In loving memory of my mother, Valquíria,

illuminatio mea sempiterna

v

Contents

Acknowledgments ⋅ vii

Abbreviations ⋅ ix

Foreword ⋅ xi

Introduction ⋅ 1

1 Livy and the writing of history in Rome ⋅ 11

2 The Terentilian Law ⋅ 39

3 The saga of the Quinctian family ⋅ 52

4 The Decemvirates and the tyranny of Appius Claudius ⋅ 69

5 The drama of Verginia ⋅ 85

6 The fall of the Second Decemvirate and the concord of the orders ⋅ 104

Conclusion ⋅ 124

Works Cited ⋅ 128

vii

Acknowledgments

This book is the product of a work done along almost three years as part of my

Master’s degree dissertation which was approved in the final examination held in

April 2008 at the Faculdade de Filosofia, Letras e Ciências Humanas of Universidade

de São Paulo (FFLCH-USP, Brazil). Many debts of gratitude are due to several

people from whom I have enjoyed support during this time. However, I cannot go on

without expressing how grateful I am to my beloved father, Gilberto, to my brother,

Lucas and to my academic advisor and friend, Dr. Maria Luiza Corassin. Special

thanks are also due to Dr. Zélia de Almeida Cardoso, for sharing with me some

thoughts about the Latin concept of monumentum and to Dr. Ivan Esperança Rocha

and Dr. Breno Battistin Sebastiani, for all the suggestions they offered me. Likewise,

I wish to thank the Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento Científico e Tecnológico

(MCT/CNPq, Brazil) for the financial support to the realization of my work. Finally,

I would like to thank Tula Hatagima Teixeira for helping me with this English

version of my text.

ix

Abbreviations

The abbreviations used for ancient authors and works are generally those listed

in the Oxford Classical Dictionary. For the scholarly journals, the abbreviations used

are those listed in L’Année Philologique. The following works are also abbreviated.

ANRW Aufstieg und Niedergang der Römischen Welt. Edited by H.

Temporini and W. Haase. New York; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1972–.

CAH² The Cambridge Ancient History, 2nd edition

CHCL The Cambridge History of Classical Literature

Entretiens Entretiens sur l’Antiquité classique. Vandouvres-Genève:

Fondation Hardt, 1954–.

xi

Foreword

The aim of this study is to contribute to the comprehension of Livy’s work,

above all the third of his Ab urbe condita libri. The text is divided in six chapters,

which are preceded by an introduction and supplemented by a conclusion. This

arrangement was necessary for the sake of a detailed analysis of book 3, a quite

extensive section of Livian History as a whole, in order to delineate how Livy

articulated the episodes that make up the aforementioned book by using the concept

of moderation as a binding link. Having mentioned this, the following pages are

subdivided as follows:

In the introduction, I try to delineate some parameters regarding Roman

historiography and historical thought in Livian times, as well as the structure and

organization of Livy’s first pentad.

Chapter 1 deals with the social role of Roman annalistic tradition between the

Republic and the Principate, insofar as Livy’s composition is framed on that

historiographical subgenre. Consequently, the assessment of the Livian preface

reveals to be highly important since it demonstrates Livy’s eagerness and his goals in

view of the undertaking he was willing to attain. The preface also indicates the

concept that guides the composition of his work, that is, the Ab urbe condita as a

literary monument endowed with notable examples, for the benefit of all Roman

citizens.

Chapters 2 to 6 focus on the evaluation of book 3 itself. Chapter 2 tries to

analyze the episode that subjected to conditions and anticipated the course of events

narrated by Livy in book 3, that is, the law which restricted consular authority

(imperium) and was proposed in 462 BC by a tribune of the plebs, Gaius Terentilius

Harsa, and the harsh opposition to the measure perpetrated by the patricians under the

leadership of Quintus Fabius, the prefect of the City. Through speeches in the mouth

of such characters especially, Livy introduces the basic elements on which the

narrative of book 3 is based, notably the opposition between the notions of libertas

(liberty) and licentia (excessive or irresponsible behavior) and the claim to reach a

state of equilibrium in the civic body by virtue of moderate acts from patricians and

plebeians alike.

The dichotomy between lack of temperance on the part of the young nobles

and the austerity of the oldest members of the City set the tone of the episodes

presented in Chapter 3. In such a context, the historian presented to his readers a hero

xii

like Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus, whose exemplarity was associated with the

moderate use of the extraordinary powers attributed to him by means of the

dictatorship he had held.

In the sequence of the dissertation, Chapter 4 indicates the way in which Livy

sharply contrasted the First Decemvirate with the Second. Thereby, he emphasized

the importance of the connection between character and the concentration of political

power as an interpretative key to understand the course of Roman history, in

accordance with the parameters of exemplary history professed by the historian.

The core of the narrative of book 3, the drama of Verginia, is analyzed in

Chapter 5. It focuses on the contrast between lack of moderation on the side of a

tyrannical Appius Claudius and the chastity of a young plebeian maiden. The latter

epitomizes the whole civic community and, in this regard, the attempt to violate her

body represented, as a symbolic act, the loss of Roman freedom in face of Appius’

lust.

Chapter 6 emphasizes Livy’s conception of the possibility of the Roman state

being in harmony after the fall of the decemvirs. It will be argued that, in this

episode, Livy transcended the idea that the metus hostilis (the fear of the enemy)

acted as a trigger for internal harmony, since the historian postulates, unlike Sallust,

that victory over external enemies could be accomplished only if Roman citizens

tempered their actions and consequently removed the danger of a civil strife.

The present study ends with a conclusion, where I point out the

interdependence between (im)moderate models and political power in book 3, with a

particular emphasis on a parallel between Lucius Quincius Cincinnatus and Appius

Claudius and on the interaction between past and present according to Livy’s

historical interpretation.

Lastly, it is necessary to explain some points about the ancient sources cited in

the book. Although I have translated all the passages from Latin to Portuguese in the

original version of my dissertation, here I opted to use those English translations kept

in print by the Loeb Classical Library (Harvard University Press), with some minor

adaptations. The volumes of the Collection Les Belles Lettres, with texts printed in

Latin and French in opposite pages, have been consulted in order to check the

divisions of chapters and lines in the sources. In addition, I have also consulted a

Brazilian edition of the Law of the XII Tables (tr. Vieira) and a Mexican edition of

Cicero’s Treatise on Rhetorical Invention (De inventione, tr. Coria). All these are

duly indicated at the end of the book.

1

Introduction

Livy was born in the Roman province of Cisalpine Gaul, in a town named

Patavium (modern Padua).1 But no one knows exactly the date of his birth (perhaps

64 or 59 BC) and, in effect, there is no certainty about the year he passed away (12 or

17 AD). As a contemporary of Augustus, he could observe the political disputes that

marked the Late Roman Republic. Indeed, on the course of the first century BC the

ancient Roman institutions headed by the patrician-plebeian nobilitas had suffered

major changes. The effective political power once held by the Senate was passed onto

the hands of outstanding military commanders, as Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus or

Gaius Julius Caesar. Therefore, the historian experienced, from the moment Octavian

began to play a crucial role in the Roman society after the Ides of March, “la

definitiva sistemazione della realtà politica della crisi in un nuovo e permanente

ordine costituzionale” (DE MARTINO, 1974, p. 299). In short, the social changes

that paved the way for the Principate.

The interpretation of Livy’s work involves appropriate analytical categories

regarding the writing of history in Republican Rome, especially the annalistic

tradition. Firstly, it is necessary to focus on a fundamental feature of that tradition,

that is, the fact that its historiographical value differs from its historical value and,

consequently, the relevance of Roman annalists as an expression of the beliefs and

ideas throughout the Late Republic differs from their value as a source to the study of

the Early Republic (RAAFLAUB, 2005, p. 24-25).

Therefore, the purpose of this book is not to make use of Livy’s work for

reconstructing Early Rome in its multiple areas – social, political, cultural,

institutional and so on. Instead, the present study focuses on the way Livy wrote his

History, and I intend to offer an interpretation of his historical narrative as composed

in book 3, which covers the years 467 to 449.2 I also aim at scrutinizing the

interconnection between past and present, as observed in the narrative. In this way, I

shall concentrate on the historiographical and not on the historical value of Livy’s

text, as can be seen in book 3.

Nevertheless, there is no clear-cut difference between historiographical and

historical values. Neither did the ancient Romans think of it. The distinction, as we 1 An important provincial place, Patavium was one of the wealthiest towns in the Apennine Peninsula. Full Roman citizenship was granted to its free male inhabitants in 49 BC, but the local elite was already deeply “Romanized” by then. 2 From this point on, all dates are BC, except as otherwise indicated.

2

have drawn it, means a methodological device in order to make possible for modern

scholars to handle the complex issues that emerge from ancient historiography and

ancient literature in general. The development of Roman annalistic tradition

illuminates this point. Some Late Republic annalistic historians, such as Licinius

Macer, Claudius Quadrigarius, Valerius Antias and Quintus Elio Tubero,3 presented a

detailed report regarding the first centuries of Roman history. However, there are

some notable cultural and sociopolitical differences that kept them distant from their

laudable ancestors; but those writers could not conceive this irrevocable distinction

that separated them from their predecessors, as we can currently notice. Therefore,

the Roman annalists did not consider any plausible objections that could prevent

them from seeing, in the past, the experiences from their own times (RAAFLAUB,

2005, p. 5).

In this sense, the transmission of exempla (examples) represented a formidable

part of the process of literacy available to upper social strata at the end of the

Republic. In other words, the Romans turned to lessons illustrated by great men of

the past, either Greeks or Romans, whose virtues and qualities would be emulated or,

on the contrary, avoided by everyone at any given moment or circumstance

(WARDE-FOWLER, 1964, p. 189). It could be argued that this exemplary Roman

tradition implies, on the one hand, a discouragement to solve – but not to think about,

obviously – daily issues in an innovative way, insofar as the past would provide

acceptable solutions and, on the other hand, an overestimation of the role of a single

person on the course of history. However, these notions supported the perspectives

Livy had about his History, that is, the exposition of an intelligible sequence of res

gestae in order to approach past and present, in which the former is monumentalized,

since the historian aspired, through his work, to bequeath significant information

about some people, events or an entire historical process to present and future

generations (NAPOLITANO, 2007, p. 66). Thus, Livy evaluated and elaborated the

facts from the past as a logical sequence, which resulted in a pattern to be followed at

any time.4

As Ungern-Sternberg (2005, p. 83) emphasized, the Romans at the end of the

Republic would easily recognize the contemporary divergence of paths and opinions

between optimates and populares as a similar opposition to the conflict between

3 Whose works were consulted by Livy when he composed the first ten books (WALSH, 1961, p. 117). 4 Briscoe (1971, p. 9) tried to mitigate that issue and justified such interpolations in Livy’s narrative on the grounds that “(...) political battles can be fought in similar circumstances even at three centuries’ distance.” Nonetheless, it was precisely the perception of such similarities, whether they were valid or not, that led Livy and his contemporaries to mingle past and present together.

3

patricians and plebeians in the Early Republic. The factiones in the first century could

be defined through a political program and measures that opposed each other and, in

that sense, a fortuitous resemblance to the earlier Conflict of the Orders became

clearer to Livy or any of his contemporaries. For instance, the populares did not only

operate through the tribunate of the plebs, a magistracy traditionally associated with

the defense of the plebeians, but they also not infrequently evoked images and words

calling to mind the strife between the patricians and the plebeians. In the first century,

as declared by Wiseman (2002, p. 288), the political factions mobilized themselves

around distinctive and effective concepts about what the res publica was made of and

thus they acted and spoke for it in public life. So the optimates were identified as the

champions of social élite interests, while other members of the aristocracy

recommended “popular” measures for the benefit of a larger part of the Roman

citizens, in a context of struggle for political power and individual glory.5

Literary evidences available to modern scholarship on the first centuries of

Roman history originally date back to the years of the Second Punic War, when the

annals of Quintus Fabius Pictor and Cincius Alimentus arose. The available hardcore

of facts, however, would already be limited by then. It would be left to a Roman

annalist, in comparison with the remarkable richness of Greek historical tradition, to

shape and mould the available jejune data on the distant past. Taken into an extreme

degree, this kind of practice was defined by Badian (1966, pp. 11-13) as “the

expansion of the past,” a process through which first-century Roman annalists wrote

historical narratives in a never heard-of scale. This may either have been due to new

evidence derived from the publication of the Annales Maximi (the pontifical chronicle

of Rome), thanks to the efforts of the pontifex maximus Publius Mucius Scaevola at

the end of the second century6, or to details artificially created by the annalists

themselves in order to supplement the paucity relative to the facts about the Early

Republic.

5 In fact, the “political labels” of optimates and populares identified distinct ideological tendencies, not just different strategies to rise to power, which were formulated taking into consideration the social, political, economical and cultural contexts of the Late Republic. But naturally it is not possible to dismiss the role a strong feeling such as ambition might have had in stimulating the conduct of a Roman politician at that time. Although those factiones did not constitute closed groups, nor political parties as we have today, they transcended by far the condition of a simple instrument in the struggle for power at the core of the nobilitas (POLO, 1994, p. 83). 6 The date of “publication” of the pontifical chronicle is much debated among modern scholars. Frier (1979), for instance, did not agree with the aforementioned theory. The author postulated that the Annales Maximi were gathered at the age of Augustus, as the result of that emperor’s attempt to have full control of the college of pontiffs and its archives.

4

The scarce nature of the evidence available to Roman annalistic tradition

constituted a hindrance to the making of a continuous narrative about the history of

Rome’s first centuries. For example, when confronted with that issue in the first half

of the first century, Claudius Quadrigarius chose simply to avoid it, that is, he

decided not to relate any event prior to the sack of Rome by the Gauls, which had

occurred in 390 (FRIER, 1979, p. 121). On the contrary, Sempronius Asellio, who

mostly dealt with the Third Punic War (149-146), criticized the annalistic genre as a

whole because he thought that annalists focused too much on military affairs and

neglected the causes behind human actions. So, according to Sempronius Asellio, the

Roman annalists were not able to offer their audience a reasonable historical

explanation, as did Sempronius’ model, that is, Polybius (FRIER, 1979, p. 219).

From that point onwards, it is possible to notice, for instance, the rising of

annalists such as Gneu Gelius, at the end of the second century, and posterior

annalists, such as Licinius Macer and Valerius Antias, who composed a more detailed

account of Roman history. At the same time, it is possible to observe the existence of

a moralizing uneasiness and some literary refinements in the midst of the most

educated branches of Roman society that came to stress history’s social function as a

source of entertainment and learning, as shown by Cicero in the second book of his

On the orator (De oratore), in which he advocates a link between the writing of

history and epideictic rhetoric (CAPE JR., 1997, p. 221). As rhetorical training,

historiographers in Rome could be allowed to reconstruct, through ingenious

imagination, the feelings, anxieties and motivations concerning those involved in a

given event, as well as to create credible scenes or speeches delivered by anyone –

amid the battlefield, the Forum or private houses – which were well fitted for a

historical narrative (CORNELL, 1995, p. 17).

Thus, “a tendency to retroject contemporary phenomena and attitudes into the

distant past without question” represents one of the distinctive features of Roman

annalistic tradition (RAAFLAUB, 2005, p. 10). The process in which the past melted

into the present cannot be seen as a mere literary tool, an ancient historians’ trick

aiming at transforming the reported events as excitingly as possible to their audience

through the insertion of a pool of anachronistic elements detached from the moment a

writer lived in. By (un)consciously forging some meanings to the memory of their

deeds, the Romans tried to highlight the similarities between different ages and,

consequently, assumed an unrealistic perspective of historical continuity. So, as

Cornell (1986, p. 83) asserted:

5

The transmission and preservation of traditional stories of the City’s history should in no sense be seen as an attempt to understand the archaic period as it really was. Rather, the Romans of the late Republic saw the remote past as an idealized model of the society in which they themselves lived.

Yet, it cannot go unsaid that Momigliano (1993, p. 144) reminded us that all

the greatest Greco-Roman historians were well aware of a strong sense of change on

the course of history, so that they should be able to distinguish between past and

present. The Athenian Thucydides conceived war as a major factor of historical

transformation, while Latin writers such as Sallust, Livy and Tacitus concentrated on

the internal conflicts and institutional alterations Rome went through, as well as on

the consequences of these changes as they saw them, namely the fading away of an

idealized past and the coming out of new customs and vices.

Livy’s yearnings and aims regarding his task are circumscribed by the

conventions which have just been referred to. Also it is possible to consider them in a

collective dimension since the historian’s readers or listeners could share the same

point of view. The literate strata of Roman society was familiarized with different

forms of transmission of res gestae, the writing of history included, and in this sense,

there was a preliminary expectation on the audience’s part about the information and

the usefulness a book of history should provide (WHEELDON, 1990, p. 37).

In turn, the design and structure of book 3 reveals to us how skilled Livy was

when elaborating his work and how aware he was about some sensitive issues

relevant to his own times. Burck (1934 apud LIPOVSKI, 1981, p. 3) postulated that

Livy consciously defined the specific episodes that would begin or end each single

book and, in so doing, the historian would have indeed created an articulated

sequence of books. Thus, the first pentad as a whole was differentiated from the rest

of Ab urbe condita, since the historian likewise defined a general meaning to all the

first five books of his work, as a unit. This pentad covers exactly the first half of

Roman history, considering the moment when the books were written, from the

founding of the City till the Gaulish invasion in the beginning of the fourth century. It

is interesting to notice that Burck’s theories regarding Livy’s History were a reaction

against that hypercritical point of view postulated by nineteenth and early twentieth-

century scholars like Pais, who portrayed Livy as a mere compiler, although a well-

gifted one, of information produced by his predecessors.7 In this way, Livy was just a

second-hand Roman historian.

7 In order to carry out a non-contemporary history in Rome an author had to deal with the available tradition, that is, he had to consult what his predecessors had written before (MARINCOLA, 1997, p. 105). Livy

6

Returning to Burck’s ideas, it was argued that each single book presents a

“historical-thematic link,” discernible through a careful examination of the events

allocated in each respective book. These links ran as a guiding thread into each book

and through them Livy could connect historical episodes and characters into a major

context which was marked by confrontation between patricians and plebeians at

home and conflict against foreign enemies like the Aequi, the Samnite, the Volsci,

the Sabine and so on abroad, as can be seen in the first pentad.

Following Burck’s steps, Luce (1977 apud LIPOVSKI, 1981, p. 4) concluded

that Livy was aware of the task he had chosen to carry out. Therefore, the historian

would have identified some events of Roman history which he considered to be the

most important and placed them in emphatic positions at the start, center, or end of

his books to function as the backbones of the narrative. In short, Livy would have

composed a coherent and well-organized piece of work, as illustrated by the

effectiveness of the historical-thematic links as a distinctive feature of each single

book that makes up the First Pentad.

Thus, Luce also says that Livy might have consulted a lot of sources in a

preliminary stage of his composition, so that he could think about the relevance of

several historical episodes and then gather the selected material by subject units, as

Burck had previously envisaged. From this point onwards, Livy would have been

able to establish – as much as he could – emphatic positions settled aside for key

episodes whose treatment would be more detailed and careful. Thus, regarding book

3, it can be noted that the main events, that is, the making of the Decemvirate and, in

consequence, Verginia’s sacrifice, are placed exactly at the center of the narrative, as

if the historian wanted to point at them as the core of this single book.

Trying to evaluate Livy’s History like this results in a more promising and

fruitful way to comprehend his work than that resulting from the skepticism

propagated by a scholar such as Walsh (1964, p. 164), who argued that the multiple

anachronistic data and interpolations found in Livian texts derived from the

incompetence, on the part of the historian, in handling the causes of historical events

or his extreme dependence on his predecessors’ narratives. Although it cannot be

denied that there are some mistakes on Livy’s part, as P. G. Walsh demonstrated, the

organization of the evidence and the narrative structure as seen in his composition,

should be, in my opinion, primarily attributed to Livy himself (evidently, by this, I do

not mean that Roman annalists have not influenced Livy’s text).

would distinguish himself by rearranging and reinterpreting this tradition; therefore, it is obvious to suppose the existence of some links between him and any given Roman annalist.

7

Hence, it is possible to assert that the narrative of book 3 develops having the

effectiveness or absence of the virtue of moderation – amid the episodes and

characters designed by Livy – as a guiding thread. It constitutes a dichotomy that

sustains and distinguishes book 3 as a unit by itself. Earlier in 1965 Ogilvie (1965

apud LIPOVSKI, 1981, p. 3 n. 3) proposed that the similar notions of moderatio and

modestia permeate all the events reported by Livy in books 3 and 4. However, the

alternation observed between moderate and immoderate examples in the making of

the narrative was not limited to the use of the words I have just mentioned: Livy used

other expressions whose meanings were close to the idea of moderation, like lenius

agere (3.31.7). Furthermore, it should be stressed that all these words or expressions

refer only to male characters or, in a larger sense, to the Roman community as an

entity. In Verginia’s case, the young plebeian maiden whose death will boost Appius

Claudius’ and the other decemvirs’ fall, the perspective of moderation will be akin to

pudicitia, that is, chastity, in opposition to Appius’ libido (lust). Thus the notions of

moderatio and modestia do not apply to female characters in Livy’s composition, as

far as book 3 is concerned.

But why is that so? Monreal’s study (1997) will help us to outline the semantic

implications of moderatio and modestia as noted in Livy’s work. The former would

designate one’s ability to hold a Roman magistracy properly, considering that its

normative criterion was based on the careful use of imperium.8 For this reason, by

using the word moderatio Livy referred to the ability to undertake an act with

restraint in order to achieve a fair measure. So the notion is linked to men who play a

role in public life and therefore it has an uncontested political connotation. In

addition, it is, above all, an individual quality, so that a moderator should be

understood as an active man. In this sense such a virtue is not exclusively associated

with patricians, but it could likewise be showed by plebeian men who held office in a

restrained way. That will be the conduct of a tribune of the plebs named Marcus

Duillius (3.59.4), as indicated below.9

In turn, the noun modestia would express one’s competence in adopting the

most suitable attitude before any given circumstance. Thus it denotes the capability

one has of behaving according to his own social standing. Instead of moderatio, the

idea of restraint in terms of modestia is usually employed by Livy in reference to the

masses – or the Roman plebs, strictly speaking – as a collective entity. In this regard,

this notion represents an essential feature to ensure the dignity of a social order as it

8 By imperium I mean “power” here. 9 See below, Chapter 6, p. 120.

8

had been established and the consequent acceptance of an unequal division between

individuals or groups. In other words, modestia is often related to a passive social

element and, therefore, Livy used it in passages where he wished to emphasize acts of

obedience to the welfare of the state or subordination to the established order, mainly

on the part of the plebs.

Hence it is possible to note that Livy structured the narrative of book 3 on the

basis of a dichotomy between moderation and immoderation for, on the one hand, the

main characters were those who concentrated an unlimited power, as in the case of

the dictator Lucius Quincius Cincinnatus and Appius Claudius, the decemvir. These

figures represent different and opposing models of rulers. On the other hand, such a

dichotomy was also reflected in recurrent disagreements arisen in the midst of the

civic body, whose roots can be found in the harsh behavior displayed by some

citizens in the political arena. In turn, those frictions are appeased by moderate

actions on the part of single or collective social actors. Thereby, the exempla

presented in book 3 were notably designed as symbols of political power and,

through them, Livy aimed at illuminating a point of view he endorsed: in short, the

necessity to observe moderation, especially on the part of those involved in public

life, in order to set harmony at the heart of the state.

In this sense, it could be argued that Livy has drawn up, in a symbolic sphere,

the process of concentration of political power and social authority in the hands of

some powerful men which was solidified over the last decades of the Roman

Republic and, under these specific conditions, moderation should emerge as an

essential virtue in public life according to the historian’s view. Therefore, Livy’s text

unveils a moralizing tone – a very Roman way of formulating a political discourse –

that elevates moderation to the condition, as Wallace-Hadrill (1982, p. 41) indicates,

of a prime quality to be cultivated by Republican magistrates, since, in Roman

thinking, only restrained men would be suitable for ruling the res publica as long as

they displayed exactly the desirable virtues for that rule (HELLEGOUARC’H, 1972,

p. 265). So the main subject of book 3 reveals how Livy was aware of his own times’

political issues and the consequent social tensions derived from the former.

Regarding the arrangement of the episodes in book 3, it can be noted that the

historian designed it in such a way that its first and last chapters concern the

distribution of public land to the plebeians, connecting book 3 to books 2 and 4,

respectively. In this way, Livy succeeds in maintaining the internal consistency of the

first pentad as a whole. Nevertheless, the main episodes reconstructed in book 3

concern the clash between rule of law and personal power, as demonstrated by the

9

proposal of the Terentilian Law, the dictatorship of Cincinnatus, and the tyranny of

the decemvirs, so that the dichotomy moderation/immoderation worked as the

binding link of the events narrated in the pages of book 3.10

Finally, I will consider the date of the composition and publicizing of the first

pentad. It is argued that the preface and book 1 – and possibly all the first five books,

as they were gathered as a compositional unit – were “published” some time between

the years 27-25, because at 1.19.2-3 we read about the closure of the gates of the

temple of Janus, which took place in 27. But there is no allusion whatsoever to the

opening of those same gates by occasion of Augustus’ and Agrippa’s Cantabrian

campaigns in the year 25. Thus these temporal boundaries have usually been

followed when the date of the first pentad’s writing is debated, as Bayet (1947, p.

xviii) asserted some decades ago.

However, there is not a consensus among modern scholars about this.

According to Luce (1965, p. 238), Livy may have begun his work at the time of the

Battle of Actium, although it is possible that he made the decision of writing the

history of Roman people from the founding of the City before the year 31.11 This is

exactly what Woodman (1988, p. 133) postulated when he identified the pessimism

showed at pref. 4-5 and 11-12 as a sign that Livy was composing while the civil wars

were still on. In turn, Ogilvie (1982, p. 162) believed that Livy had started his

writings by the year 29, in consonance with Octavian’s policies of social

stabilization. Whatever this may be, it is impossible to precise an exact date for the

composition of the first five books. But in view of Ab urbe condita’s extent it could

be advocated that the preface and book 3 would have been written between the Battle

of Actium in September 31 and the grant of the honorific titles to Octavian by the

Senate in January 27 and then they would have been “published” afterwards.

10 The centrality of the theme of moderation to the narrative of book 3 can also be noted in the arrangement of internal and external events. Briscoe (1971, p. 71) calculated that more than seventy per cent of the episodes Livy reported in book 3 are concerned with internal facts. It is not surprising, then, that the historian made a great effort to stress the importance of moderation in a book which is almost entirely dedicated to civil discord and political strife. 11 The subdivision of Livy’s History in different compositional units – pentads and decades – as well as the singular features noted in each of the first five books implies that Livy planned and designed, at least to a certain degree, the narrative structure of those portions of his work before he started to write.

11

1 Livy and the writing of history in Rome

Roman annalistic tradition between the Republic and the Principate

Livy structured his work in consonance with the principles of Roman annalistic

tradition. These consisted of a year-by-year account of the most significant events of

the past, in accordance with the one-year term of office of the Republican consuls. It

is interesting to note that there is a link between the annalistic tradition, on the one

hand, and the political institutions of the Republic, on the other, insofar as the

existence of annual magistrates enabled the emergence of that specific

historiographical subgenre (FRIER, 1979, p. 139; RICH, 1996), which goes back to

the time of the Second Punic War (218-201).

Nevertheless, the annalistic historiography did not stand as the only way of

recording Roman historical memory at Livy’s time. From the middle of the first

century onwards it is possible to enumerate, for instance, some works dedicated to

single events of the history of Rome, such as the commentaries written by Julius

Caesar and the monographs of Sallust, not to mention Cornelius Nepos’ biographies

or the antiquarian work of Marcus Terentius Varro and the chronology of Roman

history by Cicero’s friend, Titus Pomponius Atticus. In the Late Republic, therefore,

any cultured men interested in knowing more about several aspects of the past of the

City could find a good amount of information in those written accounts.

However, it should be remembered that the annalistic tradition might underline

the greatness of Rome and the long-lasting value of its customs and institutions due

to its chronological framework, which would be easily readable by the audience.

Thus an annalist would satisfy, for example, the readers’ wish to know about the

founding of the City or the institution of the Republic, as well as reassure the due

respect for the mores maiorum or “the customs and manners of the ancestors” (JAL,

1997, p. 28).1 Besides, the annalistic tradition fits well with the deep sense of

continuity that usually moved an ancient Roman on. Therefore, as Momigliano

(2004, p. 154) concluded, the annalistic tradition arises as the ordinary

historiographical subgenre of Republican Rome.

1 Daviault (1996, p. 58) stated that in ancient Rome the past had been understood as a major element in the representation of the collective identity, so the mos maiorum encompassed models of exemplary conduct from past generations, establishing the accepted ways of behaving to be learned by those to come.

12

Moreover, the writing of history in the Republican era played an outstanding

function amid the branches of the senatorial élite. The most notable families strove to

record their ancestors’ deeds and values in order to subsequently share them with

their fellow citizens and future generations, since the commemoration of those deeds

served to justify their rank and high social standings, as well as it incited emulation

on the part of élite members (CORNELL, 1995, p. 9). Thus, from the laudatio

funebris to the writing of history, the knowledge about the Roman past had been

controlled and perpetuated by those at the top – i.e. Roman senators and their

relatives or those close to them.

Therefore, “history is (...) connected with what was the proper sphere of action

of a senator,” as Badian (1966, p. 8) said. It can be presumed that a Roman senator in

those days was used to debating with his peers in the Senate House or to

giving/attending speeches in the Forum. He would also be familiar with public papers

and, above all, would be able to command the legionaries in battle. In sum, Roman

historiography in the Republic was handled especially by those directly involved with

public affairs and the growth of the empire, or at least by those related to those

senators.

Though one’s deeds were thought of as duties before the Roman community as

a whole,2 a way of thinking that might reflect the well-succeeded campaigns Rome

fought against several enemies, the writing of history had actually become a tool for

the Roman elite to display their values and the fortuitous benefits offered to their

fellow citizens, whether abroad at war or at peace at home (TOHER, 1990, p. 146-

147). In this sense, history was connected to political disputations among senators,

whose writings intended to enhance the reputation of the gens they belonged to and,

consequently, bring fame to themselves. The annalistic historiography has perfectly

expressed – as a local history focused on Roman affairs, at home or abroad (domi

militiaeque) and incidentally referring to foreign people insofar as they might concern

Rome’s interests (FRIER, 1979, p. 137; FORNARA, 1983, p. 24-25) – the

aristocratic flavor of the writing of history in Roman Republic and its innate link with

public life, since it was centered around the City and thus it stressed the struggle for

2 As indicated by the notion of salus rei publicae, that is, the individual sacrifice for the benefit of the City. Nonetheless, after the Gracchan era, it is possible to observe that the emphasis was shifted towards some single historical actors in the midst of the writings of authors like Licinius Macer and Valerius Antias. The former, for instance, displayed a very common practice among Late Republican annalists, namely the portrayal of past events with the colors of his age. He had been a partisan for the faction of the populares, thus the objective of his account of the Early Republic was to legitimize Marius actions (BADIAN, 1966, p. 22; OGILVIE, 1980, p. 89).

13

honor (dignitas) and social authority (auctoritas) that defined the internal dynamics

of Roman senatorial families.

In this regard, the annalistic tradition constituted one of the political and

cultural causes of fierce competition for prestige and power in the midst of the

senatorial class. Such a situation,3 ethos par excellence of the political culture of the

Roman Republic especially from the second century onwards (ECK, 1984, p. 129),

has likewise flourished in historiography. As Fornara (1983, p. 54) said, Roman

culture and politics in a broad sense, and the writing of history in a particular sense,

have been decisively influenced by issues like social standing and personal character,

which in turn, have been connected to an active role in political and military affairs.

Besides, this vivid experience might have resulted in a precious material for a senator

who wished to engage in the composition of a historical piece of work.

Nevertheless, the crisis at the sunset of the Roman Republic had also modified

the methods employed in the struggle for power among the senatorial circles,

transforming the elements that defined social authority. In this sense, the Late

Republican period can be defined as a changing era, in which Roman memory and

innovations collided with each other (GAILLARD, 1996, p. 11). In short, ancient

Romans would identify themselves as a unique people through the image of a res

publica that had hugely expanded its boundaries, thus becoming magnified.

However, the institutions and political practices which had once been suitable

for ruling the City revealed their limits for supporting a worldly dimension empire.

“Parce que l’espace romain est devenu extraordinaire,” stated Gaillard (1996, p. 11-

12), “les pouvoirs des leaders sont condamnés à le devenir.” Such was the extent of

the innovations that, when confronted with tradition, produced significant alterations

in the writing of Roman history. In this regard, the annalistic historiography lost its

raison d’être, in other words, it became ineffective as an ideological instrument

concerning the struggle for power inside senatorial circles, insofar as the rising and

the institutionalization of Octavian’s social standing after the Battle of Actium and

the consequent making of an imperial court monopolized auctoritas in Roman

society, so that Octavian could surpass all his fellow citizens on power and prestige

(TOHER, 1990, p. 150). Later on, Roman history would be seen as almost

exclusively centered on the figure of the emperor Augustus and his successors.

3 In the Roman Republic, politics was an arena traditionally dominated by the Senate. In theory, this meant that power should not be monopolized by only one man or family, but rather it should be shared between the senators by way of political competition (NORTH, 1989, p. 154).

14

In this context, the weakening of annalistic tradition and its functions was

related to the displacement of social authority among the Romans, since the figure of

Octavian/Augustus overshadowed even the most notable and oldest senatorial

families, whose preeminence was “indissolubly linked to their ability to define ‘the

Roman’” (WALLACE-HADRILL, 2000, p. 20-21). Those groups and their relatives,

as champions of the mos maiorum, had for long drawn the patterns of public and

private conduct, as well as the identitary traits that formed a “Roman way of life”,

namely the Roman law, Latin language, tradition and, of course, history-writing.

Thus the effacement of the senators’ authority on defining Roman identity

from the mid-first century onwards can also be noted in the production of literary

texts and other related activities as it was, to a large extent, taken on by experts who

devoted themselves wholly to the complexities and techniques of their field of

knowledge, and who were usually people of equestrian status or even lower

(WALLACE-HADRILL, 2000, p. 21).4

Therefore, when tradition mingled with change, Livy made his appearance in

the Roman cultural horizon. He held no public office, nor had he ever participated in

military campaigns. He had not belonged to the senatorial circles5 but, for almost half

a century, he had devoted himself to the making of the work that would confer him an

everlasting recognition. In this sense, it could be argued, as Jal (1997, p. 34) stated,

that he was a professional historian, different from the majority of his peers at the

time. Hence, Livy revealed himself as being well-suited for undertaking the task of

delineating Roman history from its beginnings, since he had no need to ornate and

praise his ancestors’ deeds to justify his social standing (TOHER, 1990, p. 151),

unlike the annalists who had immediately preceded him. Thus the historian faced, in

an original manner, the new issues which were imposed upon the writing of history in

Rome, which does not mean that he neglected the conservative and aristocratic tone

4 On the writing of history, some doubts have been raised among modern scholars over the relation of senators to the writing of annals from the end of the second century onwards. According to Badian (1966, pp. 18-20), those men of senatorial rank who devoted some time to historiography, like Gaius Fannius, Sempronius Asellio, Cornelius Sisenna and Sallust, turned their attention to contemporary facts and, subsequently, put little weight on accounts of the remote past. In sum, senators would have long since stopped composing works in the manner of annalistic tradition. In consequence, it was left for non-senators, men like Claudius Quadrigarius and Valerius Antias, to write historical annals beginning from the distant past. But it seems to me that the issue is not so clear-cut. Even if Quadrigarius and Valerius Antias did not attend the meetings at the Senate House themselves, it is reasonable to think that they might be connected with powerful families and, therefore, they were aware of public disputations and the turmoils of their age. In this sense, they were no less attentive to contemporary events than the historians who wore the latus clavus. In addition, Cornell (1986, p. 78) averred that it is impossible to attest that they did not belong to the Senate. 5 This was a rather peculiar feature among Roman historians, although Lucius Caelius Antipater, who wrote a historical monograph about the Second Punic War at the end of the second century, had also not embarked on a public carrer (MELLOR, 1999, p. 20).

15

that had underlain the composition of historical works from Quintus Fabius Pictor’s

days,6 as will be demonstrated below.

In this way, following the views of Le Goff (1994, p. 545) about document and

monument, I suggest that Livy’s History plays a social function which is similar to

that of a monument, insofar as his work was related to the realities of an

institutionalized power derived from clashes among different social groups of his

time and their respective interests. In turn, Livian account was based on long-

standing values and principles traditionally linked to the Roman elite, above all the

preservation of the res publica. However, from my point of view, it does not

represent an attempt to legitimize the steps of Octavian; Livy produced a narrative

akin to a monument because it mediatizes a selected range of canonical images about

the Roman past. That is, as Saliba (2007, p. 88) postulated, the historian aimed at

collecting the standard images that any given society formulates about itself, whose

referential points are crucible due to their resonance as a means of collective

identification. In this regard, it is possible to find those images embodied in Livy’s

text.

Hence, from the amalgam of cultural transformations observed at the end of the

Republic and from the traditional modes of history-writing in Rome, Livy’s preface

consists of a section of his work in which he tried to assert his authority by means of

a self-image created to express his reliability as a historian to his audience. In

addition, the preface denotes Livy’s intention to elaborate a History that could link

past and present, like the monuments that were spread out on the landscape of the

City at the gaze of Livy and his contemporaries (JAEGER, 1997, p. 178).

Livy’s preface

In his preface Livy displayed some thoughts about Rome’s origins and his own

times, as well as expressed the aims regarding his undertaking and his feelings about

the subject of his History (SEBASTIANI, 2002, p. 21). He clearly informed his

readers what the subject was about in the opening sentence of the preface, following a

conventional literary formula observed in many Greco-Roman historians, that is, to

6 As Earl (1984, p. 7) declared, what is really remarkable about the beliefs and values of Roman aristocracy is that they were deeply ingrained in many people who lived outside the social superior circles.

