Cassius Dio: Greek Intellectual and Roman Politician 900432416X, 9789004324169

Table of contents :
Between history and politics / Carsten Hjort Lange and Jesper Majbom Madsen
Part 1. Cassius Dio and the transformation from republic to empire
Cassius Dio's Sulla : exemplum of cruelty and Republican dictator / Gianpaolo Urso
Cassius Dio on Pompey's extraordinary commands / Marianne Coudry
The sources of cassius Dio for the Roman civil wars of 49-30 BC / Richard Westall
Cassius Dio and the foreigners / Soren Lund Sorensen
Mock the triumph : Cassius Dio, triumph and triumph-like celebrations / Carsten Hjort Lange
Part 2. Imperial history in Cassius Dio
Cassius Dio and the city of Rome / Alain M. Gowing
Criticising the benefactors : the Severans and the return of dynastic rule / Jesper Majbom Madsen
Dio the dissident : the portrait of Severus in the Roman history / Jussi Rantala
Cassius Dio's secret history of Elagabalus / Josiah Osgood
Part 3. Rhetoric and speeches in Cassius Dio
Fictitious speeches, envy, and the habituation to authority : writing the collapse of the Roman Republic / Christopher Burden-Strevens
Speeches in Dio Cassius / Andriy Fomin
Dio, Caesar and the Vesontio mutineers (38.34-47) : a rhetoric of lies / Adam Kemezis
Parrhesia in Cassius Dio / Christopher Mallan
Historiography and panegyric : the deconstruction of imperial representation in Cassius Dio's Roman history / Verena Schulz
Cassius Dio : Pepaideumenos and politician on kingship / Brandon Jones
Alexander the Great in Cassius Dio / Jesper Carlsen.

Citation preview

Cassius Dio

Historiography of Rome and Its Empire Series Editors Carsten Hjort Lange (Aalborg, Denmark) Jesper Majbom Madsen (SDU, Denmark) Editorial Board Rhiannon Ash (Oxford, UK) Henning Börm (Konstanz, Germany) Alain Gowing (University of Washington, USA) Adam Kemezis (Alberta, Canada) Christina S. Kraus (Yale, USA) J.E. Lendon (University of Virginia, USA) Josiah Osgood (Georgetown, USA) John Rich (Nottingham, UK) Federico Santangelo (Newcastle, UK) Catherine Steel (Glasgow, UK) Frederik J. Vervaet (Melbourne, Australia) Johannes Wienand (Düsseldorf, Germany)

Volume 1

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/hre

Cassius Dio Greek Intellectual and Roman Politician Edited by

Carsten Hjort Lange Jesper Majbom Madsen

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Cover photo: The Arch of Septimius Severus on the Forum Romanum. Photo courtesy of Thomas Meloni Rønn. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2016046805

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISSN 2468-2314 isbn 978-90-04-32416-9 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-33531-8 (e-book) Copyright 2016 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Historiography of Rome and Its Empire Series vii Carsten Hjort Lange and Jesper Majbom Madsen Notes on Contributors viii Between History and Politics 1 Carsten Hjort Lange and Jesper Majbom Madsen

Part 1 Cassius Dio and the Transformation from Republic to Empire 1 Cassius Dio’s Sulla: Exemplum of Cruelty and Republican Dictator 13 Gianpaolo Urso 2 Cassius Dio on Pompey’s Extraordinary Commands 33 Marianne Coudry 3 The Sources of Cassius Dio for the Roman Civil Wars of 49–30 BC 51 Richard Westall 4 Cassius Dio and the Foreigners 76 Søren Lund Sørensen 5 Mock the Triumph: Cassius Dio, Triumph and Triumph-Like Celebrations 92 Carsten Hjort Lange

Part 2 Imperial History in Cassius Dio 6 Cassius Dio and the City of Rome 117 Alain M. Gowing 7 Criticising the Benefactors: The Severans and the Return of Dynastic Rule 136 Jesper Majbom Madsen

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Dio the Dissident: The Portrait of Severus in the Roman History 159 Jussi Rantala

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Cassius Dio’s Secret History of Elagabalus 177 Josiah Osgood

Part 3 Rhetoric and Speeches in Cassius Dio 10

Fictitious Speeches, Envy, and the Habituation to Authority: Writing the Collapse of the Roman Republic 193 Christopher Burden-Strevens

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Speeches in Dio Cassius 217 Andriy Fomin

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Dio, Caesar and the Vesontio Mutineers (38.34–47): A Rhetoric of Lies 238 Adam Kemezis

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Parrhêsia in Cassius Dio 258 Christopher Mallan

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Historiography and Panegyric: The Deconstruction of Imperial Representation in Cassius Dio’s Roman History 276 Verena Schulz

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Cassius Dio – Pepaideumenos and Politician on Kingship 297 Brandon Jones

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Alexander the Great in Cassius Dio 316 Jesper Carlsen Bibliography 333 Index 359

Historiography of Rome and Its Empire Series Carsten Hjort Lange and Jesper Majbom Madsen Brill’s Historiography of Rome and Its Empire Series aims to gather innovative and outstanding contributions in order to identity debates and trends, and in order to help provide a better understanding of ancient historiography, as well as how to approach Roman history and historiography. We would particularly welcome proposals that look at both Roman and Greek writers, but are also happy to look at ones which focus on individual writers, or individuals in the same tradition. It is timely and valuable to bring these trends and historical sources together by founding the Series, focusing mainly on the Republican period and the Principate, as well as the Later Roman Empire. Historical writing about Rome in both Latin and Greek forms an integrated topic. There are two strands in ancient writing about the Romans and their empire: (a) the Romans’ own tradition of histories of the deeds of the Roman people at home and at war, and (b) Greek historical responses, some developing their own models (Polybius, Josephus) and the others building on what both the Roman historians and earlier Greeks had written (Dionysius, Appian, Cassius Dio). Whereas older scholarship tended to privilege a small group of ‘great historians’ (the likes of Sallust, Livy, Tacitus), recent work has rightly brought out the diversity of the traditions and recognized that even ‘minor’ writers are worth exploring not just as sources, but for their own concerns and reinterpretation of their material (such as The Fragments of the Roman Historians (2013), and the collected volumes on Velleius Paterculus (Cowan 2011) and Appian (Welch 2015a)). The study of these historiographical traditions is essential as a counterbalance to the traditional use of ancient authors as a handy resource, with scholars looking at isolated sections of their structure. This fragmentary use of the ancient evidence makes us forget to reflect on their work in its textual and contextual entirety.

Notes on Contributors Christopher Burden-Strevens completed his Ph.D. at the University of Glasgow in 2015, where he first worked as a postdoctoral teaching assistant in Classics and Ancient History and then as a member of the editorial team for the Fragments of the Republican Roman Orators project. He is now Lecturer in Roman History at the University of Durham. He has recently written on the role of Roman imperium and Greek quotation culture within Hellenic élite identity in the Imperial period (in Roselaar, Processes of Cultural Change and Integration in the Roman World, 2015) and on the reception of Cicero and Sallust in Cassius Dio (Steel et al., Reading Republican Oratory: Reconstructions, Contexts, Receptions, forthcoming 2017a). He is currently co-editing a volume on the first two decades of Dio’s text, Cassius Dio’s Secret History of Early Rome, as well as working on the monograph issuing from his Ph.D. thesis on the explanatory role of speeches in historiography. Jesper Carlsen Associate Professor, University of Southern Denmark. Mostly a scholar of Roman slavery, agriculture and family, he has also written extensively on Roman North Africa, gladiators and Alexander the Great. He is the author of Vilici and Roman Estate Managers until AD 284 (1995), The Rise and Fall of a Roman Noble Family: The Domitii Ahenobarbi 196 BC–AD 68 (2006) and most recently Land and Labour: Studies in Roman Social and Economic History (2013). He has also edited the following volumes: Alexander the Great: Myth and Reality (1993), Landuse in the Roman Empire (1994) and Agricoltura e scambi nell’Italia tardo-repubblicana (2009). Marianne Coudry Professor Emeritus of Roman History, Université de Haute-Alsace, is a specialist of the Roman Senate of the Mid- and Late Republic (thesis in 1989 and numerous articles), and more generally of the political culture and society of the Roman Republic. She has recently co-edited a volume on utopia in Greece and Rome with Maria Teresa Schettino (L’utopie politique et la cité idéale, 2015), and the acts of a symposium on Roman sumptuary laws, with Jean Andreau (Le luxe et les lois somptuaires dans la Rome antique, 2010). She has written on several Roman laws for the LEPOR database (http://www.cn-telma.fr/lepor/) and is author, with Guy Lachenaud, of the edition-translation-commentary of Cassius Dio’ Roman History, books 36–37 and books 38–40 (2014 and 2011). She

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is also involved in the publication of a collective volume of essays edited by Valérie Fromentin, entitled Cassius Dion: nouvelles lectures (2016). Andriy Fomin earned an Ed.M. (Social and Philosophical Foundations of Education) and a Ph.D. (Classics) at Rutgers University. He has held fellowships at the American School of Classical Studies at Athens and at the American Research Center in Sofia, he has been a research fellow at the University of Konstanz, and he has taught Classics at Montclair State University. His doctoral dissertation, How Dio Wrote History: Dio Cassius’ Intellectual, Historical, and Literary Techniques, explores the methodological aspects of Dio Cassius’ intellectual contribution to the development of Greco-Roman historiography. His current research is devoted to the question of how the psychological analysis of individual motives in Dio correlates with the author’s interpretation of history and his conception of historical causation. Alain M. Gowing Professor of Classics and Adjunct Professor of History at the University of Washington in Seattle. His chief interests lie in the area of Roman historiography and literature, especially of the imperial period. His most recent book is Empire and Memory: the Representation of the Roman Republic in Imperial Culture (2005), and he is currently working on a book-length study of the role of Rome and urban space in Sallust, Livy and Tacitus. Brandon F. Jones Assistant Professor, Intercollegiate Center for Classical Studies in Rome, has taught at the University of Puget Sound and the University of Washington, where he received his Ph.D in 2015. His research focuses on literary and social interactions in the Roman Empire. His first monograph is in progress under the working title Greek Education, Roman Status: Studies of Paideia in Latin Prose. Adam Kemezis Associate Professor, University of Alberta, is the author of Greek Narratives of the Roman Empire under the Severans: Cassius Dio, Philostratus and Herodian (2014) and several articles on Cassius Dio and contemporaries, as well as on the Severan era and Imperial Greek literature in general, including recently “The Fall of Elagabalus as Literary Narrative and Political Reality: A Reconsideration” (Historia 65/3 [2016]). He is the co-editor, with Patrick Hogan, of a recent special issue of Classical World (No. 110/1) on “Writing Imperial Politics in Greek”. His ongoing publication interests include the role of literature in

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Imperial Roman political culture, with a particular focus on Tacitus and the Historia Augusta. Carsten Hjort Lange Assistant Professor, Aalborg University, is co-editor of Brill’s Historiography of Rome and Its Empire Series. He is the author of two monographs: Res Publica Constituta: Actium, Apollo and the Accomplishment of the Triumviral Assignment (2009) and Triumphs in the Age of Civil War: The Late Republic and the Adaptability of Triumphal Tradition (2016). He has written articles on political and military history, including “The Battle of Actium: A Reconsideration” (Classical Quarterly 61/2 [2011]), and has co-edited a volume on the Roman Republican triumph with Frederik Juliaan Vervaet (The Roman Republican Triumph: Beyond the Spectacle, 2014). He is currently working on a monograph on civil war and, jointly with Frederik Juliaan Vervaet, a volume on The Historiography of Late Republican Civil War. Jesper Majbom Madsen Associate Professor and Director of Teaching, University of Southern Denmark, is co-editor of Brill’s Historiography of Rome and Its Empire Series. He is the author of Eager to be Roman: Greek Response to Roman Rule in Pontus and Bithynia (2009) and is the co-editor of Roman Rule in Greek and Latin Writing: Double Vision (2014). He has published a number of articles on emperor worship, lately “Cassius Dio and the Cult of Iulius and Roma at Ephesus and Nicaea (51.20.6–8)” (Classical Quarterly 66/1 [2016]). His is currently working on a monograph examining the Pompeian city states in Pontos. Christopher Thomas Mallan Lecturer in Ancient History, St Benet’s Hall, University of Oxford, is the author of several articles on Cassius Dio and other (predominately) Greekspeaking historians of the Roman Empire. His recent work includes a study of the Parthica of Pseudo-Appian (Historia, forthcoming) and an investigation into the origins of the book indices found in the manuscripts of Cassius Dio (Classical Quarterly, forthcoming). He is currently preparing for publication a commentary on Books 57 and 58 of Dio’s Roman History. Josiah Osgood Professor of Classics at Georgetown University, teaches and studies all areas of Roman history, with a focus on the period usually described as the ‘fall of the Roman Republic.’ He is the author of several books, including Caesar’s Legacy: Civil War and the Emergence of the Roman Empire (2006) and Turia: a Roman

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Woman’s Civil War (2014). With Susanna Braund, he co-edited A Companion to Persius and Juvenal (2012). He is currently finishing a survey of the impact of Rome’s land and sea empire on its politics, economy, and culture, entitled: Rome: Building the World State (150 BCE–20 CE), and he is interested in further elucidating the Mediterranean setting of Rome’s political history. Jussi Rantala Researcher, University of Tampere, finished his PhD thesis at the University of Tampere in 2013. He is currently finishing a monograph on Severan imperial ideology. He has written articles on politics, religion, identity and historiography in ancient Rome, and is presently editing a volume on power relations in the Graeco-Roman world. He is also co-editing, with Jenni Kuuliala, a volume dealing with travelling and pilgrimage in the ancient and medieval world. Verena Schulz Academic Coordinator, Ludwig-Maximilians-Universität München, focuses on Imperial Roman Historiography and Ancient Rhetoric. Her dissertation was published as Die Stimme in der antiken Rhetorik (2014). She co-edited an interdisciplinary volume on Nero and Domitian (Nero und Domitian: Mediale Diskurse der Herrscherrepräsentation im Vergleich, 2014) and has written several articles about Tacitus, Suetonius and Cassius Dio. She is currently working on her habilitation project, a book about the deconstruction of eccentric forms of imperial representation in Roman Historiography and Biography. Søren Lund Sørensen Research Assistant, Freie Universität Berlin, is the author of Between kingdom and koinon: Neoklaudiopolis and the Pontic cities (2016). He has written articles on Graeco-Roman epigraphy and on Jews in the ancient world. Recent articles include: “A re-examination of the imperial oath from Vezirköprü” (Philia 1 [2015]) and “Merging the Jewish Eupolemoi – an onomastic approach” ( Journal of Jewish Studies 66/1 [2015]). Gianpaolo Urso Post-Doctoral Fellow, LabEx Sciences Archéologiques, Bordeaux, is author of three monographs: Taranto e gli xenikoi strategoi (1998), Cassio Dione e i magi­strati: Le origini della repubblica nei frammenti della “Storia romana” (2005), and Cassio Dione e i sovversivi: La crisi della repubblica nei frammenti della “Storia romana” (2013). He has published articles on Roman Republican history and on the Greek and Latin historiography of Rome. He has edited the proceedings of the international conferences of the Fondazione Niccolo

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Canussio (2000–2014, fourteen volumes) and is currently involved in the publication of the collective volume entitled Cassius Dion: nouvelles lectures (forthcoming 2016). Richard Westall Adjunct Professor, Pontificia Università Gregoriana / Catholic University of America / USAC-Viterbo, is the author of the monograph Caesarian Soundings (forthcoming 2016), which examines Julius Caesar’s De bello civili. He has published various articles dealing with the socio-economic history of Roman imperialism and the historiography of the Roman civil wars of 49–30 BCE. At present he is editing a collective volume on the Roman civil wars (forthcoming 2016) and revising a second monograph reconstructing the history of the creation of the original basilica of St Peter at the Vatican by the emperor Constantius II.

Between History and Politics Carsten Hjort Lange and Jesper Majbom Madsen This collection of essays on Cassius Dio is the first to appear in the new Brill Series Historiography of Rome and its Empire. The Series originated in a Cassius Dio Network (co-founded by Carsten H. Lange and Jesper M. Madsen), which in turn emerged from a Cassius Dio conference entitled Greek Intellectual and Roman Politician, organised in 2014 by Madsen and Lange. Modern scholarship has tended to be somewhat dismissive of Dio. Yet regardless of what we think of Dio as a historian, there is no denying that he occupies a central position in Roman historiography. He is the most detailed extant source for the reign of Augustus and fundamental to the study of the Principate until 229 CE, when he retired from Roman politics. His 80-book Roman History narrates events from the foundation of Rome to circa 229 CE. While much is lost, the surviving text fills nine Loeb volumes (Cary 1914–1927) and four Boissevain volumes, totalling some 2000 pages of Greek text. This is not, however, only a question of quantity (see below). Adding to recent work, Dio and his Roman History represent a good opportunity to test the aims and scopes of the Series. The Cassius Dio Network is a joint venture between SDU, Denmark (Jesper M. Madsen), AAU, Denmark (Carsten H. Lange), and AU, Denmark (George Hinge), in cooperation with the University of Alberta (Adam Kemezis) and Georgetown University (Josiah Osgood). It is, of course, far from certain that Roman history should be entirely rewritten due to a new approach to Dio. But by gathering a number of the world’s Dio specialists, and by emphasising his overall importance, we hope to influence scholars’ understanding of Roman history and historiography in general. Previous work on Dio has focused on providing translations and critical commentaries of the Roman History.1 This groundwork is essential, but it is time to take Dio scholarship further. The main purpose will be to pursue a combined historiographic, literary and rhetorical analysis of Dio’s work and of its political and intellectual agendas. The principal aim of the Network is to change how Dio – one of the key historians of ancient Rome – is perceived: from a historian sometimes judged as mediocre, to a politician and intellectual steeped in Roman history and historiography. This reassessment will rest on a deeper study of his narrative technique, his 1  Reinhold 1988; Rich 1990; Murison 1999; Freyburger-Galland, Hinard & Cordier 2002; Freyburger-Galland & Roddaz 2002; Swan 2004; Bertrand & Fromentin 2008; 2014; Lachenaud & Coudry 2011; 2014.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004335318_002

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relationship with traditions of both universal and Rome-centric historiography, and his structural approach to Roman history. Dio is the only historian who follows the developments of Rome’s political institutions over more than a thousand years.2 This makes him an indispensable source for Rome’s history, particularly in the Late Republic, the reign of Augustus, and the second and third centuries CE. Traditionally, work on Dio has focused on one or several contiguous books. The aim of this Network, correspondingly, is to take on the whole work and reposition it as a central achievement of Greco-Roman historiography. In his classic and still influential book – A Study of Cassius Dio (1964) – the historian Fergus Millar denies that Dio had a political agenda and at the same time claims that he simply wrote history through the lens of his own contemporary world. This network sets out to challenge this approach. While there is a growing interest in Dio in international scholarship, focusing on rhetorical and literary aspects, there is still little attention devoted to historiographical questions.3 As already mentioned, Dio is most frequently used as a handy resource, with scholars looking at isolated sections of his annalistic structure. This fragmentary use of the Roman History causes us to neglect his work in its textual and contextual entirety. Contrary to this approach, the Network will place emphasis on Dio and his Roman History in its historiographical setting, thus allowing us to link and understand the different parts of his work. We propose that Dio did have a political agenda: the entire Roman History is centred on his vision of an idealised form of Roman monarchical government. This is already highly perceptible in the books on the Republic, where free political competition is criticised as destabilising the state. In the later, imperial books, Dio focuses on individual emperors and dynasties to develop a theory of the best kind of monarchy and monarchy’s typical problems. One result of this is that his work does not present itself as exclusively annalistic in nature, but also as a series of imperial biographies, beginning with the dynasts of the Republic. This introduces a tension into his narrative structure, which creates a unique sense of the past and allows us to see Roman history through a specific lens. The whole text should accordingly be considered in order to understand Dio’s approaches to and assessments of different time-periods; he is not just simply a writer of narrative history. Of course we also need to reflect on some of the deficiencies of Dio – even what appear to be sloppy errors – but this is only possible if we accept that Dio was a figure in his own right, as a politician, 2  See Urso 2005 and Simons 2009. 3  Gleason 2011; Kemezis 2014. Much awaited is the Fromentin volume (forthcoming 2016), which includes 55 articles on Dio.

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a historian and an intellectual who added philosophical reflection (especially through self-authored speeches assigned to historical protagonists) to create a narrative that suited his overall political objectives and structural understanding. Dio sometimes seems to change his attitudes to certain subjects in his narrative (political institutions, as well as emperors): this may partly be due to his source material, but also down to his working method. Dio spent ten years in gathering his material, followed by twelve years composing his work (book 73[72].23.5). This long period of research and composition – which witnessed great political turmoil in the Roman Empire – can help to account for some of the shifts in his work. Crucially, it appears that Dio was not simply writing contemporary history into the past; he also wanted to understand Roman history on its own terms and also lay out examples for future rulers to follow, in the light of long-term experience. He makes it possible for us to view a large part of Roman history through a distinctive interpretation, focusing on the underlying structural elements of imperial society, the individuality of emperors, and the relationship between institutions and individuals. It seems impractical to get a large group of scholars coming from different countries and educational backgrounds – historians and classical ­philologists – to commit to a single method and theory. However, we take inspiration from a recent restatement of the great value of long-term history, which seeks to understand multiple pasts.4 Dio’s text can be the starting point for a more structural approach to Roman History that spans the usually sharp divide made between “Republic” and “Empire.” As with the Greek historian Thucydides – who famously describes the impact of the internal strife at Corfu in 427 BCE (book 3.81–85) – Dio’s emphasis on civil war provides us with an opportunity to view such conflicts as part of la longue durée, even providing insight into issues relevant for present conflicts, for example the extreme use of violence. Dio wrote in the realist tradition of Thucydides and sought to empirically confirm Thucydides’ analysis of civil war by citing comparable episodes in Roman history. Similarly, Dio’s universal history contains many analyses of “good” and “bad” emperors that take on more meaning when treated structurally, as building blocks for his political theory. His approach to the Republican dynasts should be considered much the same way. This partly seems to be the product of his idea that a republican form of government is inadequate. The question that arises is how this fits into his wider political and structural views on Roman history, including his realist view of the world. The objective of this Network is therefore to understand Dio, but at the same time we will inevitably reshape scholars’ understanding of Roman history in its 4  Guldi & Armitage 2014.

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entirety, with all its structural elements and transformations. Dio is the perfect starting point for a new Roman history that uses developments over hundreds of years to unearth larger patterns of change and continuity.

Cassius Dio – Greek Intellectual and Roman Politician

The bimillennium of Augustus’ death on 19 August 2014 inspired us to revisit and re-evaluate Dio, a key source for the history of Augustus and his successors. The following year was also the fiftieth anniversary of the publication of Fergus Millar’s monograph, a book that remains at the centre of Augustan scholarship and Roman historiography. The above-mentioned conference aimed to understand Dio, rather than to accept or refute him. Whereas earlier scholarship focused on Dio’s dependence on his sources, we perceive this volume and the network as being part of a new trend that focuses on Dio’s own contributions to his narrative, including his own interpretations and remoulding of the historical material (cf. Rich forthcoming). The conference was funded by The Danish Council for Independent Research (DFF), Humanities (FKK), The Centre for Medieval Literature, SDU & Meloni Press. We are grateful for the funding and support we have received from these institutions. We owe a debt of gratitude to Brill’s Jennifer Pavelko (Acquisitions Editor, Classical Studies) for encouraging us to create this timely and valuable series, and also to assistant editor Tessel Jonquière, and the rest of the team at Brill. The volume brings together a number of case studies that highlight various aspects of Dio’s Roman History, focusing on previously ignored or misunderstood aspects of his narrative. This collection of sixteen papers is divided into three thematic sections, ranging chronologically from the Late Republic to Dio’s own age. The first section, Cassius Dio and the Transformation from Republic to Empire, begins with Gianpaolo Urso, who focuses on Dio’s use of the image of Sulla as cruel, common in late republican historiography and an integral part of the so-called “myth of Sulla”. Dio utilises this historiographical topos as a means to criticise contemporary civil war and the emperor Septimius Severus, the victor in the civil war against Clodius Albinus in 197 CE. The cruelty of Sulla (and Marius) should be seen as an outright rejection of the cruelty of Severus and his revenge against his enemies in 197 CE. In a speech Severus praises the cruelty of Sulla. In Dio’s narrative the cruelty of Sulla is remembered in a way as to remind the reader of the speech of Severus, as the emperor used Sulla as his exemplum. However, according to Dio, Sulla did not aim for absolute power and his dictatorship did in fact follow Roman traditions. Dio e­mphasises

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Caesar’s dictatorship as the turning point in the transition from republic to monarchy. The criticism of the cruelty of Sulla thus does not imply a rejection of Sulla per se. Marianne Coudry examines the vote in 67 BCE of the lex Gabinia, providing Pompeius with an extraordinary imperium in the fight against piracy. She examines the surprisingly detailed narration of the event (about one third of book 36), comparing it to parallel evidence in Dio’s Roman History. She suggests that Dio is focusing on a specific turning-point in Roman history: the transition from one politeia (Republic) to another (Principate). Dio’s description of the voting process itself is clearly intended to stress the discordia during the outgoing Republic, and the long speeches of the protagonists are elaborate pieces of rhetoric delivering far reaching messages. Of particular interest is the speech of Pompeius, who, in Dio, falsely pretends to refuse the command proposed by his accomplice, the tribune Gabinius, a tactic later repeated by Augustus in 27 BCE. Rather different is the purpose of Catulus’ speech, which emphasizes the contradiction between such an imperium and the survival of the Republic. According to Coudry: “[Dio] too is convinced that the extraordinary command proposed for Pompey endangers the political system of the Romans” (p. 43), thereby opening the way to dynasteiai, and later monarchia. Richard Westall’s chapter focuses on the question of which sources Dio used in his extended narrative on the Late Republic in the years 49–30 BCE. Traditionally there has been a tendency to identify Livy as Dio’s main source. Contrary to this view, he emphasises that Dio most likely relied upon a “philoRepublican source” that was consistently critical of the Caesarian leaders. Most likely this source is Cremutius Cordus, an author indeed known for his critical historiographical stance. Dio’s narrative of the battle of Pharsalus accordingly shows sensitivity towards the defeated and is arguably more than merely a rehearsal of Livy’s account. Similarly, Dio’s account of the sacrifice of 300 senators and knights at the close of the siege and capture of Perusia draws upon a historiographical tradition at odds with Augustan ideology. On the other hand, Dio seems to ignore the triumphs of Antonian partisans in the 40s and 30s BCE, and the description of Cassius and Brutus at Philippi is favourable, even if the act of tyrannicide itself is condemned. Last and perhaps most significantly, Dio’s narrative reveals knowledge of Cordus and the fact that his Annales was critical of the dynasts of the Late Republic. Søren Lund Sørensen’s chapter on emperor worship focuses on a highly problematic and disputed passage in Dio (51.20), set in 29 BCE. This chapter lays down the guidelines for the imperial cult in Asia and emphasizes an alleged distinction between “citizens” and “foreigners”, while at the same time highlighting that citizens were not involved in the cult to the living emperor

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during the reign of Augustus. Even though factually wrong, this was necessary in order to distance the reign of Augustus from Dio’s own time. By mentioning foreigners (“the Hellenes”), Sørensen argues, Dio was in fact referring to the provincial assemblies, or koina. Dio did not use the word koinon in 51.20 because, Sørensen asserts, “Dio lets Augustus himself assign the koina with the title “the Hellenes”, as if hitherto they had not been known by this title” (p. 85). It is argued that Dio distorted historical facts, claiming a division that never existed, at the same time projecting the present into the past, trying to create a plausible historical origin for the imperial cult. The final chapter in this opening section offers an interpretation of the Roman triumph and triumph-like celebrations in Dio’s narrative. According to Carsten H. Lange, Dio does not remark on many triumphs, but he focuses his attention on divergences from customary procedure, particularly in his extensive narrative of the period of staseis and dynasteiai during the Late Republic. This was part of Dio’s general supposition that the dysfunctional demokratia could only be fixed by Augustus, Dio’s model emperor. Throughout his narrative Dio’s primary concern “. . . remained a sustained historical narrative, and his discussions of rituals such as the triumph were coloured by the need to support that narrative” (p. 92). The chapter also suggests that the key to understanding triumphal matters in Dio’s narrative, as well as the actual Roman triumph, is an often neglected and mishandled – but substantial – excursus on triumphal procedure in Zonaras 7.21 (cf. John Tzetzes). This passage is an indispensable description of the customary Roman triumph and triumphal procedure, as well as a valuable source of information about triumphal requirements. The second section focuses on Imperial History in Cassius Dio, beginning with Alain Gowing’s chapter on references to monuments and buildings of Rome in the narrative of Dio: as symbols of power, as places where divine displeasure may be manifested, and as a device to establish Dio’s own authority. In doing so Dio draws on the Roman historiographical tradition, but significantly, also departs from it. Rome under Septimius Severus underwent the greatest transformation since the time of Augustus, a transformation that impressed Dio. But what is the role of the city of Rome in the narrative, and what attachment did Dio have to it? In Latin authors an emotional attachment to Rome is commonplace, but in Dio no similar sentiment can be found. According to Gowing “this reflects a fundamental lack of interest on Dio’s part in the development and growth of Rome as a city” (p. 122). Dio never refers to the topography of Rome in a way that suggests readers without prior knowledge: buildings are mentioned, not located. Buildings and monuments are chiefly of interest to Dio as symbols of power (and self-promotion) or the abuse of

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power. Thus, according to Dio, buildings tell us much about the men who built them. Having said that, we may even assume that Dio was not especially fond of Rome. Jesper M. Madsen’s paper focuses on Dio’s criticism of the dynasty in power. The chapter is devoted to Dio’s disapproval of the Severans, arguing that the negative portrayal of the contemporary emperors is closely tied to a deep frustration over the fact that a new dynasty had replaced the system of the adoptive emperors, which, Madsen argues, Dio saw as the ideal form of rule. Even if the notion of how adoptive emperors treated the senators with more respect was an illusion, Dio still portrays the better part of the second century as one of the most stable periods in Roman politics, because the system of adoption meant that the new emperors were chosen from among the most distinguished and experienced senators. In Dio’s thoughts about Roman politics, this meant that the Senate, once again, was back in power. Jussi Rantala’s chapter focuses on senatorial disapproval of change in imperial policy during the reign of Septimius Severus, victor in the first full-blown civil war since after the death of Nero. Whereas the Antonines had maintained a policy of co-operation between the Senate and the emperor, the new emperor Severus had an altogether different approach, purging the Senate in 197 CE. Just like Thucydides, Dio is a cynical observer of human affairs. Dio’s contemporary narrative is seen as a critique of this purge and in more general terms a critique of the imperial ideology of the new emperor. Even though he accepts that Dio’s portrait of Severus is neither entirely negative nor positive, Rantala argues that it is basically a critique of the regime: Dio’s portrayal of Severus’ handling of the body of his dead enemy Clodius Albinus is one example, and proof that Severus was not a good emperor. In the last chapter of this section Josiah Osgood focuses on Dio’s account of Elagabalus, a portrait traditionally dismissed as a “rhetorical stereotype” of a “bad emperor”. This is indeed not an accurate portrayal of the emperor, as Osgood shows. But he argues that Dio purposefully goes to extremes not seen previously in his massive history to criticize not only Elagabalus but also ­dynastic monarchy. Dio uses nicknames, images of effeminacy, and claims about the god Elagabalus to show the emperor’s breaches with practices – and the way dynastic monarchy enabled these breaches. If the speech of Maecenas illustrates an ideal Principate for Dio, set out at the start of his history of emperors, the narrative of Dio’s contemporary Elagabalus comes as a foil at the end, illustrating all the excesses to which dynastic monarchy can lead. While the account of Elagabalus echoes Dio’s accounts of earlier “bad emperors” such as Nero, his elevated tone and outrage mirror the collapse of social hierarchy and political stability that he sets out to describe.

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The third and final section on Rhetoric and Speeches in Cassius Dio begins with Christopher Burden-Strevens’ chapter on speeches as a medium of historical explanation in Dio’s Late Republican narrative. These compositions, he argues, form a part of Dio’s analysis of the causes of constitutional change, and set out those causes in speech, rather than narrative, to lend the historian’s explanation further subtlety and persuasive authority. The chapter focuses on the way in which Dio used speeches to explore two specific issues: the causal relationship between the distribution of power within the empire and the development of individual commanders’ autocratic ambition; and the proliferation of envy within political life. Through these compositions, the historian emphasises these issues as driving factors of Republican decline. This constitutes a significant change in approach: traditionally Dio’s speeches have been deemed of little historical importance. Contrary to this dismissal, BurdenStrevens suggests that the author used oratory to explain the decline of the outgoing Republic. In the speech of Catulus, for example, Dio emphasises that the lex Gabinia was instrumental in Pompeius’ moral decline, which made it impossible for him to save the Res Publica at Pharsalus. Dio’s solution to this and other problems is to be found in the Agrippa-Maecenas debate, which not only reflects monarchy during the third century, but serves also as a final recapitulation on the historical problems of Dio’s Republic, and foreshadows the reforms necessary to secure a smooth transition to the Principate. Andriy Fomin argues that the orations were part of a rhetorical exercise with scant or no ties to the historical context – within Dio’s overall narrative – in which they appear. He consequently proposes to appreciate the speeches as attempts to demonstrate superior rhetorical skills instead of expressing political views or dramatizing historical events. Attention is drawn to how Dio composed his rhetorical works and how they were particularly inspired by trends during the Second Sophistic: examples include the AgrippaMaecenas dialogue and Augustus’ speech on the significance of marriage, both of which were inspired by parallel rhetorical texts. Fomin continues to emphasise that speeches were far from always a logical match with their position within the historical narrative. He offers an alternative approach to the study of Dio speeches, challenging the prevailing scholarly consensus, which suggests that the speeches in the Roman History contained at least a core of historical truth. Adam Kemezis’ chapter on the Vesontio Mutineers in 58 BCE looks at Caesar’s own account of the matter, Dio’s understanding of Caesar’s account, and Dio’s version of political rhetoric during the declining Republic. Dio charac­ terises Late Republican rhetoric, through the speech of Caesar, as effective, but dishonest, with personal ambition as a main motivation. Contrary to this,

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Caesar portrays himself as a gifted military leader “whose men are bound directly to him by the force of their shared virtus” (p. 242). Dio’s version, informed by his reading of Caesar’s account, in effect responds to that account by portraying Caesar as a cynical and self-interested figure. Dio’s construction of Caesar, the speaker, is thus part of Dio’s description of the political dysfunction of the Late Republic. Through rhetoric Caesar and other late republican dynasts “acquire the popular followings required to realize their personal ambition” ( p. 254), with Dio evoking “Thucydidean realist” sentiments. Persuasive rhetoric was, however, an essential part of politics in both Caesar’s and Dio’s own lifetime. In reassessing Caesar’s speech, Dio “proves remarkably sensitive to the role of rhetoric in different political settings” (p. 238). Christopher Mallan’s chapter focuses on the idea of parrhêsia (“frank speech”) in Dio’s political thought. For Dio, parrhêsia was a defining characteristic of the Republican form of government (dêmokratia). The chapter begins with a discussion of Dio’s portrayals of the Younger Cato and Cicero, and how these men’s displays of parrhêsia represent the positive and negative sides of frank speech, and how these characterizations feed into a broader commentary on the state of the Republic at the time of its decline. The advent of the Augustan monarchy saw parrhêsia become an indulgence of emperors rather than an unquestioned right of citizens (and perhaps senators especially). Here, Mallan argues, Dio becomes more focused on how emperors reacted to ‘parrhêsiastic’ displays by senators or would-be advisors, and used these reactions as a barometer of an emperor’s quality as a ruler. Finally, Mallan concludes by suggesting that parrhêsia is a central component in Dio’s self-fashioning as a critical (senatorial) historian of his own time, and that the writing of history provided the means and opportunity for Dio to engage in outspoken criticism of the ruling dynasty. Verena Schulz brings attention to how historiographical discourse reacts to panegyric accounts of imperial representation in Dio. Her focus is on how Dio deconstructs versions promoted by less competent emperors. With a rhetorical device coined “the deconstruction of the imperial representation”, Schulz shows how, by deconstructing emperors’ official self-representation, Dio – turns “bad” emperors into tyrants. The chapter focuses on the rule of Domitian. Schulz moreover demonstrates how the same literary mechanisms are employed in Dio’s account of several of the compromised emperors – with the strategy being adapted to the specific emperor in question. Dio thus subverts the official imperial version in forming his own approach to a specific emperor: for example Domitian’s role as a significant military leader is criticized and Dio also deconstructs other ‘bad emperors’ by manipulating how they were represented in official versions.

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Brandon Jones’ chapter focuses on Dio as a participant in the literary and social milieu of the second and third centuries CE. Although Dio was not an outright sophist, he reveals a number of sophistic qualities, not least a desire to display literary paideia and to appear among the socio-political elite. Having established himself as such, Dio evaluates emperors on a similar plane. He measures them in terms of paideia, presenting a theory of kingship throughout his narrative in which the princeps embraces sophisticated education and those who have obtained it. Dio emphasises the weaknesses of democracy, but Jones offers yet another explanation for Dio’s monarchism – Dio does not support every monarch, but only those that serve the pepaideumenos. The final chapter by Jesper Carlsen focuses on the passages referring to Alexander the Great in the surviving narrative of Dio, exploring Dio’s focus on Alexander as part of his own Greek cultural background, as well as offering reflections on the use of Alexander in the context of Roman politics. Dio offers two distinct images of Alexander: on one hand, the young world conqueror (in the narratives of Perseus, Caesar, Augustus, and Trajan), and, on the other hand, the despotic ruler (in the account of Caligula and, in particular, Caracalla). Dio reflects on good Roman rulers and their imitation of/similarities to Alexander, the world conqueror, but also on how a less adequate emperor’s imitation of Alexander is a sign of megalomania and despotism. There is no Greek nostalgia in Dio’s use of Alexander, who does not appear in a role similar to Plutarch’s philosopher king or Arrian’s Homeric hero. Alexander was instead a successful historical figure analogous only to the best of the Rome’s emperors, if at all.

Part 1 Cassius Dio and the Transformation from Republic to Empire

∵

CHAPTER 1

Cassius Dio’s Sulla: Exemplum of Cruelty and Republican Dictator Gianpaolo Urso 1 After his victory over Clodius Albinus, in 197, Septimius Severus convened the senators and delivered a bitter speech, reported by Cassius Dio (76[75].8.1–4), who probably attended the meeting.1 Severus paid homage to the memory of Commodus, whom for some time he had claimed to be his brother:2 then, he demanded his formal deification. In the course of the speech, Severus praised the cruelty of Sulla, Marius, and Augustus against their enemies in the civil wars: Πρός τε τὴν βουλήν λὸγον ἀναγινώσκων, καὶ τὴν μὲν Σύλλου καὶ Μαρίου καὶ Ἀυγούστον αὐστηρίαν τε καὶ ὠμότητα ὡς ἀσφαλεστέραν ἐπαίνων, τὴν δὲ Πομπηίου καὶ Καίσαρος ἐπιείκειαν ὡς ὀλεθρίαν αὐτοῖς ἐκεῖνοις γεγενημένην κακίζων, ἀπολογίαν τινὰ ὑπὲρ τοῦ Κομμόδου ἐπήγαγε, [2] καθαπτόμενος τῆς βουλῆς ὡς οὐ δικαίως ἐκεῖνον ἀτιμαζούσης, εἴγε καὶ αὐτῆς οἱ πλείους αἴσχιον βιοτεύουσιν . . . [3] ἀναγνοὺς δὲ ταῦτα τριάκοντα μὲν καὶ πέντε ἀπέλυσε τῶν τὰ Ἀλβίνου φρονῆσαι αἰτιαθέντων, [4] καὶ ὡς μηδεμίαν τὸ παράπαν αἰτίαν ἐσχηκόσιν αὐτοῖς προσεφέρετο (ἦσαν δὲ ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις τῆς γερουσίας), ἐννέα δὲ καὶ εἴκοσιν ἀνδρῶν θάνατον κατεψηφίσατο, ἐν οἷς ἄρα καὶ Σουλπικιανὸς ὁ τοῦ Περτίνακος πενθερὸς ἠριθμεῖτο. While reading to the Senate a speech, in which he praised the severity and cruelty of Sulla, Marius and Augustus as the safer course and deprecated the mildness of Pompey and Caesar as having proved the ruin of those very men, he introduced a sort of defence of Commodus [2] and inveighed against the Senate for dishonouring that emperor unjustly, in view of the fact that the majority of its members lived worse lives . . . [3] After reading this address, he released thirty-five prisoners who were charged with having sided with Albinus, [4] and behaved toward them as if they had 1  Millar 1964, 142; Rich 1989, 97. 2  Birley 1988, 118, 127.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004335318_003

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not incurred any charge at all (they were among the foremost members of the Senate), but condemned to death twenty-nine other men, among whom naturally was Sulpicianus, the father-in-law of Pertinax.3 Xiphilinus’ epitome of Dio condenses a speech which had certainly a more extensive content. Severus might have praised, among other things, the greatness of his own victory, through a comparison with the civil wars of the Late Republic (we have perhaps an echo of this celebration in Hdn. 3.7.7–8).4 This very speech is hinted by the Historia Augusta (Sev. 12.7–9) too: Severus arrived at Rome iratus populo et senatoribus (“filled with wrath at the people and Senate”), delivered a eulogy of Commodus before the Senate and before an assembly of the people, declared him a god, and claimed that he had been unpopular only among the degraded, ut appareret eum apertissime furere (“indeed, it was evident that Severus was openly furious”); “after this” (post hoc) he spoke about his own clementia, whereas – our source adds – he executed a number of senators. The allusion to clementia seems to clash with Dio’s version: it probably indicates that the speech was more articulated than Xiphilinus’ summary.5 But clementia had been (with aequitas) a quality emphasised in the coinage of Clodius Albinus:6 Severus’ praise of the severity and cruelty of Sulla, Marius, and Augustus certainly sounds like a provocative response to Albinus’ propaganda. The memory of Augustus’ (or rather of young Octavian’s) cruelty had been largely silenced by the historiographical tradition (cf. Vell. Pat. 2.86.2), with the significant exceptions of Suetonius (Aug. 15) and Dio himself (48.14.3–5; 49.12.4–5; 51.2.4–6).7 On the other hand, Sulla’s and Marius’ cruelty was still a paradigmatic exemplum, and Sulla’s cruelty had become an integral part of the so-called “myth of Sulla”, firmly established in the Augustan age and widely accepted by historians of every political orientation, though only after a gradual process.8 3  All the translations of Greek and Latin texts are taken from the Loeb Classical Library. 4  Zecchini 1993, 93; Schettino 2000, 268–269; Schettino 2001, 545–546. 5  This issue was certainly treated in Severus’ autobiography, where he justified his harshest deeds (SHA Sev. 18.5): “He wrote a trustworthy account of his own life, both before and after he became emperor, in which the only charge that he tried to explain away was that of cruelty”. Cf. Schettino 2000, 266–267. 6  Birley 1988, 123, 127; Schettino 2000, 269. 7  Manuwald 1979, 73; Rich 1989, 97; see also Westall in this volume. 8  Laffi 1967, 255–277; Hinard 1984, 81–97 [= 2011, 23–38]; Dowling 2000, 303–340; Zecchini 2002, 45–55; Batstone 2010, 192–193.

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Severus’ choice to flag up Sulla’s “severity and cruelty” as an example worth following is not surprising, if we bear in mind its historical context. Like Sulla, Severus was the victor of a civil war, and had marched on Rome too: the comparison between Sulla and the emperor was unavoidable. Severus did not reject this comparison, but accepted it and overturned the perspective, so that the ancient monster of cruelty became an exemplum.9 The rehabilitation of Commodus, who had bestowed on himself the name Felix, must have gone in the same direction too. Sulla’s Commentarii, which Plutarch and Gellius could still read,10 were probably a model for those of Severus. According to the Historia Augusta (Pesc. Nig. 6.3–4), the execution of so many senators earned him the nicknames “Punic Sulla” or “Punic Marius”. And Severus’ position towards Sulla was followed by Caracalla too, who displayed his admiration for the dictator on several occasions.11 In the age of the Severans the figure of Sulla had become topical again, which helps to explain, at least in part, Dio’s particular interest in him. Dio’s account about Marius and Sulla is largely lost: only a few fragments are extant, 9 on Marius and 9 on Sulla, all quoted by the Excerpta Constantiniana.12 But we have also a large number of mentions out of context in books 36–56, preserved through the direct tradition, and a few others in the last decades 9  Here I am following Zecchini 1993, 94. 10  Flower 2015, 209. 11  Again Zecchini 1993, 94: Caracalla often praised Sulla (and Tiberius), he spoke and acted as if he wanted to be a “new Sulla”, and tried to treat the soldiers as Sulla had done (SHA M. Ant. 2.2; 4.10; 5.4); he “made search for the tomb of Sulla and repaired it . . . because he was emulating his cruelty (τὴν ὠμότητα αὐτοῦ ἐζήλου)” (Cass. Dio 78[77].13.7); he thought very highly of two generals, Sulla and Hannibal, and commissioned statues and portraits of them (Hdn. 4.8.5). 12  Marius: frg. 89.1 [Excerpta de Legationibus gentium ad Romanos 19]; 89.2 [Excerpta de Virtutibus et vitiis 78: Marius is not explicitly mentioned]; 89.3 [EV 79]; 89.5 [ELg 20]; 89.6 [ELg 21]; 94.1 [EV 86]; 92.2–4 [EV 91]; 98.2 [EV 97]; 102.8–11 [EV 104]; Sulla: frg. 102.1–4 [EV 102]; 104.7 [EV 15]; 106 [EV 117]; 107.1 [EV 118]; 108.1–2 [EV 119]; 109.1–5 [EV 120]; 109.6–10 [EV 121]; 109.11–20 [EV 122]; 109.21 [EV 123: Sulla is not explicitly mentioned]. We might perhaps add, with the editors, three fragments quoted by the lexicon Περὶ συντάξεως (frg. 99.1a [p. 166,18 Bekker = 87,8 Petrova]; 104.8 [p. 165,15 Bekker = 85,13 Petrova]; 107.3 [p. 162,10 Bekker = 80,18 Petrova]), but their reference to Sulla remains hypothetical, because these fragments are very short (a few words each) and Sulla is never mentioned. Four of the fragments on Sulla, concerning the end of the civil war and the proscriptions, are very long: seven pages of Greek text in the Loeb edition (2, 484–497). Cf. Millar 1964, 43: “His account of the proscriptions carried out by Sulla . . . comes near to being a piece of great writing and shows a man who lived through a similar, if much less terrible, period in the civil wars under Severus”; Gowing 1992, 266–267.

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(quoted by the Excerpta Constantiniana or by Xiphilinus’ epitome). In the extant text Marius is mentioned 33 times, Sulla 62, nearly twice as much. In the “republican” fragments we have 15 and 13 mentions respectively, but this is hardly significant, because this balance depends on the selection of the Byzantine excerptor. More important are the mentions out of context: 18 of Marius (16 in books 36–56) and 49 (46) of Sulla. Marius and Sulla are mentioned together 14 times: Marius himself does not attract Dio’s attention. For our historian, Sulla’s significance seems to have been far superior. Sulla is mentioned in most cases, especially in speeches, as the main exemplum of violence and cruelty against political enemies: from this point of view, we shall see, Dio’s opinion is diametrically opposite to that of Severus and may be defined as a totally conventional opinion. But, moral judgement does not necessarily correspond to political judgement: that applies for Sulla as for anybody else. I shall develop this topic in greater detail in sections 3 and 4 of this paper. 2 The affinity with Sulla, claimed by Severus in his speech of 197 but exploited by his political opponents as well, suggests that Cassius Dio may sometimes have used the mention of Sulla out of context to express indirectly his personal judgement on the emperor, and in particular on the emperor’s behaviour after his victory. We can find an example of this re-employment of the Sullan figure in the long speech delivered by Caesar to the Senate in 46 BC after Thapsus (43.15–18). Since this speech is not quoted by any other source, we cannot know if it was actually delivered13 or it is entirely Dio’s invention. At any rate the historian’s mark is undeniable (43.17.5: “In this way you will conduct yourselves toward me as toward a father . . . and I will take thought for you as for my children”; 43.18.1: “Do not fear the soldiers”14). The speech evokes several commonplaces about the “good emperor”, often recurring in the Roman History: “All that emerges is that the relationship between Caesar and the Senate could be used as a vehicle for laying down those precepts which Emperors were 13  Klotz (1918, 244) took Dio’s account as evidence of what Caesar actually said. 14  To be compared to SHA Sev. 7.2–3: “And then throughout the whole city, in temples, in porticoes, and in the dwellings on the Palatine, the soldiers took up their quarters as though in barracks; and Severus’ entry inspired both hate and fear, for the soldiers seized goods they did not pay for and threatened to lay the city waste”.

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s­ upposed to follow. Dio’s sentiments in the speech were applicable to any age, but perhaps particularly to that of Severus and Caracalla” (Millar 1964, 81).15 According to Dio, after Thapsus the Romans, and especially the senators, were afraid of Caesar’s power and “expected to suffer many terrible evils such as had taken place before”.16 Then Caesar “endeavoured to encourage them and to inspire them with hope” and delivered a speech in the Senate. In particular, the first paragraphs of Caesar’s speech are interesting (43.15.2–6): Μηδεὶς ὑμῶν, ὦ πατέρες, προσδοκήσῃ μήτε ἐρεῖν με χαλεπὸν μηδὲν μήτε πράξειν, ὅτι καὶ νενίκηκα καὶ δύναμαι πᾶν μὲν ὅ τι ἂν ἐθελήσω ἀνεύθυνος εἰπεῖν, πᾶν δ’ ὅ τι ἂν βουληθῶ μετ’ ἐξουσίας δρᾶσαι. [3] μή μέντοι μηδ’ ὅτι καὶ Μάριος καὶ Κίννας καὶ Σύλλας, οἵ τε ἄλλοι πάντες ὡς εἰπεῖν ὅσοι πώποτε τοὺς ἀντιστασιάσαντάς σφισιν ἐκράτησαν, ἐν μὲν ταῖς ἐπιχειρήσεσι τῶν πραγμάτων πολλὰ καὶ φιλάνθρωπα καὶ εἶπον καὶ ἔπραξαν, [4] ἐξ ὧν οὐχ ἥκιστα προσαγαγόμενοί τινας μάλιστα μὲν συμμάχοις αὐτοῖς, εἰ δὲ μή, οὐκ ἀνταγωνισταῖς γε ἐχρήσαντο, νικήσαντες δὲ καὶ ἐγκρατεῖς ὧν ἐπεθύμουν γενόμενοι πολὺ τἀναντία ἐκείνων καὶ λόγῳ καὶ ἔργῳ ἔπραξαν, καὶ ἐμέ τις ὑπολάβῃ τὸ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ποιήσειν. [5] οὔτε γὰρ ἄλλως πως πεφυκὼς ἔπειτα τὸν μὲν ἔμπροσθε χρόνον προσποιητῶς ὑμῖν ἐνωμίλησα, νῦν δὲ, ὅτι ἔξεστιν, ἀσφαλῶς θρασύνομαι· οὔτ’ αὖ ὑπὸ τῆς πολλῆς εὐπραγίας ἐξῆγμαι καὶ τετύφωμαι ὥστε καὶ τυραννῆσαι ὑμῶν ἐπιθυμῆσαι (ταῦτα γὰρ ἔμοιγε ἀμφότερα ἢ τό γε ἕτερον αὐτῶν ἐκεῖνοι παθεῖν δοκοῦσιν)· [6] ἀλλ’ ἐιμί τε τῇ φύσει τοιοῦτος ὁποίου μου ἀεὶ πεπείρασθε (τί γὰρ δεῖ με καθ’ ἕκαστον ἐπεξιόντα ἐπαχθῆ, ὡς καὶ ἐμαυτὸν ἐπαινοῦντα, γενέσθαι;) καὶ τῆν τύχην οὐκ ἂν προπηλακίσαιμι, ἀλλ’ ὅσῳ μᾶλλον ἀγαθῆς αὐτῆς πεπείραμαι, τόσῳ μᾶλλον πρὸς πάντα μετρίως αὐτῃ χρήσομαι. Let none of you, Conscript Fathers, suppose that I shall make any harsh proclamation or do any cruel deed merely because I have conquered and am able to say whatever I please without being called to account, and to do with full liberty whatever I choose. [3] It is true that Marius 15  Cf. Béranger 1953, 197: “Un discours de propagande farci de slogans impériaux”; Millar 1961, 13: “The overwhelming impression is that . . . the speech has little to do with Cesar, but . . . relates to Dio’s own times”. 16  Dio’s description of senators’ fear that Caesar might hold a reign of terror is corroborated by Cicero’s Pro Marcello (Lintott 1999a, 205). Nevertheless it is also very similar to the situation of 197, when “the senate awaited Septimius’ return with justifiable anxiety” (Birley 1988, 127). According to Spielvogel (2006, 101–103) Dio and Herodian overstate the senatorial opposition to Severus; contra, Letta 2013, 131–132.

