IITHE TRIAL OF CLODIUS
InDecember of the year 62B.C., the festival of theBona Deawas being celebrated as usual in Rome. This goddess was one of Rome’s strangest deities. She represented fertility; and the object of the December ceremonies was to move the goddess to grant that all the fountains of fertility which nourish the life and prosperity of a nation might flow copiously throughout the year. Women only were admitted to the festivities, which were due to take place at night in the house of the Consul or of the Prætor. The wife of the Prætor or of the Consul presided; the lady members of the aristocracy took part; but the master of the house, with all the male slaves, was required to absent himself. It was popularly believed that the man who dared to take part in the mysteries of theBona Deawould be immediately struck blind.
In that particular year, the ceremonies took place in the house of Julius Cæsar, who was Prætor at the time, under the presidency of his wife, Pompeia, and his mother, Aurelia. Cæsar had left the house, which hadbeen decorated as the rites required. All the ladies of the aristocracy had assembled there, and the mysterious ceremonies were being carried on through the night, as usual, when in one of the rooms a slave belonging to Cæsar’s mother encountered a musician who seemed to have lost her way in the huge house, and not to know what she ought to do or where to go. The slave asked the stranger whom or what she was looking for. The musician did not answer. The slave, her suspicions aroused by the other’s silence, persisted with her questions. The musician was driven at last to say that she was looking for one of Pompeia’s slaves, by name Abra. But Aurelia’s slave was horror-struck when she heard the musician’s voice. It was the voice of a man! At once, with loud screams, she gave the alarm. A man, a man disguised as a woman, was present at the sacred rites of theBona Dea! The musician bolted. Cæsar’s mother, a dignified and energetic woman, suspended the ceremonies, immediately ordered all the doors to be shut, and, followed by all the matrons, searched the house thoroughly from top to bottom. At last the musician was found hidden in Abra’s room; and several of the ladies present believed they recognised in her a young Roman patrician, famous in Rome for the blueness of his blood, and for his extravagance: Publius Clodius. He was expelled from the house, and the meeting broke up.
Next day, all Rome knew that Publius Clodius had dared to try to profane the mysteries of theBona Dea;and the news created an immense sensation. Publius Clodius was the youthful descendant of one of Rome’s most ancient, illustrious, and famous patrician houses. His father, his grandfather, his great-grandfather, and his great-great-grandfather had all been Consuls. Thus he belonged to one of those families which impersonated in the eyes of Italy the glory, the power, and the virtue of Rome. That the youthful scion of one of these venerated families should have dared to commit such a sacrilege was a thing which would have made a painful impression in Rome at any time. But the moment was a critical and uncertain one. The impression made by the conspiracy of Catiline was still lively and fresh. Everywhere, especially in the more respectable section of society, a feeling of disgust mingled with fear prevailed. The public was in favour of severe measures. All seriously minded people gave it as their opinion that the prevailing licence of manners, and especially the effrontery of the young men, must be curbed, if the Empire was not to crumble into decay. If matters had come to such a pass that a Claudius, a man whose name had for so many centuries spelt to the Romans all the austere and traditional virtues of the Roman citizenship of old, dared profane the most sacred rites of religion, what might not be feared at the hands of a creedless, dissolute, corrupt youth, which was preparing to invade, with the new generation, the official posts of the Republic?
Great, therefore, was the public indignation; and thestrict party, captained by Cato, a small party but active and powerful in the Senate, perceived that now was the moment to make an example. That Clodius had, up to that time, served the Conservative party, the aristocratic community which Sulla had restored to power; that in the conspiracy of Catiline he had zealously helped Cicero and defended the cause of the order, counted for little, nay, rather was it all to the good. It was necessary to show the people that the aristocracy could still, as in the good old times, bring themselves to strike at their own members, when they failed in their most sacred duties.
