently they had brought these majestic forms from Lydia, which had taken them from Babylonia.^* But they did not follow up this brilliant method of covering great spaces without a confusion of columns and an oppressive weight of architraves. For the most part they walked in the grooves worn by the Greeks, and left Rome to consummate the arcuate revolution.

The most renowned of Etruria’s products is its pottery. Every museum abounds in it, setting the weary navigator of ceramic halls to wonder what unseen perfection exonerates these stores. Etruscan vases, when they are not clearly copies of Greek forms, are mediocre in design, crude in execution, barbarous in ornament. No other art has produced so many distortions of the human frame, so many hideous masks, uncouth animals, monstrous demons, and terrifying gods. But the black wares (bucchero nero) of the sixth century B.C. have an Italian vigor, and perhaps represent an indigenous development of Villanovan styles. Fine vases were found at Vulci and Tarquinii—imported from Athens or imitated from black-figured Attic shapes. The François Vase, a huge amphora discovered at Chiusi by a Frenchman of that name, was apparently the work of the Greek masters Clitias and Ergotimus. The later urns, red-figured on a black ground, are elegant, but again evidently of Greek manufacture; their abundance suggests that the Attic potters had captured the Etruscan market and driven the native workers into merely industrial production. All in all, the robbers were justified who, when they rifled Etruscan tombs, left so much of the pottery.

We cannot speak of Etruscan bronzes with such reckless irreverence. The bronze casters of Etruria were at the top of their craft. They almost rivaled the potters in productivity; one city alone is reported to have had two thousand statues in bronze. What remains to us from their hands belongs mostly to the period of Roman domination. Among these reliefs two masterpieces stand out: the Orator who now holds forth, with Roman dignity and bronze restraint, in the Archeological Museum at Florence; and—also at Florence—the Chimera found at Arezzo in 1553, and partly restored by Cellini. It is a disagreeable figure, presumably the monster slain by Bellerophon—head and body of a lion, a serpent for a tail, a goat’s head growing anomalously out of the back; but its power and finish reconcile us to its biological extravagance. Etruscan bronze-workers produced, often for distant export, millions of statuettes, swords, helmets, cuirasses, spears, shields, utensils, urns, coins, locks, chains, fans, mirrors, beds, lamps, candelabra, even chariots. Greeting the visitor to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York is an Etruscan chariot: body and wheels of wood, sheathing and tires of bronze, the high front embossed with figures of considerable grace. Many bronze objects were delicately engraved. The surface was coated with wax, the design was etched in with a stylus, the piece was dipped into acid, the wax-freed lines were burned into the metal, and then the wax was melted away. In the working of silver and gold, bone and ivory, the Etruscan artist was the heir and peer of the Egyptian and the Greek.

Sculpture in stone was never popular in Etruria. Marble was scarce, and the quarries of Carrara were apparently unknown. Fine clays were at hand, however, and soon took shape in a profusion of terra-cotta reliefs, statuettes, and sepulchral or architectural ornaments. About the end of the sixth century an unknown Etruscan artist established a school of sculpture at Veii, and molded the chef-d’oeuvre of Etruscan art—that Apollo of Veii which was found on the site in 1916, and until lately stood in the Villa Giulia at Rome. Modeled on the Ionian and Attic Apollos of the time, this engaging statue shows an almost feminine Mona Lisa face, with delicate smile, archly slanting eyes, and a body of health, beauty, and life; the Italians call it il Apollo che cammina—“the Apollo that walks.” In this, and in many excellent figures on sarcophagi, Etruscan sculptors carried to perfection the Asiatic stylization of hair and drapery, while in the Orator they or their Roman heirs established a tradition of realistic portraiture.

Etruscan painting collaborated with that of Greek Italy in transmitting another art to Rome. The elder Pliny described frescoes at Ardea “of older age than Rome itself”; and at Caere others of “still greater antiquity” and “supreme beauty.”²⁷ The art used pottery, and the interiors of homes and tombs, for its surfaces; only tomb frescoes and vase pictures remain, but in such quantity that every stage of Etruscan painting can be traced in them, from Oriental and Egyptian, through Greek and Alexandrian, to Roman and Pompeian styles. In some tombs we find the first Italian examples of windows, portals, columns, porticoes, and other architectural forms mimicked by painting on inner walls, in the very manner of Pompeii. Often the colors of these frescoes are faded; a few are astonishingly fresh and brilliant after more than a score of centuries. The technique is mediocre. In the earlier pictures there is no perspective, no foreshortening, no use of light and shade to give fullness and depth; the figures are Egyptianly slender, as if seen in a horizontally convex mirror; the faces are regularly in profile, wherever the feet may point. In the later examples perspective and foreshortening appear, and the proportions of the body are represented with greater fidelity and skill. But in either case there is in these paintings a frolicsome and impish vivacity that makes one wonder how pleasant the life of the Etruscans must have been, if their tombs were so gay.

Here are men in battle, and enjoying it; or they play at war in the jousts of the arena. They hunt the boar or lion with all the bravery of men who have or expect an audience; they box or wrestle in the palaestra, while the spectators dispute more violently than the combatants; they ride their horses, or drive their chariots, around the amphitheater; sometimes, resigned to peace, they fish. One pleasant scene shows a couple idly boating on a quiet stream: so old is wisdom. In a grave at Caere the pictured man and his lady recline on a couch; garlanded with laurel, he pledges her his eternal fidelity with a goblet of wine; she smiles and believes him, though she knows he lies. In other burial chambers the Etruscan painter sketches his idea of paradise: endless revelry, with careless lasses dancing wildly to double-pipes and the lyre. Pipes and lyres, trumpets and syrinxes, were apparently essential to every banquet, wedding, and funeral; love of music and the dance is one of the gracious aspects of Etruscan civilization. In the Tomb of the Lioness at Corneto the figures whirl about in nude and Bacchic frenzy.²⁸

It was the natural destiny of the Etruscans to expand north and south, to extend their sway to the foothills of the Alps and the Greek cities of Campania, and then to find themselves face to face, across the Tiber, with growing Rome. They established colonies at Verona, Padua, Mantua, Parma, Modena, Bologna, and beyond the Apennines at Rimini, Ravenna, and Adria; from this modest Etruscan outpost the Adriatic took its name. They hemmed in Rome with Etruscan settlements at Fidenae, Praeneste (Palestrina), and Capua, perhaps also at Cicero’s Tusculum (“little Tuscany”). Finally—in 618 B.C., according to a precise and precarious tradition—an Etruscan adventurer captured the throne of Rome; and for a century the Roman nation was ruled and formed by Etruscan civilization and power.

IV. ROME UNDER THE KINGS

About 1000 B.C.. Villanovan migrants crossed the Tiber and settled in Latium. No one knows whether they conquered, or exterminated, or merely married the neolithic population they found there. Slowly the agricultural villages of this historic region between the Tiber and the Bay of Naples coalesced into a few jealously sovereign city-states, loath to unite except in annual religious festivals or occasional wars. The strongest was Alba Longa, lying at the foot of Mt. Alban, probably where Castel Gandolfo now shelters the Pope on summer days. It was from Alba Longa, perhaps in the eighth century before Christ, that a colony of Latins—greedy for conquest, or driven by the pressure of the birth rate upon the land—moved some twenty miles to the northwest and founded the most famous of man’s habitations.

This hazardously hypothetical paragraph contains all that history dares say about the origin of Rome. But Roman tradition was not so parsimonious. When the Gauls burned the city in 390 B.C.. most historical records were presumably destroyed, and thereafter patriotic fancy could paint a free picture of Rome’s birth. What we should call April 22, 753 B.C., was given as the date, and events were reckoned A.U.C.—anno urbis conditae—“in the year from the city’s foundation.” A hundred tales and a thousand poems told how Aeneas, offspring of Aphrodite-Venus, had fled from burning Troy, and how, after suffering many lands and men, he had brought to Italy the gods or sacred effigies of Priam’s city. Aeneas had married Lavinia, daughter of the king of Latium; and eight generations later their descendant Numitor, said the story, held the throne of Alba Longa, Latium’s capital. A usurper, Amulius, expelled Numitor and, to end the line of Aeneas, killed Numitor’s sons and forced his only daughter, Rhea Silvia, to become a priestess of Vesta, vowed to virginity. But Rhea lay down by the banks of a stream and “opened her bosom to catch the breeze.”²⁹ Too trustful of gods and men, she fell asleep; Mars, overcome with her beauty, left her rich with twins. Amulius ordered these to be drowned. They were placed on a raft, which kind waves carried to the land; they were suckled by a she-wolf (lupa) or—said a skeptical variant—by a shepherd’s wife, Acca Larentia, nicknamed Lupa because, like a wolf’s, her love-making knew no law. When Romulus and Remus grew up they killed Amulius, restored Numitor, and went resolutely forth to build a kingdom for themselves on the hills of Rome.

Archeology offers no confirmation to these stories of our youth; probably they contain a core of truth. Perhaps the Latins sent a colony to develop Rome as a strategic moat against the expanding Etruscans. The site was twenty miles from the sea, and not well adapted to maritime commerce; but in those days of marauding pirates it was an advantage to be a bit inland. For internal trade Rome was well placed at the crossroads of traffic on the river and the land route between north and south. It was not a healthy location; rains, floods, and springs fed malarial marshes in the surrounding plain and even in the lower levels of the city; hence the popularity of the seven hills. The first of these to be settled, tradition said, was the Palatine, possibly because an island near its foot made easier there the fording and bridging of the Tiber. One by one the neighboring slopes were peopled, until the human overflow crossed the river and built upon the Vatican and Janiculum.^* The three tribes—Latins, Sabines, and Etruscans—that dwelt on the hills joined in a federation, the Septimontium, and slowly merged into the city of Rome.

The ancient story goes on to tell how Romulus, to secure wives for his settlers, arranged some public games and invited the Sabines and other tribes to attend. During the races the Romans seized the Sabine women and drove off the Sabine men. Titus Tatius, King of the Sabine Curites tribe, declared war and advanced upon Rome. Tarpeia, daughter of the Roman who had charge of a fortress on the Capitoline, opened a gate to the invaders. They crushed her with their shields in fair recompense; and later generations gave her name to that “Tarpeian Rock” from which condemned men were hurled to death. As the troops of Tatius neared the Palatine, the Sabine women, not insensitive to the compliment of capture, secured an armistice on the plea that they would lose their husbands if the Curites won, and their brothers or fathers if the Curites lost. Romulus persuaded Tatius to share the kingdom with him and join his tribe with the Latins in a common citizenship; thereafter the freemen of Rome were called Curites or Quirites.³⁰ There may again be some elements of truth in this wholesale romance—or perhaps it patriotically concealed a Sabine conquest of Rome.

After a long reign Romulus was lifted up to heaven in a whirlwind, thereafter to be worshiped as Quirinus, one of Rome’s favorite gods. Tatius too having died, the heads of the more important families chose a Sabine, Numa Pompilius, as king. Probably the real power of government, between the foundation of the city and the Etruscan domination, was in the hands of these elders, or senatores, while the functions of the king, like those of the archon basileus in coeval Athens, were chiefly those of the highest priest.³¹ Tradition pictured Numa as a Sabine Marcus Aurelius, at once philosopher and saint. “He strove,” says Livy,

to inculcate fear of the gods as the most powerful influence that could act upon . . . a barbarous people. But as this effort would fail to impress them without some claim to supernatural wisdom, he pretended that he had nocturnal interviews with the divine nymph Egeria; and that it was on her advice that he was instituting the religious ritual most acceptable to Heaven, and was appointing special priests for each major deity.³²

By establishing a uniform worship for the diverse tribes of Rome, Numa strengthened the unity and stability of the state;³³ by interesting the bellicose Romans in religion, Cicero thought, Numa gave his people forty years of peace.³⁴

His successor, Tullus Hostilius, restored to the Romans their normal life. “Convinced that the vigor of the state was becoming enfeebled through inaction, he looked around for a pretext for war.”³⁵ He chose Rome’s mother city, Alba Longa, as an enemy, attacked it, and completely destroyed it. When the Alban king broke a promise of alliance, Tullus had him tied to two chariots and torn to pieces by driving the chariots in opposite directions.³⁶ His successor, Ancus Martius, agreed with his martial philosophy; Ancus understood, according to Dio Cassius,

that it is not sufficient for men who wish to remain at peace to refrain from wrongdoing . . . but the more one longs for peace the more vulnerable one becomes. He saw that a desire for quiet was not a power for protection unless accompanied by equipment for war; he perceived also that delight in freedom from foreign broils very quickly ruined men who were unduly enthusiastic over it.³⁷

V. THE ETRUSCAN DOMINATION

About 655 B.C., proceeds the tradition, Demaratus, a rich merchant banished from Corinth, came to live in Tarquinii, and married an Etruscan woman.³⁸ His son Lucius Tarquinius migrated to Rome, rose to high position there, and, on the death of Ancus, either seized the throne or, more probably, was chosen to it by a coalition of Etruscan families in the city. “He was the first,” says Livy, “who canvassed for the crown, and delivered a set speech to secure the support of the plebs”³⁹—i.e., those citizens who could not trace their ancestry to the founding fathers. Under this Tarquinius Priscus the monarchy increased its power over the aristocracy, and Etruscan influence grew in Roman politics, engineering, religion, and art. Tarquin fought successfully against the Sabines, and subjugated all Latium. He used the resources of Rome, we are told, to adorn Tarquinii and other Etruscan cities, but also he brought Etruscan and Greek artists to his capital and beautified it with majestic temples.^* Apparently he represented the growing power of business and finance against the landed aristocracy.

After a reign of thirty-eight years the first Tarquin was assassinated by the patricians, who aimed to limit the kingship again to a religious role. But Tarquin’s widow, Tanaquil, took charge of the situation and was able to transmit the throne to her son Servius Tullius. Servius, says Cicero, was the first “to hold the royal power without being chosen by the people”⁴¹—i.e., by the leading families. He governed well, and built a protective moat and wall around Rome; but the great landowners resented his rule and plotted to unseat him. Consequently he allied himself with the richer members of the plebs, and reorganized the army and the voters to strengthen his position. Taking a census of persons and property, he classified the citizens according to wealth rather than birth, so that while leaving the old aristocracy intact, he raised up as a balance to it a class of equites, literally, horsemen—men who could equip themselves with horse (equus) and armor to serve in the cavalry.^* The census reported some 80,000 persons capable of bearing arms; reckoning one woman and one child for each soldier, and a slave for every fourth family, we may estimate at 260,000 the population of Rome and its subject environs about 560 B.C.. Servius divided the people into thirty-five new tribes, arranging them according to place of residence rather than kinship or rank; thereby, like Cleisthenes a generation later in Attica, he weakened the political cohesion and voting power of the aristocracy—the class that rated itself supreme by birth. When another Tarquin, grandson of Tarquinius Priscus, charged Servius with ruling illegally, he submitted himself to a plebiscite and received, says Livy, “a unanimous vote.”⁴² Unconvinced, Tarquin had Servius assassinated, and announced himself king.†

Under Tarquinius Superbus (“the Proud”) the monarchy became absolute, and Etruscan influence supreme. The patricians had thought of the rex as the executive of the Senate and chief priest of the national religion; they could not long consent to unlimited royal power. Therefore they had killed Tarquinius Priscus and had raised no hand to protect Servius. But this new Tarquin was worse than the first. He surrounded himself with a bodyguard, degraded freemen with months of forced labor, had citizens crucified in the Forum, put to death many leaders of the upper classes, and ruled with an insolent brutality that won him the hatred of all influential men.⁴⁴‡ Thinking to gain popularity by successful wars, he attacked the Rutuli and the Volscians. While he was with the army the Senate assembled and deposed him (508 B.C.), in one of the great turning points of Roman history.