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and Cinna and Sulla and practically all the others who ever triumphed over the factions opposed to them said and did many benevolent things in the beginning of their undertakings, [4] largely as the result of which they attracted men to their side, thus securing, if not their active support, at least their abstention from opposition; and then, after conquering and becoming masters of the ends they sought, adopted a course diametrically opposed to their former stand both in word and in deed. Let no one, however, assume that I shall act in this same way. [5] For I have not associated with you in former time under a disguise, while possessing in reality some different nature, only to become emboldened in security now that that is possible; nor I have become so elated or puffed up by my great good fortune as to desire also to play the tyrant over you – both of which experiences, or at least one of them, seem to me to have come to those men whom I mentioned. [6] No, I am in nature the same sort of man as you have always found me – but why go into details and become offensive as praising myself? – and I would not think of insulting Fortune, but the more I have enjoyed her favours, the more moderately will I use her in every way. These first paragraphs include the main topic of the speech: the Romans must not fear Caesar, because victory has not changed him: he is still the same, as the Roman people has always known him, and is not following the infamous example of Marius, Cinna, and Sulla. Character transformation as a consequence of a victory is a recurring topic, which Dio adopts also in the account on his own times: we find it in the portraits of Marcus Aurelius and Pertinax, both praised exactly because “they remained unchanged absolutely from first to last” (72[71].34.5; 75[74].5.7). As for Septimius Severus, his first statement after he entered Rome is the promise not to put any senator to death, taking also an oath on this matter; but “he himself was the first to violate this [promise] instead of keeping it, and made away with many senators” (75[74].2.1–2). After his victory over Albinus, in the context of Severus’ speech before the Senate, Dio mentions the condemnation to death of 29 senators (76[75].8.4). The comparison with Marius, Cinna, and Sulla about the treatment of defeated enemies, whose model he is not going to follow, sounds somewhat strange in Caesar’s mouth. We can easily accept the reference to Sulla, but it seems hardly plausible such an explicit disapproval of Marius, Caesar’s uncle, and Cinna, his father-in-law. The choice of the exempla betrays the intervention of the historian. We can wonder if the mention of Marius and Sulla (with the addition of Cinna) is an indirect hint to Severus’ speech of 197, which had

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presented their cruelty against the enemies as an example worth following, opposed to that of Caesar (and Pompey).17 It is worth stressing a detail: Caesar says that he is not imitating Marius, Cinna, Sulla “and practically all the others who ever triumphed over the factions opposed to them”. Caesar is obviously referring to the civil wars (he uses the term ἀντιστασιάσαντας), but this reference to “other victors” of the civil wars would have been anachronistic, in 46 BC. Dio himself is speaking here: “all the others” are the victors of all the (Roman) civil wars, including those of his times. It is interesting to note that the same three exempla are mentioned by the emperor Otho, in his last address to the soldiers in 69 (63[64].13.2).18 Otho says he is going to commit suicide in order to avoid a civil war, because “it is better that one should perish for all than many for one”: καὶ γὰρ ἐγὼ Μούκιος καὶ Δέκιος καὶ Κούρτιος καὶ Ῥήγουλος μᾶλλον ἂν ἑλοίμην ἢ Μάριος καὶ Κίννας καὶ Σύλλας, ἵνα μὴ καὶ τοὺς ἄλλους εἴπω, γενέσθαι. [3] μητ’ οὖν βιάσησθέ με ἕνα τούτων ὧν μισῶ γενέσθαι, μήτε φθονήσητέ μοι ἕνα ἐκείνων ὧν ἐπαινῶ μιμήσασθαι. For I certainly should prefer to be a Mucius, a Decius, a Curtius, a Regulus, rather than a Marius, a Cinna, or a Sulla – not to mention other names. [3] Therefore do not force me to become one of these men that I hate, nor grudge me the privilege of imitating one of those that I commend. Otho’s address to the soldiers is certainly no fiction: it appears, as a direct speech, already in Tacitus (Hist. 2.47) and Plutarch (Otho 15). Suetonius briefly hints at it (Otho 10), by the direct evidence of his father, who was an eyewitness. Now, the exempla mentioned by Otho in Dio’s version are quite absent in the other sources: they are definitely an addition by Dio and it is significant that the mention of Marius, Cinna, and Sulla is followed again, as in Caesar’s speech, by an allusion to the “others” (“not to mention other names”). The fact that Caesar and Otho, in their speeches, employ not only the same exempla but also the same set of words, confirms that these words have no link with the narrative context: in both cases Dio is hinting to the civil war of his times. The evocation, and the condemnation, of Marius and Sulla’s cruelty becomes

17  Giua 1981, 334–335. Cf. Hose 1994, 410. 18  Schettino 2000, 271.

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a rejection of Severus’ revenge against his enemies in 197. Caesar’s allocution to the senators is a kind of “ideal speech”, the speech which Dio would have wanted to hear from Septimius Severus after his victory at Lugdunum. We must now consider a declaration by Antony, Lepidus, and Octavian to the people in 43 BC. It is a short passage, which closes Dio’s account of the triumviral proscriptions (47.13.3–4): Οὐ γὰρ ὅτι τινὰς ἐφόνευον, αἰτίαν ἔχειν ἠξίουν, ἀλλ’ ὅτι μὴ πλείονας, προσεπαινεῖσθαι ἤθελον. [4] καὶ πρός γε τὸν δῆμον φανερῶς ποτε εἶπον ὅτι οὔτε τὴν τοῦ Μαρίου τοῦ τε Σύλλου ὠμότητα, ὥστε καὶ μισηθῆναι, οὔτ’ αὖ τὴν τοῦ Καίσαρος ἐπιείκειαν, ὥστε καὶ καταφρονηθῆναι καὶ ἀπ’ αὐτοῦ καὶ ἐπιβουλευθῆναι, ἐζηλώκασι. For these men not only would not allow themselves to be blamed because they were murdering people, but, what is more, wished to be praised because the number of their victims was not greater. [4] And to the populace they once openly stated that they had emulated neither the cruelty of Marius and Sulla, that they should be hated, nor, on the other hand, the mildness of Caesar, that they should be despised and consequently plotted against. According to Dio, while the massacre of the proscribed men was still in progress, the triumvirs stated they had emulated neither the cruelty (ὡμότης) of Marius and Sulla, nor the mildness (ἐπιείκεια) of Caesar. This piece of information is not entirely groundless: the topic seems to be taken from the triumviral edict on the proscriptions,19 which Appian produces in a Greek translation.20 But in the text of the edict (App. B. civ. 4.10.39)21 only one precedent is recalled, 19  Hinard 1985a, 229; Gowing 1992, 251. 20  Gabba 1956, 225; Bengtson 1972a, 124–125; Bengtson 1972b, 9–13; Millar 1973, 59; Canfora 1980, 430–434; Hinard 1985a, 228; Bleicken 1990, 46; Gowing 1992, 250–251; Osgood 2006, 63–64. Contra, among others, Schwartz 1895, 233. 21  “What vast number of citizens have they, on their part, doomed to destruction with us, disregarding the vengeance of the gods and the reprobation of mankind! We shall not deal harshly with any multitude of men, nor shall we count as enemies all who have opposed us or plotted against us, or those distinguished for their riches merely, their abundance, or their high position; nor shall we slay as many as another man who held the supreme power before us, when he, too, was regulating the commonwealth in civil convulsion, and whom you named the Fortunate on account of his success; and yet necessarily three persons will have more enemies than one. We shall take vengeance only on the worst and most guilty”.

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that of Sulla: the triumvirs state that they will not slay so many people as he did, though adding shortly afterwards that three persons have necessarily more enemies than one. The terms used by Dio are different again: he not only adds the exempla of Marius and Caesar to that of Sulla, to whom the edict hints indirectly, but also introduces a contrast between ὡμότης and ἐπιείκεια. This contrast is absent from Appians’ text of the edict, but is indeed one of the topics of Severus’ speech of 197. Concepts and examples employed by the triumvirs are the same as in Severus’ speech, except for the omission (obvious, given the context) of Pompey’ s ἐπιείκεια: this cannot be accidental. It is not by chance that we find again all five exempla employed by Severus in Tiberius’ epitaph for Augustus. At first Tiberius makes a comparison between the late emperor and Sulla, and shortly afterwards mentions the other three men (56.38.1–5): Ὁ τοίνυν Αὔγουστος οὗτος, ὃν δι’ αὐτὰ ταῦτα καὶ τῆς ἐπωνυμίας ταύτης ἠξιώσατε, ἐπειδὴ τάχιστα τῶν ἐμφυλίων πολέμων ἀπηλλάγη καὶ πράξας καὶ παθὼν οὐχ ὅσα αὐτὸς ἤθελεν ἀλλ’ ὅσα τῷ δαιμονίῳ ἔδοξεν, πρῶτον μὲν τοὺς πλείους τῶν ἀντιστάντων οἱ καὶ περιγενομένων ἐκ τῶν παρατάξεων ἔσωσεν, ἐν μηδενὶ τὸν Σύλλαν μιμησάμενος τὸν ἐυτυχῆ ονομαζόμενον. [2] . . . ἔπειτα δὲ τοὺς συνεξετασθέντας οἱ πολλαῖς καὶ μεγάλαις δωρεαῖς τιμήσας οὔθ’ ὑπερήφανόν τι πράττειν οὔθ’ ὑβρίζειν εἴασεν . . . [4] τεκμήριον δὲ, Σύλλας μὲν καὶ Μάριος καὶ τοὺς παῖδας τῶν ἀντιπολεμησάντων σφίσιν ἤχθηραν· τί γὰρ δεῖ τῶν ἄλλων ἀνδρῶν τῶν μικροτέρων μνημονεύειν; Πομπηίος δὲ καὶ Καῖσαρ τούτου μὲν ἀπέσχοντο ὥς γε ἐπίπαν εἰπεῖν, τοῖς δὲ δὴ φίλοις οὐκ ὀλίγα παρὰ τὰ ἑαυτῶν ἤθη ποιεῖν ἐφῆκαν. [5] ἀλλ’ οὗτος οὕτως ἑκάτερον αὐτῶν ἔμιξε καὶ ἐκέρασεν ὥστε τοῖς τε ἐναντιωθεῖσίν οἱ νίκην τὴν ἧτταν ἀποφῆναι καὶ τοῖς συναγωνισαμένοις εὐτυχῆ τὴν ἀρετὴν ἀποδεῖξαι. This Augustus, then, whom you deemed worthy of this title for the very reasons just cited, as soon as he had rid himself of the civil wars, in which his actions and his fortunes were not such as he himself desired but as Heaven decreed, first of all spared the lives of most of his opponents who had survived the various battles, thus in no wise imitating Sulla, who was called the Fortunate. [2] . . . Again, though he honoured his companions in arms with many great gifts, he did not permit them to indulge in any arrogant or wanton behaviour . . . [4] For example, Sulla and Marius cherished hatred toward even the sons of those who had fought against them; and why need I mention the minor instances? Pompey and Caesar refrained in general from such hatred, yet permitted their friends to do not a few things that were contrary to their own principles. [5] But this

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man so combined and fused the two qualities, that to his adversaries he made defeat seem victory, and to his comrades in arms proved that virtue is blest by fortune. Sulla and Marius, Pompey and Caesar, and Augustus: the exempla are the same, the indirect hint to Severus’ speech seems undeniable. Tiberius’ epitaph enables Dio to blame once again the cruelty of Marius and Sulla, and to criticize the use of Augustus as a “model of cruelty”, as stated by Severus in 197.22 According to Tiberius’ epitaph, Augustus refused to follow the exemplum of Sulla and Marius, choosing a policy of mildness instead. In a context in which Dio celebrates Augustus as the man who granted security and steadiness to the empire, this sounds as an implicit criticism of Severus’ policy against political opponents.23 To sum up: the image of Sulla as a “monster of cruelty”, that was consolidated since the Late Republic, is quite endorsed by Dio too. As to this topic Dio has nothing new to offer, but in the speeches by Caesar, the triumvirs, Tiberius, and Otho, Sulla’s cruelty is remembered in terms which remind the reader of the speech of Severus, who, in turn, had praised it as an exemplum.24 Thus a historiographical topos becomes for Dio a means to criticize the emperor, a way to express his judgment on the civil war of his times. 3 In these speeches Sulla emerges as a detestable personality, because of the cruelty displayed after his victory in the civil war. This judgement is by no means original and can be interesting only in the light of his “contemporary” implications. But, as I said before, moral judgement does not always correspond to political judgement: what was Cassius Dio’s opinion on Sulla’s dictatorship? In the ancient tradition Sulla’s dictatorship had often been classified as a “tyrannical” power. The expression dominatio Sullae was employed by

22  Giua 1983, 447–449; Reinhold & Swan 1990, 166–167, 170. 23  Rohr Vio 1998, 564–565. Dio’s judgement about the new political order established by Augustus (56.43.4) leaves no doubt: “Augustus has fashioned what Dio would term the ideal state” (Gowing 1992, 58). 24  We must bear in mind that Dio’s readers were perfectly able to detect these and others allusions to contemporary events, even before (or without) reading his “Severan” books.

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authors of different political orientations, like Cicero and Sallust,25 up to Tacitus; Plutarch, though quoting repeatedly Sulla’s Commentarii, eventually called him a τύραννος; and Appian described Sulla as a τύραννος αὐτοκράτωρ (B. Civ. 1.99.461), and his government as a τυραννὶς ἐντελής (1.99.462).26 Now, in two passages of Dio’s Roman History, the power of Sulla is described as a δυναστεία. The contrast between δημοκρατία and δυναστεία (or better δυναστεῖαι) is the main political topic of the Late Republic, from the tribunate of Tiberius Gracchus (frg. 83.4) to the battle of Actium (52.1.1). Dio “uses the term [δυναστεία] to denote a state of affairs, characterized by violence and illegality, in which one or more faction-leaders held power unconstitutionally” (Millar 1964, 74). Systematic recourse to violence can be of course characteristic of a δυναστεία, but not necessarily (for Dio, Caesar was undoubtedly a δυναστής, but a “mild” one). Δυναστεία in Dio expresses both the opposition to all legal forms of state organisation and a behaviour which not only clashes to the will of the Senate and of the aristocracy, but also endangers the whole community. Its main characteristic is the straining of institutional rules.27 Let us consider the two passages where Dio uses the term δυναστεία in connection with Sulla’s power. (i) The first one concerns L. Domitius Ahenobarbus (41.11.2), who had been a partisan τῶν Συλλείων (clearly a translation of partes Sullanae) and had grown rich “under that régime”, purchasing cheaply many pieces of land: Καὶ ὅς [scil. ὁ Δομίτιος], εἰ καὶ τὰ μάλιστα ἰσχύν τέ τινα εἶχε καὶ ἐπ’ αὐτῇ ἐπήλπιζε (καὶ γὰρ τοὺς στρατιώτας τά τε ἄλλα ἐτεθεραπεύκει καὶ χώρας ὑποσχέσει ὑπῆκτο· [2] τῶν τε γὰρ Συλλείων ἐγεγόνει καὶ πολλὴν ἐκ τῆς δυναστείας ἐκείνης ἐκέκτητο), ὅμως ἐπειθάρχησε. And Domitius, in spite of the large force that he had and the hopes he reposed in it, inasmuch as he had courted the favour of the soldiers 25  It is worth stressing that in the mid-first century BC the “myth of Sulla” was not firmly established yet. The complex portrayal of Sulla resulting from Cicero and Sallust (and other contemporary sources) mirrors a debate still open. Cf. n. 8 above. 26  Gowing 1992, 164. Cf. Hinard 2008a, cxcviii: “La dictature de Sylla représentait . . ., pour Appien, une sorte de raté dans un processus historique conduisant inéluctablement à la ‘monarchie’ ”. 27  Cf. Espinosa Ruiz 1982, 63–69; Fechner 1986, 158–159; Freyburger-Galland 1996, 23–27; Sion-Jenkis 2000, 47–50; Kuhn-Chen 2002, 191–195; Cordier 2003, 233.

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in every way and had won them over by promises of land [2] (as one of Sulla’s veterans he had acquired a large amount under that régime), nevertheless obeyed orders. (ii) The second one is Cicero’s speech on the amnesty, in 44 BC (44.28.1): Ἴσχυσέ τινα χρόνον ἐν τοῖς στασιωτικοῖς ὁ Μάριος, εἴτ’ ἐκπεσὼν καὶ δύναμιν ἀθροίσας ἴστε οἷα εἰργάσατο. ὁμοίως ὁ Σύλλας, ἵνα μὴ τὸν Κίνναν μηδὲ τὸν Στράβωνα μηδὲ τοὺς ἄλλους τοὺς διὰ μέσου καταλέγω, δυνηθεὶς τὴν πρώτην, εἶτ’ ἐλαττωθείς, ἔπειτα δυναστεύσας οὐδὲν ὅ τι οὐχὶ τῶν δεινοτάτων ἔπραξε. Marius for a time was strong amid civil strife; then he was driven out, collected a force, and accomplished – you know what. Likewise Sulla, – not to speak of Cinna or Strabo or the rest who came between – powerful at first, later defeated, finally making himself master, was guilty of every possible cruelty. Here Cicero presents a list of historical characters which includes almost all protagonists of the civil wars and political tumults of the first half of the first century BC. There are obviously Marius and Sulla, Pompey and Caesar, but also Cinna, Pompeius Strabo, Marius iunior, Carbo, Lepidus, Sertorius, Catilina, and Clodius (48.28.1–4): it is not a focused judgement and I am not sure that this passage can be used to outline Dio’s own opinion on Sulla. The expression dominatio Sullae (or regnum) had been often employed by Cicero himself:28 this δυναστεύσας could hint to an expression which Cicero actually used, even in his last speeches (Phil. 2.42.108: Cinnam nimis potentem, Sullam postea dominantem, modo Caesarem regnantem; 5.16.44: illius opibus Sulla regnavit). But in the passage on Domitius, Dio himself is speaking, and the meaning is plain. However, Dio’s judgement on Sulla is perhaps more complex than it seems. In the Agrippa-Maecenas debate, in particular in Agrippa’s speech, the exemplum of Sulla is employed in rather different terms (52.13.2): Tεκμήριον δέ, Μάριος μὲν καὶ Σύλλας καὶ Μέτελλος, καὶ Πομπήιος τὸ πρῶτον, ἐν κράτει τῶν πραγμάτων γενόμενοι οὔτ’ ἠθέλησαν δυναστεῦσαι οὔτ’ ἔπαθον παρὰ τοῦτο δεινὸν ουδέν.

28   Regnum: Cat. 3.4.9; Har. resp. 27.54; Phil. 5.44; Att. 8.11.2 [= 161.2 Shackleton Bailey]; 9.7.3 [= 174.3 S.B.]. Dominatio: Leg. agr. 1.7.21; 2.29.81; Off. 2.14.51; Phil. 2.108.

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Consider the testimony of history: Marius and Sulla and Metellus, and Pompey at first, when they got control of affairs, not only refused to assume sovereign power but also escaped disaster thereby. Agrippa’s assertion, that Sulla did not want to δυναστεύειν, could appear bewildering, if we bear in mind not only the speeches quoted above but also Dio’s statements on the Romans’ hatred for Sulla’s dictatorship (36.34.3; 40.45.5). To be sure, Agrippa’s reasoning is closely followed by Maecenas’ confutation, which dwells also on the exempla employed by his interlocutor. But the statement, that these personalities (and Sulla among them) did not want to δυναστεύειν, is not refuted by Maecenas.29 4 As we have seen, Cassius Dio’s account on the aftermath of the first civil war is lost, except for a few fragments. This loss is particularly regrettable, if we consider the quality of the information usually given by Dio about Roman institutions and magistracies.30 We can however detect some passages which seem to confirm Agrippa’s statement about Sulla’s willingness not to δυναστεύειν. (i) In the fragments on the first civil war, the term δυναστεία is never employed with reference to Sulla.31 No doubt the fragmentary nature of this section undermines any argumentum ex silentio, but it is significant that in the only occasion where Dio is talking about Sulla’s power, he does not employ δυναστεία, but ἐξουσία (frg. 109.2): “He had doubtless always desired to act thus, 29  As to these exempla, in his reply Maecenas (52.17.3–4) challenges two propositions of Agrippa’s: it is not true that “the majority of Sulla’s ordinances and the more important still remain”, as Agrippa stated (52.13.5); and the choice not to δυναστεῦσαι did not guarantee personal security, to Marius and Sulla in particular (52.13.2).  It has been rightly pointed out (Schettino 2001, 549–550) that Maecenas, in his reply, mentions again all the five exempla employed in Severus’s speech of 197: Marius, Sulla, Pompey, Caesar, and Augustus. When he says that renunciation of δυναστεία threatens the ἀσφάλεια of the political leader, Maecenas seems to share Severus’ point of view. But there is a basic difference: the focus of attention in Severus’ speech is ὡμότης as a means of safety, in Agrippa’s speech (and in Maecenas’ reply) is δυναστεία. On this difference, see below. 30  Vrind 1923, 1; Hinard 2005, 261–281 [= 2011, 273–291]; Millar 2005, 17–40; Urso 2005, 163–193. 31  It is employed once, in frg. 107.1, with reference to Pompey: it is the δυναστεία ἰδία (“a sovereignty of his own”) enjoyed by Pompey in Picenum, before joining his forces with Sulla.

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but revealed himself only in the day of his power (ἐν τῇ ἐξουσίᾳ)”. This term does not imply the negative nuance of δυναστεία: it is no coincidence that this is indeed the term used by Caesar to define his own power, in his “encouraging” speech to the senators in 46 BC (43.15.2; 43.16.3–4).32 As for Sulla, the use of ἐξουσία instead of δυναστεία in frg. 109,2 is all the more significant in that Dio is referring to Sulla’s power after his victory.33 (ii) Two passages of Catulus’ speech on the lex Gabinia of 67 BC are interesting too.34 In the first one, Catulus is talking about the magistracies formerly fulfilled by Marius and Sulla (36.31.3–4). Here Catulus says that Sulla was dictator, then consul: Οὔτε γὰρ τὸν Μάριον ἄλλο τι ὡς εἰπεῖν τοιοῦτον ἐποίησεν ἢ ὅτι τοσούτους τε ἐν ὀλιγίστῳ χρόνῳ πολέμους ἐνεχειρίσθη καὶ ὕπατος ἑξάκις ἐν βραχυτάτῳ ἐγένετο, [4] οὔτε τὸν Σύλλαν ἢ ὅτι τοσούτοις ἐφεξῆς ἔτεσι τὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν στρατοπέδων ἔσχε καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο δικτάτωρ, εἶθ’ ὕπατος ἀπεδείχθη. What made Marius what he became was practically nothing else than being entrusted with so many wars in the shortest space of time and being made consul six times in the briefest period; [4] and similarly Sulla became what he was because he held command of the armies so many years in succession, and later was appointed dictator, then consul. The temporal sequence is clear: it implies (against Appian) that Sulla was not dictator when he became consul in 80 BC (δικτάτωρ, εἶθ’ ὕπατος). This passage seems to be another proof that Sulla’s dictatorship ended within 8135 and lasted a shorter time than some scholars still believe.36 32  Cf. Cordier 2003, 234–235. 33  Frg. 109.1: νικήσας τοὺς Σαυνίτας; 109.3: ὡς τάχιστα τῶν Σαυνιτῶν ἐκράτησε. 34  These two passages of Catulus’ speech have been exploited by Hinard (1999, 427–432 [= 2011, 57–61]), who argued that Sulla gave up the dictatorship after six months, at the normal deadline. 35  According to the chronology proposed by Badian 1970, 9–10; Hinard 1999, 427–432 [= 2011, 57–61]; Hinard 2008b, 56–60; Keaveney 2005b, 423–439 (cf. also Hurlet 1993, 57–69). 36  Cf. Vervaet 2004, 58–77: Sulla abdicated in 79 BC. According to Vervaet (66–67 and n. 121), “rather than merely indicating that, chronologically, Sulla was vested first with a dictatorship and then with a (second) consulship, Catulus in the first place calls to mind that Sulla undertook an unprecedented cumulation of Rome’s two supreme offices . . . Sulla was the first Roman to hold both for an entire year”. But Dio denies explicitly this hypothesis at 43.21.2: Caesar was the first to be appointed dictator “for an entire year” (cf. n. 41 below).

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(iii) Shortly afterwards (36.34.1–2), in the same speech, Catulus hints to the possibility to appoint a dictator, in order to eradicate piracy: Καὶ τοῦτον μέντοι τοιοῦτον ὄντα οὔτε ἐπὶ πᾶσί ποτε τοῖς πράγμασιν οἱ πατέρες ἡμῶν οὔτε ἐπὶ πλείω χρόνον ἑξαμήνου κατεστήσαντο. [2] ὥστ’ εἰ μὲν τοιούτου τινὸς δεῖσθε, ἔξεστιν ὑμῖν, μήτε παρανομήσασι μήτ’ ὀλιγώρως ὑπὲρ τῶν κοινῶν βουλευσαμένοις, δικτάτορα εἴτε Πομπήιον εἴτε καὶ ἄλλον τινὰ προχειρίσασθαι, ἐφ’ ῷ μήτε πλείω τοῦ τεταγμένου χρόνον μήτε ἔξω τῆς Ἰταλίας ἄρξῃ. οὐ γάρ που ἀγνοεῖτε ὅτι καὶ τοῦτο δεινῶς οἱ πατέρες ἡμῶν ἐφυλάξαντο, καὶ οὐκ ἂν εὑρεθείη δικτάτωρ οὐδεὶς ἄλλοσε πλὴν ἑνὸς ἐς Σικελίαν, καὶ ταῦτα μηδὲν πράξαντος, αἱρεθείς. However, because this official held such power, our fathers did not appoint one [dictator] on all occasions nor for a longer period than six months. [2] Accordingly, if you require any such official, you may, without either transgressing the laws or forming plans in disregard of the common welfare, elect Pompey himself or any one else as dictator – on condition that he shall not hold office longer than the appointed time nor outside of Italy. For surely you are not unaware that this second limitation, too, was scrupulously observed by our forefathers, and no instance can be found of a dictator chosen for another country, except one who was sent to Sicily and who, moreover, accomplished nothing. So Catulus mentions only one exception to these two rules (“not for a longer period than six months nor outside of Italy”): the dictatorship of A. Atilius Calatinus, in Sicily, in 249 BC.37 It is surprising that, talking about “exceptions to the rule”, Catulus mentions an example nearly two centuries old, and gives no hint to the Sullan precedent, far more recent. This silence on Sulla’s dictatorship leads to believe that for Catulus, that is for Dio himself, Sulla’s ­dictatorship had not exceeded τὸν τεταγμένον χρόνον. For Dio, in other

In my opinion there is nothing, in Catulus’ speech, that suggests a cumulation of offices, all the more so as the exemplum of Marius, which closely precedes the mention of Sulla, concerns his “being made consul six times in the briefest period”. Given the context, the meaning of εἶτα seems clear and makes these two exempla quite consistent (cf. now Lachenaud & Coudry 2014, 65 n. 135). 37  Mentioned in Zonaras’ epitome (8.15.14): “Collatinus [sic] was therefore named dictator, and Metellus became master of the horse; but they accomplished nothing worth of remembrance”.

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words, that d­ ictatorship had not “broken the rules”.38 Here Catulus is in line with Agrippa: Sulla did not want to δυναστεύειν.39 (iv) The silence on the exceptional nature of Sulla’s dictatorship could be understandable from the viewpoint of Catulus: after all, he had been one of the most fervent partisans of Sulla. But the proof that these statements (as that of Agrippa) reflect Dio’s own thought can be detected in the excursus on the origin of dictatorship, preserved by Zonaras (7.13.12–14).40 At the end of this excursus Dio hinted to the degeneration of this magistracy in Late Republic (7.13.14): Οὐκ ἐπὶ πλέον δὲ τῶν ἓξ μηνῶν ἡ τῆς δικτατορίας ἀρχὴ παρετείνετο, ἵνα μή τις αὐτῶν ἐν τοσούτῳ κράτει καὶ ἐξουσίᾳ ἀκράτῳ χρονίσας ὑπερφρονήσῃ καὶ πρὸς ἔρωτα μοναρχίας ἐκκυλισθῇ. ὅπερ ἐς ὕστερον καὶ ὁ Καῖσαρ Ἰούλιος ἔπαθεν, ἐπεὶ παρὰ τὰ νενομισμένα τῆς δικτατορίας ἠξίωτο. The office of dictator extended for a period of not more than six months, in order that no such official by lingering on in the midst of so great power and unhampered authority should become haughty and be carried away by a passion for sole leadership. This was what happened later to Julius Caesar, when, contrary to lawful precedent, he had been adjudged worthy of the dictatorship. This passage could not be clearer. For Dio the one responsible for the transformation of the dictatorship into a means to exert a “monarchic” power was

38  According to Hinard (1999, 427–432 [= 2011, 57–61]) and Vervaet (2004, 67), Dio employs here a well-informed source, which knew the argument developed by Catulus on this occasion. Rodgers (2008, 295–318) has rejected this hypothesis, arguing that this speech is entirely Dio’s creation; her remarks have been shared by Keaveney (2010, 1131–1132), who thinks that Catulus’ speech cannot be used as an historical source. A more balanced opinion has been expressed by Hurlet (2010, 114–117): Dio ultimately reports Catulus’ arguments, although in a re-elaborated version. In any case, I cannot see why Dio should have mentioned Calatinus’ precedent (far from familiar to Catulus’ contemporaries and Dio’s readers), omitting that of Sulla (perfectly known by all of them), if he thought that Sulla had been dictator “against the rules”. And I think it probable that by Catulus’ words Dio is already drawing the reader’s attention to the dictatorship of Caesar (cf. n. 41 below). 39  What made Marius and Sulla “what they became” was the succession of magistracies in the briefest period: but these magistracies (consulship and dictatorship) were not in themselves extraordinary. 40  On this excursus cf. Urso 2005, 43–53.

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Caesar, not Sulla.41 Sulla did not aim at absolute power.42 Dio’s statement on Caesar’s dictatorship as the real “turning point” is all the more significant in that it contradicts an explicit assertion of Dionysius of Halicarnassus (5.77.4), in a similar context (a passage on the origin of the dictatorship): Ἐπὶ δὲ τῆς κατὰ τοὺς πατέρας ἡμῶν ἡλικίας ὁμοῦ τι τετρακοσίων διαγενομένων ἐτῶν ἀπὸ τῆς Τίτου Λαρκίου δικτατορίας διεβλήθη καὶ μισητὸν ἅπασιν ἀνθρώποις ἐφάνη τὸ πρᾶγμα Λευκίου Κορνηλίου Σύλλα πρώτου καὶ μόνου πικρῶς αὐτῇ καὶ ὠμῶς χρησαμένου· ὥστε τότε πρῶτον αἰσθέσθαι Ῥωμαίοις, ὃ τὸν ἄλλον χρόνον ἠγνόουν, ὅτι τυραννίς ἐστιν ἡ τοῦ δικτάτορος ἀρχή. But in the time of our fathers, a full four hundred years after the dictatorship of Titus Larcius, the institution became an object of reproach and hatred to all men under L. Cornelius Sulla, the first and only dictator who exercised his power with harshness and cruelty; so that the Romans then perceived for the first time what they had all along been ignorant of, that the dictatorship is a tyranny. Under the Late Republic two different opinions already existed on this topic: the blame for transforming the ancient dictatorship in a “monarchic” or “tyrannical” sense was laid on Sulla by some historians, on Caesar by others. Dio sides with the latter: in fact, in his Roman History Caesar is the figure whom the term δυναστεία is most often related to.43 (v) We can now conclude this short review with a few remarks on the new “fragment” of Dio, quoted by Theodosius Diaconus in his poem De Graecia capta (v. 257), which celebrates Nikephoros Phokas and the recapture of Crete in AD 961. The poet addresses to four ancient authors (Demosthenes, Plutarch, Dio and Xenophon), saying that some personalities they talked about in their works (respectively Philip II, Caesar, Sulla, and “the unconquerable men”) 41  It is significant that, describing the dictatorship bestowed on Caesar in 48 BC after Pharsalus, Dio stresses that two traditional rules were broken on that occasion: Caesar was appointed dictator “not for six months, but for an entire year” (42.20.3: οὐκ ἐς ἕκμηρον ἀλλ’ ἐς ἐνιαυτὸν ὅλον), “although he was outside of Italy” (42.21.1: καίπερ ἔξω τῆς Ἰταλίας ὤν), “for a year, contrary to all precedent” (42.21.2: ἐς ἐνιαυτὸν παρὰ πάντα τὰ πάτρια). These were indeed the two rules mentioned in Catulus’s speech. 42  E. Cary’s translation of frg. 108.1, ἐλπὶς τοῦ παντελῶς κρατήσειν (“[Sulla’s] dream of absolute power”), is wrong: cf. Urso 2010, 154–158. 43  Fechner 1986, 162; Cordier 2003, 232–234.

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c­ annot be compared to his hero. Talking in particular to Dio, Nikephoros says that Sulla was εἰς μάτην (“in vain”) δημοκράτωρ. In these verses Theodosius Diaconus is referring to authors and works which were still extant:44 later on he says (vv. 765–770) that he has read Plutarch and Dio. It is clear from these verses that in the originals these personalities were praised by the four authors:45 that applies also to Sulla in Cassius Dio. But what is the meaning of δημοκράτωρ? Baldwin (1983, 47) thinks that it can refer to Sulla’s military exploits, Canfora (2006, 39–40) connects it to a political context: δημοκράτωρ as a synonymous of δημοκρατικός, that is “democratic”, “popular chief”. In my opinion Canfora’s suggestion, that refers the term δημοκράτωρ to the political and institutional discourse, is right. Perhaps we should interpret this term as an equivalent of “republican”. The term δημοκρατία is usually related by Dio to the libera res publica, though not totally forgetting its original meaning.46 Dio’s Sulla was a cruel leader, but not a τύραννος and his dictatorship was not a δυναστεία. In fact, according to Keaveney (2005a, 139), “what [Sulla] did was to take a magistracy which was traditional and archaic, and mould and adapt it to meet a completely new set of circumstances. In so doing he in no way perverted its fundamental character for, in his hands, it still remained, in essence, an office to be held for a brief period to meet a grave national emergency”. This is also Dio’s opinion. 5 It might seem difficult to explain the contradiction between these passages, which outline a dictatorship “in keeping with the tradition”, and the two (41.11.2; 44.28.1) in which the term δυναστεία is actually associated to Sulla. We could limit ourselves to take note of the contradiction: after all, changes of perspective on the same character are always possible and can sometimes be explained by the use of different sources. The clue of the puzzle is perhaps a distinction among proscriptions and dictatorship. Proscriptions were decided by Sulla some weeks before being named dictator:47 they were put into effect when Sulla still held his imperium proconsulare, without the ratification of the 44  Canfora 2006, 39 (“circolanti e accessibili”); Andriollo 2010, 55. 45  Baldwin 1983, 47. 46  Botteri & Raskolnikoff 1983, 93; Aalders 1986, 297; Rich 1989, 92; Freyburger-Galland 1997, 116–117; Lintott 1997, 2517; Sion-Jenkis 2000, 43. 47  Hinard 1985b, 223; Hurlet 1993, 56–57; Keaveney 2005a, 135.

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Senate,48 and when both consuls of 82 BC, C. Marius iunior and Cn. Papirius Carbo, were still alive!49 Cassius Dio could regard Sulla’s proscriptions not only as immoral but also as illegal, and therefore employ in that context the term δυναστεία, without contradicting his judgement on Sulla’s dictatorship. Such a distinction may seem too subtle, but Dio was certainly not the first to make it. An important consequence of the historiographical deformation of the events of late 82 had been the confusion (or, rather, the conflation) of Sulla’s revenges of November with his dictatorship, “amalgamant ce qui a été fait sous la dictature avec ce qui lui est antérieur . . . par stratification de données disparates” (Hinard 1988, 93 [= 2011, 45]). As a matter of fact, “for the first few weeks after his victory Sulla was content to go on acting as proconsul, and it was in virtue of the power to deal with enemies of Rome which that office conferred that he set the proscriptions afoot” (Keaveney 2005a, 135). When Sulla became dictator, most executions had been already carried out. If my reading is correct, Dio, better than other sources, preserves the distinction between these two stages. It is significant that, in the fragments on the proscriptions (seven pages of Greek text in the Loeb edition) the term “dictator” or “dictatorship” never appears.50 As Millar (1964, 74–75) rightly pointed out, “in discussing democracy and its alternatives Dio’s concern is not with the responsible participation of citizens in the management of their affairs, or any similar formulation, but with the formal outward functioning of the State”. Sulla’s dictatorship is an example of this assumption: if on the one hand the blame on Sulla’s cruelty was a common notion which Dio shares without hesitation (when he reiterates that Sulla was hated by Romans just because of his violence), on the other hand, from an institutional point of view, the passages discussed above consistently portray the dictatorship of Sulla as a magistracy conform to the Roman traditions. As we have seen in the first part of this paper,51 for Dio the criticism of Sulla’s cruelty is also a means to express indirectly his criticism of Severus’ behaviour against his political opponents in the last civil war. But the negative judgement 48  Cf. Cic. Rosc. Am. 53.153: illam priorem [proscriptionem] senatus suscipere noluit; Hinard 1985a, 108–109; Hurlet 1993, 25 (contra, Heftner 2006, 45; Fündling 2010, 116). 49  The first four proscribed men were the consuls of 83–82: Carbo, Marius, Norbanus et Scipio (Oros. 5.21.3). Cf. Gabba 1967, 250–251; Hinard 1985a, 106; Keaveney 2005a, 126. 50  In the same way it is significant that in Dionysius’ passage on the degeneration of the dictatorship under Sulla, quoted above, proscriptions are not mentioned (Hinard 1988, 93 [= 2011, 44–45]). Late-republican sources were still able to make a distinction between Sulla’s dictatorship and the proscriptions (cf. nn. 8 & 25 above). 51  Cf. § 1–2 above.

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on Sulla’s cruelty, which Severus had praised “as the safer course” in his speech to the senators in 197, did not necessarily imply a rejection of the work done by Sulla as a legislator and reformer during his dictatorship. For Dio, after all, among the protagonists of the first civil war the true “subversive” was Marius, not Sulla:52 hence his judgement on Sulla as both an exemplum of cruelty and a “republican” dictator. By shaping this complex portrayal, Dio showed his independence from the existing historiographical commonplaces. 52  The portrait of Marius in frg. 89.2 leaves no doubt about it: cf. Urso 2013, 136–137.

CHAPTER 2

Cassius Dio on Pompey’s Extraordinary Commands Marianne Coudry

Dio’s Focus on the lex Gabinia

By 67 BC maritime piracy had spread dramatically all over the Mediterranean Sea from its original bases in Crete and Cilicia, and was threatening even the Italian shore; the Romans were greatly alarmed, and the Senate sought for a means of crushing it definitively, since the measures initiated thirty years previously had proven ineffective.1 Under these circumstances Pompey, already called “the Great (Magnus)”, because he had revealed from his young years an outstanding military gift, was given an extraordinary command against the pirates. This was effected through the well-known lex Gabinia, a plebiscite proposed by the tribune Aulus Gabinius, whose later career owed much to Pompey. This command, similar to the one usually held by a consul or a proconsul (an imperium consulare), was nonetheless extraordinary, in that it deviated from constitutional practice, in several aspects. First, it was not linked to any magistracy, Pompeius being, since his consulate of 70, a privatus, deprived of any public function, and taking part in public life only as a senator. Secondly, this command extended over the whole Mediterranean Sea and beyond, stretching to 50 miles inside the coastal lands, with an unusual number of legates to give assistance to the general. Thirdly, huge financial and military resources would be available, levied not only in Rome, but also in the provinces. And finally, its duration extended over three years, instead of the usual one year.2 As a matter of fact, this kind of command was not completely new. Concerning the status of its holder, the Second Punic War provides examples, in cases of shortage of magistrates in office or promagistrates, of imperium conferred on privati, either men who had previously exercised magistracies cum imperio, or even men who had not. Such was the peculiar legal situation of young Scipio, later named Africanus, sent to Spain as a privatus only three years after his aedileship, to be in charge of the Roman legions fighting against the Carthaginian armies, after they had suddenly lost both their commanders

1  See De Souza 1999, 97–148. 2  For a discussion of the provisions of the law, see Ferrary 2007.

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of consular rank, his father and his uncle, killed in action.3 Pompey himself, in his youth, had been put in charge of the war against Sertorius in Spain and Africa, with a praetorian imperium, although in contrast with Scipio he had not yet begun his cursus.4 But then the Senate was responsible for these decisions not the concilium plebis, as in 67. As for the unusual geographical extension and time duration ascribed to Pompey’s command, a similar imperium had been conferred seven years before, in 74 BC, to praetor M. Antonius, with a similar aim, to combat piracy, but, again, by the Senate, and when he was a magistrate and not a privatus.5 So, compared to these precedents, the command proposed for Pompey in 67 was extraordinary.6 The ancient historians and biographers who mention the lex Gabinia, Velleius Paterculus in his History, Plutarch in his Life of Pompey, and Appian in his Mithridatica, are well aware of that fact. Velleius underlines the extent of that imperium, saying that “the command of almost the entire world was being entrusted to one man” (Vell. Pat. 2.31.2: paene totius terrarum orbis imperium uni uiro deferebatur),7 and that people were conscious of the danger that it implied, considering that men given such extraordinary powers “seem likely to retain them or lay them aside only as they themselves choose, and their inclinations are their only check” (2.31.3: homines extraordinaria reformidant qui ea suo arbitrio aut deposituri aut retenturi uidentur et modum in uoluntate habent). Plutarch similarly speaks of the law as giving to Pompey “not a naval command, but a monarchical position, and a power above the whole world without any control” (Plut. Pomp. 25.2: νόμον οὐ ναυαρχίαν, ἄντικρυς δὲ μοναρχίαν αὐτῷ διδόντα καὶ δύναμιν ἐπὶ πάντας ἀνθρώπους ἀνυπεύθυνον).8 Appian concludes with these words: “Never did any man before Pompey set forth with so great authority conferred upon him by the Romans” (App. Mithr. 94: ἀνήρ τε οὐδείς πω πρὸ τοῦ Πομπηίου ἐπὶ τοσήνδε ἀρχὴν αἱρεθεὶς ὑπὸ Ῥωμαίων ἐξέπλευσεν). So, in

3  When he came back, he was denied a triumph precisely on that ground, as Dio himself reports (frg. 57.56: ὅτι ἰδιώτης τε ὢν ἐστράτευτο). See also Liv. 28.38.4. See also Lange in this volume. 4  On the early career of Pompey, see Vervaet 2009. 5  De Souza 1999, 141–142. 6  I leave aside the much debated question of the so-called imperium maius, that is whether the imperium granted to Pompey was to be equal or superior to the imperium of the consuls and proconsuls in charge of the provinces located along the Mediterranean Sea, where he was to exert his own command. See the discussion in Hurlet 2016. About Dio’s silence on that point, see further n. 42. 7  Unless specified, the translations are those of the Loeb Classical Library. 8  Translation by author.

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the literary tradition, at least as it is known to us,9 the command defined by the lex Gabinia is perceived as opening the way to the monopoly of power, and threatening political balance. For most of the ancient authors, the command appears primarily as the first step in the rivalry between Pompey and Caesar, which was to end in the civil war, but it is not given a particular emphasis in terms of political institutions, nor seen as a unique turning point in the fall of the Republic. By contrast, in the first of his preserved “republican” books (36), Cassius Dio devotes comparatively much more space to it, with a detailed account of the fighting between the tribune Gabinius and his senatorial opponents, and three long speeches delivered before the people gathered for the voting, and expressing opposing opinions. This seems to mean that Dio paid particular attention to the lex Gabinia, and suggests that he had a specific point of view about the extraordinary command it created. Moreover, the manner in which he reports the subsequent steps of the extraordinary career of Pompey is strikingly different.10 The ratification of the lex Manilia in 66, which extended his previous command to the war against Mithridates and his ally Tigranes, king of Armenia, again with a duration of three years and a wide geographic extent, is narrated in less than one chapter (36.42.4–43.1). The vote of this second law was however the occasion of a similarly heated political debate, as we know from the discourse Pro lege Manilia delivered by Cicero, and from the narrative of Plutarch (Pomp. 30). And it credited Pompey for having achieved even more brilliant military successes than the first one, since it widely extended Roman domination in the East, and enhanced his own political position at Rome. Similarly, the allocation of the cura annonae in 57 is briefly reported, though it invested Pompey with an imperium even more wide-ranging than his previous extraordinary commands, as it extended over the whole empire, including Italy, and for five years. Having given the information in a quite neutral way, Dio concludes by an allusion to the lex Gabinia: “So now in the case of the grain supply, as previously in the case of the pirates, he was once more to hold sway over the entire world then under Roman power” (39.9.3: πάσης αὖθις τῆς οἰκουμένης τῆς ὑπὸ τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις τότε οὔσης ἄρξειν ἔμελλε).11 Once again in 9  As Livy’s narrative is not preserved, it is impossible to appreciate how much space was granted to that episode in his book 99. As for Sallust, five fragments from book 5 of his Historiae (frg. 19 to 24 in Maurenbrecher’s edition) may be ascribed to his narrative of the vote of the law, but we have no idea of the importance he really attributed to it. 10  For a precise discussion of the successive commands of Pompey from a constitutional point of view, see Girardet 2001. 11  Plutarch (Pomp. 49.4) expresses the same idea.

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his career was a new extraordinary command to be conferred on Pompey: in 55, when he was consul with Crassus, he was put in charge of the two provinces of Spain for five years under the lex Trebonia. Logically, this does not attract any particular remark from Dio, because in his own perspective it was merely an element of the rivalry between Caesar and Pompey on which his narrative is focused. Viewed from this broader perspective, the command of 67 against the pirates as presented in book 36 clearly appears in a very particular way, which contrasts both with the passages devoted to the other commands of Pompey inside the Roman History, and with the accounts of the other ancient authors. My purpose will be to investigate the reasons for this peculiarity, and to scrutinize this long text, trying to determine what points Cassius Dio stresses, how he brings particular historical problems into the reader’s focus, and what relations we can detect between this passage and others in his Roman History. I will try to demonstrate that in choosing such a specific way of exposing the vote of Pompey’s command against the pirates, Dio intended to reveal his own view of the history of the Roman constitutions – his own understanding of the transition from the Republic to the Principate.12

The Vote of Pompey’s Command as Presented by Cassius Dio

The first point to note is the space allowed to the vote of the lex Gabinia in the narrative. In book 36, which includes 54 chapters and covers a span of four years (from 69 to 66), the whole affair of Pompey’s command extends over 18 chapters (20 to 37), approximately one third of the book. This is immediately surprising. The structure of the whole passage, too, deserves attention. Dio first describes the increasing troubles caused by piracy (3 chapters, 20 to 22), in very general terms, much less precise than in Plutarch’s or Appian’s narratives: his concern is not to catch his readers’ attention by a colourful depiction of the pirates’ misdeeds, but to underline the danger of piracy for the Roman­ 12  This research was undertaken as part of the French ‘Programme ANR Dioneia 2011–2015’, directed by Valérie Fromentin from Université Bordeaux Montaigne (www.dioneia.humanum.fr), and it owes much to discussions with its participants. The purpose of Dioneia is the publication of a collective volume about Cassius Dio (Cassius Dion: nouvelles recherches, forthcoming), to provide a comprehensive update of scholarship since Fergus Millar’s work of 1964; and the completion of the CUF (Belles Lettres) edition of the Roman History. Books 36–37, by G. Lachenaud & M. Coudry (2014), and books 38–40, by the same (2011).

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domination, the inefficiency of the responses previously devised by the Senate, and the utmost anxiety of the senators (chapter 23). The idea, implicit here but explicitly formulated further on in the work,13 is that the extent in space of the Roman Empire is a challenge to its institutions, and that the huge development of piracy demonstrates how inadequate these are. Then he devotes 13 chapters (24 to 36) to the voting of the law, and only one (37) to the setting up of the military expedition and to its success, which contrasts strongly with Plutarch’s and Appian’s accounts, which are more detailed about the actual campaign than about the vote of the law. Inside these 13 chapters, which intend to show how hard the contest was between senators on one side and plebs on the other side, actually a deliberately schematic view intended to stress the loss of harmony in the political system, much space is left for the speeches of three protagonists.14 The first one is Pompey, who rejects Gabinius’ proposal, pretending to be tired of military campaigns and eager to retire from public life (2 chapters, 25–26). The second is Gabinius, the rogator of the law, commending Pompey as the unique and best commander for this campaign (3 chapters, 27–29). The third is Catulus, who argues vigorously against Gabinius’ rogatio on constitutional grounds. His speech is twice as long (6 chapters, 31–36) and far more articulate: it consists of an elaborate reflection about magistracy, constitutional tradition, personal power, and autonomous or delegated imperium. This long dissuasio clearly appears as the core of the whole sequence about the lex Gabinia, and the result of Dio’s efforts to build an analysis which may be partly his own.15 Although many ancient authors actually mention that Catulus spoke before the popular assembly and failed to convince it,16 we do not hear of a preserved speech of Catulus that Dio could have read. He visibly drew from Cicero’s discourse in favour of the lex Manilia of 66 (Leg. Man. 52; 59–60), which alludes to the strong opposition of Catulus and Hortensius to Gabinius’ proposal of the previous year. But he does not even mention Hortensius, and ascribes to Catulus alone the arguments which Cicero presents as expressed by both of them.17 This literary device, 13  Particularly in the well-known excursus at the beginning of book 44, where Dio exposes his own judgement about the murder of Caesar, and explains that only a monarchy is convenient for a city which, like Rome, rules a wide empire (44.2.4). 14  About these three speeches as exemplyfying the new narrative mode of Dio for the period of the late Republic, see Kemezis 2014, 113–114. 15  It is understood in the same way by Fechner 1986, 43–48. 16  Cic. Leg. Man. 59; Sall. Hist. 5.24 M; Val. Max. 8.15.9; Vell. Pat. 2.32.1; Plut. Pomp. 25.5–6. 17  Rodgers 2008 has already drawn attention to this re-elaboration of the Ciceronian material, and assumes that Dio erroneously transferred to the debate of 67 the discourse

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putting them in Catulus’ mouth, who is said to have had the highest authority among senators,18 allows Dio to enhance the argument and make it highly respectable and authoritative. In short, the space allowed to these three speeches in Dio’s narrative, their content, and the choice to combine speeches, reveal how important the lex Gabinia was to Dio’s view of Roman politics. In the present case, both the speeches of Pompeius and Catulus require special attention: a close examination will reveal that in other parts of Dio’s Roman History echoes can be found of the ideas they present. This analysis does not address them in isolation, but considers their content as elements of a wider reflection, built upon a series of events brought to the fore. Links with the “Augustan settlement” are particularly conspicuous, as will be demonstrated.