The tales which soon spread among the public as to the reasons for the sacrilege only served to fan the flame of indignation. It was whispered that Clodius was the paramour of Pompeia, Cæsar’s wife; and that he had endeavoured, with the connivance of Abra, Pompeia’s slave, to gain an entrance into the festivities, for the purpose of an assignation with her! The sacrilege, therefore, was twofold. The rites of theBona Deawere intended to assure the prosperity of the people. It was infamous that a young aristocrat should have dared to take advantage of them to further an intrigue of gallantry. An example must be made; this was for several days the general chorus throughout Rome. The most sacred things of the Republic could not be left a prey to this corrupt and depraved youth. The cynicism of a few dissolutes must not be allowed to expose the Republic to the wrath of the gods!
An example must be made—certainly! But how? The law contained no provision applying to such an act as Clodius had committed. Anyone desirous of prosecuting him would not have known what law to invoke in order to hale him before the judges. The case was unprecedented; and it had never occurred to anyone to write it down a crime, with a definite legal imprimatur attached. The ancient code was extremely formal, especially in questions of rites and religion, and so Clodius’s deed remained a wicked, impious, and shameful one, which was calculated to cover him with infamy, but which could not be punished by the law. Sensible, cautious, and prudent people, in the Senate, and out of it, lost no time in convincing themselves on this point; while Clodius, his friends, and his family, which was a most influential one, began to intercede, to pray, and to intrigue. It was true that Clodius had committed an act of unpardonable levity, which would ruin his political career for all time. But it was an act for which there was no punishment, save the reprobation of all good citizens.
So colourless a solution was, however, not at all to the taste of the public, which was deeply moved by the sacrilege, and roused to fury against these great families who abused their power in so scandalous a way. The public demanded a severer punishment. The small Pietist party, feeling itself backed by public opinion, brought the matter before the Senate, by the mouth of an obscure Senator named Quintus Cornificius.Cornificius proposed that the College of Pontiffs be consulted, and their opinion asked as to the gravity and character of the crime committed by Clodius. The proposal was an ingenious one. According to ancient ideas, it was incumbent on the State itself to take precautions that the gods should have no motive for losing their tempers with the people and the city, and thereupon wreaking vengeance upon Rome. With the public thrown into such a state of fear and commotion by Clodius’s sacrilege, the Senate could not refuse to consult the Pontiffs, to learn from them whether this act constituted an outrage against the gods, and, if so, an outrage of what gravity. The College of Pontiffs answered that the act wasnefas—the technical expression which indicated the gravest of delinquencies towards the divinity. Their answer could not have been otherwise. Nevertheless, howevernefasthe act might be, there was no law which punished it.
So when the answer of the College of Pontiffs reached the Senators, the latter found themselves confronted with the following situation. A very grave and scandalous crime had been committed by one of the best-known members of the aristocracy. This crime had stirred the public indignation to its depths, and had been declarednefasby the College of Pontiffs. Yet there was no way of punishing it, because the arsenal of the law did not provide the weapons necessary for its punishment. The danger inherent in this state ofaffairs was obvious. The public, infuriated and dismayed, would never believe that Clodius could not be punished—because the laws had never even imagined that such an abomination could ever be committed by a Roman. The public would declare that Clodius had escaped his richly-deserved punishment because he belonged to one of the most conspicuous and influential families in Rome. The aristocracy was superior to the law; it could even provoke with impunity the wrath of the gods against the city! What was to be done? Public opinion, in its agitated state, kept egging on the Senate; and the Pietist and ruthless party, profiting by the popular agitation, attempted a daring move, proposing to the Senate that it should invite the Consuls to make a special law, which should have retrospective force, and should declare Clodius’s act on a plane with the crime of incest,—make it equivalent, that is, to the seduction of a vestal virgin, a crime which, according to ancient law, was punishable with death, and which fell to be judged by the College of Pontiffs. Nevertheless, no one, not even Cato, could delude himself into thinking that the College of Pontiffs would condemn Clodius to death. Consequently, the law proposed to constitute a special tribunal,—which would not be that of the Pontiffs, nor the usual jury, chosen by lot. The Prætor would himself constitute it, choosing it from the panel of judges. It was hoped in this way to contrive a Court which would condemn Clodius at least to exile.