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point out that the work was concerned with history and not with any other genres

(EARL, 1972, p. 843), as we can see in the sequence below:

(1) Whether I am likely to accomplish anything worthy of the labor, if I report the achievements of the Roman people from the origins of the City, I do not really know, nor if I knew would I dare to avouch it; (2) perceiving as I do that the theme is not only old but hackneyed, through the constant succession of new writers, who believe either that in their facts they can produce more accurate information, or that in their style they will prove better than the rude attempts of the ancients. (3) Yet, however this shall be, it will be a satisfaction to have done myself as much as lies in me to commemorate the deeds of the foremost people of the world; and if in so vast a multitude of writers my own reputation should be obscure, my consolation will be the fame and greatness of those whose renown will throw mine into the shade. (4) Moreover, my subject involves infinite labor, seeing that it must be traced back above seven hundred years, and that proceeding from slender beginnings it has so increased as now to be burdened by its own magnitude; and at the same time I doubt not that, to most readers, the earliest origins and the things which immediately succeed them will give little pleasure, for they will be in haste to reach these new things, in which the might of a people which has long been very powerful is working its own undoing. (5) I myself, on the contrary, shall seek in this a reward for my toil, that I may avert my gaze from the troubles which our age has been witnessing for so many years, at least as I am absorbed in the recollection of the brave old days, free from every care which, even if not divert the truth the minds of those who write, might nevertheless cause them anxiety.

By defining “the achievements of the Roman people from the origins of the

City” (pref. 1) as the subject of his narrative, Livy suggests from the very outset of

the work that he will settle it into the annalistic framework, like most of his

predecessors had done, as the huge extent of his theme would prevent him from

tackling it as a monograph in a Sallustian manner, for instance. So the selection of the

subject to be narrated demanded an appropriate structure in which the narrative

elements would be framed (RICH, 1996).7

The preface stands as the section of Livy’s History in which he offers,

differently from the surviving portions of his work, a lot of considerations written in

the first person. The interconnected sentences of the preface stress the historian’s use

of rhetorical techniques – whereby he constructs, reasserts and rectifies some issues

7 Nevertheless, it should be remembered that an account that traces the history of the City back to its founding does not necessarily result in an annalistic frame of reference. See, for instance, the Origins written by Cato the Elder, a work whose narrative begins with the founding of Rome and other cities of the Italian Peninsula and ends with a discussion about the years immediately before the death of the author himself. Badian (1966, pp. 7-8) said that Cato did not structure his text as a year-by-year account, but rather he arranged his material in accordance with selected issues.

17

whose composition was carried out in such a way as to move and convince the

audience. They also display how he conceived of the result of his undertaking and

yearned for his readers to do the same, that is, to consider his work as a monument in

literary form.

The Latin word monumentum, used by Livy at pref. 10, means at base “a thing

or object that brings on something to be reminded of”, “a remembrance”. Thus

monumentum came to refer to the idea of “an erected building,” since it might bring

something to mind. Given that the historian wrote a work aiming at preventing the

memory of the Roman past from being forgotten by his audience, it could be argued

that Livy’s written monumentum shared an inner function especially played by those

physical monuments that were in the public gaze all over the landscape of the City. In

other words, they both “represent an unbroken link with the past, a part of the past

that is still available for direct, personal inspection” (MILES, 1995, p. 17). In this

regard, Livy’s History becomes akin to other instruments that served to perpetuate the

memory of the past at the heart of Roman culture8 since his work offered a

constructed image of that very past.9

Diminutio and amplificatio in the preface

Firstly, however, Livy had to deal with the need to assert his own authority,

since the classical historian must present a variety of sound promises, “evidences” or

advices that could prove his claims. In this sense, Livy’s preface corresponds to an

attempt to write about Roman history by transposing the demands for social authority

on the part of a historian, since his predecessors had generally belonged to senatorial

families and, consequently, enjoyed such authority.10

Livy was, therefore, confronted with the imposition of justifying his own

activity in such a way that his forerunners had never had to, because he did not hold

8 In addition, there would be an immanent feature in the works of historians such as Livy that would bring such works near to monuments erected around the ancient world, seeing that a piece of writing could also display, like a building, a column or a statue, every sort of sign related to beliefs, values and principles of a society (MACHADO, 1998, p. 147). 9 Wheeldon (1990, p. 57) worked on this link between Livy’s History and a monument, stating that some references, such as those the historian made to a great extent of his work, as can be seen at pref. 4 and on the emphasis given to the relevance of his material – “the deeds of the foremost people of the world” (pref. 3) – are intended to transmit the idea that the composition of his text equaled the building of a monument. 10 Marincola (1997, p. 141) observed that a senator’s social authority played a role in Roman politics and culture that had no parallel in the classical world.

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any political or military offices in a society where the reliability of a historical

narrative had rested exactly upon the evaluation of the social status and the personal

character of a historian (WHEELDON, 1990, p. 41). In sum, he had no social

authority to write his History. In this way, Livy at first justified his labor as owing to

the satisfaction it would give him, a rather particular situation amid classical

historians (MARINCOLA, 1997, p. 45-46). However, he did not entirely downplay

the usual statements about the relevance of history such as the usefulness of the past

to the audience, as we can see below.

Thus, it is not surprising that Livy tried to avoid the predictable inconvenient

inquiry regarding his achievements and expertise on the part of his audience, since

those qualities would be expected in a Roman historian, especially during the last

centuries of the Republic. Thereby Livy exhibited, in the first three sentences of the

preface, the use of a rhetorical technique called diminutio, whereby the ancient writer

could diminish the expectations his work might raise in a reader. The use of diminutio

can be noted in the preface when Livy assumed a diffident and even timid tone

concerning the value of his undertaking (pref. 1); this shyness is associated, in the

sequence, with the uncertainty on Livy’s part about what his History would offer or

to what extent he would be distinguished from new writers who believed, according

to him, that they surpassed their rivals, either because they displayed the facts in a

more accurately way, or because of their superior literary style (pref. 2). Then Livy

would be left only with the consolation of having his name eclipsed by “the fame and

greatness” of those who would surpass him (pref. 3).

Since his subject consisted of a thing “not only old but hackneyed” (pref. 2),

Livy recognized “a multitude of writers” (pref. 3) that had dealt with it and, in so

doing, those writers had revealed to be by far better than Livy; to him remained just

to take pleasure in commemorating the history of the Romans, “the foremost people

of the world” (pref. 3). For this reason, Livy indirectly informed his audience about

his humble origins, given the possibility his reputation would be obscured by his

peers’ qualifications, that is, their “fame and greatness”. At the same time, he rejected

the very aristocratic and traditional view of glorifying his own name as an ultimate

reward for his task (FELDHERR, 1998, p. 30). Therefore, I agree with Marincola

(1997, p. 140) that Livy “trends as an outsider” when compared with his usual

forerunners, seeing that he was not able to declare himself up to write history in

Rome, thus omitting any direct remarks about his social status.

Nevertheless, the hesitant and diffident posture showed by Livy in the

beginning of his preface contrasts with the work he was at pains to write. That is, at

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the same time he asserted the existence of authors who might be better than him, he

also gave a full account of the history of the Roman people and suggested that his

efforts would result in a distinct and unheard-of work (HENDERSON, 1998, p. 7). In

this sense, for him, the writing of Roman history ab urbe condita is based on the

possibility of surpassing all the other historians. That condition implied his insertion

into a tradition in which his work would be compared with other texts, either those

that had already been composed, or those which would still be. Therefore, his

undertaking would be acceptable if he managed to surpass all those texts and, in so

doing, secure himself a firm position amongst Roman historiographers. In this regard,

all the existing historical works would become unnecessary, as well as future works

would reveal to be superfluous if faced with his History.

So Livy conceived his connection with other writers in a skeptical way. On the

one hand, since he intended to narrate a well-known subject, all that had been written

about it until then could threaten his own composition, so he feared his work might

become disposable. On the other, Livy imagined his own name fading into the

darkness, as the “fame and greatness” of his rivals might outshine him: when

compared with the “multitude of writers,” he appeared as the least illustrious of all.

These considerations delineate to us how aware Livy was about the possibility of

being surpassed by others or, as suggested by Moles (1993 apud SAILOR, 2006, p.

372, n. 129), “instead of achieving immortality through his immortal work Livy runs

the risk of achieving complete annihilation through failure.”

Consequently, Livy depicted a context in which he, on his own, competed with

all the others through a particular image in which he would emerge as the least

eminent member of an already undistinguished multitude (SAILOR, 2006, p. 373).

According to Wheeldon (1990, p. 58), the use of the word turba (multitude) to

describe the other writers at pref. 3 means, in a plausible way, a lack of eminence on

the part of each writer instead of an abundance of talent. In short, there is a clear

tension in the perspective of a group of noble and great men being enumerated in

such a vulgar multitude.

So those are the terms of Livy’s competition against all the other authors.

Thereafter, it seems to me that the historian could point out what he yearned for: if he

obtained success by means of his undertaking, he could then outshine the name of his

“rivals”. So if the “fame” and the “greatness” are applied to describe the social

prestige of those with whom Livy competes, it is reasonable to suppose that they

likewise indicate the literary prestige of those who, including Livy himself, may later

surpass them. In this sense, it could be argued that Livy always believed in the

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possibility of achieving renown out of his narrative,11 since he effectively proceeded

with the composition, regardless of the possible failure which, at first, seemed to be

so latent due to the qualifications of the other writers or “competitors” (SAILOR,

2006, p. 373).

Therefore, Livy’s discourse in the preface was intended to praise the subject to

be encompassed by the text. In this case, the historian’s own name might share the

greatness proper to the events he would report.12 Thus, both factual accuracy and

literary style presupposes the points from which Livy wished to be assessed, since on

those the competition among the writers was based, as read at pref. 2. If this is true,

so the social status of an author could not secure per se the superior value of a written

work. Livy ironically referred to those new authors who believed they would

overcome their predecessors in content and style and consequently make their work

acceptable. In this way, Livy played his peers down, because their texts derived from

a simple belief and therefore they did not represent something which was soundly

based.13 Thus Livy portrayed himself as “o historiador que realizará um trabalho

efetivamente com maior precisão e com um estilo de fato mais elaborado”

(SEBASTIANI, 2002, p. 23-24). Hence there was a chance that he might surpass all

the others.

Moreover, according to Jal (1990, p. 37), the mentions made to the “new

writers” (pref. 2) or “so vast a multitude of writers” (pref. 3) seem to illustrate a high

valuation on the historian’s craft at the time of Livy, whose words hint to the

existence of a wide range of authors, either Latin or Greek-speaking, who had striven

to prove themselves “better than the rude attempts of the ancients” (rudem vetustatem

superaturos). This phrase resembles the judgement Cicero (De or. 2.51-54) passed on

the dry style of Roman annalists, whose texts were as brief as the pontifical

chronicles. Cicero’s criticisms were directed not to the subject the annalists had

chosen to report or to the material they had consulted to fulfill their task, but to the

11 To say that someone writes a work to their own satisfaction may actually mitigate any impression of personal ambition, but it does not mean that such an author had no ambition at all, for it is possible to argue that it makes no sense “to publish” a piece of writing especially destined to please only one person, that is, the author. When Livy allowed other people to read his History, he was also inviting them to judge him and asking to be included among those who competed for prestige. 12 See the anecdote in a letter Pliny the Younger has sent to Maecilius Nepos about a Spaniard from Cadiz (Gades) who “(...) was so stirred by the famous name of Livy” that he travelled to Rome only to look at the historian and then immediately went back home (Ep. 2.3.8). Although no one can prove whether such a story is true, it is relevant to us as an evidence of the fame and admiration Livy gained by composing his work. 13 To debase the significance of the works composed by earlier annalists represents almost an obligation on the part of a historian like Livy, since the only reason he had to justify his task was the allegation that he would narrate the history of Rome better than his predecessors had done, for their account had not equaled the magnificence of the facts.

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dry narrative they had produced. Thereby, if in fact Livy indirectly pointed out that

his task enjoyed a great public admiration in his times – as Jal advocated – he should

therefore have aimed to be highly esteemed by his audience, since in his preface he

insinuated that he was the most suitable to compose a historical work, as it has just

been mentioned.

Besides, the references Livy made to other writers may allude to another point,

namely the competition or rivalry (aemulatio) among the authors, a common practice

noted at the heart of classical historiography from the time of Herodotus and

Thucydides on (WOODMAN, 1988, p. 131).

In the sequence of the preface, Livy once again raised doubts about his

undertaking. At pref. 4, however, he called into question the chance of delighting his

audience, since he recognized that the majority of his readers yearned for reaching

the news regarding the troubled times they were all living in and, in so doing, they

moved away from issues like the founding of the City and the episodes of Roman

history close to it – exactly the kind of issues a narrative ab urbe condita should

necessarily begin with.

Nevertheless, Livy opposed himself in relation to his readers and the taste he

presupposed they had, insofar as the early history of Rome represented a professed

source for his own pleasure (LUCE, 1965, p. 238). Indeed, the historian expressed

that the antiquity of his subject would satisfy him for that could keep him away from

the troubles of his age (pref. 5). In other words, personal satisfaction would be a kind

of reward Livy obtained for writing his monumental History. But it would actually

please his audience as well. It seems that Livy suggested that the subject to be

immediately reported in his narrative – the earliest origins, as written at pref. 4 –

might also entertain his readers, because the facts extracted from the earliest times

would provide a way of distracting them from present ills that, though more exciting,

would nevertheless distress all of them (MILES, 1995, p. 15).

So, on the one hand, Livy diminished the expectations of the audience (pref. 1-

3) and, on the other, he praised the subject his narrative would encompass by using a

rhetorical device called amplificatio, as we see at pref. 4.14 Thus the work per se

might perhaps gain renown, because it would symbolize Roman history or, in other

words, Livy’s work represented at the same time the subject the historian was

devoted to give a complete account of, as well as the medium whereby this

outstanding history would be reported (MOLES, 1999). Thereby Livy’s humble

aspirations contrasted to the magnificence of his work; in this way, his writings 14 “My subject involves infinite labor, seeing that it must be traced back above seven hundred years (…).”

22

would enhance his own persona and, therefore, the public function of the text might

be differentiated from Livy’s low social status. In fact, the modest voice at the

opening of the preface represents a mixture of paradoxical but complementary signs,

in which the alleged diffidence stands as a starting point from which Livy aspired to

compose a huge work, that is, an account of Roman history from its origins. One

cannot deny how ambitious such an intention was, so Livy’s diffidence must not be

taken to the letter.

Furthermore, the divorce noted at pref. 4 between the Roman past and present

expresses the cracks stirred up at the heart of a society by civil wars which had been

recently finished when Livy wrote his first pentad (NOÈ, 1984, p. 16). Although the

conflicts that opposed Romans against Romans were presumably ended – or about to

– when Livy wrote his preface, they still stood as a historical and political issue, as

Livy implied by postulating that his readers turned their attention to more recent

times (pref. 4).15 By choosing for the past rather than the present, Livy indicated his

awareness of the troubles that permeated his own times, to which the past might

provide some inspiration (GABBA, 1981, p. 52) and perhaps a sort of solution. At

this point Livy shared a point of view with classical rhetors in the Greco-Roman

world, namely the exaltation of distant past in detriment of more recent times and the

subsequent idea of a progressive decline of the societies (LAISTNER, 1977, p. 92).

According to Gabba (1984, p. 79), the suggested image of evasion from the

present at pref. 4-5 expresses the uncertainty and insecurity felt by Livy and his

contemporaries about the facts of their present and those to come. Livy would have

set himself apart from the present and therefore the past was gazed at as a place

which would enable him to turn his back to the decadence of his own days,16 as

pointed out at pref. 4. But taking the origins of Rome as a refuge from the ills of his

own times does not imply, in my view, an inability or a refusal to face the present. On

the contrary, by asserting a current crisis concerning Roman traditional values, Livy

got inspiration on analyzing the rise of Rome in the light of its own decline, insofar as

one process could mutually help to explain the other (FORNARA, 1983, p. 73).

Sailor (2006, p. 361) provided a view that supplements our interpretation of the

fourth sentence of the preface. The difference between “the earliest origins and the

things immediately succeeding them” and the “new things” that excite Livy’s

15 It should be stressed, however, that Livy did not explicitly mention the civil wars. 16 So, as Miles (1995, p. 79) wrote, maybe the “(...) contemplation of the past serves as no more than a mental refuge from the present.”

23

audience resulted in a juxtaposition of distant past and present.17 Thus, if Livy

considered that most readers primarily cared about recent times, perhaps they might

be satisfied seeking for the present in the narrated past till the moment Livy’s text had

reached the epoch his audience yearned for. In this sense, it could be argued that Livy

may have hinted that it was in the same way possible to find elements from the past

to be used in the present. The ninth and tenth sentences of the preface corroborate this

point of view, as will be demonstrated below.

Apart from these ideas, it is important to stress that Livy in fact praised Roman

past, since it contained the reward he postulated for his undertaking, that is, the

chance to remove himself from “(…) the troubles which our age has been witnessing

for so many years” (pref. 5). However, this past was an idealized one, and it figured

as a constructed image of an archaic Rome thoroughly permeated by a plethora of

virtues; and consequently it was a representation Livy would regret when compared

with the vices that were linked to later ages (MAZZARINO, 1994, p. 329).

Moreover, Livy worked on another traditional issue regarding the writing of

history, namely the search for the truth, as we can see at the end of pref. 5. In so

doing, he expresses a sort of commitment to truth when dealing with historical facts.

At first, it is possible to understand the phrase as a rhetorical commonplace, as

Heurgon (1971b, p. 222) stated. Indeed, it is an idea which is consonant, for instance,

with Cicero’s remark on history: “but history – the witness of the age, the light of

truth, the life of memory, the mistress of life, the ambassador of the past – whose

voice except the orator’s can entrust her to immortality?” (Cic. De or. 2.9.36, our

emphasis).

Nevertheless, according to Luce (1989, p. 17), the way of achieving the “truth”

on the part of Greco-Roman historiographers was in fact very simple and even

obvious, since the absence of bias towards somebody/something – an attitude

nowadays seen as “impartial” – would result in an accurate historical narrative. In

this sense, assertions concerning the impartiality of a text were mainly claimed by

historians who dealt with contemporary events or those belonging to the recent past,

such as Tacitus. Authors like Livy or Dionysius of Halicarnassus did not need to

worry about this and, in effect, at pref. 5 Livy just displayed his eagerness about the

moment when his narrative would encompass his own times. Thus it is possible to

17 It is interesting to observe that Livy, by emphasizing the majority of his readers, implied the existence of a select minority who would be satisfied with the events from the remote past. So the historian established a suitable manner in which his work ought to be read, through a rhetorical device which intended to persuade his audience not to read his text like the undefined mass of readers to whom he alluded, but rather to follow his suggestions.

24

say that the events from Roman past, whose antiquity delighted Livy so much, were

not a matter of concern to historians in Rome over the aforementioned issue.

Therefore, if this view regarding historical truth was shared by Livy’s

audience,18 I shall conclude that his readers would face him as an unbiased historian,

since, by offering a narrative from the founding of the City, he had to deal with a lot

of material that belonged to earlier times, that is, events that did not match the

partiality inherent to (quasi-)contemporary histories. In this way, Livy asserted his

excellence and his authority as a historian and also anticipated some considerations

relative to factual accuracy, as we will see at pref. 6.

The power of exempla and Livy’s concept of history

In the so-called second half of his preface, Livy presented some comments

about the usefulness of history and the possibility of undertaking a reliable account of

historical facts, as written at pref. 6-10:

(6) Such traditions as belong to the time before the City was founded, or rather was presently to be founded, and are rather adorned with poetic legends (poeticis… fabulis) than based upon uncorrupted records of the facts (incorruptis rerum gestarum monumentis), I purpose neither to affirm nor to refute. (7) It is given permission for antiquity to mingle divine things with human, and so to add dignity to the beginnings of the cities; and if any people ought to be allowed to consecrate their origins and refer them to a divine source, so great is the military glory of the Roman People that when they profess that their Father and the Father of their Founder was none other than Mars, the other people of the earth may well submit to this also with as good a grace as they submit to the empire of Rome. (8) But I will not question these opinions nor those that are contrary to them: (9) here are the questions to which I would have every reader giving his close attention – what life and morals were like; through what men and by what policies, in peace and war, empire was established and enlarged; then let him note how, with the gradual relaxation of discipline, morals first gave away, as it were, then sank lower and lower, and finally began the downward plunge which has brought to us to the present time, when we can endure neither our vices nor their remedies. (10) What chiefly makes the knowledge of the facts wholesome and profitable is this, that you behold every kind of examples set forth as on a clear record (inlustri… monumento); from these you may choose for

18 The emphasis put on the impartiality of the narrative may have intended to lead the readers to conclude that any traces from their present day which they came to encounter in Livy’s History would have arisen naturally. Therefore, any similarities between past and present could not but be real and free from bias, that is, they had not derived from the mind of the historian (SAILOR, 2006, p. 361).

25

yourself and for your own state what to imitate, and from these you may mark for avoidance what is shameful both in the conception and in the result.

To begin with, at pref. 6 Livy advocated, regarding the reliability of the facts –

especially those belonging to remote past – that they required of the historian a

careful investigation, given that they were complex by nature, for they were “(…)

rather adorned with poetic legends (poeticis… fabulis) than based upon uncorrupted

records of the facts (incorruptis rerum gestarum monumentis).” By contrasting fabula

and monumentum, Livy referred at first to the Thucydidean methodological

distinction between oral evidence and autopsia, or personal visual knowledge. It must

be emphasized that the Latin concept of fabula, connected to literary genres as poetry

and tragedy, differentiates itself from veritas (truth) either in content or in form

(POTTER, 1999, p. 14). That is, history should never mingle with fabula, as it is

pointed out in the rhetorical treatise called Ad Herennium, because the latter “(…)

comprises events neither true nor probable,” while historia is concerned with the

“(…) exploits actually performed, but removed in time from the recollection of our

age” (Rhet. ad Her. 1.8.13).19

In this way, Miles (1995, p. 16) asserted the links between an evidence taken as

fabulosum and the composition of mythical or legendary stories, as well as the

connection of such a material to the idea of drama and falsity. So, considering the

associations a fabula was entailed in, it could be reasonably argued that Livy thought,

in his preface, of events reported through fabulae as not very reliable, as they would

not be based on truth.

Therefore, the superior nature of monumenta, connected with seeing or sight, in

comparison to fabulae, linked to material spoken rather than written, is attested by

Livy through the definition of the former as “uncorrupted” (incorruptum) (pref. 6).

For that very reason, at pref. 10 Livy will reiterate the excellence of his work by

conceiving it as a “clear record” (inlustri monumento). Nonetheless, he did not ignore

the fact that some events could indeed be intangible, given that they were more akin

to fabula than to monumento and, consequently, it would be very hard for any

historian to reconstruct those events accurately. In this sense, as far as the origins of

Rome were concerned, only a less reliable material was available for Livy: so he had

to be cautious when dealing with them and, thereby, he assumed a “suspension du

jugement” about their historical facticity (POUCET, 1987, p. 76-77).20

19 An identical statement can be seen at Cic. Inv. Rhet. 1.19.27. 20 As we can read at the end of pref. 6: “such traditions (...) I propose neither to affirm nor to refute.”

26

In this way, Livy recognized that the common distinction in the sphere of

classical historiography between fabula and monumento could not be appropriately

applied to a relevant section of his work (MILES, 1995, p. 55), since the information

about the founding of the City had been settled on legendary or fictitious elements.

Then, at first, it is possible to deduce that Livy considered those events that had

occurred after the beginnings of Rome as being reliable, insofar as just the founding

of Rome was more linked to “poetic legends” than “uncorrupted records,” as he

pointed out at pref. 6.

However, in the prologue of book 6, when Livy started to narrate the second

half of Roman history, he presented a kind of revision about his first pentad:

The history of the Romans from the founding of the City of Rome to the capture of the same (...) I have set forth in five books, dealing with matters which are obscure not only by reason of their great antiquity (...) but also because in those days there was but slight and scanty use of writing, the sole trustworthy guardian of the memory of past events, and because even such records as existed in the commentaries of the pontiffs and in other public and private documents, nearly all perished in the conflagration of the City. From this point onwards a clearer and more definite account shall be given of the City’s civil and military history, when, beginning for a second time, it sprang up, as it were from the old roots, with a more luxuriant and fruitful growth (6.1.1-3).

The words above stand as a confident assertion that written records meant a

reliable source to any historian devoted to reporting the deeds of the Roman people.

In this prologue, well-suited to the sequence of his narrative, Livy worked once again

on the traditional distinction between oral and written records of the past, but here he

introduced a notable difference regarding the view he had displayed at pref. 6,

namely that the distinction only made sense from book 6 onwards. Therefore, the

perspective Livy advocated at 6.1.1-3 implied an effective review of his History. He

realized that the facts about the founding of the City were not the only ones, as

supposed at pref. 6, close to fabulae but the whole period which lasted from the

origins of Rome to the Gaulish sack in 390 also were (6.1.1). Accordingly, the “great

antiquity” and the “slight and scanty use of writing” would prevent a historian from

constructing a reliable narrative about the remote past. Nevertheless, those ancient

episodes were considered by Livy as worth dealing with because they had

symbolized direct fragments from the past of the City and, in effect, an identitary trait

that helped him to define “Romanness.”

Furthermore, Poucet (1987, p. 82) postulated that the boundaries separating

fabulae and facta had been relatively interchangeable among ancient Greeks and

27

Romans. Thus it would be virtually impossible for Livy to give an account of the first

centuries of Roman history if he kept the above-mentioned categories strictly apart

from each other. Hence the fabulae had equally been on the other side of the border

and, therefore, they had to be seen as a potential source of material to set the

composition of a historical work into motion. Thereby, Livy used the criterion of

fabulosum for assessing the available evidence on the origins of Rome (pref. 6),

precisely because of the great number and concentration of fabulae in the core of that

evidence. But, in spite of this, by choosing to narrate all those facts, even though they

were very fictitious, he reasserted them, as they had stood as an essential part of

Roman tradition (POUCET, 1987, p. 83).

There is a particular sentence in book 3 that illustrates how hard the

reconstruction of Early Republican Rome could be. Reporting the judgement Appius

Claudius passed on Verginia’s trial, reducing her to slavery, Livy said:

The discourse with which he [that is, Appius] led up to his decree may perhaps be reported in a truthful (verum) manner by some of the old authors: but since I can nowhere discover one that is plausible (veri similem), in view of the enormity of the decision, I simply set forth the naked fact, upon which all agree21 (...) (3.47.5).

In this way, Livy refused to take responsibility for deciding the degree of

facticity regarding the words Appius might have uttered when Verginia was

sentenced to lose her liberty. Rather, Livy even avoided putting a single word on the

decemvir’s mouth, since he had discovered no one that seemed plausible to him. He

barely informed what might have happened, that is, Verginia’s conviction. According

to Miles (1995, p. 62), by doing so, Livy did not certify his incompetence but rather

his honesty as a historian by openly expressing the uncertainties about the tradition he

was reporting and so he made clear to his audience that he was dealing with issues

whose facticity could not be attested. Therefore, Livy did not claim that his work had

a degree of accuracy greater than what he could guarantee to his readers.

In this case, the memory of the past emerges as irrevocably changeable. It

enabled Livy to arrange, to some extent, the historical tradition in a way he

considered to be the most suitable. Moreover, by narrating a large part of Roman

history whose very nature was based on fabulae rather than monumenta, Livy offered

21 By postulating that there was an “agreement” among authors about any issue, Livy implied that he had carried out an investigation about the nature of the facts (BOLCHAZY, 1995, p. 82) or, at least, he intended to be seen as a historian who had done so.

28

a representation that kept the memory of Roman deeds alive and established the

continuity between past and present.

This point is illustrated at pref. 7. Livy stated that antiquity had received a

permission (venia) to dignify the beginnings of the cities through the mixture of

divine things with human. So it allowed Livy to acclaim the Roman people as one

that had granted that permission to itself. Thereby, the Romans could praise their

roots more than any other people, since Mars himself had been present at the moment

when Rome was founded. This story unveils an identitary feature forged by the

Romans, i.e. military prowess, because the City arose under the auspices of the god

of war and, consequently, all Roman history had been founded on martial virtues, a

condition that should make the power and the supremacy of the Romans acceptable to

other people, as pointed out by Sebastiani (2002, p. 30). On the other hand, an

emphatic statement on the greatness of a people also denotes the use of an ordinary

rhetorical technique among Greek and Roman writers (EDWARDS, 1996b, p. 20).

In these terms, Livy’s arguments just showed the presumably superior military

skills the Romans possessed. At first, this quality would have sounded like an

objective proof to other people about the role played by Mars in the founding of

Rome. This kind of perception is modified at the end of pref. 7, when Livy wrote that

“the other people of the earth may well submit to this [i.e., the divine paternity of the

City as well as of its founder] also with as good a grace as they submit to the empire

of Rome.” Since Roman conquests operated as a parameter from which other people

in the world could infer the claims about the divine ancestry of the City, those people

could not objectively contemplate how glorious Rome was, for they saw the growth

of the Roman empire as an important part of that very empire, which had

encapsulated and supported the power of the Romans. In sum, they had to accept the

story about the divine origins of Rome because each of them had been defeated by

the Romans and, in this sense, the latter had dictated to them how things should be.

Thereby, as Miles (1995, p. 138-139) put it,

the claim of divine ancestry is justified here not because of its literal truth but rather because it appropriately symbolizes the martial accomplishments of the Romans, who, whatever the reality of their origins, have the ability to compel others to accede to that claim.

Rome’s divine fatherhood represented a way to clarify for those living under

Roman rule the reason for their subjugated situation. However, the story had

originated from the core of the Roman people, who could repeat it several times

29

seeing that overseas conquests allowed them to formulate and validate a story that

explained their own imperial success. Nonetheless, there was a fraction under the rule

of the Roman people which which did not have to carry the empire’s burden, that is,

the Roman people itself. The latter, in this way, was pictured in Livy’s preface as a

collective imperator over other people, but never over itself (SAILOR, 2006, p. 350).

Besides, when considering the inaccurate and mythical condition of a story

such as the divine ancestry of Rome, neither Livy nor the “multitude of writers”

could carefully reiterate or deny such an event, whichever their social status. The

skeptical tone of pref. 8 symbolizes Livy’s reassertion of the above-mentioned

view.22 Thus, the historical tradition handled by Livy did not enable him to undertake

an exact and reliable reconstruction of the past. Rather, this tradition had to be

thought of “as the record of the Romans’ own perception of themselves, a record that

may be used as the basis for reconstructing and interpreting their identity” (MILES,

1995, p. 55).

Nevertheless, it seems to me that Livy alluded in the preface to the fact that the

recording of Roman history based on fictitious material was not confined to the

earliest memories of the City, as he explicitly acknowledged at pref. 6. So, the

prologue to book 623 does not consist in the only evidence which allows the reader to

deduce about the aforementioned view. Thus the eighth sentence of Livy’s preface

reiterated the skepticism and wariness already observed at pref. 6. However, the idea

postulated at pref. 8 is articulated with the next sentence, especially the first phrase

written at pref. 9.24 In this way, Livy informed his audience that his narrative would

show the causal elements regarding the making of and the enlargement of the empire

of Rome (pref. 9), but he was not able to say how precise the opinions about any

event included in this historical process were, limiting himself to a neutral posture on

facticity (pref. 8).

Therefore, on the one hand, Livy once again suggested the existence of

insoluble issues concerning the exactness of some facts on the course of Roman

history; he thought it was better to question none of them. Later at 6.1.1-3 he would

ratify this perspective and explain to his audience the reasons why he had done so.25

22 Wiseman (1993, p. 135) cited Seneca the Younger, Q Nat. 4b.3.1, to stress the occasional usage on the part of ancient historians of skeptical expressions in order to give their work an impression of reliability. 23 See above, p. 26. 24 “Here are the questions to which I would have every reader giving his close attention – what life and morals were like; through what men and by what policies, in peace and war, empire was established and enlarged.” 25 In fact, I think Livy was aware of the impossibility to create a reliable reconstruction of the first centuries of Roman history. To illustrate my point, one example will suffice. At 3.23.7, Livy mentioned a revolt of the

30

On the other, he said he would exhibit how the empire had grown, but it was up to

each of his readers to acutely analyze the events narrated. At first, it could be deduced

that he would pass no judgments on them.

Moreover, at pref. 9 Livy described which aspects of Roman past his work

would encompass. It is a sign that his purpose was “to convey an understanding of

the permanent factors at work in the historical process,” as concluded by Allen (1956,

p. 253). This point of view cannot be fully understood through a mere rhetorical-

moralizing analysis of Livy’s work. Through those words Livy was emphasizing his

interests on human behavior and on the reactions a historical character might have

before any given circumstance, as well as the consequences these actions might

produce on the course of Roman history. Thereby, Livian historical interpretation

displayed men as the main actors for their own history or, at least, human conduct

revealed itself as vital to Rome’s historical development (DUCOS, 1987, p. 134),

since the Romans saw their huge empire as being built on their moral qualities.

Nonetheless, pref. 9 does not concern only with Livy’s ideas about the course

of Roman events. Its last phrase clarifies Livy’s perception about how contemporary

neglect of mos maiorum ended up invigorating irrational trends which led to Roman

decadence. The words used by Livy, as labente (“relaxation”) and desidentis

(“downward”), evoke the idea of decline, as if ancient Roman customs and practices

were at the present time not the same thing as they had once been (BIGORRA, 1972,

p. 96). It is, obviously, a moralizing point of view with reference to the troubled times

Livy lived in, that is, the last decades of the Roman Republic. In this sense, as an

ideal “Romanness” was defined by the antiquity of mos maiorum, the latter would

have to remain as constant as possible. So this conservative perspective could not but

collide with the multiple transformations that had changed Roman society in the Late

Republic and, in this way, those modifications were not infrequently seen by Roman

authors as a negative, damaging process (EDWARDS, 1996a, p. 3).26 Then, it is

interesting to read a comment Livy wrote, relative to the year 460:

But that contempt for the gods (negligentia deorum), which emcompasses our own times, had not yet come about, nor had anybody seeked to construe

inhabitants of Antium against the Romans. But he had no confidence in the veracity of the fact, for the older authors (vetustiores scriptores) had written nothing about that rebellion. Even so, this did not prevent him from including that event in his narrative, for his goals were more to recollect elements from the Roman past than to provide a strictly accurate account of the history of Rome. 26 Woodman (1988, p. 133) advocated that Livy’s disenchantment with his own times, as read at the last sentence of pref. 9, merely expressed a natural disgust felt by the historian towards the civil wars and an uncertain future.

31

oaths and laws to suit themselves, but rather, they had shaped their own practices based on them [i.e. by the oaths and laws] (3.20.5, our emphasis).

Livy expressed a sheer criticism towards his age, because he believed his

fellow citizens were neglecting their duties towards the gods of the City. The

feebleness of the links between gods and men resulted in a deplorable behavior on the

part of Livy’s contemporaries who, consequently, also showed no respect for the

instruments that ruled social relations among themselves, that is, the oaths and the

laws. Therefore I cannot but agree with Ducos (1984, p. 431) that Livy conceived the

collapse of moral sense at the heart of Roman society as being embodied in the

disregard for the law. So it is possible to observe an interconnection between pref. 9

and the ideas presented by Livy at 3.20.5. This passage added a new topic to the

discussion about Roman moral decline already seen at pref. 9, namely the contempt

for the law as linked to neglegentia deorum.27 In my opinion, Livy’s insertion of the

comment about the decadence of his own age right in book 3 was not fortuitous

because the narrative of that specific book deals primarily with Rome’s internal

affairs in which the making of laws dominates the scene. Likewise, he set therein the

pursuit for moderation as being essential to the maintenance of Roman

commonwealth, insofar as respect for the law ultimately depended upon men’s

rectitude.

In this way, moral and political spheres were juxtaposed in ancient Rome.

Since politics concerned, above all, to individuals – there was nothing like our

modern political parties there – opinions on political actions were mainly based on

criteria regarding individual conducts with all their corresponding virtues and vices

(EARL, 1984, p. 17). Thereby, Late Republican authors like Cicero, Sallust and Livy

evaluated social and political changes through moralizing standards, relating those

modifications to the failure of men in refraining from their own passions and, in

consequence, they reiterated the importance of virtues as the guide of men’s private

or public life.

Therefore, “this ‘moral’ view of human behavior has implications which are

political in the broad sense of the modern term. The discourses of morality in Rome

were profoundly implicated in structures of power” (EDWARDS, 1996a, p. 4). In

fact, Livy unveiled concepts proper to the Roman political élite and its inner dispute

over power, but his attachment to a traditional moralizing view about Rome and its

27 According to Liebeschuetz (1967, p. 54), that “contempt for the gods” was taken as a symptom of decline by several Late Republican writers, since religion was traditionally seen as being embroidered with all aspects of Roman life.

32

citizens also expressed the interpretative tools he would apply to narrate the events

from the past.

There is also another point to be stressed at pref. 9. In the first phrase, the

contents Livy’s work will encompass are detailed and specified, that is, he tells his

audience that he will report how the empire came to be. However, instead of

emphasizing the satisfaction his History might bring in an audience where the

majority preferred to know about the turmoil of more recent times (pref. 4), the

historian focused at pref. 9 on the utility of his work, by providing an explanation as

to why Rome had hastened “(…) to the present time, when we can endure neither our

vices nor their remedies.” It is on content, not literary style, that Livy grounded the

assumption that his work could be a valuable one, although he did not ignore that a

proper account of historical facts should demand an elaborated and flowing style up

to the greatness of Roman history. That is why the use of variatio in Livian narrative

can be observed: for instance, in book 3 there is an interesting alternation of events

occurring at home (the clash between patricians and plebeians) and abroad (Rome’s

battles against foreign people), as well as the variation of direct and indirect speeches

uttered by some characters.