Pompey and recusatio imperii

As it appears in Dio’s narrative, the speech of Pompey is rather surprising. Whereas that of Catulus is well attested, and that of the tribune Gabinius conforms with the usual procedure of the comitia (which requires that on the day of the vote the rogator should present his proposal one final time),19 no other ancient author asserts that Pompey addressed the people to say that he did not want to be entrusted with that command. Besides, when he introduces the speech (36.24.5–6), Dio warns his reader that in actual fact, Pompey wishes to obtain it at all cost, but that, as usual, he dissimulates his wish in order to appear to have received it without asking, being chosen against his will. So, the speech is introduced as mendacious and that of Gabinius, which follows, is itself disqualified in advance: Dio has presented the tribune as someone who acted on behalf of Pompey, and who, anyway, unlike Catulus, “was not prompted by any love of the common welfare” (36.23.4). One also notes that the speeches of Pompey and Gabinius are in some way associated in a dialectical relation, each argument being a response to the other. All this testifies to uttered by Catulus in 66. But in my opinion the ways Cicero mentions Catulus’ interventions in his Pro lege Manilia are not sufficiently firm ground for this attractive hypothesis. 18  36.30.5–31.1. This positive image of Catulus appears again in Dio’s narrative, when he mentions his death in 61: “He was a man who always, more conspicuously than anyone who ever lived, preferred the common weal to everything else” (37.46.3). The same view had been expressed by Cicero, in Sest. 122 for instance, and appears also in Plutarch (Pomp. 16.1). 19  Some fragments of the Histories of Sallust may be related to it (5.21 and 22 M).

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a process of literary elaboration, also apparent in the careful application, in the composition, of the rules of rhetoric, which makes one suspect that the speech of Pompey is fictitious. If that is the case, one must wonder what the ambition is of such an artifice. One may surmise that it is a formal imperative, namely, presenting in an attractive way which corresponds with the taste of the audience of his time for rhetoric, that feature of Pompey’s character, the dissimulation of his ambition, which is a commonplace of the ancient tradition.20 Alternatively, the objective could have been to show through an example that the mendacious speeches of those in power are a characteristic of the end of the Republic, a means to assert their ambition to the detriment of the general good (as in the case of the speech addressed by Caesar to his soldiers before confronting Ariovistus and studied by Adam Kemezis in this volume). In relating this speech to several other passages of Dio’s History of Rome, one will observe that Dio’s intentions go even further. What does Pompey say to justify his rejection of the tribune’s proposal? Two main ideas are formulated in the speech. First, from his youth he has been in charge of too many commands, and he now wishes to have a quiet life and leave the task to others: “I do not see it fitting either that you should be so insatiable in regard to my services, or that I myself should continually be in some position of command, for I have toiled since boyhood, and you ought to be favouring others as well” (36.25.1). To this Gabinius answers that on account of the qualities he has manifested in those circumstances, Pompey is the only man who can at present be entrusted with the war against the pirates (36.27.3–4). Then Pompey adds that “all such commands are causes of jealousy and hatred (ἐπίφθονα καὶ μισητάv)”, and he does not wish to be exposed to it: “Who would be eager to carry out any public business if destined in case of failure to stand trial and in case of success to incur jealousy?” (36.26.2–3). To this Gabinius will oppose the imperative of self-sacrifice for the common interest (36.27.6). These reflections on the dangers incurred through the exercise of an extraordinary command, which Pompey is supposed to have expressed before the people in advance of voting for the lex Gabinia, reappear later in the narrative, on the subject of his return to Italy, five years later, when the war against Mithridates is over and the Orient pacified. When he lands with his army at Brundisium, “as he had enormous power on sea and land”, and “although he might have occupied Italy and gained for himself the whole Roman power (τὸ τῶν Ῥωμαίων κράτος), [. . .] Yet he did not choose to do this” (37.20.4–5). Instead, he dismissed his soldiers, because, according to Dio, he did not want to provoke the hatred of his fellow citizens, “for since he understood that men 20  See for instance Vell. Pat. 2.29.3; 2.33.3; Plut. Pomp. 30.5–6.

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held the careers of Marius and Sulla in abomination (μίσει), he did not wish to cause them any fear” (37.20.6).21 That episode is well-known, unlike that of the hesitations of Pompey in 67: Velleius (2.40.2–3), Plutarch (Pomp. 43), and Appian (Mithr. 116) also mention the relief felt by the Romans after they had feared that Pompey would use the armies to impose his power on Rome. So, one may wonder if the speech of 67 was not recast by Dio on the basis of the events of 62. In any case, one notices that in both texts, the narrative and the speech, Dio inserts identical general thoughts on extraordinary commands and their political implications. He does it again when he describes the opposition Pompey faced in Rome when in 60 he wished to have his action in the East approved and land distributed to his veterans, but had to renounce it. “Thus he learned that he did not possess any real power, but merely the name and envy (φθόνον) resulting from his former authority” (37.50.6). Those passages, in fact, must be understood in a larger context: as demonstrated by Christopher Burden-Strevens in his contribution, they reflect the importance of the historical problems of ambition (ἐπιθυμία) and envy (φθόνος) in the thought of Dio on the fall of the Republic, and they do not only appear in relation to Pompey. But the theme of the refusal of power, bound up with that of the dissimulation of ambition, is also to be found further on in the Roman History, as noted by several historians and recently Vervaet (2010): it is revealed in the wellknown speech pronounced by Octavian before the senators in January 27, after he has renounced the extraordinary powers he had enjoyed since the triumvirate was established in 43.22 He wished, in the words of Dio, “that he might have his sovereignty (μοναρχία) voluntarily confirmed by the people, so as to avoid the appearance of having forced them again their will” (53.2.6). That is what he had said of Pompey in 67. The arguments of Octavian, too, are identical with those of Pompey: “I have undergone both labours and hardships and am no longer able to stand the strain [. . .] I foresee the jealousy and hatred (καὶ τὸν φθόνον καὶ τὸ μῖσος) which are engendered in certain persons” (53.8.6). This attitude, commonly defined through the expression recusatio imperii, the 21  Dio further underlines his moderation, when he refuses most of the honours the senators had voted to extol his achievements abroad, in 63: “After having received practically all the offices (ἀρχάς) and commands (ἡγεμονίας) contrary to precedent (ἔξω τῶν πατρίων), now he was unwilling to accept any other such honours that were liable to bring him merely envy (φθόνον) and hatred (μῖσος)” (37.23.4). 22  About this speech, see Rich 2012, 52–59. Vervaet 2010, resting mainly on Cassius Dio, speaks of a “Pompeian model” for Octavian. The idea was suggested by Ed. Meyer, and exposed by Béranger 1953, 149–150. Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 36–36, underlines that recusatio (in a wider sense, including refusal of honours) is a feature peculiar to “the great dynasts of the late Republic”, Pompey and Caesar, before it comes in use for emperors.

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refusal of power, is furthermore explicitly compared with that of Pompey in another address, the funeral oration for Augustus delivered by Tiberius, such as it was recorded by Dio. In one passage, the behaviour of Augustus early in 27 is described in a way similar to that of Pompey on his return to Italy after his victories in the East: “He might, on the strength of his record and of the weapons and the money at his command, have been indisputably the sole lord of all, as, indeed, he had become by the very course of events. Nevertheless he refused [. . .] The significance of this act you may judge best by recalling that our fathers praised Pompey and the Metellus who flourished at that time because they had voluntarily disbanded the forces with which they had waged war” (56.39.1–2). Tiberius quotes that precedent to throw positively into relief the conduct of Augustus. The practice of the recusatio imperii became a characteristic of the transmission of imperial power, as noted by several authors, not only Dio.23 But it must be pointed out that he mentions it with unusual frequency in connection with Augustus. Discussing the renewal of his powers in 8 BC, “Augustus once more accepted the supreme power, though with a show of reluctance, in spite of his oft-expressed desire to lay it down” (55.6.1). Then, about the renewal in 3 AD: “He accepted the leadership for the fourth time, though ostensibly under compulsion” (55.12.3); and finally, concerning the last of those renewals, in 13 AD: “Augustus with seeming reluctance accepted a fifth ten-year term as head of the state” (56.28.1). Such insistence on that one feature of the political conduct of Augustus, already thrown into relief for Pompey, seems to signify that for Dio the attitude of Pompey towards the command attributed to him by the lex Gabinia prefigures that of Augustus in the session of January 27, which was in his eyes that of the foundation of the Empire. Thus Dio makes of Pompey a model for the political conduct for Augustus, and establishes a historical connection between the voting of the lex Gabinia and the setting up of the imperial regime. Whether it was invented or simply re-written, the insertion of that speech of Pompey in the narrative of the voting of the lex Gabinia, was necessary for the wider perspective of the historiographical project of Dio, for it proposed to the reader a landmark in the process of the disappearance of the Republic, with Pompey figuring as one of its protagonists.24

23  See lastly Jakobson & Cotton 1985. 24  For the difficulty in highlighting landmarks in the history of the Late Republic from a modern point of view, see Flower 2010, 13–15 and 135–153.

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Republican Magistracies and Extraordinary Commands

The speech of Catulus contrasts with the two preceding ones in its form and tenor: putting aside the question of the person of Pompey, he sets himself on the plane of general reflexion, developing arguments of a constitutional nature through logical reasoning that no longer conforms with the conventions of rhetoric. But there too one finds some connections with later passages of the Roman History, where the same ideas resurface, guiding the reader through a historical analysis which suggests a continuity between the command of Pompey against the pirates and the establishment of the Augustan monarchy. The argument of Catulus develops in three parts, the first two of a very general purpose and skilfully associating theoretical statements and pragmatic considerations. The first part (chapters 31–32) states a principle: “It is not proper to entrust to any one man so many commands one after another”, for “this has been forbidden by the laws” (36.31.3). What follows makes it clear that the laws evoked are those that closely defined the conditions of the exercise of the magistracies and promagistracies. What Catulus asserts is that those laws define the very nature of the regime, democratia, which guarantees for all the access to public offices, and isomoiria, which compels each man to assume his share (36.31.3–32.1).25 So, the proposal of Gabinius imperils the very foundations of the Republic. The second part of the address (chapters 33–34) draws the pragmatic conclusions from that, and is logically articulated with the first: “So long as consuls and praetors and those serving in their places (that means pro-magistrates) are receiving their offices and commands conformably to the laws, it is in no wise fitting nor yet advantageous for you to overlook them and introduce some new command” (36.33.1). Creating a new command for a privatus would antagonize the magistrates in charge and dissuade the citizens from engaging in public life. Catulus adds that, for exceptional situations such as this one, there already exists an adequate magistracy, the dictatorship, but he puts aside the idea in evoking the memory of the recent dictatorship of Sulla (36, 34). Then he comes to the clear conclusion: “It is no wise fitting, nor yet advantageous, [. . .] for any one man to be put in control (κύριον) of all we have, however excellent he may be; great honours and excessive powers (ὑπέρογκοι έξουσίαι) excite and ruin even such persons” (36.35.1). Those moral considerations, highly conventional, complete the exposé, actually much more original through its constitutional approach, being centred on one essential

25  This representation of the principles of democracy is to be compared to Agrippa’s in his famous oration (52.4.1–4).

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idea which recurs throughout that part of the oration: the traditional magistracies form a system, and that system manifests the essence of the Republic. There is no doubt that those ideas were really those of Catulus and the senators opposed to the proposal of Gabinius:26 Cicero and Velleius attest it, in presenting them in a highly condensed and almost identical way. “Opposing the law before the assembled people, he had said that Pompey was without question a great man, but that he was now becoming too great for a free republic, and that all powers ought not to be reposed in one man”, in the words of Velleius Paterculus (2.32.1: Cum dissuadens legem in contione dixisset esse quidem praeclarum uirum Cn. Pompeium, sed nimium iam rei publicae liberae neque omnia in uno reponenda). Although Cicero emphasizes the role of Hortensius more than Catulus and does not clearly separate the criticisms uttered in 67 against Gabinius’ proposal from those expressed in 66 against Manilius’ (which he supports), he exclaims: “What then says Hortensius? That if one man is to be put in supreme command, the right man is Pompeius; but that the supreme command ought not to be given to one man” (Cic. Leg. Man. 52: Quid igitur ait Hortensius? Si uni omnia tribuenda sint, dignissimum esse Pompeium, sed ad unum tamen omnia deferri non oportere). And further on he sums up Catulus’ arguments in these words: “Let no innovation be made contrary to the usage and the principles of our forefathers” (Leg. Man. 60: At enim ne quid noui fiat contra exempla atque instituta maiorum). But it is interesting to see that Dio conceives of the Republic in the same way. He too is convinced that the extraordinary command proposed for Pompey endangers the political system of the Romans. It is for that reason that he has insistently characterized in a positive way the personality of Catulus before allowing him to speak, just as he had before characterized Gabinius negatively: one acts for the common good, the other does not.27 At several moments in the narrative of the events at the end of the Republic, up to the setting up of the regime of Augustus, he repeats that same idea in different forms, opposing magisterial authority defined by the law (nomos) on one side, with absolute and arbitrary power (dunasteia) or monarchy (monarchia) on the other. The listing of those passages, where he draws the reader’s attention through commentaries on what becomes of the traditional magistracies, is enlightening. 26  See Hurlet 2010, who considers that the literary sources on the extraordinary imperia of the late Republic probably do not distort the perception the Romans of the time had of their dangerous implications. Arena 2012, 192 and 195–200, implicitely assumes the same idea. 27  See Jesper Madsen’s contribution about the way Dio expresses criticism of some political measures through disqualifying of their promoters.

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First, concerning Pompey and Caesar during the civil war, in 48, he remarks: “For the sake of good repute they bore the legal titles (τὰς ἐννόμους ἐπικλήσεις) of proconsul and consul respectively, yet their acts were not those which these offices permitted, but whatever they themselves pleased (πράττοντες δὲ οὐκ ὅσα ἐκεῖναι ἐπέτρεπον ἀλλ’ ὅσα αὐτοὶ ἦθελον)” (41.43.5). Further on, enumerating the honours conferred on Caesar after the victory at Munda in 45, Dio distributes them between two categories which are opposed according to an institutional criterion: those that are not really contrary to the republican regime (ἀδημοκράτητα), and the others, “by which they declared him an out and out monarch (μόναρχον), for they offered him the magistracies, even those belonging to the plebs, and elected him consul for ten years” (43.45.1). We note that the latter honours are precisely those relating to the magistracies. And Dio is the only author to mention the attempt of the senators, after the death of Caesar and before the battle at Modena, to reinstate the limit of one year for the magistracies and to suppress the exceptional commissions as curator annonae and praefectus moribus, which Dio defines as “all the privileges the granting of which hitherto to any individuals (Dio alludes to Pompey and Caesar) contrary to established custom (ἔξω τῶν πατρίων) had paved the way to supreme power (δυναστεία)” (46.39.2). That passage may be seen in connection with another in which, after the end of the civil war, one sees Caesar himself re-establish the limits in duration for the provincial commands of consuls and praetors through a law, which we call lex Iulia de provinciis (“since it was by ruling the Gauls for many years in succession that he himself had conceived a greater desire for dominion (τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν τῆς δυναστείας) and had increased the equipment of his forces” (43.25.3)). It is striking to see that here Dio quotes precisely one of the assertions of Catulus (36.31.3: “It is not proper to entrust to any one man so many positions of command one after another; this has not only be forbidden by the laws, but also has been found by experience to be most perilous”), and he does it as if Caesar had drawn the lesson from his own experience, attributing to him a wisdom that appears to us somewhat suspect. Finally, – and this is the point on which this series of Dio’s remarks converges – in his well-known presentation of the Augustan regime as he describes it for the year 27, the magisterial functions held by the prince are shown to be a device to dissimulate the true nature of the imperial power: “In order to preserve the appearance of having this power by virtue of the laws and not because of their own domination (μὴ ἐκ δυναστείας ἀλλ’ ἐκ τῶν νόμων), the emperors have taken to themselves all the functions, including the titles, of the offices which under the Republic and by the free gift of the people were powerful” (53.17.3). In the opinion of Dio, the command given to Pompey through the lex Gabinia thus appears as a serious and irredeemable breach in the system of the traditional

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magistracies, which in his view lie at the very heart of the republican regime.28 It is impossible to assert, because the text of the books preceding book 36 have vanished, that in his eyes the lex Gabinia is the first encroachment on that system. In fact, the more general view of the relation between extraordinary command, deviating from the rules of magistracies, and the domination of a single man, appeared already in the fragmentary books of the Roman History. One surviving passage, related to the victories of the young Scipio in Spain, records the contrasting reactions of the senators facing his power and reputation (δυναστείαν καὶ δόξαν): they consider “how they might escape training up for themselves a self-chosen tyrant (τύραννον αὐθαίρετον)” (frg. 57.55). In any case, a long series of passages, scattered through the narrative of the end of the Republic, echo one another propounding the same analysis. But only one of them does this in a searching and articulate way, the speech of Catulus. One may then wonder if Dio has not deliberately chosen to expound that theme of the inevitable opposition between the power of the magistrates, the true foundation of the Republic, and the extraordinary commands leading to absolute power, at that particular moment in his narrative, in order to make it clear for his readers that the voting of the lex Gabinia marked a turning point in the history of the successive regimes in Rome. The form he adopts – the speech – underlines that intention: as Christopher Burden-Strevens remarks in his contribution to this volume, Dio puts into words his personal interpretation of the fall of the Republic. We should note that he often uses such a device at some turning points of his narrative, specifically when institutions are at stake: one thinks of course of the so-called Agrippa-Maecenas dialogue (52.2–40), connected with the discourse uttered by Octavian in the Senate in January 27, when he lays the bases of the Principate (53.3–10).29 But it also occurs in the republican books, for instance with the discourse of Caesar to the senators when he enters Rome after his victory over the Pompeians in Thapsus, and promises to use moderation (43.15–18), or with Cicero’s appeal to concord after the Ides of March (44.23–33), these two orations figuring landmarks for the beginning and the end of Caesar’s domination. But no one puts constitutional matters on the front stage so persistently.

28  See the slightly different point of view of Kemezis 2014, 135–139, on the place Dio ascribes to the magisterial system as characterizing the Republic, and as a link with the monarchical state. 29  A similar debate may have featured in book 3 of the Roman History, at the turning point between the regal period and the Republic. See Millar 1964, 79–80.

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Appointment of the legati and Autonomous imperium

The third part of Catulus’ speech (chapters 35–36) is rather different, and looks more pragmatic in its scope, although it points to constitutional matters as well. Its purpose is to discuss a specific point, at first sight of minor importance and generally disregarded, the statute of the legati put in charge of the maritime war under the high commander, and to provide a solution opposite to Gabinius’ one. Among ancient authors, Dio alone mentions such a proposition from Catulus, and generally speaking the legal position of the legati is not a matter of interest to them, which could explain why it is often left aside in modern studies too.30 Nonetheless, it must not be neglected, because it focuses on a very important topic, which Augustus will have to face in January 27 BC, after the uncertainties and confusion of the triumviral period: how should Rome’s government over its wide empire be organised? What relations of authority should be set up between the man at the top, invested with a wide ranging imperium, and those who manage the different provincial territories?31 Precisely these questions are pointed out in Catulus’ speech, and, on the other hand, our best information about the provincial administration established by Augustus is to be found in Dio’s Roman History (book 53, chap. 13–15), where he gives a quite unique general account of the imperial organization up to his own time, with particular attention to the titles and the functions of the different kinds of governors, especially legati and their assistants.32 Moreover, as will soon be observed, Dio’s narrative of the period from Pompey to Augustus includes a range of isolated but coherent observations about the organization of command outside Italy, in the same way as we already noticed about the subject of magistracies. Once again, Catulus’ oration cannot be considered in isolation. But, for all the period in between, Dio is the source of very rich and precise information concerning the question of the hierarchy of imperia which has been raised about the question of triumphal honours.

30  A notable exception is Vervaet 2014, 78–82, who considers this passage of Catulus’ speech as “the most explicit acknowledgment” of the rule concerning the relation between triumphal honours and possession of independent imperium, “from the diligent hand of Cassius Dio” (cf. 216–217). 31  This point is emphasised by Rich 2012, 55–58. 32  See the commentary of Rich 1990, 143–147. The similarities between the legati of Pompey, during the piratic war and later, and the legati (Augusti) propraetore sent by Augustus in the so-called imperial provinces from 27 on, as for their status, has been long recognized (cf. Lintott 1999b, 155).

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What Catulus defends, obviously against Gabinius’ proposal, is an appointment of legati not by the commander, that is Pompey, but by the people, which implies that they will detain what we call in modern terms an autonomous imperium instead of a delegated one: “Is it not much more just and advantageous that these men destined to serve under him be chosen by you (that is the people), beforehand for this very purpose, and receive independent authority from you (τὴν ἡγεμονίαν παρ’ ὑμῶν αὐτοτελῆ λαβεῖν)?” (36.36.1). The underlying question concerns the benefits of victory: should the right to a triumph – which is not explicitly mentioned, but is clearly at stake – belong to those who actually won on the battlefield, or only to the high commander? As Catulus puts it, “There will be keener rivalry among them because they are independent and will themselves get the glory for whatever they achieve”, but instead, if Gabinius’ proposal is approved, “what man will perform any duty readily, when he is going to win victories not for himself but for another?” (36.36.2). The background is, again, the rules of democratia already mentioned by Catulus in the first part of his speech, specifically competition for magistracies and commands (36.32.1–2), and, on a general level, the excellence of the Republican system of magistracies. The appointment of the legati who would assist Pompey, and their imperium (and auspicium) were probably debated in 67,33 but we can wonder whether it was exactly in these terms, or if, when he wrote this part of Catulus’ speech, Dio insisted on a point which was contested only later. As a matter of fact, the allocation of triumphs to legati during the last decades of the Republic was a much confused matter, as is evidenced precisely by Dio’s narrative.34 In the civil war between Caesar and Pompey, he violently criticizes Caesar for allowing his two legates Q. Pedius and Q. Fabius (Maximus) to celebrate a triumph after the victory over the Pompeians at Munda, “although they had merely been his lieutenants and had achieved no individual success” (43.42.1). It happens again for the triumviral period, with Domitius Calvinus’ Spanish triumph: “He obtained a triumph in spite of the fact that Spain had been assigned to (the younger) Caesar”, says Dio, who adds “for those in power could grant the honours at will to those who served as their lieutenants” (48.42.4). Actually, because of uncertainty about Domitius’ status, legatus or proconsul, there

33  It can be surmised on the basis of Appian’s information, which is very precise about the status of the legati as defined in the lex Gabinia, their rank, and their imperium (Mithr. 94). 34  Rich 2014, 237–239 underlines the “glut of triumphs” in the years from 49 to 19, many of which were celebrated by the triumvirs’ associates, and alludes to the complex problems related to the status of these legati (n. 212).

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are discordant opinions among specialists.35 The same can be said about the rivalry between Marcus Antonius and Ventidius Bassus for the latter’s triumph after his two victories over the Parthians: Dio reproves the contradictory decisions of the Senate (48.41.5; 49.21.2–3), but in this case again modern historians are not of the same mind.36 Only at the time of Augustus, as is well known, and one step after another, were clear rules defined about the celebration of victories:37 monopoly of the triumph for the princeps and his family, ornamenta triumphalia for others. What should be underlined is that much of our information on these matters comes from Dio, which reveals his interest for the hierarchy of commands and its effects on the allocation of triumphal honours.38 We cannot exclude the possibility that the arguments he puts in Catulus’ mouth in 67, if they were really uttered, are partly distorted and owe much to later debates. Anyway, what is evidenced once again is the coherence of Dio’s constitutional reflection all through the republican and Augustan books of his History. Conclusion So, Catulus’ speech in Cassius Dio appears to be a very special passage of oratory: leaving aside the conventions of rhetoric so artfully displayed in Pompey’s and Gabinius’ speeches, Dio used it as an opportunity to deliver his own analysis about the implications of the lex Gabinia for the Republican regime, partly in moral terms, as is demonstrated in Christopher Burden-Strevens’ study in this volume, partly in constitutional terms, as I stressed on my part. Although we cannot assert that he had not proposed a reflection similar to the one we can read in book 36 in the previous books of his Roman History (maybe in the narrative of Sulla’s dictatorship), it is highly probable that Catulus’ speech was a central plank of his historical reflection. As we briefly noticed, Dio did not give similar space to the vote of the lex Manilia in 66, and that choice d­ elivers 35  They disagree about his status: see lately Vervaet 2014, 248, and Dalla Rosa 2014, 99 n. 68, who also discuss the point of Ventidius’ triumph. 36  See Vervaet 2014, 97–99 for the treatment of the question by ancient authors. 37  Hurlet 2001, investigating the question of auspicia, which Cassius Dio never takes into account, has clearly established that long-lasting rules were ultimately settled in 19 BC, although his views on the auspicial situation of Augustus are disputed: see Dalla Rosa 2014, 219–229 and Vervaet 2014, 276–288. 38  Beard 2007, 298–301 noticed that Dio’s narrative provides a precise and coherent picture of what she calls “the Augustan triumphal revolution”.

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to his reader a clear message: the actual turning point was the lex Gabinia. Interestingly, he stresses only a few points. First was the motivation of the principle agents, equally despicable because they had no thought for the common good, either in the case of Manilius, the rogator, who “paid court to Pompey even in the latter’s absence, especially because he knew that Gabinius had the greatest influence with him” (36.42.4), or of his most noteworthy supporters, Caesar and Cicero, both eager to seek popularity at all costs (36.43.3–5). Second was the point which aroused most indignation from the optimates who opposed the bill: “Marcius (Rex) and Acilius (Glabrio) were being removed before the period of their command had expired” – they were governors of respectively Cilicia and Bithynia, now assigned to Pompey (36.43.1). Dio’s intention is probably to underline that they fought, as in 67, on the field of institutions, and blamed the encroachment upon the rules about magistracies and promagistracies. As for the allocation of the cura annonae in 57, Dio gives the information in quite a sober and neutral way, without any mention of the attempt made by one of the tribunes to give Pompey an imperium maius, superior to the imperium held by governors of consular rank.39 He then only underlines that, as in the case of the piratical war, Pompey’s sway would concern all the Roman Empire, including Italy (39.9.3).40 Putting side by side Catulus’ speech and the series of personal observations Dio inserted in his narrative of the political events of the last years of the Republic, down to the Augustan settlement, we have shown how his representation of the magistracies as part of the Republican and Imperial regimes is remarkably coherent through the (surviving) republican and Augustan books. In his view, Pompey’s command against the pirates is a breach of the republican system of magistracies – perhaps not the first, but a significant and irredeemable one – the first step in the fall of the Republic (démocratia), and ultimately, after the phase of violence and civil wars from which emerge forms of power deprived of any legality (the dunasteiai), the advent of the Augustan monarchy. On the one hand, Pompey’s and Gabinius’ speeches focus on the mendacious refusal of extraordinary imperium; Catulus’, on the other hand, focuses 39  See Vervaet 2014, 220–221 on the provisions of the law. The silence of Dio about this imperium maius is surprising, as was the fact that he mentioned the violent conflict between Pompey and Metellus Creticus campaigning against the pirates in Crete, which resulted of their conflicting imperia, only in his narrative, as if this point had not been discussed when Gabinius proposed his bill. 40  See note 13 for the text. Plutarch (Pomp. 49.4) and Appian (B Civ. 2.18) put more emphasis on the power entrusted to Pompey.

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on the insuperable contradiction between such an imperium and the survival of Republican institutions. In combination, they expose the political and constitutional implications of the lex Gabinia. As already noticed, such speeches are used by Dio as landmarks in constitutional history, and inserted in the narrative at some turning points, like Caesar’s oration when he comes back to Rome after defeating the Pompeians in Thapsus, and Cicero’s after the Ides of March, both delivered before the Senate, significantly, and intended as signals for the beginning and the end of Caesar’s rule. But the three speeches of 67 also throw light on another function assumed by speeches in the republican books of the Roman History. If one considers the relation between speeches and events, it appears that Catulus’ speech, inspired by concern for public welfare, fails to convince the people, and cannot prevent the vote for the law: it proves ineffective. Instead, the mendacious speeches of Pompeius and Gabinius are successful. This may be a device to give a dramatic colour to the narrative, but more probably, as Adam Kemezis shows in his contribution, it points to a moral interpretation of history: speeches are a means for the powerful to realize their ambitions, not to convince of the general good. It is a dramatic staging of the dissolution of the Republic.41

41  See Kemezis 2014, 94–104, for a broader perspective on the aim of the Roman History of Dio, and a stimulating analysis of the specific narrative modes which characterize each great period.

CHAPTER 3

The Sources of Cassius Dio for the Roman Civil Wars of 49–30 BC1 Richard Westall Quellenforschung, or the search for the sources of an ancient Greek or Latin historiographical text, is a relatively recent science, and much work remains to be done despite the achievements and excesses of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In the particular case of Cassius Dio, the treatments of Eduard Schwartz and Bernd Manuwald yet offer the scholar the essential point of departure.2 However, these studies are in profound disagreement as to what may be asserted as regards Dio’s sources for the Roman civil wars of 49–30 BC. Whereas Schwartz opined that Dio made extensive use of Livy, Manuwald argued that the very opposite would seem to have been the case. This difference of opinion is due in part to the regrettable modern habit of taking a surreptitiously biographical approach (Julius Caesar, Augustus) and dealing separately with the periods 49–44 BC and 44–30 BC. The difference is also due to the varying quality of the sources that survive. As a consequence, Dio’s reliance upon Livy may yet be entertained, and occasionally there is reference to the possibility that Dio also used the work of Cremutius Cordus.3 By and large, however, there has been in the last half-century a tendency to abandon the work of Quellenforschung as sterile and unable to provide results of any use. Instead, as well represented by the work of Fergus Millar and Alan Gowing, attention has focussed upon how Dio selects and arranges his material and what this says about Dio’s historiographical understanding and aims.4 This has been a salutary reaction, for it has helped us to discern what are the fundamental and enduring traits of Dio’s historiography. Nonetheless, perhaps it is time to build upon these findings and to make use of such recent advances as

1  All translations from the Greek are those of the Loeb Classical Library. 2  For what follows, see in particular Schwartz 1899, 1697–1714 = Schwartz 1957, 414–438; Manuwald 1979, 168–254. 3  E.g. Rich 1990, 7. 4  For these authors’ thoughts on the specific topic of Quellenforschung, see especially Millar 1964, 34–35, 84–85; Gowing 1992, 3, 39–50.

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The Fragments of the Roman Historians so as to return to Quellenforschung.5 With a fresh perspective and new materials, it may prove possible to resolve the difference of opinion regarding Dio’s use of sources for the civil wars that led from Republic to Principate. An additional stimulus for the present paper, it should be added, comes from a brilliant and unjustly overlooked article published by Paul M. Martin roughly a decade ago. In seeking to elucidate the sources of Lucan for that poet’s treatment of the infamous episode in which Caesar is presented with unequivocal signs of the death of Cn. Pompeius Magnus, Martin argued compellingly that the Cordus who buried Pompeius was related to the historian A. Cremutius Cordus and that Lucan drew upon this historian’s philo-­Republican account in creating his own dramatic version.6 Here, too, further work is needed to establish in detail the consequences of this conclusion, especially from a prosopographical perspective. For the present, however, it should suffice to note that the insight suggests that further traces of Dio’s use of the work of Cremutius Cordus may be found upon re-visitation. Five items will be examined in what follows, so as to identify tentatively the most significant of Dio’s sources and at the same time to illustrate how he has moulded his material to the perceived needs of the present. These elements are: (1) the omens that presaged the outcome of the battle of Pharsalus; (2) the siege and fall of Perusia; (3) the triumphs of the 40s and 30s BC; (4) the leadership of Cassius and Brutus at Philippi; and (5) Dio’s testimony for the nature of the historical work of Cremutius Cordus. It should emerge that, while he may have made some use of Livy, Dio seems to have relied heavily upon a philoRepublican source that was consistently critical of the Caesarian party and its leaders. Moreover, it will be seen that there are various reasons for thinking that this source was in all likelihood Cremutius Cordus. 1 Traditionally there has been a tendency to identify Livy as the principal source for Cassius Dio’s account of the Roman civil wars of 49–30 BC in Books 41–50 of the Roman History. Seemingly there are good grounds for this. For one thing, analysis of the Roman History as a whole has highlighted Dio’s seeming reliance upon the framework of Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita for his own account of

5  Cornell et al. 2013. 6  Martin 2005, 147–162, esp. 153–156.

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the history of the Republic.7 For another, and more specifically as regards Books 41–50, there is the fact that the omen at Patavium that predicted the outcome of Pharsalus clearly comes from Livy (Cass. Dio 41.61.4–5; cf. Plut. Caes. 47.3–6). Hence, this omen, which occurs as the culmination of a list and receives the most attention, would appear to furnish corroboration for the modern view that Dio’s narrative is more or less an abbreviated version of Livy translated into Greek. However, a meticulous review by Manuwald of Dio’s narrative for Books 45–56 (covering the years 44 BC–AD 14) has demonstrated unequivocally the untenable nature of this thesis as regards Dio’s treatment of the rise to power and reign of Augustus.8 Not infrequently Dio can be shown to hold a view that is altogether at odds with that attested or able to be inferred for Livy. As a result, it seems worth reviewing the omens for Pharsalus, for they in large part constitute the basis for the traditional scholarly consensus that Livy was the main source utilised by Dio in writing an account of the civil wars and the inception of the Principate. The passage in which Dio relates the omens that were associated with the battle of Pharsalus merits detailed examination, for it not only offers the most clear-cut instance of information that unquestionably derives from Livy’s Ab Urbe Condita but also displays in synthesis the complicated nature of the source-question for the work of Dio. It is possible to discern one if not two sources at work in addition to Livy and Caesar. Overall, the omens listed fall into two temporal categories (prior to or contemporaneous with the battle) and three spatial categories (the Roman camps on the field of Pharsalus, the Greek-speaking world of the East, and the Latin-speaking world of Italy). Listing ten omens, Dio reports (Cass. Dio 41.61.1–5): . . . ὁ Πομπήιος . . . ἡττήθη, ὥσπερ που καὶ πρὸ τοῦ ἔργου οἱ ἐδεδήλωτο. κεραυνοί τε γὰρ ἐς τὸ στρατόπεδον αὐτοῦ ἐσέπεσον, καὶ πῦρ ἀέριον ὑπὲρ τῆς τοῦ Καίσαρος ταφρείας φανὲν ἐς τὴν ἐκείνου κατέσκηψε, τά τε σημεῖα αὐτοῦ τὰ στρατιωτικὰ μέλισσαι περιέσχον, καὶ πολλὰ τῶν ἱερείων αὐτοῖς ἤδη τοῖς βωμοῖς προσαγόμενα ἐξέδρα. καὶ οὕτω γε καὶ πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους ἀνθρώπους ὁ ἀγὼν ἐκεῖνος ἔτεινεν ὥστε πολλαχόθι ἐν αὐτῆι τῆι τῆς μάχης ἡμέραι καὶ στρατοπέδων συνόδους καὶ ὅπλων κτύπους συμβῆναι, ἔν τε Περγάμωι τυμπάνων τέ τινα καὶ κυμβάλων ψόφον ἐκ τοῦ Διονυσίου ἀρθέντα διὰ πάσης τῆς πόλεως χωρῆσαι, καὶ ἐν Τράλλεσι φοίνικά τε ἐν τῶι τῆς Νίκης ναῶι ἀναφῦναι καὶ τὴν θεὸν αὐτὴν πρὸς εἰκόνα τοῦ Καίσαρος ἐν πλαγίωι που κειμένην μεταστραφῆναι, τοῖς τε 7  Thus Schwartz 1899, 1697–1714 = Schwartz 1957, 414–438. 8  Manuwald 1979, 168–254; cf. Rich 1989, 91; Birley 1997, 1015.

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Σύροις δύο τινὰς νεανίσκους τὸ τέλος τῆς μάχης ἀγγείλαντας ἀφανεῖς γενέσθαι, καὶ ἐν Παταουίωι τῆς νῦν Ἰταλίας τότε δὲ ἔτι Γαλατίας ὄρνιθάς τινας οὐχ ὅτι διαγγεῖλαι αὐτὴν ἀλλὰ καὶ δεῖξαι τρόπον τινά. Γάιος γάρ τις Κορνήλιος πάντα τὰ γενόμενα ἀκριβῶς τε ἐξ αὐτῶν ἐτεκμήρατο καὶ τοῖς παροῦσιν ἐξηγήσατο. ταῦτα μὲν ἐν αὐτῆι ἐκείνηι ἡμέραι ὡς ἕκαστα συνηνέχθη, καὶ παραχρῆμα μὲν ἠπιστεῖτο, ὥσπερ εἰκὸς ἦν, ἀγγελθέντων δὲ τῶν πραχθέντων ἐθαυμάζετο. 1. . . Pompeius . . . was defeated, even as had been made clear to him before the action. 2For thunderbolts had fallen upon his camp, a fire had appeared in the air over Caesar’s camp and had fallen upon his own, bees had swarmed about his military standards, and many of the victims after being led up close to the very altar had run away. 3And so far did the effects of that contest extend to the rest of mankind that on the very day of the battle collisions of armies and the clash of arms occurred in many places. In Pergamum a noise of drums and cymbals rose from the temple of Dionysus and spread throughout the city; 4in Tralles a palm tree grew up in the temple of Victory and the goddess herself turned about toward an image of Caesar that stood beside her; in Syria two young men announced the result of the battle and vanished; and in Patavium, which now belongs to Italy was then still a part of Gaul, some birds not only brought news of it but even acted it out to some extent, 5for one Gaius Cornelius drew from their actions accurate information of all that had taken place, and narrated it to the bystanders. These several things happened on that very same day and though they were not unnaturally distrusted at the time, yet when news of the actual facts was brought, they were marvelled at. Covering many of the categories of ancient Roman religion, these omens overwhelm by their number and variety. As a result, a table may be in order, so as to facilitate discussion: Table 3.1

Dio on the omens for Pharsalus

No.

Passage

Omen

Location

Valency

Focalisation

1 2 3 4

41.61.2 41.61.2 41.61.2 41.61.2

thunderbolts meteor bees swarming sacrificial victims

camp of Pompeius camp of Pompeius camp of Pompeius camp of Pompeius

– – – –

Pompeius Pompeius Pompeius Pompeius

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No.

Passage

Omen

Location

Valency

Focalisation

5 6 7 8 9 10

41.61.3 41.61.3 41.61.4 41.61.4 41.61.4 41.61.4–5

phantom armies noise of drums palm-tree image of deity Dioscuri flight of birds

many places Pergamum Tralles Tralles Syria Patavium

+/− + + + + +

neutral Caesar Caesar Caesar Caesar Caesar

Note: Cf. Caes. B Civ. 3.105.3–6; Plut. Caes. 43.3–6, 47.1–6; Pomp. 68.2–4; App. B Civ. 2.68.282–69.284; Val. Max. 1.6.12; Lucan. 7.7–44, 151–184, 192–196; Flor. 2.13.45; Obseq. 65a.

The omens reported as having occurred prior to the battle of Pharsalus and concerning the camp of Pompeius Magnus are something of a mystery, for they manifestly come from a source that was at pains to explain why Pompeius lost the battle. However, aside from the fact that they represent a pro-­Pompeian strand of the historiographical tradition, for the historiography of the victors very rarely if ever devotes any concentrated thought to such focalisation, nothing may safely be said at this point. By contrast, the omens reported as contemporaneous with the battle and occurring in the Greek-speaking eastern half of the Mediterranean conceivably derive in the ultimate analysis from the commentarii of the victorious Caesar. The content as regards the omens of Pergamum and Tralles is identical. However, not only is the content of the omen in Syria – which is reported by Caesar as having occurred at both Antioch and Ptolemais – different, but the order of these omens in Dio is the reverse of that furnished by Caesar. Moreover, Caesar reports an omen for Elis that is missing from the list furnished by Dio. Last, but not least, there is that omen which is reported as contemporaneous with the battle, but as having occurred in the Latin-speaking West. This omen concerns the pronouncement made by the augur Gaius Cornelius at Patavium. When reporting this omen in his biography of Caesar, Plutarch explicitly remarks that it was related by the historian Livy, who wrote on the basis of personal experience (Plut. Caes. 47.3–6): ἐν δὲ Παταβίωι Γάϊος Κορνήλιος, ἀνὴρ εὐδόκιμος ἐπὶ μαντικῆι, Λιβίου τοῦ συγγραφέως πολίτης καὶ γνώριμος, ἐτύγχανεν ἐπ᾿ οἰωνοῖς καθήμενος ἐκείνην τὴν ἡμέραν. καὶ πρῶτον μέν, ὡς Λίβιός φησι, τὸν καιρὸν ἔγνω τῆς μάχης, καὶ πρὸς τοὺς παρόντας εἶπεν ὅτι καὶ δὴ περαίνεται τὸ χρῆμα καὶ συνίασιν εἰς ἔργον

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οἱ ἄνδρες. αὖθις δὲ πρὸς τῆι θέαι γενόμενος καὶ τὰ σημεῖα κατιδὼν ἀνήλατο μετ᾿ ἐνθουσιασμοῦ βοῶν, Νικᾶις, ὦ Καῖσαρ. ἐκπλαγέντων δὲ τῶν παρατυχόντων περιελὼν τὸν στέφανον ἀπὸ τῆς κεφαλῆς ἐνωμότως ἔφη μὴ πρὶν ἐπιθήσεσθαι πάλιν ἢ τῆι τέχνηι μαρτυρῆσαι τὸ ἔργον. ταῦτα μὲν οὖν ὁ Λίβιος οὕτως γενέσθαι καταβεβαιοῦται. 3At Patavium there was a certain Gaius Cornelius, who was a man versed in augury and a fellow-citizen and acquaintance of the historian Livy. On that day he happened to be osserving the flight of the birds. 4First, as Livy reports, he perceived the time of the battle, and he told those present that the matter was being decided and that the conflict was being engaged. 5Then, looking again and understanding the signs, he shouted out as though enraptured: “Caesar, yours is the victory.” 6Those who happened to be present were dumbfounded, whereas he took from his head the wreath that he was wearing and made an oath that he would not don it again until the truth of the matter had been verified. Livy affirms that these things took place just so. Dio does not inform readers that this omen was reported by Livy, but, in view of the many and substantial differences between the narratives of Dio and Plutarch for the late Republic and the civil wars of the 40s and 30s BC, it might be thought that the most plausible explanation is that he like Plutarch derived his knowledge of it from consultation of Livy’s account.9 As in the creation of a Byzantine catena, or so it would appear, the last element in the series seems to provide evidence for the immediate origin of the list under consideration. Nonetheless, there are two excellent reasons for doubting that Dio had direct knowledge of the work of Livy in this instance. For one thing, there are substantial differences of content that may be observed between the reports of Plutarch and Dio as regards the omen vouchsafed to the augur C. Cornelius at Patavium. These differences do not seem susceptible of explanation as merely abbreviation on the part of Dio. Secondly, even though Dio was manifestly at pains to provide readers with a full listing of omens, he omits one omen that clearly received much attention from Livy: Pompeius’ dream. On the eve of Pharsalus, Pompeius dreamt of a triumphal celebration being held in the theatre that he had built in the Campus Martius at Rome. In view of the importance that Dio attached to dreams – and it is worth recalling that his first attempt at historiography consisted of writing about the dreams and 9  Cf. Pelling 1979, 84 n. 73 and 91 n. 124, for useful lists of points of contact and cogent discussion of what these mean.

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portents that had given Septimius Severus cause to aspire to the imperial throne (Cass. Dio 73[72].23) – this omission can mean only one thing. Dio was apparently unaware of the dream attributed to Pompeius. In short, it would appear that Dio did not have direct knowledge of Livy, just as he seems not to have had direct knowledge of Caesar’s De bello civili. 2 Exemplary of the problems to be confronted by Quellenforschung when applied to the surviving narratives for the civil war years of 49–30 BC is Dio’s account of the siege and fall of the ancient Etruscan city of Perusia. Notwithstanding received wisdom regarding Dio’s reliance upon Livy as a source (e.g. Schwartz), there is a seemingly insuperable antithesis between the views of Dio and Livy (thus Manuwald), and there is effectively nothing to suggest that Dio may have depended upon Pollio (pace Freyburger and Roddaz 2002). Indeed, there is a striking contrast with the account furnished by Appian of Alexandria, for that of Dio is highly abbreviated and manifestly selective in terms of the details that are provided. Indeed, whereas Appian even indulges in a dialogue between L. Antonius and Caesar the Younger that seems reminiscent of the Melian dialogue of Thucydides, Dio most intriguingly provides no rhetorical ornament of the sort whatsoever. This is most curious in view of the fact that Dio is an author particularly noteworthy for introducing into his narrative speeches that often seem to a modern audience to be inordinately lengthy. Dio holds good to the promise that he had made to readers a couple of paragraphs earlier (Cass. Dio 48.13.1): καὶ αὐτῶν ἐγὼ τὰ μὲν πολλά, καὶ ἐν οἷς οὔτε τι μέγα οὔτ᾿ ἀξιόλογον ἐπράχθη, παρήσω, τὰ δὲ δὴ λόγου μάλιστα ἄξια συντόμως διηγήσομαι. The most of these operations (of 41–40 BC), especially those involving no great or memorable achievement, I will pass over, but will relate briefly the points which are most worthy of mention. When it seemed opportune, Dio was capable of writing succinctly and to the point. Within the scope of a single chapter, or 32 lines of Loeb Greek text, Dio manages to compress the narrative of the siege of Perusia, the city’s fall and destruction, and its subsequent re-birth. This is a masterpiece of epitomising. Not only did the siege of Perusia endure from early autumn in 41 BC through

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mid-winter in 40 BC, but the city’s siege was also marked by some of the most salacious observations, incredible peripeteiai, and vile behaviour to occur at any moment in the whole period. Contemporaries such as Asinius Pollio and Propertius made pointed references to it, and their condemnation was part of a current of criticism that clearly lies behind Appian’s extended, detailed account.10 Dio’s narrative, therefore, appears surprisingly brief and subdued in tone (Cass. Dio 48.14.1–6): καὶ οἱ μὲν ταῦτ᾿ ἔπραττον, ὁ δὲ Λούκιος ὡς τότε ἐκ τῆς Ῥώμης ἀπῆρεν, ὥρμησε μὲν ἐς τὴν Γαλατίαν, εἰρχθεὶς δὲ τῆς ὁδοῦ πρὸς Περουσίαν Τυρσηνίδα πόλιν ἀπετράπετο· καὶ αὐτὸν ἐνταῦθα πρότεροι μὲν οἱ ὕπαρχοι τοῦ Καίσαρος, ἔπειτα δὲ καὶ αὐτὸς ἐκεῖνος ἀπολαβόντες ἐπολιόρκουν. χρονίου δὲ δὴ τῆς προσεδρείας σφίσι γιγνομένης (τό τε γὰρ χωρίον τῆι τε φύσει καρτερόν ἐστι καὶ τοῖς ἐπιτηδείοις ἱκανῶς παρεσκεύαστο, καὶ ἱππῆς προεκπεμφθέντες ὑπ᾿ αὐτοῦ, πρὶν παντελῶς περιστοιχισθῆναι, δεινῶς σφας ἐλύπουν, καὶ προσέτι καὶ ἕτεροι πολλοὶ σπουδῆι ἄλλος ἄλλοθεν ἐπήμυνον αὐτῶι) πολλὰ μὲν πρὸς τούτους ὡς ἑκάστους, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ πρὸς τοῖς τείχεσιν ἐπράχθη, μέχρις οὗ καίτοι πλεονεκτοῦντες τὰ πλείω οἱ περὶ τὸν Λούκιον ὅμως ὑπὸ λιμοῦ ἑάλωσαν. καὶ αὐτὸς μὲν ἄλλοι τέ τινες ἄδειαν εὕροντο, οἱ δὲ δὴ πλείους τῶν τε βουλευτῶν καὶ τῶν ἱππέων ἐφθάρησαν. καὶ λόγος γε ἔχει ὅτι οὐδ᾿ ἁπλῶς τοῦτο ἔπαθον, ἀλλ᾿ ἐπὶ τὸν βωμὸν τὸν τῶι Καίσαρι τῶι προτέρωι ὡσιωμένον ἀχθέντες ἱππῆς τε τριακόσιοι καὶ βουλευταὶ ἄλλοι τε καὶ ὁ Καννούτιος ὁ Τι, ὅς ποτε ἐν τῆι δημαρχίαι τὸ πλῆθος τῶι Καίσαρι τῶι Ὀκταουιανῶι ἤθροισεν, ἐτύθησαν. τῶν δὲ Περουσίνων καὶ τῶν ἄλλων τῶν ἐκεῖ ἁλόντων οἱ πλείους ἀπώλοντο, καὶ ἡ πόλις αὐτή, πλὴν τοῦ Ἡφαιστείου τοῦ τε τῆς Ἥρας ἕδους, πᾶσα κατεκαύθη. τοῦτο δὲ (ἐσώθη γάρ πως κατὰ τύχην) ἀνήχθη τε ἐς τὴν Ῥώμην ἐξ ὄψεως ὀνείρου ἣν ὁ Καῖσαρ εἶδε καὶ παρέσχε καὶ τῆι πόλει πρὸς τῶν βουλομένων συνοικισθῆναι, πλὴν ὅτι τῆς χώρας οὐδὲν ὑπὲρ ἑπτὰ καὶ ἥμισυ σταδίους ἐκτήσαντο. 1While they were thus engaged, Lucius withdrew from Rome as I have stated and set out for Gaul; but finding his way blocked, he turned aside to Perusia, an Etruscan city. There he was intercepted first by the lieutenants of Caesar and later by Caesar himself, and was besieged. 2The investment proved a long operation; for the place is naturally a strong one and had been amply stocked with provisions; and horsemen sent by Lucius 10  For Appian’s account of the siege and capture of Perusia, see App. B Civ. 5.30–50. It should be added that it seems quite unlikely that Appian had direct knowledge of the Historiae of Pollio or the poems of Propertius. For Appian’s probable reliance upon intermediaries such as Livy and Seneca the Elder, see Westall 2015; Stevenson 2015; cf. Westall 2013.

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before he was entirely hemmed in greatly harrassed the b­ esiegers, while many others besides came speedily to his defence from various quarters. 3Many attacks were made upon these reinforcements separately and many engagements were fought close to the walls, until the followers of Lucius, even though they were generally successful, nevertheless were forced by hunger to capitulate. The leader and some others obtained pardon, but most of the senators and knights were put to death. 4And the story goes that they did not merely suffer death in an ordinary form, but were led to the altar consecrated to the former Caesar and were there sacrificed – three hundred knights and many senators, among them Ti Cannutius, who previously during his tribuneship had assembled the populace for Caesar Octavianus. 5Of the people of Perusia and the others who were captured there the majority lost their lives, and the city itself, except the temple of Vulcan and the statue of Juno, was entirely destroyed by fire. 6This statue, which was preserved by some chance, was brought to Rome, in accordance with a vision that Caesar saw in a dream, and it secured for the city the privilege of being peopled again by any who desired to settle there, though they did not acquire anything of its territory beyond the first mile. Shorn of many of the details so treasured by contemporaries, the siege of Perusia emerges as merely another stepping-stone along the path that led to the creation of the Principate. Dio’s vision may perhaps best be characterised as an abstraction rooted in long-term political analysis. Gone are references to the near capture of the person of Caesar the Younger by his enemies and the missiles inscribed with vulgar phrases regarding the leaders of the opposing sides.11 Gone, too, are the speech of L. Antonius to the defenders of Perusia and the dialogue between him and Caesar the Younger.12 Gone, as well, is the detailed narrative of numerous engagements, various desertions and the complicated negotiations that preceded the dialogue between Antonius and Caesar.13 Ruthlessly cutting and simplifying, Dio creates a narrative that is linear in appearance and highlights the regrettable fate of the city and its defenders.14 Such a reduced narrative might reasonably be thought quite unpromising material for the exercise of Quellenforschung. 11  For the near capture of Caesar the Younger, see Suet. Aug. 14. For the inscribed missiles, see CIL 11.621 nos. 1–42; Hallett 1977. 12  App. B Civ. 5.39.159–166, 42.176–45.191. 13  Suet. Aug. 14; App. B Civ. 5.40.167–41.175. 14  Cf. Freyburger-Galland, Hinard, and Cordier 2002, lxx–lxxi; Lange 2009, 28 n. 44.