VI. THE BIRTH OF THE REPUBLIC

Here the tradition becomes literature, and the prose of politics is fused into the poetry of love. One evening (says Livy), in the King’s camp at Ardea, his son, Sextus Tarquin, was debating with a relative, Lucius Tarquinius Collatinus, the comparative virtue of their wives. Collatinus proposed that they should take horse to Rome and surprise their ladies in the late hours of the night. They found the wife of Sextus feasting with intimates, but Lucretia, wife of Collatinus, was spinning wool for her husband’s clothing. Sextus was inflamed with desire to try Lucretia’s fidelity and enjoy her love. A few days later he returned secretly to the home of Lucretia and overcame her by wile and force. Lucretia sent for her father and her husband, told them what had happened, and then stabbed herself to death. Thereupon Lucius Junius Brutus, a friend of Collatinus, called upon all good men to drive the Tarquins from Rome. He himself was a nephew of the King; but his father and his brother had been put to death by Tarquin, and he had gained his cognomen Brutus—i.e., idiot—by pretending lunacy so that he might be spared for his revenge. Now he rode with Collatinus to the capital, told Lucretia’s story to the Senate, and persuaded it to banish all the royal family. The King had meanwhile left the army and hurried to Rome; Brutus, apprised of this, rode out to the army, told Lucretia’s story again, and won the soldiers’ support. Tarquin fled north, and appealed to Etruria to restore him to his throne.^{45 *}

An assembly of the citizen-soldiers was now convened; and instead of a king chosen for life it elected two consuls,† with equal and rival powers, to rule for a year. These first consuls, says the tradition, were Brutus and Collatinus; but Collatinus resigned, and was replaced by Publius Valerius, who won the name Publicola—“friend of the people”—by putting through the Assembly several laws that remained basic in Rome: that any man who should try to make himself king might be killed without trial; that any attempt to take a public office without the people’s consent should be punishable with death; and that any citizen condemned by a magistrate to death or flogging should have the right of appeal to the Assembly. It was Valerius who inaugurated the custom whereby a consul, upon entering the Assembly, must part the axes from the rods and lower them as a sign of the people’s sovereignty and sole right, in peace, to impose a sentence of death.

The revolution had two main results: it freed Rome from Etruscan ascendancy and replaced the monarchy with an aristocracy that ruled Rome until Caesar. The political position of the poorer citizens was not improved; on the contrary, they were required to surrender the lands that Servius had given them, and they lost the modest measure of protection with which the monarchy had shielded them from aristocratic domination.⁴⁷ The victors called the revolution a triumph of liberty; but now and then liberty, in the slogans of the strong, means freedom from restraint in the exploitation of the weak.

The expulsion of the Tarquins from Rome, added to the defeat of the Etruscans by Greek colonists at Cumae in 524, threatened to end Etruscan leadership in central Italy. Responding for these reasons to Tarquin’s appeal, Lars Porsena, chief magistrate of Clusium, collected an army from the federated cities of Etruria and advanced upon Rome. At the same time an attempt was made in Rome itself to restore Tarquin. The two sons of Brutus were among the arrested conspirators, and the fiery first consul provided an exemplar—perhaps a myth—for all later Romans when he witnessed in stoic silence the flogging and beheading of his children. The Romans destroyed the Tiber bridges before Porsena could reach them; it was in this defense of the bridgeheads that Horatius Codes immortalized himself in Latin and English lays. Despite this and other legends with which defeat tried to cover itself with glory, Rome surrendered to Porsena,⁴⁸ and yielded portions of her territory to Veii and to the Latin towns that had been despoiled by Rome’s kings.⁴⁹ Porsena showed his good taste by not demanding the restoration of Tarquin; in Etruria, too, by this time, aristocracy had driven out monarchy. Rome was weakened for a generation, but her revolution remained.

The Etruscan power had been expelled, but the marks and relics of Etruscan influence were to survive in Roman civilization to its end. That influence was apparently least on the Latin language; nevertheless, the Roman numerals are probably Etruscan,⁵⁰ and the name Roma may have come from the Etruscan rumon, river.⁵¹ The Romans believed that they had taken from Etruria the ceremonies of a returning conqueror’s triumph, the purple-hemmed robes and ivory curule (chariotlike) seat of the magistrates, and the rods and axes carried before each consul by twelve lictors in token of his authority to strike and kill.^{52 *} The coins of Rome, centuries before she had a fleet, were adorned with the prow of a ship—long used in the coinage of Etruria to symbolize her commercial activity and naval power. From the seventh to the fourth centuries B.C. it was a custom among Roman aristocrats to send their sons to Etruscan cities for higher education; there, among other things, they learned geometry, surveying, and architecture.⁵⁵ Roman dress derived from the Etruscan, or both from a common source.

The first actors, and their name histriones, came to Rome from Etruria. It was Tarquinius Priscus, if we may believe Livy, who built the first Circus Maximus, and imported race horses and pugilists from Etruria for Roman games. The Etruscans gave Rome brutal gladiatorial contests, but they also transmitted to Rome a higher status of woman than could be found in Greece. Etruscan engineers built the walls and sewers of Rome, and turned it from a swamp into a protected and civilized capital. From Etruria Rome took most of her religious ritual, her augurs, haruspices, and soothsayers; as late as Julian (A.D. 363), Etruscan soothsayers were an official part of every Roman army. With Etruscan rites Romulus was believed to have laid out the limits of Rome. From the same source came the Roman wedding ceremony, with its symbolism of capture, and the Roman ceremonial funeral. Rome took her musical modes and instruments from Etruria.⁵⁶ Most of her artists were Etruscans, and the Roman street where the artists worked was called Vicus Tuscus; the arts themselves, however, may have filtered in through Latium from the Campanian Greeks. Sculptural portraiture in Rome was deeply influenced by the death masks made for the family gallery—a custom taken from Etruria. Etruscan sculptors adorned the temples and palaces of Rome with bronze statuary and terra-cotta figures and reliefs; Etruscan architects bequeathed to Rome a “Tuscan style” that still survives in the colonnade of St. Peter’s Church; Etruscan kings at Rome seem to have built her first large edifices, and to have transformed Rome from an assemblage of earthen or wooden huts into a city of wood, brick, and stone. Not till Caesar would Rome see again so much building as under Etruscan rule.

We must not exaggerate. However much Rome learned from her neighbors, she remained, in all the basic features of life, distinctively herself. Nothing in Etruscan history quite suggests the Roman character, the grave self-discipline, the cruelty and courage, the patriotism and stoic devotion that patiently conquered, and then patiently ruled, the Mediterranean states. Now Rome was free, and the stage was cleared for the incomparable drama of the grandeur and decline of paganism in the ancient world.

BOOK I

THE REPUBLIC

508-30 B.C.

CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE

B.C.

813(?):

Foundation of Carthage

558:

Carthage conquers western Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, etc.

509:

Establishment of Roman Republic

508:

War with Etruscans; Horatius Cocles

500:

Hanno explores west coast of Africa

494:

First secession of the plebs; institution of the tribunate

492:

Coriolanus (?)

485:

Condemnation of Spurius Cassius

458,439:

Cincinnatus, dictator

451:

First Decemvirate

450:

The Twelve Tables

449:

Second secession of the plebs

445:

Lex Canuleia on marriage

443:

Institution of the censorship

432:

First law to check electoral corruption

396:

Romans capture Veii

390:

Sack of Rome by the Gauls

367:

Lex Licinia alleviates law of debt

343-341:

First Samnite War

340-338:

War with the Latins; dissolution of the Latin League

339:

Leges Publiliae end veto power of Senate

327-304:

Second Samnite War

326:

Lex Poetelia alleviates law of debt

321:

Romans defeated at Caudine Forks

312:

Censorship of Appius Claudius; beginning of Appian Way

300:

Lex Valeria on right of appeal; lex Ogulnia on eligibility to priesthood

298-290:

Third Samnite War

287:

Final secession of the plebs; leges Hortensiae on powers of the Assembly

283:

Rome occupies most of Greek Italy

280-275:

Pyrrhus in Italy and Sicily

280-279:

“Pyrrhic victories” at Heraclea and Asculum

272:

Rome takes Tarentum

264-241:

First Punic War

248:

Hamilcar Barca invades Sicily

241:

Carthaginian fleet defeated off Aegadian Isles; Sicily a Roman province

B.C.

241-236:

War of Mercenaries vs. Carthage

240:

First play of Livius Andronicus

239:

Carthage yields Sardinia and Corsica to Rome

237:

Hamilcar in Spain

235:

Naevius’ first play

230:

War on the Illyrian pirates

222:

Rome takes Cisalpine Gaul

221:

Hannibal commander in Spain

219-201:

Second Punic War

218:

Hannibal crosses the Alps and defeats Romans at the Ticinus and the Trebia

217:

Hannibal defeats Romans at Lake Trasimene; Fabius Maximus dictator

216:

Hannibal victorious at Cannae

215:

Treaty between Hannibal and Philip V

214:

Fl. Plautus

214-205:

First Macedonian War

212:

Romans capture Syracuse

210-209:

Scipio Africanus Major in Spain

207:

Hasdrubal defeated at the Metaurus

203:

Hannibal recalled to Africa

202:

Scipio defeats Hannibal at Zama; Quintus Fabius Pictor publishes first history of Rome

201:

Spain a Roman province

200-197:

Second Macedonian War

199:

Fl. Ennius

189:

Battle of Magnesia

186:

Suppression of the worship of Bacchus

184:

Censorship of Cato the Elder

171-168:

Third Macedonian War

168:

Battle of Pydna

167:

Polybius in Rome

160:

The Adelphi of Terence

155:

Carneades lectures in Rome

155-138:

War with the Lusitanians

150-146:

Third Punic War

147-140:

Successes of Viriathus against Rome in Spain

146:

Scipio Africanus Minor destroys Carthage; Mummius sacks Corinth; extension of Roman rule over north Africa and Greece

CHAPTER II

The Struggle for Democracy

508-264 B.C.

I. PATRICIANS AND PLEBS

WHO were the patricians? Livy¹ thought that Romulus had chosen a hundred clan heads of his tribe to help him establish Rome and be his council or senate. These men were later called patres—“fathers”—and their descendants patricii—“derived from the fathers.” Modem theory, which lives by nibbling at tradition, likes to explain the patricians as alien conquerors, perhaps Sabines, who invaded Latium and thereafter ruled the Latin plebs, or populace, as a lower caste. We may believe that they were composed of clans that through economic or military superiority had acquired the best lands, and had transformed their agricultural leadership into political mastery. These victorious clans—the Manlii, Valerii, Aemilii, Cornelii, Fabii, Horatii, Claudii, Julii, etc.—continued for five centuries to give Rome generals, consuls, and laws. When the three original tribes united, their clan heads made a senate of some three hundred members. They were not such lords of comfort and luxury as their descendants; often they put their own hands to the ax or the plow, lived vigorously on simple fare, and wore clothing spun in their homes. The plebs admired them even when it fought them, and applied to almost anything appertaining to them the term classicus, “classical”—i.e., of the highest rank or class.²

Close to them in wealth, but far below them in political power, were the equites, or businessmen. Some were rich enough to win their way into the Senate, and formed there the second part of its constituent patres (et) conscripti—i.e., “patricians and coinscribed men.” These two classes were called the “orders,” and were termed bom, “the good”; for early civilizations thought of virtue in terms of rank, ability, and power; virtus to the Roman meant manliness, the qualities that make a man (vir). Populus, “people,” took in only these upper classes; and originally it was in this sense that those famous initials were used—S P Q R (Senatus Populusque Romanus)—which were to mark so proudly a hundred thousand monuments.³ Gradually, as democracy fought its way, the word populus came to include the plebs.

This was the main body of Roman citizens. Some were artisans or tradesmen, some were freedmen, many were peasants; perhaps, in the beginning, they were the conquered natives of the city’s hills. Some were attached as clientes, or dependents, to an upper-class patronus; in return for land and protection they helped him in peace, served under him in war, and voted in the assemblies as he told them.

Lowest of all were the slaves. Under the kings they had been costly and few, and therefore had been treated with consideration as valuable members of the family. In the sixth century B.C., when Rome began her career of conquest, war captives were sold in rising number to the aristocracy, the business classes, and even to plebeians; and the status of the slave sank. Legally he could be dealt with as any other piece of property; in theory, and according to the custom of the ancients, his life had been forfeited by defeat, and his enslavement was a merciful commutation of his death. Sometimes he managed his master’s property, business, or funds; sometimes he became a teacher, writer, actor, craftsman, laborer, tradesman, or artist, and paid his master part of his earnings. In this or other ways he might earn enough to buy his freedom and become a member of the plebs.

Contentment is as rare among men as it is natural among animals, and no form of government has ever satisfied its subjects. In this system the businessmen were piqued by their exclusion from the Senate, the richer plebeians by their exclusion from the equites; and the poorer plebeians resented their poverty, their political disabilities, and their liability to enslavement for debt. The law of the early Republic allowed a creditor to imprison a persistently defaulting debtor in a private dungeon, to sell him into slavery, even to kill him. Joint creditors might, said the law, cut up the corpse of the defaulting debtor and divide it among them—a provision apparently never enforced.⁴ The plebs demanded that these laws should be repealed and the burden of accrued debt reduced; that the lands won in war and owned by the state should be distributed among the poor instead of being given, or sold at nominal prices, to the rich; that plebeians should be eligible to the magistracies and the priesthoods, be permitted to intermarry with the “orders,” and have a representative of their class among the highest officials of the government. The Senate sought to frustrate the agitation by fomenting wars, but it was shocked to find its calls to the colors ignored. In 494 B.C. large masses of the plebs “seceded” to the Sacred Mount on the river Anio, three miles from the city, and declared that they would neither fight nor work for Rome until their demands had been met. The Senate used every diplomatic or religious device to lure the rebels back; then, fearing that invasion from without might soon be added to revolt within, it agreed to a cancellation or reduction of debts, and the establishment of two tribunes and three aediles as the elected defenders of the plebs. The plebs returned, but only after taking a solemn oath to kill any man who should ever lay violent hands upon their representatives in the government.⁵

This was the opening battle in a class war that ended only with the Republic that it destroyed. In 486 the consul Spurius Cassius proposed an allotment of captured lands among the poor; the patricians accused him of currying popular favor with a view to making himself king, and had him killed; this was probably not the first in a long line of agrarian proposals and Senatorial assassinations, culminating in the Gracchi and Caesar. In 439 Spurius Maelius, who during a famine had distributed wheat to the poor at a low price or free, was slain in his home by an emissary of the Senate, again on the charge of plotting to be king.⁶ In 384 Marcus Manlius, who had heroically defended Rome against the Gauls, was put to death on the same charge after he had spent his fortune relieving insolvent debtors.

The next step in the climb of the plebs was a demand for definite, written, and secular laws. Heretofore the patrician priests had been the recorders and interpreters of the statutes, had kept their records secret, and had used their monopoly, and the ritual requirements of the law, as weapons against social change. After a long resistance to the new demands, the Senate (454) sent a commission of three patricians to Greece to study and report on the legislation of Solon and other lawmakers. When they returned, the Assembly (451) chose ten men—decemviri—to formulate a new code, and gave them supreme governmental power in Rome for two years. This commission, under the presidency of a resolute reactionary, Appius Claudius, transformed the old customary law of Rome into the famous Twelve Tables, submitted them to the Assembly (which passed them with some changes), and displayed them in the Forum for all who would—and could—to read. This seemingly trivial event was epochal in Roman history and in the history of mankind; it was the first written form of that legal structure which was to be Rome’s most signal achievement and her greatest contribution to civilization.

When the second year of the commission’s tenure’ ended, it refused to restore the government to the consuls and tribunes, and continued to exercise supreme—and ever more irresponsible—authority. Appius Claudius, says a story suspiciously like Lucretia’s, was stirred with a passion for the beautiful plebeian Virginia, and, to secure her for his pleasure, had her declared a slave. Her father, Lucius Virginius, protested; and when Claudius refused to hear him he slew his daughter, rushed out to his legion, and asked its aid in overthrowing the new despot. The enraged plebs once more “seceded” to the Sacred Mount, “imitating,” says Livy, “the moderation of their fathers by abstaining from all injury.”⁷ Learning that the army was supporting the plebs, the patricians gathered in the senate house, deposed the Decemvirs, banished Claudius, restored the consulate, enlarged the tribunate, recognized the inviolability of the people’s tribunes, and confirmed to the plebs the right of appealing to the Assembly of the Centuries from the decision of any magistrate.⁸ Four years later (445) the tribune Caius Canuleius moved that the plebs should have the right of intermarriage with patricians, and that plebeians should be eligible to the consulate. The Senate, again faced by threats of war from vengeful neighbors, yielded the first point, and averted the second by agreeing that thereafter six of the tribunes chosen by the Centurial Assembly should have the authority of consuls. The plebs responded handsomely by choosing all these tribuni militum consulari potestate from the patrician class.