In this way, it is possible to assert that Livy displayed a close affinity with

Cicero’s thoughts on the composition of historical works. Livy also shared the

didactic purposes derived from Ciceronian idea of history as magistra vitae. In so

doing, Livy’s History would underline the moral and patriotic aspects of Roman past,

as indicated at pref. 9, in order to exhibit – for his contemporaries and those to come

– the virtues of idealized men from earlier times, turned into models of behavior for

the present and the future (WALSH, 1961, p. 66). It was, obviously, a conservative

point of view which presupposed that Rome’s magnificence derived from the

exemplary conduct of successive earlier generations. So, praising the past implied an

ambiguous evaluation of the present, since the latter could be seen as vulnerable to a

process of degeneration and, subsequently, also an object of improvement

(DAVIAULT, 1996, p. 59). Therefore, the idealized past, as the utmost expression of

a desirable “Roman way of life,” arises from Livy’s thoughts as the only solution to

the decay of his present time.

This didactic dimension of history corresponds to the social function of Livy’s

work. Settled to be attentively contemplated (intueri) by his readers, the exempla

Livy promised to display were intended to figure as vivid images and to be emulated

or avoided on the part of a Roman citizen in his public and private conduct (pref. 10).

It is a perspective that illustrates “(...) the means through which the historian’s [i.e.,

33

Livy’s] literary representation of Rome’s past becomes a part of the political life of

the Republic in the present,” as Feldherr (1998, p. 3) rightly pointed out. Unlike

Cicero, who believed that history provided models to be emulated especially by men

engaged in politics (RAMBOUD, 1953, p. 110), Livy offered the examples he would

narrate to every Roman citizen, as he suggested at pref. 10 when he said that both one

reader and the entire state would benefit from the imitation or avoidance of those

examples.

Once again, it is possible to note Livy’s acquaintanceship with other classical

historians. His work echoed one of the implications of Thucydides’ definition of

history as ktema es aiei (1.22.4). But Livy responded to this idea of a historical work

as “possession set down for ever” in accordance with his own historiographical

purposes, as Moles (1999) stressed. In so doing, the historian would have followed

Thucydides’ perspective about the exemplary and generalizing power inherent to

historical facts that could cross the temporal dimensions relative to each single event.

Then, the benefits given to an individual by Livy’s literary monument are indistinct

from those provided to the res publica, the community as a whole.

Furthermore, Livy’s authority as a historian increased as his work surpassed all

the others. In this case, his undertaking was no more justified on an “individual”

stance, that is, the pleasure Roman past would provide to Livy himself as the author

of the text, but, on the contrary, his History also became relevant on the “collective”

level, since his audience would take advantage of the contemplation of the exempla

he displayed.

The reproduction and exhibition of those historical examples represented the

fundamental aspect of Livy’s work, since they embodied the usefulness of his

narrative. Thereby, as I have alluded before, a suitable style for presenting the facts

was really needed because it would grant a considerable relevance to the facts

themselves. Only an amused audience might, by gazing upon the way of living of its

ancestors, be encouraged to emulate or avoid those past experiences in the present. In

this sense, a composition devoted to history should appropriately catch the intensity

and the complexity relative to the events. A historian had to encompass a range of

colors and should be careful about the choice and arrangement of the words to

summon up an episode in order to achieve the splendor proper to the reported subject

and make the narrative flow smoothly. That is, indeed, the munus, the task of a

historian according to Cicero (De or. 2.15.62).

Nonetheless, the social role Livy’s narrative might play, namely the imitation

or avoidance of the historical models reported by him on the audience’s part,

34

depended exactly upon the contents the historian dealt with. In other words, this point

of view expresses the power of exempla in Livy’s interpretation of history, for the

leading personalities of the past, as depicted in the text, provided an image or a

pattern of conduct to be emulated or not due to the circumstances. It could also be

argued that Livy did not simply conceive of Roman virtues as an ethic guide to

individual action because – it should be remembered – he considered that moral

qualities had created and enlarged the empire of Rome, as stated at pref. 9. For Livy,

in short, Roman accomplishments had been consolidated by means of remarkable

men, above all those who were engaged in public affairs, that is, historical characters

who held political power.

Moreover, the display of exempla would confer on Livy some renown as a

historian who, by handling the historical tradition of Rome,28 offered his audience the

possibility to understand it. Thus, the craft of a historian in Rome gained new colors

thanks to Livy, who symbolized a break on the direct correlation between authority,

social status and the writing of history. Showing mastery of this specific literary

activity would result in a possible mechanism of distinction, that is, Livy could

achieve fame and respect because of his own work.

Patriotism and Roman decline

At pref. 11-12, Livy referred to his own times, as he had already done in the

fourth, fifth and ninth sentences of his preface: (11) For the rest, either love of the task I have set myself deceives me, or no state was ever greater, none more righteous or richer in good examples, none ever was a city where avarice and luxury came so late, or where humble means (paupertas) and thrift were so highly esteemed and so long held in honor. For true it is that the less men’s wealth was, the less was their greed. (12) In our days, riches have brought in avarice, and excessive pleasures the longing to carry wantonness and caprice to the point of ruin for oneself and of universal destruction. But complaints are sure to be disagreeable, even when they shall perhaps be necessary; let the beginnings, at all events, of so great an enterprise have none. (13) With good omens rather would we begin, and, if we had the same custom which poets have, with prayers and entreaties to the gods and goddesses, that they might grant us to bring to a successful issue the great task we have undertaken.

28 As it is illustrated by the composition of book 3, whose narrative is centered around the notion of moderatio. It demonstrates that Livy printed on that tradition his own interpretation.

35

At pref. 11, he indicated what the feeling that had driven him to undertake his

task was; it was a suitable occasion to celebrate once more the greatness of the

Republic and its values, as he did regarding the origins of Rome at pref. 7. In my

opinion, the “love of the task” that stimulated him has a twofold consequence. On the

one hand, that perspective stressed the effort Livy was willing to put into the

composition of his History, because the latter would only result from an “infinite

labor” and, in this sense, only a historian who really loved Rome could devote

himself to such an enormous undertaking. On the other, the “love of the task”

projected an image of Livy as a man entirely dedicated to his métier d’historien,

whose contributions to his audience were based on the exhibition of Roman historical

exempla. Such a toil was expected to be laboriously carried out by the historian, in

the manner of a soldier in the battlefield or a magistrate in the Forum.29

Nevertheless, according to scholars like Bornecque (1933, p. 206) and Walsh

(1955, p. 383), the patriotism, and the subsequent partiality boasted by Livy resulted

in the jeopardy of the historian’s objectivity and intellectual integrity.30 However, it

should be emphasized that Livy did not yearn for factual accuracy; rather, he

acknowledged that a factually precise narrative would be intangible considering that

so many events from the Roman past sounded unbelievable.31 Besides, in the preface,

Livy left no doubt about his patriotic attachment to Rome, as he classified the

Romans as “the foremost people of the world” (pref. 3) or when he referred to Mars’

ascendancy over the founding of the City (pref. 7). So, the historian openly admitted

the love he felt for Rome and, subsequently, he demonstrated to his audience under

which terms he would narrate his History. In this sense, patriotism represents an

element the ancient historian could explicitly and proudly declare (LUCE, 1989, p.

20). Finally, it could be argued that an annalist has been in no way alien to the idea of

partiality, since it was required that annalistic historiography should, as a kind of

local history, be centered on the city of Rome itself, denoting in consequence a

Roman-biased point of view about historical facts.

Another issue mentioned at pref. 11, as well as at pref. 12, concerns a

perspective that can be easily seen in many Latin authors, namely the dissolution of

29 Mellor (1999, p. 50) postulated that Livy could compensate his inexperience in politics and military affairs by completely dedicating himself to his task; in so doing, he was able to improve his own stylistic techniques, that is, his composition could be constantly refined. 30 It should be remembered that some scholars of the first half of the twentieth century, like Bornecque (1933) and Walsh (1955, 1961), uncautiously applied some modern concepts and beliefs when studying the historiography of Greece and Rome. Not infrequently, did such procedures end up making it difficult to understand the ancient historians on their own terms. 31 On the notions of fabula and monumentum, see above, pp. 24ff.

36

ancient customs and habits when wealth had been brought to Rome (EDWARDS,

1996a, p. 176). For instance, Sallust’s reflection upon the moral and political

decadence of Roman society stressed the role played by avaritia (greed, avarice) and

ambitio (ambition) in that process:

Hence the lust for money first, then for power, grew upon them [i.e. the Romans]; these were, I may say, the root of all evils. For avarice destroyed honor, integrity, and all other noble qualities (...). Ambition drove many men to become false; to have one thought locked in the breast, another ready on the tongue (Sall. Cat. 10.3-5).

In fact, it is possible to observe a Sallustian tone in the preface of Livy, but the

latter’s criticism on luxury differed him from his immediate predecessor.32 Sallust

expressed an extremely harsh view on his times, a troubled period marked by civil

wars and political strife and, in so doing, he identified the ills that affected Rome with

cupidity and especially the desire to be powerful that drove his fellow citizens’

behavior, as can be read at Sall. Cat. 11.1: “but at first men’s souls were actuated less

by avarice than by ambition.” Livy, on the contrary, preferred to look at the issue of

decay only in terms of greed (pref. 11-12).

Thereby, he unfolded his personal interests that distinguished him from Sallust

and most of his forerunners. In other words, the competition for power meant nothing

to him, since he did not pursue a political career. Furthermore, at the moment he

started his writings, one’s expectations concerning the fulfillment of a relevant public

life were diminished, since just a reduced number of men, as Octavian or Mark

Antony, effectively ruled the Roman world (NOÈ, 1984, p. 16-17).

I suggest, moreover, a complementary understanding of Livy’s remarks

regarding the link between cupidity and the decline of Rome in his times. It seems to

me that the historian hinted that greed for money on the part of his contemporaries

might have prevented his narrative from carrying out its social function, insofar as

cupidity diverted people’s attention away from the lessons his History would provide

them. So avarice held in captivity a people who had, until that moment, possessed a

particular kind of wealth, that is, there was no state more fortunate in having virtuous

32 In the eyes of Livy, Rome basically fell into decline due to the erosion of moral standards a partir das the military conquests which had introduced a lust for gold to his fellow-citizens. In this regard, the notion of metus hostilis as the instrument for promoting internal peace, as advocated by Sallust, is not alien to Livy; in turn, it is obvious that Sallust did not ignore the deleterious effect of wealth on Roman morality. Nonetheless, it could be argued that the ultimate cause of Rome’s decline in Sallustian thought would be the elimination of external threat that had imposed strict discipline on the Roman people, whereas Livy especially emphasized the role played by cupidity in the process of the degeneration of traditional morality (FORNARA, 1983, pp. 87-88).

37

men than Rome (pref. 11). In this sense, Livy’s contemporaries swapped their own

wealth for an alien, a “non-Roman” one, when the latter had reached the City.

Therefore, it is likely that he would have thought that some of his readers might not

be interested in contemplating the exempla his work would offer them and,

consequently, his History might lose all its significance as a literary monument that

perpetuated the memory of the Roman past.

In this way, the vices Livy presupposed permeating the hearts and minds of

men in his age figure as a barrier to the diffusion of his work. This sort of obstacle is

implied at pref. 4, when Livy postulated his audience’s inclination towards the

novelties seen at the time to the detriment of the memory of Rome’s earlier days. The

feeling of aversion to the ancient and the desire for new things had resulted in a

disconnection from mos maiorum that, consequently, led to the decline of Rome, as

the historian put it. According to Feldherr (1998, p. 41), those “new things” stressed

at pref. 4, by indicating Livy’s contemporaries’ yearning for the narrative about more

recent events, also denote that this desire for novelty was in essence undifferentiated

from the “foreign” or “non-Roman” wealth mentioned at pref. 11. Therefore, this

fascination with the new diminished the possibilities of Livy’s work reaching a wider

audience, because the historian aimed to recover a “truly” Roman tradition, one that

his fellow citizens would have disdained.

Livy may have outlined this ambiguity regarding the present when he wrote

about the degeneration of ancient habits that precipitated Rome “(…) to the present

time, when we can endure neither our vices nor their remedies” (pref. 9). There is an

intense debate among scholars about the meaning of this enigmatic phrase and the

main hypothesis advocates that it would be a hint at some measures Octavian

established after the Battle of Actium or to the institutionalization of the Principate,

especially after 27. For instance, Petersen (1961, p. 440) suggested that Livy was

referring to the moral legislation promulgated in 28. But Milnor (2007, p. 16)

mitigated that idea, for there was no agreement about the authenticity of the

aforementioned set of laws. On the other hand, Miles (1995, p. 93) believed that such

a vague allusion to Livy’s own times allows scholars to find in that passage – given

the inexactness of the date of composition of the preface – references not only to the

civil wars,33 but also to the consolidation of a monarchical system on the part of

Octavian after 31.

Nonetheless, taking into consideration the complexity of the transition between

Republic and Principate, I think that that controversy is rather instructive and 33 As Woodman (1988, p. 133) concluded, for instance.

38

insoluble. In my opinion it seems more plausible to consider that the words “to the

present time” (ad haec tempora) do not refer to a specific event which occurred at or

around the time Livy was elaborating his History’s first pentad. They must be seen as

a generalizing mention to the whole period the historian was living in, so that it is

evident that those words could allude to, among others, the figure of the future

emperor Augustus. In this sense, the expression reflects how uncertain the future

looked like to the last generation of the Roman Republic.34

At the end of his preface, Livy invoked, in the manner of the poets, “os deuses

para que lhe permitam poder desenvolver um bom trabalho” (SEBASTIANI, 2002,

p. 42). This request expressed, once more, the use of a literary commonplace through

which Livy made clear his deference to Roman deities, as it is possible to note, for

example, in reference to the god of war Mars at pref. 7.

However, the imprecise moment when the preface and the first pentad were

composed coincides with the more debased period of Roman history, as Livy

demonstrated when drawing a grey picture of his own time. But pref. 13 brought also

forth a belief that such a trend might be reversed. That is, Livy hinted at the chance

that obsequious auspices might secure the success of his huge narrative from the

moment he started to write. Likewise, they might support his hope for a brighter

future ahead of the Romans, since his contemporaries could emulate the good

examples and avoid the evil ones included in his work. That is why the historian

claimed to move away from the regrets caused by the decay of traditional customs at

that time when he began to write his History (pref. 12). The effective success of

Livy’s devotion to Roman past and the subsequent diffusion of his work would be

amalgamated with the possibility of establishing a better future from the audience’s

contemplation of the history Livy narrated in their present.

34 In this way, Livy’s work must be understood in view of a larger sociopolitical and cultural context, encompassing not only the Principate of Augustus but also the Triumviral period (HENDERSON, 1998, p. 8).

39

2 The Terentilian Law

The law proposed (rogatio) by the tribune of the plebs Gaius Terentilius Harsa

will delineate the perspective that permeates the book 3 of Ab urbe condita. The

statements of the character highlight the necessity of a moderate rule on the part of

the patrician consuls, in order to secure the liberty of the plebeians and, consequently,

to achieve internal harmony between the social orders (concordia ordinum).

Terentilius’ demands could be seen as a first step from which Livy presented the

conflict between patricians and plebeians in the pages of book 3. Thereby, the

historian will report a long list of political turmoil by means of the passing of the law

– this situation will bring about the creation of the Board of decemvirs and all the

episodes linked to this office, as will be showed below. Besides, regarding the

contents covered in book 3, Livy also distinguished it from the other books included

in the first pentad. So, for instance, one of the cornerstones of the civil strife in the

Early Republic, namely the question of land assignment in favor of the plebs, is

eclipsed by the disagreement over the making of the laws.1

The narrative of book 3 starts in 467, when Titus Aemilius and Quintus Fabius

were elected for the consulship. The choice for the former, a well-known champion

of the plebeians’ demand for land, instigated the hopes of the tribunes of the plebs,

who believed that Aemilius’ entering upon the office would give them an opportunity

to carry a measure for the benefit of their own order. However, the possessors of the

land, patricians for the most part, bitterly opposed those attitudes (3.1.1-3).

I would like to stress the first chapter, as Livy introduced some actions that

happen repeatedly in book 3. The patricians accused “the head of the state” (princeps

civitatis), that is, Titus Aemilius, of supporting tribunician policies in such a way that

he was becoming a popular man at the expense of the patriciate, by virtue of an

attempt to distribute land possessed by the patricians for the plebeians (3.1.3). In this

sense, if the consul enjoyed a high regard from the plebs, he would be behaving like

1 If we consider that, in fact, Livy carefully planned the scope and the structure of each one of the books encompassed by the first pentad of his History, it would not surprise us to see that a highly valued measure by the plebs, that is, the promulgation of the Icilian Law, which secured the settlement of the Aventine to them, was reported by the historian in a very short passage (3.31.1). Considering the fact that, in book 3, the struggle between patricians and plebeians are centered on the most basic aspect of the Terentilian Law – the limitation of power – I suggest that Livy deliberately neglected other issues, such as the assignment of land to the plebs. If so, book 3 stands as very peculiar in the midst of the first decade, where agrarian issues abound.

40

someone who was longing for regnum, or tyranny (SEAGER, 1977, p. 377).2 It is a

pattern Livy will get back to at 3.35, when he describes the Second Decemvirate.

Meanwhile the other consul, Quintus Fabius, proposed that Antium, conquered

from the Volsci in the year before, should constitute a Roman colony where the

plebeians could be settled, while the patricians’ land in Rome would be kept

untouched (3.1.4-5). Fabius’ suggestion was endorsed by both orders, since, by doing

so “the state would be at harmony” (3.1.5). Thus, Livy taught that fair measures led

to agreement between Roman citizens.

Furthermore, it can also be said that the use of a recurrent pattern in the

narrative goes beyond some characters’ conducts. Their nomen also denotes well-

defined postures on the Conflict between the Orders. To illustrate the point, Livy said

that Quintus Fabius appointed Aulus Verginius as a member of a triumvirate in

charge of the land distribution in Antium (3.1.6). The Verginii will be closely

identified with the plebeian cause in book 3 and, above all, a young maiden named

Verginia will play a decisive role in the fall of the decemvirs’ despotic rule (3.44-

48).3

According to Santoro L’Hoir (1990, pp. 221-222), the recurrence of themes

and epithets in Livy’s History would suggest a preliminary reflection on the

relevance of some characters or episodes in reference to the moralizing point of view

that characterizes the composition. This feature of Livian narrative makes it possible

for his audience to foresee the characters’ way of behaving or likely reactions in a

given episode; then the elaboration of recurrent patterns enables Livy’s readers to

link different historical events and perhaps to draw a parallel between their own

experiences and that of their ancestors as reported by the historian.

Quintus Fabius’ nomen also attracts attention. Mazzarino (1994, p. 281)

pointed out that Roman annalistic historiography had been marked by a twofold

trend, respectively connected to the Fabii and the Valerii, on the one hand, and to the

Claudii, on the other. The rivalry between those gentes went back to the Second

Punic War, at least, and it was not ignored by authors like Quintus Fabius Pictor and

Lucius Cincius Alimentus, from whom it was passed on to later annalists. Thereby,

many elements Livy worked on in his first pentad would prove the enduring dispute

2 Regnum represents a political invective commonly used in the Late Republic. It is a somewhat loose term, better translated as domination than monarchy (WIRSZUBSKI, 1960, p. 5, n. 1). At any event, regnum implies an action totally opposed to the principles of the res publica, which had been ideally based on libertas, or liberty. 3 Likewise, it is possible to observe that the Icilian Law (see above, p. 47, n. 1) was promulgated in 456, when one of the ruling consuls was called Spurius Verginius (3.31.1).

41

between such notable gentes. In fact, the Fabii and the Valerii generally resolve

internal discord and restore harmony in the state, while the Claudii are essentially

arrogant men and enemies of the plebs, as presented by Livy in book 3. This familial

stereotyping can be connected with Livy’s intention of displaying patterns of

individual conduct (pref. 10) which

(...) become representative of certain personality types. These types, in turn, are used as unchanging variables within a changing political universe. The interactions of popular and conservative leaders of various temperaments, operating in the midst of internal concord or discord, external war or peace, becomes a theoretical exemplum of Livy’s view of political reality, past and present (VASALY, 1987, p. 225).

The opposition between tribunes of the plebs and consuls

Another feature of Livian narrative that deserves to be mentioned is the link

between successful military campaigns against neighboring Latins or other peninsular

people and the rise of political tensions at home that opposed the patrician aristocracy

and the plebs. Through this model, Livy introduced Terentilius’ proposal of a law. In

462, after defeating the Aequi and the Volsci, “Rome was thus restored to her former

condition, and the success of the campaign at once occasioned disturbances in the

City because the absence of the consuls by virtue of the recently finished war gave

the tribune an opportunity for inciting civil unrest (3.9.1-2).

So, the tribune spoke to the plebeians, complaining about the pride (superbia)

of the patricians, who based their authority on the control of consular power

(consulare imperium), something which, according to Terentilius, was “excessive

(nimium) and intolerable in a free state” (3.9.2). It was only in name that the consul

was less atrocious (atrocius) than a king (rex) (3.9.3):

In reality it was almost crueler, since in place of one master they had now got two, who possessed an immoderate (immoderata) and unlimited power, and while they [i.e., the consuls] were free and without restraint themselves, they brought to bear all the terrors of the law and all its punishments upon the plebs (3.9.4).

By using those words, the tribune of the plebs denounced the arbitrariness of

the patricians holding the consulship, whose severity was directed towards the plebs,

and exhorted the plebeians for action. “That they [i.e., the consuls] might not for ever

42

have this licence” (3.9.5), Terentilius proposed the appointment of five men to write

out some measures pertaining to the consular power. These men should enjoy an

authority on equal terms with that of the consuls, but they should not make a law

based on their own whims (libido) or give to themselves the licence (licentia) to do

what they pleased (3.9.5-6). It seems to me that these lines figure as a hint Livy

dropped on the institutional and political changes he would later narrate, that is, the

tyranny of the second decemvirate and the consequent suppression of all the other

public offices. In this sense, the allusion made to libido prepares the reader for the

insertion of Appius Claudius, the decemvir, in the sequence of the book. Besides,

Terentilius’ word of warning clarifies the plebeians’ need for legal protection against

the unrestrained power held by the patrician consuls and, therefore, it would be

equally necessary that the citizens who engaged on the writing of laws acted in

accordance with collective, and not personal, welfare.

Furthermore, the unrestrained power on the consuls’ part was equated to the

unlimited power the kings had once held over Roman citizens. For this reason, at

3.9.4 Gaius Terentilius uttered that the plebeians did not bear only one, but two

domini (masters).4 Insofar as the restrictions on consular power – like the collegiality

and the short term in office – did not result in a moderate ruling, the tribune of the

plebs advocated that the libido and licentia showed by the magistrates should be

subdued through legal ways.5

By drawing an analogy between the consuls and a master or king, Livy hinted

at the symbolic relationship between a tyrant and his subjects whose conditions are

similar to that of slaves, that is, they are exposed to the caprices of a mighty master

(FEARS, 1981, p. 870; GRIMAL, 1989, p. 7). In turn, Dunkle (1967, p. 154-155)

asserted that the Romans had probably been familiar with the archetype of tyrannus

through the staging of Greek tragedies all over Italy. Their audience would have

identified striking resemblances between what they had seen enacted on stage and the

political circumstances during the Late Republic, particularly the notion of tyranny as

the expression of an arbitrary and illegitimate rule.

Nevertheless, in spite of the fact that this “tragic-tyrant model” might have

been appealing to a lot of people in first-century Rome, I think that the portrayal of

tyranny in literature, like the words of Scipius Aemilianus in Cicero’s On the

4 The Latin noun dominus was used to refer to a master in relation to his slaves, the word properly became synonymous with rex in Roman political invective of the Late Republic (DUNKLE, 1967, p. 152). 5 Nonetheless, the example of Appius Claudius, the decemvir, will serve to underline that a wicked personality could undermine the efficacy of laws.

43

Republic (De re publica),6 possibly touched the minds of educated men like Livy

deeper. It should also be remembered that the traditional aversion to kingship,

perhaps a posture that went back to the first years of the Republic,7 had been melted

into the originally Greek representation of tyrant as an oppressive and morally

corrupted ruler, an image notably attached to Rome’s last king, Lucius Tarquinius

Superbus.

By working on such ideas, the historian was also dealing with what, to a great

extent, defined the Republic in Roman thought, namely the citizens’ liberty (libertas):

“the Romans conceived of libertas, not in terms of the autonomy of the will, but in

terms of social relations, as a duty no less than a right: a right to claim what is due to

oneself, and a duty to respect what is due to others (...)” (WIRSZUBSKI, 1960, p. 8).

In this sense, an enslaved plebs did not appropriately join into the civic body.

Moreover, by acting as kings, the consuls offended their fellow citizens’ freedom

(ERSKINE, 1991, p. 117) and, therefore, they looked more like successors of the

kings than Republican magistrates. In these terms, consulship’s collegiality meant a

tyranny multiplied by two rather than a check and a limit to consular power. So the

excesses displayed by the patriciate compelled Gaius Terentilius, as depicted by Livy,

to propose a measure that regulated the imperium of the consuls, since the latter were,

by ruling according to their own whims, threatening the liberty – and, in

consequence, the civic status – of the plebs.

It could be argued that the Romans thought of liberty as the whole of civic

rights guaranteed by law and tradition. In this case, the notion of restraint commonly

attached to every law is akin to libertas and that is exactly what distinguishes liberty

from excessive behavior (WIRSZUBSKI, 1960, p. 7). Thus, Livy based the tribune’s

speech on a perspective that links Roman law to the Roman citizens’ freedom. In

sum, in Livian discourse the lack of restraint on the part of those in power could turn

liberty into licence. The limitation of consular power by means of a law expresses the

submission of individual dignity to the community’s interests; in other words, the

submission of licentia to libertas.

6 See Cic. Rep. 1.33.50. Among other things, a tyrant is described as “a man who is greedy for personal power and absolute authority, a man who lords over an oppressed people.” 7 Erskine (1991, p. 118) suggested that the general aversion to the noun rex did not necessarily date back to the fall of the Tarquinii. For him, the word rex was gradually taken for tyranny in the midst of an atmosphere of great hostility between Rome and some eastern kingdoms over the second century. Thereby, such an aversion would have been the result of the opposition to the Hellenistic kings the Romans had fought; in this regard, it could be seen as a by-product of Rome’s “foreign relations.” From the Gracchan period onwards, it is possible to observe its use as a harsh invective in the political arena. But it should be remembered that the Romans also used the word rex in different contexts, such as the religious office of rex sacrorum, for example.

44

Besides, the words Terentilius pronounced were directed against the arrogance

(superbia) displayed by the patricians when holding the consulship. Kloesel (1935

apud MOMIGLIANO, 1951, p. 146) pointed out a tendency among late Republican

and Augustan authors to connect the notion of liberty to law and to some political

institutions. However, it should be stressed that in Livy’s narrative about Terentilian

Law, the limitation of consular power does not imply a curtailment of the Roman

citizens’ liberty. On the contrary, in a context of political strife between patricians

and plebeians, Terentilius’ speech made it clear that only the former enjoyed liberty,

as is especially symbolized by a consulship and a Senate entirely dominated by the

patriciate. In this way, that sort of liberty would in fact be just licence on the

patricians’ part, because it did not equally cover the plebeians alike.

Finally, the notion of regnum still remains to be dealt with. Among the

Romans, the noun rex evokes a superhuman figure, which is placed above the

community of men and, therefore, is not encompassed or limited by social rank or

distinctions as ordinary citizens. Thereby, a subject stands before the king as a mere

slave (GRIMAL, 1986, p. 240). Once again, the close link between rex and dominus

is emphasized: the twofold essence of regnum according to Roman tradition. So, the

image of a king reminds Livy’s readers of the idea of an unrestricted power that

collides over the notion of res publica, because the imperium of the Roman people

should benefit the Romans as a whole and not a single, however powerful, man.

There is also an interesting match between the harsh accusations against the

patricians made by Gaius Terentilius and the content of the measure the tribune

himself proposed, that is, a law regarding consular power. Terentilius’ advice to the

future legislators that they avoided their own whims when writing the laws (3.9.5-6),

corresponded to a fundamental aspect regarding Roman political thought in which

libido, an essentially individual vice, clashed with lex, whose nature could not be

other than collective (DUCOS, 1984, p. 44).8

Therefore, the concept of law in Rome concerned objective and impersonal

rules to which every citizen might equally resort to. Nonetheless, if he lived under the

auspices of an autocrat, he would have to completely obey that ruler, like a slave with

reference to his master. Moreover, if the Roman consuls acted by virtue of their

caprices, as Terentilius had said, the patricians would enjoy an excessive liberty that

would oppose the liberty of all. In short, the tribune of the plebs denounced that mid-

fifth century Rome was no more a res publica.

8 That is, all the citizens had to be ruled by the same laws (LEVY-BRUHL, 1961, p. 56).

45

Taking a look at Livian narrative, we shall observe how apprehensive the

patricians became when they heard Terentilius’ proposal. They considered it to be an

ignoble measure, since the tribune took advantage of the absence of both consuls

from the City to incite the plebeians to upheaval (3.9.6). It is an obvious example of

the tribunate’s ability to instigate public unrest, as Livy will repeatedly show in book

3. Gaius Terentilius’ conduct displays the characteristics relative to ratio popularis,

which in turn, was closely linked to the activities of the tribunate of the plebs in the

last decades of the Republic (SEAGER, 1972, p. 332). The tribune proposed a law for

the sake of the social order he himself belonged to and, consequently, he confronted

the authority of the senate. I think here Livy delineated the way in which the making

of a law could perform an important role in the midst of Rome’s internal conflicts,

either producing or sorting it out. Thus, it seems that the historian composed his early

Republican tribunes with similar colors to those he experienced in his own troubled

times.

Then we have the bitter intervention of Quintus Fabius, prefect of the City.9 He

convened the senators and attacked Gaius Terentilius as a menace to the integrity of

the Republic, supposing that the tribune had laid an ambush in order to seize the

power (3.9.7). In a dangerous moment like that, just after the battles the Romans were

involved against the Aequi and the Volsci, a measure aiming at limiting consular

power would weaken the City in such a way that it would stimulate foreign enemies

to besiege Rome. Thereby, according to Quintus Fabius, “it was not the authority of

the consuls but the power of the tribune that he [i.e., Terentilius] was making hateful

and intolerable” (3.9.10).

So Livy drew up contrasting images in this episode. On the one hand, Gaius

Terentilius attributes to the consuls the traits of a tyrant king, on the other Quintus

Fabius denounces the tribune of the plebs as being as treacherous as any Roman

enemy. Thus, the prefect of the City declared to the other tribunes: “to us it is a

source of sorrow, to you of odium, that the state should be attacked in the absence of

its defenders” (3.9.12), that is, the consuls who were abroad leading the army. For

Livy, only the enemies of the Roman state acted in a disloyal manner and took

advantage of a fragile situation to promote sudden attacks against the City, as

illustrated at 3.15.5 by the nocturnal raid Appius Herdonius, the Sabine, undertook to

seize the Capitol. In this sense, the attitude of the tribune did not conform to the ideal 9 The prefect of the City (praefectus urbi) corresponds to an extraordinary magistrate whose origins go back to the time when the kings still governed Rome. In the Republican period, he was designated to replace the consuls when the latter went abroad by virtue of a military campaign. He had authority over an area that extended to some two hundred meters from the walls of the City (MEIRA, 1972, p. 54).

46

of Roman manliness, which was up to Quintus Fabius to defend.10 Terentilius,

continued the prefect of the City, showed to be so cruel and arrogant (crudeli

superboque) that even the Aequi and the Volsci refrained from pressing in this way

against Roman soldiers (3.9.12).

Therefore, superbia was used by the tribune and the prefect of the City as an

invective in their respective speeches. It indicates to us how the perspective of

tyranny permeates Livy’s view concerning the episode I am describing. The Romans

have borrowed the Greek concept of hybris (insolence, excess) that does not merely

define a despotic rule but also an outrageous behavior in general (DUNKLE, 1967, p.

153).11 Thus, if we take the arguments of both sides at face value, both the consuls

and the tribune exhibited a tyrannical face. But Livy was a well-crafted historian and

his depiction of Terentilius is not as simple as that. The latter also epitomized the

antithetical elements the historian was at pains to outline in book 3, insofar as the

attempt to moderate the conduct of the patricians when holding consular power was

paradoxically founded on an iniquitous behavior on the tribune’s part. Livy hinted

that a law per se was not enough to lead somebody to refrain from wrongdoing and,

in consequence, only a restrained conduct on the part of patricians and plebeians alike

could sow the concord in the state.

In my opinion, the portraits offered by Livy about the main characters in the

episode are good examples of how the historian handled the memories from the

Roman past. Firstly, the words pronounced by both Gaius Terentilius and Quintus

Fabius denote a remarkable feature of Roman politics in the Republican age, the

public invective especially directed against the City’s most influential leaders

(ERSKINE, 1991, p. 113). More important in Livian text, perhaps, is the emphasis on

one’s personality and behavior as connected to a moralizing point of view. As

Mazzarino (1994, pp. 324-325) pointed out, the assessment of a historical character

based on moral and political patterns represents a salient feature of Roman historical

tradition as a whole. And Livy was no exception: as far as the episode about the

Terentilian Law is concerned, the historian put into the mouth of his characters words

that described a range of vices linked to an archetypical evaluation of a tyrant in 10 It seems that Livy hinted at Terentilius’ incoherence and, in so doing, he subtly expressed his dislike of the actions of the tribune. 11 It must be emphasized, however, that the idea of tyranny among the Greeks does not automatically refer to the rule of a morally corrupted man. At base, a tyrant was a sort of ruler typical of the end of the archaic period in Greece, a man who would have risen up in the midst of the struggles for power among the members of the aristocratic groups found in Greek city-states. Then he would take power in an ilegal way, usually by force and would be backed by the least favored social elements, as exemplified by Peisistratus in the second half of the sixth century, who promoted economic growth and financed the construction of impressive buildings in Athens.

47

Greco-Roman thought, as superbia (arrogance), libido (personal whim or lust) and

crudelitas (cruelty). In so doing, Livy could meet his audience’s expectations

regarding the current representation of a tyrant in the Late Republic as that

transmitted by Greek tragedians and philosophers or as that revealed through the

behavior of Dionysius the Elder and his son, who ruled the eastern part of Sicily in

the fourth century.

Therefore, by using the above-mentioned words in the speeches of Gaius

Terentilius and Quintus Fabius, the historian alluded to a common typification of the

tyrant as a merciless ruler, as the two Sicilian Dionysii historically exemplified. It

seems that Livy aimed at touching his audience’s feelings, since this image of

tyranny would symbolize the “popular enemy” par excellence among the Romans, an

effective expression of all that may threaten the Republic and its values (DUNKLE,

1967, p. 170).

Back to the narrative, it is possible to observe that Quintus Fabius spoke to all

the tribunes of the plebs, except Gaius Terentilius:

“It is you other tribunes”, he cried, “whom we beg to reflect, as a matter of the last importance, that your power was obtained for the purpose of assisting individuals, not for the destruction of us all; that you were elected tribunes of the plebs, not enemies of the senate (3.9.11).

The use of indirect speech to delineate the point of view advocated by

Terentilius and of direct speech to explain the ideas of the prefect of the City points

to a historian who was aware of the rhetorical techniques at his disposal in order to

attract his readers’ attention, since the interchangeability between direct and indirect

speeches resulted in a literary style endowed with variatio (variation). Besides, it

amplified the dramatic atmosphere of a given episode. According to Gries (1949, p.

133), the sections of Livy’s History that have survived indicate that the contents of

each book would regulate how often the historian might have composed a direct

speech.

More importantly, it seems to me that it is not totally inappropriate to postulate

that Livy contrasted some characters in his narrative by choosing a different mode of

speech for each of them. For instance, regarding the opposing postures of Gaius

Terentilius and Quintus Fabius, the author’s own views might have been displayed by

the direct speech pronounced by the latter. Thus it is not only a matter of representing

a historical event by using variable colors but of altering the significance of an event

in accordance with the historian’s goals. As Miller (1975, p. 51) asserted, the

48

speeches in Livy’s work underlined a relevant point in the narrative structure he

composed.

In the sequence of the episode, Livy informed that Terentilius’ proposal was

postponed, while the consuls were summoned and returned to the City (3.9.13). By

means of the victory over the Aequi and the Volsci, all agreed that the consul

Lucretius had to earn a triumph, “but the matter was put off, for the tribune was

urging his law, and this was a question of more importance in the eyes of Lucretius.”

Thereby, the consul acquiesced in debating the tribune’s measure (3.10.2-3).

However, “the tribune finally gave way to the majesty of the consul and desisted”

(3.10.4) and so Lucretius could receive his due honor. The consul’s modest attitude,

allowing the public discussion about the proposed law before the celebration of his

triumph, contradicted the bitter words Terentilius had uttered against the consuls,

since Lucretius acted like a prudent leader, not an arrogant one. Rather, even

Lucretius’ majesty (maiestas) was acknowledged by the tribune of the plebs and, in

effect, there was no chance for the law to be passed.

So the tribunate did not, despite Gaius Terentilius’ efforts, achieve his aims. In

the following year (461), the patriciate held consular power without limitations of any

kind. Although the Terentilian Law had not been promulgated, this episode plays an

important role in the narrative for two reasons, basically. First, Livy outlined a

situation in which Rome experienced an intermittent state of internal disharmony

over a decade (462-452)12 by virtue of the plebeians’ pressure for the law. Second,

the speeches of Terentilius and Quintus Fabius introduced the notion of moderation

as the thematic around which book 3 is centered, denoting the complexity of the

relation between the liberty of the res publica and individual dignity, as is possible to

observe in Roman society especially from the Gracchan age onwards. As I see it, the

fragile balance inherent to that relation, a cause for uneasiness on the part of most

members of Roman nobilitas at the end of the Republic, was stressed in Livy’s text.