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However, in closing this narrative, Dio describes two episodes and provides details that offer the chance to identify the likely sources of information upon which he depended. Both the reference to the story of the sacrifice of 300 senators and equites at the altar of the Divus Iulius in the Forum Romanum on the Ides of March and the account of action taken by Caesar the Younger subsequent to a dream permit insight into the probable identity of Dio’s sources. The account of the human sacrifice made by Caesar the Younger to the Divus Iulius draws upon a historiographical tradition virulently inimical to the image cultivated by Augustus. To even mention Perusia, of course, was to admit the future emperor’s fault, as can be inferred from the complete absence of any reference to the bellum Perusinum, even obliquely, in the Res Gestae Divi Augusti.15 Where did Dio find this story? It is to be remarked that Dio himself writes in non-committal fashion: “There is even a story that . . .” (Cass. Dio 48.14.4). This aloofness on the part of the historian seemingly renders identification impossible. Indeed, Suetonius, who is the only other author to survive who explicitly mentions this story, reports the sacrifice in a vague manner that likewise leaves open the issue of the origin of this information (Suet. Aug. 15): Scribunt quidam trecentos ex dediticiis electos utriusque ordinis ad aram Diuo Iulio exstructam Idibus Martiis hostiarum more mactatos. Some people write that three hundred senators and equites were chosen from among those who had surrendered and that on the Ides of March they were slaughtered like sacrificial animals at the altar that had been set up for the Divus Iulius. Are we to understand the scribunt quidam of Suetonius as a rhetorical plural or an accurate report that more than one author told this horrifying story regarding Caesar the Younger’s treatment of those who surrendered to him at Perusia? Whichever the response, it is clear from the combined testimonies of Dio and Suetonius that this story was not a part of the mainstream historiographical tradition.16 This fact is particularly significant, as the language of Dio also suggests that the author upon whom he drew for the story was not in fact a contemporary who had been alive at the time of alleged episode. That deduction points in turn to an author such as Cremutius Cordus, who is known to have been critical of Augustus (Suet. Aug. 35.2, an episode that 15  Cf. RGDA 24.1, for an oblique reference to M. Antonius. 16  Hence, unlikely to be true, pace Kienast 2009, 44–45; Weinstock 1971, 398–399. Cf. Wardle 2014, 137–138, where the phrase scribunt quidam is described as a “distancing formula”.

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likewise does not redound to the credit of the Princeps) and who was born ca. 35 BC (FRHist. 1: 497 [Levick]).17 Since Suetonius appears to have read the work of Cremutius Cordus, upon the most natural reading of his report of that author’s criticism of Augustus, this deduction acquires additional force. The fact that the former tribune of the plebs Ti. Cannutius is also named by Dio also points in this direction, for the author must have been not only part of a later generation, but also a devotee of the revanchist and unrealistic concept of the Senate that obtained under the Principate.18 However, Dio does not end his narrative of the siege of Perusia with this macabre vision of a human sacrifice. Nor does he end merely with the notice that the city burned to the ground in the wake of its capitulation, something that he might have reasonably done in view of the annalistic nature of his Roman History. Rather, in a prolepsis that serves those readers who are not natives or long-term residents of Italy, he notes that the city eventually rose anew from the ashes. Indeed, Dio highlights the role that Caesar the Younger himself played in this re-birth of the vanished city, observing that the Princeps acted in accordance with a dream and saw to both the transferral to Rome of the miraculously surviving statue of Juno and the authorization of the Perusines’ return to their ancestral abode. Admittedly, the destruction of the city was not to the credit of Caesar the Younger. For that reason had Horace with characteristic litotes spoken of how Asinius Pollio in his controversial Historiae dared to pass amongst the still warm embers of the treacherous ash (Hor. Carm. 2.1.7–8). As reported by Dio, on the other hand, this unedifying narrative receives a novel twist: responsible for the city’s destruction, the Princeps was also responsible – thanks to his heeding divine guidance vouchsafed in the form of a dream visited upon the ruler himself – for the city’s re-birth. If this re-birth as the municipium of Augusta Perusia took place only years later 17  Cf. Freyburger, Hinard, and Cordier 2002, lxix–lxx, likewise inferring the use of a later source – on account of the focus on M. Aemilius Lepidus and Ti. Claudius Nero – and identifying that source as none other than Livy. Unfortunately, if the testimony of Liv. Per. 126 be accepted as correctly reported, then Livy expressly disavowed any bloodshed on the part of Caesar the Younger and only attributed to him the city’s destruction. While this report may be set aside in light of the analysis of the reliability of historical epitomes (Brunt 1980, 477–494), it does seem rather difficult to imagine Livy as being quite so bold in his writing as to report such a bloodsthirsty story. 18  Of course, there is a problem of prosopography, since the testimony of Vell. Pat. 2.64.3 is at odds with that of Dio; cf. Carter 1996, 395 n. 40, suggesting that the individual named here was C. Cannutius. For the traditional solution, see Münzer 1899, 1485–1486; Broughton, MRR 2, 323–324. Both Münzer and Broughton plausibly suggest that Velleius or his source has confused Ti. Cannutius with Salvius (tr. pl. 44 BC).

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in the 10s BC, as seems likely, then Augustus’ autobiographical De Vita Sua cannot have been the source for Dio’s information.19 Nonetheless, the story of the statue’s transferral and the ruler’s clemency in the wake of a dream point to an author relatively favourable to the figure of Augustus. It does not seem altogether implausible to posit Livy as the vector responsible for the transmission of this story, even though it probably had its origins with Augustus himself. To recapitulate, Dio’s account of the Perusine campaign is visibly idiosyncratic, thanks to the author’s extremely succinct relation of complex and convoluted events and by virtue of the unusual choice of items upon which he focusses. It has a parallel in Dio’s preceding account of the punishment of Caesar the Younger’s opponents at Nursia, but it visibly departs from the elaborate and involved narrative furnished by Appian of Alexandria. Moving towards an abstract vision of the establishment of the Principate, Dio has drastically abbreviated what he found within the historiographical tradition. The action of Caesar the Younger at Perusia is implicitly represented as both harsh and justified, with a long-term perspective that forms the hermeneutic framework for passing judgement on the handicraft of Rome’s first emperor. 3 Dio displays an unrelenting interest in the minutiae of Roman history, such as the triumphal record and the omens that were associated with key moments in the life of the community. The Roman History is fundamentally and by its very nature an annalistic account, thanks as much to Dio’s interest in such materials as to the year-by-year organisation of the traditional political and military narrative. Indubitably drawing upon multiple sources – some of the highest quality – Dio fashioned a narrative that highlights those aspects of history that he personally deemed most rewarding as an author and most relevant to explaining the Roman experience to Greek-speaking contemporaries. Even when account is taken of the lacunae within the epigraphic record as represented by the Fasti Capitolini and Fasti Barberiniani, Dio’s record of the triumphs decreed and/or celebrated during the period of 49–29 BC often preserves information of the greatest importance. Dio, for instance, informs readers that a grateful Senate accorded the title of imperator to A. Hirtius, C. Vibius Pansa, and Caesar the Younger in the aftermath of their victorious repulse of 19   C IL 11.1924, with commentary at p. 352; cf. Keppie 1983, 15 n. 41. The name of Augusta is itself incontrovertible evidence that the re-foundation must have occurred subsequent to 16 January 27 BC.

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M. Antonius in the engagement near Mutina in 43 BC.20 Since the triumph implied by this title was never celebrated, it did not enter the epigraphic record.21 In similar fashion, Dio informs readers that the Senate granted a triumph to one of the assassins of Julius Caesar, to be precise Decimus Brutus, for his military activities in northern Italy in 43 BC.22 Again, the triumph was never celebrated and for that reason did not enter the epigraphic record.23 Dio records as a rule not only those triumphs that were celebrated, but also those that could have been and yet never were celebrated. Indeed, sometimes, as in the cases of M. Agrippa and P. Ventidius, he records the granting of triumphs whose celebration was postponed or refused.24 The enigmatic affirmation that triumphal garb was accorded to Caesar the Younger after the capture and destruction of Perusia seems to highlight the fact that an imperatorial salutation for a victory in civil war did not result in a triumph proper.25 Whatever the truth of the matter in that instance, Dio’s record of triumphs is manifestly important for re-establishing the fasti for this fundamental Roman institution. Needless to say, Dio’s handling of triumphs is decidedly more satisfactory than that of Appian or any other author whose historical work survives.26 What Dio lacks in terms of spectacular vision is more than adequately offset by the providing of constitutional detail. For example, Dio records the triumphs celebrated by Q. Fabius and Q. Pedius by virtue of their participation in the Spanish campaign of the Dictator Caesar in 45 BC, and, in so doing, he offers comment upon the fact that these two men were in fact legati of Caesar and therefore technically disbarred by tradition.27 Appian does not even take note of Caesar’s Spanish triumph as such, much less the fact that these two legati also celebrated triumphs.28 Another example is furnished by the triumph of L. Antonius, which that ambitious senator had celebrated on 1 January 41 BC, 20  Cass. Dio 46.38.1. 21  Cf. Degrassi 1947, 567. 22  Cass. Dio 46.40.1. 23  Cf. Degrassi 1947, 567. 24  See respectively Cass. Dio 48.49.3–4; 49.21.2; 49.38.1. 25  Cass. Dio 48.16.1; cf. App. B Civ. 5.46.194–195. For the association of Augustus’ second imperatorial acclamation with his victory over Perusia, see Kienast 1996, 66; Cooley 2009, 122 Table 1; Lange 2013, 79; Lange 2015, 134. 26  On this subject, see also Lange in this volume. For a recent, thorough review of the ancient evidence and modern discussions on the triumph, see Rich 2014. Of especial note is the appendix to this article, wherein the author provides an updated listing of all known triumphs. 27  Cass. Dio 43.42.2; Degrassi 1947, 567. 28  Cf. App. B Civ. 2.106–107.

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i.e. on the very day on which he assumed the ordinary consulate.29 Again Appian altogether omits this telling detail.30 As a third and last example, one may perhaps cite Dio’s account of the triumphal spectacles that Sextus Pompeius Magnus staged at Messina, apparently in 42 BC. Evoking his recent victory over a makeshift fleet that had been commanded by Salvidienus Rufus, Pompeius staged a naumachia that re-enacted this victory.31 Once more this eloquent material is altogether absent from the narrative of Appian.32 Which is not to affirm that Dio is necessarily a better historian than Appian, but rather to observe that he provides information of the greatest interest that is missing from the equally wide-ranging and detailed work of Appian. Table 3.2 Comparison of Testimony of Dio and the Fasti for Triumphs (and Ovations) Individual

Date

Fast. Capit.

Fast. Barber.

Cass. Dio

M. Aemilius Lepidus C. Iulius Caesar C. Iulius Caesar C. Iulius Caesar C. Iulius Caesar C. Iulius Caesar Q. Fabius Maximus Q. Pedius C. Iulius Caesar L. Munatius Plancus M. Aemilius Lepidus P. Vatinius L. Antonius Imp. Caesar M. Antonius L. Marcius Censorinus

47 46 46 46 46 45 45 45 44 43 43 42 41 40 40 39

– – – – – – x x x x x x x x x x

– – – – – – – – – x x x x x x x

43.1.2 43.19.24 43.19.24 43.19.24 42.19.24 43.42.1 43.42.2 43.42.2 44.4.3 – – – 48.4.2–5 (48.31.3) (48.31.3) –

29  Cass. Dio 48.4.2–5, emphasising the emulation of and improvement upon the behaviour of C. Marius. 30  Cf. App. B Civ. 5.14. 31  Cass. Dio 48.19.1; Welch 2012, 179. It may be worth adding that the reference to Neptune seems to mark an “updating” of the triumphal idea that the victorious general (imperator) was the god made manifest for the day of celebration, cf. Welch 2012, 19–20. 32  Cf. App. B Civ. 4.83–86.

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Individual

Date

Fast. Capit.

Fast. Barber.

Cass. Dio

C. Asinius Pollio P. Ventidius Cn. Domitius Calvinus Imp. Caesar T. Statilius Taurus C. Sosius C. Norbanus Flaccus L. Marcius Philippus Ap. Claudius Pulcher L. Cornificius Imp. Caesar Imp. Caesar Imp. Caesar

39 38 36 36 34 34 34 33 33 33 29 29 29

x x x x x x x – – – – – –

x x x x x 2x x x x x x x x

– 49.21.2 48.42.4 49.15.1 [49.42.3] [49.42.3] [49.42.3] – – – 51.21.6–7 51.21.6–7 51.21.6–7

Table 3.3 Comparison of Testimony of Dio and the Fasti for Triumphs Voted Individual

Date

C. Iulius Caesar 49 D. Iunius Brutus 43 M. Vipsanius Agrippa 37

Fast. Capit.

Fast. Barber.

Cass. Dio

– – –

– – –

42.20.5 46.40.1 48.49.3–4

Note: Triumph implied by the Senate’s recognition of A. Hirtius, C. Vibius Pansa, and Caesar the Younger as imperatores (Cass. Dio 46.38.1), but not formally ever subjected to a vote on account of being overtaken by events.

Table 3.4 Comparison of Testimony of Dio and the Fasti for Triumphs held outside Rome Individual

Date

Sex. Pompeius Magnus Pius 40 M. Antonius 34

Fast. Capit.

Fast. Barber. Cass. Dio

– –

– –

48.19.1 49.21.2

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Naturally, a caveat is in order, and it should be added that Dio does sometimes omit an item of no little significance. For example, despite mentioning C. Asinius Pollio at various points and notwithstanding that individual’s being appropriately included in the fasti consulares, Dio fails to record the triumph that Pollio celebrated on 25 October for having campaigned in the Balkans against the Parthini in 39 BC.33 No less intriguing is Dio’s omission of yet another long-standing Caesarian partisan, L. Marcius Censorinus, who – like L. Antonius, presumably with a similar sense of propriety, combined the honour of the consulate with the honour of being hailed as an imperator – celebrated a triumph on 1 January 39 BC.34 To cite but a third and last example, there is the curious fact that Dio does mention – albeit briefly – the siege and capture of Jerusalem by C. Sosius, but altogether omits to record either then or subsequently the triumph that was accorded for this military intervention in Judaea.35 The list of omissions might be extended, but these suffice to demonstrate that Dio does not provide a complete and impartial record. Intriguingly, as regards the three examples just cited, there is a common thread discernible, whether by chance or by design. Those who had been loyal to M. Antonius are not recognised by Dio as having celebrated triumphs, despite the positive and unassailable evidence of the Fasti Triumphales Capitolini to the contrary. This pattern, if perceived aright, may offer some insight into the source material upon which Dio relied. The antipathy felt by Dio for the figure of M. Antonius is palpable, even if Dio refuses to accept most of the more grotesque of the allegations brought against him by Caesar the Younger. Commenting upon Antonius’ repudiation of Octavia in 35 BC, Dio observes that “[h]e became ever more a slave to his passion for and to the enchantments of Cleopatra” (Cass. Dio 49.33.4). Since Dio seems to have omitted reference to the triumphs of Censorinus, Pollio, and Sosius inter alios on account of their being perceived as the creatures of Antonius (even though there are a few others omitted who received triumphs for their acting as the agents of Caesar the Younger), it very much looks as though Dio has made his own the bias that he will have found in one or more of his sources. Speculation may therefore be in order. To be precise, some thought should be devoted to the accounts of Livy and Cremutius Cordus. Livy arguably had cause for an outlook similar to that espoused by Dio. Patavium had suffered at the hands of Pollio in 43 BC,36 33  Cf. Cass. Dio 48.41.7, where reference to the triumph is curiously missing despite the immediately following account of the campaigns and triumph of Cn. Domitius Calvinus. 34  Cf. Cass. Dio 48.34.1. 35  Cf. Cass. Dio 49.22.3–6. 36  Macrob. Sat. 1.11.2; Cic. Phil. 12.10.

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and Cicero’s town-house had been acquired by Censorinus as a result of the Proscriptions.37 Cremutius Cordus, however, seems to have had an even more profound cause for disliking Antonius and his partisans. Coming from a family that was both senatorial and decidedly Pompeianus in terms of its known alignment in the 40s BC, Cordus can hardly have felt sympathy for the man who – like Helen of Troy, in the infamous judgement of Cicero – had been the visible cause of civil war’s outbreak in 49 BC. That will have held true for Pollio and Censorinus, both Caesarians whose reputation rested upon their loyalty to the elder Caesar. Moreover, if Cordus’ respect for Republican tradition be assumed, as seems likely in view of his opposition to the Principate, then he would have had good cause to consign to oblivion those individuals who presumptuously claimed the honour of a triumph despite having acted as the subordinates of Antonius. 4 Dio has been seen to take a dim view of the behaviour of Caesar the Younger and M. Antonius as exemplified during the civil war years of 49–30 BC, apparently assuming as his own a view that was to be found in his source(s). What, then, of their enemies? To be precise, does Dio display the same antipathy for C. Cassius and M. Iunius Brutus? The leaders of the assassins of the elder Caesar were revered in certain senatorial circles, as though role models for resisting despotism under the Principate, and it is opportune to inquire whether Dio shared this reactionary sentiment for the Republic. As has already been well observed by Elizabeth Rawson, Dio’s narrative of the actions taken by Cassius and Brutus in the East and culminating in the two battles of Philippi is marked by a decided approval of their actions in contrast to the behaviour of the Triumvirs. Dio naturally condemns their act of tyrannicide, as he is committed to the political model of the Principate, but he displays no embarrassment whatsoever about portraying the subsequent actions of Brutus and Cassius in a favourable light as a counterweight to the 37  Vell. Pat. 2.14.3 (not specifying the circumstances of the purchase); Papi 1995, 203; Shatzman 1975, 384 no. 169; Münzer 1930, 1554; Fündling 1999, 858; pace Drumann & Groebe 1899– 1929, 6, 336. As one of those closely connected to the Caesarian cause – indeed, allegedly having suffered bodily harm in an effort to bring succour to the Dictator at the moment of his assassination on the Ides of March (FGrH 90 F 130, p. 410), Censorinus would have been well situated to profit from the Proscriptions. That, in turn, suggests a less than wholesome and naive reading of Hor. Carm. 4.8 (Donarem pateras grataque commodus).

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Proscriptions.38 This can hardly be attributed to a use of Livy, and rather seems due to a reliance upon the historical work of Cremutius Cordus.39 Dio’s approval of Cassius and Brutus and their actions in the East in 44–42 BC can be discerned in various items. For one thing, there is an emphasis upon the figure of Cassius as equal to that of Brutus. This emerges not only from the focus of the narrative, but also from the simple fact that Dio alternates consistently the order in which he names the two protagonists.40 Secondly, contrary to another strand of the historiographical tradition, Dio emphasises the humane behaviour of Cassius and Brutus in the East.41 Thirdly, Dio mutes and downplays the discord that marred the joint campaign of Cassius and Brutus leading to Philippi.42 Fourth, there is Dio’s recording the password of Libertas utilised by the army of Cassius and Brutus in the first battle of Philippi, as opposed to his insouciance as regards that employed by the army of Antonius and Caesar the Younger.43 Portraying Cassius and Brutus with sympathy, Dio inconsistently laments that this battle signified the loss of freedom and Republican government even while correcting himself by noting that it made possible the rule of Caesar and the establishment of the Principate.44 Such tension is highly unusual for Dio and seemingly points to an assimilation of the historiographical judgement of his source(s). Cassius and Brutus were examples of Republican virtue, but they had to perish in order that Caesar might rule. The enthymeme bears a striking resemblance to Appian’s observation regarding the necessity of the death of the elder Caesar, and can hardly have appeared in any works viewed with favour by the Princeps. The omens reported in relation to Philippi, on the other hand, display alternately a concern for the disaster that attended the Republican cause and the ability to rejoice in the good fortune of Caesar’s heirs. Manifestly, there has been a splicing of two different historiographical traditions, which may be the work of Dio as well as one or more of his sources. Dio opens the list of omens for Philippi with a series of nineteen omens that “brought evil” (Cass. Dio 47.41.1) to Cassius and Brutus.45 Many of these are identical with what is reported by Julius Obsequens in that author’s epitome of Livy.46 However, small but 38  Rawson 1991, 502–504 (= Rawson 1986, 114–116). 39  Millar 1964, 85; Manuwald 1979, 254; Rawson 1991, 504 (= Rawson 1986, 116). For a similar conclusion regarding the speech attributed to C. Cassius at Philippi by Appian, see Welch 2015b, 296 and 304 n. 72. 40  Cass. Dio 47.35.4, 36.3, 37.1, 37.3, 38.2, 45.2; Rawson 1991, 503 (= Rawson 1986, 115). 41  Rawson 1991, 502–503 (= Rawson 1986, 114–115). 42  Rawson 1991, 503 (= Rawson 1986, 115). 43  Cass. Dio 47.43.1; Rawson 1991, 503 (= Rawson 1986, 115). 44  Cass. Dio 47.39. 45  Cass. Dio 47.40.1–8. 46  Obseq. 70.

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i­ntractable differences regarding things such as a mule’s giving birth and the order of the omens demonstrate that Dio cannot be drawing upon Livy directly. Indeed, Dio’s referring to items such as thunderbolts, meteors, and the destruction of a chariot of Minerva demonstrates that he or his source has drawn upon testimony other than that of Livy. Corroboration may be had from the various omens reported as promising victory to Caesar the Younger.47 Most telling is the fact that these omens have to do with the person of Caesar and not with that of Antonius. Dio here seems to be drawing upon a tradition that derives from the De vita sua of Augustus.48 This conclusion that Dio has consulted two or more sources and spliced their accounts finds confirmation further along in his narrative of the battles of Philippi. In relating the fate of the Thracian monarch Rhascyporis, Dio reports the existence of an alternative version and in so doing reveals knowledge of multiple accounts of this campaign (Cass. Dio 47.48.2): κἀν τῇ διατριβῇ ταύτῃ ηὐτομόλησαν μὲν καὶ παρ᾿ ἐκείνων πρὸς τὸν Βροῦτον ἐκ τοῦ Κελτικοῦ τινες, ηὐτομόλησαν δὲ καὶ πρὸς αὐτοὺς Ἀμύντας τε ὁ τοῦ Δηιοτάρου στρατηγὸς καὶ ὁ Ῥασκύπορις. καὶ οὗτος μὲν οἴκαδε εὐθύς, ὥς τινές φασιν, ἀπεχώρησε. During this delay some of the German contingent deserted from their side to Brutus, and Amyntas, the general of Deiotarus, and Rhascyporis deserted Brutus and came to them – though Rhascyporis, as some say, immediately returned home. To report betrayals that led to a transferral of allegiance from Caesar’s heirs to his assassins and from Caesar’s assassins to his heirs is to achieve ostensible balance and equity, and may itself be a sign of having consulted various, opposing traditions. Be that as it may, there can be no doubt that the phrase “as some say” indicates Dio’s awareness of a version contrary to that which he espouses. In and of itself, this phrase would be too fragile as evidence for the use of multiple sources. However, in light of the extraordinary length and wealth of the list of omens for Philippi, it provides sufficient and decisive confirmation that Dio had in fact done precisely what he claims when describing his amassing of materials for the composition of the Roman History. Dio consulted numerous sources.

47  Cass. Dio 47.41.1–4. 48  Aside from Smith 2013, 2: 878–885 (FRHist. 60 F7 = Peter F10 = Malcovati F12), see Wiseman 2009, 111–123.

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Table 3.5 Dio on the omens for Philippi No.

Passage

Omen

Location

Valency Focalisation

1 2 3 4 5

47.40.2 47.40.2 47.40.2 47.40.2 47.40.2

sun changes size sun threefold sun at night thunderbolts thunderbolts

− − − − −

neutral neutral neutral Brutus and Cassius Brutus and Cassius

6 7

47.40.2 47.40.2

meteors sound of armies

− +

Brutus and Cassius Antonius and Caesar

8

47.40.2

sound of armies

+

Antonius and Caesar

9

47.40.3

dog burying dog

−

Brutus and Cassius

10

47.40.3

too many digits

city of Rome city of Rome city of Rome various places altar of Jupiter Victor various places gardens of Caesar gardens of Antonius Temple of Ceres Rome

−

neutral

11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20

47.40.3 47.40.4 47.40.4 47.40.5 47.40.6 47.40.6 47.40.7 47.40.7 47.40.8 47.40.8

mule foals chariot of Minerva statue of Jupiter rivers in reverse festival of Latiaris gladiatorial games bees swarming misplaced garland dropped Victory vultures overhead

Rome Rome Alban Mount Latium Rome Rome Macedonia Macedonia Macedonia Macedonia

− − − − + − − − − −

Brutus and Cassius Brutus and Cassius Brutus and Cassius Brutus and Cassius Antonius and Caesar Brutus and Cassius Cassius Cassius Cassius Brutus and Cassius

21 22 23 24

47.41.2 47.40.2 47.46.2 47.48.4

Thessalian’s dream doctor’s dream dream (Caesar?) eagles in combat

Philippi Philippi Philippi Philippi

+ + + +/−

Caesar Caesar Caesar neutral

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5 At this juncture it may be worth considering what Dio himself is reported as having written about the figure of Cremutius Cordus and that author’s Annales relating the transition from Republic to Empire. As is well known, Cremutius Cordus’ historiography was the ostensible cause of his destruction under Tiberius during the consulate of M. Asinius Gallus and Cossus Cornelius Lentulus in AD 25.49 Therefore, even though the actual cause was Sejanus’ anger at what Cordus had disparagingly said about the praetorian prefect’s unmerited commemoration in the restored Theatre of Pompeius Magnus, what Dio wrote about the Annales of Cordus is of no little interest. For Dio’s description of this historical work reveals what he himself knew of it, whether directly or indirectly, and therefore can shed light upon its possible use in the composition of the Roman History. The only point at which Dio refers to Cremutius, and concomitantly to his Annales, is that in which he relates the senator’s destruction and the precarious Nachleben of his work. This comes at its chronologically correct position in the narrative, in AD 25 and near the close of Book 57 of the Roman History. Unfortunately, Dio’s text here has not survived through direct transmission. Rather, what remains is an abbreviated version offered by the late eleventh-century epitome composed by the Byzantine monk Xiphilinus. Since Xiphilinus’ text for the epitome of Book 57 reaches ca. 25 Loeb pages whereas Dio’s directly transmitted books tend to average ca. 50 Loeb pages apiece, the likelihood that Xiphilinus has compressed Dio’s version of this episode is quite high. With that caveat in mind, the text of Xiphilinus may yet prove of use (Cass. Dio 57.24.2–4): Κρεμούτιος δὲ δὴ Κόρδος αὐτόχειρ ἑαυτοῦ γενέσθαι, ὅτι τῶι Σεϊανῶι προσέκρουσεν, ἠναγκάσθη· οὕτω γὰρ οὐδὲν ἔγκλημα ἐπαίτιον λαβεῖν ἠδυνήθη – καὶ γὰρ ἐν πύλαις ἤδη γήρως ἦν καὶ ἐπιεικέστατα ἐβεβιώκει – ὥστε ἐπὶ τῆι ἱστορίαι, ἣν πάλαι ποτὲ περὶ τῶν τῶι Αὐγούστωι πραχθέντων συνετεθείκει καὶ ἣν αὐτὸς ἐκεῖνος ἀνεγνώκει, κριθῆναι, ὅτι τόν τε Κάσσιον καὶ τὸν Βροῦτον ἐπήινεσε, καὶ τοῦ δήμου τῆς τε βουλῆς καθήψατο, τόν τε Καίσαρα 49  Sen. Dial. 6.1.3; 22.4–7; 26.1–3; Tac. Ann. 4.32–35; Suet. Tib. 61.3; Calig. 16.1; Quint. Inst. 10.1.104; Cass. Dio 57.24.2–4. For an exemplary and nuanced approach to interpretation of the Tacitean account, see Moles 1998, 95–184. On the other hand, for a new edition of all of these testimonia and fragments and for a balanced comprehensive discussion and a useful synthesis of the modern literature, see now Levick 2013, 1: 497–501; 2: 964–973; 3: 592–593.

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καὶ τὸν Αὔγουστον εἶπε μὲν κακὸν οὐδέν, οὐ μέντοι καὶ ὑπερεσέμνυνε. ταῦτά τε γὰρ ἠιτιάθη, καὶ διὰ ταῦτα αὐτός τε ἀπέθανε, καὶ τὰ συγγράμματα αὐτοῦ τότε μὲν ἐν τῆι πόλει εὑρεθέντα πρὸς τῶν ἀγορανόμων καὶ τὰ ἔξω πρὸς τῶν ἑκασταχόθι ἀρχόντων ἐκαύθη, ὕστερον δὲ ἐξεδόθη τε αὖθις – ἄλλοι τε γὰρ καὶ μάλιστα ἡ θυγάτηρ αὐτοῦ Μαρκία συνέκρυψεν αὐτά – καὶ πολὺ ἀξιοσπουδαστότερα ὑπ᾿ αὐτῆς τῆς τοῦ Κόρδου συμφορᾶς ἐγένετο. 2Cremutius Cordus was forced to take his own life because he had come into collision with Sejanus. He was on the threshold of old age and had lived most irreproachably, so much so, in fact, that no serious charge could be brought against him, 3and he was therefore tried for his history of the achievements of Augustus which he had written long before, and which Augustus himself had read. He was accused of having praised Cassius and Brutus, and of having assailed the people and the Senate; as regarded Caesar and Augustus, while he had spoken no ill of them, he had not, on the other hand, shown any unusual respect for them. 4This was the complaint made against him, and this it was that caused his death as well as the burning of his writings; those found in the city at the time were destroyed by the aediles, and those elsewhere by the magistrates of each place. Later they were republished, for his daughter Marcia as well as others had hidden some copies; and they aroused much greater interest by very reason of Cordus’ unhappy fate. Dense and allusive though this passage is, it furnishes important details regarding the content and scope of Cordus’ Annales, the date of their composition, and the history of their reception in imperial Rome. Apparently a work of the author’s maturity, when he was in his 30s or 40s, these Annales seem to have been completed prior to AD 14. Moreover, they had not incurred official censure despite a posture that may be regarded as “Republican”. As regards the fate of Cremutius Cordus, these findings may suffice. As for the possibility that Dio knew and made use of Cordus’ Annales, on the other hand, they are decidedly insufficient. Further reflection is necessary, and questions must be posed regarding the expressions “assailed” and “had spoken no ill”. Is Dio’s testimony consonant with that of other witnesses for this historical work? Or is it a sign that Dio or his source knew only of a bowdlerised version of the work that had resulted in its own and its author’s suppression? Interpretation is facilitated by the recognition of the rhetorical nature of this passage. There is discernible a tripartite structure, according to which Dio speaks of (1) Cassius and Brutus, (2) the Roman people and Senate, and (3) Caesar and Augustus. Informing this tripartite division is a binary

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o­ pposition between Caesar’s assassins and the rest of the community. Whereas praise is showered upon the assassins, blame is in one way or another the portion of the other members of the Roman body politic. In a manner worthy of his Thucydidean model, however, Dio eschews a simple, straightforward binary opposition between praise and blame. Instead, he prefers to emphasise the negative and to engage in variatio and litotes when describing the censure that Cordus expressed with regard to the SPQR and its principes. Dio uses the verb kathaptomai or “berate” to indicate how Cordus expressed his criticism of those entities upon which the Roman state was based.50 Disparaging and violent expressions might with impunity be employed against entities that had no corporate means of redress. Intriguingly, the verb kakologeo that stands in Dio’s text in tmesis is a synonym for this verb.51 A quick, naive reading might interpret Dio as meaning that Cordus in no way found fault with the first of the emperors. However, that would be to miss the implicit point of the immediately ensuing qualification. Cordus did not “berate” or “verbally abuse” Caesar and Augustus, but he also did not treat them as though they were venerable institutions. Subtlety was required when dealing with the Princeps and the Divus Iulius.52 The vituperation that is characteristic of Cicero’s invectives against Piso and M. Antonius – to cite but two instances – was unwise when dealing with Augustus and his adoptive father. Needed, rather, was a more subtle art-form, through the illustration of unpleasant and tyrannical behaviour that was allowed to speak for itself. On this reading of Dio’s words, the report that Augustus wore armour when attending the Senate for the purpose of revising that venerable body’s membership is sufficient to cast the Princeps in a dismal light.53 Even if treated with ostensible courtesy in the pages of Cordus’ Annales, the figures of Caesar and Augustus stood at the antipodes to the noble example of Cassius and Brutus. In short, Dio’s testimony reveals knowledge of the fact that the Annales of Cordus were critical of the founders of the Principate. This knowledge may admittedly be at second-hand, for Dio nowhere cites Cordus as a source. However, it raises the possibility that Dio both consulted and made use of Cordus’ work in writing his own annalistic history of Rome. Since Dio himself was also a member of the Senate, it hard to believe that Cordus’ work was excluded from Dio’s exhaustive search for sources: “I have virtually 50  Cf. LSJ 849–850 s.v. II.2. 51  Cf. LSJ 862 s.v. 52  Comparison with Dio’s own treatment of the deceased Elagabalus and the historiography of “Rabienus” may not be inappropriate in this context. 53  Suet. Aug. 35.3.

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all the information recorded by anyone about them (sc. the Romans), but have not included it all in my history but only what I have selected” (Cass. Dio frag. 1.2; Rich 1989, 90; Millar 1964, 33). Possessed of a distinct sense of the tradition of the venerable body to which he belonged,54 Dio surely consulted Cordus if any copy of the Annales yet survived. *** If it be accepted that the preceding passages discussed demonstrate Dio’s use of Cremutius Cordus to write his own narrative for the years 49–30 BC, then it may be wondered whether it is possible to discern any instances of this use. With all due caution, I would suggest that the answer must be in the affirmative. Arguably, Cremutius Cordus is the source of information for the various passages in which Dio provides details as to the constitutional situation of Rome during the years of civil war. While the consistent attention to such details is a feature of Dio’s narrative, he of necessity had to find these items in a previous, annalistic account, and the history of Cremutius Cordus seems the most likely source. Two or three examples should suffice to indicate both the nature of this information and the likelihood that Cremutius Cordus was Dio’s source. In writing of the convening of the Senate at Thessalonica in 49–48 BC, Dio provides details such as the number of senators present and the acquisition of a terrain for the taking of the auspices.55 When describing the honours decreed for Caesar by the Senate subsequent to the report of his victory at Pharsalus in 48 BC, Dio notes inter alia that a triumph was awarded to Caesar for the war against Juba, apparently for the victory that had been achieved by his legatus C. Scribonius Curio in mid-49 BC.56 Third and last, from a wealth of examples, there is detailed attention to constitutional niceties that informs the depiction of the tyrannical bearing of M. Antonius when in charge of the city of Rome as magister equitum in 48–47 BC.57 Such reports have their basis in a vision of the past that vaunted the rule of the Republic as an aristocracy to the detriment of the cult of individuals – no matter whether the individual was named Pompeius or Caesar or Augustus. 54  For Dio’s strong sense of identification with that body, readers are referred to his comments regarding episodes such as Commodus’ threatening the Senate with destruction (Cass. Dio 73.21.1–2). 55  Cass. Dio 41.43. 56  Cass. Dio 42.20.5. 57  Cass. Dio 42.27.2.

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Be that as it may, it does seem that the constitutional details that Dio culled from a source close to the events described cannot come from Livy, at least not as we know Livy from the three-and-a-half decades that survive of the Ab Urbe Condita, but that they do cohere quite well with all that is known or can be reasonably surmised as regards the historical work of Cremutius Cordus. Someone who wrote a contested and famous account of the civil wars of the 40s and 30s BC and praised Cassius and Brutus as the “last of the Romans” thanks to his veneration of senatorial tradition is quite likely to have appealed to Dio and to have survived so as to be used as a source.

CHAPTER 4

Cassius Dio and the Foreigners Søren Lund Sørensen Introduction In book 51 Cassius Dio relates how the newly victorious Octavian almost immediately after the death of Mark Antony and Cleopatra travelled through Syria towards Asia settling matters with the Parthians. News of these events sent echoes throughout the Roman realm, and in the capital several honours were voted to the seemingly invincible victor of the civil war, among which were the closing of the gates of the temple of Janus.1 In the winter of 29 BC the principal cities of Asia and Bithynia were quick to curry favour with Octavian, who was sojourning in Pergamum waiting to cross over to Greece. According to Cassius Dio, the events were as follows (Cass. Dio 51.20.6–9. All translations are my own): Καῖσαρ δὲ ἐν τούτῳ τά τε ἄλλα ἐχρημάτιζε, καὶ τεμένη τῇ τε Ῥώμῃ καὶ τῷ πατρὶ τῷ Καίσαρι, ἥρωα αὐτὸν Ἰούλιον ὀνομάσας, ἔν τε Ἐφέσῳ καὶ ἐν Νικαίᾳ γενέσθαι ἐφῆκεν· αὗται γὰρ τότε αἱ πόλεις ἔν τε τῇ Ἀσίᾳ καὶ ἐν τῇ Βιθυνίᾳ προετετίμηντο. καὶ τούτους μὲν τοῖς Ῥωμαίοις τοῖς παρ’ αὐτοῖς ἐποικοῦσι τιμᾶν προσέταξε· τοῖς δὲ δὴ ξένοις, Ἕλληνάς σφας ἐπικαλέσας, ἑαυτῷ τινα, τοῖς μὲν Ἀσιανοῖς ἐν Περγάμῳ τοῖς δὲ Βιθυνοῖς ἐν Νικομηδείᾳ, τεμενίσαι ἐπέτρεψε. καὶ τοῦτ’ ἐκεῖθεν ἀρξάμενον καὶ ἐπ’ ἄλλων αὐτοκρατόρων οὐ μόνον ἐν τοῖς Ἑλληνικοῖς ἔθνεσιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις ὅσα τῶν Ῥωμαίων ἀκούει, ἐγένετο. ἐν γάρ τοι τῷ ἄστει αὐτῷ τῇ τε ἄλλῃ Ἰταλίᾳ οὐκ ἔστιν ὅστις τῶν καὶ ἐφ’ ὁποσονοῦν λόγου τινὸς ἀξίων ἐτόλμησε τοῦτο ποιῆσαι· μεταλλάξασι μέντοι κἀνταῦθα τοῖς ὀρθῶς αὐταρχήσασιν ἄλλαι τε ἰσόθεοι τιμαὶ δίδονται καὶ δὴ καὶ ἡρῷα ποιεῖται. Ταῦτα μὲν ἐν τῷ χειμῶνι ἐγένετο, καὶ ἔλαβον καὶ οἱ Περγαμηνοὶ τὸν ἀγῶνα τὸν ἱερὸν ὠνομασμένον ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ ναοῦ αὐτοῦ τιμῇ ποιεῖν. In the meantime, while Caesar was attending to the other matters, he permitted sacred precincts for Roma and his father Caesar, whom he had named Divus Julius, to be established in Ephesus and Nicaea. For at that time these were the most esteemed cities in Asia and Bithynia. 1  Cass. Dio 51.18.1–20.5; Lange 2009, 125–157.

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He instructed the Romans who dwelt among them to honour Roma and Divus Julius. Then he permitted the foreigners, whom he styled Hellenes, to consecrate precincts to himself, the Asians in Pergamum and the Bithynians in Nicomedia. Thus began this practice, which has been followed by the other emperors concerning not just the Greek peoples but also all those who obey the Romans. For surely, in the capital itself as in the rest of Italy there are none of the emperors no matter how honourable, who have dared to do this. Even there, however, various honours comparable to those of the gods are given to the emperors after their death, if they have ruled justly, and shrines are even built to them. These things took place in the winter, and the Pergamenes began to celebrate the so-called holy contest in honour of his temple. This famous passage has riddled scholarship for ages. The questions asked in relation to this passage are manifold: Why does Cassius Dio let Augustus create a joint cult for Divus Julius and Roma in Ephesus, which seemingly never existed?2 Why does Cassius Dio insist that Augustus was not worshipped during his lifetime in Italy and Rome, when Ittai Gradel (2002, 71–79) and Jesper Majbom Madsen (2009, 50–53) have proved the opposite of this?3 And finally, why does Cassius Dio claim that cults were set up simultaneously in Ephesus and Pergamum in Asia and in Nicaea and Nicomedia in Pontus et Bithynia? Rather than focusing on these issues in the present paper, I place emphasis on a different question in this passage, namely who were the foreigners, whom Augustus styled “the Hellenes”?4 This paper seeks to argue that “the Hellenes” were, as is generally assumed,5 identical to the provincial assemblies, the so-called koina, of Asia and the double province Pontus et Bithynia.

Foreigners and Hellenes

Cassius Dio distinguishes between the Romans and the foreigners, whom Augustus styled “the Hellenes.” For the ancient as well as the modern reader this 2  Cf. Madsen 2016. What seems to be a cult of Augustus in Ephesus is attested in 26/25 BC in an inscription (IK Ephes 902): καθιδρύσεως τοῦ Σεβαστοῦ καὶ τῆς καθιερώσεως τοῦ τεμένους (“. . . for the setting up of the statue of Augustus and the consecration of the holy place”); cf. Millar 1984, 37–38. 3  Cf. also Taylor 1931, 215–218; Edelmann-Singer 2015, 90. 4  For these topics, see also Lange 2016a; Madsen 2016. 5  Taylor 1931, 146–148; Deininger 1965, 16–19; Millar 1977, 386–387 to mention only a few.

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implies a readily understandable division, and it has accordingly been argued that Cassius Dio’s Greek terms are rendering a Latin distinction between cives Romani and peregrini, i.e. inhabitants of the Roman empire who did not hold Roman citizenship.6 Elsewhere, Cassius Dio uses the words xenos/xenoi to refer to non-citizens in opposition to citizens. Three examples will suffice:7 καὶ τούτους τε καὶ ἑτέρους καὶ πάνυ εὐγενεῖς, οὐχ ὅτι ξένους ἀλλὰ καὶ πολίτας, οὐχ ὅτι δημότας ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐκ τῶν ἱππέων τῶν τε βουλευτῶν τινας, ἐβασάνιζον. And he put to torture these and others, who were of very noble stock: not only foreigners (ξένους) but also citizens; not only commoners but also some of the equestrian and senatorial orders.8 πλὴν τότε καὶ τῶν βουλευτῶν συχνοῖς τοῖς μὲν καταδίκας ἀνίει τοῖς δὲ ἄλλ’ ἄττα ἐχαρίζετο, καὶ ἐς τὰ θέατρα συνεχῶς ἐσεφοίτα θωπεύων τὸ πλῆθος, τοῖς τε ξένοις πολιτείαν ἐδίδου καὶ ἄλλα πολλὰ ἐπηγγέλλετο. At this time, however, he remitted many of the senators of their sentences and tried to please others in different ways. Very often he entered the theatres and flattered the crowd, and to the foreigners (τοῖς ξένοις) he granted citizenship and made many other promises.9 οὗ ἕνεκα καὶ Ῥωμαίους πάντας τοὺς ἐν τῇ ἀρχῇ αὐτοῦ, λόγῳ μὲν τιμῶν, ἔργῳ δὲ ὅπως πλείω αὐτῷ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ τοιούτου προσίῃ διὰ τὸ τοὺς ξένους τὰ πολλὰ αὐτῶν μὴ συντελεῖν, ἀπέδειξεν. For this reason also he proclaimed Romans all those dwelling in his empire, officially to honour them, but really to increase his revenues, since the foreigners (τοὺς ξένους) did not have to pay most of the taxes.10 There can be little doubt, then, that Cassius Dio uses xenos/xenoi as a terminus technicus in rendering the Latin peregrinus. This fact has led scholars to assume 6  Herz 2003, 139–140; Burrell 2004, 17; cf. Freyburger-Galland 1997, 159: “ξενικός, “qui concerne les étranger”, traduisant bien peregrinus.” 7  Unfortunately, the three following quotations all come from the epitomes of Xiphilinos. This fact entails problems when investigating the language of Cassius Dio. 8  Cass. Dio 60.15.6 (from the reign of Claudius). 9  Cass. Dio 64.8.2 (from the reign of Nero). 10  Cass. Dio 77.9.5 (from the reign of Caracalla).

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that underlying Cassius Dio’s text we have an official Latin document.11 Because of the many historical problems associated with the passage 51.20.6–9, some of which we will address in this paper, this can, however, hardly be the case. Furthermore, the uses of xenos/xenoi in the above-mentioned examples did not suggest to us any underlying official documents. In addition, one may ask why the emperor Augustus would refer to all peregrines as “Hellenes”, that is Greeks? Cassius Dio elsewhere in his work seems to have a clear definition of the Greeks as distinct from barbarians and other peoples12 and once refers to them as a specific group among the Greek-speaking peoples (Cass. Dio 61.17.5 (from the reign of Nero)): καὶ ἐδακτυλοδείκτουν γε αὐτοὺς ἀλλήλοις, καὶ ἐπέλεγον Μακεδόνες μέν “οὗτός ἐστιν ὁ τοῦ Παύλου ἔκγονος”, Ἕλληνες δὲ “οὗτος τοῦ Μομμίου”, Σικελιῶται “ἴδετε τὸν Κλαύδιον”, Ἠπειρῶται “ἴδετε τὸν Ἄππιον”, Ἀσιανοὶ τὸν Λούκιον, Ἴβηρες τὸν Πούπλιον, Καρχηδόνιοι Ἀφρικανόν, Ῥωμαῖοι δὲ πάντας. And he pointed at each of them, and they replied. The Makedonians: “This is the offspring of Paulus”, the Hellenes: “This is the son of Mummius”, the Sicilians: “Behold, Claudius”, the Epeirotai: “Behold, Appius”. The Asians said that he was Lucius, the Iberians that he was Publius, the Carthaginians that he was Africanus, and the Romans that he was all of the above. The inhabitants of Pergamum and Ephesus in the province Asia could, perhaps, claim to be “real” Greeks. The case was, however, somewhat different for Nicaea and Nicomedia in Bithynia.13 Ancient authors from Herodotus on were well aware that the inhabitants of Bithynia were of mixed origin, Bithynia having originally been settled by Thracians.14 Cassius Dio hailed from Nicaea in Bithynia, and the historian might have been interested in portraying the Bithynians as partakers of a proud Greek heritage, an element found in Cassius Dio’s older fellow Bithynian, Dio Chrysostom.15 Still, the present passage is not 11  Herz 2003, 139–140; Burrell 2004, 17. 12  Cass. Dio 37.18.1: ἀρχαῖοι Ἕλληνες (time of Pompey); 52.10.2: Ἕλληνες καὶ βαρβαροί (from the reign of Octavian). 13  Corsten 2006; 2007. 14  Her. 7.75.2. 15   Or. 39.1. In his famous speech concerning the rivalry of Nicaea and Nicomedia over titles, Or. 38, Dio Chrystostom uses the adjectives Greek and Bithynian, supposedly with no distinction.

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the most obvious for Cassius Dio to insert an encomium of his native country. Styling the Bithynians Greeks is, therefore, somewhat strange. Clearly, there must be something different at stake. Asia Cassius Dio’s use of the word Hellenes is mirrored in documents preceding the reign of Augustus.16 From the Hellenistic period we have several references to assemblies as κοινὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων (IG 22, 680) (“the league/assembly of the Greeks”) from Attika and in 56/50 BC from Miletus: τὸ κοινὸν τῶν Ἑλλήνων (“The assembly of the Hellenes” (Milet I.2.3)). The title is common, but in an inscription from Aphrodisias from the late second century or the early first century BC we find an interesting addition to this title: δεδόχθαι τῷ κοινῷ τῶν ἐπὶ τῆς Ἀσίας Ἑλλήνων (“let it be decreed by the assembly of the Hellenes in Asia”).17 This expanded title is, however, not unique for Aphrodisias, and in a letter from Mark Antony variously dated to 41 or 33/32 BC the triumvir styles the recipients in the following way: Μάρκος Ἀντώνιος . . . τῷ κοινῷ τῶν ἀπὸ τῆς Ἀσίας Ἑλλήνων, (“Mark Antony . . . to the assembly of the Hellenes of Asia”).18 The interesting thing about these last two titles is the location of the “Hellenes”, namely in Asia. An assembly of “Hellenes”, whatever this means, was, it seems, firmly in place in the province of Asia in the last part of the first century BC, and it is tempting to think that this assembly was present in Pergamum in 29 BC.19 By the time of Augustus the title appears to have been standardised, and it is encountered in two inscriptions from the very end of the first century BC: ἔδοξεν τοῖς ἐπὶ τῆς Ἀσίας Ἕλλησιν, γνώμῃ τοῦ ἀρχιερέως Ἀπολλωνίου τοῦ Μηνοφίλου Ἀζανίτου. By proposal of the high priest Apollonios, son of Menophilos of Aizanoi, it was decreed by the Hellenes in Asia.20

16  Cf. Edelmann-Singer 2015, 34–71. 17  Drew-Bear 1972, 444, 24–25. 18   E J 300, 1–4. On the letter and its date cf. Brandis 1897, 518; Deininger 1965, 16. 19  Cf. Ferrary 2001, 24–26, 31. On the republican provincial assembly of Asia, cf. Campanile 2007. 20   IPriene 105 (9 BC).

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ἔδοξεν τοῖς ἐπὶ τῆς Ἀσ(ί)ας Ἕλλησιν· γνώμη τοῦ ἀρχιερέως θεᾶς Ῥώμης καὶ Αὐτοκράτορος Καίσαρος θεοῦ υἱοῦ Σεβαστοῦ Φιλιστήους τοῦ Ἀπολλοδώρου φιλοπάτριδος Σμυρναίου. It was decreed by the koinon of the Hellenes in Asia. By proposal of Philistes, son of Apollodoros, who loved Smyrna his fatherland, the high priest of Dea Roma and the emperor Caesar Augustus, son of a god . . .21 These two inscriptions are interesting for several reasons. The two high priests from Priene and Smyrna respectively, were not Roman citizens but peregrines as the use of the patronymic indicates. Had they been Roman citizens, they would have been eager, as well as expected, to indicate this. This could be done by using the entire tria nomina or simply the nomen gentile and cognomen. By mentioning the high priest of the emperor together with the koinon they indicate to us that the cult of Augustus was connected to the koinon. The koinon, as is clear from the two examples, now played the role of a provincial assembly of wealthy men from the cities of Asia who decided on how the cult of the emperor Augustus was to be carried out in Asia on the provincial level. That a non-Roman citizen is in charge of the cult of the emperor Augustus is in agreement with the account given by Cassius Dio. It is, however, surprising to find the cult of the emperor and that of Dea Roma, and not Divus Julius, tied together in Smyrna and being administered by a peregrine, when the cult of Dea Roma, according to the Bithynian historian, was the prerequisite of Roman citizens. Bithynia In the province of Asia we find the assemblies of the “Hellenes” in charge of the cult of the Roman emperor. In accordance with Cassius Dio’s account we also need to examine Bithynia. For the early period we are not as well informed as for Asia, but an inscription from Rome may provide a starting point. This inscription was set up in honour of Tiberius Claudius Patrobius from Antioch, an athlete who had won many victories across the empire. Among the many games he participated – and was victorious – in we find the following (IGUR 1.249 (AD 60)):

21   IGRom. 4.1756 (5–1 BC).

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ἐν Ῥώμῃ [τιμηθεὶς?] ὑπὸ Νέρωνος Κλαυδίου ∙ Καίσαρο[ς· κοινὸν] Ἀσίας ἐν Λαδικέᾳ πενταετηρ[ικόν, κοινὸν] Ἀσίας ἐν Σάρδεσιν πενταετη[ρικόν, κοινὸν] Βειθυνία[ς ἐ]ν Νεικαίᾳ πεντ̣[αετηρικόν], κοινὸ[ν Γαλα]τίας He was honoured in Rome by Caesar Claudius Nero. He won at the games of the koinon of Asia held every five years in La(o)dikeia; at the games held by the koinon of Asia in Sardis; at the games of the koinon of Bithynia held every five years in Nicaea and at the games of the koinon of Galatia . . . This inscription is supposedly the earliest preserved reference to the koinon of Bithynia. Although the word koinon is in fact missing from the stone due to a lacuna, the context allows for the restoration. The nomenclature of the organizers of the festival is reminiscent of the early references to a “koinon of Hellenes” from Delphi and Miletus in the province of Asia. For a title resembling that of the “koinon of the Hellenes in Asia” we do, however, have to wait until the third century. From Prusias ad Hypium we find an inscription from AD 211 referring to τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν ἐν Βειθυν[ίᾳ] [Ἑ]λλήνων (“the koinon of the Hellenes in Bithynia” (IK Prusias ad Hypium 3)).