The long war with Veii (405-396), and the assault of the Gauls upon Rome, unified the nation for a time, and stilled internal strife. But victory and disaster alike left the plebeians destitute. While they fought for their country their lands were neglected or ravaged, and the interest on their debts mounted beyond possible repayment. The lenders took no excuse, but demanded principal and interest, or the imprisonment and enslavement of the borrowers. In 376 the tribunes Licinius and Sextius proposed that interest already paid should be deducted from the principal, the balance to be met in three years; that no man should be allowed to own more than five hundred iugera (about three hundred acres) of land, or to use on them more than a certain proportion.of slaves to free laborers; and that one of the two consuls should regularly be chosen from the plebs. For a decade the patricians resisted these proposals; meanwhile, says Dio Cassius, “they stirred up war after war, that the people might be too occupied to agitate about the land.”⁹ At last, threatened with a third secession, the Senate accepted the “Licinian laws,” and Camillus, leader of the conservatives, celebrated the reconciliation of the classes by building a stately Temple of Concord in the Forum.

It was a major step in the growth of Rome’s limited democracy. From that moment the plebs progressed rapidly towards a formal equality with the “orders” in politics and law. In 356 a plebeian was made dictator for a year; in 351 the censorship, in 337 the praetorship, and in 300 the priesthoods were opened to the plebs. Finally (287) the Senate agreed that the decisions of the Tribal Assembly should also have the force of law, even when contrary to the resolutions of the Senate. Since in this Assembly the patricians could easily be outvoted by the plebs, this lex Hortensia was the capstone and triumph of Roman democracy.

Nevertheless, the power of the Senate soon recovered after these defeats. The demand for land was quieted by sending Romans as colonists to conquered soil. The cost of winning and holding office—which was unpaid—automatically disqualified the poor. The richer plebeians, having secured political equality and opportunity, now co-operated with the patricians in checking radical legislation; the poorer plebeians, shorn of financial means, ceased for two centuries to play a significant role in the affairs of Rome. Businessmen fell in with patrician policy because it gave them contracts for public works, openings for colonial and provincial exploitation, and commissions to collect taxes for the state. The Assembly of the Centuries, whose method of voting gave the aristocracy full control, continued to choose the magistrates, and therefore the Senate. The tribunes, dependent upon the support of rich plebeians, used their office as a conservative force. Every consul, even if chosen by the plebs, became by contagion a zealous conservative when, at the close of his year of office, he was received into the Senate for life. The Senate took the initiative in legislation, and custom sanctioned its authority far beyond the letter of the law. As foreign affairs became more important, the Senate’s firm administration of them raised its prestige and power. When, in 264, Rome entered upon a century of war with Carthage for the mastery of the Mediterranean, it was the Senate that led the nation through every trial to victory; and an imperiled and desperate people yielded without protest to its leadership and domination.

II. THE CONSTITUTION OF THE REPUBLIC

1. The Lawmakers

Let us try to picture to ourselves this complex state, so formed after five centuries of development. By common consent it was one of the ablest and most successful governments that the world has yet seen; Polybius, indeed, considered it an almost literal realization of Aristotle’s ideal constitution. It provided the framework, sometimes the battleground, of Roman history.

Who, among this people, were the citizens? Technically, those who had been born or adopted into one of the three original tribes of Rome. In practice this meant all males above fifteen years of age who were neither slaves nor aliens, and all aliens who had received a grant of Roman citizenship. Never before or since has citizenship been so jealously guarded or so highly prized. It meant membership in the relatively small group that was soon to rule the whole Mediterranean area; it brought immunity from legal torture or duress, and the right of appeal from any official in the Empire to the Assembly—or, later, the emperor—at Rome.

Obligations went with these privileges. The citizen, unless quite poor, was liable to military service at call from his sixteenth to his sixtieth year; and he could not hold political office until he had served ten years in the army. His political rights were so bound up with his military duties that his most important voting was done as a member of his regiment, or “century.” In the days of the kings he had voted also in the comitia curiata; i.e., he and other heads of families had come together (cum-ire) in a gathering of the thirty curiae, or wards, into which the three tribes had been divided; and to the end of the Republic it was this Curial Assembly that conferred upon the elected magistrates the imperium, or authority to govern. After the fall of the monarchy the Curial Assembly rapidly lost its other powers to the comitia centuriata—the soldiers assembled in “centuries” originally of one hundred men. It was this Centurial Assembly that chose the magistrates, passed or rejected the measures proposed to it by officials or the Senate, heard appeals from the judgments of magistrates, tried all cases of capital crime charged to Roman citizens, and decided upon war or peace. It was the broad base of both the Roman army and the Roman government. Nevertheless, its powers were narrowly constrained. It could convene only at the call of a consul or a tribune. It could vote only upon such measures as were presented to it by the magistrates or the Senate. It could not discuss or amend these proposals; it could only vote Yes or No.

The conservative character of its decisions was guaranteed by the class arrangement of its members. At the top were eighteen centuries of patricians and businessmen (equites). Then came the “first class”—men owning 100,000 asses’ worth of property;^* these had eighty centuries, or 8000 men, in the Assembly. The second class embraced citizens owning between 75,000 and 100,000 asses; the third, between 50,000 and 75,000 asses; the fourth, between 25,000 and 50,000 asses; and each of these classes had twenty centuries. The fifth class included citizens owning between 11,000 and 25,000 asses, and had thirty centuries. All citizens possessing under 11,000 asses were formed into one century.¹⁰ Each century cast one vote, determined by a majority of its members; a small majority in one century could cancel a large majority in another, and give the victory to a numerical minority. Since each century voted in the order of its financial rank, and its vote was announced as soon as taken, the agreement of the first two groups gave at once ninety-eight votes, a majority of the whole, so that the lower classes seldom voted at all. Voting was direct: citizens who could not come to Rome for the meeting had no representation in the Assembly. All this was no mere device to disfranchise the peasants and the plebs. The classification of centuries had been made by the census to distinguish men for taxation as well as for war; the Romans thought it just that the right to vote should be proportioned to taxes paid and military duties required. Citizens with less than 11,000 asses of property had altogether only one centurial vote; but correspondingly they paid a negligible tax and were in normal times exempt from military service.¹¹ Of the proletariat, till Marius’ day, nothing was asked except prolific parentage. Despite some later changes, the Centurial Assembly remained a frankly conservative and aristocratic institution.

Doubtless as an offset to this, the plebs had from the beginning of the Republic held its own assemblies, the concilia plebis. Out of these councils, probably, came the comitia populi tributa which we find exercising legislative power as early as 357 B.C. In this Tribal Assembly of the People the voters were arranged according to tribe and residence, on the basis of the Servian census; each tribe had one vote, and the rich counted for no more than the poor. After the recognition of its legislative authority by the Senate in 287, the power of the Tribal Assembly grew until by 200 it had become the chief source of private law in Rome. It chose the tribunes (i.e., tribal representatives) of the people (tribuni plebis) as distinct from the tribuni militares elected by the centuries. Here, too, however, there was no discussion by the people; a magistrate proposed a law and defended it, another magistrate might speak against it; the Assembly listened, and voted Yes or No. Though by its constitution it was more progressive than the Centurial Assembly, it was far from radical. Thirty-one of its thirty-five tribes were rural, and their members, mostly owners of land, were cautious men. The urban proletariat, confined to four tribes, was politically powerless before Marius, and after Caesar.

The Senate remained supreme. Its original membership of clan heads was recruited by the regular admission of ex-consuls and ex-censors, and the censors were authorized to keep its numbers up to 300 by nominating to it men of patrician or equestrian rank. Membership was for life, but the Senate or a censor could dismiss any member detected in crime or serious moral offense. The august body convened at the call of any major magistrate in the curia, or senate house, facing the Forum. By a pleasant custom the members brought their sons with them to attend in silence, and to learn statesmanship and chicanery at first hand. Theoretically the Senate might discuss and decide only such issues as were presented to it by a magistrate, and its decisions were merely advice (senatus consulta), without the force of law. Actually its prestige was so great that the magistrates nearly always accepted its recommendations, and seldom submitted to the assemblies any measure not already sanctioned by the Senate. Its decisions were subject to veto by any tribune, and a defeated minority of the Senate might appeal to the assemblies;¹² but these procedures were rare except in revolution. The magistrates held power for a year only, while the senators were chosen for life; inevitably this deathless monarch dominated the bearers of a brief authority. The conduct of foreign relations, the making of alliances and treaties, the waging of war, the government of the colonies and provinces, the management and distribution of the public lands, the control of the treasury and its disbursements—all these were exclusive functions of the Senate, and gave it immense power. It was legislature, executive, and judiciary in one. It acted as judge in crimes like treason, conspiracy, or assassination, and appointed from its membership the judges in most major civil trials. When a crisis came it could issue its most formidable decree, the senatus-consultum ultimum, “that the consuls should see to it that no harm should come to the state”—a decree that established martial law and gave the consuls absolute command of all persons and property.

The Senate of the Republic ^* often abused its authority, defended corrupt officials, waged war ruthlessly, exploited conquered provinces greedily, and suppressed the aspirations of the people for a larger share in the prosperity of Rome. But never elsewhere, except from Trajan to Aurelius, have so much energy, wisdom, and skill been applied to statesmanship; and never elsewhere has the idea of service to the state so dominated a government or a people. These senators were not supermen; they made serious mistakes, sometimes vacillated in their policies, often lost the vision of empire in the lust for personal gain. But most of them had been magistrates, administrators, and commanders; some of them, as proconsuls, had ruled provinces as large as kingdoms; many of them came of families that had given statesmen or generals to Rome for hundreds of years; it was impossible that a body made up of such men should escape some measure of excellence. The Senate was at its worst in victory, at its best in defeat. It could carry forward policies that spanned generations and centuries; it could begin a war in 264 and end it in 146 B.C. When Cineas, the philosopher who had come to Rome as envoy of Pyrrhus (280), had heard the Senate’s deliberations and observed its men, he reported to the new Alexander that here was no mere gathering of venal politicians, no haphazard council of mediocre minds, but in dignity and statesmanship veritably “an assemblage of kings.”¹³

2. The Magistrates

The major officials were elected by the Centurial, the minor by the Tribal, Assembly. Each office was held by a collegium of two or more colleagues, equal in power. All offices except the censorship ran for only a year. The same office could be held by the same person only once in ten years; a year had to elapse between leaving one office and taking another; and in the interval the ex-official could be prosecuted for malfeasance. The aspirant to a political career, if he survived a decade in the army, might seek election as one of the quaestors who, under the Senate and the consuls, managed the expenditure of state funds, and assisted the praetors in preventing and investigating crime. If he pleased his electors or his influential supporters, he might later be chosen one of the four aediles charged with the care of buildings, aqueducts, streets, markets, theaters, brothels, saloons, police courts, and public games. If again successful, he might be made one of the four praetors who in war led armies, and in peace acted as judges and interpreters of the law.^*

At about this point in the cursus honorum, or sequence of offices, the citizen who had made a name for integrity and judgment might become one of the two censors (“valuators”) chosen every fifth year by the Centurial Assembly. One of them would take the quinquennial census of the citizens, and assess their property for political and military status and for taxation. The censors were required to examine the character and record of every candidate for office; they watched over the honor of women, the education of children, the treatment of slaves, the collection or farming of taxes, the construction of public buildings, the letting of governmental property or contracts, and the proper cultivation of the land. They could lower the rank of any citizen, or remove any member of the Senate, whom they found guilty of immorality or crime; and in this function the power of either censor was immune to the veto of the other. They could try to check extravagance by raising taxes on luxuries. They prepared and published a budget of state expenditures on a five-year plan. At the close of their eighteen-month term they would gather the citizens together in a solemn ceremony of national purification (lustrum), as a means of maintaining cordial relations with the gods. Appius Claudius Caecus (the Blind), great-grandson of the Decemvir, was the first to make the censorship rival the consulate in dignity. During his term (312) he built the Appian Aqueduct and the Appian Way, promoted rich plebeians to the Senate, reformed land laws and state finances, helped to break down the priestly and patrician monopoly and manipulation of the law, left his mark on Roman grammar, rhetoric, and poetry, and, by his deathbed speech against Pyrrhus, decided the Roman conquest of Italy.

Theoretically one of the two consuls (“consultants”) had to be a plebeian; actually very few plebeians were chosen, for even the plebs preferred men of education and training for an office that would have to deal with every executive phase of peace and war throughout the Mediterranean. On the eve of the election the magistrate in charge of it observed the stars to see if they favored the presentation of the several candidates’ names; presiding over the Centurial Assembly on the morrow, he might offer to its choice only those names that the auspices had approved;¹⁴ in this way the aristocracy discouraged “upstarts” and demagogues, and in most cases the Assembly, awed or intimidated, submitted to the pious fraud. The candidate appeared in person, dressed in a plain white (candidus) toga to emphasize the simplicity of his life and morals, and perhaps the more easily to show the scars he had won in the field. If elected, he entered office on the ensuing March 15. The consul took on sanctity by leading the state in the most solemn religious rites. In peace he summoned and presided over the Senate and the Assembly, initiated legislation, administered justice, and in general executed the laws. In war he levied armies, raised funds, and shared with his fellow consul command of the legions. If both of them died or were captured during their year of office, the Senate declared an interregnum, and appointed an interrex (or interval-king) for five days, while a new election was being prepared. The word suggests that the consuls had inherited, for their brief term, the powers of the kings.

The consul was limited by the equal authority of his colleague, by the pressure of the Senate, and by the veto power of the tribune. After 367 B.C. fourteen military tribunes were chosen to lead the tribes in war, and ten “tribunes of the plebs” to represent them in peace. These ten were sacro-sancti: it was a sacrilege, as well as a capital crime, to lay violent hands upon them except under a legitimate dictatorship. Their function was to protect the people against the government, and to stop by one word—veto, “I forbid”—the whole machinery of the state, whenever to any one of them this seemed desirable. As a silent observer the tribune could attend the meetings of the Senate, report its deliberations to the people, and, by his veto, deprive the Senate’s decisions of all legal force. The door of his inviolable home remained open day and night to any citizen who sought his protection or his aid, and this right of sanctuary or asylum provided the equivalent of habeas corpus. Seated on his tribunal he could act as judge, and from his decision there was no appeal except to the Assembly of the Tribes. It was his duty to secure the accused a fair trial, and, when possible, to win some pardon for the condemned.

How did the aristocracy retain its ascendancy despite these obstructive powers? First, by limiting them to the city of Rome and to times of peace; in war the tribunes obeyed the consuls. Secondly, by persuading the Tribal Assembly to elect wealthy plebeians as tribunes; the prestige of wealth and the diffidence of poverty moved the people to choose the rich to defend the poor. Thirdly, by allowing the number of tribunes to be raised from four to ten; if only one of these ten would listen to reason or money, his veto could frustrate the rest.¹⁵ In the course of time the tribunes became so dependable that they could be trusted to convene the Senate, take part in its deliberations, and become life members of it after their terms.

If all these maneuvers failed, a last bulwark of social order remained—dictatorship. The Romans recognized that in times of national chaos or peril their liberties and privileges, and all the checks and balances that they had created for their own protection, might impede the rapid and united action needed to save the state. In such cases the Senate could declare an emergency, and then either consul could name a dictator. In every instance but one the dictators came from the upper classes; but it must be said that the aristocracy rarely abused the possibilities of this office. The dictator received almost complete authority over all persons and property, but he could not use public funds without the Senate’s consent, and his term was limited to six months or a year. All dictators but two obeyed these restrictions, honoring the story of how Cincinnatus, called from the plow to save the state (456 B.C.), returned to his farm as soon as the task was done. When this precedent was violated by Sulla and Caesar, the Republic passed back into the monarchy out of which it had come.

3. The Beginnings of Roman Law

Within this unique constitution the magistrates administered a system of law based upon the Twelve Tables of the Decemvirs. Before that epochal enactment Roman law had been a mixture of tribal customs, royal edicts, and priestly commands. Mos maiorum—the way of the ancients—remained to the end of pagan Rome the exemplar of morals and a source of law; and though imagination and edification idealized the ruthless burghers of the early Republic, the tales told of them helped educators to form a stoic character in Roman youth. For the rest, early Roman law was a priestly rule, a branch of religion, surrounded with sacred sanctions and solemn rites. Law was both lex and ius—command and justice; it was a relation not only between man and man but between man and the gods. Crime was a disturbance of that relation, of the pax deorum or peace of the gods; law and punishment were in theory designed to maintain or restore that relation and peace. The priests declared what was right and wrong (faset nefas), on what days the courts might open and the assemblies meet. All questions regarding marriage or divorce, celibacy or incest, wills or transfers, or the rights of children, required the priest as now so many of them require the lawyer. Only the priests knew the formulas without which hardly anything could be legally done. They were in Rome the first iurisconsulti, consultants in the law, counselors; they were the first to give responsa, or legal opinions. The laws were recorded in their books, and these volumes were so securely guarded from the plebs that suspicion charged the priests with altering the texts, on occasion, to suit ecclesiastical or aristocratic ends.