It is not difficult to realise how daring and dangerous it was to propose such aprivilegium, as the Romans used to call exceptional laws, in times of uproar like those, and in the midst of the fierce discords which already for so many reasons were splitting up the Roman aristocracy. But the indignation and commotion of the public, superstitious and fearful as it was, were too lively. Cæsar himself had felt the necessity of throwing a sop to the public by divorcing Pompeia; and the Senate dared not reject the rash proposal, even though many wise men, like Cicero, thought that it would be more prudent to let Clodius fry in his own grease. The two Consuls were invited to draft the law and to get it approved by the people.
From this moment, however, difficulties began; and, in a few weeks, the prosecution of Clodius assumed a new aspect. It became a political matter. That the act he had committed was an abominable one, no one in Rome denied; but that in order to secure his punishment a law should be passed which would not only be a special one, but—most important point of all—would introduce the principle of the selection of judges by the Prætor,—no, to this the Popular, Democratic party could not consent. Always concerned not to leave in the hands of Sulla’s party, which was still so powerful in the Senate and throughout the Republic, too many weapons to employ against their enemies, the Popular party had recently taken to demanding with the utmost emphasis the most rigorous observance of legal forms,especially in proceedings in the law-courts, which were such a convenient means, in the hands of the preponderant party, of getting rid of the latter’s adversaries. In fact, at that moment the Popular party had begun an agitation against the illegalities committed in the course of the repression of Catiline’s conspiracy. This law, therefore, sounded like a challenge. As a matter of fact, of the two Consuls whose duty it was to bring it forward, one, Marcus Pupius Piso, though he had not dared resist the proposal openly in the Senate, was opposed to it; and, while he made a show of obeying the orders of the Senate and actually did, with his colleague, propose the law, he busied himself behind the scenes to secure its rejection. The other Consul, Marcus Valerius Messala, on the other hand, was an enthusiastic supporter of the law; but it was whispered about that a tribune of theplebs, if the law was brought forward, would veto it. Clodius and his relations worked away vigorously. All the wise and prudent men, even Cicero, held themselves in reserve, keeping an eye on the progress of events without compromising themselves too far; so that Cicero, writing at the end of January, 61, to Atticus, could give him to understand between the lines that the law would never be passed, and that the whole business would be brought to a stand-still by the fizzing away of the public anger. For the rest, this was the secret wish of all level-headed citizens, who, like Cicero, feared dreadful calamities, if the business were allowed to assume more serious proportions.
But all the wiseacres reckoned without Cato and the Pietist party, and without the obstinacy of Messala, who, irritated by the stolid opposition of his colleague, countered it with a determined effort to get the law passed. Between them all, they worked and spoke with such effect that they succeeded in obtaining the support of Pompey, and in bringing the law before thecomitiain the first fortnight of February. Piso, however, was no less resolutely determined than Messala that the law he had proposed should not be passed, and, as it was his turn to preside over the meeting, he had recourse that day to every sort of subtle device to prevent the law being passed. He even went so far as to distribute to the voters only that tablet which they would use in rejecting the law. When the heads of the Conservative party, Cato, Hortensius, and Favonius, heard of this extraordinary intrigue, they hurried to thecomitiaand began to address the people. Cato distinguished himself by a virulent attack on Piso. The speeches were effectual in preventing the law from being put to the vote, and therefore from being, as it assuredly would have been, rejected. They could not, however, procure its approval, which, from Clodius’s point of view, and for the moment at any rate, came to much the same thing.
Men’s passions began to get the better of them. Theamour propreof the two small factions came more prominently into play the more the case assumed a political aspect. Inasmuch as the opposition of oneof the two Consuls who had proposed the law was the greatest impediment to the approval of the law, means must be found for getting rid of Piso. The Pietists thought of exerting pressure upon him by means of the Senate. They summoned a meeting of the Senate on urgent business, and proposed a motion inviting the Consuls once more to join in recommending the law to the popular vote; in other words, intimating to Piso that he had better abandon his attitude of obstruction. A lively discussion ensued. The friends of Clodius opposed the motion with great energy; but it was carried by four hundred votes to fifteen. A truly crushing majority! Clodius’s act was so offensive to the public that few Senators dared openly to side with him, even though they were conscious that the law which was meant to bring him to book was fraught with danger.