Cassius Dio and the “Hellenes”

We thus have several references to groups of “Hellenes” in Asia and in Bithynia, some earlier than others, and it is plausible that Cassius Dio had these in mind when mentioning the “foreigners, whom Augustus styled the Hellenes”. Cassius Dio actually provides further support of this identification in his reference to the holy games in Pergamum, which were celebrated, so Cassius Dio says in 51.20.9, for the first time in 29 BC. Furthermore, in the above-mentioned inscription of the koinon of the Hellenes in Asia from Priene we find the following (OGIS 2.458 (9 BC)): τὸν δὲ ἐψηφισμένον στέφανον τῷ τὰς μεγίστας εὑρόντι τειμὰς ὑπὲρ Καίσαρος δεδόσθαι Μαξίμωι τῶι ἀνθυπάτωι, ὃν καὶ ἀεὶ ἀναγορεύεσθαι ἐν τῷ γυμ[νι]κῷ ἀγῶνι τῶι ἐν Περγάμωι τῶν Ῥω[μα]ίων Σεβαστῶν. The crown that has been voted for the one, who comes up with the greatest honours on behalf of Caesar, is to be given to the proconsul Maximus. This crown is also to be proclaimed at the gymnastic Roma-Augustus games in Pergamum.

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This inscription seems to imply a connection between the koinon of the Hellenes in Asia and the Roma-Augustus games in Pergamum, referred to by Cassus Dio as τὸν ἀγῶνα τὸν ἱερόν (“the holy contest”).22 Further support for a link between these games and the koinon is found in an inscription from the island of Kos. In this first-century BC inscription we find a list of the many victories of an unknown athlete. Among the agonistic games he participated in were the Ῥ]ωμαῖα Σεβαστὰ τὰ τιθέμενα ὑπὸ τοῦ κοινοῦ τῆς Ἀσίας ἐν Περγάμωι (“The Roma-Augustus games held by the koinon of Asia in Pergamum” (IGRom. 4.1064)). The inscription clearly states that games to the honour of Roma and Augustus were celebrated in conjunction with the festivals of the koinon of Asia. Cassius Dio’s account is, thus, corroborated by earlier sources in so far as the historian claims that the Roma-Augustus games in Pergamum were a concomitant of the cult of Augustus, and furthermore they were organised by the “Hellenes”, i.e. the koinon. To try and find the origins of the strange formulation “the Hellenes” is, perhaps, not possible.23 Recently, Marco Vitale has innovatively argued that “Hellenes” is quite simply a title employed by those with civic rights in the postclassical city-state.24 As convincing as Vitale’s theory is, it does, however, fail to describe how the term developed into one designating solely the provincial assemblies. Nonetheless, we may notice that it was a title that was reused at a later date when provincial assemblies other than those of Asia and Bithynia were established. As the city-state was among the most easily identifiable Greek institutions the term Hellenes would aptly designate someone having the rights of such a city-state. Vitale’s theory finds support outside the traditionally Greek areas. From the first century onwards we find references to koina in Galatia, in Cappadocia, in Armenia, in Syria, etc. styling themselves the koinon of Galatia, the koinon of Cappadocia, the koinon of Armenia and the koinon of Syria, etc. What these koina have in common is, however, that they cannot be said to have been “Greeks” as opposed to the koinon of Asia, but it needs to be mentioned that these koina do not refer to themselves as the koinon of the Hellenes in Galatia, Cappadocia, Armenia or Syria. Such a title was only used by the two provincial assemblies alluded to in Cassius Dio’s passage and, importantly, by the koinon of the cities of Moesia Inferior.25 22  Similarly, Witulski 2010, 21. 23  Cf., however, Ferrary 2001, 24–26; Vitale 2012, 164–169. 24  Vitale 2012, 173. 25   IScM II 97: ἄρξαντα τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν Ἑλλήνων (“Having been archon of the koinon of the Hellenes”).

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We do, however, find these second-generation koina resorting to offices such as ­helladarchs, i.e. leader of the Hellenes and “first of the Hellenes”. A few examples need to be given: Ἰούλιον Πατρόεινον, τὸν πρῶτον τῶν Ἕλλήνων καὶ πρῶτον Ἀρμενιάρχην, ἡ πατρίς. Julius Patroeinus, first of the Hellenes and the first Armeniarch, was honoured by his fatherland.26 Ἰουλίου Σεουήρου τοῦ πρώτου τῶν Ἑλλήνων. Julius Severus, first of the Hellenes.27 Οὔλπιον Αἴλιον Πομπηιανὸν τὸν ἑλλαδάρχην κα[ὶ] ἀρχι[ερ]έα. Ulpius Aelius Pompeianus the helladarch and high priest.28 We can only speculate at which functions these offices will have entailed, but it goes without saying that they belonged within the sphere of the koinon.29 Furthermore, they are also attested in Asia and in Bithynia. In an honorary inscription to a Tiberius Claudius Piso we learn that he was (IK Prusias ad Hypium 47 (2nd century AD)): [καὶ] Βειθυν[ι]άρχην καὶ Ἑλλαδάρ[χην κ]α̣ὶ σ[ε]βα̣στοφάντην [καὶ] τοῦ μεγάλου καὶ κοινοῦ τῆς Βειθυ[νίας νά]ου τῶν μυστηρίων ἱεροφάντην Bithyniarch, helladarch, sebastophant and hierophant of the mysteries of the great temple of the koinon of Bithynia. And in the province of Asia we have an undated inscription mentioning a socalled τῶν Ἀσίας Ἑλλήνων πρῶτος (“the first of the Hellenes of Asia”).30 It is obvious, then, that these “new” koina, although they did not, as far as we know, refer to themselves as the “Hellenes”, borrowed their nomenclature from the 26   I GR 3.132 (2nd century AD) (Armenia). 27  Bosch, Quellen Ankara 131.108 (AD 114) (Galatia). 28  Bosch, Quellen Ankara 153.127 (AD 128–129) (Galatia). 29  Vitale 2012, 162–164. 30  Herrmann & Malay 2007, 69 no. 44.

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koina of Asia and Bithynia and had offices identical to these, offices including some form of the word “Hellenes”.

Why So Vague?

The numerous examples provided above have aided us in establishing that Cassius Dio was referring to the koinon in 51.20, but why did he not do so in a much more straightforward manner? Why did Cassius Dio not use the word koinon, which, as has become clear, was the more common word for designating the provincial assemblies? One needs to keep in mind that Cassius Dio is trying to narrate an historical event taking place almost 200 years prior to his own time, and Cassius Dio lets Augustus himself assign the koina with the title “the Hellenes”, as if hitherto they had not been known by this title. It does not make much sense to argue that provincials were not grouped in provincial assemblies before 29 BC, since, unlike Cassius Dio, we know for certain that titles such as “the Hellenes” and “the koinon” were in use for decades before 29 BC. It is tempting to think that Cassius Dio is simply projecting his own times onto those of Augustus trying to make up a plausible genesis for the imperial cult,31 but the historian’s attempt at a supposedly original nomenclature of the provincial assemblies ends up being somewhat obscure. Nonetheless it is readily intelligible to us as it was for the Bithynian historian himself. From Cassius Dio’s home province Pontus et Bithynia we have no less than 4 inscriptions dating to approximately AD 211, i.e. contemporary with the composition of his historical work, all referring to someone who had been “archon of the koinon of the Hellenes in Bithynia”: ἄρξαντα τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν ἐν Βειθυνίᾳ Ἑλλήνων32 ἄρξαντα τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν ἐν Βειθυνί[ᾳ] Ἑλλήνων33 [ἄ]ρξαντα τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶν ἐν Βειθυν[ίᾳ Ἑ]λλήνων34 [ἄρ]ξαντα τοῦ κοινοῦ τῶ[ν] [ἐ]ν̣ Βειθυνίᾳ Ἑλλήνω[ν]35

31  Cf. also Lange 2016a. On Cassius Dio’s own times as influencing his historical narrative, cf. Reinhold 1988, 12–15; Hose 2007, 465; Millar 1964, 119–173. 32   IK Prusias ad Hypium 10 (before AD 212). 33   IK Prusias ad Hypium 9 (AD 211). 34   IK Prusias ad Hypium 3 (AD 211). 35   IK Prusias ad Hypium 51 (?).

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And preserved in the digest (Dig. 49.1.25) we have a letter from the emperor Alexander Severus to the koinon of Bithynia reading τῷ κοινῷ τῶν ἐν Βειθυνίᾳ Ἑλλήνων (“to the koinon of the Hellenes in Bithynia”). From the above it can be gathered that the nomenclature of, at least, the Bithynian koinon was consistent in Cassius Dio’s own time. Furthermore, in this same period the koinon of Bithynia held agonistic games in Nicaea, Cassius Dio’s home city.36 In addition, agonistic games were held by the koinon of Bithynia in Nicomedia, the metropolis of Bithynia.37 Although no such word exists in Greek, Nicomedia will most likely have been the seat of the koinon of Bithynia.38 The intercity rivalry between Nicaea and Nicomedia is well known (I mention only the speeches of Dio Chrysostom), and it is possible that Cassius Dio reflects this tension in 51.20 by letting the cult of Augustus be located in Nicomedia while that of Dea Roma and Divus Julius is set up in Nicaea. In Cassius Dio’s time Nicaea had long had its own imperial temple along with the prestigious titles of neokoros and metropolis. Nicaea was, however, deprived of these titles in the time of Septimius Severus, supposedly as a punishment for siding with the rival emperor Pescennius Niger.39 Cassius Dio did his best to embellish the past of Nicaea and stated that at the time of Augustus it, and not Nicomedia, had been the most esteemed city of the province. The same is true in the case of Ephesus over against Pergamum: Cassius Dio knew Asia well, for he had been epistates of Pergamum (and Smyrna) in 218,40 at a time when the city probably had as many as three imperial temples. In his reconstruction of the events of 29 BC Cassius Dio assigned the cult of Divus Julius and Dea Roma to the cities most favoured by him, while the cult of the living emperor, in the historian’s view a less noble cult, was restricted to the non-Romans and cities less favoured by him. Cassius Dio’s idealisation of the division between a cult of Dea Roma/Divus Julius and one of Augustus shatters in several aspects. The provincial assemblies, the koina, did, as we have already encountered in one inscription, not solely consist of peregrines, i.e. non-Romans. It seems futile to try and save 36   IK Sinope 105 = Moretti 1953, 191, No. 69: κοινὸν Βειθυνίας Νείκεαν βʹ (“twice in the games of the koinon of Bithynia in Nicaea”) (1st–2nd c. AD). 37   S EG 40.1141. 38  In the case of Pontos, Neokaisareia, the metropolis, minted coins in the name of the koinon of Pontos, thereby identifying this city as the seat of the koinon, cf. Çizmeli 2006, 82 nos. 496–501. More cities could, however, lay claim to the title metropolis without being the seat of the koinon, as in the case of Amaseia in Pontos. 39  Cf. Robert 1977; Puech 2004, 364–365; Heller 2006, 292; Bekker-Nielsen 2008, 147–150. 40  Cass. Dio 80.7.4.

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Cassius Dio’s account by stating that the division is but one between Roman citizens and citizens of a polis over against non-Hellenes, for we have seen that the historian elsewhere distinguishes between peregrines, of whatever origin they may be, and Roman citizens.41 Not everyone engaged in the imperial cult will have held Roman citizenship, but many will. Furthermore, during the reign of Augustus the cult of the emperor on the provincial level was tightly tied to that of Dea Roma. Recently, it has been proposed by Peter Herz that Cassius Dio is right in stating that the cult of the living emperor was only designed for non-Romans – at least for the earliest period.42 Although we have no documents pertaining to the imperial cult from the year 29 BC, recent epigraphic discoveries will, however, take us close to this year.43 From Miletus we have a dossier pertaining to the career of one of the city’s most prominent men: [Γ]άϊον Ἰούλιον Ἐπικράτη ἥρωα φιλόπατριν, πατέρα [Ἰ]ουλίας [τῆς θε]ίης Γν. Οὐεργιλίου Καπίτωνος, φίλον [5–7]ον γενόμενον Καίσα[ρος θε]οῦ υἱοῦ θεοῦ Σεβαστοῦ . . . ἀρχιερέα Ἀσίας καὶ τῶν Ἰώνων διὰ βίου. Gaius Julius Epikrates, the hero, lover of his fatherland, father of Julia, the aunt of Gnaeus Vergilius Capito. He was a friend . . . of the god Caesar Augustus, son of a god, . . . he was high priest of Asia and the Ionians for life . . .44 ἐπεὶ ὁ ἀρχιερεὺς Γά[ϊος Ἰο]ύλιος [Ἰ]ο̣υλίου Ἀπολλωνίου ἥρωος υἱὸς Ἐ̣ [πι]κ̣ ράτης . . . When Gaius Julius Epikrates, son of the hero Julius Apollonios, was high priest . . .45 At least in the year 6/5 BC if not earlier, Roman citizens were involved in the provincial cult of the emperor at the highest level.46 If we are to painstakingly defend Cassius Dio’s account of the introduction of the imperial cult, 41  Cf. Vitale 2012, 167–168. 42  Herz 2003, 138–140. 43  Cf. Herrmann 1994; Herrmann 1996; Herz 2003. 44   S EG 44.938 (AD 50). 45   S EG 44.940 (6/5 BC). 46  Cf. also Fergus Millar’s words in the discussion of Christian Habicht’s paper in Habicht 1972, 97: “On the other hand most of the high priests of Asia are Roman citizens. Should

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Augustus’ division between Romans and non-Romans can only have lasted for about twenty years.47 Exactly this conclusion is reached by Herz’ student Babett Edelmann-Singer, who states that the provincial assemblies of Asia and Bithynia did not include Roman citizens in 29 BC. Gaius Julius Epikrates is then one of the very first Roman citizens to hold an office in the koinon, and proof of this is found in the somewhat curious title of high priest “for life” (διὰ βίου), which is not usually employed for high priests on the provincial level.48 Following Stefan Weinstock, Edelmann-Singer maintains the possibility that a joint cult for Divus Julius and Dea Roma existed in the first century BC. In this way the credibility of Cassius Dio’s account is, seemingly, restored.49 Edelmann-Singer’s line of reasoning rests on silence as well as exceedingly fragmentary epigraphic material and ignores recent studies critical of Cassius Dio’s account. Dio’s reluctance to have Romans worship Augustus may have, so Jesper Majbom Madsen (2007, 51), something to do with the events of the reigns of Commodus and Caracalla as well as Elagabalus, some of whom had divine aspirations. For example, Cassius Dio (72.16.1) refers to the supposed divinity of Commodus in his lifetime with the following words: Οὗτος οὖν ὁ χρυσοῦς, οὗτος ὁ Ἡρακλῆς, οὗτος ὁ θεός (καὶ γὰρ καὶ τοῦτ’ ἤκουεν) (“now this golden one, this Herakles, this god (for also this title was heard)”). Did the initiative to set up a cult rest with Augustus or the koina? A study of the verbs προσέταξε and ἐπέτρεψε will not help us much, since both verbs may comprise a semantic field stretching from “to allow” to “to order.”50 Nonetheless, it seems fairly safe to say that Cassius Dio wanted to give his readers the impression that the initiative originated with the provincials, the koina, and not with Augustus, who, as has been shown by many scholars, takes up a special role as the very good emperor in Dio’s work. It is therefore fitting for Dio not to have Augustus order or accept a cult from Roman citizens. Cassius Dio juxtaposes Augustus’ supposed reluctance to admit a temple in Asia with Caligula’s ordering a temple to be erected to himself in Miletus (Cass. Dio 59.28.1):

one not conclude that this distinction between civis and peregrine very rapidly ceased to be of any significance?” 47  Cf. Herz 2003, 138. 48  Edelmann-Singer 2015, 90–91. 49  Edelmann-Singer 2015, 92–93; Weinstock 1971, 402–404. 50  Cf., however, Millar 1977, 383: “Dio’s language clearly implies that the permission followed a request from them, which will certainly have been brought by an embassy.” Cf. also Deininger 1965, 17; Habicht 1972, 56; Freyburger-Galland 1997, 146.

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Γάιος δὲ ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ τῷ ἔθνει τέμενός τι ἑαυτῷ ἐν Μιλήτῳ τεμενίσαι ἐκέλευσε· ταύτην γὰρ τὴν πόλιν ἐπελέξατο, λόγῳ μὲν εἰπὼν ὅτι τὴν μὲν Ἔφεσον ἡ Ἄρτεμις τὴν δὲ Πέργαμον ὁ Αὔγουστος τὴν δὲ Σμύρναν ὁ Τιβέριος προκατειλήφασι, τὸ δὲ ἀληθὲς ὅτι τὸν νεὼν ὃν οἱ Μιλήσιοι τῷ Ἀπόλλωνι καὶ μέγαν καὶ ὑπερκαλλῆ ἐποίουν ἰδιώσασθαι ἐπεθύμησε. Gaius ordered a precinct to be dedicated to himself in Miletus in the province of Asia. He chose this city, he said, because Artemis had Ephesus, Augustus Pergamum and Tiberius Smyrna. The truth is that he desired to appropriate the large and exceedingly beautiful temple that the Miletians were building to Apollo. If we are, at all, to discuss the historicity of Cassius Dio’s account in 51.20 we must accept that the provincials, cities as well as provincial assemblies, were very eager to set up temples for the cult of the emperor. Both Suetonius and Tacitus attest to this: Provinciarum pleraeque super templa et aras ludos quoque quinqennales paene oppidatim constituerunt. Not only did most of the provinces erect temples and altars, they also instituted games that were to be held every five years in almost every city.51 Per idem tempus Hispania ulterior missis ad senatum legatis oravit ut exemplo Asiae delubrum Tiberio matrique eius extrueret. At the same time Further Spain following the example of Asia, sent ambassadors to the Senate to ask for permission to build a temple to Tiberius and his mother.52 We must, however, say that Cassius Dio errs in stating that Romans worshipped only Dea Roma in conjunction with Divus Julius, while non-Romans were the only ones allowed the cult of the living emperor.

51  Suet. Aug. 58. 52  Tac. Ann. 4.37.

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Final Thoughts

At the end of this paper the question concerning Cassius Dio’s peculiar nomenclature remains unanswered. In his reconstruction of the events of 29 BC Cassius Dio subsumes the koina of Asia and Bithynia under the category “foreigners” and lets Augustus refer to them as Hellenes. Perhaps the historian is deliberately distinguishing these two koina from the many later provincial assemblies of, e.g. Galatia, Cappadocia, Armenia and Syria, whom he may not have viewed as equally Greek in origin, by omitting the word “koinon”. For as have been demonstrated above it was only the koina of Asia and Bithynia, as well as the koinon of Moesia with its seat in Tomis, a famous Greek colony, who sported the epithet “the Hellenes”. With this designation Cassius Dio manages to retain an image of the cities of Asia and his home country Bithynia as decidedly Greek. Cassius Dio is, however, also a Roman senator, for whom it is important to state that the cult of the living emperor only existed outside Rome. A combination of subsequent emperors lacking the skills of Augustus and the growth of the empire had the effect of extending the imperial cult to encompass, as Cassius Dio says, “not just the Greek peoples but also all those who obey the Romans”. The consequences thereof had been evident in Cassius Dio’s own time with, e.g. the megalomania of Caracalla and the oriental ruler cult of Elagabalus, and the historian had every reason to distance the reign of Augustus from his own times. Ultimately, it is in this context that we suggest 51.20.6–9 should be read, i.e. as a genesis account of the imperial cult of Augustus, in the initial phases of which Roman citizens did not worship the Roman ruler. Conclusion The reader is left with the impression that Cassius Dio’s passage 51.20.6–9 is a peculiar attempt to give a theoretical and idealised account of the origins of the imperial cult, one of many honours voted to Octavian in the aftermath of Actium: This task led the historian to construct a harmonious image of only non-Romans worshipping the living emperor, whereas good Roman citizens venerated only the personified state and Julius Caesar, whose divinity the Senate had decided on. This prompted Cassius Dio to ignore the fact that many of the members of the provincial assemblies were, indeed, Roman citizens from a very early date, especially in the provinces Asia and Pontus et Bithynia. Furthermore, Cassius Dio seems to have been unaware of the existence of the provincial assemblies prior to the introduction of the imperial cult, thereby

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making the year 29 BC their birth date. Although the nomenclature used by the provincial assemblies differs from Cassius Dio’s formulation, I have argued that it is in fact the koina that are being referred to. It must be assumed that Cassius Dio came up with the name “the Hellenes” to reflect the nomenclature of the koina of his own day, when they were styled “the koinon of the Hellenes in Asia” and “the koinon of the Hellenes in Bithynia”. Identifying the provincials is, it seems, the easier task when dealing with this notorious passage of Cassius Dio. The questions relating to the cult of Dea Roma, Divus Julius and the living Augustus, which I have only touched upon, are much more difficult, and these I leave open for others to answer.

CHAPTER 5

Mock the Triumph: Cassius Dio, Triumph and Triumph-Like Celebrations1 Carsten Hjort Lange To consider the Roman war ritual of the triumph within the historical narrative of Cassius Dio can at times be an extremely frustrating process, as he often appears quite indifferent to events of great historical significance. The explanation lies in both Dio himself and his sources, although it is principally the former. Dio’s primary concern remained a sustained historical narrative, and his discussions of rituals such as the triumph were coloured by the need to support that narrative: on Caesar, for example, the changing line on civil war triumphs reflects Caesar’s slide into megalomania, while on the post-Mutina developments he is primarily interested in the Senate’s breach with Young Caesar (see below). My question is accordingly quite simple: in what ways does Dio, himself a Roman citizen, consul, and senator, approach triumphal matters in his historical narrative and interpret the ius triumphandi and customary practices. Itgenshorst is right to emphasise that a large proportion of the surviving descriptions of the republican triumph are written during the Empire. She focuses on the story in Zonaras – from Dio – of Furius Camillus’ triumph after he had conquered Veii in 396 BCE (2005, 19–22; see below). She considers the Greek accounts to be extremely vague and proposes reading them in terms of Max Weber’s idealtypus rather than as descriptions of real historical events.2 Consequently, she dismisses Dio. At the outset it seems strange that she focuses exclusively on early triumphs (before 200 BCE) – as we find similar problems in the Latin evidence for early triumphs (mainly Livy). Descriptions of later triumphs, however, are full of specific details.3

1  All translations are those of the Loeb Classical Library, with minor corrections. 2  Cf. Lundgreen 2011, 180, and n. 516. 3  Neither do I accept Itgenshorst’s proposal to restrict triumphal discussions to contemporary evidence only. Imperial historiographers drew on Republican sources in their writings about the past. See Lange 2009, 125–157, on Dio as a comparatively reliable source on the Augustan age – he probably used the acta of the Senate. The classical and very dismissive article is

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Beard (2007, 271) suggests “In its simplest terms, ‘good emperors’ held proper triumphs for proper victories, while ‘bad emperors’ held sham ceremonies for empty victories”. Investigating the triumphal narrative of Dio, this seems too simplistic an approach. Dio often changes his attitude to the triumphal ritual during the course of his narrative. This may partly be due to his evidence, but also down to his working method. Dio spent ten years gathering his material for the period to Severus’ death, and another twelve years composing his work (73[72].23.5).4 This may at least partly help us explain the various responses to the triumph in his narrative. Dio had a clear understanding as to what a triumph was.5 The triumphal ritual itself may be described as follows:6 (1) receive a provincia while holding iustum imperium, (2) win a battle/war, (3) secure peer support for one’s request to be granted a triumph, (4) conduct a visually spectacular triumphal parade, followed by (5) the triumph’s commemorative Schwartz 1899, with later corrections mainly by Millar 1964. See now also Simons 2009. For a detailed critique of Itgenshorst’s approach, see Östenberg 2007. 4  Kemezis (2014, 90–145) analyses the Roman History as Dio’s commentary to the Severan period. Even if there is no denying the value of this approach, there is always the problem that it underestimates the historian at work; Dio also tried to understand Roman history on its own terms. 5  Beard (2007, 85–92) on what the slave uttered to the triumphator is in fact a textbook example of how we should approach Cassius Dio: apparently without realizing it, she shows that ‘Remember you are a man’ is an unreliable Christian addition, but that there is good reason to think that the slave said ‘Look behind you’ (so Dio/Zonar. 7.21). So the Dio excursuses are invaluable evidence for this customary practice, although they must be handled critically. In particular, on each of Dio’s points one must consider whether the practice reported is genuinely customary or an ancient scholar’s ‘invented tradition’. 6  Cf. Lange & Vervaet 2014, esp. 10. On the issue of how we define the Roman triumph, see Östenberg 2009, 2–6, with references. See also: Itgenshorst 2005, esp. 180–188; Beard 2007, esp. 187–218; Pittenger 2008; Goldbeck and Mittag 2008; Lundgreen 2011, 178–253; Rich 2013; Rich 2014; Vervaet 2014, 68–130; Lange & Vervaet 2014. The classic treatments are Mommsen 1887, 126–136; Ehlers 1939; Richardson 1975; Develin 1978. Beard’s book, dominant in contemporary debates about the triumph, is sadly overly sceptical about the possibility of reconstructing customary practises and a major issue with her book is the lack of interest in chronology and historical development (2007, 266–272: When was a triumph a triumph?). Recently Vervaet (2014, 120, n. 157) has made the point that all who ever celebrated a public triumph under the Republic before Caesar’s legates (Munda 45 BCE: Fabius and Pedius, who had no independent imperium) did so because of victories won when holding an independent imperium. This concerns a fact of constitutional history regardless of, and distinct from, the issue of whether the Senate authorized a public triumph or an ovation. Mommsen (1887, 134) emphasizes that in order to keep triumph-hunting within acceptable limits it was customary to request a triumph.

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a­ fterlife. While the rules of triumph were elastic, the ritual itself often varied much more than we have been traditionally made to believe, with remarkable individual variation. This is apparent in Dio, and, crucially, he also drew attention to divergences from customary practices.

A Catalogue of Triumph

Zonaras 7.21 References to triumphs in Dio derive in part from his concern with Roman political institutions. Zonaras’ introductory treatment of the triumph (7.21) is of immense interest – his summary of the early books of Dio include descriptions of various magistracies and the triumph.7 Dio perhaps also provided such digressions on other institutions that Zonaras did not reproduce.8 Studies of these passages, most notably Urso (2005) and Simons (2009), tend to focus on the magistracies and disregard the triumph. Zonaras in fact has remarkably few references to triumphs: he does however preserve much of what in Dio’s original would have been a substantial excursus on the subject at 7.21. Surviving fragments of Dio prove that he referred to more triumphs than recorded in Zonaras’ Epitome of Histories – for example, that of Furius Purpureo in 200 BCE for whom Dio (frg. 57.81) preserves an account of the triumphal dispute, while Zonaras (9.15) reports only the campaign. In the context of the triumph of Furius Camillus, Zonaras (7.21) provides us with a basic description of the Roman triumph. This description, surprisingly, has received only cursory and incidental comments, often outright dismissal (as above) in recent scholarship on the triumph. However, the excursus is one of our main accounts of what actually occurred during a triumph, and accordingly deserves as much attention as does Valerius Maximus on the ius triumphandi (2.8.7, cf. Joseph. BJ 7.121–157). Therefore, I wish to propose that Zonaras 7.21, probably drawn from Dio’s account of Camillus, is fundamental to understanding his views on triumphal history and is an indispensable description of the customary Roman triumph. What Dio said about Camillus’ triumph 7  Ioannes Zonaras, whose twelfth-century Epitome Historiarum, synopsises Dio. See Millar 1964, 1–4, 195–203; Swan 2004, 37; Rich 1990, 18–19; Simons 2009, 25–32. He seems at times to have paraphrased Dio rather freely (and shortened him as well). 8  Zonar. 7.9.8–9 may preserve traces of such an excursus on the patricians. And of course briefer institutional excursuses were frequent. Zonaras clearly reproduced the excursuses on the magistrates and the triumph so extensively because of the interest of these topics for Byzantine readers (cf. Tzetzes’ letter, see below).

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itself remains obscure, because Zonaras uses Plutarch’s life of Camillus as his primary source at this point, with Dio just as a supplement. It is only the excursus that is taken from Dio, which is a general account of the triumph and not specific to Camillus. We can be sure that Dio will have gone into some detail about Camillus’ triumph before proceeding to the excursus. He must have mentioned the novel white horses, and we can infer from the later reference at Zon. 9.24.3 that he mentioned Camillus’ prayer that an evil should befall only him and not the state, thus portending his exile. Furthermore, Zonaras is not our only source for Dio’s triumph excursus: it’s also drawn upon by John Tzetzes, in his Letters (Epistula 107, addressed to an emperor recommending the triumphal ritual for possible adoption) and (more briefly) and in his historical poem Chiliades 13.43–53. Tzetzes reproduces material from Dio’s early books a number of times. In the letter, he explicitly refers to ‘Dio Cocceianus’ as his source, thus confirming that Dio is the source of Zonaras’ excursus. Turning to the content of 7.21: after a worthy and great military victory the commander was saluted imperator by his soldiers, adding laurel to his fasces. A laurelled letter was sent to the city, announcing the victory. Returning to Rome, the victor would seek a positive vote from the Senate and people, confirming the title and allowing him to triumph. If still in office, his magistracy continued until the end of the celebration, whereas if this was not the case, and his term had expired, he “received some other title”, as no private individual was allowed to triumph (cf. Cass. Dio frg. 57.56; Val. Max. 2.8.5; Lundgreen 2011, 221–222). Dio (Zonar. 8.17) emphasises the triumph as a ritual to end wars,9 citing the naval triumph of Lutatius Catulus (Valerius Falto also received one) in 241 BCE after the victory that ended the First Punic War.10 The people were then called together (contio) by the triumphator, who appeared with a laurel crown on his head and a branch in his right hand.11 The actual spectacle followed: relatives and children would accompany the triumphator in the chariot or on horses.12 There follows a description of the procession: at the head were the spoils of war, including figural representations of 9  On triumph and closure, see Westall 2014. Many triumphs of course did not end wars, an issue discussed at length by Rich (2014). Ending one’s war was never a requirement for a triumph, except, at least at certain points, for those who did not bring their army home. 10  See Dart & Vervaet 2011, esp. 271–272; Dart & Vervaet 2014, 56–57. 11  Decorations were presented to the soldiers – the triumph was after all a military ritual, including a naval crown for naval victories. On military decorations, see Maxfield 1981. On naval triumphs, see Lange & Rich forthcoming. 12  Cf. the quadriga on the Nicopolis relief from the Victory Monument of Augustus; see Pollini 2012, 192, illustration.

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forts, cities, mountains, rivers, lakes, and seas,13 and its movements towards the Forum Romanum, where captives were executed (Cic. Verr. 5.77; Ov. Ex Ponto 2.1.41–6; Plut. Mar. 12.3–4). The procession ended on the Capitoline, where certain rites were performed and offerings were made. The victor then departed to his home, accompanied by flutes and pipes. Zonaras/Dio ends his introductory digression on the triumph as follows: “Such were the triumphs in olden times; but staseis and dynasteiai effected many changes in them” (τοιαῦτα μὲν ἦσαν πάλαι τὰ νικητήρια· αἱ δὲ στάσεις αἵ τε δυναστεῖαι πλεῖστα ἐνεωτέρισαν ἐπ᾿ αὐτοῖς).14 The Late Republic is singled out as the main period of change. In a well-known passage, Dio describes dynasteiai (52.1.1): “Such were the achievements of the Romans and such their suffering under the kingship (ἔν τε τῇ βασιλείᾳ), under the Republic (δημοκρατίᾳ), and under the dominion of a few [dynasteiai], during a period of seven hundred and twenty-five years”).15 The statement about later innovations through staseis and dynasteiai will be Dio’s own, not that of his sources, and, as noted above, presages his later treatment. Zonaras/Dio then returns to Camillus. The excursus is about procedure: what happened before, during and after a triumph. The excursus also specifies the following requirements (cf. mainly Livy 38.50.1–3, who is less rigid – and thus to be preferred – than Valerius Maximus 2.8.4): that the commander had to be a magistrate or ex-magistrate, and a privatus could not triumph; and that the triumph had to be approved by the Senate and the people. The latter statement is erroneous, as in fact the popular vote was only required for pro-magistrates who needed a grant of imperium for the day.16 Further requirements may also have been specified by Dio, but omitted by Zonaras/Tzetzes. The medieval authors were primarily concerned with the ceremony itself. An obvious question is also the source(s) Dio used for the triumph excursus. It does seem likely that Dio was following an antiquarian account at this point: there are too many specific details for the account to be only his general knowledge. In this case we should surely 13  See Östenberg 2009, 189–261. 14  Dio prefers epinikia and niketeria, and avoids thriambos, the normal Greek equivalent for ‘triumph’ – characteristic of his scrupulousness over Greek equivalents for Roman official terminology, often avoiding the established equivalents. 15  For this construct [dynasteiai], based on the differences between Dio’s republican and late-republican narratives, see Kemezis 2014, 90–149. Dynasteiai begins at some point during the second Century BCE, for which Dio’s books are fragmented, and ends with Actium (Kemezis 2014, 102; 107, n. 36 with scholarship on dynasteiai). The term starts to become common in the fragments about the Gracchi (109). 16  Rich 2014, 210.

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be thinking of a late republican or early imperial writer, perhaps someone like Varro. As mentioned above, Itgenshorst (2005, 21) argues that although the account of Camillus is the longest surviving description of the republican triumph, it is disappointing, as it lacks detail of the actual triumph of Camillus. However, as in the other digressions this account includes an overall description of the triumph, while parallel evidence corroborates much of the detail provided in the narrative. Most intriguingly, the final sentence emphasises triumphal procedure, that is, what actually happened in a triumph. This is also an honest description of the political and historical developments during the Late Republic. It does not appear to be a description of Dio’s own days, but rather a description of a historical period with great interest for him. It emphasises how the spectacle should have been carried out: the excursus describes a regular practice which it claims was followed ‘in the olden times’, and then says that many innovations occurred in the time of staseis and dynasteiai; this is surely also implying a negative view of these innovations, as the consequences of political instability and tokens of the gradual collapse of the demokratia.17 Presumably under dynasteiai, according to Dio, triumphs become expressions of the dynast’s power rather than expressions of popular approval. Staseis may here however refer to civil war triumphs. Undeniably, Dio’s triumphal catalogue reveals the problematic triumphal history of Rome, not just emphasising the problems of the Late Republic, in a manner reminiscent of Livy. The more problematic a triumph, the more fascinating it becomes, prompting longer descriptions in our evidence. Republican Triumphs The first triumphal entry by Zonaras drawn from Dio (7.19)18 is the case of Valerius Poplicola and Horatius Barbatus in 449 BCE, who were denied triumphs and thanksgivings by the patricians and the Senate, even though they had been victorious in war. The triumph was in the end granted to them by the people (Degrassi 1947, 66–67, 537–538; Livy 3.63.8–11), the first occasion upon which a triumph was voted by the people without senatorial authorisation (cf. 10.37.10; Dion. Hal. 11.50.1). 17  Dio wrote in the realist tradition of Thucydides; cf. 52.14.3, emphasising the realities of power; the consequences which come from the things themselves (μὴ πρὸς τὰς εὐπρεπείας τῶν ὀνομάτων . . . ἀλλὰ τὰ γιγνόμενα ἐξ αὐτῶν προσκοπήσαντα). 18  Zonaras reports the third triumph of Romulus (7.4), the two triumphs of Valerius Publicola (7.12–13), and all three triumphs of Camillus (7.21, 23–4), but his source for these notices is not Dio, but Plutarch, his primary source on these individuals.

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Triumphs without senatorial backing are also otherwise attested beyond the Alban Mount triumphs (see Lange 2014). In 223 BCE the consuls Flaminius and Furius Philus secured triumphs from the popular assembly instead of the Senate (Zonar. 8.20.7; Degrassi 1947, 78–79, 550); while in 143 BCE Appius Claudius Pulcher triumphed without approval and with the opposition of tribunes (Oros. 5.4.7; Suet. Tib. 2.4: usque in Capitolium. See Lundgreen 2011, 239–243). Claudius had killed 5,000 enemies in a single battle but lost as many of his own men.19 He was accompanied to the Capitoline by his sister, a Vestal virgin, thus making it a sacrilege for the tribunes to impose their veto (Suet. Tib. 2.4; Val. Max. 5.4.6). The case of Claudius is also mentioned by Dio (frg. 74.1–2): ὅτι Κλαύδιος, εἰ καὶ τὰ μάλιστα ἀκριβῶς ἠπίστατο ὅτι οὐκ ἐνενικήκει, ἀλλ᾽ οὖν καὶ τότε τοσαύτῃ ὑπερηφανίᾳ ἐχρήσατο ὥσθ᾽ ὑπὲρ μὲν τῶν ἐπινικίων μηδένα λόγον μήτε ἐν τῇ βουλῇ μήτε ἐν τῷ δήμῳ ποιήσασθαι, καθάπερ δὲ ὑπαρχόντων οἱ πάντως αὐτῶν κἂν μηδεὶς ψηφίσηται, τὰ ἐς αὐτὰ ἀναλώματα αἰτῆσαι. Claudius, even though he realised perfectly well that he had won no victory, nevertheless even then displayed such arrogance as not to say a word in either the Senate or the assembly about the triumph; but acting as if it belonged to him in any case, even if no one should vote to that effect, he asked for the necessary funds. This and similar cases more than anything show that there was debate in ancient times on the question of granting of triumph; moreover it reveals that there was a focus on exceptional cases. Dio concludes that there was no victory in a non-legal war, as there was no pretext for war, and thus no triumph should have been granted. Seen from Dio’s senatorial point of view, the right way to claim a triumph was to request one (from the Senate). No doubt Dio included notices of other triumphs that do not survive in the extant fragments, but he tended to think of departures from the norm as mainly occurring in the years of staseis and dynasteiai. Zonaras did not have access to Dio for the period starting in 145 BCE and so omitted it altogether from his history; he then used Plutarch exclusively down to the death of Caesar, when he reverted to Dio. As a result, we depend just on the fragments for our 19  Val. Max. 2.8.1; cf. Oros. 5.4.7. The historicity of the “law” is unconvincingly denied by Beard 2007, 209–210. See also Lundgreen 2011, 217–219. Rich 2014, 235 suggests that they are not a statute law, but merely informal customary expectations. See also Lange 2011, 620–621.

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knowledge of Dio’s account of the period from 145 to 69, when Dio’s own text becomes extant. Dio must have referred to triumphs at a number of points in this part of his work, and his treatment of triumphal innovations resulting from stasis surely started in this period. Later allusions give us some indications: 48.4.5 implies treatment of Marius’ first triumph on the first day of his second consulship; 36.25.3 clearly points back to a discussion of Pompeius’ first two triumphs that contravened the restriction of triumphs to those who had held magistracies. The Late Republic saw a transformation of the Roman political system which led to a corresponding transformation in the function and character of the triumph, with triumphal processions of unparalleled grandeur being celebrated by the leading dynasts. This development is unsurprisingly evident in Dio. In 62 BCE Caecilius Metellus Creticus triumphed over Crete (36.17a (Xiphilinus); Degrassi 1947, 84–85, 566). According to our evidence, including Dio (cf. Vell. Pat. 2.40.5; cf. 34.2; Livy Per. 99; App. Sic. 6; Flor. 2.13.9), Pompeius sought to claim a share in his triumph, as he had commanded the sea and inland territories, even though Metellus had put an end to the war. Victories in war were central in the establishing of commanders’ pre-eminence in Roman politics (McCormick 1986: “triumphal rulership”). Dio’s main argument is that Creticus did in fact end the war on the island and thus deserved the title. In 36.18.3 he adds that Metellus conquered the whole island, which had never been under foreign control. However, the Principal enemies did not march in his triumph, as they were taken by Pompeius Magnus. Pompeius claimed that he, and not Metellus, had secured the settlement with them.20 Beard (2007, 34) is right to emphasise that Dio makes us reflect on the concepts of victory and defeat. This was a highly political game. In 77 BCE Pompeius went to Spain to fight the enemies of Sulla. He returned in 71 BCE to celebrate his Spanish triumph together with Metellus Pius. The enemy commanders had been Roman: Sertorius and Perperna (Degrassi 1947, 565), making this an issue of triumph and civil war.21 We may doubt whether Dio will have stated explicitly in the excursus that triumphs could (in principle) not be held for a civil war: he will have taken it for granted. Dio has Pompeius give a speech in which he explains his triumph. He was entrusted with the command against Sertorius when no one else was willing or able to undertake it. As a result he celebrated a triumph, contrary to custom (36.25.1–3; this was his rei publicae causa). One might suspect that the problem was the civil war victory, but it clearly refers to the fact that Pompeius was not even a 20  Cf. Marius and Catulus in 101 BCE, see Lange 2016b, esp. 75–76. 21  See Lange 2013; Lange 2016b; Östenberg 2014; Havener 2014.

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senator. Parallel evidence, however, does suggest that the civil war context was the problem.22 The speech provides us with Dio’s assessment of the matter.23 Crucially, in the speech the enemy is even mentioned by name – a detail usually omitted in a civil war;24 only the problem of not being eligible is emphasised. Dio is unconcerned with the civil war triumph of Pompeius. Other issues are at stake, to which I shall return below. Dio reports that a Senate decree of 48 BCE had authorised Caesar to fight the Pompeians in Africa and to be arbiter of war and peace (42.20.1). There is no parallel evidence, but also no reason to doubt his claim. He also suggests that the Senate even voted the triumph to Caesar, over Juba and the Romans fighting with him, before the war had begun. After the victory, they voted 40 days’ supplicationes and, echoing Camillus, the right to triumph with white horses – thus reflecting back on the negative assessment in 7.21.25 Dio discusses excessive honours being given to Caesar (44.3–4), including the right to wear triumphal dress and the right to offer spolia opima, as if  he had slain an enemy commander. These honours were awarded to Caesar without prior victory. This was a development in absurdum. Similarly, the Senate, according to Dio (68.28.3; 29.2), later granted Trajan permission to celebrate as many triumphs as he wished in connection with his eastern campaign 116–117 CE. The triumph had become a medium for negotiating status and prestige under a monarchy. Caesar’s final triumph, following his defeat of Pompeius’ sons at Munda in 45 BCE, had been over only civil opponents.26 This is seemingly a new departure, triumphing after an unequivocally civil war victory, and it is said to have provoked disapproval.27 Caesar is judged by Dio as the man who, contrary to custom, associated triumph with civil war. In fact this was a d­ evelopment 22  Flor. 2.10.1; Plin. HN 7.96. Sadly, the notice of Pompeius’ and Metellus’ triumphs is lost in the Fasti Triumphales, but they were most likely specified just as ex Hispania. 23  On speeches: Rich 1990, 11–12; see Burden-Strevens, Fomin and Mallan in this volume. 24  See Lange 2016b. 25  Cass. Dio 42.20.5; 43.14.3. See Weinstock 1971, 68–71 on the white horses; cf. Cass. Dio 52.13.3. Concerning civil war and triumph, the fact remains that the principle that triumphs and related ceremonies should not be held for civil wars is well attested in connection with the triumphs of Caesar, as mentioned by Dio (42.18.1, 43.42.1; cf. Val. Max. 2.8.7). A commander could, however, in practice expect to triumph after a civil war victory if it could also be represented as being over a foreign enemy, even if the foreign nature of the enemy was dubious at best. Significantly, the civil aspect of the war did not have to be denied (Lange 2013; Lange 2016b). 26  Livy Per. 116; Vell. Pat. 2.56; Suet. Iul. 37; Plin. HN 14.97; Quint. Inst. 6.3.61; Plut. Caes. 56.7; Cass. Dio 43.42.1–3; Flor. 2.13.88; Sumi 2005, 63–64. Triumph 46 BCE: Cass. Dio 43.22.1. 27  Plut. Caes. 56; Cass. Dio 43.42.1.

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already well under way.28 During the Social War Pompeius Magnus’ father triumphed de Asculaneis Picentibus (Degrassi 1947, 84–85, 563; see now mainly Dart 2014, on the war of the Socii). P. Ventidius, consul suffectus in 43 BCE and triumphator in 38 BCE over the Parthians (Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 569; Cass. Dio 49.21.1–3), was led in this triumph (Val. Max. 6.9.9; Vell. Pat. 2.65.3; Plin. HN 7.135; Gell. 15.4.3; Cass. Dio 43.51.5; 49.21.3). The war of the Socii, together with the Marius-Sulla civil war, prepared the way for later events: fighting battles in Italy itself, whether the enemy was Roman or allies, was no longer impossible. Such precedent is only a short step away from triumphs in civil war. Dio tells the story twice, but he emphasises the man, not the “civil war” triumph. This may be a lack of interest on his part, or perhaps reflects the reality that civil war gradually stopped being an anomaly and became a normal feature of Roman political and social life as a result of the growth of Empire. In book 43 Dio emphasises that Lepidus was granted a triumph “although Lepidus had conquered no foes nor so much as fought with any, the pretext being that he had been present at the exploits of Longinus and of Marcellus” (43.1.2; cf. 48.4.2–3, on the undeserved triumph of Lucius Antonius).29 Cicero (Phil. 5.40–41) mentions a proposal he made to honour Lepidus because he had avoided civil war with Sextus Pompeius (in 44 BCE, celebrated in 43), the last of Pompeius’ sons in Spain.30 This served as a precedent for the joint ovation of Antonius and Young Caesar in 40 BCE (cf. the ovation of Caesar in 44: see below). Dio (45.10.6) claims that Sextus Pompeius had his fathers’ estate in Spain restored to him. We may wonder whether Dio is downplaying the civil war settlement, or, more probably, whether Lepidus’ triumph was called ex Hisp., thus giving the pretext of a foreign victory. No incident reveals this development from foreign to civil war more clearly than the triumph of Decimus Brutus after Mutina (Cass. Dio 46.40.1), granted in connection with a civil war in Italy itself. Cicero was happy to support Decimus Brutus’ triumph, but in the end Brutus never celebrated it, as he never returned to Rome.31 As a result no triumph was recorded on the Fasti Triumphales. Havener (2014, esp. 166) rightly points out that there was no prolonged debate 28  See Lange 2013. 29  Lepidus’ triumph: Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 567; Fasti Barb., see Degrassi 1947, 342–343. 30  Lepidus in Spain: Vell. Pat. 2.63.1; App. B Civ. 2.107; 3.46; Cass. Dio 43.51.8; 45.10.6. For Sextus Pompeius’ restitution and subsequent proscription, see Manuwald 2007, 683–695, esp. 686 (Phil. 5.39–40); Welch 2012, esp. 134–136. 31  Cic. Ad Brut. 1.3.4; 1.5.1; Livy Per. 119; Vell. Pat. 2.62.4; Cass. Dio 46.40.1 and a supplication of fifty days: Cic. Phil. 14.36–38; 14.11; 14.29; Cass. Dio 46.38.1–2; Fam. 11.18.3; App. B Civ. 3.74; Cass. Dio 46.39.3: suggesting 60 days as the only source.

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about the triumph of Decimus Brutus – at least nothing is recorded in our evidence, which includes a brief statement by Dio. He is only surprised that Young Caesar did not receive any appropriate honours. Dio provides the context: not only did the Senate grant Decimus Brutus a triumph, they intrusted the fleet to Sextus Pompeius, while Marcus Brutus received Macedonia and Cassius received Syria. Significantly, in trying to answer why Dio ignores the civil war aspect of Brutus’ triumph, the answer seems to be that on the postMutina developments he is primarily interested in the Senate’s breach with Young Caesar, and thus the propriety of their voting Decimus Brutus a triumph is of lesser interest. The joint ovation of Antonius and Young Caesar in 40 is also relevant here: the Fasti Triumphales entry mentions neither a foreign foe, nor indeed any foe, and a similar entry was made for Antonius (Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 568; cf. 342– 343 (Fasti Barberiniani). An ovation was granted because the two triumvirs made peace with one other. Precedents did exist: there was neither victory nor enemy in Caesar’s 44 BCE ovans ex monte Albano (Cass. Dio 44.4.3; Suet. Iul. 79; Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 567), nor in the Lepidus affair in Spain. Yet surprisingly Dio is more taciturn here (48.31.3): the “victors” moved across the pomerium in triumphal dress and on horseback “as if at a triumph” (ἐν δ᾽ οὖν τῷ τότε ἐπί τε ἵππων αὐτοὺς ὥσπερ ἐν ἐπινικίοις τισὶν ἐσαγαγόντες). In this case it clearly was a matter of concern and, although it was mentioned on the Fasti Triumphales and thus officially recognised as a triumph in Augustan times at least, in his mind this was not a real triumph/ovation. Nevertheless, he was right that these examples represented a new kind of triumph altogether. Another fascinating late republican development involves triumphs and triumphal celebrations outside Rome. Dio mentions that Sextus Pompeius celebrated victory games, probably in 42 BCE.32 As for an interpretation of the adjective epinikios: “victory” games in a Roman setting are “triumphal” games.33 Since ta epinikia is Dio’s standard term for a triumph, this is the clear implication. Gowing (1992, 185) considers this a mock triumph and he rightly points out that there was no mention of triumph in Appian, although an imperator coin may show Dio to be right (RRC 511/1). But even if this may not have been officially sanctioned, Sextus Pompeius may have regarded it as a triumph – 32  48.19.1: “After this Sextus occupied the whole of the island and put Bithynicus to death on the charge that he had plotted against him. He also produced triumphal spectacles and held a naval battle of the captives in the strait close to Rhegium itself”. 33  Parallel evidence: Cass. Dio 36.25; 37.21; 49.40.3; 51.5.4; 51.7.3; 54.31.4; 54.33.5; 55.10.3; 55.28.4; 56.1.2; 58.4.8; 60.8.6; 60.20.4; 60.23.2; 61[60].31.7; 66.20.3; cf. Vell. Pat. 2.56.1–2.