The Twelve Tables effected a double juristic revolution: the publication and secularization of Roman law. Like other codes of the sixth and fifth centuries—those of Charondas, Zaleucus, Lycurgus, Solon—they represented a change from uncertain unwritten custom to definite written law; they were a result of increasing literacy and democracy. The ius civile, or law of citizens, freed itself in these Tables from the ius divinum, or divine law; Rome decided not to be a theocracy. The priestly monopoly was further deflated when the secretary of Appius Claudius the Blind published (304) a calendar of court days (dies fasti—“days of utterance”), and a “formulary” of proper legal procedures, which had till then been known to few but the priests. Secularization took another step when Coruncanius (280) began the first known public instruction in Roman law; from that time onward the lawyer replaced the priest and dominated the mind and life of Rome. Soon the Tables were made the basis of education; till Cicero’s day all schoolboys had to learn them by heart; and doubtless they had a share in forming the stern and orderly, litigious and legalistic, Roman soul. Amended and supplemented again and again—by legislation, praetorial edicts, senatusconsulta, and imperial decrees—the Twelve Tables remained for nine hundred years the basic law of Rome.

The law of procedure was already complex in this code. Almost any magistrate might act as a judge; but the praetors were the usual court, and their revisions and interpretations of the statutes kept Roman law a living growth instead of a corpse of precedents. Every year the praetor urbanus, or chief city magistrate, drew up a list or “white tablet” (album) of senators and equites eligible for jury service; the presiding judge in an action chose jurors from this list, subject to a limited number of rejections by plaintiff and defendant. Lawyers were permitted to advise clients and plead in court; and some senators gave legal advice in public sittings or at home. The law of Cincius (204 B.C.) forbade taking pay for legal services, but legal skill found ways of circumventing this counsel of perfection. Slaves were often tortured to elicit evidence.

The Twelve Tables constituted one of the severest codes in history. They retained the old paternal omnipotence of a military-agricultural society; allowed the father to scourge, chain, imprison, sell, or kill any of his children—merely adding that a son thrice sold was thereafter free from his father’s rule.¹⁶ Class division was preserved by forbidding the marriage of a patrician with a plebeian. Creditors received every right against debtors.¹⁷ Owners could dispose freely of their property by will; property rights were held so sacred that a thief caught in the act was given as a slave to the man whom he had robbed. Penalties ranged from simple fines to exile, enslavement, or death. Several took the form of equivalent retaliation (lex talionis); many were fines delicately adjusted to the rank of the victim. “For breaking the bones of a freeman, 300 asses; of a slave, 150 asses.”¹⁸ Death was decreed for libel, bribery, perjury, harvest thieving, nocturnal damage to a neighbor’s crops, the defrauding of a “client” by a patron, “practicing enchantments,” arson, murder, and “seditious gatherings in the city by night.”¹⁹ The parricide was tied in a sack, sometimes with a cock, a dog, a monkey, or a viper, and cast into the river.²⁰ Within the capital, however, appeal from any but a dictator’s sentence of death could be taken by a citizen to the Assembly of the Centuries; and if the accused perceived that the vote there was going against him he was free to commute his sentence into exile by leaving Rome.²¹ Consequently, despite the severity of the Twelve Tables, capital punishment of freemen was rare in republican Rome.

4. The Army of the Republic

The Roman constitution rested finally on the most successful military organization in history. The citizens and the army were one; the army assembled in its centuries was the chief lawmaking body in the state. The first eighteen centuries supplied the cavalry; the “first class” formed the heavy infantry, armed with two spears, a dagger, and a sword, and protected by bronze helmet, cuirass, greaves, and shield; the second class had all of these except the cuirass; the third and fourth had no armor; the fifth had only slings and stones.

A legion was a mixed brigade of some 4200 infantry, 300 cavalry, and various auxiliary groups;²² two legions made a consul’s army. Each legion was subdivided into centuries—originally of one hundred, later of two hundred, men—commanded by centurions. Every legion had its vexillum—its banner or colors; honor forbade that this should ever fall into hostile hands, and clever officers sometimes threw it into the enemy’s ranks to stir their men to a desperate recovery. In battle the front ranks of the infantry hurled at the foe, ten to twenty paces away, a volley of javelins—short wooden lances with an iron point—while on the wings archers and slingers attacked with arrows and stones, and the cavalry charged with pikes and swords; hand-to-hand combats with short swords were the final and decisive action. In a siege massive wooden catapults, worked by tension or torsion, hurled ten-pound rocks over 300 yards; immense battering rams, suspended on ropes, were drawn back like a swing and then released against the enemy’s walls; an inclined ramp of earth and timber was built, wheeled towers were pushed and hauled up this ramp, and from these towers missiles were discharged upon the foe.²³ Instead of the solid and unwieldy phalanx—six lines of 500 men each—which the early Republic seems to have taken over from Etruria, the legion was rearranged, about 366 B.C., into maniples ^* of two centuries each; free room was left between each maniple and its neighbors, and the maniples of each succeeding line stood behind these open spaces. This formation made possible a rapid reinforcement of one line by the next, and a quick veering of one or more maniples to face a flank attack; and it gave free play to that individual combat for which the Roman soldier was especially trained.

The major element in the success of this army was discipline. The young Roman was educated for war from his childhood; he studied the military art above all others, and spent ten formative years of his life in field or camp. Cowardice was in that army the unforgivable sin, punished by flogging the offender to death.²⁴ The general was empowered to behead any soldier or officer, not merely for flight from battle, but for any deviation from orders, however favorable the result. Deserters or thieves had their right hands cut off.²⁵ Food in camp was simple: bread or porridge, some vegetables, sour wine, rarely flesh; the Roman army conquered the world on a vegetarian diet; Caesar’s troops complained when corn ran out and they had to eat meat.²⁶ Labor was so arduous and long that the soldiers begged for battle instead; valor became the better part of discretion. The soldier received no pay till 405 B.C., and little thereafter; but he was allowed to share, according to his rank, in the booty of the defeated—bullion and currency, lands and men and movable goods. Such training made not only brave and eager warriors but able and intrepid generals; the discipline of obedience developed the capacity to command. The army of the Republic lost battles, but it never lost a war. Men molded by stoic education and brutal spectacles to a contemptuous familiarity with death carved out the victories that conquered Italy, then Carthage and Greece, and then the Mediterranean world.

Such in outline was the “mixed constitution” that Polybius admired as “the best of all existing governments”: a limited democracy in the legislative sovereignty of the assemblies, an aristocracy in the leadership of the patrician Senate, a Spartan “dyarchy” in the brief royalty of the consuls, a monarchy in occasional dictatorships. Essentially it was an aristocracy, in which old and rich families, through ability and privilege, held office for hundreds of years, and gave to Roman policy a tenacious continuity that was the secret of its accomplishments.

But it had its faults. It was a clumsy confusion of checks and balances in which nearly every command could in time of peace be nullified by an equal and opposite command. The division of power was an aid to liberty and—for a while—a restraint on malfeasance; on the other hand, it led to great military disasters like Cannae, it dissolved democracy into mob rule, and at last brought on the permanent dictatorship of the Principate. What astonishes us is that such a government could last so long (508 to 49 B.C.) and achieve so much. Perhaps it endured because of its muddling adaptability to change, and the proud patriotism formed in the home, the school, the temple, the army, the Assembly, and the Senate. Devotion to the state marked the zenith of the Republic, as unparalleled political corruption marked its fall. Rome remained great as long as she had enemies who forced her to unity, vision, and heroism. When she had overcome them all she flourished for a moment and then began to die.

III. THE CONQUEST OF ITALY

Never had Rome been so encompassed by enemies as when she emerged from the monarchy as a weak city-state ruling only 350 square miles—equivalent to a space nineteen by nineteen miles. While Lars Porsena advanced upon her, many of the neighboring communities that had been subjected by her kings resumed their liberty and formed a Latin League to withstand Rome. Italy was a medley of independent tribes or cities, each with its own government and dialect: in the north the Ligures, Gauls, Umbrians, Etruscans, and Sabines; to the south the Latins, Volscians, Samnites, Lucanians, Bruttians; along the western and southern coasts Greek colonists in Cumae, Naples, Pompeii, Paestum, Locri, Rhegium, Crotona, Metapontum, Tarentum. Rome was at the center of them all, strategically placed for expansion, but perilously open to attack from all sides at once. It was her salvation that her enemies seldom united against her. In 505, while she was at war with the Sabines, a powerful Sabine clan—the Claudian gens—came over to Rome and was granted citizenship on favorable terms. In 449 the Sabines were defeated; by 290 all their territory was annexed to Rome, and by 250 they had received the full Roman franchise.

In 496 the Tarquins persuaded some of the towns of Latium—Tusculum, Ardea, Lanuvium, Aricia, Tibur, and others—to join in a war against Rome. Faced with this apparently overwhelming combination, the Romans appointed their first dictator, Aulus Postumius; at Lake Regillus they won a saving victory, helped, they assure us, by the gods Castor and Pollux, who left Olympus to fight in their ranks. Three years later Rome signed a treaty with the Latin League in which all parties pledged that “between the Romans and the cities of the Latins there shall be peace as long as heaven and earth shall last. . . . Both shall share equally in all booty taken in a common war.”²⁷ Rome became a member of the League, then its leader, then its master. In 493 she fought the Volscians; it was in this conflict that Caius Marcius won the name of Coriolanus by capturing Corioli, the Volscian capital. The historians add, probably with a touch of romance, that Coriolanus became a hard reactionary, was banished on the insistence of the plebs (491), fled to the Volscians, reorganized them, and led them in a siege of Rome. The starving Romans, we are told, sent embassy after embassy to dissuade him, to no avail, until his mother and wife went out to him and, failing in their pleas, threatened to block his advance with their bodies. Thereupon he withdrew his army, and was killed by the Volscians; or, says another story, he lived among them to a bitter ripe old age.²⁸ In 405 Veii and Rome entered upon a duel to the death for control of the Tiber. Rome besieged the city for nine years without success, and the emboldened towns of Etruria joined in the war. Attacked on every side, and their very existence challenged, the Romans appointed a dictator, Camillus, who raised a new army, captured Veii, and divided its lands among the citizens of Rome. In 351, after sundry further wars, southern Etruria was annexed to Rome under the almost modern name of Tuscia.

Meanwhile, in 390, a new and greater peril appeared, and that long duel had begun, between Rome and Gaul, which ended only with Caesar. While Etruria and Rome were fighting fourteen wars, Celtic tribes from Gaul and Germany had filtered down through the Alps and settled in Italy as far south as the Po. Ancient historians called the invaders Keltai or Celtae, Galatae or Galli, indifferently. Nothing is known of their origin; we may only describe them as that branch of the Indo-European stock which peopled western Germany, Gaul, central Spain, Belgium, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland, and formed the pre-Roman languages there. Polybius pictures them as “tall and handsome,” relishing war, and fighting naked except for golden amulets and chains.²⁹ When the Celts of southern Gaul tasted Italian wine, they were so pleased with it that they decided to visit the land that produced such transporting fruit; probably they were moved more by the quest for fresh acres and new pasturage. Entering, they lived for a time in abnormal peace, tilling and herding, and taking over the Etruscan culture which they found in the towns. About 400 B.C. they invaded and plundered Etruria; the Etruscans resisted weakly, having sent most of their forces to defend Veii against Rome. In 391, 30,000 Gauls reached Clusium; a year later they met the Romans at the river Allia, routed them, and entered Rome unhindered. They sacked and burned large sections of the city, and for seven months besieged the remnants of the Roman army on the Capitol—the crest of the Capitoline hill. Finally the Romans yielded, and paid the Gauls a thousand pounds of gold to depart.^* They left, but returned in 367, 358, and 350; repeatedly repulsed, they at last contented themselves with northern Italy, which now became Cisalpine Gaul.

The surviving Romans found their city so devastated that many of them wished to abandon the site and make Veii their capital. Camillus dissuaded them, and the government provided financial aid for rebuilding homes. This rapid reconstruction in the face of many enemies was a part cause of Rome’s design-lessness and the venturesome crookedness of her narrow streets. The subject peoples, seeing her so near destruction, revolted again and again, and half a century of intermittent war was required to cure their lust for freedom. The Latins, Aequi, Hernici, and Volscians attacked in turn or together; if the Volscians had succeeded they would have shut off Rome from southern Italy and the sea, and perhaps have put an end to her history. In 340 the cities of the Latin League were defeated; two years later Rome dissolved the League and annexed nearly all Latium.^*

Meanwhile the victories of Rome over the Volscians had brought her face to face with the powerful Samnite tribes. These held a large cross section of Italy from Naples to the Adriatic, with such rich cities as Nola, Beneventum, Cumae, and Capua. They had absorbed most of the Etruscan and Greek settlements of the west coast, and enough of Hellenism to produce a distinctive Campanian art; probably they were more civilized than the Romans. With them Rome fought three long and bloody wars for the control of Italy. At the Caudine Forks (321) the Romans suffered one of their greatest defeats, and their beaten army passed “under the yoke”—an arch of hostile spears—in token of submission. The consuls at the front signed an abject peace, which the Senate refused to ratify. The Samnites won the Etruscans and Gauls as allies, and for a time Rome faced nearly all Italy in arms. But the legions gained a decisive victory at Sentinum (295), and Rome added Campania and Umbria to her domain. Twelve years later she drove the Gauls back beyond the Po, and again reduced Etruria to a subject state.

Between the Gallic north and the Greek south, Rome was now master of Italy. Insatiate and insecure, she offered the cities of Magna Graecia a choice between alliance under Roman hegemony and war. Preferring Rome to further absorption by the “barbarian” (i.e., Italian) tribes who were multiplying around and within them, Thurii, Locri, and Crotona consented; probably they, too, like the towns of Latium, were troubled by class war, and received Roman garrisons as a protection of property owners against a rising plebs.³² Tarentum was obstinate, and called over to her aid Pyrrhus, King of Epirus. This gallant warrior, fevered with memories of Achilles and Alexander, crossed the Adriatic with an Epirote force, defeated the Romans at Heraclea (280), and gave an adjective to European languages by mourning the costliness of his victory.³³ All the Greek cities of Italy now joined him, and the Lucanians, Bruttians, and Samnites declared themselves his allies. He dispatched Cineas to Rome with offers of peace, and freed his 2000 Roman prisoners on their word to return if Rome preferred war. The Senate was about to make terms when old blind Appius Claudius, who had long since retired from public life, had himself carried to the senate house and demanded that Rome should never make peace with a foreign army on Italian soil. The Senate sent back to Pyrrhus the prisoners whom he had released, and resumed the war. The young king won another victory; then, disgusted with the sloth and cowardice of his allies, he sailed with his depleted army to Sicily. He relieved the Carthaginian siege of Syracuse and drove the Carthaginians from nearly all their possessions on the island; but his imperious rule offended the Sicilian Greeks, who thought they could have freedom without order and courage; they withdrew their support, and Pyrrhus returned to Italy, saying of Sicily, “What a prize I leave to be fought for by Carthage and Rome!” His army met the Romans at Beneventum, where for the first time he suffered defeat (275); the light-armed and mobile maniples proved superior to the unwieldy phalanxes, and began a new chapter in military history. Pyrrhus appealed to his Italian allies for new troops; they refused, doubting his fidelity and persistence. He returned to Epirus, and died an adventurer’s death in Greece. In that same year (272) Milo betrayed Tarentum to Rome. Soon all the Greek cities yielded, the Samnites sullenly surrendered, and Rome was at last, after two centuries of war, the ruler of Italy.

The conquest was quickly consolidated with colonies, some sent out by the Latin League, some by Rome. These colonies served many purposes: they relieved unemployment, the pressure of population upon the means of subsistence, and consequent class strife in Rome; they acted as garrisons or loyal nuclei amid disaffected subjects, provided outposts and outlets for Roman trade, and raised additional food for hungry mouths in the capital; conquests in Italy were completed with the plow soon after they had been begun by the sword. In these ways hundreds of Italian towns that still live today received their foundation or their Romanization. The Latin language and culture were spread throughout a peninsula still largely polyglot and barbarous, and Italy was slowly forged into a united state. The first step had been taken in a political synthesis brutal in execution, majestic in result.

But in Corsica, Sardinia, Sicily, and Africa, closing the western Mediterranean to Roman trade, and imprisoning Italy in her own seas, stood a power older and richer than Rome.