Piso, however, did not allow this vote of the Senate to influence him. The discontent of the Popular party was increasing, and the public agitation, not in favour of Clodius, but against the law, was gathering force, being focussed on that particular provision which undoubtedly was the most dangerous, namely, the authority given to the Prætor to choose the judges from the panel of jurors instead of entrusting the choice to the fortune of the lot. The law, it is true, established this procedure only for the purposes of the action against Clodius. But was not the precedent a dangerous one? Would it not be possible, after this firstexperiment, to try to apply the same method to other cases? That would result in putting into the hands of the preponderant party a formidable weapon for the destruction of its adversaries: the giving to the Prætor in office the power to choose the judges who should be summoned to decide the numberless cases by means of which that party sought to deprive their rivals of their most influential leaders.
So the struggle waxed fiercer and fiercer. Piso would not give way, and the Popular party supported him, never mentioning Clodius, but asserting that the law was unjust, dangerous, and deadly—that the death-blow would be given to the Republic on the day on which a magistrate, elected by, and bound by ties to, one party, was invested with the power to choose the judges for every law-suit. The Pietist party, supported by the majority of the Senate, and by the Sullan association, adopted the opposite tactics. It made light of the provisions of the law and the dangers anticipated and denounced by the Popular party. It protested that Clodius had committed a horrible sacrilege, and could not be allowed to go unpunished without compromising still further in the eyes of the disgusted and affrighted masses the waning authority of the State. Intrigues and plots thickened on this side and on that. Both sides endeavoured to influence public opinion, but in this attempt the Popular party was the more successful. For that party, by dint of dogged and dexterous efforts, and without paying any regardto the votes of the Senate, which was almost unanimously favourable to the opposite party, succeeded in persuading the public that the law was immoderate, tyrannical, and dangerous, especially in the matter of the powers entrusted to the Prætor.
The day arrived when the more enlightened men of the Conservative party realised that the law, in the form in which it had been drafted, would never be approved. Piso by himself, helped by the Popular party and by the growing mistrust of public opinion, sufficed to checkmate the majority of the Senate and the party in power. It was necessary, therefore, to devise a compromise. And the man who devised it was Hortensius, the great orator who ten years before had been Verres’s defending counsel. He proposed that the two Consuls should abandon their law; and that Fusius Calenus, who was tribune of theplebs, should bring forward another, in which the first part of the preceding law, that which made of Clodius’s act an incest, should be retained, but the second part should be modified in such a way that the judges summoned to administer it should not be the College of Pontiffs but the ordinary jury, chosen in the ordinary way, that is to say, by lot, and not, as the law of the two Consuls proposed, by the Prætors. By this equable compromise Hortensius hoped to satisfy all parties—he disarmed the opposition of the Popular party, which would not dare, now that the law had been purged of the provision which aroused the greatest mistrust in the public, to persist in itsopposition, and to risk appearing too openly to desire the protection of Clodius. He gave a sop to public opinion, which was deeply stirred and offended by the scandal. He gave satisfaction to theamour propreof the Conservative party, by presenting them with the head of Clodius. As a matter of fact, he thought—and this was the argument he used to persuade the most recalcitrant of the Pietist party—that it was not necessary to alter the mode of choosing the judges. Clodius’s guilt was so evident that it was quite impossible to imagine that a court of law, however corrupt, could acquit him.
The first of Hortensius’s anticipations quickly came true. The law, thus modified, passed without difficulty. At once, several citizens hastened to indict Clodius of incest. Matters had not gone far, however, before everyone perceived that Hortensius’s second anticipation, that the conviction of Clodius was inevitable, would not be realised so easily. Months had passed; the first impression of horror made on the public had faded. The Conservative party—the same that had made such efforts to save Verres—was too deeply committed to obtaining the conviction of Clodius at whatever cost, for the Popular party not to take Clodius under its protection, though it did so covertly and without compromising itself too far. Crassus and Cæsar in particular, without appearing on the scene, were disposed to do whatever they could, to help Clodius, and to procure him, if it were possible, anacquittal, an outcome which in no less a degree than the conviction of Verres, would have been a rebuff for the party which Sulla had installed in the government, and which, notwithstanding all the reverses which it had undergone in recent years, was still so powerful. Clodius on his side worked with the energy of despair to escape conviction, which would have shattered his political career irreparably and forever.