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unable to return to Rome to celebrate, this ceremony served as an alternative. Alternatively, Sextus Pompeius may have been staking a claim to hold a triumph when he eventually returned to Rome following the restoration of the res publica, and in the meantime was holding a triumph-like celebration. The question remains as to whether Dio accepted the theai epinikioi as a triumph. Dio was concerned with the customary observances of the triumph, and it would be surprising had he accepted such a very different celebration as constituting triumph. It is nevertheless striking that he repeatedly comments on observance or breach of triumphal custom by emperors (Augustus, Claudius, Nero: see below).34 Antonius may also have celebrated a triumph in 34 BCE in Alexandria over the Armenians (49.40.3–4).35 Dio even mentions that the captured Armenians were Antonius’ superiors, as they refused to address Cleopatra and made no obeisance to her (49.40.4). Dio here is clearly mocking Antonius. Plutarch (Ant. 50.4) uses the word ethriambeusen, a standard Greek term for triumph, although Icks (forthcoming) highlights the fact that no earlier evidence mentions this Alexandrian triumph at all. However, in a situation in which Young Caesar had defeated Sextus Pompeius (36 BCE: Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 569) and won in Illyria (33 BCE: Degrassi 1947, 570) Antonius clearly felt the need to respond.36 He conquered Armenia, probably to counter what he had lost during the Parthian campaign. Antonius is only mentioned on the Fasti Triumphales for the joint ovation with Young Caesar for avoiding civil war 34  At several later points Dio remarks on features of individual triumphs or triumph-related matters as being in accordance with or contrary to ‘custom’ (to nomizomenon or to nenomismenon). Some of these certainly refer back to the excursus and some others may refer to points made in the excursus but omitted by Zonaras/Tzetzes. The passages are: 36.25.3 (Pompeius triumphing as a private citizen); 37.6.2 (Pompeius giving the captive Tigranes the title king (or king of kings?) in his triumph); 37.40.2 (Antonius’ salutation); 51.21.9 (Young Caesar’s triumphs in accord with custom except for magistrates following him); 55.5.1 (Augustus dedicating laurel in temple of Jupiter Feretrius); 60.23.1 (Claudius climbing the temple steps on his knees: see above); 62.23.4 (Nero). Similar, but with a different formulation, is 37.21.1: Pompeius’ triumphing without his troops although this was not hosion according to the panu patria. 35  Vell. Pat. 2.82.3–4; Plut. Ant. 50.6; cf. Pelling 1988, 241, dismissing this as a triumph, and instead suggesting a Dionysiac procession. Levick 2010, 43 talks of a parody of a Roman triumph. 36  See Ober 2001 for a fine analysis of the political and military situation after the death of Caesar. He rightly emphasises that all might have been different had Antonius not suffered defeat against Parthia.

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(40 BCE: Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 568), while even Lepidus had two triumphs to show.37 Dio speaks of this ritual in similar terms to his reference to Sextus’ celebration (as above). His language here (49.40.3: en epinikiois tisin, ‘in a sort of triumph’) is closer to acknowledging it as a triumph than is the case for Sextus, and is not far from Plutarch’s ethriambeusen. Dio’s description certainly does suggest a Roman triumph: the procession is triumphal, with Antonius in his chariot, spoils of war and the defeated enemy are present. It is obvious that Dio is negative towards the presence of Cleopatra:38 he is clearly mocking Antonius for following a foreign woman, and this may be the reason for his dismissal, in contrast to Young Caesar and Sextus Pompeius. In Alexandria Antonius proclaimed Cleopatra Queen of Kings and Caesarion the King of Kings (49.41.1). He then sent a despatch to Rome; no doubt this was similar to a commander’s quest for a triumph, even though he had in fact already celebrated the ritual on his own accord. Antonius required the Senate to ratify his acta in the East, and thus settle his affairs. But the Senate certainly never voted on this triumph. Dio may thus be right that he wanted ratification in Rome, although courtesy of Domitius Ahenobarbus and Sosius the despatches were not read in public. According to Dio, Antonius’ triumphal despatch was not publicised due to intervention by Young Caesar (49.41.5), which may at least in part explain the lack of early evidence. This may seem peculiar, as Young Caesar could have made great capital from Antonius’ breaching of custom. Antonius could not return to Rome to celebrate any triumph, but a victory was still a victory. Antonius’ despatch to the Senate, suppressed by Young Caesar (Dio 49.41.5), may however have been the traditional commander’s despatch, reporting his victory and acclamation of imperator, and requesting a supplicatio, and so indicating the intention to claim a triumph on return to Rome. Beard’s suggestion that this was Young Caesar’s propaganda is too simple.39 Whatever the case, one should not dismiss Dio out of hand so readily. The story suggests that in the political climate of the Late Republic, Young Caesar 37  47 BCE: Degrassi 1947, 566; Cass. Dio 43.1.2, suggesting that nothing was conquered and that he had not fought an enemy, the result being that only money from plundered allies was sent to Rome. 43 BCE: Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 567. 38  Cf. Fulvia and the triumph of Lucius Antonius: Cass. Dio 48.3–14; 48.4 on the unmerited triumph of L. Antonius: Lucius claims a victory over Alpine tribes, even though he had held no command in the region. Fulvia’s favour in the end secured the triumph. See also Gowing 1992, 79. 39  Beard 2007, 269, and n. 30: “It is not, however, absolutely clear that Velleius’ Dionysiac procession is to be equated with the “triumphal ceremony”. See also Woodman 1983, 213–215.

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took this claim of victory by his enemy seriously.40 Antonius considered this a triumph and, as far as we know, it was in principle no different (albeit outside Italy) than the Alban Mount triumph during the Middle Republic.41 However, Dio’s addition of tisin shows that he did not after all ascribe such a claim to Antonius. To complicate matters further, Polybius (1.88.6) had used triumphal language to describe something that was not: Hamilcar Barca’s victory parade 237 BCE (cf. Diodorus 16.81.4.). Polybius describes a thriambos, Greek for triumphus. Using familiar language to explain something out-of-the-ordinary. Young Caesar also celebrated peculiar triumphs: at Actium there was no enemy paraded or even mentioned as far as we know – although Cleopatra was paraded on the last day in the Egyptian triumph (Cass. Dio 51.21.7–8). In Dio there is no doubt that the war was officially declared against Cleopatra, although all knew that in reality it was against Antonius (50.4.5: καὶ πρὸς τὸ Ἐνυεῖον ἐλθόντες πάντα τὰ προπολέμια κατὰ τὸ νομιζόμενον, διὰ τοῦ Καίσαρος ὡς καὶ φητιαλίου, ἐποίησαν: ἅπερ που λόγῳ μὲν πρὸς τὴν Κλεοπάτραν, ἔργῳ δὲ καὶ πρὸς τὸν Ἀντώνιον (“and went to the temple of Bellona, where they performed through Caesar as fetialis all the rites preliminary to war in the customary fashion. These proceedings were nominally directed against Cleopatra, but really against Antonius”). For Dio, holding Augustus as his model emperor, it was necessary to dismiss any suggestions of wrongdoing.42 Nevertheless he does admit the very core of Augustan justification: this was a civil war. Indeed, he does echo Augustus’ own justification for the triumph by simply saying as little as possible.43 No civil war triumph is mentioned by Dio. As a result, he does appear remarkably close to the ideology of the regime in this case.

40  For triumph-like celebration, see also Cass. Dio 67.7.2–4: the booty coming from the store of imperial furniture (Domitian). See also 9.6. Murison 1999, 237: “bogus triumph”. 41  Lange 2014. In some sense surprisingly, Antonius minted coins in 34 BCE, celebrating the conquest of Armenia, depicting both him and Cleopatra (RRC 1, 543). 42  For Dio as an advocate of the Principate as supported by the Senate, with Augustus as the model emperor, see Reinhold 1988, 12–14; Rich 1990, 13–18; contra Millar 1964, 73–118. 43  Cf. Nicopolis monument and inscription: no enemy is mentioned; see Lange 2016b, 141– 153. The obvious precursor is 36: The Fasti Triumphales entry says ex Sicilia (Degrassi 1947, 86–87, 569; Fasti Barb.: Degrassi 1947: 342–343). The Res Gestae (25; 34.1) reaffirms that no enemy was mentioned. Cass. Dio 51.21.7: ἐν μὲν οὖν τῇ πρώτῃ ἡμέρᾳ ταῦτα διεωρτάσθη, ἐν δὲ τῇ δευτέρᾳ ἡ πρὸς τῷ Ἀκτίῳ ναυκρατία, κἀν τῇ τρίτῃ ἡ τῆς Αἰγύπτου καταστροφή (“This was the first day’s celebration. On the second day the naval victory at Actium was commemorated, and on the third the subjugation of Egypt”).

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Imperial Triumphs The remainder of the Augustan period witnessed a number of interesting new developments, including triumph-like celebrations and honours such as the adventus.44 Furthermore, there was the ornamenta triumphalia and the monopolisation of the triumph: with Augustus and the coming of the Principate the triumph rapidly became the exclusive prerogative of Augustus and his house. Dio is the main evidence for this development. Over a seventh of his entire work, Books 45–56, are devoted to the period from 44 BCE to 14 CE.45 The refusal of triumph is of special interest. Augustus declined triumphs in 25 BCE (Flor. 2.33.53; Cass. Dio 53.26.5; Val. Max. 2.8.3 in general on declining triumphs; Lundgreen 2011, 220) and in 20 BCE. At 54.8.3 Dio makes a mistake: the Parthian victory did not produce an ovation, as claimed by Dio, as becomes evident by looking at the parallel evidence (RG 4.1 and the Fasti Triumphales). Agrippa declined triumphs in 19 and 14 BCE (Cass. Dio 54.11.6; 54.24.7), as he had also done in 37 BCE (Cass. Dio 48.49.3). Dio (55.24.7–8, events in 14) is clearly wrong to suggest that people like Agrippa did not triumph after Augustus declined to triumph.46 The highly problematic triumphal celebrations of Caligula are also a good test for Dio’s assessments of the ritual. Caligula (for Dio’s negative views on Caligula, see Kleijwegt 1994) was granted a smaller triumph/ovation as if he had defeated some enemies: τά τε ἐπινίκια τὰ σμικρότερα ὡς καὶ πολεμίους τινὰς νενικηκότι πέμψαι αὐτῷ ἔδωκαν (59.16.11: “They also granted him the right to celebrate an ovation, as if he had defeated some enemies”).47 This curious honour does resemble late republican developments as already mentioned: bloodless “victories” were granted to Caesar in 44 BCE and to Antonius and Young Caesar in 40 BCE (cf. Livy 40.38; Gell. 5.6.20, 21: “dustless” and bloodless victories). However, according to Dio, Caligula despised riding on horseback on land, and preferred to ride his horse in a fashion on sea – this of course makes 44  See Lange 2015; Rich 2015, 121–138. 45  Reinhold & Swan 1990, 156. 46  Cf. Rich 2014, 238 and n. 211: his calculation of triumphs covers the 22 triumphs held by senatorial commanders in 43–19 BCE, the three triumphs declined by Agrippa, the ovation and two triumphs held by Tiberius, and the ovation decreed for Drusus, a total of 29. Augustus is even credited with generosity in the award of triumphs by Cass. Dio 54.12.2; Suet. Aug. 38.1. 47  Domitian also acted as though he had won a victory against the Dacians (Cass. Dio 67.7.3: καθάπερ ὡς ἀληθῶς κεκρατηκὼς ὡς νενικηκώς). This may at least partly be an unsubstantiated critique; Dio leaves out the war against the Chatti. An officially celebrated triumph is thus claimed by Dio to be no triumph at all (cf. Tac. Agr. 39.1; Plin. Pan. 16.3). See Schulz in this volume, who talks of counter reaction to the panegyrical discourse.

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much better sense in relation to the ovation decree. He wanted to bridge the waters between Puteoli and Bauli, building a bridge of boats.48 In doing so Dio emphasises just how poor an emperor Caligula was: not only did he receive an ovation without a victory, but he thought so little of this traditional honour that he instead celebrated a mock show at the Bay of Baiae in contempt of the Senate. Interestingly, Dio does use the word ἐπινίκια for the ovation (in 59.16.11 and 59.23.2 τὰ ἐπινίκια τὰ σμικρότερα, “the lesser triumph”).49 According to Goldbeck (forthcoming) this was Caligula showing that he could mount a triumph without the Senate and outside Rome. I shall return to this point below. Kleijwegt (1994, 656) accurately calls Dio’s account a parody of a military expedition – and we must assume this is the reason why he used the word “triumph”, even if he does not believe that it was. Dio mockingly contextualises the triumph by emphasising the warlike nature of the spectacle (59.17.1–11; cf. Amm. Marc. 16.10.1–18 on Constantius II): Caligula, in what he himself styled as the breastplate of Alexander the Great, sacrificed to Neptune and crossed the bridge with horsemen and soldiers. He then rode into Puteoli, as though in pursuit of an enemy, and rested there as if from battle. Then he returned over the bridge, carrying spoils of war, including Darius, a Parthian hostage. There followed a speech to his soldiers, who were also given money. This ceremony may relate to the idea that Caligula was styling himself as Jupiter Latiaris (Cass. Dio 59.28.5; Kleijwegt 1994, 662, n. 34). It may also have been a critique of the Senate: during the Middle Republic, an Alban Mount triumph may have appeared as poor second for a consul who had a triumph declined, but it never­ theless remained a potent display of consular authority.50 Correspondingly Caligula declined the ovation (59.16.11; 17.1). He awarded himself a special triumph, as had earlier victors when they went to the Alban Mount. This was in fact a bloodless triumph, held without senatorial backing.51 Caligula was also granted an ovation after his phoney war against the English Channel (Cass. Dio 59.25.3; Suet. Cal. 43–49: in 40 CE he entered Rome 48  59.17.1; cf. Kleijwegt 1994 for parallel evidence and the differences between accounts. There are problems regarding the relative chronology for the Baiae and the English Channel “victories”. See Goldbeck forthcoming. 49  These are, curiously, the only times Dio uses this designation for an ovation. Elsewhere he refers to it as the triumph ‘on horseback’ (epi keletos, eph’ hippou): 44.4.3; 49.15.1; 54.8.3, 33.5; 55.2.4. Dio may well not have mentioned ovations in his Republican narrative. 50  See Lange 2014, esp. 76–77. 51  See also Winterling 2007, 120–124 on the spectacle: “Sie [the ‘war’ and triumphal celebrations at Baiae] bedeuteten eine zeremonielle Manifestation kaiserlicher Größe” (123) and adds that this was about Caligula’s independence from the Senate (124).

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in ovation (Suet. Cal. 49.2)).52 According to Dio (59.23.2–3) it was granted by the Senate. He places the decreeing of the ovation at an early stage, before the advance to the Channel. It is likely enough that a full triumph was voted later, but in the event, as Suetonius shows, he limited himself to an ovation when re-entering the city. Dio also suggests that Caligula did not like minor honours (59.23.4) – perhaps referring to the ovation (so Goldbeck forthcoming). Goldbeck sees a contradiction here: celebrating an ovation after the Senate awarded a triumph amounted to a dismissal of Senatorial authority. This is the act of a bad emperor. Dio does indeed portray a conflict between the emperor and the Senate (59.25.4). The language echoes that of the Baiae ­triumph-like celebration: there was no battle, but the spectacle was meant to be battlelike. Booty, mostly shells, was taken to Rome for the triumphal procession (59.25.3–4). According to Barrett (1989) the ceremony concerned the so-called defection of Adminius, which was used as a pretext. He adds: “It might have been arranged that the submission would take place at sea, with Caligula sailing out to receive Adminius in the trireme mentioned in Dio” (137). This is supported by Suetonius (Cal. 44.2), but not by Dio. Goldbeck suggests that the original ovation was given for ending an uprising in Germania – during which, according to Dio (59.22), the governor Lentulus Gaetulicus was murdered because he was endeared to the soldiers. Whatever the case, Dio dismisses any notion of a campaign against Britain. It is at the very best the story of a triumph-like and bloodless celebration, but probably a damning critique of a mock triumph: Caligula embarked on a trireme and having sailed out a little from land, returned to his soldiers on the beach. The soldiers appear as in battle and gathered shells from the beach, as spoils of war for the triumphal procession.53 Dio emphasises the role of the Senate and their problems: praise for a trivial affair was always going to be difficult. Caligula then entered the city – Dio’s text is lost for Caligula’s return to Rome; 59.25.2–5 is Xiphilinus and we cannot trust him as evidence about how exactly Dio reported Caligula’s entry to the city – and reacted angrily towards the Senate, because he wanted divine honours. He showered the populace with money from a lofty position – many perished (59.25.5). He was even styled 52  According to Kienast (1966, 51) Caligula was granted a triumphus navalis (cf. Woods 2000, 85). This is not however supported by the ancient evidence and primarily rests on the idea that this was a naval victory. Similarly, the campaign at Actium produced a triumph, not a naval triumph. 53  See however Woods 2000, 83: “It is my argument, therefore, that when Caligula ordered his soldiers to collect the conchae, he was referring to some small boats, not seashells. The surviving tradition is simply mistaken”. This appears to be entirely unfounded.

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imperator, Germanicus, and Britannicus, as if he had subdued these countries (59.25.5a). There can be little doubt that Dio was negative towards Caligula and this is reflected in the emperor’s misuse of the Roman triumph. Barrett (1989, 138) emphasises that “A victory over Britain in such circumstances would represent in the Roman mind a victory over Oceanus. Thus a symbolic collection of shells, the “booty” of Oceanus, to be part of the offering of spoils for the Capitoline, would not be out of order”. Even with Suetonius in mind this is extreme, but looking at Dio, he uses the story to criticise a poor emperor. There was no triumph for Caligula.54 In the end Claudius conquered and accordingly celebrated a triumph over Britain, which was granted by the Senate when they heard about his success.55 They also voted an annual festival and arches in both Gaul and Rome. He was also given the title Britannicus (60.22.1–2). Celebrating the actual triumph on his return home in 44 CE, Dio adds that it followed custom (60.23.1: κατὰ τὸ νομιζόμενον) and that Claudius climbed to the Capitoline on his knees.56 Dio reports both Caesar and Claudius as climbing the steps on their knees, evidently regarding them as following the customary practice, as is explicitly stated for Claudius (43.21.1, 60.23.1). Weinstock (1971, 77) and Beard (2007, 249) regard this as an ‘invented tradition’, first practised by Caesar or Claudius. We may ask whether they are right, or was Dio correct to state that it was a standard part of the ritual. Nor did Claudius forget to honour members of the Senate who had participated in the campaign (given ornamenta triumphalia. Cf. 61[60].30.2). This was in marked contrast to Caligula (cf. Tac. Ann. 12.20). Interestingly, Dio (60.8.6) records that Claudius was granted the ornamenta triumphalia in 41 CE for the annexation of Mauretania, although he had gained no success and was not emperor when the war was finished. This is a rather curious award of a relatively minor distinction usually conferred on senatorial commanders. The honour is also mentioned by Suetonius (Claud. 17.1), who implies that it was declined. This may be a critique of an emperor who received a triumph contrary to custom. A picture emerges, with two forms of problematic triumph: firstly, a triumph-like or phoney triumph, and secondly, a triumph contrary to the mos maiorum.

54  For an altogether different view, see Winterling 2009, 111. 55  See now mainly Osgood 2011 on Claudius, pages 84–106 on the expedition to Britain. 56  ‘Climbed to the Capitoline’ suggests all the way up the Clivus Capitolinus. More probably Dio means only the steps of the temple (cf. Beard 2007, 249).

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In the case of Nero, we have a possible “triumphal” celebration in 59 after the murder of his mother Agrippina.57 Goldbeck (forthcoming) emphasises that no ovation was celebrated. According to Dio the people rejoiced at the news of her murder while the Senate pretended to rejoice (what survives of Dio here is just Xiphilinus: 62[61].15.1; cf. 16.1–4; 17.1; 18.3; cf. Tac. Ann. 14.13). Nero was playing around with the ritual of triumph-like celebrations. Dio uses this to exemplify the problematic relationship between the Senate and the emperor. Of greater interest is the conflict between the Parthians and the Romans over Armenia. Tiridates, a Parthian, was installed as king of Armenia by his brother, the king of Parthia. The Romans tried to replace him, but in the end he successfully made peace with Rome, accepting the crown from the Romans. This was celebrated as a Roman victory and accordingly Nero triumphed in 63 CE (Cass. Dio 63.1–6 (Xiph.); Suet. Nero 13; Champlin 2003, 221–229; Beard 2007, 271–272). There is disagreement today on the matter of whether this was a triumph or a triumph-like celebration, but importantly, Pliny (HN 30.16: triumphus Armeniacus) and Dio (62[61].23.4) talk of triumph, albeit “contrary to custom” (τὰ ἐπινίκια ἔπεμψε παρὰ τὸ νενομισμένον).58 Dio’s words echoes book 36 (36.25.3) on Pompeius Magnus, who was not a senator at the time (see above). However, we do not know exactly what Dio means by “contrary to custom” in this context. Champlin (2003, 225) emphasises that it was a triumph, as it was granted as such by the Senate. I agree, and Dio does not seem to suggest otherwise, but there nevertheless must be a reason why it was “contrary to custom”. It may refer to the procession itself. Curiously this triumph involved the enemy entering Rome, but apparently not Nero himself. The route all the way from the Euphrates was presented as a triumphal procession (Cass. Dio 63.1.2). There is no defeated enemy and Tiridates was treated with honour.59 Nero granted him the kingship of Armenia and the king paid homage (Suet. Nero 13; Cass. Dio 63.3.4–5.3; Champlin (2003, 224, n. 20) rightly points out that there must be a common source). Usually a Roman victory was presented as such, diplomatic solution or otherwise; the exception being the joint ovation of Antonius and Young Caesar, which was altogether different as both were Romans. A parallel example is the procession of Augustus in 29: Dio (51.20.2) emphasises that the senators and magistrates were relocated “contrary to custom”. The answer in the latter case may be as simple as the fact that they had

57  Champlin 2003, 219–221, calls it an informal triumph. 58  Champlin accepts a triumph, contra Griffin 1984, 232–233. 59  Champlin 2003, 222–223; Beard 2007, 135 talks of a paradox.

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been involved the fighting, a point missed by Dio, who clearly struggles to understand.60 Champlin (2003, 227) may however be wrong to suggest that the parallel between the Roman triumph and Nero’s Parthian spectacle is restricted to the theatrical nature of the ceremony. Nero’s triumph should also be compared to Augustus’ Parthian settlement in 20 BCE. In 22 BCE Augustus had travelled to the East and in 20 he was voted an ovation for the Parthian settlement (Cass. Dio 54.8.3), which he declined. In 19 BCE he returned to Rome and entered the city by night (Cass. Dio 54.10.4). There was also a peace treaty between the countries, but no military victory. Importantly, Dio believes Augustus received an ovation, although he is wrong. According to Dio (54.8.3), Augustus entered the city on horseback, that is in ovation, but this cannot be, as the two ovations of Young Caesar (40 and 36 BCE) are well attested (mentioned on the Fasti Triumphales) and because Dio himself states that Augustus entered the city by night (54.10.4; Rich 1998, 77). Thus in the case of Nero, this may suggest that ‘contrary to custom’ did not mean the actual triumph itself. In 67 CE Nero celebrated his triumphal return from Greece. He entered Rome as a Greek victor, with the Senate acclaiming him “Olympic Victor”, “Pythian Victor”, “Hercules” and “our Apollo” (Suet. Nero 25; Cass. Dio 63.19–20, esp. 20.1–6; Beard 2007, 269). The procession took an alternative route, as it entered through a breach in the city walls, as did Greek victors in the Panhellenic games (63.20.1; Suet. Nero 25.1: victor in sacred games). He did however ride in the triumphal chariot of Augustus (Cass. Dio 63.20.3; Suet. Nero 25.1). The procession ended on the Palatine at the Temple of Apollo – Dio (63.20.4) in fact mentions not only the palace, but also the Capitoline. This sounds very much like a hybrid, a triumphal adventus or triumph-like return. But there is more. At 63.8 there is further detail: it becomes a story of subversion and parody, as Dio contrasts Nero’s achievements with past victors such as Flamininus and Mummius, or Agrippa and Augustus. Nero did not win victories, but drove chariots, played the lyre, acted and so forth. This was his great Greek triumph. Dio (63.8.2) is mocking Nero. According to Dio this spectacle was no triumph, even if it had clear triumphal connotations. Edwards (1994, 90) sees this as the greatest of insults to the Roman military tradition and suggest that it was a “cultural triumph”. This is as it may be, but neither Dio nor Suetonius call this parade a triumph. Champlin (2003, 230) suggests that we can look at this spectacle in three different ways: triumphal, Greek and spectacle. He concludes that this was a deliberate anti-triumph (2003, 231, but also that it was not a parody (234: “triumph of an artist”)). 60  Beard 2007, 240; Lange 2009, 148–156.

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Icks (forthcoming) suggest that it may have been Suetonius and Dio who turned it into a parody of a triumph. He concludes that if the victory had not been on the battlefield, it did not count as a victory at all. We need, however, to remember that the triumphal ritual, including the route, was a flexible spectacle. Beard (2007, 270) concludes: “It is, of course, impossible now to recover the original form of Antonius’ or Nero’s displays, let alone the intention behind them. What is clear enough, however, is that the triumph, as a cultural category as well as a ritual, had shifting and potentially controversial boundaries” (contra Lange 2012). Her conclusion that this both was and was not a triumph is altogether rather unhelpful. She is probably correct to say that Suetonius and Dio both provide hostile accounts (2007, 269). The question, however, is why. The simple answer must be that this was because, according to our evidence, this spectacle was not a triumph, even if it had clear triumphal connotations, such as the chariot of Augustus. These accounts were all part of an ongoing Roman debate about the issue of what constituted a triumph. We conclude with Vespasian and Titus. It is only mentioned briefly by Dio, and he does not include any information about the potential problems of this triumph (65[66].12.1a).61 As attested by Valerius Maximus (2.8.4), the Romans could not triumph for recovering what already belonged to the Roman people. Valerius Maximus cites this as a measure to prevent triumphs after the recovery of Capua and Fregellae. It was perhaps never applied to extra-Italian possessions. Dio was clearly not interested. As a postscript, a few comments on the reign of Septimius Severus, Dio’s contemporary, seem appropriate. The new emperor returned to Rome and entered the city, not in armour, but in civilian attire and on foot; Dio adds that this was the most splendid spectacle he ever witnessed (75[74].1.3–5, an imperial adventus; cf. 77[76].1.1–5: the tenth anniversary of Severus’ accession). Is he mocking the emperor? The evidence does not appear to suggest that any triumphal procession actually took place during Septimius Severus’ reign, although his victory over the Parthians would warrant a triumph. After his 61  See Lange 2012, 35–36; Lundgreen 2011, 221. Cf. Joseph. BJ 7.121–157, the main surviving evidence on the Flavian triumph; see Ash 2014, rightly suggesting that the perceptions of the Jewish War must have been filtered through contemporary experiences of civil war (145). There is however more to it: Tacitus (Hist. 4.4.2) has an intriguing notice, describing triumphal ornaments for Vespasian’s commander Mucianus and others, disguised by reference to a Sarmatian campaign: multo cum honore verborum Muciano triumphalia de bello civium data, sed in Sarmatas expeditio fingebatur (“In magnificent terms the senators gave Mucianus the insignia of a triumph, in reality for a civil war, although his expedition against the Sarmatae was made the pretext”).

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v­ ictory Severus sent a letter to Rome and received the title Parthicus Maximus.62 The SHA explicitly states that he declined a triumph (Sev. 16.6–7). This is corroborated by the striking failure of both Dio and Herodian (Hdn. 3.10.1–2) to mention a triumph in their rather detailed accounts of his return. Conclusions Hekster (2007, 101–105) suggests that mock triumphs were alternatives to fighting, military victory and (real) triumphs. Indeed, we may ask whether the Fasti Triumphales was discontinued because it became increasingly difficult to tell what was what. Moreover, the triumph changed during the Principate, as part of the new system of honours surrounding the emperor. This development, however, began during the Late Republic. These changes made it all the more difficult to determine whether a ritual was a genuine triumph or not, and at times this is clearly visible in the narrative of Dio. This is partly due to the ongoing debate on triumphal matters, and perhaps partly due to the nature of his evidence. Importantly, Dio was critical when considering a potential misuse of the Roman triumph and triumphal customs. Even if he was sometimes wrong, Dio knew a triumph when he saw one. Finally, the quality of his narrative is perhaps best tested when looking at triumph and civil war: the principle that triumphs and related ceremonies should not be held for civil wars is well attested in connection with the triumphs of Caesar, as mentioned by Dio (42.18.1, 43.42.1; Lange 2013). But Dio seems to have had no issues with Decimus Brutus’ triumph (Cass. Dio 46.40.1). Once more we must ask whether this is due to Dio or his evidence. Again, principally the former, since his interest in all these passages seems mainly in what for him is the primary narrative point. His shifting position on civil war triumphs reflects Caesar’s slide into despotism – and on Pharsalus he is focusing on the Senate’s need to change allegiance suddenly. On the post-Mutina developments he is primarily concerned with the Senate’s breach with Young Caesar – and he does not consider their voting of a triumph to Decimus Brutus to be important. Significantly, however, Zonaras does preserve what in Dio’s original would have been a substantial excursus on the subject at 7.21 – a passage which has unfortunately been all too often misunderstood, overlooked and dismissed. 62  Hdn. 3.9.12; in 203 CE an arch was dedicated to Severus and his two sons Caracalla and Geta, and positioned in front of the Temple of Concord. It depicts the wars against Parthia (Inscription: CIL 6 1033 = ILS 425).

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Dio generally does not record many triumphs, but he does draw attention to divergences from customary procedure, particularly when they are symp­ toma­tic of political disorder, in the period of staseis and dynasteiai. This explains why he seems to have had so much more to say about triumphs in the late republican books than earlier – in so far as we can judge from Zonaras and the fragments. These tokens of the gradual collapse of the demokratia could only be resolved by the coming of Augustus, the model emperor. This is thus surely another instance of Dio attributing to the late republican period changes that most scholars assumed to have occurred only under the monarchy.63 63  See now Lange 2016b, esp. chapter 4.

Part 2 Imperial History in Cassius Dio

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CHAPTER 6

Cassius Dio and the City of Rome Alain M. Gowing In his landmark A Study of Cassius Dio, Fergus Millar (1964, 11) surmised that the historian must have maintained a “pied-à-terre” in Rome while keeping a villa at Capua as his chief residence in Italy (77[76].2.1).1 While we can be no more precise than Millar in locating Dio’s home in Rome, it is worth reminding ourselves that the Bithynian native spent a good deal of his career in Rome, in the process becoming intimately familiar with the city and its monuments. If we accept in outline the chronology of his life as reconstructed by Millar,2 Cassius Dio would have first visited Rome as a teenager in AD 180; from 189 to 197 he evidently resided in the city, becoming a member of the Senate, after serving as quaestor, and then praetor. After a period as governor (of which province we do not know) and starting in 200 a ten-year stint doing research for his planned History (mostly done at his Capuan villa, cf. 77[76].2.1), he will have returned to Rome as suffect consul in AD 205 or 206, and evidently was in Rome regularly from that point on until 214. Within about a year, however, he is back in Rome for another three years, leaving in 218; returning briefly in 222–23; and departing again for a six-year period, during which he was an imperial legate in Dalmatia and then Upper Pannonia. He returns to Rome for the year AD 229, when he holds a second consulship with Severus Alexander. At the conclusion of this year he retires from Rome for good, returning to his native Bithynia and passing away possibly in his late 60s or early 70s. All told, then, Dio passed roughly 22 years of his life in the city of Rome. Much of those 22 years coincided with the reign of Septimius Severus (AD 193–211), during 1  It has been speculated that an inscription (CIL 14.4089, 26) found near Ostia and bearing the name ‘M. Cassius Apronianus’ (the historian’s father) might indicate that the family owned property there. See Ameling 1984, 126; Millar 1964, 10. I would like to record here my profound gratitude to Carsten Lange and Jesper Madsen, both for organizing the very stimulating and congenial conference at which this paper was initially delivered and for their astute editorial guidance. I am also grateful to Brandon Jones and Verena Schulz for their comments on an earlier draft as well as for many stimulating conversations about Cassius Dio, from which I have benefited tremendously. 2  Millar 1964, 5–27, 193–194; see also Swan 2004, 1–3. Unless otherwise noted, all translations of classical texts are those found in the Loeb Classical Library with minor corrections.

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which time the city experienced a building program the likes of which Rome had not seen since Augustus.3 Both living in Rome as well as experiencing its transformation under Septimius Severus evidently impressed the historian a good deal. One measure of this is the simple fact that Cassius Dio often refers to, identifies, and otherwise discusses the monuments and buildings of Rome, and to a surprisingly greater degree than even Livy or Tacitus. This has not particularly interested Dio scholars.4 While I make no claim to exhaust the subject here, I do hope to confirm that what the city meant to the historian is a useful consideration, especially in light of its importance in other Roman historians and writers.5 Specifically, I am interested in two basic issues: what is the role of the city in Dio’s narrative . . . and what is the nature of Dio’s attachment to the city? It may be useful at the outset to summarize my chief contentions and observations: 1. 2.

3.

4.

Dio evinces no particular emotional attachment to the physical city of Rome (in contrast to Livy and Tacitus). Various commonly remarked principles of composition followed by Dio may be seen in the attention he pays to Rome and its buildings, especially selectivity (that is, relevance to narrative priorities – e.g., 53.21 with Swan 2004),6 contemporary relevance, and an interest in the nature (and manifestations) of power. Dio assumes a reader either a) sufficiently familiar with the topography of Rome so as not to require detailed information or orientation or b) uninterested in or with no need (in Dio’s view) of a topographical context. The naming of specific places occurs most often in notices of portents (many examples, but e.g. 37.58, 42.26.1–4), and hardly ever in the setting of action, i.e., we are usually not told where something happens with any precision.

3  This much – the approximate length of time Dio resided in Rome – is beyond dispute (see also Swan’s 2004, 1–3, chronology of Dio’s career), despite considerable scholarly debate about the precise dates of the composition of the History, a summary of which may be found in Swan 1997, 2549–2556; 2004, 28–33. For the Severan building program, see now Lusnia 2014; cf. Benario 1958. 4  See, however, Freyburger-Galland 2003, a useful survey of Dio’s familiarity with Italy in general. 5  See the useful observations on this point by Ward 2011, 237–239. 6  For Dio’s selectivity see, e.g., 53.21. See Millar 1964, 32–33; Reinhold 1988, 9–11.

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For Dio buildings in Rome are symbolic of power (and abuse of power) – that is often the chief reason he mentions or names a specific structure, especially in connection with imperial building programs. Buildings in and of themselves – their architecture, creation, etc. – are seldom worth mentioning. E.g. 37.44.1–2 (Pompey and Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus; 52.30.1 (Maecenas on impact of the city on allies and enemies); [Xiph.] 66[66].16.3 (Trajan’s column); 73[72].15 (Commodus and Rome); [Xiph.] 78[77].9.5–7 (Caracalla). There is little (Roman) topographical scene setting in Dio – such as, e.g., the Rape of Sabine women in Livy – and little sense of the symbolic nature of certain places in Rome. Topography, buildings, and monuments in Dio, that is, are never used in an allusive way (as, e.g., in both Livy and Tacitus). Although he shows himself to be knowledgeable about the city of Rome, he is chiefly interested in buildings or monuments that still survive, or some vestige of them survives, in his own day. E.g.: 37.27–28 (Janiculum); 39.38 (Th. of Pompey); 51.22.3 (T. of Venus); 53.27.2 (Pantheon); 54.25.2 (Th. of Balbus); 55.8.4. (Diribitorium); 55.10.7 (remnants of mock naval battle in Saepta survive); 62[61].17.2 (Nero’s gymnasia at Ravenna). Dio does not consider Rome a particularly pleasant place to be. Livy’s (not Dio’s) Camillus and Rome

I begin by addressing the first of these contentions with a glance at one of the best-known manifestations of the Roman reverence for their city, Camillus’ speech toward the end of Livy Book 5. The year is 390 BC, several years after the sack of Rome by the Gauls. A debate is in progress: should the Romans abandon Rome and move the capital – move Rome – to Veii? or should they stay and rebuild? Camillus passionately argues for the latter. Rome cannot be moved, he claims; Rome is immutable and immovable, completely unique in comparison with other cities; Romans may abandon the ruins to which the physical city has been reduced, but Rome itself is indestructible and will always exist. To the argument that Rome in ruins is somehow no longer Rome, Camillus summons his own memory of the city, remarking that when he was in exile in Ardea and recollected Rome, it was not buildings he pictured. His memory was of something else (Livy 5.54.2–3): Adeo nihil tenet solum patriae nec haec terra quam matrem appellamus, sed in superficie tignisque caritas nobis patriae pendet? Equidem fatebor uobis, etsi minus iniuriae uestrae quam meae calamitatis meminisse

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iuvat: cum abessem, quotienscumque patria in mentem ueniret, haec omnia occurrebant, colles campique et Tiberis et adsueta oculis regio et hoc caelum sub quo natus educatusque essem . . . Does neither the soil of our country nor this land which we call mother mean anything? does affection for our country depend on stone and timber? Indeed, I’ll confess this to you, although the memory of the wrong you did me brings me less joy than that of my own personal hardship: when I was away, however often my fatherland came to mind, all these things presented themselves – the hills and fields, the Tiber, this land familiar to my eyes, and this sky, beneath which I was born and reared . . . (translation mine). In short, Rome is neither its buildings nor, interestingly, its inhabitants (cf. Tac. Hist. 1.84.4). Rather, Rome exists independently of Camillus and indeed, of all people. It is divinely tied to a physical space, to the only plot of land in the entire world that could ever be called “Rome”. If Rome’s buildings matter at all, it is not because they are buildings per se but because of where they are located. “Roma” may exist independent of buildings, but the “urbs Roma” – the city of Rome – is constituted by both space and structures. Favored above all other cities by the gods, Rome was considered the city without end, the Eternal City. This passage reflects the profound emotional attachment Romans felt for their city, an attachment based on the numinous, special quality of the space Rome was perceived to occupy. Such expressions of affection, admiration, and even wonder for Rome and the physical city that rose up in this space may be easily multiplied, in both poetry and prose. One thinks for instance of Cicero in the De Re Publica (2.10–11), Vergil’s Aeneid 8 and Evander’s tour (8.306–69), any number of passages in Ovid and other poets, Seneca, Tacitus, and both Pliny’s.7 Broadly speaking the city of Rome is an emotional touchstone for Latin authors from Cicero to Tacitus and beyond. Nor is this feeling, strictly speaking, restricted to Latin authors: the Augustan writer Dionysius of Halicarnassus expresses awe at Rome’s buildings (3.67.4–5 and passim), and 7  E.g., Ovid Tr. 3.2; Juv. Sat. 3; Mart. Ep. 4.64, Pliny Pan., esp. 50–51. The considerable presence and importance of the physical city in Latin literature may best be appreciated through Edwards 1996 and Jenkyns 2013; equally important, however, is Vasaly 1993, esp. 1–39, and her discussion of the visual – the “representation of places and things” – as a fundamental component of Roman oratory and rhetoric. For Rome’s presence in Roman historiography specifically, see Wiseman 1994, 37–48, esp. 38.

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most expansively, Aelius Aristides in his Hadrianic Roman Oration goes on at some length about Rome’s magnificence, so overpowering that it beggars description (Or. 26 Keil, esp. 2–10). But we will search Cassius Dio in vain for any similar kind of sentiment. Indeed, quite apart from sentiment, we also rarely find in Dio the sort of descriptive, topographical detail about Rome one finds in authors such as those mentioned.

When Rome’s Buildings Matter to Dio

More often than not Dio simply names or identifies buildings; and these references often occur in notices about portents, in which we know he was quite interested.8 There are numerous examples of this,9 but to cite just one, in Book 42 (26.1–4) Dio discusses the portents of 47 BC that heralded the civil war between Pompey and Caesar. These portents, like all portents, frequently manifest themselves as damage or destruction to buildings, in this instance on the Capitoline and elsewhere, including shrines to Serapis, a shrine to Bellona, and the Temple of Fortuna. This is one interesting way in which the city matters to Dio: its structures are often sites of the manifestation of divine will and displeasure. In addition to portents, however, summaries of dedications and buildings are a feature of Dio’s annalistic approach, as Peter Swan has observed (1987, 274; 1997, 2538; 2004, 18–19). But such notices are typically quite colorless, and more often than not our attention is directed not to the building itself, but to the people or the pageantry involved. We examine some examples of this below. Very rarely do buildings and monuments figure prominently in the narrative proper, as sites of action; Dio is more interested in what people do or think, not necessarily where they do what they do. Still less do we find detailed descriptions of a building or monument. There is very little topographically descriptive narrative such as we occasionally find in Livy or Tacitus, another point to which I shall return. It is perhaps not surprising that Dio’s interest in and references to Rome’s buildings increase significantly once we move out of his history of the Republic (Books 1–43, which take us down to 44 BC) and into that of the Empire, specifically post-Actium and the beginning of the Principate. Of course there are practical reasons for this. The face of Rome changed dramatically under the emperors, and thus there was more to say; and then, too, Dio’s narrative of the monarchy and the Republic down to 65 BC survives only in epitomes and 8  Millar 1964, 77, 179; Swan 2004, 8–12, 43–44. 9  E.g., frg. 57.60; 37.9.1–2; 39.61; 41.14.3; 66[66].24–25.1; (Xiph.) 73[72].24.

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excerpts. But neither fact, I believe, fully accounts for the dearth of attention to the physical city in the books dedicated to the monarchy and the Republic. Rather, I believe this reflects a fundamental lack of interest on Dio’s part in the development and growth of Rome as a city. He simply does not see such information as a crucial component of his particular brand of Roman history. As is well known, Dio is explicitly selective about the material he presents and what he considers to be important or unimportant. He enunciates this principle regularly throughout the History (see n. 6). To cite just one example, in Book 40 as he describes the beginnings of conflict between Rome and Parthia in 54 BC, he admits that because other authors have written about Parthia and its people, he has no intention of doing so, even though such knowledge might be useful to the reader. One might say the same thing about the city of Rome: knowledge of the city and its evolution might be important, perhaps even interesting, but it is not a subject on which he will himself dwell. This brings us to assumptions Dio makes about his reader with respect to the city. Dio never refers to the topography of Rome in a way that implies an unknowing reader. Rather, he assumes a reader who is either completely knowledgeable about the city or for whom such knowledge is considered unnecessary. I suspect there is some truth to each of these options. For instance while he frequently refers to the Capitoline, the Forum, or the Campus Martius, nowhere does he take the time to explain how these spaces relate to one another or even to explain what they are.10 Even though he names many buildings and monuments, he rarely locates them for us. It would be nearly impossible for someone to use Dio to construct with any accuracy even a primitive map of Rome, of its buildings, spaces, streets, even its physical features. Again, we could say this is simply the nature of Dionian historiography, and we would be correct. But I believe it also points to a reader assumed to be to some degree familiar with the city. It is not the case, that is, that Dio feels such knowledge is useless, but rather that it is not his job to supply it. I have said that there is very little descriptive narrative such as we occasionally find in Livy or Tacitus – action, that is, set in a particular topographical location with fairly specific place markers. Examples of this in Livy include his account of the rape of the Sabine women in Book 1 or the trial of Manlius Capitolinus in Book 6, the important topographical details of which have been examined most notably by Mary Jaeger (1997, 30–93). In Tacitus we may point to any number of passages, including the funeral of Augustus (Ann. 1.8.5–6) or his account of the great fire of AD 64 (Ann. 15.41), an event I discuss below. Now, like Dio, both Livy and Tacitus assume a reader familiar with Rome. 10  This is to be distinguished from the occasional attempt to explain the meaning or origins of topographical terms, such as the word comitium (frg. 5.1).

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In contrast to Dio, however, not only do they tend to provide more topographical detail, but within such descriptions we may observe them deploying the buildings and spaces of Rome quite differently from the way Dio does. In their work on Tacitus, for instance, both Rhiannon Ash (2007) and Agnès Rouveret (1991, esp. 3066–3072) talk about Rome as a “character” (Ash) and “une personne morale . . . véritable protagoniste” (Rouveret), an actor in the narrative – an entity so fully realized and so crucial to the action that it can be considered a participant. Moreover, several scholars, myself included, have remarked the way in which buildings in both Livy and Tacitus may function “allusively”, in much the same way as we talk about allusion in poetry.11 Both Livy and Tacitus, that is, exploit their readers’ presumed memories, memories that associate specific places and spaces in the city with important events from the past in ways that deepen our understanding of the narrative in which such allusions occur – or to put this another way, they exploit their readers’ presumed knowledge of Roman history. I can locate no such instances in Dio; he simply does not engage in what we would call “allusion”, at least not of a topographical or architectural sort. But let me come back to the question of description. Detailed descriptions of both place and action are a staple of ancient historiographical practice. Both Polybius and Lucian discuss this; Polybius explicitly demands that the responsible historian provide readers with “descriptions of cities” [περὶ τὴν θέαν τῶν πόλεων] – of course, he is thinking of cities with which the reader is assumed not to be familiar (Polyb. 12.25e.1; cf. Lucian Hist. conscr. 57). In Roman historical writing we may discern the influence of Roman oratory and the practice of descriptiones loci, or descriptions of places.12 Again, Livy and Tacitus use this quite a bit – think, for instance, of Tacitus’ description of Tiberius’ palace on Capri (Ann. 4.67) – but then, so does Cassius Dio. In fact when Dio wishes, he can produce extremely vivid, detailed descriptions. This is not just true of battle scenes, such as Actium (50.31–35), but of many other kinds of events as well. Read for instance his splendid account of the eruption of Vesuvius in AD 79 (66[66].21–22), an account clearly influenced by his own personal observation of an eruption in AD 202 from his home in Capua (77[76].2.1).

11  Gowing 2009. An especially fine illustration of this is Woodman 1998 (originally published 1992), in which he demonstrates how Tacitus, in describing Nero’s escapades prior to the fire of AD 64, conjures a Rome reminiscent of Alexandria, a fitting venue for the effeminate Hellenophile Nero. 12  See, for example, Cic. de Orat. 2.63, and discussion with further references in Vasaly 1993, 20. Especially pertinent to my point here is François 2012, esp. 124–129, who surveys the practice of le descriptif  in Latin historiography.

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Every so often, however, he turns his eye on Rome itself and lets loose his pen. We shall look at one example of this in some detail, but it will be instructive to consider first a comparandum in Ammianus Marcellinus. This famous passage (16.10.13–17) describes the experience of Constantius II upon visiting Rome for the first time in AD 357 (Amm. Marc. 16.10.13–15): (13) Proinde Romam ingressus imperii virtutumque omnium larem, cum venisset ad rostra, perspectissimum priscae potentiae forum, obstupuit perque omne latus quo se oculi contulissent miraculorum densitate praestrictus, adlocutus nobilitatem in curia populumque e tribunali, in palatium receptus favore multiplici, laetitia fruebatur optata, et saepe, cum equestres ederet ludos, dicacitate plebis oblectabatur nec superbae nec a libertate coalita desciscentis, reverenter modum ipse quoque debitum servans. (14) non enim, ut per civitates alias, ad arbitrium suum certamina finiri patiebatur, sed ut mos est variis casibus permittebat. Deinde intra septem montium culmina per adclivitates planitiemque posita urbis membra conlustrans et suburbana, quicquid viderat primum, id eminere inter alia cuncta sperabat: Iovis Tarpei delubra, quantum terrenis divina praecellunt: lavacra in modum provinciarum exstructa: amphitheatri molem solidatam lapidis Tiburtini compage, ad cuius summitatem aegre visio humana conscendit: Pantheum velut regionem teretem speciosa celsitudine fornicatam: elatosque vertices scansili suggestu consulum et priorum principum imitamenta portantes, et Vrbis templum forumque Pacis et Pompei theatrum et Odeum et Stadium aliaque inter haec decora urbis aeternae. (15) verum cum ad Traiani forum venisset, singularem sub omni caelo structuram, ut opinamur, etiam numinum adsensione mirabilem, haerebat adtonitus per giganteos contextus circumferens mentem nec relatu effabiles nec rursus mortalibus adpetendos. Omni itaque spe huius modi quicquam conandi depulsa Traiani equum solum locatum in atrii medio, qui ipsum principem vehit, imitari se velle dicebat et posse. (13) So then he entered Rome, the home of empire and of every virtue, and when he had come to the Rostra, the most renowned forum of ancient dominion, he stood amazed; and on every side on which his eyes rested he was dazzled by the array of marvelous sights. He addressed the nobles in the senate-house and the populace from the tribunal, and being welcomed to the palace with manifold attentions, he enjoyed a longed-for pleasure; and on several occasions, when holding equestrian games, he took delight in the sallies of the commons, who were neither presumptuous nor regardless of their old-time freedom, while he himself also

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respectfully observed the due mean. (14) For he did not (as in the case of other cities) permit the contests to be terminated at his own discretion, but left them (as the custom is) to various chances. Then, as he surveyed the sections of the city and its suburbs, lying within the summits of the seven hills, along their slopes, or on level ground, he thought that whatever first met his gaze towered above all the rest: the sanctuaries of Tarpeian Jove so far surpassing as things divine excel those of earth; the baths built up to the measure of provinces; the huge bulk of the amphitheatre, strengthened by its framework of Tiburtine stone, to whose top human eyesight barely ascends; the Pantheon like a rounded city-district, vaulted over in lofty beauty; and the exalted heights which rise with platforms to which one may mount, and bear the likenesses of former emperors; the Temple of the City, the Forum of Peace, the Theatre of Pompey, the Odeum, the Stadium, and amongst these the other adornments of the Eternal City. (15) But when he came to the Forum of Trajan, a construction unique under the heavens, as we believe, and admirable even in the unanimous opinion of the gods, he stood fast in amazement, turning his attention to the gigantic complex about him, beggaring description and never again to be imitated by mortal men. Therefore abandoning all hope of attempting anything like it, he said that he would and could copy Trajan’s steed alone, which stands in the centre of the vestibule, carrying the emperor himself (trans. Rolfe). He is said to have been amazed at the wondrous buildings and structures that greeted him, and as is apparent from what I have italicized in the translation, the number of buildings mentioned is remarkable: the Temple of Jupiter on the Capitoline, the Roman Forum and the Theater of Pompey, the baths, the Hadrianic Pantheon and Temple of Roma, the Flavian Colosseum, Stadium, Odeum and Forum of Peace, and the Forum of Trajan. The last astonishes Constantius, and we shall return to this reaction to the Forum of Trajan presently. The perspective and emphasis of this passage must also be noticed: Ammianus writes from the point of view of the emperor, what the emperor saw. To this compare Dio’s description of the entrance of Septimius Severus into Rome in AD 193. This is one of those passages where Dio pulls out all the rhetorical stops; it is in fact a fine piece of writing, noteworthy in a couple of ways.13 In the first place, Dio was present at this event; he is describing something he saw (note the bold/italicized sections, Cass. Dio [Xiph.] 75[74].1.3–5): 13  Lusnia 2014, 29–30 discusses the event and this passage (“probably not as glorious as Dio portrays it”).