Thereby, as I have demonstrated earlier, Livy postulated that Gaius Terentilius

proposed a law in order to impose a limit on consuls’ licence. In turn, Quintus Fabius

rebuked the tribune for his wicked behavior. Thus the latter had, when urging his

measure, gone too far; in other words, Terentilius claimed for a moderate patrician

rule, but did not observe such a demand himself. But this lesson does apply to the

patricians themselves, who had to refrain from ruling in an excessive fashion. For this

reason, Livy was at pains to indicate that internal harmony in the City could only be

12 Those ten years were handled by Livy from the tenth to the thirty-second chapter of book 3.

49

reached when both orders – and, above all, the leading figures on both sides –

restrained their actions and words, which was not the case in the current episode.13

According to Brown (1995, p. 317), this emphasis upon the notion of concord

was in part associated with a political vocabulary essentially conservative that

became ordinary in Rome after the tribunate of the Grachii. Obviously, at the end of

the Republic and beginning of the Augustan Principate the constant invocation of the

theme were linked to the social instability caused by the civil wars that had visibly

expressed the dissolution of the Roman civic body. In this regard, harmony between

the citizens should be secured (JAL, 1961, p. 221).Thus, historians like Sallust and

Livy retrojected into earlier periods of Roman history a perspective on concord that

would only have acquired a relevant political significance in Rome after the last

quarter of the second century.

Consequences of Terentilius’ proposal

Although Terentilius had failed, his proposal was loudly heard by his

colleagues. All of them were continuously elected to the tribunate of the plebs and, in

458, Livy said that they entered the office for the fifth time (3.29.8). Consequently,

their actions for the promulgation of the measure had stirred up trouble among the

citizens throughout those five years; and it was not different in that year, since the

same tribunes and the same law inflamed men’s passions (3.30.2). However, it was

announced – “as if designedly” (velut dedita opera) – that a garrison at Corbio had

been annihilated in a night-attack the Aequi had made (3.30.2).14

There is a little bit of irony in Livy’s words when he informed this raid by the

Aequi, because the incessant incursions of enemies’ armies into the territory of

Rome’s allies seemed like a very convenient fact for the patriciate insofar as the

debates on the Terentilian Law had to be postponed. Nonetheless, a Sabine army had

descended upon the Roman fields and it was approaching the walls of the City

(3.30.4). Thus, “this was such staggering news that the tribunes permitted the

enrolment of troops” (3.30.5). In this sense, though at first it seems that Livy had

13 It should be remembered that Livy’s concerns about concordia ordinum stand as one of the cornerstones of the first decade as a whole. 14 A nocturnal attack like the one made by the Aequi was reported by the historian in order to stress to his audience how treacherous and dangerous the enemies of Rome were, different from the brave and virtuous Romans Livy displayed in his first books (PERELLI, 1988, p. 1238).

50

some doubts about those recurrent foreign people’s attacks, the permission to call up

the Roman soldiers made by the tribunes highlights the truthfulness and adds

dramatic colors to the event.

Those passages also implied, as Liebeschuetz (1967, p. 52) asserted, Livy’s

faith on the importance of metus hostilis as a mechanism for solving dissensions

within the City. Indeed, although the Romans were greatly divided on the prospect of

passing the law and, at the same time, excited about it, they came together to fight

their common enemy and to defend Rome.15 Nevertheless, the tribunes only

acquiesced in the levying of the army because they had obtained from the patricians

an agreement saying that, in the future, their office would be raised to ten members,

since the existing tribunate figured as an insufficient protection to the plebs (3.30.5).

Therefore, it was not only a matter of internal concord due to “the fear of the enemy.”

The tribunes managed to take advantage of that situation and the patricians were

simply compelled to agree, only demanding that the plebeians should not elect the

same men to the office again (3.30.6). It is far from being a laudable conduct on the

part of the tribunes; the patriciate was, on the contrary, depicted by Livy as

disinterested champions of the Roman state.

In this specific case, there is no way of denying the affirmation made by Perelli

(1998, p. 1237) that Livy endorsed a negative view about the tribunate of the plebs in

his History, due to his attachment to an aristocratic set of values. Thus, the notion of

salus rei publicae16 would be fully neglected by those tribunes, since they were

benefited from the fear caused in the City by the approaching of the Aequi and the

Sabine.

In 455, all the tribunes in unison urged for the law in their speeches (3.31.2).

Meanwhile, the Tusculans reported that their territory was invaded by the Aequi.

Given that Tusculum was a loyal ally to Rome, the consuls Titus Romilius and Gaius

Veturius hurried in sending military aid. The campaign was extremely successful and

a considerable amount of spoils was taken from the defeated Aequi (3.31.3-4). The

historian said (3.31.4) that, owing to the impoverished condition of those goods, the

consuls decided to sell them. But it was an action that infuriated the soldiers and the

tribunes saw in it an opportunity to incriminate the consuls before the plebs. Thereby,

in the following year Romilius and Veturius were condemned by the plebeians and

they had to pay a heavy fine, much to the indignation of the patricians (3.31.5-6).

15 But the theory of metus hostilis was limited in scope, as we can see in the narrative of book 3. See below, Chapter 6, p. 122ff. 16 See above, Chapter 1, p. 12, n. 2.

51

And yet, continued Livy, the disgrace of the former consuls did not diminish the

impetus of the new magistrates, Spurius Tarpeius and Aulus Aternius; rather, “they

said that it was possible that they should themselves be condemned, but that it was

not possible that the plebs and the tribunes should carry their law” (3.31.6).

In the next sentence, the historian delineated one of the key-points of book 3 as

a whole. Livy postulated that the tribunes of the plebs,

discarding the law, which, in the time it had been before the people, had lost its vitality, began to treat more moderately (lenius agere) with the patricians: Let them at last put an end, they said, to these disputes; if the plebeian measure was not agreeable to them, let them permit framers of laws to be appointed jointly from both the plebs and the nobility, that they might propose measures which should be advantageous to both sides, and secure equal liberty (aequandae libertatis) (3.31.7, our emphasis).

The patricians did not refuse the offer but they stated that only a member of the

patrician order should be fit to propose laws in Rome. Thence, they dispatched an

embassy to Athens in order to copy the well-known Solonian laws and also to get

acquainted with other Greek states’ institutions, customs and rules (3.31.8).

So Livy made clear how patricians and plebeians came to terms with each

other. When the tribunes finally began to treat the patricians moderately, an effective

measure – i.e. the mission to Athens – was taken to prompt the writing of a law which

was advantageous to both orders.17 It presented a significant contrast with the

excesses that had marked tribunician action until then. Moreover, at 3.31.7 Livy

displayed a view which had already been seen in Terentilius’ speech (3.9.4), namely

that the Roman laws might represent an instrument for securing equality between the

orders. Clearly, it resulted in a state at harmony because during that year and the

following “the tribunes preserved an unbroken silence” (3.32.1).18

Finally, as Ducos (1984, p. 274) wrote, Livy was aware that a legal measure

could be modified or adjusted according to specific circumstances. The Terentilian

Law was intended to weaken the power of the consuls. But, since the patriciate had

never acquiesced in that, the tribunes had to moderate their actions and change their

proposal to obtain a body of laws that encompassed all of them.

17 Thus the tribunes even acknowledged that the original measure, that is, the limitation of consular power, was not a balanced one for it would have benefited only the plebs. 18 Nevertheless, it should be noted that Livy also postulated the cessation of civil unrest in those years due to the famine and pestilence that came to the City in 453; these two misfortunes took the lives of many people, including four tribunes of the plebs and consul Sextus Quinctilius (3.32.2-4).

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3 The saga of the Quinctian family

Regarding all the events Livy narrated in the third book of his History, I would

like to stress the dictatorship1 held by Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus in 458, three

years after the exile imposed upon his son Caeso Quinctius, because the historian

began the episode with the following interesting words:

What follows merits the attention of those who despise all human qualities in comparison with riches, and think there is no room for great honors or for worth but amidst a profusion of wealth (3.26.7).

In effect, the above-mentioned passage retains the moralizing tone pertaining

to pref. 11, insofar as Livy reminded his audience that he deals with a sort of wealth

that distinguished the Romans, that is, the outstanding examples from the past like the

story of Cincinnatus the dictator. In this sense, the historian emphasized to his readers

how precious the episode he would be reporting in the sequence of that passage was

because it would show the qualities every Roman citizen should observe in his public

and private life, rather than the appealing but undignified prospect of having riches

without any honors.

Caeso Quinctius and the lack of moderation of patrician youths

In Livy’s narrative, the Terentilian Law was behind the social conflict between

patricians and plebeians until the moment the Roman embassy was sent to Athens

and, subsequently, the legislative decemvirate was created. This situation occurred

because the patriciate had succeeded in obstructing the promulgation of the law for

eight years (462-454), in spite of the incessant efforts on the part of the tribunes to

achieve that by trying, above all, to prevent the plebs from serving in the Roman

army when the consuls called them up.2

1 The dictatorship would have been created at the beginning of the Republic. It consisted in the replacement of both consuls by only one magistrate, who held an unlimited imperium, subject to no appeal (provocatio ad populum), for a period of six months. The dictator was nominated in exceptional circumstances, such as during a serious civil conflict or a difficult war abroad. He had the right to name someone as his master of horse, or magister equitum, to help him command the troops (MEIRA, 1972, p. 51). 2 Livy is very clear about this situation, as it is possible to observe throughout the text (3.15.1, 16.5-6, 17.2, 19.1, 21.2, 24.1, 25.2).

53

That is what could be realized in the year following the proposal of Gaius

Terentilius (461). Livy affirmed that a violent turmoil suddenly started in the City

(3.11.1) by instigation of the tribunes, who ordered the plebs to disobey the calling to

be under arms by virtue of the information that the Hernici had given to the Romans,

saying that the Volsci and the Aequi were about to invade Antium (3.10.8).3 In turn,

the senators likewise had borne themselves in blocking the debates on the law

(3.11.3).

In this context, Livy introduced the patrician Caeso Quinctius,

a fierce young man (ferox iuvenis),4 not only by means of his noble birth but also by his great stature and physical strength; and to these gifts of the gods he had himself added many honors in the field, and also forensic eloquence, so that no citizen was held to be readier, whether with tongue or with hand (3.11.6).

Caeso went to the Forum, where people were discussing the levying of troops

to protect Rome in case of a real raid undertaken by the usual foreign enemies. There,

he took a place in the midst of the senators and, as if he held all the power and dignity

of a consul in his voice and strength of body, he seemed to sustain by himself the

attacks of the tribunes and the rashness of the people (3.11.7). Livy depicts Caeso as

an eminent leader among the patricians and, in this way, the young man had to be

strongly determined to resist the law or any other advantageous measure to the plebs.

His conduct could only be understood if compared to the perspective of a patrician-

plebeian dualism in the Early Republic that permeated the annalistic tradition Livy

was dealing with.

Furthermore, the description of Caeso fits the aristocratic ideal of virtus

(virtue), as postulated by Earl (1984, p. 74), for Livy said that the gods bestowed

upon Caeso many gifts and, likewise, he himself had achieved a prominence (gloria)

by serving the Roman state in the battlefield as well as in the Forum.

However, though Caeso was such a meritorious man, his behavior did not

contribute to produce a harmonious situation between the social orders. Instead, his

3 It is possible to observe two constant aspects in the narrative. The first one concerns the plebeians, who are depicted as being somewhat aware of their importance to Rome as soldiers. This allowed the tribunes to continually incite the plebs to refuse to take up arms when ordered by the consuls, though Livy also pointed out that the plebeians did, on occasion, ignore their tribunes’ appeals and voluntarily enlisted, as was the case at 3.26.1. The second aspect regards the incredible succession of attacks against the City undertaken by its neighbouring people, especially on the part of the Aequi, the Volsci and the Sabines. Even the historian felt unsure about such recurrent raids, as he expressed at 3.10.8 and 3.15.4. 4 The adjective ferox can also be translated as proud, arrogant or even cruel. In this regard, the description of Caeso as a ferox young man may perhaps allude to a tyrannical nature.

54

actions inflamed the riot even further. Under his leadership, the tribunes were driven

from the Forum and the plebeians, who had crossed Caeso’s way, were routed

(3.11.8). However, as Livy postulated, when the members of the tribunate had been

cowed by such a violent reaction on the part of Caeso and his peers, a tribune named

Aulus Verginius accused the young man of murder against a plebeian and then Caeso

was summoned to stand trial. But, instead of calming his bad temper, the accusation

aroused Caeso’s “atrocious nature” (atrox ingenium) and he bitterly continued to

oppose the law and to harass the plebs (3.11.9).

In these circumstances, the historian wrote that the responsibility for “all the

blame, for many a rash word and act which proceeded from the young aristocrats”

(ab iuventute inconsulte dicta factaque) (3.11.11)5 had been put upon Caeso’s

shoulders because of his “suspected character” (suspectum ingenium). So, Livy

thought of Caeso as an emulated model by the young patricians within the narrative

itself and, as the most outstanding member of that group, he encapsulated its

aspirations and way of living. It seems that Livy depicted Caeso as the exemplum to

be detached concerning the harsh behavior proper to the patrician youth in the context

of the so-called “Conflict of the Orders.”

Caeso’s picture denotes the emphasis Livy put on highly volatile personalities

throughout his History. Livy delineated them as easily affected by several situations

and, therefore, he stressed their reactions in face of such conditions (DUCOS, 1987,

p. 140). Thus Caeso’s fierce and cruel nature would, in fact, be very fragile seeing

that his conduct was guided by impetus (the impulse to do things without thinking

about the consequences), which he could not control or whatsoever. This is the case,

for instance, when Livy indicates that Caeso was furious for being summoned by the

tribune Aulus Verginius (3.11.9). That is why the historian advocated the noticeable

effect of moderation in a context of civil riot, since the observation of that quality in

daily life could discipline the impulsive element intrinsic to human nature.

I suggest that the assessment Livy offered about the personality and behavior

of some historical characters underlines the historian’s interpretation on the Roman

history. Firstly, the importance Livy devoted to some men on the course of events led

him to focus on different “psychological” nuances and, in consequence, he was at

pains to exhibit the passions that moved the participants in any event reported by him

(WALSH, 1961, p. 139; GRANT, 1995, p. 79). Secondly, this highlighted role of 5 Iuventus here is strictly related to the iuniores patrum, that is, the patrician youth. But Livy could also have used the term as a more technical reference to all men of military age, so that iuventus may sometimes refer not only to patrician but also to plebeian iuniores (NERAUDAU, 1979, p. 131-132). On iuniores, see below, p. 58, n. 15.

55

leading characters constituted a feature that would, considering the dawn of the

Principate, define Roman historiography from then on, for the history of the Imperial

age would be virtually connected to the persona of the emperors (FORNARA, 1983,

p. 65). Nevertheless, it should be noted that a historical narrative centered on

individuals went back to the biographical representations among the works of Greek

historians, like those who, as Cleitarchus and Ptolomy, had given an account of the

deeds of Alexander the Great based on the writings of Callisthenes of Olynthus. Even

the Histories of Polybius displayed a biographic approach, as adduced by the

description of the Carthaginian general Hannibal. In turn, Badian (1966, p. 22)

pointed out that Roman annalists such as Licinius Macer and Valerius Antias paid

great attention in their respective works to the actions of distinguished men on the

course of history, just as Sallust had done in his historical monographs.

To sum up, Livy’s History shows us an element common to Greco-Roman

historiography. It seems to me that Livian narrative was placed in the midst of a

process of intensification of that historiographical feature, insofar as it had been

linked to social and political transformations during the Late Republic and that it had

become crystallized from the Augustan Principate onwards, when the emperor and

those close to him would monopolize political decision-making and military activities

in the Imperial period. All this had led to a redefinition of social authority in Roman

society as a whole (TOHER, 1990, p. 151). In this sense, the historical literature in

Rome had increasingly turned to the biographical representation, so Livy also

displayed traces of it.

Back to Livian narrative, the historian hinted at the possibility of moderation

arising out of the passing of time. At 3.11.4 he wrote that the majority of the older

patricians – the seniores – chose not to get involved in the public disputation on the

levying of Roman soldiers, for the issue “was not to be guided by wisdom, but had

been committed to rashness and impudence.” Thus prudence (consilium) was a

distinctive virtue of older and wiser men, like those who took a seat on the Senate

House. The unrestrained actions of Caeso and those young patricians who followed

him were in opposition to the posture of older nobles because the youthful condition

of the former meant that they could not control their impetus properly.

Livy made the point clearer in the following chapter. The most distinguished

citizens of Rome (principes civitates) declared for Caeso. Among them was Lucius

Lucretius, who had held the consulship the year before. He remembered Caeso’s

brave military deeds and also emphasized that it would be preferable to have such a

renowned young man as their own citizen than to let him be a citizen in another town

56

(3.12.6). More importantly, the ex-consul6 went on saying that “those qualities in him

[i.e., Caeso] which gave offence, impetuosity and rashness, were diminishing each

day, as he grew older: that in which he was deficient, namely prudence, was daily

increasing.” (3.12.7). I cannot but conclude that Livy endorsed a perspective in which

the maturity someone gradually reaches year after year could enable him to moderate

his impulses and to abate the worst traits of his character.7

Moreover, Neraudau (1979, p. 207-208) asserted that the attacks Caeso and his

colleagues made on the plebs, as reported by Livy at 3.11.8, had strong resemblances

with the Lupercalia8 because this ceremony – strictly restricted to iuvenes – was

marked by a procession to the Palatine in which the Luperci hit those who they found

in their way. Thereby, Livy transmitted a ritualized picture of the opposition between

patricians and plebeians, since the patrician youth took on the duty of preventing, by

force, the plebs from acquiring all the civic and political rights enjoyed by the

patricians.

Motivated by Caeso’s actions against the promulgation of the Terentilian Law,

Aulus Verginius claimed the attention of the plebs:

“I suppose you see now, Quirites, that you cannot at the same time have Caeso for a fellow-citizen and obtain the law you desire? And yet why do I say law? It is liberty he is thwarting; in all the Tarquinian house was no such arrogance. Wait till this man becomes consul or dictator, whom you see lording it over us while a private citizen, by virtue of his strength and impudence!” (3.11.12-13).

Aulus Verginius’ speech is very similar to that Gaius Terentilius had uttered

with regard to the link between lex and libertas.9 However, there is a striking

difference between them. Terentilius had once spoken about the consuls’ posture,

whereas Aulus Verginius was rather referring to a private citizen, that is, a man who

did not hold any magistracy but was as arrogant as the consuls would have been. For

this reason the tribune of the plebs delineated Caeso as a real menace to plebeians’

6 The support Lucius Lucretius gave to Caeso might well be interpreted as a public acknowledgment of the virtus the young man would have, since it was a former consul – that is, a man who had social authority – who explicitly defended and recognized Cincinnatus’ son qualities. 7 Livy’s opinion about old age and its values are similar to those expressed by Cicero in a work he wrote in 44, entitled On old age (De senectute), as we can see in the following passage: “It is not by muscle, speed, or physical dexterity that great things are achieved, but by reflection, authority, and judgement; in these qualities old age (senectus) is usually not only poorer, but is even richer” (Sen. 6.17). 8 This was a pastoral festival observed on February 15, which took place in a cave in the west side of the Palatine. Perhaps the Lupercalia had some connections with an Arcadian festival in honor of Pan, the Greek equivalent to Faunus, which the legendary Evander had instituted. 9 See above, Chapter 2, p. 41.

57

liberty and predicted that, in the future, when the young man eventually became a

consul or a dictator, he would lord over the plebs in the manner of a tyrant

(3.11.13).10 Nonetheless, Aulus Verginius conveniently dismissed the possibility that

Caeso could mature over the years and, subsequently, restrain his words and actions.

But it was a charge made by an ex-tribune of the plebs, Marcus Volscius

Fictor, that modified Caeso’s fate. Fictor had certified that in the past his elder

brother and he had fallen in with a band of young patricians through the Subura.11 In

the midst of the brawl, Caeso would have punched Fictor’s brother who had been

recovering from a disease. Fictor said that, although his brother was carried home, he

could not take it and passed away due to Caeso’s violence (3.13.2-3). The story told

by Fictor provoked an angry response from the plebeians and Caeso was almost

killed by them. Trying to avoid all that, Aulus Verginius ordered that Caeso should

be arrested until the day of his trial. But the patricians were disgusted at such an

order, since the tribune would be punishing an uncondemned man (3.13.4-6).

Then they appealed12 to the other tribunes who, by means of the ius auxilium

conferred on their office, forbade Caeso’s imprisonment. Nevertheless, in order to

compel the accused to produce for trial, the tribunes introduced the institution of

vadimonium (3.13.6): that is, Caeso’s relatives should solemnly guarantee that he

would be produced for the day of trial, otherwise they should furnish a surety to the

Roman people. But the defendant went into voluntary exile to Etruria13 as soon as he

was allowed to leave the Forum. Consequently, “the money was exacted from

Caeso’s father without pity, so that he was obliged to sell all that he had and live for

some time on the other side of the Tiber, like one banished (veluti relegatus), in a

certain lonely hovel” (3.13.10).14

10 Maybe Aulus Verginius’ words have another meaning. I suggest that the mention to the dictatorship about to be held by Caeso might be a hint at the figure of his father, Cincinnatus, who would actually be named to that office in the sequence of the narrative (3.26.6). Likewise, the fear Aulus Verginius showed when faced with the prospect that Caeso would become a consul or a dictator may allude to the tension produced among the plebs when Caeso’s father was indeed chosen to hold an absolute imperium (3.26.12). 11 The Subura was located in the northeast of the Roman Forum, between the Esquiline and the Viminal. Traditionally, it corresponded to a “popular” place. 12 It is interesting to note Livy’s assertion saying that the patricians had appealed to the tribunes of the plebs, since the latter had been created to protect the plebeian order against the very oppression of the patriciate. 13 Bonjour (1975, p. 16) informed that the Quinctii was of Etruscan origin. 14 According to Forsythe (2006, p. 204), the story of Caeso Quinctius was invented by a Roman annalist and handled by Livy in order to illustrate the practical application of the vadimonium. This comes as no surprise, as Roman historical tradition abounds with events which take place against the backdrop of a trial (NICOLET, 1964, p. 39). Even so, in my opinion, those legal matters are overshadowed by the need to emphasize the connection between young people and immoderation, as we can see in this episode of Livy’s text. At any event, the episode stressed to the readers the lack of restrain on the part of Caeso, allowing Livy to display all his moralizing comments in accordance with the main purposes of book 3. In turn, to explain the “official institution” of the vadimonium through the story of Caeso’s trial means that the historian tried to

58

For now it is suitable to focus on the figure of Marcus Volscius Fictor in

particular. First of all, I cannot but agree with Santoro L’Hoir (1990) when she said

that the name of some characters in Livian narrative hold a clue to their own nature

and behavior on the course of events. In this sense, I suggest a possible connection

between the cognomen Fictor and the Latin word fictio, so that at 3.24.3 Livy informs

that the quaestors summoned Marcus Volscius to trial on the charge of perjury (falsus

testis) against Caeso. The noun fictor means “the potter or those who work in a

pottery,” whereas other words that come from the same Latin root as fictor, like the

adverb fictum (falsely) or the noun fictum (falsity, mendacity), have a completely

different meaning. But it seems to me that there is no incongruence here; rather, Livy

could have explored both meanings as they complement each other. In other words,

the cognomen Fictor would allude to the plebeian condition of Marcus Volscius,

since craftworks were usually linked to Roman plebs. So we have a noble young

man, a brave patrician being accused of murder by a potter, a man who belonged to

the plebeian order. Perhaps Livy wanted to underline the very essence of the Conflict

of the Orders. On the other hand, Livy could evoke to his readers how fallacious

Fictor’s accusations were and the historian insinuated so before explicitly asserting it.

Equally important was the conduct of the patrician iuniores15 after Caeso’s

exile. As will be demonstrated below, Caeso constituted a model not only for Livy’s

audience – in the terms of pref. 10 – but also for any other character in the narrative.

Therefore, Caeso stood as an exemplum not to be followed by his young peers and, in

this way, he had interfered in the course of things, though he no longer lived in the

City.

So Livy said that the tribunes of the plebs were convinced that Caeso’s fate had

given them a unique chance to pass the Terentilian Law, for the situation in Rome ran

into trouble in such a way that even the oldest senators (seniores patrum) had lost

control of the actions within the City (3.14.2). Nonetheless, the historian postulated

that among the youngest noble men, despite their rage against the plebeians, the

courage to act was increasing as never before. Thus, “they greatly promoted their

cause by tempering their impulse (impetus) with a kind of moderation” (3.14.3). That perform a sort of antiquarian exercise, perhaps extracted from the work of some annalist who might have added a reasonable “historical etiology” to the legal procedure (FORSYTHE, 2006, p. 205). Apart from all that, the exaction of money from Cincinnatus drove him to a miserable situation, where he had to live almost as an exiled man (3.13.10): hence a new link between the destinies of father and son arises. 15 The term iuniores referred to men between seventeen and forty five years old, who were fit to join the army. In this sense, they were distinguished from the seniores by an external and objective criterion. However, Livy often used the word iuniores as a synonym for iuvenes. But Neraudau (1979, p. 130) taught us that iuvenes had a more specific meaning, referring to those young man who acted by themselves or under the command of a leader.

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is, they obstructed the promulgation of the law without using force but, instead, by

organizing an army of clients (clientium exercitu) that fell upon the tribunes and so

prevented them from any effective action for the law.16

This denotes that in Livy’s thought the young patricians were able to moderate

the element that defines them properly, that is, the impulse. It does not mean that

Livy considered impetus as a vice, since such a strong feeling was also welcomed

when considering the defense of Roman state and territory against foreign enemies

(NERAUDAU, 1979, p. 5). Regarding the episode, however, Livy praised the

prudence showed by those young men, as if they had behaved like the seniores – and,

in consequence, quite unlike Caeso. Thereby, Livy summarized their wise conduct as

follows: “by avoiding so much an offensive word, to say nothing of any sort of

violence, they managed little by little, with gentleness and tact, to disarm the hostility

of the plebs” (3.14.5). All this resulted in an ephemeral state of harmony in the City

because the tribunes of the plebs could not but postpone any action for the law in a

situation like that, and the patricians kept quiet till the end of that year.

Moreover, although Ogilvie (1980, p. 160) advocated that perhaps it would be

hard to believe that Livy could consider the possibility of a man being educated to act

against his nature, I think the episode I have just analyzed contradicts the above-

mentioned scholar, at least to some extent, insofar as the patrician youth brought his

intrinsic impetuosity under control and, in effect, achieved his goals.

Appius Herdonius and the discord of the orders

In the year of 460, as written by Livy, Appius Herdonius the Sabine led more

than two thousand slaves and exiled men from several towns in a night raid on the

Capitol (3.15.4). At daylight, the leader of the attack explained his intentions to the

Roman people, that is, he was fighting for the freedom of all slaves and for returning

the exiles that had been expelled unjustly from their native land (3.15.9).17

In such a confused situation, the “(...) panic-stricken multitude could not be

controlled” by the consuls Gaius Claudius and Publius Valerius Publicola (3.15.7). It

16 This passage retrojected into the past a salient feature of Roman politics from the Gracchan age onwards, that is, the support a great number of clients gave to their patrons, who were not infrequently staunch members of the faction of the optimates. Although those clients were usually poor men, they voted against the legal measures proposed by the populares (BRUNT, 1981, p. 110). 17 It is, perhaps, a reference to Caeso Quinctius.

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is interesting to note that, although a frightful enemy had invaded the sacred Citadel,

the perspective of the Conflict of the Orders dominated the scene in Livy’s text. So,

before sunlight and without exactly knowing both the real nature and the motivation

of their foe, the consuls hesitated to call the plebs to arms, as they feared that it might

have been the plebeians, and not the slaves, who had suddenly seized the Capitol

(3.15.7). On the part of the tribunes of the plebs, the posture was no different:

consumed with rage (furor) against the patriciate, in the following day they asserted

that there was neither a war nor an invader within the City, but in fact “an idle

mimicry of war” (vanam imaginem belli), so that that would divert the minds of the

plebeians from the long-time desired Terentilian Law (3.16.5). Thereby, they tried to

persuade the people into not serving as soldiers (3.16.6).

There is no room for doubt in Livy’s view about all that. His moralizing

inclination leads him to regret that discord between the orders could weaken the civic

body,18 in such a way that a foreigner19 was able to mobilize hundreds of Roman

slaves in a war at the heart of the City. In this sense, it was left to Livy to inflame his

audience against any sort of discord among the Romans, past and present

(MAZZARINO, 1983, p. 50).

Besides, the night raid led by Herdonius would attest how treacherous and

dishonored the enemies of Rome were according to the annalistic historical tradition

Livy was working on. Nonetheless, the tribunes’ refusal to believe the war, even

when daylight came, was so perilous that Livy said the consuls convened the senators

to debate the situation and they all manifested more fear of the tribunes than of

Herdonius and the slaves who followed his call (3.16.6). In short, this means that in

Livian narrative the events occurred in the first decades of the Roman Republic were

subordinated to the perspective of the Conflict of the Orders.

But the historian also emphasized the issue of the terror servilis in this episode,

as written at 3.16.3: “men’s fears were many and various; above all the rest stood out

their dread of the slaves. Everybody suspected that they had an enemy in his own

household (...).” Mazzarino (1983, p. 50) postulated that Livy’s reconstruction of the

18 On the link between internal discord and the encouragement of the enemy, see below, Chapter 6, pp. 122-123. 19 Although Appius Herdonius was called as “the Sabine,” Livy seems to imply that the action led by Herdonius was, in fact, an insurrection rather than an attack from an external foe. For instance, at 3.15.6 the historian stated that some citizens refused to take part in the plot and join the army raised by the Sabine. Taking into consideration that most of the events narrated in book 3 take place within the City, it would be reasonable to suppose that Herdonius carried out an uprising. This version, according to Capozza (1966, p. 62), would enable Livy to fully develop a subject like internal discord, as well as to throw a light on the unrestrained conduct on the part of the tribunes of the plebs in contrast with the moderation and the devotion (pietas) showed by the consul Publius Valerius and the senators to the tutelary gods of Rome.

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turmoil headed up by Herdonius has significant resemblances with the Catilinean

Conspiracy in 63. But since at the end of the Republic the Roman élite particularly

feared the idea of a revolt made by the slaves, any social disturbances in the City

which had a recognizable slave component in it were invariably condemned by the

annalists. Thus it would not be necessary to look at Catiline and his actions to

comprehend the reasons why an obscure and archaic episode like that of Herdonius

was depicted by late Roman annalists in the manner of a revolt in which a political

leader called the slaves to freedom and, in consequence, spread the dreadful idea of a

band of armed slaves.20

Therefore, as Capozza (1966, p. 58) suggested, the variations and

anachronisms identified in Livy’s account of the episode indicate to us the very

mutable essence of the record and transmission of a historical fact in ancient Rome.

In this way, the memories of the seizure of the Capitol on the part of a certain Appius

Herdonius in the fifth century would have been molded from the fourth century

onwards under the influence of the wars Rome fought against the Sabines and the

Samnites as well as any kind of disturbances caused by exiled men or slaves. It is

possible that some late Roman annalists who dealt with the story chose to underline

the servile character of Herdonius’ riot, due to the fact that they were more sensitive

to contemporary civic and internal conflicts, whereas other authors who were more

worried about the consequences of the Social War (from 91 to 89), chose to

emphasize Herdonius’ Sabine origins. It seems that, in his text, Livy mixed up the

variations he found in his sources.

Back to Livian narrative, I shall emphasize Publius Valerius’ reaction on being

informed that men were indeed convinced by the tribunes’s words and consequently

had laid down their arms:

“What mean this, tribunes?” he exclaimed, “Are you going to overturn the state under the leadership and auspices of Appius Herdonius? Has he who could not arouse the slaves been so successful in corrupting you? With the enemy over your heads can you choose to quit your arms and legislate?” (3.17.2).

The neglect of the tutelary deities of the City – the penates – was likewise

mentioned by the consul, since the plebeian soldiers decided not to confront the foes

20 Mazzarino (1983, p. 51) said that the members of the Roman elite maintained the same view concerning, for instance, the programme of social reforms of Gaius Gracchus. In this regard, Forsythe (2006, p. 205) declared that there are significant similarities between the story of Appius Herdonius, as presented by Livy, and the insurgence led by Lucius Apuleius Saturninus, a tribune of the plebs who, accompanied by a number of his clients, briefly seized the Capitol in 100.

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who had held the Capitoline Triad captive, that is, the gods Jupiter Optimus

Maximus, Juno and Minerva (3.17.3). In face of this situation, Publius Valerius

summoned all the citizens, and those who refused his call should be considered

public enemies (3.17.7). The consul continued on saying that “he would not fear to

deal with tribunes as the founder of his family had dealt with kings” (3.17.8). So, he

alludes to the fall of the Roman monarchy in different terms to those Livy had once

presented in the mouth of the tribunes: it should be remembered, for instance, that

Aulus Verginius considered Caeso’s pride as similar to the arrogance of the last king

of Rome.21 But Publius Valerius evoked a totally distinct image. He hinted at the

memory of his ancestor, also named Publius Valerius Publicola, whose actions had

put an end to the kingship of Tarquinius Superbus. In this case, it was the attitude of

the tribunes which was the element to be taken as equal to the disapproving behavior

of Tarquinius and his son.

Furthermore, it is possible to observe that Livy also applied the notion of metus

hostilis to construct the episode. The idea that the concord of the Roman state

depended upon the existence of foreign enemies to be fought against is displayed

throughout the speech in which the senators implored all the citizens to forget their

differences in order to beat off Herdonius and his slave army:

They warned them [i.e., the plebeians] to have a care into what straits they brought the Republic: It was not between patricians and plebeians that the conflict lay; patricians and plebeians alike, the Citadel of the City, the temples of the gods, and the guardian deities of the state and of private citizens (penates publicos privatosque), were being surrendered to enemies (3.17.11).

Then, finally the social authority (auctoritas) of Publius Valerius prevailed

and the plebeians followed him as their leader, in spite of the tribunes’ efforts to

dissuade them. But the consul had assured them he would not interfere with the

council of the plebs (concilium plebs) when the foe was defeated and peace was

restored in the City (3.18.6-7). So the plebeians marched to recover the Citadel and

they were accompanied by allied troops sent from Tusculum. Such a powerful army

would result in nothing but victory: Herdonius was killed in the battle, as well as

many exiles, though Publius Valerius likewise had been deadly hurt (3.18.8-10).

Incidentally, the latter emerges as a moderate leader who aimed at the harmony

between senate and the people by promising to secure the right of the plebeians to

21 See above, p. 56.

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debate the Terentilian Law without making any concessions to the tribunes of the

plebs (CAPOZZA, 1966, p. 49).

Moreover, the depiction of the enemies’ leader as a Sabine man22 was

intended to amplify the significance of Publius Valerius’ death, so that the heroism of

the consul could be appropriately praised by those who told the story. In other words,

Publius Valerius represents the ideal noble Roman who died for his native land

defending it from an enemy that had seized the sacred ground of the City, the symbol

of the autonomy of the Roman community. In this sense, the story Livy offered to his

readers minimizes the fact of a consul being killed in the midst of an internal conflict

which was marked, above all, by the presence of slaves (MARTÍNEZ-PINNA, 1987,

p. 89).23

Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus and the making of the ideal “Romanness”

The first books of Livy’s work cover the most distant past of Roman history. In

so doing, the historian introduces what Jal (1990, p. 46) defined as “‘type’ littéraire,”

that is, “the ancient Romans,” as opposed to Livy’s fellow-citizens. The description

of these figures – whether legendary or not – encompassed a range of characteristics

that differentiate them from all other men, though some traits could be seen as

implausible. As will be shown, Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus24 corresponds to one of

these characters in Livy’s History.

After the punishment of his eldest son, Cincinnatus reappears in the narrative

as suffect consul, owing to the death of Publius Valerius Publicola. The plebeians

were dismayed at the choice of him to fill the vacant consulship, for they thought that

Cincinnatus would be enraged against them and strongly committed to the patrician

22 Martinez-Pinna (1987, p. 90) postulated that the nomen Herdonius indeed had Italic roots, but the historical character might have been a Latin nobleman by virtue of the intense contact among different ethnic groups living in the Latium in the middle of the first millenium. 23 Livy’s version of the story of Appius Herdonius undermined the involvement of the consul Gaius Claudius in the fight against the invaders of the Capital in comparison with the active part played by the other consul, a man who belonged to the Valerian gens. In view of that fact, Mazzarino (1994, p. 50) believed that Livy consulted nothing but the work of Valerius Antias. Such a contrast between the Claudii and the Valerii became even more apparent when Livy reported the episodes about the rise and the fall of the Second Decemvirate because of the importance of Appius Claudius and Lucius Valerius. 24 The Quinctian gens has been depicted as very active in Roman politics over the Republican era. The Cincinnati would represent one of its most famous branches, whose members have frequently been associated with such virtues as moderation, wisdom and frugality according to Roman historical tradition (RANOUIL, 1975, p. 138).

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order as well as to his own values and to his offspring (3.19.2). The disappointment

of the plebs reflects a typical way to describe an ordinary member of the patriciate in

the context of opposition between the orders, that is, a proud man well-aware of his

origins, his superior social standing and his family.

However, a man like Cincinnatus would be distinguished in book 3 due to his

unrestricted devotion to the well-being of the Roman community. For this reason, he

vehemently reprimands both the patricians and the plebeians alike. The apathy of the

former, he declared, was such that the same men had been entering upon the tribunate

year after year, what had resulted in the disordered state of the public affairs in Rome

(3.19.4). Therefore, the historian made it clear that the tribunes and the plebeians in

general should not be seen as the sole responsible ones for the troubles that had

spread in the City, for the patriciate had done nothing to stop such a situation. It is a

position that, in my view, justifies Ogilvie’s opinion (1982, p. 162) about Livy’s

History, namely that the determining factor on the course of Roman history were

human actions, more than the interference of the gods.25

Briscoe (1971, p. 10) asserted that Livy, by reporting several episodes

concerning the struggle between patricians and plebeians in the first decade, harshly

criticized both orders because he wanted to promote the salutary effects of

moderation and concord, among other things, to the welfare of the state and, in

consequence, he despised those individual attitudes that instigated internal discord.