The trial took place at the beginning of May, in the midst of a curiosity and excitement which may be easily imagined. The two parties had by now decided to face each other once again, as in Verres’s time, in the confined arena of a law-court. The judges were chosen by lot, and the defendant especially availed himself of the right which the law conceded to both sides, of challenging a certain number of them. Nobody was surprised at this, as everyone knew that the struggle would be a fierce one, or rather a hopeless one, for the accused. Indeed, how could Clodius escape conviction, when his guilt was so manifest? In declaring his act to beincestum, the law had already condemned him in anticipation. When, however, the jury had been impannelled, and the trial opened, an unexpected and dramatic incident occurred. Clodius defended himself by saying that the matrons present at the feast in honour of theBona Deahad been deceived. They had mistaken somebody else for him. On that day he was actually not in Rome, but at Iteramna (Terni)!
Just at first, this alibi made the public laugh. Nobodytook it seriously. It seemed to everyone that Clodius was joking and wished to make fun of the Court, or that he was trying a desperate coup. But here, too, they were wrong. Clodius intended that his point be taken quite seriously, and had prepared his defence much more cleverly than his adversaries, emboldened by the certainty of victory, supposed. People were not slow to realise this, as the trial went on and on, without producing that proof of Clodius’s guilt which everybody thought so easy and certain, and without destroying his daring alibi. The first step was to put Clodius’s slaves to the torture,—a step which was allowed in a case in which “incest” was imputed. This procedure was, however, barren of results. Clodius had sent the five slaves of whose evidence he was particularly afraid, partly to his brother in Greece, and partly to a distant property of his in the Alps. Then came Cæsar, who had been cited as a witness, and by whose evidence also the enemies of Clodius set great store. Had he not divorced his wife immediately after the scandal? This divorce clearly indicated that Cæsar considered his wife guilty; a state of mind which gave ground for hope that he would revenge himself by charging Clodius. Cæsar, however, had too great an interest in pleasing Crassus, whose desire to give the Democratic party the satisfaction of procuring the acquittal of Clodius was growing keener and keener. So Cæsar deposed under examination that he knew nothing and could say nothing, as, in conformity withreligious precepts, he was out of the house that evening. Great was the irritation and disappointment of the prosecutors, one of whom thereupon, in order to put Cæsar in a difficulty, asked Cæsar for what reason, if he knew nothing and could say nothing, he had divorced his wife immediately after the scandal had broken out. Cæsar then, assuming a solemn air, pronounced the famous phrase: “Because Cæsar’s wife must be above suspicion,” a phrase which historians have proceeded to quote as a proof of his precocious monarchical ambitions and of his masterful temperament. On the contrary, the phrase was merely aboutade, devised to elude an embarrassing question in a political trial, which none of those who heard it took too seriously, and in saying which Cæsar himself knew quite well that nobody would take him at his word. In fact, the public smiled at the idea of the elegant and debt-laden demagogue, who was known to all for his somewhat free opinions and customs, having become all at once so jealous of the spotless reputation of his house.
At any rate, as a loophole the answer was a clever one; and the prosecutors could not press the question. So Julia, Cæsar’s sister, and Aurelia, his mother, came forward. Both deposed that, on the night on which the mysteries of theBona Deawere celebrated, a man had been surprised in Cæsar’s house; but that they could not say with certainty that the defendant was the man. We should be doing an injustice to the memory of the two noble dames if we suspected that this evidencewas not candid, but prompted by concern for the political interests and friendships of their brother and son. Is it not probable that, in the confusion and disorder of the just-discovered scandal, neither may have scrutinised the man in female disguise with so much attention and particularity as to be able to recognise him subsequently in court, where Clodius denied the identity with so much assurance? Therefore this evidence also was in Clodius’s favour; for there was nobody who could affirm positively that the man surprised in the middle of the rites of theBona Deawas the accused.
