Book 2, Letter 11

Part 2 of 2

To Cicero, on the Gracchus brothers.

*

so, continuing on....

With growing senatorial opposition to Gaius Gracchus, life was about to get much worse for Rome. It strikes me as a sort of, burned in the frying pan, thrown in the fire, sort of situation.

At a public vote to repeal some of Gaius' laws, one of Opimius' (the new Consul) servants was stabbed to death with bronze styluses, which the people had come armed with for this very purpose. This outburst of violence was the very thing the senate had been waiting for, and Opimius declared Martial Law, to put down the tyrants, thereby suspending the constitution and putting all real power in the hands of the Consul.

That night, the city slept with great tension, with armed men gathered around each of the political leaders homes, each expecting violence to break out the next day. Plutarch describes the scene very well, when in the morning, Gaius dressed himself in his toga, and carrying only a short dagger, made to leave home and go down to the senate house.

“As he was leaving his door, his wife threw herself at his feet and placing one arm around her husband and the other around their little son, said to him, 'When you leave me today, Gaius, I know you are not setting out for the rostra to speak as a tribune or a lawgiver, nor for some glorious campaign, where if you should die, as all men must some day, you would leave me with honour to console my grief. No, you are going to expose yourself to the men who murdered Tiberius, and you are right to go unarmed and to suffer wrong rather than inflict it on others. And yet our country will be none the better for taking your life, for injustice has triumphed in Rome, and it is violence and the sword which settle all disputes. If your brother had fallen before Numantia, his body would have been given back to us under the truce, but, as it is, I too may have to pray to some river or sea to yield up yours. What faith can we put in the gods or in the laws of men, when we have seen Tiberius murdered?'

While Licinia was pouring out her sorrow, Gaius gently freed himself from her embrace and walked away with his friends without uttering a word. Licinia clutched vainly at his toga, then sank to the ground and lay for a long time speechless. At last her servants lifted her up unconscious and carried her to her brother Crassus's house.”

Gaius didn't go directly to the senate house, but met with his friend and fellow politician, Fulvius, and they decided to send Fulvius' son as an intermediary, carrying a Herald's Wand, to offer terms for an agreement. The Consul, Opimius, refused the boy, saying that no negotiations could take place without Gaius present, and sent the boy away demanding that Gaius give himself up and be put to trial. The boy returned to his father with this message, and was sent back to Opimius to plead once more for a peaceful treaty, but Opimius refused and, arresting the boy, sent archers to attack Fulvius' men. In the bloody chaos that ensued, Fulvius was found hiding with his other, eldest son, and the two of them were killed. Gaius escaped, and ran through the city, begging help from the citizens whom he had fought on behalf of for so long, but none would help him, instead they only cheered him on as one would a runner in a race, but none offered him sanctuary, or a horse, though he begged for one.

                                         A Herald's wand

Eventually, Gaius was run down, and with his one remaining faithful slave, Philocrates, the two of them were murdered in a small grove of trees, sacred to the Furies. Gaius' head was severed and brought back to Opimius, who had promised to pay the head's weight in gold, to whomever brought it. A man named Septimulius, who stole the head from the man who had actually killed Gaius, scooped out the brain and filled the bloody head with lead, to inflate the value, but in the end was paid nothing for his treachery and lies.

                                The Death of Gaius Gracchus

Gaius, Fulvius, and the rest of their followers were all put to death, three thousand in all, and their bodies were dumped in the Tiber river. Their property was confiscated and sold, the proceeds all taken by the public treasury, and the wives of the dead were forbidden to dress themselves in mourning, while Licinia, Gaius's widow, was even deprived of her dowry. Fulvius' youngest son, the boy who had played no part in the violence, but had only acted as an emissary of peace, was also murdered by Opimius' men.

Opimius then further insulted the people by building a temple of Concord. The people were disgusted that he should claim honour and exalt himself in the slaughter of Roman citizens, and so at night, someone carved the following inscription on the temple.

This temple of Concord is the work of mad Discord

Afterwards, the people declared the ground on which both the Gracchus brothers had died to be sacred ground, and the first fruits of the season were offered up there throughout the year. Statues of the brothers were also set up in prominent parts of the city, and the people sacrificed to the brothers as if they were visiting the shrines of the gods.

*

So, again Cicero, is this the Republic you loved? Is this the Rome whose old virtues you defended? In your treatise, On Duties (Book 1), you make occasional reference to Tiberius and his “nefarious undertakings”, and make it plain that you thought him an evil politician whose removal (and murder) was beneficial to the state. I'm trying to understand what you fought for. I'm trying to understand what motivated you, and what true feelings and sentiments lay behind your passionate writing and speaking, passions which continue to inspire and motivate people even two thousand years after your death.

People often describe you as a political conservative, a member of the aristocracy whose defence of Republican virtue amounted to little more than a bolstering of the rights of the upper classes to rule by whichever means they cared, regardless of the suffering it caused. That assessment might sound extreme, but your hatred of the Gracchus brothers does cast a shadow over the remainder of your philosophical writings, from my modern viewpoint.

I have started here with the Gracchus brothers, but my goal is still to talk about the Catiline conspiracy, however, before I get there, I want to talk about some of the other people in your life, your friends and allies, your fellow politicians and the philosophers who influenced your world view. I have a lot to read before I can start on such a series of letters, so I will leave you today with this fragment of a poem called Horatius, by Thomas Babington Macaulay, published in 1842, in a book called “The Lays of Rome”. It's a pretty famous poem in my era, Winston Churchill memorised the whole thing and used sections of it in his speeches during the second world war.

When the oldest cask is opened,

and the largest lamp is lit

When the chestnuts glow in the embers,

and the kid turns on the spit;

When young and old in circle

around the firebrands close;

When the girls are weaving baskets,

and the lads are weaving bows;

When the goodman mends his armour

and trims his helmet's plume;

When the goodwife's shuttle merrily

goes flashing through the loom;

With sweeping and with laughter

still is the story told,

How well Horatius kept the bridge

in the brave days of old.

Thank you Cicero, for the journey is long, and the road is dark, and through the gloom of centuries passed and passing, I seek wisdom.

I seek wisdom, and in its place, I find only stories.

With respect and admiration,

Morgan.