The above-mentioned posture of Cincinnatus undoubtedly illustrates Briscoe’s point.

But the sequence of the narrative will also indicate Livy’s sympathy for the

conservative viewpoint advocated by most of the members of the Roman political

and social élite at the end of the Republic. Cincinnatus described the tribunes of the

plebs as “garrulous” (loquaces), “seditious” (seditiosos) and “sowers of discord”

(semina discordiarum) for, according to him, the plebeians magistrates had put the

state at risk by forbidding the plebs from taking up arms against the enemy who had

been seizing the Citadel (3.19.5-6). The suffect consul’s words in that passage evoke

the colors of the vocabulary used by the optimates in the Late Roman Republic in

which seditio, seen as equivalent to discordia, was commonly associated with the

popularis factio whose actions and legal measures, in turn, were not rarely proposed

by a tribune of the plebs (SIMÓN; POLO, 2000, p. 267).

25 A point of view expressed before in the preface, when Livy stated which points he wanted his readers to pay attention to: “what life and morals were like; through what men and by what policies, in peace and war, empire was established and enlarged” (pref. 9).

65

Furthermore, Cincinnatus refused to acquiesce in the attempt on the patricians’

side to have him reelected as consul because of their dislike of the plebs (3.21.3).26

Taking hold of the consular power year after year would sound to a man like

Cincinnatus as an affront to mos maiorum’s precepts. Then he rebuked the patricians

for proposing something so improper to their own condition, since they had been

imitating the rash conduct of the plebeian multitude,27 “as if to be more fickle and

more lawless were to possess more power in the state” (3.21.5).28 Cincinnatus’

posture reveals a particular feeling Livy had regarding those at the top of the society,

namely that they had to set an example to others. In this sense, their morally

irreproachable behavior should also legitimize their high social standing

(EDWARDS, 1996a, p. 24-25). Thereby, in the text, the consul appears closely

connected with what Perelli (1988, p. 1239) defined as the archetypical reasonable

Roman leader who always observed the way of the ancestors, whose virtues moved

him away from the fickleness of the rabble.

But, as it was expected, Livy had to display to his audience that Cincinnatus’

leadership at home was the same as abroad, when at war with other people. In other

words, the historian would report Cincinnatus’ manliness – his virtus, strictly

speaking – in the battlefield. So, in the year 458, the Aequi and the Sabines

simultaneously undertook an incursion into Roman fields (3.25.6, 26.1). One of the

consuls, named Lucius Minucius, marched against the former. However, his timid

(pavidus) actions had stimulated his enemies, who audaciously attacked and

surrounded Minucius’ camp by night (3.26.3-4). At first, the other consul, Gaius

Nautius, was sent to help the troops beleaguered by the Aequi. But it would be

impossible for him to defend the City as well, so the Romans unanimously agreed

that only Cincinnatus could restore their good fortune and nominated him dictator

(3.26.6).

He, “the sole hope of the empire of the Roman People,” was cultivating a small

area across the Tiber, “now known as the Quinctian Meadows,”29 when the state

26 It should be stressed that the patricians disregarded even a Senate’s resolution prohibiting the reelection of the consuls and the tribunes of the plebs, since it was contrary to the principles of the res publica (3.21.2). 27 Illustrated by the fact that the plebeian order had reelected, for the third consecutive time, the exact same men to hold the tribunician power in that year (460). 28 It is a fundamental sentence that expresses how distant a law-abiding citizen like Cincinnatus was from those who gave themselves the licence to break the law, as Appius Claudius would do. Maybe Cincinnatus’ phrase should be understood as a sort of premonition of the role played by a man like Appius in the sequence of the narrative. 29 The usage of such a device, that is, to point to the readers where an event from the past had taken place, could put the audience – Livy’s contemporaries – closer to the reported subject in the narrative, as if the past were bonded with the daily life of the readers. The transformations in Rome’s landscape over the centuries

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emissaries found him. They informed him about the situation of Minucius’ soldiers

and his nomination to dictatorship (3.26.8-10). Thus, the relegated Cincinnatus, a

man who was living in the other side of the river and had to turn over the field by

himself, became the savior of the state.

At first, it is possible to consider that Livy aimed at stressing a bucolic and

frugal picture of Early Rome’s aristocracy. Nonetheless, Finley (1983, p. 22) thought

that it was incredible that a man of patrician birth as Cincinnatus had to intent upon

rustic tasks. We should be aware that Finley’s observation does not specifically take

into consideration the narrative of book 3, since the miserable life Cincinnatus led on

the right side of the Tiber resulted from the exaction of the sureties on the occasion of

the trial of Caeso.30 More importantly, I suggest that the banishment was intended to

be a symbol of Cincinnatus’ modesty. If that is true, Livy depicted the character’s

simple daily life in order to emphasize that the richness of the Romans should be

sought in the virtues of a man like Cincinnatus, for the greatness of Rome had been

built on them. So Livy paid the early Romans a great compliment on their (idealized)

frugal way of life in opposition to the luxurious gardens that ornamented the right

side of the Tiber in Augustan age (BONJOUR, 1975, p. 122).

Then the dictator returned to the City and immediately reorganized the Roman

forces in order to proceed with the rescue of Minucius’ troops (3.27.2-3). At 3.28

Livy reported the steps of the successful campaign commanded by Cincinnatus and,

about that, I cannot go on without pointing out the clemency showed by the dictator

to the defeated Aequi, letting them go unarmed (3.28.9), as well as his generosity

towards his own troops, as he gave all the booty taken from the enemy to his soldiers

(3.29.1). These qualities reiterate the simplicity and the modesty Livy attached to

him. Cincinnatus also entered the gates of Rome in triumph, as the Senate had

commanded (3.29.5). In the end, “on the sixteenth day Quinctius surrendered the

dictatorship which he had received for six months,” but not without passing sentence

on Marcus Volscius Fictor, the false witness (falsi testis), who went into exile at

Lanuvium (3.29.7).

Forsythe (2006, p. 206) alerted us to a couple of factors that possibly

contributed to mould the patriotic and moralistic story about Cincinnatus dictatorship

as seen in Livy’s book 3. Firstly, the besieged consul Minucius would have brought

to some Roman annalists’ mind a similar episode occurred during the Second Punic

correspond to institutional and historical changes the City had gone through, so that the landscape in itself could be seen by Livy as an interesting material to be dealt with (JAEGER, 1997, p. 7). 30 See above, p. 57.

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War, in which Marcus Minucius Rufus, then the master of the horse of the dictator

Quintus Fabius Maximus Cunctator, was saved from being defeated by a

Carthaginian army in 218 thanks to Fabius’ efforts. The influence of this event on the

composition of the story Livy wrote in his narrative might be attested by the choice of

Quintus Fabius Vibulanus to be the prefect of the City as long as Cincinnatus was

abroad (3.29.4), as well as his nomination to succeed Minucius as the commander of

the Roman soldiers at Algidus (3.29.7).31 The presence of a member of the Fabian

gens would indicate a late interpolation to the story fabricated by some historian

influenced by the remembrance of the Second Punic War.

Secondly, it is possible that a story about another Quinctius Cincinnatus was

taken as a model to construct the episode Livy offered to his readers. They say that a

patrician named Titus Quinctius Cincinnatus had held the dictatorship in 380 and that

he had undertaken a brief but brilliant campaign against a coalition of nine cities led

by Praeneste. After that, the dictator went back to Rome, where he celebrated his

triumph and resigned from the office on the twentieth day.

Whatever the origins of the story of Cincinnatus’ dictatorship may be, I think

the episode remind us of Livy’s ability to deal with an indistinct amount of

information he found in his sources. That is, the historian printed on some facts a

meaning or, rather, he selected and worked on some significant points among those

facts. That is the case of Cincinnatus’ story, an event reported by Livy in such a way

that it shows us “(...) his art of creating coherent episodes that revealed the character

of the participants” (OGILVIE, 1982, p. 166). In this way, the capture of Minucius’

camp by the Aequi implied a lack of virtus on the part of the consul.32 Thus

Minucius’ weakness had to be counterbalanced by Cincinnatus’ qualities who, though

living out from the City, returned to Rome when summoned to do so. The gloria he

achieved, that is, the triumph the Fathers Conscripti commanded him, was closely

linked to his devotion to the needs of the res publica.

In sum, the images that make up Cincinnatus’ description in book 3 – namely

the simplicity of his daily life and the absence of wealth (3.26.8-9); the authority he

31 But, in saying that, Forsythe did not properly consider the sequence of Livian narrative, for this same Quintus Fabius Vibulanus was among the decemvirs that illegally perpetuated their power in 449. Accordingly, he was not one of the Fabii we might consider to be among the most laudable characters in book 3. Livy described him as a man “of a character deficient in steady rectitude rather than actively bad. For this man, once preeminent in civil and in military affairs, had been so altered by the decemvirate and by his colleagues that he chose rather to be like Appius than like himself” (3.41.8-9). 32 It should be remembered that Livy’s assessment is concerned only with the figure of Lucius Minucius; it is not an evaluation of the Minucii as a whole. It is curious enough to find out that in the following year (457) another member of the clan, named Quintus Minucius, was elected consul and even marched against the Sabines (3.30.8).

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enjoyed among his fellow-citizens, who promptly obeyed his orders (3.37.5); and his

notable victory over the Aequi (3.28.9-11) – meant that the frugality that marked his

private affairs turned into moderation when he held supreme and unlimited power in

Rome, seeing that he gave up dictatorship as soon as his duties had been fulfilled.

Livy’s attachment to mos maiorum is displayed through his admiration for

Cincinnatus, an example of a self-sacrificing leader to the benefit of all Romans

(EARL, 1984, p. 23).

So it seems right to assert that Livy’s patriotic feelings, as they had been

expressed in the preface33 are encapsulated in his portrayal of Cincinnatus, his ideal

Roman man.34 As Bonjour (1975, p. 470) concluded, the simplicity of the character’s

way of living illuminates a two-fold relationship between a Roman citizen and the

City: on the one hand, the latter emerged as the native soil a man must cultivate and

live in. On the other, Rome represents the civic community a patriot must defend.

Cincinnatus’ labor, his agricultural labor, expresses what Livy and his

contemporaries thought their ancestors’ life seemed to be like (or had to seem to be),

that is, a communal and incorruptible existence (PEREIRA, 1982, p. 349).

33 See above, Chapter 1, p. 34. 34 That paupertas (poverty) on the part of Cincinnatus expresses an idea the historian had already quoted in his preface, that the remarkable virtuous past of Rome was opposed to the all the greed and lust for wealth that would characterize Livy’s times, as mentioned at pref. 11-12.

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4 The Decemvirates and the tyranny of Appius Claudius

The decemvirs, from moderation to tyranny

In the three hundred and second year from the founding of Rome the form of the polity was changed again, with the transfer of supreme power (imperium) from consuls to decemvirs, even as before it had passed from kings to consuls. It was not so remarkable a change, because it did not last long. For the luxuriant beginnings of this magistracy took on too rank a growth; and in consequence it soon died down, and the custom was resumed of entrusting to two men the name and authority of consuls (3.33.1-2).

That is how Livy drew up the main lines of the core of book 3, that is, the

creation of the Decemvirate and its consequences to the City. It should be noted that,

from a perspective we may call as “constitutional”, the historian played down the

consequences of the magistracy then instituted because it did not last much longer.

But, from a moral viewpoint, he was eager to show why the board of ten men “soon

died down” and subsequently the power passed to two consuls again, as had been the

custom since king Tarquinius’ fall. Besides, that sort of preamble to the story of the

Decemvirate (3.33.1-2) fits into Livy’s idea about the usefulness of his work (pref.

10), since the shameful conduct of the decemvirs, despite their promising beginnings,

impelled the audience to avoid it.

Thus, I suggest that the strong disapproval Livy expresses of the tyrannical

government of Appius Claudius and his colleagues of the Second Decemvirate is

linked to the aim of preserving the City and its institutions. It is a conservative point

of view that has, in turn, connections with the idea that all Roman citizens ultimately

distinguished themselves from other people, as they belonged to an invaluable

community. In this sense, any given action that might profoundly alter the traditions

of the City would be seen as intolerable. Since Livy thought of Rome as a single civic

body, the virtues and the vices of Roman citizens affected the community as a whole.

Therefore, as a member of such a community, a historian like Livy assessed Roman

politics and history on a moral basis and, in so doing, wished his work could

contribute to keep Rome and its customs alive (LEVICK, 1982, p. 60). That is why

Livy emphasized in his text an episode concerning a short-term and infamous

experience like the appointment of the decemvirs in the mid-fifth century.

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As a result of the agreement between the tribunes of the plebs and the

patriciate,1 the mission sent for Athens returned to the City in 452 and the tribunes

immediately urged the codification of the laws (3.32.6). So, it was decided to appoint

ten men, all of whom of patrician birth,2 to fulfill the task in the following year.

Thereby, all the other public offices were suspended for that year, as well as the right

of appealing to the Roman people in case of death sentences passed by the

magistrates, known as provocatio ad populum (3.32.7).

Among the decemvirs chosen, Appius Claudius quickly achieved a prominent

position, “thanks to the favor of the plebs” (3.33.7). Livy wrote that Appius assumed

a novel character (novum ingenium) for he showed himself as a friend of the

plebeians instead of being the harsh and cruel persecutor of the plebs he had usually

been, as he was then trying to surround himself with a “popular” aura (3.33.7).3

Moreover, Livy implied at 3.33.6 that Appius was not one of the oldest men to join

the Decemvirate because the last four patricians to fill up the number of ten

magistrates – Publius Suplicius, Publius Curiatius, Titus Romilius and Spurius

Postumius – were aged men. In the sequence of the narrative, the historian will

explicitly assert this, by defining him as the “youngest” (minimus natu) among the

members of the Board (3.35.8).

In this way, it is possible to observe Livy’s usage of some elements that might

suggest the tyrant that Appius Claudius would later come to be. On the one hand, his

popularity brings to mind the archetype of a tyrant as displayed in Plato’s Republic,

that is, a man who comes to power through demagogic practices. Furthermore, the

nearness of Appius to the plebs highlights his iniquitous nature, at least in the eyes of

other patrician families (CLEMENTE, 1977, p. 115). On the other, the tradition

handled by Livy differentiates the figure of Appius Claudius, one of the consuls in

the year 471, from the decemvir in question; the latter is depicted as a young man, as

I have just mentioned, and so in Livian narrative he cannot be confused with his

ancestor. The youthfulness of the decemvir should be emphasized because the reader

1 See above, Chapter 2, p. 51. 2 We are told at 3.32.7 that the plebeians acquiesced in that decision as long as the Icilian Law and all the others leges sacratae (sacred laws, that is, those statutes that protected them, above all the law that created the tribunate of the plebs) were not ab-rogated. The acceptance of a magistracy entirely held by patricians might be interpreted as a sign of modestia on the part of the plebs, in accordance with the terms proposed by Monreal (1997, p. 62). 3 The word used here by Livy, popularis, denotes the idea of dedication to the cause of the plebeians, and likewise, of someone or something that social order cared about (SEAGER, 1972, p. 331). In this sense, I suggest that Livy reported the activities of Appius as if the latter intended, initially, to occupy the place of the absent tribunes as the champion of the plebs.

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might deduce he was, like all young men, liable to rashness,4 though he had managed,

for a moment, to restrain his hate against the plebeians in such a way that he had even

obtained the favor of the plebs.

Although Appius Claudius’ sudden inclination to treat kindly with the

plebeians sounded, at this point of the narrative, a little bit suspicious, Livy drew up a

picture that denotes his approval of the conduct showed by the First Decemvirate.

The other magistrates also undertook a policy we may perhaps call “popular,”5

insofar as they held an unlimited power with the utmost moderation. For instance,

only the decemvir who presided a session in the court of law was accompanied by the

twelve lictors – a suggestive image that would confirm “an unparalleled harmony

amongst themselves [i.e., the decemvirs]” (unica concordia inter ipsos) and their fair

government (3.33.8). More important, the next two sentences in the text show a fact

defined by Livy “as proof of their moderation” (moderationis eorum argumentum).

The decemvir Gaius Julius summoned a patrician named Publius Sestius to trial

because of a heinous crime the latter had clearly committed. The magistrate could

simply punish the accused, since the right of appeal had been suspended that year, but

ordered him to appear before the people to be prosecuted. So Gaius Julius opted to

limit his own prerogative and, consequently, the people shared his liberty as a

magistrate subject to no appeal (3.33.9-10).

In my opinion Livy composed this example to illustrate a double aspect. At

first, the trial of a patrician seems to be, in a City split into two opposing social

orders, a sure sign that the decemvirs ruled over all citizens in an equal manner,

without favoring the members of their own order, that is, the patriciate.6 Secondly,

the short tale of Gaius Julius discloses an apparently paradoxical connection between

the suspension of the right of appeal and the liberty of the Roman people. Ducos

(1984, p. 77) explained that, during the Republican era, the right of appeal had been

conceived to embrace two essential elements for civic life, namely the protection of a

Roman citizen against a magistrate’s caprices and an obstacle to the imposition of

4 On the link between impetus and the young men, see above, Chapter 3, p. 54. 5 Such a policy may be defined as “popular” in accordance with the ideas postulated by the optimates at the end of the Republic. Thereby, to treat equally with all the citizens, regardless of their status, meant that the conduct displayed by the First Decemvirate would clash with the ideal of libera res publica which, for instance, a man like Cicero advocated, namely that the dignity of the senators was deeply associated with the liberty of the Roman Republic, whose instituitions were controlled, in turn, by those senators themselves (SIMÓN; POLO, 2000, p. 280). In such a system, those at the bottom of society must show a sense of deference, whereas those at the top must only treat with the former in a benevolent, not demagogic way, in order to maintain the status quo (GRIMAL, 1989, p. 69). 6 The historian reaffirmed this view at 3.34.1, when he said that the First Decemvirate treated equally with “the highest and the lowest men” (summi infimique).

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any kind of corporal punishment on a citizen without debating it in a session of the

popular assembly. In this sense, the provocatio ad populum meant a crucial

institution of protection of the plebeians, as well as the tribunate, from possible

attempts of the patrician consuls to subdue them.

Nonetheless, the moderate example of Gaius Julius stresses that it was possible

for the Roman people to enjoy its liberty even in a moment when there was no chance

to appeal. So Livy was at pains to demonstrate to his audience that if the Roman

rulers, above all those who held an absolute imperium (as was the case of the

decemvirs), were able to restrain all their actions and words, the liberty of the people

should be secured.

Then we also have to deal with the question of the imperium. According to

Roman tradition, when the kings ruled the City, people had no libertas for it would be

associated with the creation of the Republic and the consequent expulsion of

Tarquinius Superbus. Therefore, during the Monarchical period, only the Roman

kings possessed an effective libertas, since they had concentrated the imperium in

their own hands. That is why the power that the Roman people had theoretically

conferred on a Republican consul elevated him to a position similar to that of the

ancient kings during his tenure of the office (RICHARDSON, 1991, p. 8). Such a

situation would, not infrequently, turn the laws into an innocuous instrument in the

face of the supreme authority of the magistrates. Cicero (Rep. 2.32.56) knew that

imperium, as detached directly from the kings, contained, per se, the seeds of a

tyrannical rule. In turn, Livy emphasized that the virtues of a magistrate could

counteract those seeds, as Gaius Julius had indicated.

Regarding the legislative activities of the Board of ten men, the historian

informed us that the decemvirs proposed several statutes in Ten Tables and

summoned the people to assemble in order to discuss each article carefully before

those laws might be passed. Ducos (1984, p. 99-100) advocated that Livy had echoed

“une tradition particulièrement démocratique” relative to the process of codification,

since the magistrates proposed the laws to the people and encouraged all the citizens

to reflect upon their value, as well as to state in public what shortcomings there were

in them, as the historian wrote at 3.34.4-5. Obviously, it cannot be denied how

exceptional those circumstances narrated by Livy were, for the Decemvirate’s

prerogative of law-making was – we should remember that it concerned only the

magistrates who had been especially appointed to write the laws down – shared with

the people, a unique situation that gave the Romans an active role in the codification

of the statutes that would rule the City.

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But, in my opinion, this tradition should not be defined as “democratic”, as did

Ducos. Considering Livy’s narrative, the praised conduct of the decemvirs is a

product of the earlier agreement between the orders that made the creation of the

Board in charge of the codification of the laws possible. Such harmonious state is

expressed by the moderate rule of the patrician magistrates as well as by the modest

behavior the plebeians displayed before the authorities, obeying the commands of the

authorities. In my view, this situation denotes, above all, Livy’s attachment to a

conservative understanding of the Roman society, as testified by his defense of

internal concord, rather than a democratic tendency on the part of the historian –

though I must acknowledge that the participation of the people in the making of the

Ten Tables allows us to point out traces of an interpretation of law as an expression

of popular sovereignty.

Thus, in accordance with Livy’s perspective, the relevance of the decemvirs’

task resided in the specific conditions in which the work had been done, that is, the

cooperation between the magistrates and the people constituted the basic element to

adopt the most suitable laws, as implied at 3.34.4. Nevertheless, the historian will

minimize this collective trend in the sequence of the narrative: at 3.58.2 the

codification of the Roman laws was credited to the Decemvirate, especially to Appius

Claudius, who was hailed as “the framer of statutes and the founder of Roman law”

(legum latorem conditoremque Romani iuris).

Livy also said that, after the proposed laws had been amended, the centuriate

comitia promulgated the Law of the Ten Tables, a monument praised as “the

fountain-head of all [Roman] public and private law” (3.34.6). In this way, the

legislation of the decemvirs was elevated to a subject from the past worthy of

veneration in the present, as long as it would delineate the fundamental rules civic life

had been built on (DUCOS, 1984, p. 179).7

The general opinion was that two more tables had to be added to achieve a full

codification of Roman law. So it was decided that a new Board had to be chosen once

more and then Rome would continue to be ruled by decemvirs in 450 (3.34.7). All

this was facilitated because the plebs did not wish the restoration of the consulship,

7 Although Livy praised them, he made no comments at all about the statutes covered by the Law of the XII Tables. It seems almost improbable that a man as educated as him would know nothing about that remarkable fragment of the past, especially if we consider that forensic oratory played an important part in the education of the wealthiest members of the Roman society in the Late Republic (MILNOR, 2007, p. 9). But we must not ignore the remarks of Cicero, who lamented that no one knew it by heart: “we learned the Law of the XII Tables in our boyhood as a required formula, though no one learns it nowadays” (Cic. Leg. 2.23.59).

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neither did they require the help of the tribunes, since the Decemvirate had fairly

fulfilled its duties (3.34.8).

But the election radically altered the harmonious atmosphere in the City. There

was an intense competition for the desired office, even among distinguished men in

the state. That is, the same men who had been fighting for a decade against any legal

measure that may benefit the plebeians. In reality, the historian wrote that the noblest

men decided to act “from fear, I doubt not, that if they left the field this great power

might fall into unworthy hands” (3.35.2). So Livy once again called to mind the

prudence of the elderly, as if they wisely indicated the deleterious effects of the

concentration of power, especially by the least virtuous men.

Afterwards Appius Claudius returned to the scene:

He was at times more like one who sought a magistracy than like one who exercised it. He vilified the nobles; praised all the most insignificant and low-born candidates; and surrounding himself with former tribunes, like Duillius and Icilius, bustled about the Forum, and through them recommended himself to the plebs; till even his colleagues, who had been singularly devoted to him until then, looked askance at him and wondered what this could mean (3.35.4-5).

Livy ironically described Appius’ attitudes and, above all, how suspicious such

a conduct seemed to be: “it was evident there could be nothing genuine about it; so

proud a man would certainly not be affable for nothing (...)” (3.35.6). So that Appius

manipulated the election – per coitionem8 – and caused the defeat of prominent

leaders like Lucius Quinctius Cincinnatus and his own uncle, Gaius Claudius, while

having himself and nine of his supporters elected (3.35.9).

The Second Decemvirate and the annalistic tradition

Livy displayed a picture in which the tyrannical intentions of the Second

Decemvirate – “they seemed like ten kings” (decem regum species erat), as indicated

at 3.36.5 – clearly differentiate the new magistrates from their peers who had

8 By coitio Livy meant a sort of undertanding amongst some candidates in view of the defeat of a third person on occasion of an election. Due to its nature, it was probably ephemeral and circunstantial even in the troubled decades of the Late Republic (POLO, 1994, p. 71). Regarding the above-mentioned passage of Livy’s text, Appius’ popularity gave him the chance to transfer a part of the plebeians’ support to the infamous and weak men he had appointed to office in order to defeat the chief men of Rome.

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moderately ruled the City the year before. According to Wiseman’s (1986, p. 95)

formulations, the reconstitution of such a contradictory episode, whose main lines

were centered around the proud figure of Appius Claudius, is a result of a

historiographical, not a historical, phenomenon. In this sense, some first-century

annalists should have postulated the theme of the long-lasting superbia Claudiana,

while writers like Livy and his Greek-speaker counterpart Dionysius of Halicarnassus

explored it in such a refined way that the idea came to be deeply rooted in Roman

historical tradition. That is what we can observe in the first pages of Tacitus’ Annals,

a work written in the last years of the reign of the emperor Trajan (98-117 AD), in a

passage relative to Augustus’ successor, that is, Tiberius Claudius Nero Caesar (14-

37 AD): “Tiberius Nero was mature in years and tried in war, but had the old, inbred

arrogance of the Claudian family, and hints of cruelty, strive as he would to repress

them, kept breaking out” (Tac. Ann. 1.4.3-4, our emphasis).

A little after Tacitus, Suetonius adopted a very similar phraseology to describe

Augustus’ impressions of the same Tiberius:

All of these mannerisms of his, which were disagreeable and signs of arrogance, were remarked by Augustus, who often tried to excuse them to the Senate and people by declaring that they were natural failings, not intentional (Suet. Tib. 68.3, our emphasis).

In my opinion the aforementioned examples will suffice to illustrate the point

that the notorious innate arrogance of the Claudii means a rhetorical topos that had

influenced the construction of the memory of the members of such gens at the end of

the Republic and during the Principate.

So the first ten books of Livy presents a stereotyped image of the Claudii,

depicted as proud patricians and fierce opponents of the plebs in a way that those

characteristics seem to be intrinsic to them.9 Wiseman (2003, p. 105; p. 115) taught

us that, since Cicero did not show any signs of this “wicked Claudian heritage” in

works such as The Defense of Caelius (Pro Caelio),10 the negative portrayal of the

9 Suetonius echoed that perspective when he briefly reported Tiberius Caesar’s ancestors. He asserted that, with the exception of Publius Clodius Pulcher, “It is notorious besides that all the Claudii were aristocrats and staunch upholders of the prestige and influence of the patricians (…). Their attitude towards the plebs was so headstrong and stubborn (…)” (Suet. Tib. 2.4). 10 A speech made by Cicero in defence of Marcus Caelius Rufus in April 56. The defendant had been accused of attempting to murder Clodia, who had been his mistress, by poisoning her. It is likely that Clodia’s brother – and a fierce adversary of Cicero – Publius Clodius, had been the one responsible for Caelius Rufus’ prosecution. According to Wiseman (2003, p. 125), the actions of Clodius motivated the formation of a tradition that associates the Claudii with violence and arrogance.

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Appii Claudii, including the decemvir, resulted from the pen of a posterior annalist.11

The latter was probably Valerius Antias, whose text was composed around the fifties

and the forties. His annals were devoted to proving the moral superiority of the

Valerian gens in comparison with the Claudian gens throughout Roman history; in

this way, he could not ignore the formation and the fall of the Board of ten men

between 451-449.

Nevertheless, in the third book of Livy’s History it is possible to note some

points that do not match Appius Claudius’ villainy, above all his role in the making

of the Roman law. A favorable version of the Claudian gens history was due to

Quintus Aelius Tubero, a jurist and annalist who wrote a historical work in the

thirties (WISEMAN, 2003, p. 137-138). A nobleman like Tubero would have

intended to contradict what Valerius Antias had said earlier about that outstanding

patrician house, in a moment when the young and powerful Octavian was becoming

associated with the Claudii by virtue of his marriage to Livia Drusilla, the wife of a

former supporter of Julius Caesar, Tiberius Claudius Nero, which took place in 38.

But Vasaly (1987, p. 214) elucidated that the vilification of Appius Claudius,

the decemvir, goes back to a much earlier date than that proposed by Wiseman.

Thereby, the arrogance of Appius and the tyranny of the Second Decemvirate have,

as seen in Livy, reflected all the ambivalence that would have marked the formation

of the tradition about the Board of ten men. In this sense, we have a positive image of

the decemvirs, insofar as the product of their efforts – the Law of the Twelve Tables

– was recognized as an attempt to secure legal equality to both orders and,

subsequently, to establish internal concord. However, since the Twelve Tables did

not in fact treat patricians and plebeians in the same way, the Decemvirate (and,

notably, Appius Claudius) turned to be seen as symbols of the arrogance of the

patricians and of the discord between the orders. Thus, Peter (1914), followed by

Alföldi (1963) (apud VASALY, 1987, p. 214, n. 32), and Walsh (1961, p. 89)

suggested that Appius’ evil portrayal was outlined by Quintus Fabius Pictor, at the

end of the third century, inspired by the rivalry between Quintus Fabius Maximus

Rulianus and Appius Claudius Caecus during the Great Samnite War, which lasted

from 326 to 304.12

11 Wiseman followed the theory proposed by Mommsen in 1884 that those members of the Claudian gens who were linked to the faction of the optimates at the time of Sulla – above all, Gaius Claudius, consul in 92 – influenced the contemporary annalists to look at the Claudii of the past as if they had acted just as their descendants. 12 That summary clarifies one of the most salient features of Roman annalistic tradition, that is, its connection to the competition for glory at the heart of the nobilitas (TOHER, 1990, p. 147). Considering the social position of Livy, who did not belong to any important Roman family, nor had a close relationship with

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It seems, at the present time, that there is a general consensus among scholars

about the historical facticity of a Board of ten men in charge of the codification of

Roman statutes in the mid-fifth century. But the existence of two antithetical

Decemvirates is far from being beyond any doubt. Ungern-Sternberg (2005, p. 79)

pointed out that there was just a single body of magistrates and it would have been

dissolved when its duties had been fulfilled. Therefore, the Second Decemvirate –

and, in effect, Virginia’s drama13 – would be the result of a pure fiction created by the

Roman annalists. If this is true, the good conduct of the first group of decemvirs, as

stressed by Livy, is no more than a fictitious counterpart designed to offset an equally

imaginary Second Decemvirate with all its vices.

In this sense, the prohibition of intermarriage between patricians and plebeians

included in the Law of the Twelve Tables14 would have planted the seeds of fiction in

the minds of the later Roman annalists, who invented the existence of a Second

Decemvirate since there was a measure in the Twelve Tables segregating the social

orders, a fact that could not but collide with the principle of equality traditionally

associated with the codification of the decemvirs (UNGERN-STERNBERG, 2005, p.

80), as stressed by Livy at 3.34.4 and 3.39.8.15 For later Roman generations, it would

seem unreasonable that the foundations of the law prompted such a perversity and

therein lies the idea of another Board being solely responsible for the addition of the

last two tables that contained the aforementioned prohibition.

Nowadays, when a scholar deals with such an issue as the facticity of the two

Decemvirates, he is faced with a singular mark that separates the ancient historical

thought from the modern one. The obvious contradiction between the alleged goals of

the codification and a specific statute that reneges on that objective has brought

about, in a later era, the construction of an exemplary episode, that is, the Second

Decemvirate. So the latter was based on an ingenious logic, namely the idea that an

unfair measure could only be proposed by a directly proportional wicked individual.

It is a notion in which the events ought to be adapted to fit the character of the

historical figures involved on their course and vice versa.

the most powerful men at that time (as far as I know), he might have had no need to praise or degrade any of the gentes that occupied the pages of the third book of his History. In this sense, perhaps he could deal with his sources freely, handling the facts extracted from a wide range of authors, regardless of their own orientation. 13 See below, Chapter 5. 14 See Leg. XII Tab. XI.1. 15 However, as Bayet (1954, p. 130) pointed out, the codification implied that all the citizens were equally ruled by the same body of laws, and not that they were all considered as equal before the law.

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In face of those very ambiguous elements regarding the appointment and the

rule of the decemvirs in the middle of the fifth century, it was up to Livy to explain

how one man – Appius Claudius – could display so different a conduct in a short

time. At first, the historian said that the risk of losing the achieved honor, that is, a

place among the ten magistrates, had fomented Appius’ misbehavior (3.35.3). In this

way, his ambition for power burnt him inside. Nonetheless, when he was reelected he

could do whatever he wanted and the support of the plebs became useless to him. So

“Appius now threw off the mask he had been wearing, and began from that moment

to live as his true nature (ingenium) prompted him” (3.36.1, our emphasis).

Consequently, according to Livy, Appius’ changing attitudes from the First to

the Second Decemvirate reveal his true ingenium. Thus, his admiring deeds the year

before had just hidden the evil traits of his personality, derived from his Claudian

origins (VASALY, 1987, p. 215), as Livy himself alluded to at 3.33.7.16 That is why

Ogilvie (1982, p. 165) identified in the Ab urbe condita libri, as an element of

historical causality, a certain nature inherited by some of the depicted characters that

influenced their acts and, I might add, also affected the course of the events.

In this way, the historian might suppose how an individual in his History would

eventually behave by means of the intrinsic qualities relative to the family he/she

belonged to. So, when Appius’ tyrannical intentions were enunciated at 3.35.6, their

earlier signs would be totally justified.

Another aspect of the Livian composition should also be emphasized. Dunkle

(1967, p. 170) advocated that some facial expressions or a piece of clothing worn by

a character might have evoked, in the minds of the ancient Romans, an image of

tyranny. Thus, the masks worn by the actors in a drama enacted around Rome would

possibly have contributed to diffuse, in the Late Republican period, a mental

connection between the wearing of a mask and the conduct of a tyrant. Maybe Livy

explored this ordinary association as a metaphor at 3.36.1, so that we can observe an

example of the historian’s use of inventio17 in the composition of his work.

In sum, Appius had been deceiving the plebs when he acted as a popularis in

such a way that the patricians found it absolutely repugnant coming from a nobleman

like him (3.35.4-5). But the decemvir had done so in order to keep the power in his

hands, a fact that enabled him to impose, mainly upon the plebeians’ shoulders, all

his terrifying force (3.36.7). Then, Vasaly (1987, p. 216) elucidated that 16 See above, pp. 70ff. 17 A rhetorical device, inventio “it is not ‘invention’ if by that we imply some degree of imaginative creation. It is simply the ‘discovery’ of what requires to be said in a given situation (...)” (RUSSELL, 1967, p. 135).

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in Livy’s account the change in Appius’ character and actions must be understood as the fruition of the worst aspects of the Claudian temperament: the ardent but disguised supporter of the patriciate becomes a manifest tyrant.18

It seems to me that the colors and the details used by Livy to exhibit the

alteration in Appius’ behavior aim at stressing to the readers the political lessons to

be learned from this very episode, namely that the more power a wrongdoer held, the

greater the risk the Romans would run of being ruled by a tyrant. In other words, the

primary exemplum of Livy’s book 3 concerns power, which should only be limited by

a moderate ruler.

When Appius and his peers entered upon the office in the Ides of May they

appeared in public and signalized, in a dramatic fashion, how the City would be

governed by the new Decemvirate: all the ten men were accompanied by a hundred

and twenty lictors carrying their respective fasces (3.36.3-4). They had been

gathering together in secret until that day and the tyrannical designs were permeating

their minds, so that it became impossible for anyone to appeal to a decemvir to

interfere with a decision taken by one of his colleagues, whereas their predecessors

had allowed the revision to their judgments in case of appeal to one of them (3.36.6).

Livy then composed a set of images that pointed out the flagrant differences between

the two Decemvirates.

Furthermore, it became clear how careless the plebeians were on resting only

on the good remembrance of the first decemvirs. Because they hated and feared the

patrician consulship so much, they had chosen to support the election of a new Board

and, subsequently, their institutional and legal safeguards – the tribunate of the plebs

and the right of appeal – remained to be taken away from them, in a moment when

the force of the tyrannical magistrates began, under Appius’ leadership, to fall

gradually upon the plebeians (3.36.7). On the other hand, though the patricians were

alarmed at the prospect of the decemvirs’ unfair government (3.36.5), they initially

acquiesced with the oppression of the plebs, since they did not wish to help those

who, aiming at liberty, had inadvertently fallen upon servitude, so that the patriciate

18 Compare the portrayal of Appius Claudius in Livy with the following description Suetonius gave of the emperor Tiberius: “His cruel and cold-blooded character was not completely hidden even in his boyhood. But it grew still more noticeable after he became emperor, even at the beginning, when he was still courting popularity by a show of moderation” (Suet. Tib. 57.1). Therefore, they both depicted their respective characters, which belonged to the Claudian family, in a very similar way: both characters initially dissimulate their true feelings, in order to count on the support of the people, until the moment when they finally held an absolute power and could act as their nature prompted them.

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waited the plebeians to cry out for the restoration of the two consuls and the former

political situation in the City (3.37.2-3).

Therefore, Livy appealed to a pattern observed earlier in Cincinnatus’ speech at

3.19.4, that the discord between the orders paved the way for the current misfortunes

of Rome.19 The election and the first months of the Second Decemvirate’s rule fit that

very pattern. The inconvenient support the plebeians and their tribunes had given to

Appius’ wrongful campaign20 caused, in reality, sufferings to themselves. In turn, the

sectarian posture of the patricians had stopped them from helping the plebs; thereby,

Appius and his colleagues would not find any obstacles to lord over the City.

