Tully-Ho!

Struggling to make sense of the past fortnight in British politics, I came across this anecdote in John of Salisbury’s Policraticus (c. 1159):

Cicero, when he wanted to purchase a house on the Palatine and did not have the money at the time, accepted a secret present of two million sesterces from Sulla, who was then party to a lawsuit. Before it was purchased, the affair was uncovered and disclosed, and he was accused of having accepted money from a litigant for the sake of buying a house. Then Cicero, disturbed by the unexpected scandal, denied that he had accepted anything, saying that he was not purchasing the house; and also he said: ‘What you charge is so false that if I acquire the house, it is true that money has been accepted by me.’ But when later it was purchased and this lie was exposed by his enemies in the Senate, he laughed heartily and said, between his laughs: ‘You must be imprudent men if you do not know that to be a prudent and cautious head of a household is to deny that one wishes to buy something when competing purchasers are nearby.’ And so, that which he could not disclaim he wiped away by an urbane and humorous saying, making the matter more worthy of laughter than indictment. Indeed, it had been his custom that, whenever he could not deny a scandalous charge, he eluded it with a jocular response. [Ed. and trans. Cary J. Nederman]

Cicero is a figure of awesome, and undoubtedly warped, reputation. In medieval England he was held on par with Solomon as a wise, principled philosopher-ruler. Chaucer’s mind-numbing Tale of Melibee observes that

Tullius seith that grete thynges ne been nat accompliced by strengthe, ne by delivernesse of body, but by good conseil, by auctoritee of persones, and by science; the whiche thre thynges ne been nat fieble by age, but certes they enforcen and encreescen day by day.

And,

Therefore seith Tullius, Enclyne nat thyne eres to flatereres, ne taak no conseil of the words of flatereye.

And,

And Tullius seith that no sorwe, ne no drede of deeth, ne no thyng that may falle unto a man, is so muchel agayns nature as a man to encressen his owene profit to the harm of another man.

Good governance, sober counsel, social-mindedness and faith in wisdom (or expertise, if you will). This Cicero would have made short shrift of the UK’s shower of shits, and the thrilling irony is that the classically-educated Boris Johnson has frequently invoked Cicero over the years, having even been described as a ‘Cicero super-fan’ (admittedly by Tatler, whose use for Latin extends to ‘Quis?’ and ‘Ego!’ outside the tuck shop). I have no doubt that Johnson sees himself as Cicero, standing up to the EU’s disgraced and overbearing Antony,

For he does not now desire your slavery, as he did before, but he is angry now and thirsts for your blood. No sport is more delightful to him than bloodshed, and slaughter, and the massacre of citizens before his eyes. O Romans, you do not have to deal with a wicked and profligate man, but with an unnatural and savage beast. […] Valour tends to ward off any cruelty or disgrace in death. And that is an inalienable possession of the Roman race and name. Preserve, I beseech you, O Romans, this attribute which your ancestors have left you as a sort of inheritance. Although all other things are uncertain, fleeting, transitory; virtue alone is planted firm with very deep roots; it cannot be undermined by any violence; it can never be moved from its position. By it your ancestors first subdued the whole of Italy then destroyed Carthage, overthrew Numantia, and reduced the most mighty kings and most warlike nations under the dominion of this empire. [Philippics 4, 11-13]

And so on, except we are unlikely to see Johnson’s hands nailed to the doors of the Palace of Westminster.

Droppe þe myke.

John of Salisbury’s story shows Cicero as a morally dubious figure – perhaps a lesson of how even the most admirable of men make bad judgements, but equally a warning against accepting honour at face value. Now, Cicero is lying about what could be construed as a bribe to a public official, and not about something as esoteric as haggis exports, but I was struck in particular by John’s statement that ‘whenever he could not deny a scandalous charge, he eluded it with a jocular response.’ A critic is made to appear obsessive and dull against the light-hearted tone of the liar. It is a tactic that has served Johnson, for one, well over the years – for there can surely be nothing weirder, nerdier, or duller than wanting to assert facts about pillowcases and prawn cocktail crisps.

Cicero’s undoubted economy with certain truths was often shrouded by his exceptional skill at rhetoric and his flair for the dramatic. He might even have admired Johnson’s utter lack of scruples when it comes to misleading a crowd for political gain. This is an orator who successfully defended a man from charges of public disorder by slut-shaming the prosecutor’s sister. It helps his case that his works have enjoyed an astonishing rate of survival (about 75%) and have been rigorously studied for two thousand years, with his speeches still providing models for political speechmaking today. But not only was late republican Rome not a parliamentary democracy: Cicero lived in extraordinary times, and seemingly from reasons of principle squared up to some of the most famous war-makers in history. If Johnson in particular, and the Brexit Suicide Squad in general, truly think that Jean-Claude Juncker stands on par with Julius Caesar for populist, expansionist ambition, either satire or education is dead.

So please do not imagine that I am equating Johnson to Cicero. One of them held the highest office of the Roman Republic. The other will, I hope, never come within a mile of high office ever again.

Roman Holiday

Like those proverbial buses, birthdays always seem to come in groups. This current eight-day period sees the birthdays of sixteen Facebook friends, five actual friends, my housemate, my sister, my mother, my godmother, my late grandfather and great-grandmother, and Iggy Pop. But it’s not all about me, and today is the grandest birthday of all: Rome.

Of course, it isn’t possible to know precisely when Rome was founded, settled, called Rome, or countless other matters that mark the beginning of its status as the most historically important city in Western Europe. So today’s commemoration becomes a bit like the Queen’s Official Birthday – her actual birthday, as if by magic, also being today. Nor is it possible to describe Rome’s colossal influence on the formation of medieval Europe, linguistic, cultural, religious, or poetic. The medievals themselves were well aware of this. Writings and artworks of the high and late Middle Ages explore Rome’s foundation myths, emulate the style of her histories and celebrate the spread of Christianity as it consumed Rome’s pagan practices and appropriated her artefacts.

Tonight we’re going to party like it’s 753 B.C.

It may be a surprise to read that Rome often overshadowed even Jerusalem, for whom centuries of wars were fought and where the holiest places of Europe’s dominant religion were recalled in countless itineraries. But overshadow it did. Alexander Neckam, the late-12th-century Augustinian academic and administrator, wrote of Rome,

Primitus Europae mea pagina serviet, in qua
Roma stat, orbis apex, gloria, gemma, decus.
[My page will first treat of Europe, where stands Rome, the pinnacle, glory, jewel and honour of the world.]

He creates a picture of a city filled with churches and inhabited by the ghosts of great men – from Caesar and Cicero to Peter and Paul – and beautiful, lost artworks. Earlier books on the marvels of Rome write of the changing ground of the city, where cathedrals grow from the rubble of demolished temples. The impressive and impressing power of the Roman church pervades these books, and others that depict the lives (or, more properly, deaths) of Christians in Rome before it was Christian. It’s all too much and too varied to cover in a career, let alone in something like this.

There is an interesting side-channel to this narrative of conquest and appropriation. The books of the Church and churchmen can be, surprisingly, tinged with regret at the beauty the Church destroyed. Now, regret is not an emotion for birthdays, and birthdays aren’t a concern of the medieval Church. If you intend, like I do, to celebrate Rome’s birthday, Titus Pullo is nearer the mark.