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(3) πράξας δὲ ὁ Σεουῆρος ταῦτα ἐς τὴν Ῥώμην, ἐσῄει, μέχρι μὲν τῶν πυλῶν ἐπί τε τοῦ ἵππου καὶ ἐν ἐσθῆτι ἱππικῇ ἐλθών, ἐντεῦθεν δὲ τήν τε πολιτικὴν ἀλλαξάμενος καὶ βαδίσας: καὶ αὐτῷ καὶ ὁ στρατὸς πᾶς, καὶ οἱ πεζοὶ καὶ οἱ ἱππεῖς, ὡπλισμένοι παρηκολούθησαν. (4) καὶ ἐγένετο ἡ θέα πασῶν ὧν ἑόρακα λαμπροτάτη: ἥ τε γὰρ πόλις πᾶσα ἄνθεσί τε καὶ δάφναις ἐστεφάνωτο καὶ ἱματίοις ποικίλοις ἐκεκόσμητο, φωσί τε καὶ θυμιάμασιν ἔλαμπε, καὶ οἱ ἄνθρωποι λευχειμονοῦντες καὶ γανύμενοι πολλὰ ἐπευφήμουν, οἵ τε στρατιῶται ἐν τοῖς ὅπλοις ὥσπερ ἐν πανηγύρει τινὶ πομπῆς ἐκπρεπόντως ἀνεστρέφοντο, καὶ προσέτι ἡμεῖς ἐν κόσμῳ περιῄειμεν. (5) ὁ δ᾽ ὅμιλος ἰδεῖν τε αὐτὸν καί τι φθεγγομένου ἀκοῦσαι, ὥσπερ τι ὑπὸ τῆς τύχης ἠλλοιωμένου, ποθοῦντες ἠρεθίζοντο: καί τινες καὶ ἐμετεώριζον ἀλλήλους, ὅπως ἐξ ὑψηλοτέρου αὐτὸν κατίδωσιν. (3) After doing this Severus entered Rome. He advanced as far as the gates on horseback and in cavalry costume, but there he changed to civilian attire and proceeded on foot; and the entire army, both infantry and cavalry, accompanied him in full armour. (4) The spectacle proved the most brilliant of any that I have witnessed; for the whole city had been decked with garlands of flowers and laurel and adorned with richly coloured stuffs, and it was ablaze with torches and burning incense; the citizens, wearing white robes and with radiant countenances, uttered many shouts of good omen; the soldiers, too, stood out conspicuous in their armour as they moved about like participants in some holiday procession; and finally, we senators were walking about in state. (5) The crowd chafed in its eagerness to see him to hear him say something, as if he had been somehow changed by his good fortune; and some of them held one another aloft, that from a higher position they might catch sight of him (trans. Cary). The point of view here is not necessarily that of Septimius Severus, as in the Ammianus passage, but rather of Dio himself. And what catches his attention – what he turns his ‘camera’ on – is not the physical context of the event, the magnificence of the city, but the pageantry of the event itself. Indeed, Dio provides not a single topographical marker apart from “the gate”. Perhaps most remarkably in light of Dio’s claim that he is an eyewitness to this event, we find the same scene repeated with the same language in Book 63 and his description of Tiridates’ entrance into Rome in AD 66 (Cass. Dio [Xiph.] 63[62].4.1–2). This, then, is an instance of quite detailed description by Dio of a scene that one would think would be suitable for at least some topographical detail, and yet we get none. At this juncture it is worth reminding ourselves once again that Dio lived through one of the most significant building programs in Rome’s

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history, the Severan period. Present-day Rome is filled with the remnants of that program, from the Baths of Caracalla to the Arch of Septimius Severus to the magnificent additions to the southwestern corner of the Palatine. The Severan building program certainly rivaled and surpassed that of past regimes, with the possible exception of the Flavians. Rome must have been an exciting place to live in Dio’s day. We should also remember that this was the period that gave us the Forma Urbis Romae, the Severan marble plan. This massive and incredibly detailed map was produced between AD 203–211, covered a large wall inside the Templum Pacis in Rome and depicted practically every architectural feature in the city (see Trimble 2007). Never before had the city been so carefully recorded and documented.

Buildings and Power

If this had any impact on Dio, it is not apparent. Rather what interests Dio about the Severan building program is not the program per se, but what it says about the men behind it. And this brings us to another point: buildings in Rome are chiefly of interest to Cassius Dio as symbols of power or the abuse of power – this is often the chief reason he mentions or names a specific structure, especially in connection with imperial building programs.14 Buildings in and of themselves – their architecture, their actual creation, etc. – are seldom worth mentioning. But Dio is keenly aware that the Roman aristocracy in all periods used buildings as a means of self-promotion, a fact well documented by Vitruvius among others.15 In the Agrippa-Maecenas debate of Book 52 Dio himself has Maecenas educate, of all people, Agrippa on precisely this point. Magnificent buildings, Maecenas suggests, engender respect in one’s allies and instill terror in one’s enemies (52.30). Thus, to cite one early example of the connection between buildings and power, Dio explains in Book 37 that in 62 BC, when Pompey and Caesar were still on good terms, Caesar had seen to it that the name of “Catulus” should be removed from the as yet unfinished Temple of Jupiter Optimus Maximus and that Pompey’s own name should be inscribed instead, so that Pompey might “gain the glory of its completion” 14  And, of course, the capacity of Rome and its monuments to symbolize imperial power was not lost on earlier writers: see, e.g., Pliny HN 3.66–67 with Carey 2003, 45–47. My thanks to an anonymous reader for drawing my attention to this passage and Carey’s observations. As Verena Schulz reminds me, ‘buildings’ constitute a standard rubric in Suetonius’ biographies, a measure by which he judges an emperor’s successes and failures. 15   De arch. 1, pref. 2 with Lowrie 2003, 60.

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(37.44.1–2). The temple itself – by common consent one of the most magnificent buildings in Rome – merits little comment. This example also contains an element of considerable importance to Dio that occurs in almost all descriptions of individual building projects or programs, and that is the question of whose name appears on the building. Dio frequently returns to this point, especially when describing imperial building programs. As we might expect, for instance, Dio pays a good deal of attention to the Augustan building program. It would be hard for an historian not to. But quite apart from the actual buildings, what merits special comment in Dio’s eyes is Augustus’ own attitude (Cass. Dio 53.2.4–5; cf. 56.40.5): (4) καὶ τὰ μὲν ἱερὰ τὰ Αἰγύπτια οὐκ ἐσεδέξατο εἴσω τοῦ πωμηρίου, τῶν δὲ δὴ ναῶν πρόνοιαν ἐποιήσατο· τοὺς μὲν γὰρ ὑπ’ ἰδιωτῶν τινων γεγενημένους τοῖς τε παισὶν αὐτῶν καὶ τοῖς ἐκγόνοις, εἴγε τινὲς περιῆσαν, ἐπισκευάσαι ἐκέλευσε, τοὺς δὲ λοιποὺς αὐτὸς ἀνεκτήσατο. (5) οὐ μέντοι καὶ τὴν δόξαν τῆς οἰκοδομήσεώς σφων ἐσφετερίσατο, ἀλλ’ ἀπέδωκεν αὐτοῖς τοῖς κατασκευάσασιν αὐτούς. (4) As for religious matters, he did not allow the Egyptian rites to be celebrated inside the pomerium, but made provision for the temples; those which had been built by private individuals he ordered their sons and descendants, if any survived, to repair, and the rest he restored himself. He did not, however, appropriate to himself the credit for their erection, but allowed it to go as before to the original builders (trans. Cary). Although Augustus was responsible for the repair or construction of many buildings in the city, he seldom took credit for it by attaching his name. Dio repeatedly remarks not only Augustus’ generosity and self-effacement, but also his sound economic policy; he was not an emperor who in Dio’s view advanced his own building program, or indeed any of his policies, on the backs of the citizens. Agrippa, too, is commended for his many contributions to the physical city and most importantly for not using his structures in the service of self-promotion. Dio praises the emperors Tiberius, Vespasian, and Trajan for similar economic frugality and modesty.16 Other emperors, however, he criticizes severely for both their financial excesses and use of buildings for self-­ promotion. Thus Septimius Severus is taken to task for needlessly restoring older buildings and building new ones (Cass. Dio [Xiph.] 77[76].16.3): 16  Agrippa: 53.23.1–4 and 27.2–3; Tiberius: 57.10; Vespasian: [Zon.] 65[66].10.1a; Trajan: [Xiph.] 68[68].7.1–2.

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(3) . . . πάντα μὲν τὰ ἀναγκαῖα ἐδαπάνα ἀφθονώτατα, καὶ πλεῖστά γε καὶ τῶν ἀρχαίων οἰκοδομημάτων ἀνεκτήσατο, καίσφισι τὸ ἑαυτοῦ ὄνομα ὡς καὶ ἐκ καινῆς αὐτὰ καὶ ἐξ ἰδίων χρημάτων κατεσκευακὼς ἐπέγραψε, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ μάτην ἔς τε ἐπισκευὰς καὶ κατασκευὰς ἑτέρων ἀνάλωσεν, ὅς γε καὶ τῷ Διονύσῳ καὶ τῷ Ἡρακλεῖ νεὼν ὑπερμεγέθη ᾠκοδομήσατο. (3) He restored a very large number of the ancient buildings and inscribed on them his own name, just as if he had erected them in the first place from his own private funds. He also spent a great deal uselessly in repairing other buildings and in constructing new ones; for instance, he built a temple of huge size to Bacchus and Hercules (trans. Cary, emphasis mine). Clearly, the Severan building program did not much impress Dio. Caracalla, too, is severely criticized for his oppressive financial depredations in connection with his buildings, even forcing members of the senatorial class to erect structures at their own expense solely for the emperor’s pleasure (78[77].9.5–6 and 13; cf. Gallus at 53.23.1–4).

Dio’s Rome

While I have suggested that Dio does not seem especially interested in lingering on the building that was going on around him in his own day, it is nevertheless the case that the buildings that warrant particular mention are usually those that survived in his own time – buildings, that is, that Dio could still see. Thus in several instances he will mention a building and then remark that it still exists. This is in line with his oft-remarked practice of remarking customs from Rome’s past that persist in his own time. Here are some examples: in commenting of Agrippa’s building of the Diribitorium, Dio notes that in his own day the roof is gone (55.8.4); a statue of Cleopatra from the time of Caesar may be seen in the Temple of Venus (51.22.3); the Theater of Balbus, built under Augustus, still stands (55.25.2). It is perhaps not coincidental that Duane Stuart (1904), in an article about Dio’s use of inscriptions, concluded that Dio was chiefly interested in and made use of inscriptions easily visible to him and put up in his own time. I suggested earlier that the emotional attachment many Romans felt to their city seems to be missing in Dio, a notion we should explore a little further. There are few occasions, that is, where Dio himself expresses either admiration for or attachment to Rome. The one passage where he allows himself some sentiment is when he mentions the building of the Theater of Pompey, a building

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in which he says “we take pride even today” [ᾧ καὶ νῦν λαμπρυνόμεθα] (39.38.1). While he will go on to describe the games held in the theater at length, this is all he says about this remarkable structure itself. He hardly ever alludes to an emotional attachment on the part of the Romans. One rare exception may be found in his narrative of the flight from Rome as Caesar advanced on the city in 49 BC (Cass. Dio 41.7.1–3): (1) κἀκ τούτου καὶ ἐς τὰ ἄλλα ὁμοίως πάντα θορυβώδης σφῶν καὶ ταραχώδης ἡ ἀνάστασις ἐγένετο. οἵ τε γὰρ ἐξιόντες (ἦσαν δὲ πάντες ὡς εἰπεῖν οἱ πρῶτοι καὶ τῆς βουλῆς καὶ τῆς ἱππάδος καὶ (2) προσέτι καὶ τὸ τοῦ ὁμίλου) λόγῳ μὲν ἐπὶ πολέμῳ ἀφωρμῶντο, ἔργῳ δὲ τὰ τῶν ἑαλωκότων ἔπασχον· τήν τε γὰρ πατρίδα καὶ τὰς ἐν αὐτῇ διατριβὰς ἐκλιπεῖν καὶ τὰ ἀλλότρια τείχη οἰκειότερα τῶν σφετέρων νομίζειν ἀναγκαζόμενοι δεινῶς ἐλυποῦντο. (3) οἵ τε γὰρ πανοικησίᾳ ἀνιστάμενοι τὰ ἱερὰ καὶ τοὺς οἴκους τό τε ἔδαφος τὸ πατρῷον ὡς καὶ τῶν ἀντιστασιωτῶν εὐθὺς ἐσόμενα ἀπέλιπον . . . (1) For the departing citizens, practically all of whom were the foremost men of the Senate and of the knights, to say nothing of the populace, (2) while nominally setting out for war, were in reality undergoing the experiences of captives. For they were compelled to abandon their country and their pursuits there, and to consider foreign walls more friendly than their own, and consequently they were terribly distressed. (3) Such as were removing with their entire households said farewell to the temples and to their homes and to the soil of their ancestors, with the feeling that these would straightway become the property of their opponents . . . (trans. Cary). In her comment on these lines Nadia Berti (1987) argues that the passage, a rhetorically charged passage such as we saw in Dio’s description of Severus’ entry into Rome, is entirely Dio’s composition – not, that is, derived from a source. While I believe that is true, the same description could easily apply to retreat from any besieged city – there is no sense here, that is, that the fact that the city is Rome really matters. A further example comes from Dio’s account of the fire of AD 64. In many respects his is quite a detailed account, resembles that of Tacitus in several particulars, and appears to have survived largely intact in Xiphilinus.17 What 17  Champlin 2003, 178–200 discusses the fire and our sources for it. See also Edwards 2013, 550–56, whose discussion notably focuses on Tacitus because he provides such detailed topographical information and commentary. Compare as well Tacitus on the firing of

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is striking, however, is Dio’s summarizing remark, which is limited, in terms of his assessment of the fire’s impact, to a single sentence: τοιούτῳ μὲν δὴ πάθει τότε ἡ πόλις ἐχρήσατο οἵῳ οὔτε πρότερόν ποτε οὔθ’ ὕστερον, πλὴν τοῦ Γαλατικοῦ. τό τε γὰρ Παλάτιον τὸ ὄρος σύμπαν καὶ τὸ θέατρον τοῦ Ταύρου τῆς τε λοιπῆς πόλεως τὰ δύο που μέρη ἐκαύθη, καὶ ἄνθρωποι ἀναρίθμητοι διεφθάρησαν [“The calamity which the city then experienced has no parallel before or since, except in the Gallic invasion. The whole Palatine hill, the amphitheatre of Taurus, and nearly two-thirds of the remainder of the city were burned, and countless persons perished”] (Cass. Dio [Xiph.] 62[62].18.2). Other than the Palatine, the one structure Dio sees fit to mention is the amphitheater of Statilius Taurus (51.23.1), a structure mentioned elsewhere by Dio and which is known to have still stood in his day (59.10.5). This should be compared with Tacitus’ concluding remarks, which are considerably more detailed and lament the loss of so many venerable buildings, buildings whose memory still lingers, he suggests, in the minds of the people (Ann. 15.41): Domuum et insularum et templorum, quae amissa sunt, numerum inire haud promptum fuerit; sed vetustissima religione, quod Servius Tullius Lunae, et magna ara fanumque, quae praesenti Herculi Arcas Evander sacraverat, aedesque Statoris Iovis vota Romulo Numaeque regia et delubrum Vestae cum penatibus populi Romani exusta; iam opes tot victoriis quaesitae et Graecarum artium decora, exim monumenta ingeniorum antiqua et incorrupta, quamvis in tanta resurgentis urbis pulchritudine multa seniores meminerint, quae reparari nequibant. fuere qui adnotarent XIIII Kal. Sextiles principium incendii huius ortum, quo et Senones captam urbem inflammaverint. alii eo usque cura progressi sunt, ut totidem annos, mensesque et dies inter utraque incendia numer[ar]ent. To count the homes, blocks, and temples destroyed would be difficult. They included shrines of remote antiquity, such as Servius Tullius’ temple of the Moon, the Great Altar and holy place dedicated by Evander to Hercules, the temple vowed by Romulus to Jupiter the Stayer, Numa’s sacred residence, and Vesta’s shrine containing Rome’s household gods. Among the losses, too, were the precious spoils of countless victories, Greek artistic masterpieces, and authentic records of old Roman genius. the Capitoline in AD 69 at Hist. 3.71–72, esp. 71.4–72.1, with Sailor’s fine discussion (2008, 205–218), a discussion that omits mention of the parallel passage at Dio [Xiph.] 65[64].17.2–3. Tacitus invests these destructive moments in Rome’s history with an emotion missing in Dio.

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All the splendor of the rebuilt city did not prevent the older generation from remembering these irreplaceable objects. It was noted that the first had started on July 19th, the day on which the Senonian Gauls had captured and burnt the city. Others elaborately calculated that the two fires were separated by the same number of years, months, and days (adapted from Grant). Dio simply did not feel that this was worth recording. Even when one might think Dio would take the opportunity to express his own admiration of the city or of particular structures in it, he appears not to do so. One cannot help but note, for instance, the apparent lack of attention to the Forum of Trajan. Here, of course, we must confront the serious question of what Xiphilinus has omitted and what he has kept. But if Xiphilinus may be trusted, Dio says hardly anything at all about the Forum (Cass. Dio [Xiph.] 68[68].16.3): κατεσκεύασε δὲ καὶ βιβλίων ἀποθήκας. καὶ ἔστησεν ἐν τῇ ἀγορᾷ καὶ κίονα μέγιστον, ἅμα μὲν ἐς ταφὴν ἑαυτῷ, ἅμα δὲ ἐς ἐπίδειξιν τοῦ κατὰ τὴν ἀγορὰν ἔργου· παντὸς γὰρ τοῦ χωρίου ἐκείνου ὀρεινοῦ ὄντος κατέσκαψε τοσοῦτον ὅσον ὁ κίων ἀνίσχει, καὶ τὴν ἀγορὰν ἐκ τούτου πεδινὴν κατεσκεύασε. [Trajan] also built libraries. And he set up in the Forum an enormous column, to serve at once as a monument to himself and as a memorial of the work in the Forum. For that entire section had been hilly and he had cut it down for a distance equal to the height of the column, thus making the Forum level (trans. Cary). Beyond noting its existence, he has nothing to say about the Forum proper, drawing attention instead to the Column of Trajan – it is a monument to Trajan’s military accomplishments, something Dio admires – and to the engineering feat involved in leveling the saddle of land that had attached the Capitoline to the base of the Quirinal. This stands in stark contrast, of course, to Constantius II’s astonishment upon seeing the same Forum as described by Ammianus. Did Dio not share Constantius’ sense of wonder? He did deeply admire one of Trajan’s bridges. Shortly before the passage on the Forum quoted above, Dio offers quite a lengthy, technical, and frankly admiring description of a bridge Trajan had built over the Ister River, the Danube, in Pannonia ([Xiph.] 68[68].13). Why should Xiphilinus preserve this passage from Dio, and not something similar about the Forum of Trajan? The answer is likely to be that Dio never did describe the Forum of Trajan, just as

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he does not describe the Forum of Augustus or, evidently, any of the imperial fora. Clearly Dio has some personal reason for being interested in the bridge: having served as governor of Pannonia, Dio had seen and doubtless crossed this bridge himself many times. It is, moreover, a structure he assumed many of his readers had never seen – unlike the Forum of Trajan. Conclusion Why does this matter? I have suggested that the manner in which Dio incorporates and uses references to the city of Rome in large part reflects his historiographical aims and preferences. As in other portions of his work, he does not want to include useless and irrelevant detail; while he clearly believes that Rome’s buildings and monuments may tell us something about the men who built them, they do not function, as they do especially in Livy and Tacitus, as a source of allusion or memory. This much, I believe, is uncontroversial, though the absence of such devices or references to buildings may point to a larger narrative purpose, Dio’s general reluctance to magnify and memorialize the positive achievements of many of the emperors of whom he writes.18 But allow me to offer one additional and admittedly speculative conclusion: perhaps one reason for the comparative lack of interest in, and enthusiasm for Rome, is that Dio was not especially fond of the city. As we know, when he was in Italy Dio appears to have kept his principal abode at Capua, not Rome. He tells us that he did so because he preferred the peace and quiet afforded by life in Campania ([Xiph.] 80[80].5.3); such residences, we gather from other parts of his narrative, were a common means of retreat from not only the dirt and bustle of the city but also from the emperor’s watchful eyes. For similar reasons Claudius Pompeianus stayed out of Rome, to avoid Commodus (74[73].3.2–3); so too Sosius Falco (74[73].8.5). Dio must have had some sort of home in Rome – Millar’s “pied-à-terre” – but he never mentions it. The clearest sense we have of Dio’s dissatisfaction with the city comes at the very end of the work, in the well-known passage where he leaves Rome for good to return to his native Bithynia, his patris. This passage concludes with two lines from the Iliad (11.163–64) that leave no doubt about Dio’s feelings about the city (Cass. Dio [Xiph.] 80[80].5.3):

18  I owe this excellent observation, which warrants more consideration than I give it here, to Verena Schulz.

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καὶ οὕτω μετὰ ταῦτα ἔς τε τὴν Ῥώμην καὶ ἐς τὴν Καμπανίαν πρὸς αὐτὸν ἦλθον, καὶ συνδιατρίψας τινὰς ἡμέρας αὐτῷ . . . ἀπῆρα οἴκαδε παρέμενος ἐπὶ τῇ τῶν ποδῶν ἀρρωστίᾳ, ὥστε πάντα τὸν λοιπὸν τοῦ βίου χρόνον ἐν τῇ πατρίδι ζῆσαι, ὥσπερ που καὶ τὸ δαιμόνιον ἐν τῇ Βιθυνίᾳ ἤδη μοι ὄντι σαφέστατα ἐδήλωσεν. ὄναρ γάρ ποτε ἔδοξα προστάσσεσθαι ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ προσγράψασθαι τῷ ἀκροτελευτίῳ τὰ ἔπη τάδε, Ἕκτορα δ’ ἐκ βελέων ὕπαγε Ζεὺς ἔκ τε κονίης ἔκ τ’ ἀνδροκτασίης ἔκ θ’ αἵματος ἔκ τε κυδοιμοῦ. And thus later I came both to Rome and to Campania to visit him [sc. Severus Alexander], and spent a few days in his company, during which the soldiers saw me without offering to do me any harm; then, having asked to be excused because of the ailment of my feet, I set out for home, with the intention of spending all the rest of my life in my native land, as, indeed, the Heavenly Power revealed to me most clearly when I was already in Bithynia. For once in a dream I thought I was commanded by it to write at the close of my work these verses: ‘Hector anon did Zeus lead forth out of range of the missiles, Out of the dust and the slaying of men and the blood and the uproar.’ (trans. Cary). To pursue the analogy: Rome is a bloody, noisy, dirty city where men are routinely murdered. One wonders if Dio appreciated the irony of this – of characterizing himself as the Trojan Hector, being rescued from Troy itself. Was Dio aware of the notion that Rome itself was commonly considered ‘the second Troy’? Did he appreciate that in an ironic reversal he, as a new Hector, was returning to the land of the original Troy? And I wonder, too, if he was aware of how this passage continues (Il. 11.165–68): Ἀτρεΐδης δ’ ἕπετο σφεδανὸν Δαναοῖσι κελεύων. οἳ δὲ παρ’ Ἴλου σῆμα παλαιοῦ Δαρδανίδαο μέσσον κὰπ πεδίον παρ’ ἐρινεὸν ἐσσεύοντο ἱέμενοι πόλιος· While Agamemnon pressed on, Howling to his Greeks to follow him. Past the ancient tomb of Ilus, Over the middle of the plain,

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Beyond the windy fig tree They rushed toward the city, Yearned for it . . . (trans. Lombardo). Hector – Dio – may be whisked away from the city, but there are others, foreigners, Agamemnons, emperors, ready and eager to occupy Troy – or rather, Rome. The passage underscores something I believe we must always bear in mind about Dio: however distinguished a career this senator and governor had in Roman politics, the city of Rome was not his patris. Fergus Millar (1964, 10) believed that Dio’s family, and thus Dio himself, were “attached as much to Rome as to Nicaea”. Perhaps this is not entirely accurate. For Dio Rome is a seat of power and authority, the political center of his world; if he is attached to Rome at all, it is to what Rome symbolized and represents.19 His attachment is not to the city of architectural wonders that captured the imagination of so many both before and after Dio. For Dio Rome’s significance – indeed, its very history – lies not in its buildings, but in its leaders. Had Dio lived a century later, he would have witnessed the transference of the capital from Rome to Byzantium, renamed Constantinople. Dio would have been pleased: Byzantium was practically in his own backyard, a city he knew intimately, as we know from his detailed description of it in Book 75 (75[74].10–11). Camillus might be right that Rome cannot be moved, but its function as the “head of the world”, as the “caput mundi”, would prove to be entirely movable.

19  De Blois (1999, 270) nicely captures Dio’s view of the city of Rome: “Mingling the ideas of Roma caput mundi and a Hellenistic kosmopolis Dio saw the Roman empire as a worldwide polis, the city of Rome serving as the dominating astu and the rest as the surrounding country-side, the chora (LII 19.6).”

CHAPTER 7

Criticising the Benefactors: The Severans and the Return of Dynastic Rule Jesper Majbom Madsen Cassius Dio’s criticism of the Severan dynasty is well-known to those who study him as a historian of Rome’s political history in the High Empire. Most of the account from the years during which Dio served as both senator and as valued member of the imperial administration is devoted to the strained political climate between changing emperors and the senatorial elite, who were exposed to terror, mockery and prosecutions – often with very little actual substance behind the accusations.1 For his own part, Dio was a successful and well-placed member of the Senate who particularly in his later years joined the highest circles of the imperial administration. This ability to move in the hierarchy and stay close to power was a talent that not only testifies to his political skills but also to a remarkable e­ ndurance, which made one emperor after another choose him for a whole range of different tasks. The consular appointment in around 205 and the leading role in Caracalla’s visit to Bithynia were perhaps two appointments that were to be expected, while the post as curator in Smyrna and Pergamum in 218/9 during the reign of Macrinus was more surprising given that Dio had already been a consul by the time he was assigned to Asia.2 If Dio did experience a setback in these years, perhaps after some disagreement with Caracalla, he soon regained his lost status when appointed as the governor of Africa either under Elagabalus or in the reign of Alexander Severus; later, he was appointed to Dalmatia and

1  On how numerous senators were prosecuted unfairly (for instance for the alleged support of Niger), see Cass. Dio 75[74].9.4; on Caracalla’s lack of interest in senatorial advice and pursuit of others’ lives and property during his reign, see Cass. Dio 78[77].10–11.5. 2  It has been pointed out that Dio may have been ignored by Caracalla who like Septimius Severus enjoyed support from several influential members of the Senate; see Davenport 2012, 799–804, also on Dio’s (lukewarm) relationship with the inner circles of the reign of Severus and Caracalla; cf. Meckler 1999, 40; Siller 2001, 407. For the nature of Dio’s criticism of Caracalla as a widely-shared senatorial phenomenon rather than the attacks of an isolated senator who felt neglected by the current regime, see Scott 2015, 159.

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Pannonia before he returned to Rome in 229, where he was given the consulship for the second time with Alexander Severus as his colleague.3 The climb to the top was promoted by the same emperors whom Dio criticises heavily throughout the last part of the Roman History. Even the second consulship, or Alexander Severus’ role in it, was a matter of strong resentment: Alexander Severus, according to Dio, felt unable to protect his fellow consul in the city of Rome after Dio as governor had disciplined the legions in Pannonia and so as a result had fallen out with the Praetorian Guard. That Alexander felt he had to ask Dio to serve his term of office from his villa on Capua was a decision which the historian saw as an example of Alexander Severus’ weakness and incapacity to rule.4 The inability to control the army was to Dio an example of how under the Severans the army had become too powerful. Yet he also uses the opportunity to underline how the young emperor overreacts as Dio, when visiting Alexander in Rome, says he felt not the least bit threatened by the soldiers. Criticising emperors who in various ways had promoted the careers of later political commentators was common enough. Pliny and Tacitus both criticise Domitian for what they saw as his tyrannical form of government and both celebrated the political change they claimed Trajan represented when entering Rome in around the year 100.5 What made Dio different was how he criticised all the Severan emperors while the dynasty was still in power. This raises the question of double standards between Dio’s writing and his everyday life as a trusted magistrate, but the criticism also testifies to a political commentator who was very sceptical indeed towards the dynasty in power and the form of government they practiced – even if he served that same dynasty to the best of his abilities – as well as an attempt to challenge the version that the Severans themselves advertised.6 This chapter focuses on Dio’s overall critique of the Severans and addresses why one of the dynasty’s valued magistrates was so repelled by a government that he served. It is standard among modern scholars to look for an explanation in the strengthening relationship between the senators, who once again felt the pressure and arrogance of a new family dynasty, where one emperor after another sidestepped the Senate; it is often assumed that Dio was trying to promote the interests of the senatorial order, his own social stratum, at a 3  For Dio’s career see Millar 1964, 193–194; Rich 1990, 2–3. 4  Cass. Dio 80[79].4.2. 5  Plin. Pan. 48, 66 on Domitian’s unlawful exclusion of the Senate and prosecution of its members; Tac. Agr. 45 on the killing of consuls and senators. 6  Kemezis 2014, 146.

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time when senators felt the pressure from both the soldiers and the equestrian order; a tension discussed, for instance, in the Agrippa-Maecenas dialogue.7 Even if the influence senators were allowed on the government was modest at best, the isolation of the Senate and the degrading treatment of its members all served as a reminder that Rome’s political elite was once again left out of the decision-making process. The killing of senators, the emperor’s disrespectful behaviour towards the Senate and the attack on Rome’s religious traditions, which different Severan emperors were “guilty” of, no doubt contributed to Dio’s negative portrait of the dynasty as a whole. But as shall be argued in this chapter, Dio’s criticism of the Severans went further than mere frustrations over how the Senate was no longer treated with the respect it enjoyed in the course of the second century. When read in its entirety, the Roman History offers the tale of how enlightened monarchy was the only form of government suitable for a state the size of Rome and Dio emphasizes that democracy, in the sense of free political competition among members of the elite would unavoidably lead to political instability and civil war (Cass. Dio 44.2.2–4.). Dio’s account of Rome’s political history should therefore be read as a contribution to what may well have been a contemporary attitude or debate within Rome’s political elite about how to establish or re-establish a more stable form of government than was currently the reality under the leadership of the Severans.8 The solution Dio offers is that the best form of government was the one where power and political responsibility rest with the experienced and dedicated monarch who is chosen from among the most capable and esteemed men in the Empire, the proven senators. Unlike the young and often less interested prince, the experienced senators had the required political and military skills to govern Rome and ensure the desired political stability both in relation to the Senate in Rome and in the provinces. In the course of the work, Dio presents the reader with a narrative aimed to show the problem of democracy and free political competition and how only a monarch in cooperation with the Senate could lift the task of ensuring political stability and peace. He is therefore not the copyist who read as much as possible and then after ten years of study turned other writers’ thoughts and his own notes into a work of history.9 Dio had, in addition, higher hopes than a 7  Aalders 1986, 295. For Maecenas’ speech as Dio’s view on the ideal organisation of the Principate, see Reinhold 1988, 165; Bleicken 1962, 447, 454; De Blois 1999, 3406. 8  Kemezis 2014, 133–135. 9  On how Dio did not simply copy the works of others, see Millar 1964, 28. Yet, Millar holds that Dio had “no explicit framework in terms of which he interprets the events he narrates” and

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short-term wish to improve the status and security of the senatorial elite in the third century – a time where the Senate was under considerable pressure; and even if the Roman History was a considerable challenge and the analysis not always impressive, there was a political agenda and strong ambition behind the attempt to write Rome’s political history from the foundation of the city to the moment Dio withdrew from the political scene in 229.10 The Roman History was no doubt influenced by political atmosphere in Dio’s own lifetime and by what he himself saw from the benches in the Senate house.11 To see the government of the young, inexperienced, brutal and largely indifferent emperors unfold was surely a source of much frustration both to Dio and to the other members of the Senate, and the criticism of the Severans was in that sense predictable.12 Yet there are elements in the Roman History to suggest that Dio’s criticism was more profound than an old senator’s frustration over young and ungenerous emperors.13 What seems to have been a matter of more concern was how a new family dynasty managed to establish itself and consequently replaced the practice of choosing the next emperor from among members of the Senate. The young Severans were in many ways intolerable, but were the result of Septimius Severus’ decision to pursue dynastic rule after both the Julio-Claudian and Flavian dynasties, in Dio’s eyes, had proven unfit to rule and after, as we shall see below, it was clear to Severus how Caracalla would turn out.14 Severus was therefore the one responsible for abolishing the political practice of adopting the next emperor from among the senators and in that sense, a form of government in which the senators were represented by one of their own, allowing them real influence in the political process. claims that Dio had no aim with the work other than composing the text itself (73). On Dio’s use of a range of sources and his use of this material to compose his own analysis, see Rich 1990, 5. 10  On Dio’s hope that the senators would enjoy the deserved social status and security, see Millar 1964, 117–118; see also Wirszubski 1950, 166–167. For the benefit of stability, law, and order enjoyed by senators in the second century, see Ando 2012, 6; Gleason 2011, 37. 11  Scott 2015, 159. 12  Scott 2015, 162–163. 13  On Julia Domna’s position as Caracalla’s secretary and her government on his behalf, see Cass. Dio 78[77].18.2. For the central role at court played by both the mothers and grandmothers of Elagabalus and Alexander Severus, see Cass. Dio 80[79].11.1, 80[79].14.2 and 80[79].19.2 respectively. On Julia Domna’s prominent position in the Severan propaganda see Hekster 2015, 148. 14  On Caracalla’s intention to kill his brother and to the plot against Severus, see Cass. Dio 77[76].14.1.

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In the following, the Roman History is read as a work with a politicising agenda. In the course of the work, Dio tells the story of a political system; it can be seen as a contribution either to a contemporary debate or as a source of inspiration for how to achieve the most stable form of government. How bold Dio was and how strong an impact he could have had on debate in Rome depends on when he began to share his thoughts. The question of how to date the work is a challenging one and rests on Dio’s own words about how he spent ten years collecting the material and another twelve years writing the text. The key question is when Dio started organizing his thoughts. It is generally assumed that that process began in the late 190s immediately after he had published his other two works on the accession of Septimius Severus and the civil wars after the fall of Commodus.15 Yet, there are elements in Roman History to suggest that the main text, from the foundation of Rome to the death of Severus, was either written or substantially revised in 220s and the early 230s after Dio’s return to Bithynia. If Dio finished the work after his the return to Nicaea, it is unclear what kind of impact his thoughts would have had on the political elite in Rome. Like Fergus Millar one may reasonably ask how many readers Dio could have had outside the circle of his immediate friends, the lettered elite in Nicaea and other interested readers who came across one of the few copies in circulation. Every historical work is of course a product of the author’s own time. But what part of Dio’s lifetime that served as his source of inspiration depends on the time of composition or at least on whether he had an opportunity to return to the text before its publication. If the Roman History was published as a whole in the 230s after Dio was safely back in his hometown or maybe even dead, then his thoughts on Roman politics and the political system in general may well have had a limited impact on the political debate, not least in Rome, where access to the text would have been moderate. Now, even if the work was published sometime in the early 230s, Dio and the extracts of the work could still have raised a voice in political debate. As Pliny the Younger did when he rewrote his speech to Trajan after delivering the first version in front of the emperor, Dio may well have invited likeminded friends to hear him read passages from the work; and it is only to be expected that he would have shared at least some of his thoughts on Roman politics and the current form of government with other senators.16 In the attempt to date the completion of the work, Millar suggests that the main part of the text was written sometime between 207 to 219 and that later 15  Millar 1964, 28–32; Edmondson 1992, 24–28; Swan 2004, 36; Murison 1999, 8–12. 16  Plin. Ep. 1.20, 3.13, 3.18.1; Radice 1968, 168; Roche 2011, 4–5, Rees, R. 2011, 175.

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on at the end of his life Dio covered the last part of his years in Rome, from Caracalla to Alexander Severus.17 According to Millar, Dio did not return to the text afterwards, which again, if true, suggests that the main part of the work was not influenced by what he lived to see after 219.18 A different approach to when the Roman History was composed is offered by Timothy Barnes who argues in favour of a much later date of completion. With references to the account of Octavian’s campaign in Pannonia in 35 BCE, where Dio seems to draw from his own experiences, Barnes suggests that book 49 was not written until after Dio arrived in the province, which points to a publication date sometime after 231.19 A middle ground between the early publication date with no or few revisions to the main text and the suggestion that Dio finished the work sometime after 231 favours an early date but acknowledges that substantial revision could have been made in the 220s.20 One example is Adam Kemezis’ conclusion that Dio began working shortly after he received positive attention for his first published works; this would suggest that he started to collect his material sometime between 195–197 but then returned to the work later on in the second half of the 220s.21 How thoroughly Dio reworked the original text or whether he went through some or most of the initial draft is impossible to say. Much of what Dio wrote between 207 and 217 may not have been influenced by the political chaos after the death of Severus, even if Dio went back to look at some of what he had already written. But what matters here is not so much whether Dio’s view of Roman politics and history in general was influenced by the rule of the later Severans when he wrote the parts on the republican period or the books on the imperial period. Even if he started collecting the material sometime around 195, he would still have experienced Commodus, the reign of Septimius Severus, new rounds of civil wars and the rule of Caracalla when the main text was composed. In that sense, Dio’s experience from his years as senator would therefore still have had a considerable impact on the way he perceived and portrayed Rome’s political history. 17  Millar 1964, 28–33. Again, see also Swan 2004, 36; Murison 1999, 8–12. 18  Millar 1964, 30. 19  Barnes 1984, 248. 20  See Dio 49.36.4; Kemezis 2014, 288; Barnes 1984, 248. Kemezis with Barnes also notes that Dio’s brief remark on his governorship in Africa suggests that the reader had already heard of the appointment before Dio mentions it, perhaps in the part of book 36 that has not survived. In addition, the description of Thapsus may also be seen as a product of Dio’s own experience from Africa (Barnes 1984, 248). 21  Kemezis 2014, 284. For further discussion and full bibliography on the date of composition, see 2014, 282, 285–287.

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Dio’s narrative about how Roman government and constitutional history developed over time opens with a point about competition for power and prestige and how the lack of honesty and modesty within Rome’s political elite had always been a challenge to the political system. After the tyranny of the kings was replaced by what Dio refers to as a democracy and after a period of relative political stability, where members of the Senate were capable of laying aside mutual differences, Rome entered a century of political chaos and civil war.22 Dio offers no simple explanation but points to how the lack of a strong external enemy meant that the political elite lost its sense of unity in the competition to secure political prestige and military glory. The turning point is dated to the second half of the second century BCE when Carthage and Macedonia were finally defeated (Cass. Dio frg. 52). Dio’s remark on the modesty among Rome’s leaders and determination to protect the state as well as the commonwealth in the Early and Middle Republic serves as a kind of statement that makes the crisis in the late republican period even more pronounced. The notion of how both moderation and morality were greater at times when Rome felt military pressure from foreign states and how members of the political elite turned on each other as soon as that threat diminished is a view Dio shares with Sallust – whom he mentions explicitly in the text. As a contemporary eyewitness to the political crises in the first century BCE and a strong critic of his peers, Sallust offers exactly the kind of thinking and evidence to underline how Rome’s political elite was irresponsible.23 To prove his point, Dio ties Rome’s victories and the Romans’ newly acquired role in the Mediterranean to the political crisis by showing how first Tiberius and later Gaius Gracchus were the first Roman aristocrats to use the democratic constitution to follow their own political ambitions. He opens the account of the Late Republic on the rather depressing note (Cass. Dio frg. 71):24

22  For the tyranny of the early kings see Dio’s remarks on Romulus at Cass. Dio 1.11, and on Tarquinius, see Cass. Dio 2.11.2–4. On the senators’ supposed attentiveness to the needs of the commonwealth in the Early Republic, see the example of Fabius who when dictator allowed Rufus, his master of horse, to share the command against Hannibal (Cass. Dio 14.57.6). 23  On Sallust’s thoughts on Roman ambition, see Sall. Cat. 10–12. On Dio’s mention of Sallust, see Cass. Dio 40.63.4; for a similar view see Polybius 6.57.5–10; 38.21–22. The competition among members of Rome’s political predated the fall of Carthage (see Levick 1982, 53–55). 24  All translations are from Earnest Cary’s translation in the Loeb Classical Library.

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ὅτι Μᾶρκος Ὀκτάουιος τῷ Γράκχῳ διὰ φιλονεικίαν συγγενικὴν ἑκὼν ἀντηγωνίζετο. καὶ ἐκ τούτου οὐδὲν μέτριον ἐπράττετο, ἀλλ᾽ ἀντιφιλονεικοῦντες περιγενέσθαι μᾶλλον ἀλλήλων ἢ τὸ κοινὸν ὠφελῆσαι, πολλὰ μὲν καὶ βίαια, ὥσπερ ἐν δυναστείᾳ τινὶ ἀλλ᾽ οὐ δημοκρατίᾳ, ἔπραξαν, πολλὰ δὲ καὶ ἄτοπα, ὥσπερ ἐν πολέμῳ τινὶ ἀλλ᾽. Marcus Octavius, because of a family feud with Gracchus, willingly became his opponent. Thereafter there was no semblance of moderation; but zealously vying, as they did, each to prevail over the other rather than to benefit the state, they committed many acts of violence more appropriate in a despotism than in a democracy, and suffered many unusual calamities appropriate to war rather than to peace. From here the account moves on to narrate Rome’s political history as a story that moves between periods of political chaos in the Late Republican period, where the Empire was on the brink of dissolution, to the years of stability in the reign of Augustus. The enlightened rule of Rome’s first princeps was followed by two dynasties, the Julio-Claudians and the Flavians, where the emperors with Vespasian and perhaps Titus as the only real exception ruled as tyrants without much cooperation with the senatorial elite. With the accession of Nerva and the adoptive emperors, Rome reached its golden age in the second century until the political chaos and instability following the accession of Commodus brought back tyranny and a new period of dynastic rule. Dio’s criticism of Septimius Severus and the later Severan Emperors will here been read not as an isolated response to a regime that Dio thought was unacceptable but rather as part of a larger study of Rome’s political history and as a contribution to a debate about how to organise the best form of government for Rome. To follow Dio’s perception of Roman politics we start with the first political crisis and how a system where free competition and untamed ambition provided the recipe for political instability and eventually the disaster of civil war.

How Democracy Will Always Fail

That Rome’s democratic constitution was unable to ensure much-needed political stability is a key theme throughout Dio’s account of Late Republican Rome. In book 44 the reader is offered a comparison between democracy and monarchy. In the passage Dio argues that democracy might sound better as it gives the impression that everyone is equal by law, while monarchy, on the other had a more unpleasant ring to it although it has the potential to free

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the state from the agonies of open political competition. One thing Dio points at is how moderation was difficult in a democracy, at least in the case of Rome, where the political power was shared by relatively few families (Cass. Dio 44.2.1–5). Fear of instability and civil war is a theme Dio returns to, for instance in his conclusion to Augustus’ years in power. According to Dio, the Romans praised their leader for combining monarchy and democracy into a new form of government which freed Rome from the brutality of tyranny as well as the instability of democracy (Cass. Dio 56.43.4). How the quest for power and prestige created a political environment in which Rome’s elite lost track of what was in the best interests of the state is another central element in the account of the Republic. Pompey’s extraordinary command against the pirates is, according to the way Dio tells it, the story of how personal ambitions and nepotism provoked political decisions that were, if not against the law, then at least an example of how a democratic constitution was vulnerable when exposed to the ambitions of strong individuals who were able to use their public support to sidestep the Senate.25 In criticism of Pompey, Dio suggests that Gabinius, when tribune in 67, proposed Pompey for the extraordinary command against the pirates, not because of the general’s military credentials or because Gabinius had an eye for the commonwealth, but because Gabinius hoped that the support of Pompey could have a positive effect on his own career. Dio goes on to describe a dysfunctional political system in which a political elite would rather endure the raids of pirates on Italy’s shores than allow Pompey to solve the problem, as the achievement would make him even more popular to the Roman public (Cass. Dio 36.23–24). Caesar’s land reforms of 59 are another example of how the political elite was incapable of setting personal ambitions and political differences aside to carry through much-needed redistribution of land. In a very politicised account of the events, Dio describes how the Senate refused to support Caesar, even if they found no fault with the law itself. Dio emphasizes the ways in which the senators had been included and their awareness that the land in question would not have to be confiscated. When they failed to support the law it was not because they did not recognize the need for a solution but because they feared or envied the popularity Caesar would gain should he be the one to pass the reforms (Cass. Dio 38.1–2). The law was finally carried through the assembly but not without violence, as is illustrated by the hurling of Bibulus, Caesar’s fellow consul, down the steps to the temple of Castor while attempting to speak in opposition to the measure (Cass. Dio 38.6.2–3). Now 25  See also Coudry in this volume.

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even if Caesar was the one behind the law that finally gave Pompey’s troops the land they had been promised, he does not appear as the visionary figure who found a solution to one of Rome’s many pressing problems. Instead, Caesar appears as just as selfish as his fellow senators, thinking more about how the reform would advance his own cause than about what was in the best interests of the state (Cass. Dio 38.2.3). It is characteristic of Dio’s perception of Roman politics in the Late Republic that Cato the Younger was the only honest man who, interestingly enough, was largely without any real power and who fell short the moment when (for all the wrong reasons) he failed to support the law (Cass. Dio 38.1–2.3).26 When seen collectively, the account Dio offers of the republican period is of a time marked by dissolution, individual ambitions and political irresponsibility. It is worth noticing that none of the senators in Dio’s version was sincere, except perhaps Cato; but he fails when he tries to stop Caesar. Dio’s account of how every Roman politician was manipulative, looking to promote their own political career at all costs or at the very least trying to stop others in their tracks is overstated. Yet the many examples where members of Rome’s political elite used their military powers and influence with the masses to achieve personal ends help Dio prove the point of democracy’s dysfunctionality. According to the historian democracy would eventually promote the rise of strong individuals – men like Sulla, Pompey and Caesar – who he refers to as dynasts that would use their military powers and popularity to bypass the both the Senate and the constitution.27 A narrative in which dynasteia replaced democracy and caused a situation in which 26  On Cato’s singular honesty, see Cass. Dio 37.57.3. For similar examples on how in Dio’s eyes the Late Republic was a dysfunctional political system, see the recall of Lucullus and the people’s decision to grant Pompey the command against Mithridates VI and Tigranes. Here, Dio underlines the lack of military rationale behind the change of command, which Manilius, the tribune behind the law, proposed to avoid prosecution for a law that he himself was behind (Cass. Dio 36.42). Another example of how the political elite is seen to have served their own interests is illustrated by the description of the support of ambitious senators, such as Cicero and Caesar, for Manilius’ measure in the hope that they too would benefit from Pompey’s popularity (Cass. Dio 36.43). Hatred and envy was also, in Dio mind, the reason why the Senate, let by a vindictive Lucullus, failed to ratify Pompey’s acts from the East – a move which easily could have led to a new civil war (Cass. Dio 37.49.4). Another example of the Senate’s irresponsibility were the many excessive honorary decrees voted to Caesar, of which some had obvious divine connotations. To Dio these honours had the potential to undermine the dictator’s authority and are presented as an important step towards Caesar’s assignation and the civil war that followed (Cass. Dio 44.1). 27  Kemezis 2004, 104–105, 115–156.

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strong individuals fought each other in brutal civil wars was therefore a way to lead the reader to the logical conclusion that monarchy was the only way to ensure political stability and maintain internal peace.

The Blessing of One-Man Rule

In Dio’s version the accession of Augustus meant that political competition was a thing of the past. At the beginning of the Principate, the senators were not Augustus’ peers and not by any means his equal partners in the government. After more than a century of political chaos, unhealthy competition, hatred and self-promotion, Rome’s political elite had first to recover their former virtues (Cass. Dio 52.19.1) and Dio describes a process in which senators had to be gradually reintroduced to the decision making process.28 Dio relates that the senators had lost interest in politics after they had handed their powers over to Augustus and many even stopped attending Senate meetings, perhaps as reaction to their loss of power.29 In a long paragraph, the readers are told how Augustus made an effort first to change the senators’ attitude and then to include the Senate in the political process. To ensure a larger turn out, two meetings were scheduled for each month well in advance and Augustus introduced fines for not attending just as he ensured that other public meetings or court days were not held on the same days. This effort to include the Senate is further exemplified by the new rule that a fixed number of senators had to attend the meetings before resolution could pass; the emperor had the number of senators counted when he was unable to attend the meetings himself (Cass. Dio 55.3.).30 Another example of how Augustus worked to include the Senate was the decision to advertise new laws well before Senate meetings so that the members were given the opportunity to prepare and form an opinion before the actual discussion; at the meetings, Augustus would withhold his own views until the Senate had had a chance to speak freely without being influenced by his opinion (Cass. Dio 55.4; 55.34.1).31 28  For Augustus’ attempt to reduce the number of senators, see Cass. Dio 54.13–14. On how Augustus encouraged senators who had been elected to or installed in the ordo during the civil wars to withdraw, see Cass. Dio 52.42. See also Suet. Aug. 35. 29  On the grant to Augustus of full control over the state by both Senate and people Cass. Dio 53.11–12. 30  For comment on the text, see Swan 2004, 51–53. 31  See Swan 2004, 56–57, 219–220. The last example is comparable to a similar remark on how Tiberius by following the same strategy terrorised the Senate, because the senators feared to disagree with the emperor (Cass. Dio 57.7.2–4).

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Dio offers a tale of the enlightened monarch who takes advice from Rome’s magistrates and from members of the Senate. It is worth noticing how Dio on the one hand portrays Augustus as wanting to appear as what Dio laconically calls a democrat, such as when he goes to court to defend a friend in the regular manner and has to accept the frankness of the opposing side as any other advocate (Cass. Dio 55.4.2) while he at the same time leaves no doubt that Augustus ruled Rome as an absolute monarch, in full control of the decision making process (Cass. Dio 53.17; 53.21.3). To Dio, Augustus’ version of the Principate was unconditionally a positive development. He enacted the laws (Cass. Dio 53.12) and controlled the provinces in which the legions were stationed as well as the public funds. Now, because the people and the Senate granted Augustus his powers and because these were renewed every five or ten years (Cass. Dio 53.13.1), he was no tyrant. Dio would naturally have been influenced by Augustus’ own version of how he was the one to have ended the civil wars, ensure peace and prosperity and reconstruct the political system by introducing a form of government, where he as a monarch respected both the laws and the senatorial elite.32 Yet, apart from following the official version made available by Augustus, Dio takes his tale of Rome’s first princeps a step further when he stages Augustus as the modest leader, who accepted his extensive powers but only reluctantly, not because he desired power but because the state needed his protection. In the description of Augustus’ alleged modesty, Dio draws a distinction between the enlightened monarch and dynasts like Pompey and Caesar who both come across as men with great ambitions and considerable appetite on the power and glory provided by the prestigious military commands and the victory that would hopefully follow (Cass. Dio 53.16.2–3). Dio also downplays the young Octavian’s role in the proscriptions when describing how the young triumvir had less experience in Roman politics and so little need to kill large numbers of senators or other members of the elite (Cass. Dio 47.7–8). The portrait of the modest, fair and generous monarch, who ruled because it was needed of him is far away from the version offered by Tacitus in the first chapters of the Annals. Tacitus offers two collective opposing views on Augustus’ regime: one line of thought accepts monarchical rule as a necessity, while the other criticises Augustus for being the tyrant who threatened, manipulated and bribed the Roman people into offering him absolute powers (Tac. Ann. 1.1–9). That Tacitus did not share the notion of the modest Augustus is further underlined by the comment on how the princeps’ desire to be worshipped in temples and by priests left little 32   Res Gestae 34, 35 shows that one part of Augustus’ version was how he was Rome’s first citizen, the forgiving and enduring father, who exceeded everyone in influence but held the same powers as his colleagues when serving as consul. See also Lange 2009, 125–157.

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room for the worship of the gods.33 Even if Dio believed that the Principate may have reached its golden age in the reign of the learned Marcus Aurelius, Augustus was still the ideal (Cass. Dio 71.36.4).34 It was he who ended the reign of the dynasts when he introduced enlightened monarchy and it was his form of government that Dio measured later emperors against. It is in their failure to uphold the balance between being strong leaders who were responsible for the government, on the one hand, and being the first among equals with a sense of modesty, on the other, that Augustus’ JulioClaudian successors disappoint. For different reasons, they all got it wrong and the enlightened and legitimate monarchy introduced by Augustus quickly turned into tyrannies. Dio’s biographies of the Julio-Claudian emperors are rich in examples of how dynastic rule was dysfunctional and therefore to be avoided. The stories follow similar patterns. The new emperor starts out well, promises to respect the law and listened to the advice of the Senate. Yet, when met with differences of opinion, the emperors turned on the Senate and, corrupted by their absolute powers, governed with their freedmen as the backbone of their administration.35 With the reign of Nero, the Principate reached its low point. Dio points to how the young emperor showed little interest in administrative tasks when he left the government in the hand of Seneca and his mother. But when Nero finally stepped into the political scene he proved to be even more brutal than Caligula (Cass. Dio 61.5.1.):36 ἡττᾶσθαι, τέλος ἀπηρυθρίασε, καὶ πάντα τὰ παραγγέλματα αὐτῶν συγχέας καὶ καταπατήσας πρὸς τὸν Γάιον ἔτεινεν. ὡς δ᾽ ἅπαξ ζηλῶσαι αὐτὸν ἐπεθύμησε, καὶ ὑπερεβάλετο, νομίζων τῆς αὐτοκρατορικῆς καὶ τοῦτ᾽ ἰσχύος ἔργον εἶναι, τὸ μηδὲ ἐν τοῖς κακίστοις μηδενὸς ὑστερίζειν.