And that is precisely what the decemvirs did. The historian informed that the

Romans got horrified when it was reported that the ten magistrates had decided,

through “a secret agreement amongst themselves” (foedus clandestinum inter ipsos),

not to call the election at the end of their tenure, but to endlessly perpetuate the power

they had acquired just for the year (3.36.9). Although they had finished the last two

tables of laws, they did not submit them to be enacted in the centuriate comitia, for

that would mean that the Decemvirate were no longer necessary to the City (3.37.4).

Finally, the immoral acts of the decemvirs were crystallized into tyranny by the

absence of election in the year of 449, a situation that led Livy to categorically assert

at 3.38.2 that “this was unmistakable tyranny.”

Besides, the decemvirs counted on a group of young patricians (patriciis

iuvenibus) to frighten the plebs. Everyday the former brought all their cruelty to the

latter: there was no plebeian who could be safe from the harm the young nobles had

been causing in those times (3.37.6-8). It means that, as we have seen before, the

youngest members of the patrician order had been inserted into the narrative as an

element of discord and social instability. The formation of this retinue of young

patricians calls to mind some similar models, like the personal guard of the Athenian

tyrant Peisistratus in the sixth century or the legendary first-Roman king Romulus

and his three hundred Celeres (NERAUDAU, 1979, p. 260). But, if we limit

ourselves to the pages of Livy’s book 3, it is possible to note that the exemplum of

Caeso Quinctius’ peers had no longer been considered by the young patricians.21

Corrupted by the benefits the decemvirs bestowed upon them, they “frankly showed

that they preferred license for themselves to liberty for all” (3.37.8).

19 See above, Chapter 3, p. 64. 20 Since the consecutive reelection of Appius contradicted the principles of the mos maiorum. 21 On the exile of Caeso Quinctius and the moderation of his young peers, see above, Chapter 3, pp. 58-59.

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So, it is no surprise that the awful situation under the decemvirs had stimulated

the Sabines and the Aequi to plunder the territories of Rome and Tusculum,

respectively. They expected that the troubled status of affairs in the City could

obstruct the levying of soldiers (3.38.3-5). Although the magistrates knew how

unpopular they were by then, the proximity of the enemies to Rome forced them to

summon the senators to the Curia, a practice they had disregarded for so long (3.38.6-

8).

Nonetheless, the senators did not obey the decemvirs’ orders. It was even hard

to find a senator walking down the Forum, while the ten tyrants remained alone in the

Senate House waiting for the Fathers Conscripti (3.38.9). Owing to their resentment

at the decemvirs’ rule, the senators had withdrawn to their farms and, in consequence,

turned their backs to public affairs, “for they felt that they were secure from insult

only so far as they removed themselves from contact and association with their

tyrannical masters (impotentium dominorum)” (3.38.11).22 In short, the historian

sketched a scene where the Roman countryside stands as a refuge from the

wickedness that had taken over the City. So the countryside emerges as a place where

Roman virtue would be preserved from immorality, an area chosen to replace a

corrupted country land (BONJOUR, 1975, p. 154).

Meanwhile, the plebeians believed that the absence of the senators was due to

the fact that the decemvirs had no authority to manage the business of the state, since

they were simply private citizens, and not lawfully elected magistrates. Thereby, the

plebs likewise decided to refuse to take up arms (3.38.10). However, in the following

day the decemvirs commanded another meeting in the Senate House and this time a

large number of senators attended the session. The plebeians could not but conclude

that the senators had betrayed the liberty of the Roman people, for those who were

mere private citizens still continued to be obeyed as if they had really entered upon

the office (3.38.13).

But inside the Senate House two voices were heard against Appius and his

colleagues, those of Lucius Valerius Potitus and Marcus Horatius Barbatus. The latter

argued for the “freedom of speech” (libere loqui), and then asserted that “it was the

pride and violence of the king which men had hated in those days [i.e., in the

Monarchical period]; and if these qualities had then been intolerable in a king, or the

son of a king, who would endure them in so many private citizens (privati)?” (3.39.4-

22 The word impotentia also implies a lack of moderation.

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5).23 The disappointment showed by the plebs at the senators’ attendance to the

meeting convened by the Decemvirate, as well as Marcus Horatius’ words are

intended, in my view, to highlight another feature of the characterization of the

decemvirs’ rule as tyrannical, namely their unlawful holding of power. This specific

condition becomes even more serious if we consider the legislative duties that had

prompted the formation of the Board. The decemvirs had been appointed to write

down the laws, but rather they had broken them all and the Roman state had been left

with no legal government, that is, with any Republican institutions (3.39.8).

Afterwards, the ex-consul Gaius Claudius begged his nephew Appius to renege

on the illegal agreement he had made with his colleagues (3.40.2). It is interesting to

note that Livy stated that Gaius Claudius did so because he wanted to preserve a

member of his family rather than the Republic (3.40.3). But the historian also said

that Appius’ uncle was afraid that a great struggle could occur in the City if the

decemvirs did not voluntarily give up, since a civil strife usually aroused rage at the

heart of men (3.40.4). Gaius Claudius’ posture illustrates Livy’s use of some

elements extracted from that tradition favorable to the Claudii, depicting them as

“wise conservative” men, that is, a patrician house that expressed the pride of its

origins and the promotion of its own interests insofar as they caused no harm to the

welfare of the state (WISEMAN, 2003, p. 103). Gaius Claudius’ fears sound like a

prediction, though not a precise one, about the fall of the Decemvirate; it is an

example of prudent attitude that should have been extracted from the pro-Claudian

tradition Wiseman indicated to us.

Livy also mentioned that the brother of the decemvir Marcus Cornelius, the

former consul Lucius Cornelius Maluginensis, started to deliver a speech. Firstly, he

reminded the senators that those who declared their opposition against the Board at

the time were the same men who had yearned for the office once before (3.40.9).

Secondly, Maluginensis criticized the Romans that were, according to him, sowing

the dissension by questioning the authority of the Decemvirate in such a fragile

23 Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius stressed this view again at 3.41.1, when they spoke out for the second time in the debate. They argued that “neither could private citizens prevent them [from using their voices], whether in the senate-house or in an assembly, nor would they yield to the emblems of a fictitious authority (imaginariis fascibus),” that is, the rods and the axes carried by the lictors. Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius stressed this view again at 3.41.1, when they spoke out for the second time in the debate. They argued that “neither could private citizens prevent them [from using their voices], whether in the senate-house or in an assembly, nor would they yield to the emblems of a fictitious authority (imaginariis fascibus),” that is, the rods and the axes carried by the lictors.

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moment, that is, when the foes were coming closer to the gates of the City

(3.40.10)24. It is, evidently, a posture based on the metus hostilis perspective.

On the charge of illegality that Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius postulated

at 3.39.8, Maluginensis stated that all the Romans should concentrate mainly on the

war against the Sabines and the Aequi and, as soon as peace had been restored in the

City, Appius Claudius should finally explain to the people whether he and his

colleagues had been elected for one year only or until the comitia enacted the last two

tables of laws (3.40.11-12). The historian subtly raises some doubt about the Second

Decemvirate’s term of office at 3.37.4, a passage where he informs his readers that

the missing laws had already been created but the magistrates had not called upon the

centuriate comitia to pass them. It is suggested, then, that the decemvirs had

maneuvered the delay of the passing of the statutes in order to legitimate their

holding of the supreme power beyond the one-year tenure of the office.25

In this sense, Livy’s account of the Second Decemvirate has, as Ungern-

Sternberg (2005, p. 86) advocated, a close resemblance to the Triumvirate formed by

Octavian, Mark Antony and Lepidus at the end of the Republic.26 In both cases, an

extraordinary office – created for the purpose of reorganizing the state – was

extended for an indeterminate period of time, under the allegation that the magistrates

had not yet fulfilled their duties when the office reached its term. Technically,

priority was given to the proposed goals of the magistracy over its time limit. So the

legal controversy surrounding the triumvirs’ term of office would have shed a new

light on the story of the fifth-century Decemvirate, as the tradition transmitted by

Livy shows. Therefore, I suggest that the historian dealt with, as far as book 3

denotes, crucial issues regarding the socio-political changes occurred in the last years

of the Roman Republic, namely the formation of the Triumvirate and its

development. Thereby, Livy did not focus only on the figure of Octavian/Augustus,

24 It is interesting to note that all the decemvirs, including Appius, did not play an active role in the debate which took place in the Curia. I suggest that the divergences of opinion within the senators reproduce, in small-scale, the dissonance which perpassed the civic body as a whole. 25 This impression will be confirmed at 3.51.13, a passage where the decemvirs asserted that they could not be deprived of their office “(…) until after the enactment of the laws which had been the reason of their appointment,” despite of all misfortunes that had fallen upon the state under their rule. 26 In October 43, Octavian, Mark Antony and Lepidus agreed, in a meeting near Bononia (modern Bologna), that a new office would be created for them by decree of the popular assembly, and they would hold this office for a period of five years as triumviri rei publicae constituendae. At the end of the following month, the three men pressured for the legalization of their agreement, something they obtained with the Titian Law. Nevertheless, during the tenure of their office, the war against the assassins of Julius Caesar, the disputes among the triumvirs, and the fight against Sextus Pompeius all contributed to obstruct the alleged reorganization of the state – if that had been really planned. Then, the triumvirs held the power even after the term of the office (on December 31, 38), and only in the fall of 37 was the magistracy extended for another five years by the Treaty of Tarentum.

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whose social standing, it should be emphasized, had not been entirely (re)defined

even in the years immediately after the Battle of Actium.

In sum, it is difficult to understand a Roman historian and his work without

taking into consideration the universe where he lived. Following the theory

postulated by Jameson (1992, p. 73-74), I would say that Livy’s text, as a symbolic

act, approaches the “real” world where it was brought about, confronting the inherent

inconsistencies in that world in order to appropriate them and impose on them its own

form. In so doing, Livy assessed the whole social context he belonged to and

transformed it, that is, his narrative could be seen as an attempt to design symbolic

solutions to political and social dilemmas he came across in the real world. In other

words, the third book of Livy’s History comprises a discourse on the complexities of

power and ruling of Rome, a discourse which was connected with the moment when

the text was written.

Consequently, from the clash between the rule of law, which was the central

pillar of the Republican libertas, and the rise of political leaders endowed with ample

prerogatives in the Roman society, I propose that the episode of the decemvirs in

Livian narrative expresses a bitter denunciation of an unrestricted power in the hands

of few men, since the resulting overwhelming social position of these men allowed

them to ignore the lawful term of the office they had entered upon. For this reason,

the example of Appius Claudius and his peers indicates that legal statutes per se were

not enough to enforce Roman citizens to strictly obey them. Livy was at pains to

solve that problem in a moralizing way and it is possible to conclude that, in his point

of view, only a virtuous conduct on the part of the citizens would secure the

enforcement of the law. Subsequently, only a moderate magistrate would act fairly

and promote internal harmony in the City.27

27 This idea clarifies the posture of the eldest senators who assumed that, in case the decemvirs renunciated their wicked agreement, “the moderation of the consuls in the exercise of their power” should bring the plebs to forget their tribunes (3.41.6). In this way, Livy indirectly underlined how ineffective Gaius Terentilius’ proposal of a law limitating consular power would be, as we can read at 3.9.5, since the vices of a magistrate make the customs and the rules of the state largely meaningless.

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5 The drama of Verginia

The murder of Lucius Siccius

Considering the narrative of book 3 as a whole, we can easily notice that the

introduction of a female character, Verginia, is essential to ruin the Second

Decemvirate. However, an ignominious act ordered by the ten tyrants, the

assassination of a soldier named Lucius Siccius, antedates the episode involving the

above-mentioned young maiden. Livy presented both with a sharp tongue: “to the

disaster suffered at the hands of the enemy the decemvirs added two shameful crimes,

one committed in the field, the other at home” (3.43.1).

Described as a plebeian whose courage was equal to his strength (3.43.4),

Siccius1 was killed during the military campaign against the Sabines. Quintus Fabius

Vibulanus, Manius Rabuleius and Quintus Poetelius were the commanders of the

expedition and, in consequence, the ones responsible for the crime. Siccius’ murder

illuminates the fragile situation of Rome at that moment, when “the business of the

nation was managed no better in the field than at home” (3.42.1). Livy was alluding

here to the fact that the rule of the decemvirs resulted in disaster within and outside

the City; in short, political disagreement was followed by military defeats to the

Sabines near Eretum and the Aequi on Algidus (3.42.3).

Nonetheless, it should be emphasized that the historian did not attribute the

setback suffered by Rome only to the command of the decemvirs:

The only fault of the generals was that they had made the citizens detest them; the rest of the blame belonged to the soldiers, who, given that nothing might anywhere prosper under the command and auspices of the decemvirs, permitted themselves to be beaten, to their own disgrace and that of their commanders (3.42.2, our emphasis).

So it seems that Livy took into consideration the collective responsibility of a

group and its role on the course of events, for he thought the Roman soldiers also

caused disgrace in the battlefield. In turn, the decemvirs’ inability to command the

troops contrasted with the devotion showed by the other patricians to the res publica.

1 Ranouil (1975, p. 90) attested that the Siccii had Etruscan origins. According to him, one of the consuls in 487, Titus Sicinius, would have belonged to a patrician branch of the gens that had vanished in an unknown date.

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When the alarming reports about the failure came to the City, the patricians

undertook several measures in order to protect Rome, despite their hatred of the

Board of ten men (3.42.6-7).

In this sense, Livy also looked disapprovingly at the behavior of the plebeian

soldiers. They neglected their fundamental duty, namely the defense of their

community, because their aversion to the decemvirs was such that it could not but

result in the victory of the enemies over the Roman army. For this reason I think that

Livy implicitly repudiated the actions of Lucius Siccius, for the latter, taking

advantage of the general dislike towards the Decemvirate, tried to stimulate, in secret

conversations, his brothers-in-arms to elect tribunes of the plebs and promote

secession (3.43.2).

Siccius’ attitude aroused anger at the heart of his commanders, who set a trap

for him. They sent Siccius to search for a place where the army could encamp and

instructed those who would join him in the task to kill him at an opportune moment

(3.43.3). And so it was done. When the soldiers, with the exception of Siccius and

some others, returned to the camp, they reported that their foes had set an ambush for

them and, in consequence, Siccius and the others had perished (3.45.5). However, the

truth soon began to surface. Throughout the camp the spirits were ablaze with

indignation and it was decided that the corpse should be carried to Rome. The

decemvirs hurried to prevent that from happening, so they gave Siccius a military

funeral at the public cost (3.43.7).

In these terms, Siccius’ death allowed Livy to clearly point out the crudelitas

of the decemvirs. As the most salient feature of the archetypical tyrant in the Greco-

Roman thought, the arbitrariness and the lack of mercy on the part of a ruler become

evident with the elimination of an opponent to the regime (DUNKLE, 1967, p. 168).

Moreover, Livy’s account of Siccius’ murder raises other interesting aspects.

Firstly, I wish to call attention to the brevity of the account. Although Livy asserted at

3.43.1 that both Siccius and Verginia were victims of the Decemvirate’s wickedness,

the historian narrated the former’s misfortune only in chapter 43, whereas the fate of

Verginia will be reported in five long chapters (44-48). But it is not so hard to explain

this huge difference: the assassination of the soldier only amplified the awful

reputation of the decemvirs at camp (3.43.7), whereas Verginia’s sacrifice would

mobilize all the citizens and galvanize them into action against the ten tyrants.

Therefore, I conclude that the short chapter referring to Siccius was designed, in the

narrative structure of book 3, to perform the function of complement to or, above all,

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to introduce the most dramatic and relevant episode, that is, the trial and death of

Verginia.

Secondly, Appius Claudius is completely absent in the chapter on Siccius. As

we have seen before, the murder of the latter was planned out by the decemvirs who

were in charge of the campaign in the Sabine country. Nonetheless, the absence of

Appius at the front could be understood as a sign of lack of virtus on his part, since he

did not command the army in the field.2 To the extent that manly qualities such as

courage led the Roman noblemen to distinguish themselves from their peers,

especially at war abroad (NICOLET, 1964, p. 22), the defeat in the battles against the

Sabines and the Aequi, as well as the fact that Appius stayed at home, denotes the

indignitas that permeated all the ten men.

Finally, a third issue arises. The episodes centered on Lucius Siccius and

Verginia allowed Livy to deal with the idea of Roman liberty from two different but

interconnected levels. Siccius represents the citizen-soldier who, being under arms,

had to defend the freedom of Rome before its external foes, that is, he had to fight for

securing the political autonomy of the community where he lived. However, in a

situation of war where the liberty of his homeland was at stake, a Roman soldier

would lose his own freedom as an individual, because his life was being endangered

by foreign enemies and, at the same time, he was completely unprotected against the

will of his commander, whose absolute imperium was subject to no appeal outside the

City (GRIMAL, 1989, p. 57). Hence Siccius’ assassination, though morally

unacceptable, could not be defined as an unlawful act3 and, therefore, it had no

significant consequences. In turn, inside the City, the rights of every citizen should be

secured by legal instruments designed to, among other things, limit the power of a

magistrate. The trial of Verginia illustrates how this dimension of Roman liberty

could be harmed, as will be demonstrated below.

2 But we cannot forget that Livy informed at 3.41.8 that Appius was absorbed in another sort of conflict: “The war at home seemed more important than that abroad. The violence of Appius was, they thought, more adapted to quell disturbances in the City (...).” 3 Except if we consider that the decemvirs were ruling the Roman state in a tyrannical and, therefore, illegal way.

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Verginia’s freedom and Appius Claudius’ libido: the body as a space

“Once more, a dead woman became a political symbol” (DIXON, 2001, p. 47,

our emphasis). That is what S. Dixon asserted in reference to Verginia’s sacrifice,

comparing it with Lucretia’s suicide (1.57-59) in the midst of Livy’s first pentad. But

even the historian explained, in his own words, the similarities between both women:

This outrage [i.e., the murder of Lucius Siccius] was followed by another, committed in Rome, which was inspired by lust and was no less shocking in its consequences than that which had led, through the rape and death of Lucretia, to the expulsion of the Tarquinii from the City and from their throne; thus not only did the same end befall the decemvirs as had befallen the kings, but the same cause deprived them of their power (3.44.1).

Thereby Livy tracked down the causes of the fall of the Decemvirate. Hence a

parallel was drawn between the last Roman king and the decemvirs,4 as both had a

similar end. Not to mention that the stories are based on the same elements, that is,

lust, sexual assault and the death of a female victim. Thereupon the historian said that

Appius Claudius was “seized with the desire to violate (stuprandae libido cepit) a

certain maiden belonging to the plebs,” whose father, named Lucius Verginius, “a

centurion of rank, was serving on Algidus, a man of exemplary life at home and in

the army” (vir exempli recti domi militiaeque) (3.44.2). Although the young woman

remained yet unnamed, Livy underlined the virtues of her family, as the brief

description of her father illuminates. She has represented, together with the

aforementioned Lucretia, an essential figure amid the legends about the liberty of the

Roman people in the Republican era (GRIMAL, 1989, p. 23).

Moreover, Livy added another trait to his chilling portrayal of Appius, that is,

the emergence of libido. One has to understand it as a clear manifestation of a tyrant,

seeing that lust leads the ruler to impose his own whims on those governed by him.

Dunkle (1967, p. 168-169) advocated that the ancient Romans thought of libido in

two ways. Firstly, it has found expression in those personal caprices of a wicked man.

In this sense, the volatile nature of libido threatened the well-being of a community

based on the rule of law, as the Romans saw themselves. Given that by law I mean a 4 The historian had already established such a comparison at 3.39.3, where we read that Marcus Horatius Barbatus defined the decemvirs as “ten Tarquinii.” Livy linked the story of the Second Decemvirate with the tyranny of the Tarquinii, who had been expelled from the City at the end of the sixth century, according to the tradition. In this way, his contemporaries could comprehend the government of Appius and his colleagues by comparing them with the utmost model of Roman tyrants and, in so doing, they could also foresee the fate of the ten men before Livy reached this point in the narrative.

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series of objective and general statutes accepted within a particular society, a Roman

citizen subjected to the whims of a ruler would no longer live in a res publica. On the

other hand, libido has been associated, strictly speaking, with the notions of desire or

lust, whereby an attempt to force somebody to have sex symbolizes the typical

immorality of a tyrant as a corrupted man.

So, it is possible to aver that Livy introduced two more points to his picture of

the social and political catastrophe of the City caused by the Second Decemvirate:

male excess and its counterpart, female chastity and the consequent attempt to violate

that (JOSHEL, 1992, p. 117). As far as the former aspect is concerned, the historian

had a harsh word on it, since those unable to control their own desires should never

get involved in the public affairs (EDWARDS, 1996a, p. 26). In turn, Livy’s

viewpoint on chastity betrays a dualistic assessment of the female body; in other

words, all that matters is the chaste or deflowered status of a woman. Therefore, the

episode will be anchored in Verginia’s pudicitia (chastity).

Then the double meaning of libido in the midst of the pages of book 3, as

synthesized by Appius – the strong sexual desire and the lust for an unlimited power

– could only be fully achieved through a tyrannical rule. In this case, both meanings

are delineated by Livy as passions that run a man to illegally dominate either a

fellow-citizen or the whole community.

That is why the excesses on the part of the historical characters, consumed with

strong feelings, could interfere in the course of events. Livy unveiled such a

perspective exactly at 3.44.1, a passage where it is written that the rule of the

decemvirs ended by virtue of the consequences of a fact provoked by lust. For this

reason, the techniques used by Livy in order to highlight the emotions his characters

would have expressed shall not be taken as a mere rhetorical device borrowed from

Greek “tragic” historians (ULLMAN, 1942).5 As Ducos (1987, p. 139) rightly

concluded, the behavior of some characters, as well as the emotions they felt in a

given circumstance, play an important part in determining their role in Livy’s

narrative. In this sense, the example of Appius is very instructive.

5 This kind of “tragic” historiography has been based on, among other things, the concept of enargeia. The latter had been designed to describe, in the Greek literary universe, “how language creates a vivid, visual presence, bringing the event described, and all the emotions that attend its perception, ‘before the reader’s eyes’” (WALKER, 1993, p. 353). Nevertheless, Feldherr (1998, p. 166) stressed that the adoption of techniques extracted from “tragic” historians on Livy’s part by no means implied that the historian wanted his audience to come to see his History as a dramatic spectacle. I would like to suggest that this use of tragic colors in the composition of some specific episodes resulted from the relevance Livy attributed to them, in accordance with the aims he aspired to achieve by writing down the history of the City from its beginnings. Besides, the alternation between tragic, detailed episodes and jejune ones clarifies the use of variatio, a tool commonly shared by classical historians.

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Back to Livian text, it is possible to note that the historian introduced, little by

little, the main characters of the episode he was about to give his account of. He

described each of them in a short manner, as if signaling their place in the story to his

audience. I have mentioned above the first two figures indicated by Livy, that is,

Appius Claudius, with his uncontrolled desire for the unnamed plebeian girl, and the

latter’s father, who was fighting the Aequi, so that he was absent from the City in that

moment (3.44.2). In the sequence, Livy introduced the maiden’s fiancé, the former

tribune of the plebs Lucius Icilius, a man proverbial for his courage (viro acri)6 in the

cause of the plebeians (3.44.3). Finally, something is mentioned about Verginius’

daughter, characterized by the historian as:

(...) a grown girl, remarkably beautiful,7 and Appius, crazed with love, attempted to seduce her with money and promises. But finding that her modesty (pudore)8 was proof against everything, he resolved on a course of cruel and tyrannical violence (3.44.4).

Afterwards Livy referred to a client of Appius, Marcus Claudius, who claimed

the young maiden as his slave under the orders of his patron, for Appius imagined

that the absence of Verginius afforded him a chance to outrageously possess the girl

(3.44.5).9 Here, Livy was handling an important juridical institution to Roman civic

life, the paternal power (patria potestas). It is Verginius’ power over his familia, as a

pater, what Appius basically disregarded by commissioning his client to commit

perjury,10 since the girl’s father was abroad and, therefore, could not immediately

6 This epithet – vir acer – according to SANTORO L’HOIR (1990, pp. 227-229), belongs to the lexicon of the struggle between the factiones at the end of the Republic. Apart from its usage expressing the bravery or the courage of a man, acer has also been taken to mean the use of brute force, if necessary (for instance, in revenge for a crime). Thus, insofar as Verginius had betrothed his daughter to Lucius Icilius, Livy saw it fit to define the latter as acer, since Icilius would present himself, in the sequence of the narrative, as the defender of the girl’s freedom, the vindex libertatis (3.45.11). 7 The study of the importance of some women in Livy’s work led SMETHURST (1950, p. 83) to point out that they “may even cause trouble unintentionally, since [their] fateful gift of beauty can induce a man to neglect his most solemn duty, devotion to the state.” Likewise, Joshel (1992, p. 120) asserted that in the first pentad a young maiden’s beauty corresponded to an element of male instability in a context which she caused a very precise effect, the awakening of lust in a powerful man. Nonetheless, it is important to note that Appius’ desire to take Verginia is akin to his lust for power earlier displayed in the text – and they both unveil the wicked nature of the decemvir. 8 In fact, the Latin word pudor means modesty, as far as it is connected with the idea of chastity. Given that Livy saw female body/sexuality from a dualistic perspective (to be chaste or not to be), pudicitia emerges as the main virtue on the part of a Roman woman, like its male counterpart, moderatio, in book 3. 9 Apparently, the client will give her to his patron Appius. The unfair treatment of a client unveils another topos, usually associated with the inborn arrogance of the Claudii in the midst of Roman historiographical tradition (WISEMAN, 2003, p. 81). In turn, as a member of the Claudian gens, the client Marcus may amplify the evil nature of his powerful patron. 10 Livy made clear how fictitious Marcus Claudius’ claims were when Verginius’ daughter’s trial was about to start: “the plaintiff acted out a fiction (fabulam) familiar to the judge, since it was he and no other who had

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contest Marcus Claudius’ claim. So, the young maiden was left to her huge

vulnerability in face of the decemvir’s trick, because even her mother had already

passed away, as reported at 3.50.8. Furthermore, it is possible to see, from this

episode, how military service could mean a ruinous burden on a Roman citizen

(FANTHAM, 2005, p. 218).

As the girl entered the Forum on her way to school the client at the service of

the decemvir’s lust laid his hand (manus iniecit)11 upon her. He declared that she had

been born to one of his female slaves so that she, likewise, belonged to him.12 Then

he commanded her to follow him, threatening her in case she hesitated (3.44.6).

“Terror made the maiden speechless, but the cries of her nurse imploring help of the

Quirites13 quickly brought a crowd about them” (3.44.7). Though the names of her

father and her fiancé were well known, all the people agreed that she needed help,

regardless of her family ties, for the multitude had been influenced by such an affront

(indignitas) to the girl. So she was already in safety when Marcus Claudius protested

that “he was proceeding lawfully, not by force,” so that the crowd had no reason to

become excited (3.44.7-8). Then he drove the young maiden to court.

Fantham (2005, p. 217) pointed out that the aforementioned passage reveals

Livy’s use of some details common to Roman comedy, like the villain who does not

have much success in seducing his fragile object of desire and, subsequently, plots

something to achieve that; the presence of a client under the orders of the wrongdoer;

as well as the fact that the story is performed on the Forum, at the heart of the City.

Finally, we have a nurse whose despair attracts the attention of a lot of people.

Furthermore, the identification of the girl under the name of Verginia should be

emphasized (3.46.8), since earlier versions of the story had named neither the woman

nor the tyrant who tries to debauch her. In this way, it is interesting to take a look at

Cicero’s On the Republic, a work written in the late fifties. There we will find a

passage in which Cicero attests that the people rose in revolt against the cruelty and

the injustice of the Decemvirate. The orator went on saying that invented the plot” (3.44.9). Note Livy’s usage of the noun fabula, indicating to his readers that they should not give much credence to such a story. 11 One of the ritual procedures to bring about a legal action (legis actio) at the time of the Law of the XII Tables (see Leg. XII Tab. III.2), the manus iniectio – to lay hand, that is, to take possession of something – concerns with the act, on the part of a creditor or a master, of seizing a possible debtor or slave and driving him before the tribunal of a competent magistrate. 12 The status of a slave in ancient Rome was permanent, except (obviously) in case of manumission. In other words, even if he/she came to be abandoned or, for any reason, momentarily escaped from his/her master’s power, he/she still remained as a slave under the dominica potestas of his/her master (MARKY, 1995, p. 31). That is why Marcus Claudius could legally claim Verginia as his slave. 13 The matron who accompanied her had, then, invoked the ritual of quiritatio, defined by Lintott (1999 apud FANTHAM, 2005, p. 217, n. 25) as “an emergency appeal against present violence.”

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the story of Decimus Verginius is of course well known, being recorded in many of the greatest works of our literature (celebrata monumentis plurimis litterarum): how, after killing his virgin daughter with his own hand in the Forum on account of the mad lust of one of these decemvirs (…) (Rep. 2.37.63).

As has been mentioned before, Wiseman (2003) advocated that Valerius Antias

was to be accounted for molding the negative historiographical version about the

Claudii, as the Livian portrayal of Appius Claudius, the decemvir would illustrate.

Given that Cicero did not name either Verginius’s daughter or the decemvir, one is

tempted to recognize Valerius Antias as the author who identified the girl and the

tyrant as Verginia and Appius, respectively, since the historian from Antium

composed his books in the forties, that is, a little after the publication of Cicero’s On

the Republic in 51.14 Apart from all that, if we only take Livy’s text into

consideration, it comes as no surprise to identify Appius as the unknown lustful

decemvir that Cicero had earlier reported, because Appius figures as the tyrant per

excellence in the narrative structure of book 3. Besides, the indication of the villain’s

name amplifies the relevance of the episode in the eyes of the readers, since they

came to know exactly who he was. In turn, Verginia would result from a

hypostatization of virgo (virgin), and the father’s nomen would be, in consequence,

derived from the name of the daughter (VASALY, 1987, p. 214, n. 30).15

At the trial, Marcus Claudius testified that the girl had been born in his house.

Thence, said the claimant, she had been taken away and carried to Verginius’ house,

who had raised her as if she were his own daughter. Marcus also asserted that “he had

clear evidence (indicio compertum) for what he said,” so that “it was right that the

hand-maid (ancillam) should follow her master (dominum)” (3.44.9-10). But the

young maiden’s friends hotly contested Marcus’ arguments; they registered their

dissatisfaction with the case, and emphasized how iniquitous it was to involve a man

in litigation about his progeny when he was absent from the City (3.44.11). For this

reason, 14 Wiseman (2003, p. 107) acknowledged that Cicero’s unnamed characters at Rep. 2.37.63 may express a great caution on the part of the author in face of contemporary politics. Perhaps Cicero did not wish to offend an influential man like Appius Claudius, who held consulship in 54, for his own brother aimed at reaching the same office in that moment. Nonetheless, this kind of argumentum ex silentio did not convince Wiseman, since the variation on the prenomen of the girl’s father – Decimus, according to Cicero and Lucius, as mentioned by Livy – would be a sign that no one had come up with a definitive version of the story at the time of composition of Cicero’s On the Republic. 15 This process of hypostatization reflects a widespread practice among Roman annalists, the invention of suitable names for historical characters (WISEMAN, 2003, p. 91). A figure like Marcus Volscius Fictor illustrates this idea well. For such, see above, Chapter 3, p. 58.

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[they] requested Appius to leave the case open until the father arrived, and in accordance with the law he himself had proposed, they requested him to grant custody of the girl to the defendants (vindicias secundum libertatem), aiming that a grown maiden’s honor was not jeopardized before her freedom should be adjudicated (3.44.12).

Considering all the small details of the episode, it seems appropriate to explain

some of the juridical aspects of the case, since they permeate Livy’s narrative. The

old Roman civil law (ius civile Quiritium) recognized that a slave could be released

from his/her master’s potestas by way of an act known as manumissio vindicta. Then,

the liberation of a slave would be granted through a plea for his/her freedom, that is,

the vindicatio in libertatem and this should be done before a magistrate. However,

there was also a kind of plea for the enslavement of someone who had been born free,

the vindicatio in servitutem (WATSON, 1975, p. 96). In this way, the status libertatis

of a Roman citizen might be called into question.

So the parties involved in this legal action were, on the one side, the master

who owned the slave and, on the other, the adsertor libertatis (the defender of

liberty), that is, any Roman citizen who had full legal capacity to advocate the

granting of liberty to that slave. If the master did not contest the plea made by the

adsertor for his slave, that slave would be free. Then, to proceed with the manumissio

vindicta, it was necessary, among other things, that the adsertor touched the slave by

a stick, or a vindicta (MARKY, 1995, p. 31).

Nonetheless, Verginia’s case was quite the opposite. In this regard, the trick

invented by Appius and played by his client was founded on the legal action of

vindicatio in servitutem,16 while those who interceded with Appius on behalf of the

girl’s father should be properly seen as Verginia’s adsertores or vindices.

Appius, in the sequence, issued his decree, defined by Livy as an unjust one

(3.45.4). Although he ordered that Lucius Verginius should be summoned, he

asserted that the claimant should not relinquish his right, so that the young maiden

should be in Marcus Claudius’ custody until the coming of the man who was thought

to be her father (3.45.2-3). Bayet (1954, p. 135) stressed that the trial of Verginia, as

can be read in Livy’s text, stands as a literary model of causa liberalis, the legal

dispute over a person’s freedom. Nevertheless, Watson (1975, p. 168) postulated that

Appius’ decision based on vindiciae secundum servitutem – that is, to have Verginia

16 Noailles (1948 apud MOMIGLIANO, 1951, p. 148) believed that the writings of Livy about Verginia’s trial were based on a reinterpretation of an earlier and much more simple tale, written by a later Roman jurist for didactic purposes. In turn, Briscoe (1971, p. 12) presumed that Livy’s account contained an anachronism, insofar as some legal institutions later created would have been transposed to archaic Rome.

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under Marcus’ control – would have been absurd and that it openly contradicted the

principles of Roman law, for it deprived a Roman of his/her freedom before the case

had been duly sentenced.

Strictly speaking, Watson’s statement is correct. But he took the fact that

Verginia had been born free for granted and, therefore, she had never been a slave or

whatsoever. This causes no surprise, since the historian reported at 3.44.9 that

nothing was genuine in a case wholly derived from a plot made by the lustful Appius.

In short, the claims of Marcus Claudius do not deceive Livy’s readers, who were well

aware of the false nature of the accusations; though the same is not true to the

characters in the narrative. Given that Lucius Verginius was away from Rome, no one

could know for sure if Marcus’ allegations were fictitious, corresponding to a fabula.

Hence Appius delivered a lawful verdict, for he could not allow Verginia to recover

her freedom if she were indeed the daughter of a woman under Marcus’ dominica

potestas. In this sense, there is no liberty to be recovered. Thus, Appius’ client apart,

only Lucius Verginius would have the right to keep the girl, insofar as he was the one

who she called as father. But, as a soldier, he was abroad fighting the enemies of the

Roman people, as previously mentioned. So no one other than the client of the judge

should take the young maiden in charge. If another man present at the trial did so,

they would be exercising an illegal power over her.

For this reason, Appius declared that his decision proceeded from the law and

favored liberty, arguing that “the law would afford liberty a sure protection only if it

varied neither with causes nor with persons” (3.45.2). So the decemvir cunningly

took advantage of the inflexibility of the law, carrying it out to the letter without

considering how unfair it was to grant the custody of Verginia to the plaintiff in the

absence of her father. In effect, it demonstrates that the laws per se were not enough

to protect the Roman people, not to mention that the main purpose of the codification

of the statutes – that is, the harmony of the state, according to Livy’s viewpoint on

the issue, as showed at 3.31.7 – could not be achieved, paradoxically, by the

application of law (BAYET, 1954, p. 145).

It seems that the historian worked on that infamous decision aiming at

amplifying its dramatic tones. In this regard, maybe Livy even altered the “original”

meaning of the story about Verginia by adding to it a range of rhetorical and political

issues, above all the necessity of a virtuous conduct on the part of those who assumed

power, following the dictates of justice and the risks inherent in the creation of a

magistracy subject to no appeal, as had been the case of the Decemvirate (NICOLET,

1964, p. 38).

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Lastly, I cannot proceed without saying that, when Marcus Claudius had

Verginia in custody, his patron would finally have the opportunity to deflower her,

for a Roman slave had, regardless of gender, no control over his/her own body, so

that he/she could not refuse to obey the commands of his/her master (DIXON, 2001,

p. 50). There lies the serious threat to Lucius Verginius’ patria potestas.

That is why the intervention of Publius Numitorius, the young maiden’s great-

uncle and, especially, that of Icilius are so significant in the narrative (3.45.4).

Protesting against Appius’ verdict, the former tribune of the plebs asserted that

even a man of placid nature would have been incensed by so violent an insult. “You must use iron to rid yourself of me, Appius,” he cried, “that you may carry through in silence what you desire should be concealed. This maiden I am going to wed; and I intend that my bride shall be chaste. So call together all your colleagues’ lictors too; bid them make ready rods and axes: the promised wife of Icilius shall not pass the night outside her father’s house. No! If you have taken from the Roman plebs the assistance of the tribunes and the right of appeal, two citadels for the defence of liberty, it has not therefore been granted to your lust to lord it over our children and our wives as well! Vent your rage upon our backs and our necks: let our chastity at least be safe. If that shall be assailed, I will call on the Quirites here present to protect my bride, Verginius will invoke the help of the soldiers in behalf of his only daughter, and all of us will implore the protection of gods and men; nor shall you ever repeat that decree of yours without shedding our blood. I ask you, Appius, to consider earnestly whither you are going. Let Verginius decide what to do about his daughter, when he comes (…). As for me, in defence of the freedom of my bride I will sooner die than prove disloyal” (3.45.6-11).17

At first, it is easy to identify that some expressions uttered by Icilius in

resisting the orders of the judge, like the “defence of the freedom [of his bride]” or

the mention to the “two citadels for the defence of liberty,” echoed the political

vocabulary commonly used at the end of the Republic and, in this sense, they might

be understood by Livy’s audience as a shout for Rome’s liberty as a whole

(WIRSZUBSKI, 1960, p. 103; SYME, 1960, p. 469). This particular meaning is

indeed reinforced all over the episode, because the defensores who arrived on the

tribunal of Appius to protect Verginia, namely her fiancé Icilius and her father

Verginius, as well as patricians like Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius, who

would defy the decemvirs after the sacrifice of the girl, would all be properly

portrayed as the defenders of the liberty of the Roman people, when the plebs chose

to secede from the City (VASALY, 1987, p. 221).