Next came the evidence adduced by Clodius, to prove his alibi. It took the form of a certain C. Causinius Schola, who deposed frankly and resolutely that the gentlemen of the jury might take it from him that at a certain hour on the day of the mysteries of theBona Dea, he had conversed with Clodius at Iteramna, which was ninety thousandpassidistant from Rome. This evidence, after that of Cæsar, Julia, and Aurelia, made the acquittal of Clodius inevitable. Certain proofs of his guilt there were none. The improbable alibi, which at the beginning nobody had taken seriously, threatened to triumph owing to the doubts and scruples of a few witnesses, the adroit reticence of others, and thanks to the subterranean workings of Clodius’s friends, backed by Crassus’s gold.
Then came a second and even more unexpected surprise. At the very moment when Clodius seemed to have emerged victorious, there appeared to destroy hisalibi.... Who? Cicero himself. Cited as witness, Cicero deposed that on the day of the mysteries, three hours before the hour at which Causinius declared that he had spoken to Clodius at Terni, Clodius had come to call on him at his house in Rome! What had happened? Cicero had up to that time adopted a distinctly reserved attitude, making it clear that he, who since the suppression of Catiline’s conspiracy had become one of the leading figures in the State, had no wish to be mixed up in so trivial and stupid an affair. For what reason did he thus hurl himself all at once, at the close of the trial, into the thick of the fight, and opposing his evidence to that of Causinius, seem to challenge the jury to choose between his word—the word of a man of consular rank, the word of one of the three or four most famous men in the Empire—and that of this obscure and probably corrupt witness? Had he yielded to the pressure of the Conservative party, which, realising that the prey was slipping from their grasp, had wished to make a supreme attempt to destroy the alibi which had been so adroitly prepared by Clodius? Had he, upright and honourable man as he was, yielded to his disgust at seeing a comedy, which had been staged with such ability, completely successful? Or had he yielded to pressure and to considerations of the sort of which Plutarch speaks? Plutarch says that Cicero’s wife, Terentia, was jealous of Clodia, Clodius’s sister, whom she suspected of having cast eyes upon Cicero; and had so much worried Cicero, by harping upon the subject,and accusing him of sparing Clodius out of regard for the sister, that Cicero, in order to convince her that her jealousy was groundless, gave the evidence he did.
Which of these suppositions is the true one we do not know, and we never shall know. What, however, is certain is that Cicero’s evidence appeared at once to be the death-blow to Clodius. Clodius’s defenders perceived this so clearly that they all rose in their seats, hurling threats and insults at Cicero, hoping to intimidate him and to obliterate the impression made by his evidence. Cicero retorted in the same key. One section of the public, that favourable to Clodius, supported the advocates. An uproar ensued. The judges rose from their seats, and formed a circle round Cicero, as if to defend him. It seemed for one moment that the partisans were coming to blows. In short, the whole affair was a scandal, but one which made Clodius’s position even more grave. Everyone realised that he considered himself lost. Was it, in truth, possible that the jury should hesitate between Cicero’s asseveration and that of Causinius? Clodius himself, as soon as the uproar had quieted down, realised that he could not accuse Cicero, a man of such authority, of lying. Indeed, he did not deny that the fact was as stated; but he said that after having spoken with Cicero he had immediately left Rome for Terni. To which it was easy to reply that in three hours one cannot cover a distance of ninety thousandpassi; and this reply did not admit of answer, confutation, or sophistication.The falseness of the alibi was the gravest of proofs against Clodius, and that which was bound to compromise his cause most gravely in the opinion of the public and of the judges.