CHAPTER III

Hannibal Against Rome

264-202 B.C.

I. CARTHAGE

SOME eleven hundred years before our era the inquisitive traders of Phoenicia discovered the mineral wealth of Spain. Soon a fleet of merchant vessels plied between Sidon, Tyre, and Byblus, at one end of the Mediterranean, and Tartessus, at the mouth of the Guadalquivir, on the other. Since such voyages could not then be made without many stops, and the southern shores of the Mediterranean provided the shortest and safest route, the Phoenicians established intermediate posts and trading stations on the African coast at Leptis Magna (now Lebda), Hadrumetum (Sousse), Utica (Utique), Hippo Diarrhytus (Bizerte), Hippo Regius (Bone), and even beyond Gibraltar at Lixus (south of Tangier). The Semitic settlers at these posts married some of the natives and bribed the rest to peace. About 813 B.C. a new group of colonists, perhaps from Phoenicia, perhaps from expanding Utica, built their homes upon a promontory ten miles northwest of the modern Tunis. The narrow peninsula could be easily defended, and the land, watered by the Bagradas (Medjerda) River, was so fertile that it quickly recovered from repeated devastation. Classic tradition ascribed the founding of the city to Elissa, or Dido, daughter of the king of Tyre: her husband having been slain by her brother, she had sailed with other adventurous souls to Africa. Her settlement was called Kart-hadasht—Newtown-to distinguish it from Utica; the Greeks transformed the name into Karchedon, the Romans into Carthago. The Latins gave the name Africa to the region around Carthage and Utica, and followed the Greeks in calling its Semitic population Poem—i.e., Phoenicians. The sieges of Tyre by Shalmaneser, Nebuchadrezzar, and Alexander drove many wealthy Tyrians to Africa. Most of them went to Carthage, and made it a new center of Phoenician trade. Carthage grew in power and splendor as Tyre and Sidon declined.

The strengthened city drove the African natives farther and farther inland, ceased to pay tribute to them, exacted tribute from them, and used them as slaves and serfs in its homes and fields. Large estates took form, some with 20,000 men;¹ in the hands of the practical Phoenicians agriculture became a science and an industry, which the Carthaginian Mago summarized in a famous manual. Irrigated with canals, the soil flowered into gardens, cornfields, vineyards, and orchards of olives, pomegranates, pears, cherries, and figs.² Horses and cattle, sheep and goats, were bred; asses and mules were the beasts of burden, and the elephant was one of many domesticated animals. Urban industry was relatively immature, except for metalwork; the Carthaginians, like their Asiatic forebears, preferred to trade what others made. They led their pack mules east and west and across the Sahara to find elephants, ivory, gold, or slaves. Their immense galleys carried goods to and from a hundred ports between Asia and Britain, for they refused to turn back, like most other mariners, at the Pillars of Hercules. It was presumably they who, about 490 B.C., financed Hanno’s voyage of exploration 2600 miles down the Atlantic coast of Africa, and the voyage of Himilco along the northern shores of Europe. Though their coinage was undistinguished, they were apparently the first to issue the equivalent of a paper currency—leather strips stamped with signs of value, and accepted throughout the Carthaginian realm.

Probably it was the rich merchants, rather than the aristocratic landowners, who provided the funds for those armies and navies which transformed Carthage from a trading post into an empire. The African coast—except Utica—was conquered from Cyrenaica to Gibraltar and beyond. Tartessus, Gades (Cádiz), and other Spanish towns were captured, and Carthage grew wealthy from the gold, silver, iron, and copper of Spain. It took the Balearic Islands, and reached out even to Madeira; it conquered Malta, Sardinia, Corsica, and the western half of Sicily. It treated these subject lands with varying degrees of severity, charging them annual tribute, conscripting their population for its army, and strictly controlling their foreign relations and their trade. In return it gave them military protection, local self-government, and economic stability. We may judge the wealth of these dependencies from the fact that the town of Leptis Minor paid 365 talents ($1,314,000) a year into the Carthaginian treasury.

The exploitation of this empire and trade made Carthage, in the third century B.C., the richest of Mediterranean cities. Tariffs and tribute brought her annually 12,000 talents—twenty times the revenue of Athens at her zenith. The upper classes lived in palaces, wore costly robes, and ate exotic delicacies. The city, crowded with a quarter of a million inhabitants, became famous for its gleaming temples, its public baths, above all for its secure harbors and spacious docks. Each of the 220 docks was faced with two Ionic pillars, so that the inner harbor (“cothon”) presented a majestic circle of 440 marble columns. Thence a broad avenue led to the Forum, a colonnaded square adorned with Greek sculpture and containing administrative buildings, commercial offices, law courts, and temples; while the adjoining streets, Orientally narrow, teemed with a thousand shops plying a hundred crafts and resounded with bargaining. Houses rose to six stories, and often crowded a family into a single room. In the center of the city, providing one of many hints to the later builders of Rome, stood a hill or citadel—the Byrsa; here were the Treasury and the Mint, more shrines and colonnades, and the most brilliant of Carthaginian temples—to the great god Eshmun. Around the landward side of the city ran a threefold protective wall forty-five feet high, with still higher towers and battlements; within the wall were accommodations for 4000 horses, 300 elephants, and 20,000 men.³ Outside the walls were the estates of the rich, and beyond these, the fields of the poor.

The Carthaginians were Semites, akin in blood and features to the ancient Jews. Their language now and then struck a Hebraic note, as when it called the chief magistrates shofetes—the Hebrew shophetim, or judges. The men grew beards, but usually shaved the upper lip with bronze razors. Most of them wore a fez or a turban, shoes or sandals, and a long loose gown; but the upper classes adopted the Greek style of dress, dyed their robes with purple, and fringed them with glass beads. The women led for the most part a veiled and secluded life; they could rise to high place in the priesthoods but otherwise had to be contented with the sovereignty of their charms. Both sexes used jewelry and perfume, and occasionally displayed a ring in the nose. We know little of their morals except from their enemies. Greek and Roman writers describe them as heavy eaters and drinkers, loving to gather in dinner clubs, and as loose in their sex relations as they were corrupt in their politics. The treacherous Romans employed fides Punica—Carthaginian faith—as a synonym for treachery. Polybius reported that “at Carthage nothing that results in profit is regarded as disgraceful.”⁴ Plutarch denounced the Carthaginians as “harsh and gloomy, docile to their rulers, hard to their subjects, running to extremes of cowardice in fear and of savagery in anger, stubborn in decisions, austere, and unresponsive to amusement or the graces of life.”⁵ But Plutarch, though usually fair, was always a Greek; and Polybius was bosom friend of the Scipio who burned Carthage to the ground.

The Carthaginians appear at their worst in their religion, which again we know only from their enemies. Their ancestors in Phoenicia had worshiped Baal-Moloch and Astarte as personifying the male and female principles in nature, and the sun and moon in the sky; the Carthaginians addressed similar devotions to corresponding deities—Baal-Haman and Tanith. Tanith above all aroused their loving piety; they filled her temples with gifts, and took her name in their oaths. Third in honor was the god Melkart, “Key of the City”; then Eshmun, god of wealth and health; then a host of minor gods—“baals” or lords; even Dido was worshiped.⁶ To Baal-Haman, in great crises, living children were sacrificed, as many as three hundred in a day. They were placed upon the inclined and outstretched arms of the idol and rolled off into the fire beneath; their cries were drowned in the noise of trumpets and cymbals; their mothers were required to look upon the scene without moan or tear, lest they be accused of impiety and lose the credit due them from the god. In time the rich refused to sacrifice their own children and bought substitutes among the poor; but when Agathocles of Syracuse besieged Carthage, the upper classes, fearing that their subterfuge had offended the god, cast two hundred aristocratic infants into the fire.⁷ It should be added that these stories are told us by Diodorus, a Sicilian Greek, who looked with equanimity upon the Greek custom of infanticide. It may be that the Carthaginian sacrifice solaced with piety an effort to control the excesses of human fertility.

When the Romans destroyed Carthage they presented the libraries they found there to their African allies. Of these collections nothing survives except Hanno’s record of his voyage, and fragments of Mago on husbandry. Saint Augustine vaguely assures us that “in Carthage there were many things wisely handed down to memory,”⁸ and Sallust and Juba made use of Carthaginian historians; but we have no native account of Carthage’s history. Of its architecture the Romans left not a stone upon a stone. We are told that its style was a mixture of Phoenician and Greek, that its temples were massive and ornate; that the temple and statue of Baal-Haman were plated with gold valued at a thousand talents;⁹ and that even the proud Greeks considered Carthage one of the world’s most beautiful capitals. The museums of Tunis contain some pieces of sculpture from sarcophagi found in tombs near the site of Carthage; the finest is a strong and graceful figure, perhaps of Tanith, in a manner essentially Greek. Smaller statues, unearthed from Carthaginian graves in the Baleares, are crude and often repulsively grotesque, as if designed to impress children or frighten devils away. The surviving pottery is purely utilitarian; but we know that Carthaginian craftsmen did good work in textiles, jewelry, ivory, ebony, amber, and glass.

Any clear picture of Carthaginian government is now beyond our pens. Aristotle praised the constitution of Carthage as “in many respects superior to all others,” for “a state is proved to be well ordered when the commons are steadily loyal to the constitution, when no civil conflict worth speaking of has arisen, and when no one has succeeded in making himself dictator.”¹⁰ The citizens met occasionally in an Assembly empowered to accept or reject, but not to discuss or amend, proposals referred to it by a Senate of three hundred elders; the Senate, however, was not obliged to submit to the Assembly any measures upon which it could itself agree.¹¹ The people elected the Senate, but open bribery reduced the virtue or danger of this democratic procedure, and replaced an aristocracy of birth with an oligarchy of wealth. From nominations presented by the Senate, the Assembly annually chose two shofetes to head the judicial and administrative branches of the state. Above all these bodies was a court of 104 judges, who, in contravention of the law, held office for life. As it was empowered to supervise all administration, and to require an accounting from every official at the end of his term, this court acquired, by the time of the Punic Wars, supreme control over every governmental agency and every citizen.

The commander of the armies was nominated by the Senate and chosen by the Assembly. He was in a better position than the Roman consul, for his command could be continued as long as the Senate desired. The Roman, however, led against Carthage legions of landowning patriots, whereas the Carthaginian army was a mercenary force of foreign—chiefly Libyan—origin, feeling no affection for Carthage, but loyal only to its paymaster and, occasionally, to its general. The Carthaginian navy was without question the most powerful of its time; 500 quinqueremes, gaily painted, slim and swift, ably protected Carthaginian colonies, markets, and trade routes. It was the conquest of Sicily by this army, and the closing of the western Mediterranean to Roman commerce by this navy, that brought on the century-long duel to the death known to us as the three Punic Wars.

II. REGULUS

The two nations had once been friends when one of them was strong enough to dominate the other. In 508 they had made a treaty that recognized the hegemony of Rome over the coast of Latium, but pledged the Romans not to sail the Mediterranean west of Carthage, nor to land in Sardinia or Libya except for the brief repair or provisioning of ships.¹² It became a common practice among the Carthaginians, says a Greek geographer, to drown any foreign sailor found between Sardinia and Gibraltar.¹³ The Greeks of Massalia (Marseilles) had developed a peaceful coastal commerce between southern Gaul and northeastern Spain; Carthage, we are told, warred on this trade piratically, and Massalia was a faithful ally of Rome. (We do not know how much of this is war propaganda dignified as history.) Now that Rome controlled Italy she could not feel secure so long as two hostile powers—Greeks and Carthaginians—held Sicily, hardly a mile from the Italian coast. Besides, Sicily was fertile; it might supply half of Italy with grain. Sicily taken, Sardinia and Corsica would of themselves fall into Roman hands. Here was manifest destiny, the natural next step in the expansion of Rome.

How to find a casus belli? About 264 B.C. a band of Samnite mercenaries who called themselves Mamertines—i.e., “Men of Mars”—seized the town of Messana, on the Sicilian coast nearest to Italy. They slew or expelled the Greek citizens, divided among themselves the women, children, and goods of the victims, and made a living by raiding the Greek cities near by. Hiero II, Dictator of Syracuse, besieged them; a Carthaginian force landed at Messana, drove Hiero back, and took possession of the city. The Mamertines appealed to Rome for help in expelling their saviors. The Senate hesitated, knowing the power and wealth of Carthage; but the rich plebeians who dominated the Centurial Assembly clamored for war and Sicily. Rome decided that at whatever cost she must keep the Carthaginians from so near and strategic a port. A fleet was fitted out and dispatched under Caius Claudius to rescue the Mamertines. But these had meanwhile been persuaded by the Carthaginians to withdraw their request for Roman aid, and a message from them to this effect reached Claudius at Rhegium. Ignoring it, he crossed the strait, invited the Carthaginian commander to a conference, imprisoned him, and sent word to the Carthaginian army that he would be killed if they resisted. The mercenaries welcomed so gallant an excuse for avoiding the legions, and Messana fell to Rome.

Two heroes were thrown up by this First Punic War: on the Roman side, Regulus; on the Carthaginian, Hamilcar. Perhaps we should add a third and fourth—the Senate and the Roman people. The Senate won Hiero of Syracuse to Rome’s side, and thereby assured supplies for Roman troops in Sicily; it organized the nation with wisdom and resolution, and led it to victory through almost overwhelming disasters. The citizens provided money, materials, labor, and men to build Rome’s first fleet—330 vessels, nearly all quinqueremes 150 feet long, each manned by 300 rowers and 120 soldiers, and most of them equipped with novel grappling irons and movable gangways for seizing and boarding enemy ships; by these means naval warfare, unfamiliar to the Romans, could be turned into hand-to-hand combat, in which the legionaries could use all their disciplined skill. “This fact,” says Polybius, “shows us better than anything else how spirited and daring the Romans are when they are determined to do a thing. . . . They had never given a thought to a navy; yet when they had once conceived the project they took it in hand so boldly that before gaining any experience in such matters they at once engaged the Carthaginians, who for generations had held undisputed command of the sea.”¹⁴ Off Ecnomus, on the southern coast of Sicily, the hostile fleets, carrying 300,000 men, fought the greatest sea battle of antiquity (256). The Romans under Regulus won decisively and sailed on unhindered to Africa. Landing there without careful reconnaissance, they soon met a superior Carthaginian force, which almost annihilated them, and took their reckless consul prisoner. Shortly afterward the Roman fleet was dashed by a storm against a rocky coast, 284 vessels were wrecked, and some 80,000 men were drowned; it was the worst naval calamity in the memory of men. The Romans showed their quality by building 200 new quinqueremes in three months, and training 80,000 men to man them.

After keeping Regulus a prisoner for five years, his captors allowed him to accompany a Carthaginian embassy sent to Rome to seek peace, but on his promise to return to captivity if the Senate refused the proffered terms. When Regulus heard these he advised the Senate to reject them and, despite the entreaties of his family and his friends, went back with the embassy to Carthage. There he was tortured to death by being prevented from sleeping.¹⁵ His sons at Rome took two Carthaginian captives of high rank, bound them in a chest studded with spikes, and kept them awake till they died.¹⁶ Neither tale seems credible, until we recall the barbarities of our time.

III. HAMILCAR

Of Hamilcars, Hasdrubals, and Hannibals Carthage had an abundance, for these names were given in almost every generation in their oldest families. They were pious names, formed from those of the gods: Hamilcar was “He whom Melkart protects”; Hasdrubal was “He whose help is Baal”; Hannibal was the very “Grace of Baal.” Our present Hamilcar was surnamed Barca—“lightning”; it was his nature to strike swiftly, suddenly, anywhere. He was still a youth when (247) Carthage gave him supreme command of its forces. Taking a small fleet, he harassed the coast of Italy with surprise landings, destroying Roman outposts and taking many prisoners. Then, in the face of a Roman army holding Panormus (Palermo), he disembarked his troops and captured a height overlooking the town. His contingent was too small to risk a major engagement; but every time he led it forth it returned with spoils. He begged the Carthaginian Senate for reinforcements and supplies; it refused, hugged its hoards, and bade him feed and clothe his soldiers on the country that surrounded him.