17 Those passages Livy considered as the most relevant of the text would be indicated to his audience through lively direct speeches (LIPOVSKI, 1981, p. 14).

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Moreover, Icilius’ speech denotes the complexity of Livy’s account about

Verginia’s trail, marked by what Joshel (1992, p. 123) brilliantly defined as “logic of

bodies.” It is possible to see that when Icilius pleaded with Appius to substitute

female for male bodies as the object of the decemvir’s violence.18 Thereby, the libido

of Appius, turned to wives and daughters – as the figure of Verginia exemplifies –

would be transformed in harm inflicted on husbands and fathers.

But why would it be so important to keep Verginia’s chastity in safety? Above

all, because it would maintain Verginius’ and Icilius’ integrity intact respectively,

insofar as her chastity was meant to fix the limits of her father’s potestas and her

fiancé’s later manus over her. In this case, in Livian narrative the body of a woman

emerged as a space which men would fight to take possess of or, on the contrary, to

preserve. Verginia assumed an identity in the text only as the daughter of Verginius,

the fiancée of Icilius or even the girl who Appius intended to rape, but not by herself,

in such a way that the historian literally referred to her as a place within her father’s

house.19 Her chastity was equaled to an impenetrable locus to anyone, since sexual

intercourse would imprint an indelible stain on a free woman as someone under the

power of a man. Therefore, Appius’ desire to debauch Verginia meant an attempt to

violate a place that could not be trespassed (JOSHEL, 1992, p. 122). Besides, such an

attempt represents a sign of the subjugation of res publica to the sexual needs of the

decemvir, as Feldherr (1998, p. 207) suggested, so that it testified to the gross

negligence, on Appius’ part, in devoting himself to the welfare of the state.

Consequently, it was left for Icilius to defend his bride’s freedom, even at risk

of dying (3.45.11). The inviolability of the girl’s body, of this “place”, encouraged

his attitude. But the link between chastity and liberty is not restricted to Verginia

herself. She also figured in the narrative as a metonymy of the liberty of the plebs. In

short, “the purity of a woman’s [i.e., Verginia’s] body could thus be a sign for the

purity, safety or political autonomy of the group,” as Dixon (2001, p. 47) stated.20

18 Observe this idea at 3.45.9: “Vent your rage upon our backs and our necks: let our chastity at least be safe.” In turn, this sentence clarified, once again, the tyranny of the Second Decemvirate, given that Icilius acknowledged that the plebeians had been physically subdued by Appius and his peers and, in this sense, they had been enslaved, because they had lost the control over their own bodies. The death of Lucius Siccius may also be understood from the same perspective. Furthermore, every Roman citizen was taken as a “legal entity” that could not be, in consequence, harmed. Every single act that had supressed or maimed such an entity has constituted a crime against liberty (GRIMAL, 1989, p. 20). 19 See the comments of Livy after the maiden’s sacrifice: “for the lust of Appius there was now no longer in his [i.e., Verginius’] house any scope” (3.50.9). 20 In a work about the role of the Vestal Virgins in ancient Rome, Parker (2004) suggested that the image of the untouched body of a Vestal woman would mean a metonymy for the autonomy of the City, based on the idea that those women would embody the Roman state in such a way that their purity would symbolize the

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Those passions that led Appius to take the young maiden equate the attempt to

debauch her and the trial over her legal status. By using this device, Livy alluded to

the equation of liberty of a person – Verginia – with liberty of the Roman people

(VASALY, 1987, p. 220)21. So,

If then the libertas of a Roman is conditioned by his civitas, the amount of freedom a Roman citizen possesses depends upon the entire political structure of the Roman State. In Rome – as elsewhere – freedom of the citizen and internal freedom of the State are in fact only different aspects of the same thing (WIRSZUBSKI, 1960, p. 4).

Since the freedom of the Romans was jeopardized by the personal caprices of

those in power, they no longer lived in a Republic. That is the perspective upon

which the speech of Icilius was based. Finally, the challenge made to Appius by the

former tribune of the plebs to command the lictors to prepare their rods and axes

(3.45.7), that is, the symbols of the state’s power and authority, did not only represent

a clear evidence of the decemvirs’ tyranny, but it also constituted an “imagined scene

of the symbols of Roman libertas being directed against the bodies of individual

Roman citizens fighting for their wives and daughters (...)” (FELDHERR, 1998, pp.

208-209).

What would the reactions of the hearers be when faced with Icilius’ harsh

utterance? Livy informed that the crowd was truly moved (concitata multitudo),

whereas the lictors surrounded Icilius, but they only threatened him, because Appius

started to speak (3.46.1). Unlike Verginia’s fiancé’s speech, the historian used

indirect discourse to have the judge refuting Icilius’ words.22

Thus Appius tried to play down the accusations Icilius had made against him,

declaring that the girl’s defender was “a turbulent fellow, who even now breathed the

spirit of the tribunate, seeking an opportunity to stir up strife” (3.46.2). Once again, it

is possible to observe in the narrative the usage of a Late Republican political

vocabulary. The above-mentioned sentence brings to mind the practice usually

ascribed to the populares by those linked to the optimates after the Gracchan era: by

inviolability of Rome’s borders. It seems to me that Verginia, as delineated by Livy, echoes that point of view. 21 As Joshel (1992, p. 117) said, those political changes the historian dealt with in the episode are centered around the notion of pudicitia, since an innocent girl had to be sacrificed for the preservation of both the female and the civic body, while the uncontrolled desire of a man resulted, in the end, in his own moral and/or physical destruction. 22 Another example of the usage of variatio in Livy’s narrative. The alternation between direct and indirect discourse, the allusion to the excitement showed by the crowd, and the arrogance of Appius resulted in a vivid and impressive scene.

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minimizing Icilius’ attitude for the sake of the girl to whom the ex-tribune was

engaged to be married, describing it as a pretext for fomenting a revolt,23 Appius’

posture revealed a conservative notion of liberty usually advocated by the optimate

factio, that is, the maintenance of social order in face of any attempt to break it down

(SIMÓN; POLO, 2000, p. 279). In other words, liberty here meant the preservation of

the status quo.

In fact, the historian also seems to associate the figure of Icilius with the

popularis ratio, which deeply identified with the actions of the tribunate of the

plebs.24 Although they no longer had their “two citadels for the defence of liberty,”

that is, the tribunician help and the right of appeal, the plebeians would probably see

Icilius as their defender, a man who would not allow Appius’ lust to reduce them to

slavery (3.45.8).

Finally, Icilius’ efforts for his girl were not in vain. Appius decided to postpone

his sentencing until the next day; he said that this concession had been made to

Verginia’s absent father. Meanwhile, Marcus Claudius had to temporarily waive his

rights over the young maiden (3.46.3-4). For one night, at least, she would not have

to spend the night outside Verginius’ house. It is a fundamental point. Verginia’s

chastity is not just a matter of morality, but it is also connected to the foundations of

power at the core of a Roman familia. As Dixon (2001, p. 48) proposed, a fiancé like

Icilius – a man who was even willing to die for her freedom – would only marry her

if the dowry brought to him included her virginity, so that the power over the girl

would be rightfully transferred from a paterfamilias to another one.25

The death of Verginia or liberty out of a sacrifice

As we have seen before, Appius Claudius is depicted in book 3 as an

archetypical tyrant. Then, it is not surprising that, while Lucius Icilius and Publius

Numitorius’ son hurried to reach the camp in order to summon Lucius Verginius

23 Note that Livy stressed the commotion among the people at 3.46.1, a sign that a conflict might arise. 24 Such a condition will be asserted later, for Icilius will enter again upon the tribunate when the office is restored after the fall of the decemvirs (3.54.11). Besides, it is worth noting that other members of the Icilian gens appear in the first pentad holding tribunician power, like Spurius Icilius in 471(2.58.1) and, likewise, in the year of 409 nothing less than three Icilii would stand out as tribunes of the plebs (4.54.3). It is just another instructive recurrence amid the pages of Livy’s History. 25 In short, from Lucius Verginius to Icilius or his father, in case Icilius did not have full legal capacity – that is, if he still lived under paternal power.

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(3.46.5), Appius sneakingly went to his home, where he wrote a letter to his

colleagues in charge of the soldiers commanding them to arrest Verginius, so that the

father of the girl could not return to Rome and, in consequence, could not fight for

her freedom (3.46.9). In other words, the attempt of preventing Verginius from

attending the trial with so much at stake makes clear, once more, the decemvir’s

perfidious nature, as delineated by the historian.

However, when Appius’ peers got his orders in the morning, Verginius had

already left the camp at night (3.46.10). At the crack of dawn, people standing in the

Forum saw a soldier, clad in sordid clothes, leading his child to the tribunal, which

was also attended by some matrons (3.47.1). It should be emphasized that that little

detail, the poor condition of Verginius’ clothes, evokes the image of a brave

(strenuus) soldier and reasserts to the crowd surrounding him and his daughter all his

devotion to the state as a Roman who fights for the lives of his fellow-citizens. In

fact, Livy reinforced this idea in the following passage, when he reported that not

only did Verginius ask the multitude for aid, but he also exhorted them to do that as

their duty, because

he stood daily in the battle-line in defence of their children and their wives; that there was no man of whom more strenuous and courageous deeds in war could be related – to what end, if despite the safety of the City those outrages which were dreaded as the worst that could follow a city’s capture must be suffered by their children? (3.47.2).

Faced with such a situation, Appius emerged on the scene and abruptly decreed

that Verginia should be taken by the man who claimed her as his slave, that is,

Marcus Claudius (3.47.5). The latter, thus, tried to have the sentence fulfilled but the

maiden’s supporters forced him back (3.47.8). Then a herald commanded the noisy

crowd to silence, so that Appius started to speak. The decemvir, whose spirit had

been entirely dominated by libido, said that he was aware that meetings all over the

City had gone late into the night in order to promote sedition.26 He knew it from

“definite information” (certis indiciis) which was, according to him, confirmed by the

harsh words Icilius had uttered the day before, as well as Verginius’ violent behavior

(3.48.1). For this reason, a group of armed men had come down into the Forum with

him; he argued that his sole intention had been to secure that the City might be in

26 It is possible to observe a hint in this passage, perhaps involuntary, at the Law of the XII Tables which determines that those involved in seditious meetings at night within the limits of the pomoerium should be sentenced to death (Leg. XII Tab. VIII.26). Would it be extracted from the annalistic branches favorable to the Claudii, insofar as it might remind the readers of the role played by Appius Claudius as a lawgiver by having he alluded to a specific point in the Law of the XII Tables?

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peace (3.48.2). Frightened by such a terrifying view, those who protected Verginia

spontaneously moved back and left her alone, a prey (praeda) to injustice (3.48.3).

So the above metaphor denotes the same perspective illustrated in the stinging

denunciation made by Verginius of Appius’ intentions of equating the Romans to the

animals:

“It was to Icilius, Appius, not to you that I betrothed my daughter; and it was for wedlock, not dishonor, that I brought her up. Would you have men imitate the beasts of the field and the forest in promiscuous gratification of their lust?” (3.47.7).

In this regard, the moment the girl was deprived of her freedom, she would be

the same as a captive animal (FELDHERR, 1998, p. 209).

So the judge passed the sentence and, subsequently, an injustice was done. The

presence of men carrying arms in the Forum, under Appius’ orders, suitably reveals

how unfair the decision was. Thus Verginius asked Appius to allow him to question

her daughter’s nurse about Verginia’s paternity, in the presence of the latter too

(3.48.4). The decemvir granted him the permission to do that, so Verginius led both

the girl and the old woman to some booths near the shrine of Venus Cloacina, “now

known as the ‘New Booths’.” There he stole a knife from a butcher and, finally, he

shouted: “Thus, my daughter, in the only way I can, do I assert your freedom!” He

then stabbed her to the heart, and, looking back to the tribunal, cried: “Tis you,

Appius, and your life I devote to destruction with this blood!” (3.48.5).

An enraged Appius ordered the seizure of Verginius. Nevertheless, the father

of the dead maiden, aided by the multitude, ran away and reached the gates of the

City (3.48.6), taking his way to the military camp to meet his brothers-in-arms. And

his sacrificed daughter would assume considerable significance in the sequence of the

narrative.

Livy was at pains to stress to his audience the site where the sacrifice

happened. To the historian, localizing that place corresponds to an attempt to attest

the facticity or, at least, the credibility of his account about Verginia’s death since the

event was connected with a long-established area in the City and, therefore, a familiar

place to Livy’s contemporaries (GABBA, 1981, p. 61). This kind of compositional

device seems to indicate the use of methods of research proper to a Roman

antiquarian.27 On the other hand, the sacrifice took place against a backdrop of

27 As long as such a device throws light on the origins or the development of a particular place within the landscape of the City (RAWSON, 1985, p. 233), a very ancient one at the time of Livy.

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sacredness, amplifying the relevance of the act as a rite of purification. A. Feldherr

(1998, p. 211) informed that the title Cloacina derives not from the noun cloaca, that

is, the Latin word for sewer but from the archaic word cluere, “to purify;” which

explains to us why Verginia had to be sacrificed close to the temple of Venus

Cloacina, a Roman goddess traditionally associated with purifying actions.

Furthermore, another aspect of the girl’s behavior should be emphasized, as

depicted in book 3. No word came from her mouth, nor did she react against anything

or anybody. In short, Livy depicted her as a mute and passive character. In so doing,

the historian underlined Verginia’s symbolic functions in the narrative structure. At

her trial, she seemed like a statue, making no gestures, surrounded by wailing women

(3.47.4, 47.6), not to mention the crowd who expressed their dissatisfaction with the

decrees of Appius. Nonetheless, as an example of the plebs’ anguish in the hands of

the decemvirs, Verginia showed a single emotion, fear, like the plebeians had done

before, when the cruelty of the Second Decemvirate had arisen (3.36.5-7).

A comparison with Lucretia also clarifies Verginia’s passivity. Unlike the

former, who committed suicide after being raped by Sextus Tarquinius because she

did not want to set a precedent for debauchery (1.58.10), Verginia had no such

option, since it was her father who took her life. In this sense, the young maiden

represented an empty space that was only filled up by the action of men, like the

lustful Appius and his plot to enslave her, the defence of her liberty on the part of her

fiancé Icilius and, finally, her sacrifice performed by her own father. To conclude,

Verginia never appeared in book 3 in her own right; Livy merely spoke about her

(JOSHEL, 1992, p. 126).28

So, if she corresponded only to a space whereby male action might be triggered

off, would the elimination of such a space, that is, Verginia’s death, be inevitable?

The solution is to be found in the parallel made by Livy between Lucretia and

Verginia, for it sets out a recurrence, namely that “the chastity of a virtuous woman

becomes the catalyst for the recovery of Roman libertas” (VASALY, 1987, p. 217).

For this reason, the death of a woman would be necessary in order to galvanize the

collective action against tyranny. The Roman plebs did not begin to secede until

Verginia had passed away, though the arbitrariness of Appius and his colleagues

dated back to the year before.

28 Nevertheless, it must be remembered that, insofar as Verginia was a defendant whose status was being tried in court, she could never act in her own defence and, subsequently, she had to be supported by those who advocated her liberty as vindices. Thereby, I agree with Smethurst (1950, p. 80) that the girl should be understood as any other inanimate object in a Roman court.

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Joshel (1992, pp. 124-125) elucidated the meaning of Verginia’s sacrifice in

accordance with the text of Livy. Firstly, if alive – and, in effect, violated – the girl

would figure as a clear sign of public disorder, as experienced by the Romans under

the rule of a ruthless tyrant. Secondly, a deflowered Verginia would constitute

another sort of menace to men. As a synonym for “frontier,” a “marginal space,”

women and their vulnerability threat the “core” of the Roman society, that is, men

and all their values and beliefs. Verginius expressed this point of view at 3.50.6, on

declaring that the life of his daughter would be dearer than his own if she were free

and chaste. Here, Livy was reasserting the importance of female chastity to men, the

preservation of the untouched body of a woman whose access had to be controlled

only by her pater. Given that Livy imagined his work as a source of exempla (pref.

10), I think that his narrative had to display unmistakable moral patterns. From the

contrast between virtuous past and degenerated present, regardless of their historical

facticity, chastity would emerge as the most desirable quality of a Roman woman, as

the episode of Verginia’s sacrifice denotes.

Thirdly, the young maiden’s lifeless body also served to a purpose. Lucius

Icilius and Publius Numitorius lifted it up and showed it to all the people (3.48.7).

The public exhibition of the corpse should encourage the Romans to overthrow the

tyranny of the decemvirs. In this way, the Romans started to gain their liberty (or

“life”) from the exact moment Verginia lost hers. In sum, the sacrifice of the girl, an

act that had safeguarded her purity, her defining value as human being from

violation,29 prevented the City from vanishing, for there was not, nor there would be

liberty to the Roman people under the rule of a wicked man like Appius.30

In the middle of the trouble arisen out of Verginia’s death, Appius commanded

that Icilius be arrested. But, this time, the crowd did not allow Appius’ lictors to

approach the former tribune, so the decemvir decided to bring together a band of

young patricians, leading them in person, and forced the plebeians to hand his enemy

over to him (3.49.2). However, Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius intervened in

the situation. Both declared that “they would protect Icilius from the prosecution of a

mere citizen,” that is, Appius (3.49.3). Thus, we observe the same characters

speaking up the same words of protest, as we have seen before.31 Valerius and

Horatius reasserted the illegal holding of power on the part of the Board of ten men;

this point of view advocated by both came to be translated into concrete action when 29 “(...) Once the maiden ceases to be a virgo, she ceases to be Verginia” (FELDHERR, 1998, p. 208). 30 In other words, a ruling tyranny meant that Rome no longer corresponded to a res publica but rather to a res privata. 31 See above, Chapter 4, pp. 81-82.

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the multitude broke the fasces carried by the lictors in pieces (3.49.4). Livy

complemented this picture by reporting that Valerius, “as though vested with

authority,” commanded the lictors to no longer obey Appius’ orders, as he was a

private citizen (3.49.5). It seems that the historian aimed at approving Valerius’

attitude by depicting him as a “legitimate” leader because of his virtues, his defence

of the Roman people, at a moment when there were no duly elected magistrates

ruling the Republic.

Appius, fearing for his life, took refuge at a nearby house, getting away from

the Forum without being noticed (3.49.5). Another decemvir, Spurius Oppius, was

hoping that the senators would put an end to the power of the Decemvirate, so that

the plebs might be calmed down (3.49.7).

Lastly, I will point out how Livy concluded the “logic of bodies”. It is said that

Verginius reached the Vecilius, a mount where the troops were encamped. There he

informed the soldiers about what had happened in the City and begged them “not to

attribute to him the crime of which Appius Claudius stood guilty, nor to turn their

back on him as if he were a parricide” (3.50.5). As I have mentioned above,

Verginius stressed that his daughter had died honorably, for her death had removed

any room for Appius’ libido from his house. Besides, he shouted that he would have

defended his own body, in case the decemvir’s violence had taken other forms, with

the same courage he had shown to protect Verginia (3.50.9). Hence the cruelty of

Appius had endangered not only the wives and children of the soldiers, but the male

body as well (JOSHEL, 1992, p. 123). Nonetheless, due to the action of a man – that

is, Verginius – the female body Appius had desired to possess had been eliminated

and, in consequence, the decemvir could not inflict any harm on male bodies within

the limits of the City.32

32 Since Lucius Siccius was murdered outside Rome and in a different context.

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6 The fall of the Second Decemvirate and the concord of the orders

Plebeian secession and the restoration of freedom

We are informed by Livy that, when Verginius explained to his fellow soldiers

what had happened in the City, disturbances aroused throughout the encampment on

Mount Vecilius. A group of civilians, who had followed the father of the sacrificed

girl, reported that the Decemvirate had already been overthrown at Rome and Appius

had almost got killed. This staggering news stimulated the troops to pluck up the

standards and march to the City (3.50.10-11).

This mutiny caused panic among the Roman commanders. Troubled, they

hurried to the camp in order to stop the rising. However, they got no answer but “if

one of them tried to use his authority, [the soldiers] would tell him that they were

men, and armed” (3.50.12). Livy drew up a scene where the plebeians, aware of their

relevance to the defense of Rome and of their power as soldiers, sought the sedition

to obtain what they wanted. In other words, it corresponded to an act of political

pressure. Then the soldiers moved into Rome and took possession of the Aventine,1

exhorting all the plebeians to regain their liberty and to elect tribunes of the plebs

(3.50.13). This link between liberty and tribunate is not a fortuitous one, since the

reestablishment of that magistracy would become the first step towards a state free

from the ten tyrants. Except from that urge, “no violent proposals were heard”

(3.50.14).

Faced with that, Spurius Oppius, the decemvir, had to convene a meeting at the

Senate House. The senators decided that no severe measure should be taken against

the mutinous plebeians, for both the Senate and the decemvirs had given occasion for

the rebellion (3.50.14). It is interesting to note that here Livy was alluding to the fact

that the hesitation of the senators to oppose the cruelty of the Second Decemvirate

also contributed to the situation. Meanwhile, in the Aventine, the crowd refused to

debate with the emissaries the Senate had sent, calling out in unison that they would

present their demands only to Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius (3.50.16).

1 The symbolism of such an action should be emphasized for the Aventine had been an area closely connected with the plebs, as Livy had indicated before when, for instance, he attested at 3.31.1 the promulgation of the law which opened up that region to plebeian settlement.

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Although the civic body had been broken in two, there was no incitement of

tensions among the Romans. On the contrary, the episode was permeated by a series

of mild actions on all sides, namely the cautious posture of the decemvirs in the camp

when faced with the mutiny (3.50.12), the seizure of the Aventine on the part of the

plebs, fomented by armed soldiers who urged no violent measures, and even the

senators’ acknowledgment that their own conduct had contributed to the rising, so

that they could not take any harsh actions against the soldiers (3.50.14).

Thereby the historian depicted an image of moderation on the part of all

Roman citizens, whose conducts would lead the City to be at harmony. The

perspective Livy displayed about concordia, or harmony, had a clear political

meaning and, in this regard, it echoed Cicero’s viewpoint on the subject as an

expression of agreement amongst citizens who belonged to the same community or,

above all, the end of discord between rival factions or individuals that might result in

civil strife (HELLEGOUARC’H, 1972, p. 126), as Cicero wrote at Rep. 1.32.49:

“they insist that harmony is very easily obtainable in a State where the interests of all

are the same, for discord arises from conflicting interests, where different measures

are advantageous to different citizens.”

But it does not mean that Livy disapproved of the mutiny, for the crime

committed by Appius represented “(...) aux yeux des Romains, une dépravation de

l’État, sa négation, non sa nature. Et restaurer la liberte, ce será aussi restaurer la

res publica” (NICOLET, 1976, p. 434). Thus, it represented the definite symbol of

the oppression of the Second Decemvirate. In this sense, to regain liberty meant to

abandon the military camp and to disobey either the tyrants or the senators.

Besides, the troops settled in the Sabine country emulated their peers in the

Mount Vecilius and decided to secede from the decemvirs, at the instigation of

Lucius Icilius and Numitorius.2 The news about Verginia, the victim of Appius’ lust,

brought back to their memories the assassination of Lucius Siccius, so they all got

angry (3.51.7). Afterwards these soldiers left their positions and entered the City by

the Colline Gate, moving forward to the Aventine, where both armies joined together

(3.51.10).

The senators, though alarmed about all that, spent their time criticizing the

decemvirs instead of taking any action to solve the situation, except for the decision

of sending Valerius and Horatius to deal with the plebeians in the Aventine (3.51.11-

12). Meanwhile, a former tribune of the plebs named Marcus Duillius convinced the

crowd to leave the Aventine and go to the Sacred Mount – that is, to move away from 2 Livy did not precisely define who this Numitorius was, whether he was the father or the son.

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the walls of Rome – since the patricians would not be embarrassed and feel any real

concern about the situation unless they beheld the City deserted (3.52.1-2). Then,

continued Duillius, “the Sacred Mount would remind them of the firmness of the

plebs, and they would know whether it were possible or not that affairs should be

reduced to harmony without the restoration of the tribunician power” (3.52.2). Livy

appealed in the last sentence to another significant action taken by the plebeians for

their freedom, given that the plebeian magistracy had been created in the Sacred

Mount in 494 (2.33.3), after the so-called First Secession (secessio) of the Plebs.3

Moreover, the behavior of the plebeian multitude should be emphasized. After

they had accepted Duillius’ advice, the soldiers were on the march by the Via

Nomentana to reach the Sacred Mount “having imitated the good behavior of their

fathers (modestiam patrum suorum) and made no depredations” (3.52.3).4 They were

followed by all those plebeians who did not serve in the army and, later, by their

wives and children (3.52.4). To leave all the properties intact on their way to the

Sacred Mount, as implied at 3.52.3, meant that they were willing, in spite of the fact

that they carried their swords, to peacefully restore the symbol of their collective

liberty, the tribunate of the plebs. Subsequently, they had to depart from Rome, a

place “(...) where neither chastity nor liberty was sacred,” as Livy showed through an

outpouring of grief of the plebeian women during their walk (3.52.4). That allusion to

Verginia’s fate represents a rare occasion for hearing the voices of women in book 3;5

according to Vasaly (1987, p. 220), the above-mentioned sentence indicates that

Livy’s female characters saw the unfortunate girl as an emblem of the absence of

protection for their own body within the City.

So the secession of the plebs projected onto the empty streets of Rome the

dichotomy between patricians and plebeians and, in this way, the image of a deserted

Forum at 3.52.5 should be translated as a sign of the civil discord Livy was eager to

point out. Thus, Horatius and Valerius protested to the senators at the Senate House:

3 Hellegouarc’h (1972, p. 135) wrote that the word secessio, in Roman socio-political lexicon, has a very precise and concrete meaning, so that it refers to three occasions – regardless of their historical facticity – when the plebs retreated from the City, respectively in 494, 449 and 287. In turn, Cels-Saint-Hilaire (1990, p. 731) suggested that, since both the accounts on the First and the Second Secession present a very similar succession of events, the first would be a mere duplicate of the facts which took place only in 449, in order to provide a historically plausible origin to the tribunate of the plebs. 4 This passage clearly contradicts some observations made in the past about Livy’s History as demonstrated, for instance, by Bornecque (1933, p. 109), who asserted that the plebeians are depicted in the first books of Livy’s work as a disorganized and unrestricted mob when dealing with the patriciate. 5 Nevertheless, those women played only a supporting role in the narrative, with no remarkable consequences (BONJOUR, 1975, p. 471).

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“What will you wait, Conscript Fathers?” they cried out. “If the decemvirs persist in their obstinacy, will you suffer everything to go to wrack and ruin? Pray what is that authority, decemvirs, to which you cling with such tenacity? Is it to roofs and walls you will render judgment? Are you not ashamed that your lictors should be seen in the Forum in almost larger number than the other citizens? What do you mean to do if the enemy should come to the City? What if, by and bye, the plebs, finding us unmoved by their secession, come with sword in hand? Do you wish the downfall of the City to be the end of your rule? And yet, either we must have no plebs, or we must have plebeian tribunes. It was a new and untried power when they extorted it from our fathers: now that they have once been captivated by its charm, they would be even less willing to forgo it, especially when we on our side do not so temper the exercise of our authority that they stand in no need of help” (3.52.6-9).

The discourse of Horatius and Valerius reinforces the picture of a City

abandoned by its citizens. Nothing could be worse than a Forum, the heart of the

state, where the lictors would correspond to the larger part of the people found in

there (3.52.7). It is a powerful scene in which the symbols of Roman imperium

superimpose the very essence of such an imperium, that is, the Romans themselves,

the “foremost people of the world” as Livy wrote at pref. 3. For this reason, internal

discord would weaken the state in such a way that, in the end, Rome could be

deprived of what actually secured its existence, that is, its people and, consequently,

foreign enemies would be able to destroy the City.

Nonetheless, I suggest that the presence of a massive quantity of lictors at the

Forum has another implication in the text. A Roman lictor embodies the coercive

power of a magistrate over the civic body within the City. But, as Nicolet (1976, p.

429) put it, that prerogative is neutralized in the Republican era by some political

institutions designed to safeguard the rights of each Roman citizen individually.

Among those, the ius auxilii granted to the tribunes of the plebs was of crucial

importance. Therefore, using Livian terms, the citizens would not be seen at the

Forum in larger numbers than the lictors until the overthrow of the decemvirs and,

especially, the reestablishment of the pillar of the plebeians’ liberty, as indicated by

the phrase at 3.52.8: “and yet, either we must have no plebs, or we must have

plebeian tribunes.”

Lastly, Horatius and Valerius delineated how concord between the social

orders should be eventually achieved by way of a moderate rule on the part of the

patricians, the complete opposite of the tyranny (dominatio) of the Second

Decemvirate (3.52.9).

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Faced with that forceful speech, it was left for the decemvirs to guarantee that

they would submit themselves to the authority of the Senate, requesting only that they

might be protected from the hate of the plebs (3.52.10-11). Afterwards, Valerius and

Horatius went to the Sacred Mount. They had been instructed to persuade the

plebeians to come back to Rome and forget all differences, as well as to make sure

that the decemvirs would suffer no harm in the hands of the seceded order (3.53.1).

The plebs received them with the utmost rejoicing, a fact that denotes the way by

which Livy depicted the two envoys in book 3, that is, they stood as populares

figures since they had defended and, subsequently, pleased the plebeians (SEAGER,

1972, p. 331).6 That is why Valerius and Horatius were praised at 3.53.2 “as

undoubted champions of liberty (liberatores) both in the beginning of the disturbance

and in the sequel.”

Lucius Icilius explained the demands of the plebeian multitude to the

commissioners, saying “that it was apparent that they [i.e., the plebeians] based their

hope more on equity than on arms. For the recovery of the tribunician power and the

appeal (tribuniciam provocationemque) were the things they sought.” So they

wished, among other things, to restore the political and legal instruments which had

protected them before the formation of the Decemvirate (3.53.3-4). That request

introduces a point Livy will stress again and again in the episode of the Second

Secession of the plebs, namely the identification of libertas with the ius provocationis

and tribunicia potestas.7

Nonetheless, the historian attested that only in regard to the decemvirs did the

plebeians alter their tone, demanding that the ten tyrants should be delivered to them

so that they could burn them alive (3.53.5). But Valerius and Horatius made an effort

to dissuade them from doing so, for they should placate their wrath through pardon,

rather than showing themselves crueler than their adversaries (3.53.7). The envoys

continued their reply, asserting that

(...) almost before you are free yourselves you are wishing to lord it over your adversaries. Will the time never come when our state rest from punishments visited either by the patricians on the Roman plebs or by the plebs on the patricians? A shield is what you need more than a sword. It is enough and more than enough for a lowly citizen when he lives in the enjoyment of equal rights in the state, neither inflicting an injury nor receiving one (3.53.7-9, our emphasis).

6 The same viewpoint is to be found at 3.33.7 concerning Appius Claudius. For such, see above, Chapter 4, p. 70, n. 3. Likewise, Cicero (Rep. 2.31.54) defined Valerius and Horatius as “men who wisely favored popular measures for the sake of concord.” 7 See 3.55.4 and 3.56.1.

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At first, it is not difficult to see that Valerius’ and Horatius’ purpose was to

settle the differences between the orders. That is why they tried so hard to stop the

plebs from thinking in an atrocious punishment to the decemvirs: if the plebeians

decided to burn their foes to death, they would be acting like real tyrants and, in

consequence, be imitating the conduct of those who they wished to eliminate, that is,

Appius and his peers. It seems to me that Livy subtly pointed out how paradoxical

this specific request was on the part of the plebs, taking into consideration that they

had quit the City on the grounds that they had suffered from the tyrannical decemvirs,

as we can read at 3.54.14.8

In turn, although the envoys had spoken of living “in the enjoyment of equal

rights in the state,” nothing had been done to secure equality between the orders. In

this sense, in the midst of Livy’s narrative the notion of libertas plebis seems more

like a guarantee of protection derived from the legal instruments the plebs yearned to

recover – the ius auxilii, the ius provocationis – than the enjoyment of liberty per se

(VASALY, 1987, p. 222). The historian expressed such a viewpoint through a very

instructive metaphor at 3.53.9, where he had Valerius and Horatius saying to the

plebs that “a shield is what you need more than a sword.”

It implies that the plebs really had to limit their demands, given their inferior

position in relation to the patriciate, as the words of the commissioners clearly state at

3.53.9, especially by referring to the figure of a plebeian as a “lowly citizen” (humili).

In this regard, the allusion to equality of rights means that one social order should not

cause any harm to the other and, at the same time, each of them had to receive their

share of power and authority in accordance with their respective social status

(DUCOS, 1984, p. 200).

Thus, the plebeians consented to the reply of Valerius and Horatius, who

returned to Rome and explained to the Senate what the plebs had demanded. Since no

mention of punishment to the decemvirs had been made, the latter were surprised at

such a modest request and quickly agreed on that (3.54.2). But Appius, “hard-

hearted” (truci ingenio), did not believe that the plebeians had no intention to attack

him and his colleagues. They had, he objected, just postponed their vengeance on the

8 Furthermore, the idea of proposing a tough punishment for the Second Decemvirate was in marked contrast to the restrained behavior showed by the plebeians when they presented their most important request: the recovery of the tribunate of the plebs and the right of appeal (3.53.4). Not to mention that, as Valerius and Horatius declared, those were the mechanisms in which the plebeians seeked “guarantees of liberty, not of a licence to make attacks on others” (3.53.6). Note, once again, the opposition between libertas and licentia, as I have mentioned above, Chapter 2, pp. 42-43.

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decemvirs (3.54.3-4). Appius’ posture, an expression of his wicked inborn character,

set him even more apart from the plebs and amplified the opposition between them.

The senators could not but consent to the demands of the plebeians. So they

issued a decree ordering that the decemvirs should abdicate the office as soon as

possible; they also instructed Quintus Furius, the pontifex maximus, to preside over

the election of the tribunes of the plebs (3.54.5). The decemvirs, then, renounced their

magistracy, to the satisfaction of all the people left in the City. Valerius and Horatius

hurried to the Aventine and announced that delightful news to the plebeians (3.54.6).

When they heard the report, the multitude “(…) exchanged congratulations on the

restoration of freedom and harmony to the state” (3.54.7, our emphasis). Valerius

and Horatius, in the sequence, addressed the people once again:

“Prosperity, favor, and good fortune to you and the Republic! Return to your native City, to your homes, to your wives, and your children; but let the self-restraint (modestiam) you have shown here, where no man’s farm has been violated, though so many things were useful and necessary to so great a multitude, be preserved when you return to the City. Go to the Aventine, whence you set out. There in the auspicious place where you first laid the foundations of your liberty, you shall choose tribunes of the plebs (...)” (3.54.8-9).

The emphasis placed on the moderation displayed by the plebs all over the

secession is linked to “the restoration of freedom and harmony to the state,” for their

modest demands led the senators to the decision of abolishing the authority of the

decemvirs – and even to the latter’s willingness to relinquish their office based on the

prospect that they would not be severely punished. Subsequently, the collective

modestia of the plebeians would stimulate the achievement of concordia at home.

On the other hand, the restrained behavior of the plebeian crowd in the present

episode is very different from the point of view advocated by Sailor (2006, p. 369)

about Livy’s usual description of “the rabble”. In short, the majority of Roman people

in Livian narrative would be unable to show self-control, since they would easily

succumb to any sort of passion. In addition to this, Sailor also asserted that it would

be impossible for the crowd, as portrayed by the historian, to make the best choice in

any given circumstance, so that they would depend upon the Roman social elite to

guide them. In this regard, the plebs would be fully integrated into the City only

because they could count on the careful advice of the patrician nobility. Although it

cannot be denied that Livy explicitly reported that the plebeians agreed with the

suggestions the Senate’s emissaries had offered them, so “armed, they proceeded in

silence through the City to the Aventine” (3.54.10), it seems to me that the speeches

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of Valerius and Horatius just reinforced how necessary it was for the multitude to

keep the moderate conduct they had already been showing at that moment.

Finally, it is interesting to draw our attention to a rhetorical topos inadvertently

applied by Livy in the exhortation the envoys addressed to the people at 3.54.8. Thus

Valerius and Horatius urged the plebeians to depart “to [their] native City, to [their]

homes, to [their] wives, and [their] children.” This sentence unveils an idealization of

the mid-fifth century plebs as a group of individuals who had a great fondness for

Rome and thought of the City as their homeland shared with the patricians

(BONJOUR, 1975, p. 67). In this way, Rome is depicted as the place the plebeians

truly belonged to, given that all the elements that connect men to their land – homes,

wives and children – would be found there. However, the historian informed his

readers at 3.52.4 that the soldiers had been accompanied by their wives and their

offspring when they took possession of the Sacred Mount. So I conclude that the

passage observed at 3.54.8 represents the usage, on Livy’s part, of a mere rhetorical

device to make his writings about the plebeian secession more colorful and attractive.

In the sequence of the narrative, we are told that the pontifex maximus

proceeded with the election of tribunes of the plebs in the Flaminian Meadows.9

Among those who were elected, the names of Lucius Verginius and Lucius Icilius

should be stressed, as well as Publius Numitorius, the great-uncle of the sacrificed

girl (3.54.11-12). Marcus Duillius was also chosen and he immediately proposed a

law that prohibited the election of consuls subject to no appeal (3.54.15).