On the evening of the day on which Cicero gave his evidence, there was not a soul in Rome who did not think that the great orator had dealt the youthful and turbulent patrician hiscoup de grâce. But Cicero’s evidence, the tumult and threats which had succeeded, the self-assurance of the Conservatives, who were now confident of securing a conviction, only intensified the bitterness of public feeling. Strange rumours and whispers began to circulate through Rome, originating no one knew where. It was said that, on the day the verdict was given, blood would flow amid scenes of terrible violence. Some of the judges took fright and asked the Senate for the protection of an armed bodyguard, which the Senate gave them. Round Cicero the Conservative party organised a kind of permanent demonstration, arranging that he should be accompanied everywhere by a number of friends ready to defend him. The idea was to persuade the public in every possible way that Clodius intended to sneak away, or even to use violence, so sure was he of conviction, to shackle the free judgment of the Court. That conviction was a certainty was the general opinion. In the midst of these rumours, fears, and suspicions the case drew rapidly to a close. In the crowded Forum, surrounded by the swords of the bodyguard suppliedby the Senate for the protection of the judges, the Court finally pronounced its verdict—but how different it was from that which was universally expected. By thirty-one votes to twenty-five Clodius was acquitted!
The surprise, the scandal, the jubilation, the amusement, according to each man’s disposition and party, were great in Rome when this result was announced. In truth, whoever, after the lapse of so many centuries, reads the history of the trial will find no difficulty in believing Cicero when he accuses Crassus of having secured Clodius’s acquittal by the exercise of pressure and corruption. In no other way can be explained the fact that a Roman Court of law, forced to choose between Cicero and Causinius, believed Causinius. Nevertheless, it is certain that Clodius was much helped in this struggle by the political mistakes of the Conservative party, by their blind relentlessness, and by the obstinacy with which they had endeavoured for so long to bring about, to the detriment of Clodius, a change in the method of choosing the judges. At this epoch, justice in Rome was much too much exposed to the influence of politics. If, however, the times were disturbed, if the parties were divided by acute discord and men’s minds inflamed by the memories of a terrible civil war, the sense of justice was, nevertheless, not yet so much blunted by party passions as to allow the dominant party to abuse their own power beyond a certain point. Clodius might be a man little deservingof public interest; but there were many persons in Rome to whom it was repugnant that, even for the purpose of punishing a sacrilege, recourse should be had to means so unusual, revolutionary, and extreme.
So the Popular party, with the support of the general sentiment of legality, had succeeded in checkmating the Conservative party, the Sullan association. The checkmate in itself was, however, not a serious one, because the trial of Clodius had not been so important and complex that his acquittal could seriously weaken the strength of the Conservative party. The indirect consequences, on the other hand, were most serious. The first was that Clodius went over body and soul to the Popular party, and became the boldest and most violent of its leaders. If the Conservative party had followed Cicero’s advice and abandoned Clodius to the infamy which his act must have brought upon him, there would have been an end of Clodius. The man who had profaned the mysteries of theBona Deawould not have dared to show himself any more in public. By persecuting him as it did, and by giving him the chance of posing before the public as the victim of its persecutions, this unpopular party saved his career, or at least helped to enable him to continue to play a part in the political world of Rome, and a part fraught with danger to the State. Clodius, realising that, after the trial, he could no longer hope for anything from the Conservative party in which he had grown up and in whose ranks he had fought, turnedto the Popular party; and, in order to make that party forget his origin, his relations, and theBona Deascandal, became the most violent and turbulent of its chiefs. It is this trial which has made of Clodius the famous demagogue of whom history tells, who in a few years contributed so much, with his agitations, his laws, his violent acts, and his enmities, to the destruction of the little order and concord that were left in the Republic. The most violent of his enmities was that which he entertained for Cicero. From this trial dates the deadly enmity between the two, which was not the least of the causes of the great disorder into which the Republic fell, which gave birth to the civil war.
The trial of Clodius is, then, one of the events which paved the way for the catastrophe of the Republic. What an object lesson it is for political parties! In the excitement of the struggle, such parties reck nothing, while they deal each other slashing blows, of the hatred and rancour which they sow broadcast. But this hatred and rancour undermine in men’s minds the sentiments of concord, loyalty, moderation, tolerance, and equity, without which the social order cannot in the long run subsist; it is one of the most potent causes of the great catastrophes of history. A revolution is usually only the ultimate effect of a long succession of violent acts, affronts, and injustices which have exasperated the public mind, in which feelings of rancour accumulate and ferment until one day they explode.