Meanwhile the Roman fleet had won another victory, but had suffered a serious defeat at Drepana (249). Worn out almost equally, the two nations rested for nine years. But while in those years Carthage did nothing, relying upon the genius of Hamilcar, a number of Roman citizens voluntarily presented to the state a fleet of 200 men-of-war, carrying 60,000 troops. This new armada, sailing secretly, caught the Carthaginian fleet unprepared at the Aegadian Isles off the west coast of Sicily, and so overwhelmed it that Carthage sued for peace (241). Carthaginian Sicily was surrendered to Rome, an annual indemnity of 440 talents was pledged to Rome for ten years, and all Carthaginian restrictions on Roman trade were withdrawn. The war had lasted nearly twenty-four years and had brought Rome so near to bankruptcy that its currency was debased eighty-three per cent. But it had proved the irresistible tenacity of the Roman character and the superiority of an army composed of free men over mercenaries seeking the greatest booty for the least blood.

Carthage was now to be all but destroyed by its own greed. It had withheld for some time the pay of its mercenaries, even of those who had served Hamilcar well. They poured into the city and demanded their money; and when the government temporized and tried to disperse them, they broke into mad revolt. Carthage’s subject peoples, taxed beyond endurance during the war, joined the uprising, and the women of Libya sold their jewels to finance revolution. Twenty thousand mercenaries and rebels, led by Matho, a Libyan freeman, and Spendius, a Campanian slave, laid siege to Carthage at a time when hardly a soldier was there to defend it. The rich merchants trembled for their lives and appealed to Hamilcar to save them. Torn between affection for his mercenaries and his city, Hamilcar organized an army of 10,000 Carthaginians, trained them, led them forth, and raised the siege. The defeated mercenaries, retreating into the mountains, cut off the hands and feet of Gesco, a Carthaginian general, and 700 other prisoners, broke their legs, and then threw the still living victims into an indiscriminate grave.¹⁷ Hamilcar maneuvered 40,000 of the rebels into a defile and blocked all exits so well that they began to starve. They ate their remaining captives, then their slaves; at last they sent Spendius to beg for peace. Hamilcar crucified Spendius and had hundreds of prisoners trampled to death under elephants’ feet. The mercenaries tried to fight their way out, but were cut to pieces. Matho was captured and was made to run through the streets of Carthage while the citizens beat him with thongs and tortured him till he died.¹⁸ This “War of the Mercenaries” lasted forty months (241-237), and “was by far,” said Polybius, “the most bloody and impious war in history.”¹⁹ When the conflict was over, Carthage found that Rome had occupied Sardinia. Carthage protested, and Rome declared war. The desperate Carthaginians bought peace only by paying Rome an additional 1200 talents, and surrendering Sardinia and Corsica.

We may judge the fury of Hamilcar at this treatment of his country. He proposed to his government that it should provide him with troops and funds to re-establish the power of Carthage in Spain, as a steppingstone to an attack upon Italy. The landowning aristocracy opposed the plan, fearing further war; the mercantile middle class, resenting the loss of their foreign markets and ports, supported it. As a compromise Hamilcar was given a modest contingent, with which he crossed to Spain (238). He recaptured the cities whose allegiance to Carthage had lapsed during the war, built up his army with native recruits, financed and equipped it with the products of Spain’s mines, and died while leading a charge against a Spanish tribe (229).

He left behind him in the camp his son-in-law Hasdrubal, and his sons Hannibal, Hasdrubal, and Mago—his “lion’s-brood.” The son-in-law was chosen commander, and for eight years governed wisely, winning the cooperation of the Spaniards and building near the silver mines a great city, known to Rome as Nova Carthago, or New Carthage—the Cartagena of today. When he was assassinated (221), the army elected as its leader Hamilcar’s eldest son, Hannibal, then twenty-six years of age. Before leaving Carthage, his father had brought him, a boy of nine, to the altar of Baal-Haman and had bidden him swear that someday he would revenge his country against Rome. Hannibal swore, and did not forget.

IV. HANNIBAL

Why had Rome permitted the reconquest of Spain? Because she was harassed with class strife, was expanding in the Adriatic, and was at war with the Gauls. In 232 a tribune, Caius Flaminius, foreshadowed the Gracchi by carrying through the Assembly, against the violent opposition of the Senate, a measure distributing among the poorer citizens some lands recently won from the Gauls. In 230 Rome took her first step toward the conquest of Greece by clearing the Adriatic of pirates and seizing a part of the Illyrian coast as a further protection for Italian trade. Safe now on south and east, she resolved to drive the Gauls over the Alps and make Italy a completely united state. To secure herself on the west she signed a treaty with Hasdrubal by which the Carthaginians in Spain agreed to stay south of the Ebro River; and at the same time she made an alliance with the semi-Greek towns of Saguntum and Ampurias in Spain. In the following year (225) a Gallic army of 50,000 foot and 20,000 horse swept down the peninsula. The inhabitants of the capital were so frightened that the Senate returned to the primitive custom of human sacrifice and buried two Gauls alive in the Forum as an appeasement of the gods.²⁰ The legions met the invaders near Telamon, killed 40,000, took 10,000 prisoners, and marched on to subjugate all Cisalpine Gaul. In three years the task was completed; protective colonies were established at Placentia and Cremona, and from the Alps to Sicily Italy was one.

It was an untimely victory. Had the Gauls been left unmolested for a few years more they might have stopped Hannibal; but now all Gaul was aflame against Rome. Hannibal saw the opportunity he had longed for—to cross Gaul with little opposition and to invade Italy with Gallic tribes as his allies.

The Punic leader was now twenty-eight years old, at his prime in body and mind. In addition to a Carthaginian gentleman’s schooling in the languages, literatures, and history of Phoenicia and Greece,²¹ he had received a soldier’s training through nineteen years in camp. He had disciplined his body to hardship, his appetite to moderation, his tongue to silence, his thought to objectivity. He could run or ride with the swiftest, hunt or fight with the bravest; he was “the first to enter the battle,” says the hostile Livy, “and the last to abandon the field.”²² The veterans loved him because in his commanding presence and piercing eyes they saw their old leader Hamilcar return to them in fresh youth; the recruits liked him because he wore no distinctive dress, never rested till he had provided for his army’s needs, and shared with them all sufferings and gains. The Romans accused him of avarice, cruelty, and treachery, for he honored no scruples in seizing supplies for his troops, punished disloyalty severely, and laid many snares for his foes. Yet we find him often merciful, always chivalrous. “Nothing occurs in the accounts of him,” says the judicious Mommsen, “which may not be justified under the circumstances, and according to the international law of the times.”²³ The Romans could not readily forgive him for winning battles with his brains rather than with the lives of his men. The tricks he played upon them, the skill of his espionage, the subtlety of his strategy, the surprises of his tactics were beyond their appreciation until Carthage was destroyed.

In 219 B.C. Roman agents organized in Saguntum a coup d’état that set up a government patriotically hostile to Carthage. When the Saguntines molested tribes friendly to him, Hannibal ordered them to desist; when they refused he besieged the city. Rome protested to Carthage and threatened war; Carthage replied that since Saguntum was a hundred miles south of the Ebro, Rome had no right to interfere, and had, by signing an alliance with it, violated her treaty with Hasdrubal. Hannibal persisted in the siege, and Rome took up arms again, never dreaming that this Second Punic War was to be the most terrible in her history.

Hannibal spent eight months in subduing the Saguntines; he did not dare advance toward Italy while leaving to the Romans so excellent a port for landing in his rear. In 218 he crossed the Ebro, challenging fate as Caesar would at the Rubicon. He had an army of 50,000 infantry and 9000 cavalry, none of them mercenaries, most of them Spaniards and Libyans. Three thousand Spaniards deserted when they learned that he planned to cross the Alps, and Hannibal released 7000 others who protested against his enterprise as impossible,²⁴ It was hard enough to force a passage through the Pyrenees; more unexpected was the fierce resistance of some Gallic tribes allied with Marseilles; a summer of fighting was required to reach the Rhone, and a major battle to cross it. He had hardly left its banks when a Roman army arrived at the mouth of the river.

Hannibal led his troops north toward Vienne and then struck eastward into the Alps. Celtic hordes had crossed those ranges before him, and he too might have done it without extraordinary hardship had it not been for the hostility of the Alpine tribes, and the difficulty of getting his elephants through narrow or precipitous passages. Early in September, after a climb of nine days, he reached the summit and found it covered with snow; there he let his men and animals rest for two days and then began the downward march through passes steeper than the ascent, over roads sometimes buried by landslides and often paved with ice. Many soldiers and beasts lost their footing and tumbled to their deaths. Hannibal spurred on his despairing forces by pointing out to them, in the distant south, the green fields and sparkling streams of Italy; that paradise, he promised them, would soon be theirs. After seventeen days in the Alps they reached the plain and rested. So many men and horses had been lost in the crossing that the army was now reduced to 26,000—less than half the force that had left New Carthage four months before. Had the Cisalpine Gauls resisted him as the Transalpine Gauls had done, Hannibal’s progress might have ended there. But the Boii and other tribes welcomed him as a savior and joined him as allies, while the recently established Roman settlers fled southward across the Po.

Faced with this second threat in seven years to the very life of Rome, the Senate mobilized all its resources and called upon the states of Italy to unite in the defense of their land. With their help Rome raised armies totaling 300,000 foot, 14,000 horse, and 456,000 reserves. One army, under the first of many famous Scipios, met Hannibal along the Ticino—a small river flowing into the Po at Pavia. Hannibal’s Numidian cavalry put the Romans to flight, and Scipio, dangerously wounded, was saved by the brave interposition of the son who was destined to meet Hannibal again at Zama sixteen years later. At Lake Trasimene Hannibal encountered another Roman army, 30,000 strong, led by the tribune Caius Flaminius, and accompanied by slave dealers bringing fetters and chains for the prospective prisoners whom they hoped to sell. With part of his forces Hannibal decoyed this army into a plain surrounded by hills and woods that concealed most of his troops; at his signal the hidden columns debouched upon the Romans from every side and killed nearly all of them, including Flaminius himself (217).

Hannibal now controlled all northern Italy, but he knew that he was still outnumbered ten to one by a resolute foe. His only hope lay in persuading at least some of the Italian states to revolt against Rome. He released all prisoners whom he had taken from Rome’s allies, saying that he had come not to fight Italy but to set it free. He marched through flooded Etruria, where for four days no dry land could be found on which to pitch a camp; crossed the Apennines to the Adriatic, and there allowed his soldiers a long interval to refresh their energies and heal their wounds. He himself suffered from severe ophthalmia, took no time to treat it, and lost the use of one eye. Then he marched down the eastern coast, inviting the Italian tribes to join him. None did; on the contrary, every city closed its gates against him and prepared to fight. As he moved south, his Gallic allies, interested only in their northern homes, began to desert him. Plots against his life were so numerous that he had to assume ever new disguises. He begged his government to send him supplies and men by some Adriatic port; it refused. He asked his younger brother Hasdrubal, whom he had left in Spain, to organize an army and cross Gaul and the Alps to join him; but the Romans had invaded Spain, and Hasdrubal did not dare to leave it. Ten years were to pass before his coming.

Rome now adopted against her greatest adversary his own baffling policy of caution and attrition. Quintus Fabius Maximus, made dictator in 217, created an adjective by delaying as long as he could a direct engagement with Hannibal; in time, he believed, the invaders would be reduced by hunger, discord, and disease. After a year this “masterly inaction” irritated the Roman populace; the Assembly overruled the Senate, as well as all precedents and logic, by electing Minucius Rufus codictator with Fabius. Against Fabius’ advice Minucius advanced against the enemy, fell into a trap, was severely beaten, and thereafter understood why Hannibal said that he feared Fabius, who would not fight, more than Marcellus, who would.²⁵ A year later Fabius was deposed, and the Roman armies were entrusted to Lucius Aemilius Paulus and Caius Terentius Varro. Paulus the aristocrat counseled caution; Varro of the plebs was all for action; and as usual, caution lost the argument. Varro sought and found the Carthaginians at Cannae, in Apulia, some ten miles from the Adriatic coast. The Romans had 80,000 infantry, 6000 cavalry; Hannibal had 19,000 veterans, 16,000 unreliable Gauls, 10,000 horse; and he had lured Varro to fight in a broad plain ideal for cavalry. He had placed the Gauls at his center, expecting that they would give way. They did; and when the Romans followed them into the pocket, the subtle Carthaginian, himself in the thick of the fray, ordered his veterans to close in upon the Roman flanks and bade his cavalry smash through the opposed horsemen to attack the legions from behind. The Roman army was surrounded, lost all chance of maneuvering, and was almost annihilated; 44,000 of them fell, including Paulus and eighty senators who had enlisted as soldiers; 10,000 escaped to Canusium, among them Varro and the Scipio who was to win the surname of Africanus Maior (216). Hannibal lost 6000 men, two thirds of them Gauls. It was a supreme example of generalship, never bettered in history. It ended the days of Roman reliance upon infantry, and set the lines of military tactics for two thousand years.

V. SCIPIO

The disaster shattered Rome’s hegemony in southern Italy. Samnites, Bruttians, Lucanians, Metapontum, Thurii, Crotona, Locri, and Capua joined Cisalpine Gaul in attaching themselves to Hannibal; only Umbria, Latium, and Etruria remained firm. Hiero of Syracuse was loyal to the death, but his successors declared for Carthage. Philip V of Macedon, fearful of Roman expansion through Illyria into the east, allied himself with Hannibal and declared war upon Rome. Carthage herself became interested and sent Hannibal meager reinforcements and supplies. Some of the young Roman nobles among the survivors at Canusium thought the situation hopeless and meditated flight to Greece, but Scipio shamed them into courage. Rome was for a month hysterical with terror; only a small garrison remained to protect it against Hannibal. Matrons of high family ran weeping to the temples and cleansed with their hair the statues of the gods; some whose husbands and sons had fallen in battle cohabited with foreigners and slaves lest their strain should die. To regain the favor of obviously offended deities the Senate again sanctioned human sacrifice and buried alive two Gauls and two Greeks.²⁶

But the Romans, says Polybius, “were most to be feared when they stood in real danger. . . . Though they were now so overwhelmingly defeated, and their military reputation had been destroyed, yet, by the peculiar virtues of their constitution, and by wise counsel, they not only recovered their supremacy in Italy . . . but in a few years made themselves masters of the world.”²⁷ The class war ceased, and all groups rushed to the rescue of the state. Taxes had already risen apparently beyond tolerance; but now the citizens, even widows and children, voluntarily brought their secret savings to the Treasury. Every male who could bear arms was called to the colors; slaves were accepted in the levies and were promised freedom in the event of victory. Not a single soldier would consent to receive pay. Rome prepared to contest every inch of ground against the new lion of Carthage.

But Hannibal did not come. His 40,000 men were too small a force, he thought, to besiege a city to whose defense many armies would converge from still loyal states; and if he took it, how could he hold it? His Italian allies, instead of strengthening, weakened him; Rome and her friends were raising forces to attack them, and without his help they would succumb. His aides reproached his caution, and one of them remarked, sadly, “The gods have not given all their gifts to one man. You know how to win victory, Hannibal, but you do not know how to use it.”²⁸ Hannibal decided to wait till Carthage, Macedon, and Syracuse could unite with him in a multiple offensive that would retake Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica, and Illyria, and compel Rome to confine her power to Italy. He released all captives except Romans, and offered these to Rome for a small ransom. When the Senate refused this he sent most of them to Carthage as slaves, and forced the rest, in Roman style, to amuse his men by gladiatorial combats, even to the death. He besieged and took several towns and then led his army to winter in Capua.

It was the most pleasant and dangerous place that he could have chosen. For this second city of Italy—some twelve miles north of Naples—had learned from the Etruscans and the Greeks the vices as well as the graces of civilization; and Hannibal’s troops felt entitled to indulge for a season the flesh that had borne so many hardships and wounds. They were never again the invincible soldiers who had through many campaigns been formed in their master’s Spartan image. In the next five years Hannibal led them to some minor successes; but while they were so engaged the Romans laid siege to Capua. Hannibal sought to relieve it by marching to within a few miles of Rome; the Romans raised twenty-five new legions—200,000 men—and Hannibal, still limited to 40,000, retired to the south. In 211 Capua fell; its leaders, who had let loose a massacre of Romans in the city, were beheaded or committed suicide; and the population, which had strongly supported Hannibal, was dispersed throughout Italy. A year before, Marcellus had taken Syracuse; and a year later Agrigentum yielded to Rome.