The trial of Appius Claudius and the concord of the orders

After the choice of the tribunes of the plebs, Lucius Valerius and Marcus

Horatius were elected, through an interrex, to the consulship (3.55.1). As I have

mentioned before, both men are introduced in book 3 in the context of the

deliberations of the Senate over the levying of the troops to fight the Sabines and the

Aequi. Here, they fiercely showed their revulsion at the Second Decemvirate amid

9 This is another example that illustrates, in the midst of the pages of Livy’s History, the association between the physical features of the City and the construction of Roman memory (EDWARDS, 1996b, p. 2). The Flaminian Meadows, at Livy’s time, was known as the Flaminian Circus, an area that had been consacrated in 221 by the consul Gaius Flaminius. In the first century, the ludi plebeii took place there (WARDE-FOWLER, 1964, p. 292). Labruna (1984, p. 167, n. 4) advocated that so close a link between the plebeian order and the aforementioned place probably inspired the story about the election of the tribunes of the plebs after the decemvirs’ abdication, as we can see at 3.54.11-15.

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the senators, who were hesitant to oppose the ten tyrants.10 At 3.39.3, Livy underlines

Valerius’ and Horatius’ blood ties to the legendaries founders of the Roman

Republic. This particular condition led Cels-Saint-Hilaire (1990, p. 758) to conclude

that, in the narrative of book 3, Valerius and Horatius are portrayed as if they had a

vocation, the “refounding” of the Republican institutions after the fall of the

decemvirs. Hence their acclamation as liberatores of the Roman people, as indicated

at 3.53.2, and the role they played as key interlocutors in the secession of the plebs.11

Moreover, the historian wrote at 3.55.1-2 that “their [i.e. the consuls’]

administration was favorable to the people (popularis), without in any way wronging

the patricians, though not without offending them; whatever was done to protect the

liberty of the plebs they regarded as a diminution of their own strength.”

Nevertheless, as long as Valerius and Horatius distinguished themselves as

populares, the seeds of discord between the orders would have been planted in the

City. The passage above raises no doubt about the fact that, though no action had

been undertaken to damage the patriciate, a consulship that favored the plebs could

not but be understood as an affront to the dignitas of the social order Valerius and

Horatius belonged to.

In other words, to enhance the rights enjoyed by the plebeians meant to

challenge the liberty of the patricians (WIRSZUBSKI, 1960, p. 16). Again, we are

faced with the perspective of the Conflict of the Orders, which permeates Livy’s first

pentad. That is why it is not correct to say that, in Livian text, the patricians are “as

representatives of the entire Roman community. They are, rather, a distinct and well-

defined class or faction within the community” (MILES, 1995, p. 116).

Thus, the measures carried by Valerius and Horatius solidified their position as

champions of the plebs. To begin with, the so-called Valerian-Horatian Laws

determined that the decisions the plebs take in their own assembly, the plebiscita,12

should be bound on the whole people (3.55.3). The proposed statutes also restored the

right of appeal, adding to it “that no one should declare the election of any magistrate

10 See above, Chapter 4, p. 81-82. 11 Their relevant position in the narrative may reflect that Livy was, here, working on the historical tradition favorable to the Fabii and the Valerii (CLEMENTE, 1977, p. 115; CELS-SAINT-HILAIRE, 1990, p. 743). On the tendencies observed among the Republican annalists, see above, Chapter 2, pp. 40-41. 12 By plebiscita I mean the decisions taken by the concilia plebis, or “assemblies of the plebs.” The plebeians gathered together in the Aventine and deliberated only over their own issues. In 471, those concilia would have been reorganized in accordance with the territorial divisions of the City, the tribes. At the same time, the comitia tributa would have been created. They possibly had a very similar structure to that of the “assemblies of the plebs,” but they were open to non-plebeian men. It seems that the “assemblies of the plebs” did not come to be incorporated into the comitia tributa until the Hortensian Law of 287 had definitely made the plebiscita binding on all Roman citizens, patricians and plebeians alike.

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without appeal,” otherwise they would be sentenced to death. Despite modern

controversies over the facticity of such laws,13 it should be stressed that they might

have displayed to Livy’s audience a popular image attached to the consuls of 449, for

they bound the patricians to the decisions of the plebs, as well as represent a response

to the menace symbolized by the former decemvirs and their unlimited concentration

of power.

Furthermore, in this process of “restoration of the Republic” after the

decemvirs had been overthrown, the recovery of the ordinary magistracies, that is, the

consulship and the tribunate of the plebs is closely connected with the enactment of

laws that set up the rules under which the elections should be held. It illuminates the

affirmation of Ducos (1984, p. 177) that the Romans had understood their res publica

as founded on the law.

Then the time came to proceed against the decemvirs, above all Appius.14 The

tribune of the plebs selected to bring the first accusations was, unsurprisingly,

Verginius (3.56.1). The father of the dead girl summoned Appius to the tribunal, and

when the latter, “attended by a crowd of young patricians, had come down into the

Forum, it instantly revived, in the minds of all, the recollection of that most wicked

power, as soon as they caught sight of the man himself and his satellites” (3.56.2). As

indicated at 3.37.6 and 3.49.2, the image of Appius being escorted by a group of

young nobles is a sign of the innate arrogance of that man, and it reminds Livy’s

audience of the tyrant Appius had been when he ruled the City.

As expected, Verginius aimed at ordering Appius to be arrested, unless the

defendant were able to find someone who might establish his innocence of granting

illegally vindiciae secundum servitutem (3.56.4).15 In short, Appius had to deal with

an insoluble problem, for no one would be willing to defend such an impious man.

Indeed, he called upon the other tribunes, and since none of them helped him, an

officer came to take him to prison. At that moment, Appius cried out “‘I appeal

(provoco)’. The sound of this word, the one safeguard of liberty, coming from that

13 Ducos (1984, p. 104) asserted that those Valerian-Horatian Laws, as reported by Livy, are the product of some annalist’s inventive mind, since “il serait en outre très difficile de s’expliquer les luttes postérieures entre patriciens et plébéiens, si cette loi avait existé. Son authenticité paraît donc très contestable.” 14 Appius’ trial took place in book 3 as the final act of a series of episodes whose backdrop was the Forum, as in the case of Caeso Quinctius and Verginia. Nicolet (1964, p. 39) wrote that the great number of legal and juridical elements amid Livy’s narrative reflects one of the most remarkable features of Roman life, that is, the law as a central part of Roman political culture. 15 It should be remembered that Appius could not be prosecuted for Verginia’s death, since the girl had been sacrificed by her own father. According to Vasaly (1987, p. 220), the charge Appius had to face at 3.56.4, where no explicit mention was made to the victim of the crime he had committed, indicates that he had offended not only Verginia but the plebs as a whole.

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mouth by which, shortly before, a free person had been given into the custody of one

who claimed her as a slave,16 produced a hush” (3.56.6). At first, the historian

explored the inherent contradiction of Appius’ appeal, given that he was the one who

had turned a resolutely deaf ear to all the appeals on Verginia’s behalf just a few days

earlier. On the other hand, I suggest that the appeal made by Appius has another

implication. It clarifies a contrast between the tribunes who were seeking revenge for

the sufferings of the plebs in the hands of the decemvirs and the essential feature of

the office they had entered upon, namely the protection of a Roman citizen – though

a patrician one. Consequently, Appius could prove that the tribunes of the plebs, by

ignoring his appeal, neglected their most cherished principles (SEAGER, 1977, p.

382).

Afterwards, Appius addressed to the crowd and registered the devotion he had

given to the plebs, as Livy stated at 3.56.9:

He reminded them [i.e., the plebeians] of the services his forefathers had rendered the state in peace and in war; of his own unfortunate affection for the Roman plebs, in consequence of which he had given up his consulship – in order to make the laws equal for all – with great offence to the patricians (...).17

In the sequence, Appius invoked a principle, which may perhaps be called

“popular sovereignty,”18 insofar as he argued that he ought to be judged by the

Roman people, like any other citizen under accusation (3.56.10). However, Appius

expressed his intention to submit himself to the will of the people in order to induce

his country-fellows to act against the interests of those who wanted to punish him,

namely the tribunes of the plebs (SEAGER, 1977, p. 379). At the same time, Appius

warned the tribunes themselves not to emulate those whom they hated so much

(3.56.11), that is, the former decemvirs, as if he indirectly compared the restrained

behavior showed by the crowd during the secession with the purpose of Verginius

and all the tribunes of having him punished.

Besides, Appius’ posture called the efficacy of the recently enacted laws in the

City into question, for if they should, a priori, encompass every Roman citizen, even

16 This is, of course, another reference to Verginia’s trial. 17 This last sentence of Appius’ speech reiterates the idea that every single measure for the benefit of the plebs could be upsetting to the patricians, as was indicated at 3.55.15 in regard to the Valerian-Horatian Laws. 18 As far as the liberty of the Roman people was really expressed through the decisions taken by the civic body gathered together in assembly, for instance.

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an ardent champion of the patriciate like him should, have his right of appeal secured.

For this reason, Appius asked all the people:

What humble plebeian would find protection in the laws, if they afforded none to Appius Claudius? His own example (documento)19 would show whether the new statutes had established tyranny (dominatio) or freedom (libertas), and whether the appeal to the tribunes and that to the people against the injustice of magistrates had been merely a parade of meaningless forms, or had been really granted (3.56.13).

As I see it, Appius’ aforementioned words hint at two basic aspects. On the one

hand, though he held no power, this awful character still sowed the seeds of discord

in Rome, since he questioned those laws that were passed that very year and, above

all, favored the plebeians. In this regard, the antithesis between dominatio and

libertas, as mentioned by Appius, can be seen as an alert that the strengthening of the

plebeian order might result in the replacement of the tyranny of the decemvirs by the

tyranny of the plebs (SEAGER, 1977, p. 382). In sum, there would be no liberty at

all.

On the other hand, it seems to me that the doubts raised by Appius about the

validity of those laws also expressed Livy’s recognition of the expertise the former

decemvir had had in legal matters, as far as he was described as the “founder”

(conditor) of Roman law (3.58.2).20 Vasaly (1987, p. 213) proposed that the

preeminence achieved by Appius Claudius Caecus in that field of knowledge at the

end of the fourth century – due especially to the composition of the Ius Flavianum21 –

would have contributed to mould the memory of his fifth-century predecessor among

later Roman historiographers.

Nonetheless, the plea made by Appius did not persuade Verginius. The latter

invited those present at the tribunal to look steadily at Appius standing there, in the

same place where that man, “as perpetual decemvir,” committed the worst of all

crimes, disregarding the rights of citizens and men (3.57.1-2). Verginius’ position

was based on the assumption that, since Appius had ruled the City in a tyrannical

fashion, he had broken all the laws and customs of Rome and, in so doing, he could 19 Documentum in this passage has the meaning of example. 20 According to Mellor (1999, p. 57), even the “villains” in Livy’s History might contribute to develop the elements that would define Roman identity. The acknowledgment of the importance of Appius the decemvir to the formation of Roman law seems to be directed at Mellor’s statement. Furthermore, this sort of device ends up by laying too much stress on the role played by individual leaders, whether heroes or villains, on the course of historical events. 21 A collection of the formularies that contained the words a Roman had to spoke in court in order to begin a legal action. It was published around the year 312 by a freedman of Appius Claudius Caecus whose name was Gnaeus Flavius (MEIRA, 1972, p. 83).

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not be judged as an ordinary citizen. Verginius, then, reasserted that Appius should

attest before a judge that he had not given custody of a free, non-enslaved person to

his client and, in case of refusal, Appius should be immediately led to prison (3.57.5).

It is, above all, interesting to read that although no one disapproved of Appius’

imprisonment, the plebs were anxious about the situation, “since they saw in the

punishment of so great a man a sign that their own liberty was already grown

excessive” (3.57.6). So, as a whole, the plebeian order still manifested the moderation

by which the historian delineated its members from the beginnings of the secession

up to that moment. Moreover, it also confirmed the viewpoint alluded by Appius at

3.56.10-11 that the aims of the tribunes did not easily match with the humble posture

of the plebs.

“Meanwhile from the Latins and the Hernici came envoys to congratulate the

Romans upon the harmony subsisting between the patricians and the plebs (concordia

patrum ac plebis)” (3.57.7). This sentence forms a pivot of the present study. Taking

into consideration all the steps the Romans had taken towards internal concord since

the plebs seceded from the City, I shall conclude that Livy, at this point of the

narrative of book 3, departed from Sallust’s view on the metus hostilis as a necessary

instrument to promote harmony to the Roman state.22 Livy’s most remarkable

predecessor wrote that,

before the destruction of Carthage the people and the Senate of Rome together governed the republic peacefully and with moderation (placide modesteque). There was no strife among the citizens either for glory or for power; fear of the enemy (metus hostilis) preserved the good morals of the state (Sall. Jug. 41.2).

In other words, Sallust thought that the absence of metus hostilis, by means of

the annihilation of Rome’s most powerful enemies, the Carthaginians, resulted in the

decline of Roman morality, because the fear provoked by such menacing rival had

preserved the good morals that had maintained peace among the Romans.23

For Livy, in turn, concord between patricians and plebeians had been achieved

from inside, on the basis of the moderation showed by both orders, and not from

22 This does not mean that Livy did not give an amount of space in book 3 to metus hostilis as the element that would secure Roman internal peace. In writing about the events which occurred in 457, the historian asserted that the tribunes of the plebs were causing some disturbance in the City when it was announced that the Aequi had annihilated a garrison at Corbio, which led to the levying of the soldiers (3.30.1-2). For such, see above, Chapter 2, pp. 49-50. 23 In effect, the reasons for Rome’s greatness in Sallustian thought had been the – idealized – frugal manners of the ancestors, from which the Romans deviated after the final defeat of Carthage, bringing decay to the fore (LIND, 1972, p. 246).

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outside, that is, due to a threatening approach of foreign enemies or an impending

war. As the historian reported, although the Sabines and the Aequi had been very

close to the City, the soldiers had indeed abandoned their camp and returned to Rome

to seize the Aventine and, later, the Sacred Mount in the vicinity. Since the tyranny of

the decemvirs, above all the figure of Appius, could endanger Roman liberty and

incite discord at the heart of the community,24 the City would only be at harmony

when the sowers of internal conflict were removed from power and the protection of

the citizens was secured by the enactment of appropriate laws.

In such a context, metus hostilis would not suffice to create a suitable situation

for concord to grow among the Romans, for the presence of the enemies in the fields

of the City did not lead the orders to adjust their differences in order to fight back

their external foes. It just happened after the fall of the Second Decemvirate, as we

will see below. In this regard, Livy differed from Sallust and offered another point of

view about the making of concordia among the citizens over the Republican period.

The Conflict of the Orders, once again

The fact that the men who were sent by the Latins and the Hernici to

congratulate the Romans for the harmony between the orders were the same men who

reported that the enemies were preparing themselves for war (3.57.8) seems to me to

be very instructive, as I consider it as a sign that Livy saw, in the making of internal

peace, the utmost condition for Romans to exhibit in the field those martial values

that would distinguish them from all other people, as Livy pointed out at pref. 7.

Then the plebeians enthusiastically obeyed the consuls when the levy for the battle

was proclaimed, which resulted in a stronger army than before (3.57.9). So the

situation at home gave the plebs a renewed disposition to fight their foes, which

contrasted with their behavior at the beginning of the wars against the Sabines and

the Aequi – who now counted on the help of the Volscian forces – when they, under

the command of the decemvirs, “permitted themselves to be beaten,” as mentioned at

3.42.2.

24 Maybe Livy had alluded to such a view before he came to narrate the events regarding the secession of the plebs. When dealing with the preparations the decemvirs were making to fight the Sabines and the Aequi, the historian informed the readers, however, that “the war at home seemed more important than the one abroad,” (3.41.8). This impression even justified Appius’ absence from the battle. See above, Chapter 5, p. 87, n. 2.

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Before the troops left the City, the consuls had the decemviral laws be known

to all by engraving them on bronze (3.57.10).25 Meanwhile, Gaius Claudius, who

detested the cruelty of the decemvirs and, above all, the arrogance of his brother’s

son, came back to Rome after having retired to Regillus, the town where the Claudii

had been originated, in order to intercede with the people on behalf of Appius

(3.58.1). He went to the Forum, wearing sordid clothes and was accompanied by his

clients and other members of his gens. He solicited the support of all the citizens he

found there, “beseeching them that they would not seek to brand the Claudian race

(Claudiae genti) with the shame of being held to merit imprisonment and chains”

(3.58.2). In addition, Livy wrote that the old man acted like this “out of regard to his

family and his name and not due to any reconciliation between him and the man

whose adversity he sought to succor” (3.58.4).

The return of Gaius Claudius to Rome expresses, according to Bonjour (1975,

p. 16), an example of a retrojection into the archaic era of a complex situation

pertaining to Livy’s own times, in which the City represented a place where political

and juridical activities involving some gentes developed. When those were over,

every single member of a gens could make his way home, sometimes a town or a

villa far away from Rome.

Furthermore, Gaius Claudius’ reappearance is described in such a way that it

differentiates the uncle from his nephew, Appius. The marked insolence of the latter

contrasts with the humble posture of the first, a nobleman who begged for the

forgiveness of his wicked relative. In fact, a conduct like the one showed by Gaius

Claudius could not but mitigate the reputation of the Claudii for being stubborn and

proud men. As Wiseman (2003, p. 82) put it, the figure of Gaius Claudius in book 3

dilutes the effects of Appius’ wrongdoings and dissociates the old man from the tones

commonly associated with the Claudian house, since Livy depicts him as a non-

representative element of his family.

Gaius Claudius’ characterization, therefore, might derive from the historical

tradition which was favorable to the Claudii. Thus, we are told that some were moved

by the words of Appius’ uncle, more due to personal loyalty to the latter than to any

virtue of the cause the aged man pleaded (3.58.5). Nonetheless, in the sequence the

25 Cels-Saint-Hilaire (1990, p. 758) identified a possible contradiction at this point of Livy’s narrative. The idea that Lucius Valerius and Marcus Horatius were responsible for publicizing the Law of the Twelve Tables does not fit well into their portrayal, all over the episode, as eminent patricians who nonetheless favored the plebeians, because they had, in consequence, supported that iniquous statute that prohibited the matrimony between patricians and plebeians (Leg. XII Tab. XI.1). Although Cels-Saint-Hilaire may perhaps be right in saying so, I think Livy made it clear enough that the additional two tables were inextricably linked to the Second Decemvirate and its tyrannical conduct.

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historian got back to the usual subject of superbia Claudiana when Verginius

implored his fellow-citizens to pity him and his sacrificed daughter, “and to hearken,

not to the entreaties of the Claudian family, whose province it was to tyrannize over

the plebs (...)” (3.58.5).

Verginius’ appeal had a strong effect on people and a hopeless Appius did not

wait for his sentence to be passed, but rather, he took his own life (3.58.6). Likewise,

Spurius Oppius, the decemvir who had stood at Appius’ side in the City during

Verginia’s trial, suffered a similar fate, whereas the other decemvirs were banished

from Rome (3.58.9). In turn, Marcus Claudius, the client of Appius who claimed the

girl as his slave, was sentenced to death, but Verginius himself asked such penalty to

be remitted, so the perjurer only went into exile (3.58.10).26

Here, Livy displayed the idea that punishment for the convicted decemvirs

could expiate the crimes they had committed,27 for it is said at 3.58.11 that the manes

of Verginia would finally rest in peace because all guilty men were punished. When

referring to the appeal Appius had made to the people to protect himself, the historian

threw light on the general atmosphere among the Romans who thought “that pride

and cruelty (superbiae crudelitatique) were receiving their punishment, which though

late was nevertheless not soft” (3.56.7). This passage may indicate that Livy perhaps

advocated a tough punishment as the best way to deal with any crime. However,

Ducos (1984, p. 381) insisted that, in spite of all, Livy considered punishment to be

just a secondary solution.

In fact, Livian narrative gives the reader the impression that the normative

character inherent in mos maiorum would not be any better at deterring future crimes

than any sanction intended to make people obey the laws. In this sense, Appius

Claudius stands once again as a very interesting example, insofar as he was regarded

as the main responsible person for the codification of Roman statutes and,

consequently, he established the barrier between legal and illegal actions. In short, he

set what punishment had to fit any particular offence. Nevertheless, Appius broke

26 It is a clear demonstration of clementia (clemency) on Verginius’ part. On the other hand, it seems to stress the fact that Livy put the entire responsibility for Verginia’s misfortunes on Appius’ shoulders. In the wider context of the patrician-plebeian dichotomy, I suggest the patrician element – the decemvirs – intended to plot against a victimized plebeian element, given the latter’s fragile position in comparison to the patriciate. Thereby, we have a soldier who got killed (Lucius Siccius) and a young maiden, Verginia, who died too; likewise, we see Marcus Claudius, a client submitted to the caprices of his evil patron. This denotes a noticeable feature in Livy’s reconstruction of Early Republican Rome, that is, the need to protect the integrity of the plebeians since they were usually depicted as a passive and fragile social order in comparison to the patriciate. This point of view is synthesized by that remarkable sentence at 3.53.9: “A shield is what you need more than a sword.” 27 Marcus Duillius will stress the same perspective at 3.59.3. See below, p. 120.

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that barrier down by unlawfully trying to enslave a free born person, and the risk of

paying for his wrongdoings did not refrain him from committing his crimes – or, in

other words, from acting in accordance with his inborn cruelty and his lust.

Back to the narrative, Livy wrote that, when the patricians became aware of the

Second Decemvirate’s fate,

A great fear had come over [them], and the bearing of the tribunes was now just what that of the decemvirs had been, when Marcus Duillius, a tribune of the plebs, placed a salutary check upon their excessive power. “Our own liberty,” he declared, “and the exaction of penalties from our enemies have gone far enough; I shall therefore this year allow no one to be arraigned or thrown into gaol. For on the one hand it is not good to rake up old offences, already blotted out of memory, now that recent crimes have been expiated by the punishment of the decemvirs; and on the other hand we have a guarantee that no wrong will be attempted that could call for the intervention of tribunician authority, in view of the unceasing care both consuls take to protect your liberty.” It was this moderation on the tribune’s part (moderatio tribuni) which first relieved the patricians of their fear (...) (3.59.1-4).

In so doing, Livy clarified the moderate role played by Duillius in his text. So,

the usage of the word moderatio in reference to the tribune of the plebs at 3.59.4

indicates to the historian’s audience that it “no es un término de exclusiva atribución

a los patricios, sino también a aquellos plebeyos que, habiendo alcanzado una

magistratura, la desempeñan con mesura y previsión política” (MONREAL, 1997, p.

65).28 The conduct of Duillius, therefore, is matched with Monreal’s above-

mentioned definition. Nonetheless, I think Livy used that specific term when

describing Duillius because the latter acted and spoke out of regard for the well-being

of his community, as if he displayed the dignitas proper to selfless patricians. The

fact that Duillius urged the plebs to give up any sort of revenge or excessive power in

order to avoid licentia, that is, the unlimited enjoyment of their recently recovered

freedom, results in him being portrayed more like a Cincinnatus than a tribune of the

plebs like Gaius Terentilius.29

From chapter 60 onwards, Livy turned his attention to the successful military

campaigns the Romans undertook after the business of the state had been set in order.

Lucius Valerius commanded the soldiers who would face the Aequi and the Volsci,

whose forces had been joined on Algidus (3.60.1). There, the consul reminded the

28 On Livy’s usage of the synonymous words of moderatio and modestia in book 3, see above, Introduction, p. 7. 29 Besides, there also remains an implicit contrast between Duillius, a tribune of the plebs who pleased the patriciate, and the consuls Valerius and Horatius, who, although patricians favored the plebeians.

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plebeians “that on that day they were, for the first time, fighting as free men for a free

Rome” (3.61.1). Moreover, Valerius also called to their minds the fact that he was a

direct descendent of the liberators of the Roman people – that is, of those men who

had expelled the last Roman king from the City – and thus he was himself a liberator.

He did so in order to stimulate them to think that their previous failure in battle was

due to their former leaders, that is, the decemvirs (3.61.2).

This allusion to the vices of the Second Decemvirate allows the historian to

recall his readers of the exemplary function a Roman commander had to perform in

the battlefield. Thus a virtuous leader like Valerius would suitably encourage his

soldiers to beat Rome’s enemies, unlike the decemvirs: “it would be disgraceful to

have shown more courage in facing their fellow citizens than in facing the enemy,

and to have been more fearful of enslavement at home than abroad” (3.61.3). In this

sense, Valerius did not blame the plebeians for what had happened in the field under

the rule of the decemvirs; therefore, the proposition presented at 3.42.2 would reveal

to be false.30 Not to mention that, as Hellegouarc’h (1972, p. 244) stated, to win a

battle would be seen in Rome as a sign of how fortunate and capable a military

commander was.

Furthermore, the victory over the Aequi and the Volsci (3.61.10) showed that

the “real” Roman army had then fought, for only the recovery of the liberty in the

City would inspire the soldiers to defeat their external foes and, subsequently, to

protect a free Rome. In this regard, a state of harmony between the orders represents,

in Livy’s eyes, a preliminary condition to enhance Roman power abroad.

In turn, the other consul, Marcus Horatius, and his troops were prepared to

fight the Sabines, by emulating their victorious brothers-in-arms on Algidus

(3.61.11). In sum, Livy said that Horatius’ campaign was as successful as that of

Valerius (3.63.4). But the tension between the patrician side and both consuls reached

its peak after that double victory, since the Senate unanimously refused to grant a

triumph to the magistrates (3.63.8). The decision of the senators led the tribune of the

plebs Lucius Icilius to propose the issue to the people who, for the great disgust of the

patricians, gathered together in the assembly and voted for the celebration of the

triumph on the part of Valerius and Horatius (3.63.11).

Then, the tribunes of the plebs, starting with Icilius’ attitude, resumed their role

as an element that caused disturbance to an ordered state of public affairs. So it

comes as no surprise to see them conspiring to get themselves reelected, as well as to

obtain the return of their beloved consuls to their respective office (3.64.1). Once 30 See above, Chapter 5, p. 85.

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more, the readers are faced with political strife and discord among the orders.

Besides, the intention of the tribunes to procure their reelection sounds highly

paradoxical, since the decemvirs – who had just been overthrown by the Roman

people in a dramatic fashion, to say the least – had themselves been ambitious men

whose tyrannical government had become clearly evident after they had made a

secret agreement to illegally perpetuate their power.

The pretext of the tribunes to take such an action was, according to Livy, “the

solidarity of the patricians” (consensum patrum), whose goal was to weaken the

tribunate of the plebs by unfairly treating with the consuls (3.64.2). However, in the

sequence of the narrative, the historian mentioned an interesting thought on the part

of the patricians, who questioned what would happen if, at that moment when the

laws were not firmly established, those tribunes to be elected should be attacked by

consuls entirely devoted to the patrician cause, “for there would not always be

consuls like Valerius and Horatius, who preferred the liberty of the plebs to their own

interests” (3.64.3).31

Ducos (1984, p. 285) pointed out that the passage above shows us that the

Romans shared Plato’s comments on the value of the laws in accordance with social

customs and life experience (Pl. Leg. 6.752b). In other words, a legal statute would

only become totally acceptable and, in consequence, obeyed by the members of a

society along the years. Hence the Valerian-Horatian Laws were not yet fixed on

mos, so they were not fully joined to people’s daily lives.

Then came the year of 448. The new consuls, Spurius Herminius and Titus

Verginius Caelimontanus knew no trouble in administering the City, both at home

and abroad. Livy informed that they neither supported the patricians nor the plebeians

(3.65.2). Nevertheless, in the following year the elected consuls, Marcus Geganius

Macerinus and Gaius Julius, were confronted with a strife involving the tribunes of

the plebs and the young nobles; likewise, they managed to prevent the plebeians from

fomenting a sedition by suspending the levy they had ordered with a view to fight the

Volsci and the Aequi (3.65.5-6). So the consuls declared that

so long as the City was quiet their foreign relations were likewise entirely peaceful; that it was discord in Rome which made other people take heart. The pains they were at to maintain peace were also productive of internal harmony. But the one order was always taking advantage of the moderation (modestiae) of the other; the plebeians were tranquil, but the younger

31 But the consuls themselves, unlike the former decemvirs, declined the offer of the tribunes (3.64.8) so that the Romans proceeded to choose new men to enter upon that magistracy in the following year.

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patricians (iunioribus patrum)32 began to insult them (3.65.6-7, our emphasis).

It is possible to observe that, once again, Livy dealt with the link between

internal peace and external threat, reiterating the inversion of the poles of the metus

hostilis theory. Thus the nearness of an enemy to the gates of the City would not

suffice to promote harmony at the heart of the state when discord threatened Rome.

In this way, the quietude of the City was understood by Livy as a sign of strength,

insofar as it disheartened foreign people. On the other hand, that peaceful state would

only be achieved through a moderate conduct on the part of both orders, patricians

and plebeians alike. That is, such a placid image demanded a very delicate balance.

But Livy knew that internal harmony was always founded on sand, for it depended

upon men’s volatile characters and behaviors, as was indicated by the young

patricians who insulted the then quiet plebs with no reason, showing that the

moderation of a group collided with the excessive licence of the other (3.65.7).

This unstable situation could only lead to discord among Roman citizens and,

as a result, the Aequi and the Volsci – as usual – were encouraged to take up arms

against the City in 446 (3.66.3). The historian wrote that the plebeians complained

that their tribunes were not able to protect them, whereas the older patricians,

although condemning the fierceness displayed by their younger peers, preferred any

excessive measure on their side to harm their adversaries rather than themselves

(3.65.9-10).

Faced with all that, Livy’s judgment is unambiguous and encapsulates the idea

that permeates the narrative of book 3 as a whole:

It would be very difficult that moderation should be the defense of liberty (moderatio tuendae libertatis), since everyone, while pretending to seek fair-play, so raises himself as to press another down; while insuring themselves against fear, men actually render themselves fearful of others; and having defended ourselves from an injury, we proceed (...) to inflict injury upon our neighbour (3.65.11).

Therefore, Livy offered his audience, through the composition of book 3, an

array of moderate and immoderate models, bringing them alive in his own present.

To imitate them or not would symbolize a complementary act, on the part of every

single reader, towards the enhancement of the Roman people, whose history Livy

was proudly reporting.

32 On the usage of this expression in the narrative of book 3, see above, Chapter 3, p. 58, n. 15.

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Conclusion

It would not be an exaggeration to say that Livy’s representation of the Roman

past is based on examples. In his preface, the historian tried to justify the relevance of

his task precisely by means of the exemplary nature of the work he was at pains to

write:

What chiefly makes the knowledge of the facts wholesome and profitable is this, that you behold every kind of examples set forth as on a clear record; from these you may choose for yourself and for your own state what to imitate, and from these you may mark for avoidance what is shameful both in the conception and in the result (pref. 10).

However, such exempla make sense only if we take into consideration the

narrative structure arranged by Livy. Thereby, on dealing with a number of historical

episodes regarding the nature and the holding of political power in mid-fifth century

Rome, such as Gaius Terentilius’ proposal to limit consular power; the dictatorship of

Cincinnatus; and, obviously, the institution of the two Decemvirates, Livy set a link

between personalities and power which affected the course of Roman history.

In fact, it must be recognized that the centrality of some figures in the narrative

is connected with those remarkable moralizing colors delineated by the ancient

sources, since the character of a man would be assessed in terms of virtue and vice,

whether in public or private life. In this sense, historical exempla were regarded as

useful by the Roman historians, who would report and develop them when

composing a work, and by the Roman citizens, who might be eager to learn from the

past. Although the origins of that notion of exemplary history was probably found

among the Greeks, the Romans also knew it very well: in the Republican period, for

instance, annalistic tradition encompassed, in a chronological framework generally

starting “from the founding of the City” (Ab urbe condita), a range of models of

conduct which could be emulated anytime (MAZZARINO, 1994, pp. 324-325).

Therefore, it is possible to observe in the third book of Livy’s History two

opposite personalities, namely Cincinnatus and Appius Claudius, the decemvir,

standing as the main exempla by which the historian’s viewpoints and aims are

summarized. So, considering their respective portrayal and place in the narrative, it

seems to me that Livy established a veiled comparison between both figures, in

which Appius was depicted clearly as a cruel tyrant, whereas Cincinnatus emerged as

a true savior of the City, concerned only with the welfare of the state.

125

Moreover, like the arrogant image associated with the Claudii, the

representation of a “moderate Cincinnatus” reveals to be equally canonical in the

midst of the Roman historiographical tradition. One single example will suffice.

Publius Valerius Maximus wrote in the reign of Tiberius a small work entitled

Memorable Deeds and Sayings (Facta et dicta memorabilia) in which he presented

some sketches of illustrious men from Roman past in accordance with a group of

cardinal virtues. Among these, Valerius Maximus reserved, for the virtue of

moderation, the first chapter of book 4, where he praised those wise heroes who had

ruled Rome with restrain, despite the immeasurable power they had concentrated in

their hands. Thus it is said at Val. Max. 4.1.4:

And what about L. Quinctius Cincinnatus! What a consul he proved to be! The senators wanted him to continue in the office not only by virtue of his eminent services but because of the efforts the people had made to elect the same tribunes of the plebs for the following year. Both projects, being contrary to the laws, were discarded by him, and the Senate withdrew [from the matter] due to a feeling of fondness toward him, who compelled the tribunes of the plebs to imitate his own example of modesty (verecundiae suae exemplum). So thanks to him the Senate and the people were spared from receiving a reprimand for their illegal conduct.

If we compare the above-mentioned passage with Livy’s text (3.19), we notice

that Valerius Maximus was referring to the suffect consulship Cincinnatus would

have held in 460, on the occasion of the death of the consul Publius Valerius during

the fight against Appius Herdonius and his army of slaves. Indeed, both narratives

match each other in several aspects. Livy also informed that the patricians procured

to reelect Cincinnatus to the magistracy in the following year (3.21.3), but the consul

himself openly rejected such a proposal, for it did not conform to mos maiorum

(3.21.6). Although both Valerius Maximus and Livy emphasized the moderate

conduct of Cincinnatus, there is, however, a substantial difference between their

writings: unlike Valerius Maximus’ statement, the tribunes of the plebs in Livy did

not imitate Cincinnatus’ example of modesty, since it is pointed out at 3.24.9 that

they all returned to office in 459, for the fourth consecutive year.

In any event, it is important to stress that Cincinnatus’ refusal to hold the

consulship in the following year is founded on the fact that he himself, as one of the

consuls in 460, would preside over his own election to the office. It would correspond

to an overt deviation from the ordinary political norm – not to mention that the

principle of annual tenure of the consulship would be entirely dismissed.

126

Hence Cincinnatus’ conduct set him apart from Appius who, as a decemvir in

451, presided over the selection of the candidates for the Second Decemvirate and

had himself elected first (3.35.7-8, 40.12). Therefore, the reader was faced with two

distinct examples on the same subject, the holding of power, implying that some

personalities could ultimately safeguard the res publica or, rather, lead it to ruin.

At this point, a question arises. Are we dealing with a historian who, at the time

of composition of the third book of his huge work, indirectly associated himself with

the political and cultural program of Octavian, the future emperor Augustus?

Sailor (2006, p. 382) concluded that Livy’s History displayed some inflexible

events in which the preservation of the Roman Republic would only be secured

thanks to the virtues of an extraordinary leader. Such a point of view would fit well

into the Augustan regime, continued Sailor. Nevertheless, I cannot completely agree

with that. In fact, it could be argued that Livy and his contemporaries might have

considered as plausible an identification of Octavian to some of the icons of Roman

history, since Julius Caesar’s heir strove to be seen as the champion of Rome and its

values, in opposition to Mark Antony’s and Cleopatra’s eastern inclinations. Not to

mention that the future emperor Augustus carefully distanced himself from the image

of an autocratic leader connected with his deified father, so that he showed himself as

the defender of all citizens and the Republican institutions.

But this way of thinking reflects, or so it seems, the idea of exemplary history.

In this sense, the Romans were inclined to detect, amid the events and the

personalities from the distant past, a sign of later times (OAKLEY, 1998, p. 283).

Therefore, I suggest that any interpretation of Livy’s first pentad that points out to an

organic link between the persona of Augustus and the historical exempla handled by

the historian, is the result, above all, of the assessment made by the readers, and not

necessarily of an intentional plan carried out by Livy.

In addition, it is possible that Livy conceived the rise of some men, in an age of

crisis, as being salutary if they acted for the promotion of harmony among the Roman

citizens, especially if we consider that Livy grew in the last – and troubled – decades

of the Republican era. Nonetheless, I think Santoro L’Hoir (1990, p. 239) was right

on attesting that such a view did not constitute a deliberate support to Augustus’

policies. Furthermore, it should be stressed, as De Martino (1974, p. 55) stated, that

the political and “constitutional” changes occurred between the death of Julius Caesar

and the Battle of Actium presented several points which further developed during the

Augustan Principate. Thereby, the crystallization of the figure of Augustus as the

princeps does not correspond to a crucial factor in leading Livy to think about some

127

historical characters as vitally relevant to the course of events, as we have seen in

book 3.

Then I return once again to Cincinnatus. The dictatorship he held was guided

by an unselfish commitment to the well-being of the community, which was only

rivaled by his detachment to power, as Livy showed when he reported Cincinnatus’

military victory over the Aequi or his resignation from office at the sixteenth day. On

the contrary, it is easy to suppose how pernicious the concentration of unlimited

power in the hands of few, for a long period of time, would have seemed to the

historian, as illustrated by those major crimes committed by the Second Decemvirate,

that is, the murder of Lucius Siccius and, especially, Appius’ attempt to violate

Verginia. Even so, Livy acknowledged that, sometimes, “the disease of the res

publica was not one that could be cured by ordinary remedies” (3.20.8), justifying

perhaps the need of a strenuous man from time to time. But, as far as the narrative of

book 3 is concerned, a man in that fashion would only be welcome if he matched the

exceptional qualities of no one but Cincinnatus.

If the course of Rome history was embroidered with the fate of some powerful

leaders, it was left for Livy to solve this contradiction by underlining, in book 3,

examples of moderation, since the cultivation of such a virtue would ideally place the

holder of imperium at the same level of an ordinary citizen, maintaining a desirable

balance between the libertas of the Roman people as a whole and the dignitas of a

single magistrate.

128

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