Meanwhile a Roman army under the two older Scipios had been sent to Spain to keep Hasdrubal occupied. They defeated him at the Ebro (215); but both of them were soon afterward killed in battle, and their gains were being lost when their son and nephew, Scipio Africanus, was dispatched to the Spanish command. He was but twenty-four, far below the legal age for so responsible a position; but the Senate was willing to stretch the constitution to save the state, and the Assembly was by this time voluntarily subordinating itself to the Senate. The people admired him not only because he was handsome and eloquent, intelligent and brave, but pious, courteous, and just. It was his custom, before undertaking an enterprise, to commune with the gods in the temples on the Capitol, and, after his victories, to reward them with hecatombs. He believed—or represented—himself to be a favorite of Heaven; his successes spread the belief and filled his followers with confidence. He soon restored discipline among the troops, captured Nova Carthago after a long siege, and scrupulously turned over to the Treasury the precious metal and stones that there fell into his hands. Most of the Spanish cities surrendered to him, and by 205 Spain had become a Roman province.

Nevertheless, Hasdrubal’s main force had escaped and now crossed Gaul and the Alps into Italy. The young leader’s message to Hannibal was intercepted, and his plan of campaign was revealed to Rome. A Roman army met his modest force at the Metaurus River (207) and defeated him despite his excellent generalship. Seeing the battle lost and all hope of reaching his brother gone, Hasdrubal leaped into the midst of the legions and took death in his stride. The Roman historians, perhaps romancing, tell us that the victor cut off the youth’s head and sent it through Apulia to be cast over the ramparts into Hannibal’s camp. Broken in spirit by the fate of a brother whom he had dearly loved, Hannibal withdrew his thinned-out forces to Bruttium. “No action was fought with him this year,” says Livy, “nor did the Romans care to disturb him, so great was the reputation of his powers even while his cause was everywhere round him crumbling into ruin.”²⁹ Carthage sent him a hundred ships laden with men and food, but a gale drove the vessels to Sardinia, where a Roman fleet sank or captured eighty of them; the rest fled home.

In 205 young Scipio, fresh from his victories in Spain, was chosen consul, raised a new army, and sailed for Africa. The Carthaginian government appealed to Hannibal to come to the help of the city that had so long refused to support him. How shall we imagine the feelings of the half-blind warrior, driven into a corner of Italy by an endless stream of enemies, seeing all his toil and hardships of fifteen years brought to nothing, and all his triumphs summing up to futility and flight? Half of his troops refused to embark with him for Carthage; according to hostile historians he had 20,000 of them killed for disobedience and for fear that Rome might add them to her legions.³⁰ Touching his native soil after an absence of thirty-six years, he hastily formed a new army and went out to face Scipio at Zama, fifty miles south of Carthage (202). The two generals met in a courteous interview, found agreement impossible, and joined battle. For the first time in his life Hannibal was defeated; the Carthaginians, mostly mercenaries, gave ground before the Roman infantry and the reckless cavalry of Masinissa, the Numidian king; 20,000 Carthaginians were left dead on the field. Hannibal, now forty-five, fought with the energy of youth, attacked Scipio in personal combat and wounded him, attacked Masinissa, re-formed his disordered forces again and again, and led them in desperate countercharges. When all hope fled he eluded capture, rode to Carthage, announced that he had lost not only a battle but the war, and advised the Senate to sue for peace. Scipio was generous. He allowed Carthage to retain her African empire but demanded the surrender of all her war vessels except ten triremes; she was not to make war outside of Africa or within it without Rome’s consent; and she was to pay Rome 200 talents ($720,000) every year for fifty years. Hannibal pronounced the terms just and persuaded his government to accept them.

The Second Punic War changed the face of the western Mediterranean. It gave Spain and all its wealth to Rome, providing the funds for the Roman conquest of Greece. It reunited Italy under Rome’s unquestioned mastery and threw open all routes and markets to Roman ships and goods. But it was the most costly of all ancient wars. It ravaged or injured half the farms of Italy, destroyed 400 towns, killed 300,000 men;³¹ southern Italy has never quite recovered from it to this day. It weakened democracy by showing that a popular assembly cannot wisely choose generals or direct a war. It began the transformation of Roman life and morals by hurting agriculture and helping trade; by taking men from the countryside and teaching them the violence of battle and the promiscuity of the camp; by bringing the precious metals of Spain to finance new luxuries and imperialistic expansion; and by enabling Italy to live on the extorted wheat of Spain, Sicily, and Africa. It was a pivotal event for almost every phase of Roman history.

To Carthage it was the beginning of the end. With much of its commerce and empire left to it, it might have solved the problems of regeneration. But the oligarchical government was so corrupt that it threw upon the lower classes the burden of raising the annual indemnity for Rome and embezzled part of it to boot. The popular party called upon Hannibal to come out of his retirement and save the nation. In 196 he was elected suffete. He shocked the oligarchs by proposing that the judges of the Court of 104 should be elected for one year and should be ineligible for a second term until after a year’s interval. When the Senate rejected the measure he brought it before the Assembly, and carried it; by this law and this procedure he established at one stroke a degree of democracy equal to Rome’s. He punished and checked venality and pursued it to its source. He relieved the citizens of the extra taxes that had been laid upon them, and yet so managed the finances that by 188 Carthage was able to pay off the Roman indemnity in full.

To get rid of him the oligarchy secretly sent word to Rome that Hannibal was plotting to renew the war. Scipio used all his influence to protect his rival, but was overruled; the Senate accommodated the rich Carthaginians by demanding the surrender of Hannibal. The old warrior fled by night, rode 150 miles to Thapsus, and there took ship to Antioch (195). He found Antiochus III hesitating between war and peace with Rome; he advised war and became one of the King’s staff. When the Romans defeated Antiochus at Magnesia (189) they made it a condition of peace that Hannibal should be turned over to them. He escaped first to Crete, then to Bithynia. The Romans hunted him out and surrounded his hiding place with soldiers. Hannibal preferred death to capture. “Let us,” he said, “relieve the Romans from the anxiety they have so long experienced, since they think it tries their patience too much to wait for an old man’s death.”³² He drank the poison that he carried with him, and died, aged sixty-seven, in the year 184 B.C. A few months later his conqueror and admirer, Scipio, followed him to peace.

CHAPTER IV

Stoic Rome

508-202 B.C.

WHAT kind of human beings were these irresistible Romans? What institutions had formed them to such ruthless strength in character and policy?—what homes and schools, what religion and moral code? How did they take from the soil, and by what economic organization and skill did they mold to their uses, the wealth required to equip their growing cities and those ever new armies that never knew rest? What were they like in their streets and shops, their temples and theaters, their science and philosophy, their old age and death? Unless we visualize, scene by scene, this Rome of the early Republic, we shall never understand that vast evolution of customs, morals, and ideas which produced in one age the stoic Cato, in a later age the epicurean Nero, and at last transformed the Roman Empire into the Roman Church.

I. THE FAMILY

Birth itself was an adventure in Rome. If the child was deformed or female, the father was permitted by custom to expose it to death.¹ Otherwise it was welcomed; for though the Romans even of this period practiced some measure of family limitation, they were eager to have sons. Rural life made children assets, public opinion condemned childlessness, and religion promoted fertility by persuading the Roman that if he left no son to tend his grave his spirit would suffer endless misery. After eight days the child was formally accepted into the family and the clan by a solemn ceremony at the domestic hearth. A clan (gens) was a group of freeborn families tracing themselves to a common ancestor, bearing his name, united in a common worship, and bound to mutual aid in peace and war. The male child was designated by an individual first name (praenomen), such as Publius, Marcus, Caius; by his clan name (nomen), such as Cornelius, Tullius, Julius; and by his family name (cognomen), such as Scipio, Cicero, Caesar. Women were most often designated simply by the clan name-Cornelia, Tullia, Claudia, Julia. Since in classical days there were only some fifteen first names for males, and these tended to be repeated confusingly in many generations of the same family, they were usually reduced to an initial, and a fourth—or even a fifth—name was added for distinctiveness. So P. Cornelius Scipio Africanus Maior, the conqueror of Hannibal, was differentiated from P. Cornelius Scipio Aemilianus Africanus Minor, the destroyer of Carthage.

The child found itself absorbed into the most basic and characteristic of Roman institutions—the patriarchal family. The power of the father was nearly absolute, as if the family had been organized as a unit of an army always at war. He alone of the family had any rights before the law in the early Republic; he alone could buy, hold, or sell property, or make contracts; even his wife’s dowry, in this period, belonged to him. If his wife was accused of a crime she was committed to him for judgment and punishment; he could condemn her to death for infidelity or for stealing the keys to his wine. Over his children he had the power of life, death, and sale into slavery. All that the son acquired became legally his father’s property; nor could he marry without his father’s consent. A married daughter remained under her father’s power, unless he allowed her to marry cum manu—gave her into the hand or power of her husband. Over his slaves he had unlimited authority. These, and his wife and children, were mancipia to him—literally, “taken in hand”; and no matter what their age or status, they remained in his power until he chose to emancipate them—to let them “out of hand.” These rights of the paterfamilias were checked to some degree by custom, public opinion, the clan council, and praetorian law; otherwise they lasted to his death, and could not be ended by his insanity or even by his own choice. Their effect was to cement the unity of the family as the basis of Roman morals and government and to establish a discipline that hardened the Roman character into stoic strength. They were harsher in the letter than in practice; the most extreme of them were seldom used, the rest seldom abused. They did not bar a deep and natural pietas, or reverential affection, between parents and children. The tomb stelae of Rome are as tender as those of Greece or our own.

Since the greater urgency of the male supplies woman with charms more potent than any law, her status in Rome must not be judged from her legal disabilities. She was not allowed to appear in court, even as a witness. Widowed, she could not claim any dower right in her husband’s estate; he might, if he wished, leave her nothing. At every age of her life she was under the tutelage of a man—her father, her brother, her husband, her son, or a guardian—without whose consent she could not marry or dispose of property. On the other hand, she could inherit, though not beyond 100,000 sesterces ($15,000), and she could own without limit. In many instances, as the earlier passed into the later Republic, she became wealthy because her husband put his property in her name to escape bankruptcy obligations, damage suits, inheritance taxes, and other everlasting jeopardies. She played a role in religion as priestess; nearly every priest had to have a wife and lost his office when she died. Within the home (domus) she was honored mistress, mea domina, madame. She was not, like the Greek wife, confined to a gynaeceum, or woman’s quarters; she took her meals with her mate, though she sat while he reclined. She did a minimum of servile work, for nearly every citizen had a slave. She might spin, as a sign of gentility, but her chief economic function was to superintend the servants; she made it a point, however, to nurse her children herself. They rewarded her patient motherhood with profound love and respect; and her husband seldom allowed his legal mastery to cloud his devotion.

The father and the mother, their house and land and property, their children, their married sons, their grandchildren by these sons, their daughters-in-law, their slaves and clients—all these constituted the Roman familia: not so much a family as a household; not a kinship group but an assembly of owned persons and things subject to the oldest male ascendant. It was within this miniature society, containing in itself the functions of family, church, school, industry, and government, that the Roman child grew up, in piety and obedience, to form the sturdy citizen of an invincible state.

II. THE RELIGION OF ROME

1. The Gods

The Roman family was both an association of persons with things and an association of persons and things with gods. It was the center and source of religion, as well as of morals, economy, and the state; every part of its property and every aspect of its existence were bound up in a solemn intimacy with the spiritual world. The child was taught, by the eloquent silence of example, that the undying fire in the hearth was the sign and substance of the goddess Vesta, the sacred flame that symbolized the life and continuity of the family; which therefore must never be extinguished, but must be tended with “religious” care, and fed with a portion of each meal. Over the hearth he saw the little icons, crowned with flowers, that represented the gods or spirits of the family: the Lar that guarded its fields and buildings, its fortune and destiny, and the Penates, or gods of the interior, who protected the accumulations of the family in its storerooms, cupboards, and barns. Hovering invisible but potent over the threshold was the god Janus, two-faced not as deceitful but as watching all entry and exit at every door. The child’s father, he learned, was the ward and embodiment of an inner genius, or generative power, which would not die with the body, but must be nourished forever at the paternal grave. His mother was also the carrier of a deity and had likewise to be treated as divine; she had a Juno in her as the spirit of her capacity to bear, as the father enclosed a genius as the spirit of his power to beget. The child too had his genius or Juno, as both his guardian angel and his soul—a godly kernel in the mortal husk. Everywhere about him, he heard with awe, were the watchful Di Manes, or Kindly Shades, of those male forebears whose grim death masks hung on the household walls, warning him not to stray from the ways of his ancestors, and reminding him that the family was composed not merely of those few individuals that lived in his moment but also of those that had once been, or would someday be, members of it in the flesh, and therefore formed part of it in its spiritual multitude and timeless unity.

Other spirits came to his aid as he grew up: Cuba watched over his sleep, Abeona guided his first steps, Fabulina taught him to speak. When he left the house he found himself again and everywhere in the presence of gods. The earth itself was a deity: sometimes Tellus, or Terra Mater—Mother Earth; sometimes Mars as the very soil he trod, and its divine fertility; sometimes Bona Dea, the Good Goddess who gave rich wombs to women and fields. On the farm there was a helping god for every task or spot: Pomona for orchards, Faunus for cattle, Pales for pasturage, Sterculus for manure heaps, Saturn for sowing, Ceres for crops, Fornax for baking corn in the oven, Vulcan for making the fire. Over the boundaries presided the great god Terminus, imaged and worshiped in the stones or trees that marked the limits of the farm. Other religions may have looked to the sky, and the Roman admitted that there too were gods; but his deepest piety and sincerest propitiations turned to the earth as the source and mother of his life, the home of his dead and the magic nurse of the sprouting seed. Every December the Lares of the soil were worshiped in the joyful Feast of the Crossroads, or Compitalia; every January rich gifts sought the favor of Tellus for all planted things; every May the priests of the Arval (or Plowing) Brotherhood led a chanting procession along the boundaries of adjoining farms, garlanded the stones with flowers, sprinkled them with the blood of sacrificial victims, and prayed to Mars (the earth) to bear generous fruit. So religion sanctified property, quieted disputes, ennobled the labor of the fields with poetry and drama, and strengthened body and soul with faith and hope.

The Roman did not, like the Greek, think of his gods as having human form; he called them simply nurmna, or spirits; sometimes they were abstractions like Health, Youth, Memory, Fortune, Honor, Hope, Fear, Virtue, Chastity, Concord, Victory, or Rome. Some of them, like the Lemures or Ghosts, were spirits of disease, hard to propitiate. Some were spirits of the season, like Maia, the soul of May; others were water gods like Neptune, or woodland sprites like Silvanus, or the gods that dwelt in trees. Some lived in sacred animals, like the sacrificed horse or bull, or in the sacred geese that a playful piety preserved unharmed on the Capitol. Some were spirits of procreation; Tutumus supervised conception, Lucina protected menstruation and delivery. Priapus was a Greek god of fertility soon domiciled in Rome: maidens and matrons (if we may believe the indignant Saint Augustine) sat on the male member of his statue as a means of ensuring pregnancy;² scandalous figures of him adorned many a garden; little phallic images of him were worn by simple persons to bring fertility or good luck or to avert the “evil eye.”³ Never had a religion so many divinities. Varro reckoned them at 30,000, and Petronius complained that in some towns of Italy there were more gods than men. But deus, to the Roman, meant saint as well as god.

Under these basic concepts lurked a polymorphous mass of popular beliefs in animism, fetishism, totemism, magic, miracles, spells, superstitions, and taboos, most of them going back to the prehistoric inhabitants of Italy, and perhaps to Indo-European ancestors in their ancient Asiatic home. Many objects, places, or persons were sacred (sacer) and therefore taboo—not to be touched or profaned: e.g., newborn children, menstruating women, condemned criminals. Hundreds of verbal formulas or mechanical contraptions were used to achieve natural ends by supernatural means. Amulets were well-nigh universal; nearly every child wore a bulla, or golden talisman, suspended from his neck. Small images were hung upon doors or trees to ward off evil spirits. Charms or incantations were used to avert accidents, cure disease, bring rain, destroy a hostile army, wither an enemy’s crops or himself. “We are all afraid,” said Pliny, “of being transfixed by curses and spells.”⁴ Witches appear in Horace, Virgil, Tibullus, Lucian. They were believed to eat snakes, fly through the air at night, brew poisons from esoteric herbs, kill children, and raise the dead. All but a few skeptics seem to have believed in miracles and portents, in speaking or sweating statues,⁵ in gods descending from Olympus to fight for Rome, in lucky odd and unlucky even days, and in the presaging of the future by strange events. Livy’s history must contain several hundred such portents, reported with philosophic gravity; and the elder Pliny’s volumes so abound in portents and magic cures that they might well have been called Supernatural History. The most serious business of commerce, government, or war could be deferred or ended by the priestly announcement of an unfavorable omen like abnormal entrails in a sacrificial victim or a roll of thunder in the sky.

The state did what it could to check these excesses—called them, indeed, precisely that, superstitio. But it sedulously exploited the piety of the people to promote the stability of society and government. It adapted the rural divinities to urban life, built a national hearth for the goddess Vesta, and appointed a college of Vestal Virgins to serve the city’s sacred fire. Out of the gods of the family, the farm, and the village it developed the di indigetes—or native gods—of the state, and arranged for these a solemn and picturesque worship in the name of all the citizens.

Among these original national gods Jupiter or Jove was the favorite, though not yet, like Zeus, their king. In the early centuries of Rome he was still a half-impersonal force—the bright expanse of the sky, the light: of the sun and the moon, a bolt of thunder, or (as Jupiter Pluvius) a shower of fertilizing rain; even Virgil and Horace occasionally use “Jove” as a synonym for rain or sky.⁶ In time of drought the richest ladies of Rome walked in barefoot procession up the Capitoline hill to the Temple of Jupiter Tonans—Jove the Thunderer—to pray for rain. Probably his name was a corruption of Diuspater, or Diespiter, Father of the Sky. Perhaps primitively one with him was Janus, originally Dianus: first the two-faced spirit of the cottage door, then of the city gate, then of any opening or beginning, as of the day or year. The portals of his temple were open only in time of war, so that he might go forth with Rome’s armies to overcome the gods of the foe. As old as Jupiter in the respect of the people was Mars, at first a god of tillage, then of war, then almost a symbol of Rome; every tribe in Italy named a month after him. Of like hoary antiquity was Saturn, the national god of the new-sown seed (sata). Legend pictured him as a prehistoric king who had brought the tribes under one law, taught them agriculture, and established peace and communism in the Saturnia regna—the Golden Age of Saturn’s reign.

Less powerful but more deeply loved than these were the goddesses of Rome. Juno Regina was the queen of heaven, the protective genius of womanhood, marriage, and maternity; her month of June ⁷ was recommended as the luckiest for weddings. Minerva was the goddess of wisdom (mens) or memory, of handicrafts and guilds, of actors, musicians, and scribes; the Palladium on which the safety of Rome was believed to depend was an image of Pallas Minerva, fully armed, which Aeneas was said to have brought from Troy through love and war to Rome. Venus was the spirit of desire, mating, fertility; sacred to her was April, the month of opening buds (aperire); poets like Lucretius and Ovid saw in her the amorous origin of all living things. Diana was the goddess of the moon, of women and childbirth, of the hunt, of the woods and their wild denizens, a tree spirit brought from Aricia when that region of Latium came under Roman power. Near Aricia were the lake and grove of Nemi, and in that grove was a rich shrine of Diana, the resort of pilgrims who believed that the goddess had once mated there with Virbius, the first “King of the Woods.” To ensure the fertility of Diana and the soil, the successors of Virbius—all priests and husbands of the huntress—were replaced, each in turn, by any vigorous slave who, having taken as a talisman a sprig of mistletoe (the Golden Bough) from the sacred oak tree of the grove, attacked and slew the king—a custom that endured till the second century of our era.⁸

These, then, were the major gods of the official Roman worship. There were lesser, but not less popular, national deities: Hercules, god of joy and wine, who was not above gambling gaily for a courtesan with the sacristan of his temple;⁹ Mercury, the patron deity of merchants, orators, and thieves; Ops, goddess of wealth; Bellona, goddess of war; and countless more. As the city spread its rule it brought in new divinities—di no-vensiles. Sometimes it imported the god of a beaten city into the Roman pantheon as a sign and surety of conquest, as when the Juno of Veii was led captive to Rome. Conversely, when the citizens of a community were moved to the capital their gods were brought with them, lest the spiritual and moral roots of the new inhabitants should be too suddenly snapped short; so immigrants bring their gods to America today. The Romans did not question the existence of these foreign deities; most of them believed that when they led the statue away the god had to come with it; many believed that the statue was the god.¹⁰

But some of the di novensiles were not conquered but conquering; they seeped into Roman worship through commercial, military, and cultural contacts with Greek civilization—first in Campania, then in south Italy, then in Sicily, finally in Greece itself. There was something cold and impersonal in the gods of the state religion; they could be bribed by offerings or sacrifice, but they could seldom provide comfort or individual inspiration; by contrast the gods of Greece seemed intimately human, full of adventure, humor, and poetry. The Roman populace welcomed them, built temples for them, and willingly learned their ritual. The official priesthood, glad to enlist these new policemen in the service of order and content, adopted the Greek gods into the divine family of Rome, and merged them, when possible, with their nearest analogues in the indigenous deities. As far back as 496 B.C. came Demeter and Dionysus, who were attached to Ceres and Liber (god of the grape); twelve years later Castor and Pollux were received, to become the protectors of Rome; in 431 a temple was raised to Apollo the Healer in the hope that he might allay a plague; in 294 Aesculapius, the Greek god of medicine, was brought from Epidaurus to Rome in the form of a huge snake,¹¹ and a temple-hospital was built in his honor on an island in the Tiber. Cronus was accepted as substantially one with Saturn, Poseidon was identified with Neptune, Artemis with Diana, Hephaestus with Vulcan, Heracles with Hercules, Hades with Pluto, Hermes with Mercury. With the help of the poets Jupiter was elevated into another Zeus, a stern witness and guardian of oaths, a bearded judge of morals, a custodian of laws, a god of gods; and slowly the educated Roman was prepared for the monotheistic creeds of Stoicism, Judaism, and Christianity.

2. The Priests

To appease or enlist the aid of these gods Italy employed an elaborate clergy. In his home the father was priest; but public worship was conducted by several collegia—associations—of priests, each filling its own vacancies, but all under the lead of a pontifex maximus elected by the centuries. No special training was necessary for membership in these sacred colleges; any citizen might be enrolled in them or leave them; they formed no separate order or caste and were politically powerless except as tools of the state. They received the income of certain state lands for their support, with slaves to serve them; and grew rich through generations of pious legacies.

In the third century before Christ the main pontifical college had nine members. They kept historical annals, recorded laws, took auspices, offered sacrifices, and purified Rome with quinquennial lustrations. In performing the official ritual the pontiffs were aided by fifteen flamines—kindlers of the sacrificial flames. Minor pontifical colleges had special functions: the Salii, or Leapers, ushered in each New Year with a ritual dance to Mars; the fetiales sanctified the ratification of treaties and declarations of war; and the Luperci, or Brotherhood of the Wolf, carried on the strange rites of the Lupercalia. The college of the Vestal Virgins tended the state hearth, and sprinkled it daily with holy water from the fountain of the sacred nymph Egeria. These white-clad, white-veiled nuns were chosen from among girls six to ten years of age; they took a vow of virginity and service for thirty years, but in return they received many public honors and privileges. If any of them was found guilty of sexual relations she was beaten with rods and buried alive; Roman historians record twelve cases of such punishment. After thirty years they were free to leave and marry, but few took or found the opportunity.¹²

The most influential of the priestly colleges was that of the nine augures who studied the intent or will of the gods, in earlier times by watching the flight of birds,^* later by examining the entrails of sacrificed animals. Before every important act of policy, government, or war, the “auspices were taken” by the magistrates and interpreted by the augurs, or by special haruspices—liver inspectors—whose art went back through Etruria to Chaldea and beyond. As the priests were occasionally open to financial persuasion, their pronouncements were sometimes adjusted to the needs of the purchaser; for example, inconvenient legislation could be stopped by announcing that the auspices were unfavorable for further business on that day; or the Assembly might be induced by “favorable” auspices to vote a war.¹³ In major crises the government professed to learn the pleasure of Heaven by consulting the Sibylline Books—the recorded oracles of the Sibyl, or priestess of Apollo, at Cumae. Through such means, and occasional deputations to the oracle at Delphi, the aristocracy could influence the people in any direction to almost any end.¹⁴

The ritual of worship aimed merely to offer the gods a gift or sacrifice to win their aid or avert their wrath. To be effective, said the priests, the ceremony had to be performed with such precision of words and movements as only the clergy could manage. If any mistake was made, the rite had to be repeated, even to thirty times. Religio meant the performance of ritual with religious care.¹⁵ The essence of the ceremony was a sacrifice—literally making a thing sacer—i.e., belonging to a god. In the home the offering would normally be a bit of cake or wine placed on the hearth or dropped into the domestic fire; in the village it would be the first fruits of the crops, or a ram, a dog, or a pig; on great occasions, a horse, a hog, a sheep, or an ox; on supreme occasions the last three were slaughtered together in the su-ove-taur-ilia. Holy formulas pronounced over the victim turned it into the god who was to receive it; in this sense the god himself was sacrificed;¹⁶ and since only the viscera were burned on the altar, while priests and people ate the rest, the strength and glory of the god (men hoped) passed into his feasting worshipers. Sometimes human beings were offered in sacrifice; it is significant that a law had to be passed as late as 97 B.C. forbidding this. By a variant of these ideas of vicarious atonement a man might offer his life for the state as the Decii had done, or Marcus Curtius, who, to propitiate angry subterranean powers, leaped into a chasm that an earthquake had opened in the Forum—whereupon, we are told, the chasm closed and all was well.¹⁷

Pleasanter was the ceremony of purification. This might be of crops or flocks, of an army or a city. A procession made the circuit of the objects to be purified, prayer and sacrifice were offered, evil influences were thereby dispelled, and misfortune was turned away. Prayer was still imperfectly evolved from magic incantations; the words for it—carmen—meant not only a chant but a charm; and Pliny frankly reckoned prayer as a form of magical utterance.¹⁸ If the formula was properly recited, and was addressed to the correct deity according to the indigitamenta, or classified directory of the gods compiled and kept by the priests, the request was certain to be granted; if not granted there must have been an error in the ritual. Akin to magic were also the vota, or vowed offerings, with which the people sought to gain the help of the gods; sometimes great temples rose in fulfillment of such vows. The multitude of votive offerings found in Roman remains suggests that the religion of the people was warm and tender with piety and gratitude, a feeling of kinship with the hidden forces in nature, and an anxious desire to be in harmony with them all. By contrast the state religion was uncomfortably formal, a kind of legal and contractual relation between the government and the gods. When new cults flowed in from the conquered East it was this official worship that declined first, while the picturesque and intimate faith and ritual of the countryside patiently and obstinately survived. Victorious Christianity, half surrendering, wisely took over much of the faith and ritual; and, under new forms and phrases, they continue in the Latin world to this day.

3. Festivals

If the official worship was gloomy and severe, its festivals redeemed it, and showed men and gods in a lighter mood. The year was adorned with over a hundred holy days (feriae), including the first of every month and sometimes the ninth and fifteenth. Some of the feriae were sacred to the dead or to the spirits of the lower world; these were “apotropaic” in their ceremonies, aiming to appease the departed and turn away wrath. On May 11-13 Roman families commemorated with awe the feast of the Lemures, or dead souls; the father spat black beans from his mouth, and cried: “With these beans I redeem myself and mine. . . . Shades of my ancestors, depart!”¹⁹ The Parentalia and the Feralia, in February, were similar attempts to propitiate the fearsome dead. But for the most part the festivals were occasions of feasting and jollity, often, among the plebs, of sexual freedom; on such days, says a character in Plautus, “you may eat what you like, go where you like . . . and love whom you like, provided you abstain from wives, widows, virgins, and free boys”;²⁰ apparently he felt that a wide choice would still remain.

On February 15 came the strange Lupercalia, sacred to the God Faunus as averter of wolves (lupercus): goats and sheep were sacrificed; and the luperci—priests clad only in goatskin girdles—ran around the Palatine praying to Faunus to drive away evil spirits, and striking the women whom they encountered with thongs of hide from the sacrificed animals, to purify them and make them fertile; then puppets of straw were cast into the Tiber to appease or deceive the river god, who had perhaps, in wilder days, demanded living men. On March 15 the poor emerged from their hovels and, like the Jews on the Feast of Tabernacles, built themselves tents in the Field of Mars, celebrated the coming of the New Year, and prayed to the goddess Anna Perenna (Ring of the Years) for as many years as they quaffed cups of wine.²¹ April alone had six festivals, culminating in the Floralia; this Feast of Flora, goddess of flowers and springs, continued for six days of bibulous and promiscuous revelry. The first of May was the Feast of the Good Goddess, Bona Dea. On May 9, 11, and 13 Liber and Libera, god and goddess of the grape, were celebrated in the Liberalia; the phallus, symbol of fertility, was frankly honored by gay crowds of men and women.²³ At the end of May the Arval Brethren led the people in the solemn and yet joyful Ambarvalia. The gods were neglected in the autumn months, after the crops were safely in, but December was again rich in feasts. The Saturnalia ran from the 17th to the 23rd; they celebrated the sowing of the seed for the next year and commemorated the happy classless reign of Saturn; gifts were exchanged, and many liberties were allowed; the distinction between slave and free was for a while abolished or even inverted; slaves might sit down with their owners, give orders to them, rail at them; the masters waited upon their slaves, and did not eat till all the slaves were filled.²⁴

These festivals, though agricultural in origin, remained popular in the cities and survived through all vicissitudes of belief into the fourth and fifth centuries of our era. Their number was so confusing that one of the prime purposes of the Roman calendar was to list them for the guidance of the people. In early Italian custom the chief priest had convened the citizens at the beginning of every month and named the festivals to be observed in the next thirty days; this calling (calatio) gave a name (calendae) to the first day of each month. To the Romans, as in some measure to modern Catholics or orthodox Jews, a calendar meant a priestly list of holidays and business days, interspersed with scraps of sacred, legal, historical, and astronomical information. Tradition ascribed to Numa the calendar that governed Roman chronology and life till Caesar. It divided the year into twelve lunar months, with complex intercalations that summed up to an average of 366 days per year. To remedy the mounting excess the pontiffs were empowered (191 B.C.) to revise the intercalations; but they used their authority to lengthen or shorten magistracies pleasing or displeasing to them, so that by the end of the Republic the calendar, then three months amiss, was a monster of chaos and chicanery.

In the early days time had been measured simply by the height of the sun in the sky. In 263 B.C. a sundial was brought from Catana, in Sicily, and placed in the Forum; but as Catana was four degrees south of Rome, the dial was deceptive, and the priests were for a century unable to make the needed adjustments. In 158 B.C. Scipio Nasica set up a public clepsydra, or water clock. The month was divided into three periods by the kalends (first), the nones (fifth or seventh), and the ides (thirteenth or fifteenth); and the days were clumsily named by their distance before these dividing lines; so March 12 was “the fourth day before the ides of March.” A loose economic week was marked out by the nundinae, or every ninth day, when the villagers came to market in the towns. The year began with the coming of spring, and the first month, Martius, bore the name of the god of sowing; next came Aprilis, sprouting; Maius, month of Maia, or perhaps of increase; Iunius, month of Juno, or possibly of thriving; then Quinctilis, Sextilis, September, October, November, and December, named from their numerical order in the year; then January for Janus, and February for the februa, or magic objects by which persons might be purified. The year itself was called annus, ring; as if to say that in reality there is no beginning and no end.

4. Religion and Character

Did this religion help Roman morals? In some ways it was immoral: its stress on ritual suggested that the gods rewarded not goodness but gifts and formulas; and its prayers were nearly always for material goods or martial victory. Ceremonies gave drama to the life of man and the soil, but they multiplied as if they, and not the devotion of the part to the whole, were the proper essence of religion. The gods were, with some exceptions, awesome spirits without moral aspect or nobility.

Nevertheless, the old religion made for morality, for order and strength in the individual, the family, and the state. Before the child could learn to doubt, faith molded its character into discipline, duty, and decency. Religion gave divine sanctions and support to the family: it instilled in parents and children a mutual respect and piety never surpassed, it gave sacramental significance and dignity to birth and death, encouraged fidelity to the marriage vow, and promoted fertility by making parentage indispensable to the peace of the dead soul. By ceremonies sedulously performed before each campaign and battle it raised the soldier’s morale, and led him to believe that supernatural powers were fighting on his side. It strengthened law by giving it celestial origins and religious form, by making crime a disturbance of the order and peace of Heaven, and by placing the authority of Jove behind every oath. It invested every phase of public life with religious solemnity, prefaced every act of government with ritual and prayer, and fused the state into such intimate union with the gods that piety and patriotism became one, and love of country rose to a passion stronger than in any other society known to history. Religion shared with the family the honor and responsibility of forming that iron character which was the secret of Rome’s mastery of the world.