33  Tac. Ann. 1.10. Tacitus’ comment on Augustus’ desire to be worshipped as a god stands in strong contrast to the claim of Suetonius and Dio that the emperor reluctantly allowed cult in Asia and Bithynia but not in Italy and in Rome. See Suet. Aug. 52 and Cass. Dio 51.20.6–8. 34  Scott 2015, 170. 35  For the troubled soul of Tiberius and the way in which he terrorised Rome’s political elite, for instance by sending mixed signals to the senators, see Cass. Do 57.1.1–6. On Caligula’s massacre of the Roman elite in order to acquire funds, see 59.10.7. Similarly, see Cass. Dio 59.22.3–4 for comments on the random killing of members of the elite in Gaul. On how Claudius was ruled by women and freedmen, see Cass. Dio 60.2.4. 36  Cass. Dio 61.4.

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Finally he lost all shame, dashed to the ground and trampled underfoot all their precepts, and began to follow in the footsteps of Gaius. And when he had once concerned a desire to emulate him, he quite surpassed him; for he held it to be one of the obligations of the imperial power not to fall behind anybody else even in the basest deeds. How young and incompetent emperors acceded to the throne is a fundamental issue in Dio’s reconstruction of how the reigns of family dynasties were organised, which would always depend on the qualities of the emperor’s son or male relatives. Dio exemplifies the inadequacy or the vulnerability of the family dynasties when emphasising how all of Augustus’ successors in different ways were unable to meet the task. Tiberius may have had the right military and political experience from his many years in Senate and in the army, but he lacked the necessary charisma to govern. Caligula and Nero were brutal tyrants with little political experience, no military training, and a general lack of interest in what it required to be a competent, responsible, and moderate leader. Claudius for his part was competent in administrative and military matters and was a dedicated emperor, but he failed when he chose to rely on his freedmen instead of his associates (Cass. Dio 60.2.4).

Between Monarchy and Tyranny

With the fall of the Julio-Claudian dynasty, Dio sets a scene in Rome in which the Senate was now once again included in the government. In the narrative, the reign of Vespasian represents a shift in the history of the Principate: Vespasian is presented as an inclusive emperor who participates in Senate meetings, respects the laws and, perhaps most importantly, as a leader who seeks the advice of his former peers (Cass. Dio 65.10.5). Vespasian comes across as the experienced senator who, after having ended the civil war, steps in and introduces not a new constitution per se, but a form of government in which the Senate was once again a part of the political process. The reign of Vespasian was still a monarchy; but the Senate was now given the liberty to speak freely, parrhêsia, as illustrated by how Vespasian, according to Dio, accepted and even welcomed criticism.37 Dio’s account adopts a similar approach to Tacitus, 37  For further discussion on the term parrhêsia and how it is used in Dio’s account of both the Republic and in respect of the reign of Vespasian see Mallan in this volume. On Vespasian’s refusal to carry out maiestas trials and his immunity to personal insult and abuse, see Cass. Dio 66.191–2.

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who mentions that the emperor chose to forgive several senators after having faced open criticism in the Senate. Yet, Dio’s account still largely ignores the execution of Helvidius Priscus, which is seen more as a result of how the latter misused his right to speak freely or frankly and as result of his lust for power than something for which Vespasian should be blamed.38 Dio and the other ancient commentators go far to maintain Vespasian’s reputation as the open-minded emperor who listened to the Senate and, when necessary, as someone who dealt with the criticism and insults he faced. Vespasian does not come across as weak but as the moderate emperor who, like Augustus, opened up the government and let the senators back into the discussion. In that sense some degree of liberty was restored to the senators, who in Dio eyes had to be careful not to abuse the Emperor (65.12.3). Even if the reign of Vespasian marked a turning point in Dio’s history of imperial Rome and some kind of intermezzo in the political chaos, Dio is well aware of the fact that the Flavians ruled as a dynasty. The criticism of dynastic rule is particularly evident in the biographies, where Titus, who is portrayed positively, follows the experienced and mild Vespasian. Still, there is a twist when Dio sums up the emperor’s talents. Even if Titus had managed to transform his own image from the brutal general in the civil wars to the mild and respected emperor, and so met what was supposed to be the ideals of the good emperor set out in the Agrippa-Maecenas dialogue, the historian still undermines Titus’ legacy when speculating on whether the emperor would have turned out for the worse had he had the opportunity to rule for a longer period of time (Cass. Dio 66.18.3–4):39 ἤδη δὲ καὶ ὅτι ἐπὶ βραχύτατον, ὥς γε ἐς ἡγεμονίαν εἰπεῖν, ἐπεβίω, ὥστε μηδ᾽ . . . καὶ αὐτὸν ἐξ ἴσου κατὰ τοῦτο τῇ τοῦ Αὐγούστου πολυετίᾳ ἄγουσι, λέγοντες ὅτι οὔτ᾽ ἂν ἐκεῖνος ἐφιλήθη ποτὲ εἰ ἐλάττω χρόνον ἐζήκει. Again, his satisfactory record may also have been due to the fact that he survived his accession but a very short time (short, that is, for a ruler), for he was thus given no opportunity for wrongdoing . . . In this respect, indeed, he is regarded as having equalled the long reign of Augustus,

38  On Vespasian’s attempt to move on from the incident in the Senate, see Tac. Hist. 4.44.1. On the execution of Helvidius Priscus, see also Suet. Vesp. 15 for the account of how Vespasian tried at any means to avoid the prosecution. 39  On Titus’ change of character from general in the civil war to the mild and rightful emperor, see Murison 1999, 179–181.

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since it is maintained that Augustus would never have been loved had he lived a shorter time, nor Titus had he lived longer. With the accession of Domitian, the Principate reaches the next low point. In Dio’s version the young emperor was behind Titus’ death and became emperor only because Titus was hesitant or too weak to remove his brother when he realized that Domitian was plotting against him. Family ties and the weakness they resulted in are here presented as the main reason not only for the death of Titus but also for the reintroduction of tyranny (Cass. Dio 66.26). Now, despite the dark years under Domitian, the reign of Vespasian had changed Roman politics for good. Again in Dio’s version, the Senate was now accustomed to having a role in the political process and therefore less willing to accept a new period of tyrannical rule. And after the reign of Domitian, the Senate was soon back in a central role in Roman politics, when it managed to have Nerva elected (an emperor with years of political experience); and the Senate as an institution managed to keep its leading position when Nerva disregarded family and ethnic considerations when choosing Trajan as his successor.40 In the narrative, Nerva appears as a man of the Senate, who recalled those exiled by Domitian and was quick to put an end to maiestas trials (Cass. Dio 68.1.1). He avoided extravagant honours when he refused gold and silver ­statues set up in his image and he abolished sacrifices and spectacles to save money. The references to Domitian are obvious and Nerva is cast in the role of the modest emperor, the former senator, who always consulted his peers before making his decisions (Cass. Dio 68.1–2). Like Vespasian and Augustus, he respected the laws and included the Senate in the government but Nerva chose his successor from among the most qualified senators – a choice which again took the Principate to a new stage of development. In the account of the second century, Dio tells the story of a more stable political atmosphere and a form of government where the emperors invested in the upkeep of a mutually respectful relationship with the Senate. Trajan is praised for not having killed honest men and for never having suffered from jealousy. Age is again an issue. The reader is reminded how Trajan was fortytwo and at his height both physically and mentally by the time he became emperor (Cass. Dio 68.6.3). He was not reckless as a youth or sluggish as an old man and his lust for wine and boys caused nobody any harm. Hadrian on the other hand, is described rather differently. He is criticised for having killed members of the Senate and was not believed by Dio nor by most others to have 40  Nerva is praised for not having disregarded family relations when choosing Trajan as his successor (Cass. Dio 68.4.1–2).

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been Trajan’s chosen successor (Cass. Dio 69.1). He is described as both temperamental and envious, traits that set him apart from Trajan; but at the same time he is praised for his administrative skills, his commitment to the provincial communities, and for his ability to discipline the army (Cass. Dio 69.2–3 and 69.9.4). The Hadrian of Dio’s narrative has his share of flaws but is nonetheless presented as a competent and experienced emperor whose administrative talents and ways with the army outweighed his shortcomings.41 He did not collaborate with the Senate and he never managed to win the trust of his former peers, who were by now getting used to a more generous treatment from the emperor and to the illusion that the next emperor was to be found among the members of the senatorial elite. By acquiring the throne and by killing both senators and others for standing in the way, for questioning his legitimacy, or simply out of envy, Hadrian revived a form of government that was not that far from the regime Dio ascribes to Domitian. That there was a strained relationship between Hadrian and the Senate is further illustrated by the emperor’s determination to spend as little time in Rome as possible, and Antoninus Pius’ need to force the deification of Hadrian through the Senate (Cass. Dio 70.1.1). That Hadrian did not live up to Dio’s standard for what constituted the ideal form of government is clear enough also from the historian’s description. Instead, Dio emphasizes that despite the fact that Hadrian’s accession could be questioned, he made considerable efforts to ensure that the principle of adopting the next emperor from among the senators would continue also after his death. The attempt to control whom Antoninus Pius would choose as his successor failed; but the focus in Dio’s version on the need to ensure no dynastic succession presents Hadrian in the role of the concerned emperor, anxious to make sure that government remained the responsibility of the most able members of the Senate (Cass. Dio 69.20.5–21.1). From what is left of the biographies of Antoninus Pius and Marcus Aurelius the picture is much the same. Pius was an aged, experienced and an esteemed emperor who ensured stability for more than two decades before he handed the throne to Marcus, who was young at the time of his adoption but welleducated and experienced when he succeeded Pius, and one of Dio’s favourite emperors – no doubt because he was well versed in Greek and philosophy. Yet, with the coming of the Severan dynasty, the practice of adopting the next emperor from among the senators came to an end. Commodus’ accession in 180 disrupted the previous practice, but the brief reign of Pertinax, who Dio was able to say was chosen by the senators, offered some hope that the reign 41  Davenport & Mallan 2014, 661–662.

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of Commodus would be an exception, for which Marcus Aurelius, who left the Empire to what he believed to be a competent successor, could not really to be blamed (Cass. Dio 73[72].1.1–2).42 Dio’s view of the second century as a golden age is in many ways shared with most ancient commentators who generally see the period under the adoptive emperors as a period marked by enlightened emperors and political stability.43 The second century as a peaceful period, where the Senate and emperor ruled together in mutual respect and harmony, was no doubt an illusion. Trajan was adopted by Nerva but it is doubtful that the old emperor had many alternatives if he wanted to avoid a new civil war; and, together with Marcus’ choice of Commodus, opposition against Hadrian underlines that the practice of adopting one’s successor from outside the family was more a matter of circumstances than a well-established political reality.44 Still, in Dio’s narrative and in the way he sees Roman politics, the practice where the next emperor was chosen from among the most qualified members of the Senate meant, at least in an ideal sense, that the political power now rested with the senators. Absolute executive powers were in hands of the monarch – they had to be in order to avoid political chaos – but as he was recruited among the most proven senators, the Principate had become a sort of representative monarchy, where the emperor represented the Rome’s political elite – a social group, which Dio in book 52 presents as the Empire’s administrative backbone and the source to ensure stability across the provincial landscape.45

42  For how the Senate chose Pertinax after he had ensured the soldiers’ support, see Cass. Dio 74[73].1. 43  On Plutarch’s reception of the early stage of the second century as a time without tyranny, see An Seni. 784f; similarly, for Dio of Prusa’s positive slant on the reign of Trajan as blessed, see Dio Chrys. 3.49–50; Pausanias’ approval of the emperors of his own lifetime is also expressed at 1.3.3, 1.5.5, 8.43.1–6; cf. Madsen 2014. 44  Fraschetti 2008, 48; Davenport & Mallan 2014, 643–644, 657–658. 45  Cass. Dio 52.19.1–3. How Augustus was to build the Senate and the imperial administration through men from the provinces is of course anachronistic in the sense that no one in the first century BCE could have imagined the important administrative role men from the provinces were to assume in the centuries to come. There is, therefore, little doubt that what Dio talks about in this passage are circumstances related to the third century, where the privileged position or status of the senatorial elite was under pressure from the equestrian order that was becoming still more influential, both in the army and in the civil administration. For the increasing opportunities of the equestrian order in even the highest levels of the imperial administration, see Mennen 2011, 137–138.

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The notion that the emperor as a former peer represents the Senate is far away from the political reality in the Imperial period. But what matters here is the ideal Dio creates as a counterbalance to the political reality of his own time, where one emperor after another ruled in a way in which the Senate was not only left without any real influence on the decision making process but was also repeatedly terrorized and humiliated. What mattered to Dio and what made the second century an age of political stability was the way Rome was governed by more experienced emperors with a senatorial background and a better knowledge of what it meant to be senator. The more experience an emperor had from the Senate, the more Dio has that emperor master the complicated balance between absolute powers and shows of modesty. It was that delicate balance Septimius Severus definitively put to rest when, after winning the civil wars against Niger and Albinus, he reintroduced dynastic rule. Obviously, an aged and experienced senator like Dio would find plenty of flaws with the later Severans; but it seems to be the acts of Septimius Severus and the efforts to return to dynastic rule that caused the historian the most concern. As an experienced senator, Severus still went ahead and left the Empire in their hands even though he knew of their immoral behavior and ambitions.

The Severan Disappointment

Dio’s attitude towards Septimius Severus is by no means straightforward. There is much to suggest that the historian was initially hopeful that Severus would offer an alternative to the chaos which followed the death of Marcus Aurelius. As a senator and consul, Severus had the required political experience and the military qualities to reintroduce a form of government in which the Senate was once again allowed a role in Roman politics. Dio and Severus were off to a positive start when the latter approved of Dio’s writings (Cass. Dio 73[72].23.2). Yet much seems to have changed from the time Dio started on the Roman History, probably sometime in the late 190s, to the moment Dio wrote the section on Severus’ years in power, sometime in the reign of Caracalla. The portrait Dio offers of Severus is of a deceptive leader who did and said all the right things at the beginning of his reign, when he needed the Senate’s support in civil wars against Niger and Albinus; yet the moment he had freed himself from that opposition, he too turned on the Senate in the effort to pave the way for his sons’ succession. Dio’s strong reservations towards Severus are apparent right from the beginning of book 75 where he describes Severus’ modesty and humility when entering Rome for the first time as emperor. He

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dismounted from his horse, changed to civil clothing and walked into the city as an ordinary citizen (Cass. Dio 75[74].1.3). It was not until after the death of Albinus, a respected senator, that Severus’ true nature was unveiled. Dio asserts that the mutilation of Albinus’ corpse and the decision to have his head sent to Rome on a pole showed that Severus did not possess the qualities of the good leader, and Dio now enter the part of the narrative, where the Senate was exposed to a series of prosecutions (Cass. Dio 76[75].7–8). One of the more aggressive assaults on the Senate was the attempt to establish family relations between Severus, his sons, Marcus Aurelius and Commodus. Severus’ attempt to establish himself as Commodus’ brother and so as a kind of legal heir to the Antonine dynasty appears, in the way Dio’s tells it, as ridiculous and heavily misguided, as if Severus was not aware that the overall ideal of the second century was the practice by which the next emperor was found outside the family of the emperor’s family (Cass. Dio 76[75].7.4–8.1): μάλιστα δ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἐξέπληξεν ὅτι τοῦ τε Μάρκου υἱὸν καὶ τοῦ Κομμόδου ἀδελφὸν ἑαυτὸν ἔλεγε, τῷ τε Κομμόδῳ, ὃν πρῴην ὕβριζεν, ἡρωικὰς ἐδίδου τιμάς. πρός τε τὴν βουλὴν λόγον ἀναγινώσκων, καὶ τὴν μὲν Σύλλου καὶ Μαρίου καὶ Αὐγούστου αὐστηρίαν τε καὶ ὠμότητα ὡς ἀσφαλεστέραν ἐπαινῶν, τὴν δὲ Πομπηίου καὶ Καίσαρος ἐπιείκειαν ὡς ὀλεθρίαν αὐτοῖς ἐκείνοις γεγενημένην κακίζων, ἀπολογίαν τινὰ ὑπὲρ τοῦ Κομμόδου ἐπήγαγε, καθαπτόμενος τῆς βουλῆς ὡς οὐ δικαίως ἐκεῖνον ἀτιμαζούσης, εἴγε καὶ αὐτῆς οἱ πλείους αἴσχιον βιοτεύουσιν. He caused us especial dismay by constantly styling himself the son of Marcus and the brother of Commodus and by bestowing divine honours upon the latter, whom but recently he had been abusing. While reading to the senate a speech, in which he praised the severity and cruelty of Sulla, Marius and Augustus as the safer course and deprecated the mildness of Pompey and Caesar as having proved the ruin of those very men, he introduced a sort of defence of Commodus and inveighed against the senate for dishonouring that emperor unjustly, in view of the fact that the majority of its members lived worse lives. Where Marcus Aurelius is excused for choosing Commodus, as the true nature of the son was not revealed until after the Marcus’ death, Severus did live to experience the reign of Commodus first hand. He was, therefore, well aware what sort of character with which he was attempting to establish family relations. The way Dio shapes his account of Severus portrays the emperor as the antithesis to the ideal emperor who includes and listens to the advice of his

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peers. The emperor appears as a manipulative tyrant whose aim it was to establish dynastic rule, even if he knew that his sons were not equipped for the task. Even if he in many ways fits the tale of the experienced senator who as Vespasian and Augustus won the civil wars and introduced stability in Rome as well as across the Empire, Severus does not fall in to the same category as the first founders of family dynasties. Instead, Dio proves his points in a number of paragraphs in book 77, for example when describing the degree of concern Caracalla and Geta caused their father. The first paragraph comes right after the fall of Plautianus, in which Dio describes how the sons were now set free from the control of the fallen prefect (Cass. Dio 77[76].7.1): οἱ δὲ τοῦ Σεουήρου παῖδες, ὅ τε Ἀντωνῖνος καὶ ὁ Γέτας, οἷον παιδαγωγοῦ τινὸς ἀπηλλαγμένοι τοῦ Πλαυτιανοῦ . . . οὐδὲν ὅ τι οὐκ ἐποίουν. καὶ γὰρ καὶ γυναῖκας ᾔσχυνον καὶ παῖδας ὕβριζον χρήματά τε παρεξέλεγον, καὶ τοὺς μονομάχους τούς τε ἁρματηλάτας προσηταιρίζοντο, τῇ μὲν ὁμοιότητι τῶν ἔργων ζηλοῦντες ἀλλήλους . . . The sons of Severus, Antoninus and Geta, feeling that they had got rid of a pedagogue, as it were, in Plautianus, now went to all lengths in their conduct. They outraged women and abused boys, they embezzled money, and made gladiators and charioteers their boon companions, emulating each other in the similarity of their deeds, but full of strife in their rivalries . . . The other example involves only Caracalla and is used to show the true character of the future emperor as well as Severus’ unconditional desire to make sure that the Empire would pass to Geta and Caracalla (Cass. Dio 77[76].14.1): ἐξέπληττε δὲ αὐτὸν ὁ Ἀντωνῖνος καὶ ἐς φροντίδας ἀνηνύτους καθίστη, ὅτι τε ἀκολάστως ἔζη, καὶ ὅτι καὶ τὸν ἀδελφὸν δῆλος ἦν, εἰ δυνηθείη, φονεύσων, καὶ τὸ τελευταῖον ὅτι καὶ αὐτῷ ἐκείνῳ ἐπεβούλευσε. Antoninus was causing him alarm and endless anxiety by his intemperate life, by his evident intention to murder his brother if the chance should offer, and, finally, by plotting against the emperor himself. And later in the same paragraph, where Dio describes a public and rather clumsy attempt on Severus’ life (Cass. Dio 77[76].14.3–4):

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ἄλλοτε δὲ προσήλαυνον μὲν ἀμφότεροι πρὸς τοὺς Καληδονίους, ἵνα τά τε ὅπλα παρ᾽ αὐτῶν λάβωσι καὶ περὶ τῶν ὁμολογιῶν διαλεχθῶσιν, ὁ δ᾽ Ἀντωνῖνος ἀποκτεῖναι αὐτὸν ἄντικρυς αὐτοχειρίᾳ ἐπεχείρησεν . . . κἀν τῷ καιρῷ τούτῳ τῇ τε σιγῇ καὶ τῷ κόσμῳ τὸν ἵππον ὁ Ἀντωνῖνος ἀναχαιτίσας ἐσπάσατο τὸ ξίφος ὡς καὶ κατὰ νώτου τὸν πατέρα πατάξων. On another occasion, when both were riding forward to meet the Caledonians, in order to receive their arms and discuss the details of the truce, Antoninus attempted to kill his father outright with his own hand . . . At this juncture, while all were proceeding in silence and in order, Antoninus reined in his horse and drew his sword, as if he were going to strike his father in the back. Later when Severus fell ill – according to Dio not without help from his ambitious son – the dying emperor advised his sons to keep together, reward the soldiers handsomely and disregard everyone else (Cass. Dio 77[76].15.2). It is here in the determination to leave the power to Geta and Caracalla that Dio’s criticism of Severus springs. Unlike Marcus Aurelius, who, allegedly, could not have known how wrong a choice Commodus would turn out to be, Severus knew of his sons’ shortcomings, particularly of Caracalla’s flaws and that he had tried to kill him with his own hands. The criticism of Severus for being soft or too weak to punish Caracalla carries a clear parallel to how Titus, still in Dio’s eyes, failed to remove his brother when it had become clear that Domitian was plotting against him. Titus and Severus both appear as weak. Both were unable to punish family members when they plotted against them and both failed to act after it had become clear what sort of person or leader-figure their relatives had already turned out to be. Both emperors prioritised family members over the stability and well-being of both the state and the commonwealth. In Dio’s world, it is in that particular mechanism, the urge to ensure that one’s family would remain in power, that dynastic rule had its limitations – precisely because it brought men like Nero, Domitian and Caracalla to power. The rule of the later Severan emperors was no doubt unbearable to most members of the Senate, who like Dio must have been disgusted by the arrogance and extravagance of Caracalla’s endeavours in the arena, by Elagabalus’ attempt to remodel the hierarchy of the Roman pantheon, or by the weaknesses of Alexander Severus, who like the other young Severans ruled under the strong influence of his mother. Yet the young Severans were all the consequences of Severus’ decision to pass the Empire to Geta and Caracalla in the hope that they would rule together in harmony and ensure a positive legacy for

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the Severans. After a promising start, probably motivated by a positive reception of Dio’s early texts, Severus soon turned into a disappointment. As a man of considerable experience, Severus had the potential to lead Rome back on track and resume the practice of adopting the emperor form among members of the senatorial elite, at least when it became clear what kind of emperor Caracalla would be. If Dio did finish the main part of the text sometime in the reign of Caracalla, he would have been a strong critic of the Severan dynasty already by the time one of its most brutal emperors was still in power. That Dio revisited parts of the work in the 220s is evident from the examples where he draws on what seems to have been first-hand knowledge from his travels to Africa and Pannonia, and he may have gone through the account of Severus’ reign and on that occasion turned-up his criticism of the emperor’s years in power. In that light, Dio need not have been particularly brave or have put himself at risk (and surely not if his Roman History was published as a whole in the early 230s after he was back in Nicaea). In any case Dio would or could not in the reign of Caracalla have been a loud critic at a time when numerous senators met a premature death for offences much more trivial than criticism of the regime or its leaders. Yet, judging from his own words, Dio was already writing his history and so the ­history of Severus when he lived in Italy, for instance in his villa in Capua. Here and in his house in Rome, he may have shared both his thoughts and his writing with some of his peers, and even if he kept the most critical parts about the Severans mostly to himself, his thoughts on Rome’s political history may very well have contributed to the political debate in Rome and have had an impact on the opinion of senators. In any case, even if he was not particularly outspoken when still in Rome or when serving as an important member of the imperial administration in the 220s, Dio nevertheless offers dedicated analysis on the ideal form of government and would have hoped that his text would have an impact on the future organisation of Roman politics.

CHAPTER 8

Dio the Dissident: The Portrait of Severus in the Roman History Jussi Rantala Introduction When Septimius Severus entered Rome with his troops in CE 193, it was the first occasion in over a hundred years that imperial power had been obtained by means of civil war. The Roman Empire had not witnessed major civil struggles since CE 69, when Vespasian took power and founded the Flavian dynasty after the short reigns of Galba, Otho, and Vitellius. As a result, the event must have been a surprise to the people of the city, and especially to the senatorial class. The Historia Augusta (Sev. 7.1–7) narrates as follows: ingressus deinde Romam armatus cum armatis militibus Capitolium ascendit. inde in Palatium eodem habitu perrexit, praelatis signis quae praetorianis ademerat supinis non erectis. tota deinde urbe milites in templis, in porticibus, in aedibus Palatinis, quasi in stabulis manserunt, fuitque ingressus Severi odiosus atque terribilis, cum milites inempta diriperent, vastationem urbi minantes. aliae die armatis stipatus non solum militibus sed etiam amicis in senatum venit. in curia reddidit rationem suscepti imperii causatusque est, quod ad se occidendum Iulianus notos ducum caedibus misisset. fieri etiam senatus consultum coegit, ne liceret imperatori inconsulto senatu occidere senatorem. sed cum in senatu esset, milites per seditionem dena milia poposcerunt a senatu, exemplo eorum qui Augustum Octavianum Romam deduxerant tantumque acceperant. et cum eos voluisset comprimere Severus nec potuisset, tamen mitigatos addita liberalitate dimisit. Severus, himself armed and accompanied by armed men, entered the city and went up to the Capitol. From there, he proceeded, still fully armed, to the Palace, having the standards, which he had taken from the praetorians, borne before him not raised erect but trailing on the ground. Throughout the whole city, in temples, in porticoes, and in the dwellings on the Palatine, his soldiers took up their quarters as though in barracks. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004335318_010

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Severus’ entry inspired both hate and fear, for the soldiers seized goods they did not pay for and threatened to lay the city to waste. On the next day, accompanied not only by armed soldiers but also by a body of armed friends, Severus appeared before the Senate, and there, in the senatehouse, gave his reasons for assuming the imperial power; he alleged that it was in defence thereof that men notorious for assassinating generals had been sent by Julianus to murder him. He also secured the passage of a senatorial decree to the effect that the emperor should not be permitted to put any senator to death without first consulting the Senate. But while he was still in the senate-house, his soldiers, with threats of mutiny, demanded from the Senate ten thousand sesterces each, citing the prece­ dent of those who had accompanied Augustus Octavian to Rome and received a similar sum. And although Severus himself desired to repress them, he found himself unable to. Eventually, however, he gave them a bounty, managing to appease them and then sent them away.1 A contemporary of Severus, Cassius Dio, gives a somewhat happier picture about the same event. He writes (74[73].1.3–5) how the city was full of garlands of flowers and laurel branches, and how street torches and burning incense made the whole capital shine. While this might be an accurate description, since flowers, torches and such probably were a common sight in Rome whenever important occasions took place, his next sentence, which described how citizens were wearing white robes and shouting good omens, and how soldiers appeared, “as participants in some holiday procession” is more suspicious. It is likely that this passage was originally written by Dio in his account of the civil wars that was presented to the emperor himself in a more or less flattering manner, and was only later included in his Roman History, a work which includes severe criticism against Severus.2 As a result, while the Historia Augusta has its problems as a source,3 it is possible that the account it provides about Severus’ entrance to the capital is actually more reliable than the one given by Dio. This article tackles the problem concerning Dio’s attitude towards the reign of Septimius Severus (CE 193–211). Dio’s opinions of Severus are not entirely 1  All Greek and Latin translations are those of the Loeb Classical Library, with some corrections. 2  Birley 1999, 103–104. See also Madsen in this volume. 3  The nature of the Historia Augusta, a collection of imperial biographies written probably in the late fourth century, has been a problematic question for decades. Generally, the work is considered very unreliable as a source, full of fiction and forgery. However, the biographies of the earlier emperors, including Septimius Severus, are known to be at least a little more reliable than the later ones. See Barnes 1978, 38–78.

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clear. He occasionally shows some support for the emperor, most conspicuously in the eulogy of Severus (77[76].16–17) in which Dio provides a sympathetic picture of an effective, active, and energetic ruler.4 On the other hand, it should be remembered that Dio took an active part in politics during the Severan era and wrote his history during that time.5 As a result, openly direct attacks against the ruling family would have been very unwise. Besides, even the eulogy corresponds to Dio’s general style of writing. As noticed by Gowing (1992, 28), the historian tried to say at least something positive even about those emperors he did not like, and that Dio’s summation of Severus’ reign portrays a picture of a ruler that the historian did not particularly care for. Indeed, Dio provides negative comments of Severus as well, especially concerning the emperor’s relationship with the Senate. This critique is the topic of my chapter. I approach Dio’s text as a statement from the senatorial point of view, or even as a form of senatorial resistance against Severus and his policy. As I shall argue, the key to assessing Dio’s criticism is to understand the function of his history in a period of change. Severus’ general policy can be seen as an entirely new approach to the view of “how the empire should work”, and Dio’s history, particularly concerning the Severan age, is a senatorial reply to this imperial ideology.

Remembering the Antonines

When explaining the events of his own lifetime to his readers, Dio faced a challenge, as he witnessed a great period of change – civil war and the birth of the Severan dynasty. Dio’s attitude towards the Severan reign in his history seems to be problematic. Some of his remarks are positive, some fiercely critical. This might be explained by the fact that Dio’s Roman History was not the first written account he had composed; parts of it were published as independent works before he had started to write his magnum opus.6 This would explain 4  For Dio’s positive views of Severus, see Bering-Staschewski 1981, 51–77; Rubin 1980, 52–74. 5  Birley 1999, 203–204. 6  We do know that Dio at least wrote an account on the Severan civil wars and a book about the dreams and other different signs that foretell Severus’ rise to power. The latter work especially received a warm reception from Severus (Cass. Dio 73[72].23.1) and secured Dio imperial favour. As a result, he was able to work very near to the emperor and his family; see Birley 1999, 203–204 and Moscovich 2004, 356–368. Regarding this, much has also been debated about the so-called “circle” of Julia Domna, which would have included intellectuals, including Dio, under the patronage of the empress. This idea is nowadays mostly disputed; see

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that he was able to criticize the Severan rule as well. If Severus had lived, strong attacks against an emperor with whom Dio had quite close ties, and under whom Dio had received important governmental posts, would naturally have been unwise. As a result, some of Dio’s more sympathetic comments about Severus can be explained by the fact that those passages were composed much earlier than most of his work, and were written for the emperor himself to read. Later, Dio simply added some of these earlier texts to his history. Even if Fergus Millar (1964, 28–32) argued that most of Dio’s work was written during CE 207–219, with later additions covering the last ten years of his account, more recent studies have dated the work to a later period. For example, Barnes (1984, 252) claims that Dio conducted his research in CE 211–220 and wrote his history during CE 220–231, well after the death of Septimius Severus.7 All in all, when we evaluate Dio’s history as a whole, it appears that he has a lot of negative things to say about Severus and his rule. The first sign of this is when Dio describes the speech Severus gave in front of the Senate after he marched to Rome and seized power in CE 193. As Dio reports (75[74].2.1–2): ἐσελθὼν δὲ οὕτως ἐνεανιεύσατο μὲν οἷα καὶ οἱ πρῴην ἀγαθοὶ αὐτοκράτορες πρὸς ἡμᾶς, ὡς οὐδένα τῶν βουλευτῶν ἀποκτενεῖ: καὶ ὤμοσε περὶ τούτου, καὶ τό γε μεῖζον, ψηφίσματι κοινῷ αὐτὸ κυρωθῆναι προσετετάχει, πολέμιον καὶ τὸν αὐτοκράτορα καὶ τὸν ὑπηρετήσοντα αὐτῷ ἔς τι τοιοῦτον, αὐτούς τε καὶ τοὺς παῖδας αὐτῶν, νομίζεσθαι δογματίσας. πρῶτος μέντοι αὐτὸς τὸν νόμον τουτονὶ παρέβη καὶ οὐκ ἐφύλαξε, πολλοὺς ἀνελών: καὶ γὰρ καὶ αὐτὸς ὁ Σόλων ὁ Ἰούλιος, ὁ καὶ τὸ δόγμα τοῦτο κατὰ πρόσταξιν αὐτοῦ συγγράψας, οὐ πολλῷ ὕστερον ἐσφάγη. Having entered the city in this manner, he made us some brave promises, such as the good emperors of old had given, to the effect that he would not put any senator to death. And he took oath concerning this matter, and, what was more, also ordered it to be confirmed by a joint decree, prescribing that both the emperor and anyone who should aid him in any such deed should be considered public enemies, both they and their children. Yet he himself was the first to violate this law instead of keeping

Levick 2007, 111–116 and Whitmarsh 2007, 33. Support for this idea is provided in Hemeljrik 1999, 122–126. 7  The exact date of Dio’s history is perhaps impossible to find out, but most scholars seem to accept that the first version of his work was published after the death of Septimius Severus. See Reinhold 1988, 11–12 for discussion.

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it, and made away with many senators. Indeed, Julius Solon himself, who framed this decree at his behest, was murdered not long afterwards. Herodian’s verdict on Severus is quite similar. He writes (2.14.3–4) that even if Severus managed to convince most senators about his good intentions, some of the more experienced members of the Senate were concerned about the emperor’s character, and were correct in their negative views. Both historians refer to the purge that took place a few years later, in CE 197, when Severus had a number of senators executed. However, even if the relationship between Severus and the Roman Senate was indeed troublesome, at the very beginning of his reign Severus tried to show a more conciliatory attitude towards the Senate, as the speech he gave in CE 193 seems to point out. The goodwill that Severus showed can be explained by his ambition to reassure everyone that he was a natural successor to the Antonine emperors, especially Marcus Aurelius, who was remembered as an ideal ruler. Indeed, Dio refers in his history (72[71].35.4) to the period of the death of Aurelius and the rise to power of Commodus as an era: “when our history now descends from a kingdom of gold to one of iron and rust, as affairs did for the Romans of that day.” Being an outsider from the viewpoint of the traditional leading circles of the capital, Severus was obliged to prove to the Senate his good intentions, and the oath he gave not to execute senators was one way to do it. This had been a tradition for new emperors since the reign of Nerva. Indeed, nearly all the Antonine rulers are known to have had a fairly good relationship with the Senate. Nerva, emperor in CE 96–98, was able to normalize affairs after the difficult and, for some, tyrannical reign of his predecessor Domitian, as well as to form amicable relations with the senators. His successor Trajan (CE 98–117) was also on good terms with the Senate and proved to be an administrator of some skill; he was much liked by both the nobility and the people of Rome.8 Some problems occurred under Hadrian (CE 117–138), whose actions proved to be quite unpopular among the senators,9 but his two successors, Antoninus Pius, CE 138–161, and Marcus Aurelius, CE 138–180, improved relations again. One example of this is the fact that during the reign of Antoninus Pius, the Senate was honored by coinage depicting genius senatus, struck during CE 140–143.10 Marcus Aurelius took a similar approach. He highlighted the prestige of the Senate and improved the financial conditions of individual 8  Le Glay et al. 2001, 267–270. 9  Goodman 1997, 70–71; Le Glay et al. 2001, 282. 10  Grant 1994, 12–13. Examples of the coinage can be found in Roman Imperial Coinage vol. 3 (Antoninus Pius), nos. 69, 605, 66a, 856v and 913.

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senators by reducing the amount of the compulsory investment in Italian land that was demanded from them. He also celebrated genius senatus on coins in a manner similar to Antoninus Pius.11 Generally, it can be argued that a mutual respect characterised the relationship between the Senate and the rulers of the Antonine dynasty before Commodus. Emperors showed goodwill by asking for senatorial opinion on many questions, and the Senate, for its part, showed obedience to the emperor and accepted his rule. This imperial ideology of the Antonine dynasty brought great prestige to the Senate, even if imperial power was absolute.12 The last Antonine ruler, Commodus, CE 180–192, brought all this to an end, and his troubled reign eventually led to civil war in CE 193.13 However, for the most part, Antonine rulers were fondly remembered by the senatorial class during the early third century, as witnessed by Dio. The historian describes Trajan (68[67].6.2–4) as a ruler who appreciated good men and honoured the sena­ tors. For Dio, despite some bad qualities, even Hadrian was an emperor who asked for help from the Senate in many difficult issues (69[68].7.1–4). Dio’s account of Antoninus Pius is lost, but he depicted Marcus Aurelius (72[71].35–36) as a good, honest man who was willing to take advice from his teachers and showed goodwill to everybody. While the memory of the good Antonine rulers was still strong among the senators, Severus was obviously willing to demonstrate that he was indeed a man who would continue the same tradition, especially since his power was still uncertain in CE 193. In other words, it was essential for Severus to reassure the Roman Senate that his auctoritas would be similar to that of Marcus Aurelius, who had showed goodwill towards the senatorial class, made alliances with the Roman nobility by means of marriages, and apparently succeeded in persuading a very large part of Roman society to support him.14 Indeed, the speech Severus gave in CE 193 was not the only means by which the new emperor tried to identify himself with gens Aureliana. Perhaps the most famous example is his self-proclaimed adoption as a son of Marcus Aurelius. Even if the adoption took place only in CE 197, the actual process began already in CE 195, according to epigraphic and numismatic evidence. Moreover, during the same year he changed the name of his first-born son, the future emperor Caracalla, to Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, and many of his other deeds were very similar to those of Aurelius. Furthermore, many prodigies and other occasions that 11  Grant 1994, 40. 12  Ando 2012, 8–9. 13  Potter 2004, 85–101. 14  Moran 1999, 31–37.

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can be found from narratives of Marcus Aurelius’ reign are reported to have taken place during Severus’ period as well. This was very likely a result of the Severan propaganda that tried to create a similar picture of these two rulers, and many contemporary sources, such as coinage and inscriptions, emphasise similarities between Septimius Severus and his Antonine “father”.15 Dio’s rather cynical comments about Severus’ good, initial intentions portray a picture of a senator who seems to remember the good old days of the Antonine period, but is not impressed by Severus’ attempts to display himself as a successor to Marcus Aurelius and other popular emperors of the second century. Dio had his reasons to be cynical; to his horror, Severus took a completely new direction in his relationship with the Senate only a couple of years after his speech.

End of Clemency

The most important reason behind Severus’ change of attitude towards the Senate was apparently the civil war against Clodius Albinus. A former ally of Severus and holder of the title Caesar from CE 193 on, Albinus declared himself emperor and crossed with troops from Britain to Gaul in CE 196. The armies of Albinus and Severus met at Lugdunum, in Gaul, on 19 February CE 197. After a hard fought battle, Severus’ troops prevailed.16 According to Dio (76[75].7.3–4), Albinus took his own life, and Severus ordered his body to be mutilated: ἰδὼν δ᾽ οὖν τὸ σῶμα αὐτοῦ, καὶ πολλὰ μὲν τοῖς ὀφθαλμοῖς πολλὰ δὲ τῇ γλώττῃ χαρισάμενος, τὸ μὲν ἄλλο ῥιφῆναι ἐκέλευσε, τὴν δὲ κεφαλὴν ἐς τὴν Ῥώμην πέμψας ἀνεσταύρωσεν. ἐφ᾽ οἷς δῆλος γενόμενος ὡς οὐδὲν εἴη οἱ αὐτοκράτορος ἀγαθοῦ, ἔτι μᾶλλον ἡμᾶς τε καὶ τὸν δῆμον, οἷς ἐπέστειλεν, ἐξεφόβησεν: ἅτε γὰρ παντὸς ἤδη τοῦ ὡπλισμένου κεκρατηκὼς ἐξέχεεν ἐς τοὺς ἀνόπλους πᾶν ὅσον ὀργῆς ἐς αὐτοὺς ἐκ τοῦ πρὶν χρόνου ἠθροίκει. . . . after viewing the body of Albinus and feasting his eyes upon it to the full, while giving free rein to his tongue as well, ordered all but the head to be cast away, but sent the head to Rome to be exposed on a pole. As this action showed clearly that he possessed none of the qualities of a good ruler, he alarmed both us and the populace more than ever by the 15  For Septimius Severus and his identification with the Antonines in his deeds and propaganda, see Baharal 1996, 20–42. 16  For war against Albinus, see Birley 1999, 121–128.

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c­ ommands that he sent. For now that he had overcome all armed opposition, he was venting upon the unarmed all the wrath that he had stored up against them in the past. Dio’s account of how Severus treated his dead opponent is filled with disgust. As he mentions, this was the proof that Severus was not a good emperor by nature. The Historia Augusta gives an even a grimmer picture. It reports (Sev. 11.6–9) how Severus not only cut off the head of his half-dead opponent and sent it to Rome, but also had the rest of Albinus’ body laid out in front of his home for a long period and trampled the body with his horse. The account of the life of Clodius Albinus in the Historia Augusta (Clod. 9.7), on the other hand, mentions that the body of the dead usurper was first given to the dogs and finally his remains were thrown to the river. After mentioning the fate of Albinus, Dio continues by narrating the other actions of Severus which the senators disliked (76[75].7.4–8.4): μάλιστα δ᾽ ἡμᾶς ἐξέπληξεν ὅτι τοῦ τε Μάρκου υἱὸν καὶ τοῦ Κομμόδου ἀδελφὸν ἑαυτὸν ἔλεγε, τῷ τε Κομμόδῳ, ὃν πρῴην ὕβριζεν, ἡρωικὰς ἐδίδου τιμάς. πρός τε τὴν βουλὴν λόγον ἀναγινώσκων, καὶ τὴν μὲν Σύλλου καὶ Μαρίου καὶ Αὐγούστου αὐστηρίαν τε καὶ ὠμότητα ὡς ἀσφαλεστέραν ἐπαινῶν, τὴν δὲ Πομπηίου καὶ Καίσαρος ἐπιείκειαν ὡς ὀλεθρίαν αὐτοῖς ἐκείνοις γεγενημένην κακίζων, ἀπολογίαν τινὰ ὑπὲρ τοῦ Κομμόδου ἐπήγαγε, καθαπτόμενος τῆς βουλῆς ὡς οὐ δικαίως ἐκεῖνον ἀτιμαζούσης, εἴγε καὶ αὐτῆς οἱ πλείους αἴσχιον βιοτεύουσιν. ‘εἰ γὰρ τοῦτο ἦν’ ἔφη ‘δεινόν, ὅτι αὐτοχειρίᾳ ἐφόνευεν ἐκεῖνος θηρία, ἀλλὰ καὶ ὑμῶν τις χθὲς καὶ πρῴην ἐν Ὠστίοις, ὑπατευκὼς γέρων, δημοσίᾳ μετὰ πόρνης πάρδαλιν μιμουμένης ἔπαιζεν. ἀλλ᾽ ἐμονομάχει νὴ Δία. ὑμῶν δ᾽ οὐδεὶς μονομαχεῖ; πῶς οὖν καὶ ἐπὶ τί τάς τε ἀσπίδας αὐτοῦ καὶ τὰ κράνη τὰ χρυσᾶ ἐκεῖνα ἐπρίαντό τινες;’ ἀναγνοὺς δὲ ταῦτα τριάκοντα μὲν καὶ πέντε ἀπέλυσε τῶν τὰ Ἀλβίνου φρονῆσαι αἰτιαθέντων, καὶ ὡς μηδεμίαν τὸ παράπαν αἰτίαν ἐσχηκόσιν αὐτοῖς προσεφέρετο ῾ἦσαν δὲ ἐν τοῖς πρώτοις τῆς γερουσίασ᾽, ἐννέα δὲ καὶ εἴκοσιν ἀνδρῶν θάνατον κατεψηφίσατο . . . He caused us especial dismay by constantly styling himself the son of Marcus and the brother of Commodus and by bestowing divine honors upon the latter, whom but recently he had been abusing. While reading to the Senate a speech, in which he praised the severity and cruelty of Sulla, Marius and Augustus as the safer course and deprecated the mildness of Pompey and Caesar as having proved the ruin of those very men, he introduced a sort of defense of Commodus and inveighed against the Senate for dishonoring that emperor unjustly, in view of the fact that

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the majority of its members lived worse lives. “For if it was disgraceful,” he said, “. . . for him with his own hands to slay wild beasts, yet at Ostia only the other day one of your number, an old man who had been consul, was publicly sporting with a prostitute who imitated a leopard. But, you will say, Commodus actually fought as a gladiator. And does none of you fight as a gladiator? If not, how and why is it that some of you have bought his shields and those famous golden helmets?” After reading this address, he released thirty-five prisoners who were charged with having sided with Albinus, and behaved toward them as if they had not incurred any charge at all as they were among the foremost members of the Senate, but condemned to death twenty-nine other men . . . As can be witnessed from Dio’s text (76[75].8.4), one of the results of the civil war was the purge Severus made in the Senate in CE 197 with twentynine senators executed. Herodian (3.8.6–7) writes that those killed were the richest and most prominent of all. The Historia Augusta (Sev. 13) even gives 41 names of senators who were put to death, although the reliability of the list is ­questionable.17 Written sources indicate that Albinus was popular with some senators. Herodian claims (3.5.2) that many people, especially the most prominent senators, had been in contact with Albinus before the civil war, urging him to come to Rome during the period when Severus was fighting in the east. He goes on to say that Albinus would have been a more popular choice among the senators since he was noble by birth and a better-natured character than Severus. The Historia Augusta (Clod. 7.1) mentions Severus’ fear that Albinus might have been a threat to his rule, being loved by the Senate because of his noble origins.18 Even if these tales should be treated with caution,19 there is no reason to doubt that a purge did take place in the Senate. The senatorial resistance towards Severus did not die, however. Dio describes the situation after the purge (76[75].8.5): ὅτι πάντες μὲν ἐπλάττοντο τὰ Σευήρου φρονεῖν, ἠλέγχοντο δὲ ἐν ταῖς αἰφνιδίοις ἐπαγγελίαις, μὴ δυνάμενοι ἐπικαλύπτειν τὸ ἐν τῇ ψυχῇ κεκρυμμένον: τῆς γὰρ ἀκοῆς ἐξαπίνης αὐτοῖς προσπιπτούσης ἀφυλάκτως ἐκινοῦντο, καὶ ὑπὸ τούτων 17  Another passage in the Historia Augusta (Pes. Nig. 6.4) mentions that Severus put “a countless number” of senators to death. For discussion, see Jacques 1992, 119–144. 18   S HA Clod. 7.1. 19  After all, Severus needed an excuse to get rid of Albinus as his aim was to secure the position of his son, Caracalla, as Caesar and heir to the throne; as a result, the stories about unreliability of Albinus may well originate from Severan propaganda.

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καὶ ὑπὸ τῆς ὄψεως καὶ τῶν ἠθῶν ὡς ἕκαστοι κατάδηλοι ἐγίνοντο. τινὲς δὲ καὶ ἐκ τοῦ σφόδρα προσποιεῖσθαι πλέον ἐγινώσκοντο. All pretended to be on the side of Severus, but they were confuted as often as any sudden tidings arrived, being unable to conceal the feelings hidden in their hearts. For when off their guard they started at reports that came without warning, and in such ways, as well as by their countenances and behavior, the feelings of every one of them manifested. Some also by pretending overmuch were recognized all the more readily. The oppressive actions of Severus were a clear step away from the Antonine tradition of imperial goodwill and respect towards the Senate, as the ancient writers confirm the horror the senators felt during these events. However, when Dio describes the process, it is perhaps noteworthy that, for him, the most obvious sign that Severus possessed none of the qualities of a good ruler was his disrespectful treatment of Albinus’ dead body. This leads to the question, why did Dio consider this precise action as a proof of Severus’ bad qualities as an emperor? Why was the mutilation and dishonouring of the corpse of an opponent an indication that, as a ruler, Severus was no good? After all, Severus and Albinus had fought a civil war against each other, and humiliation of a dead opponent was quite normal. To seek an answer to this question, we should take a closer look at the principle political-philosophical ideas of the Roman Empire in the pre-Severan period. One concept that stands out in Roman political life is clemency or clementia, which had become a central part of Roman society by the Antonine period (especially during the reign of Marcus Aurelius). As Dowling (2006, 280–282) has argued, this concept had its roots in the beginning of the imperial rule, when the days of an independent aristocracy were over. The emperor was now the sole ruler, but in practice it was not possible for him to rule alone; he needed support to hold his position and to be able to govern the vast empire. As a result, imperial propaganda began to stress the mercifulness of the emperor towards his subjects, citizens, and barbarians alike. Moreover, clementia started to signify “clemency among the equals”, and at the same time, it had become an ethical ideal which included not only the graciousness of the one who showed mercy (in practice, the emperor), but also the initiative of the suppliant, so that the one who was the subject of imperial clementia expected, at the same time, a significant responsibility as part of the “mercy” he or she received. This lessened the “disability” of the one to whom the mercy was granted, and at the same time, it decreased the sharp distinction in status. In other words, it was a political tool used by the emperor, with which he was

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able to secure the favour of his subjects and create a peaceful co-operation with the nobility for the purposes of governing. Against this background, it is easier to understand Dio’s horror when he described (76[75].8.1) the cruel treatment of Albinus’ body by Severus; the emperor did not only terrorize the Senate, but failed to show any clemency even towards a dead opponent, as he cut off the usurper’s head and sent it to Rome to be exposed; moreover, Dio’s shock perhaps reveals his personal sympathies towards Albinus as well. Having mentioned this incident, Dio immediately turns to describing Severus’ qualities which the senators particularly disliked: his praise of Commodus, whom Severus now considered a brother because of his self-proclaimed adoption within the Aurelian family; the execution of the senators; and, the praise he gave to those great men of Roman history, such as Sulla, Marius and Augustus, who had showed severity and cruelty when necessary. All in all, his cruelty towards Albinus and his purge among the senators signified that Severus had dismantled the idea of clementia, a concept that had been dominant in Roman political life before him. In fact, it is interesting to notice the use of clementia in Albinus’ propaganda. In the period when his relationship with Severus began to deteriorate, between CE 195 and 197, Albinus started to strike coins portraying the bust of himself on one side and the legend clementia on the other, portraying the personification of clemency.20 One way to interpret this action might be that Albinus used a concept very familiar to the Roman senatorial class, speaking a political language they understood, while seeking their support. Indeed, the Historia Augusta (Clod. 13.3–10) indicates that Albinus and the Senate began their co-operation during the reign of Commodus. The biography claims that Albinus won the love of the Senate by denouncing the much-hated emperor and calling him a tyrant when there were rumours that Commodus was dead. The story continues that Albinus suggested to his troops that the dignity and power of the Senate should be restored. While Cassius Dio describes Albinus’ character in a very neutral manner (75[74].6.2), reports by other authors indicate a positive relationship and a constant interaction between Albinus and the Roman Senate. Herodian (2.15.4) mentions how Severus read a “thoroughly friendly” letter he sent to Albinus at the beginning of their alliance with the senators, hoping to reinforce their loyalty. Moreover, it seems that Albinus was regularly in secret contact with the Senate while residing in Britain, as it is also reported (Herod. 3.8.6–7) that Severus had discovered secret letters and gifts exchanged between Albinus and members of the Senate. This eventually led to the destruction of the most prominent senators. Furthermore, the Historia 20   British Museum Catalogue 5, nos. 269–270.

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Augusta (Clod. 12.1–4) describes how Albinus was beloved by the senators more than any emperor before him, and that Severus eventually exposed and executed those senators who possessed letters from Albinus. All of this would suggest that Albinus and many of the senators indeed spoke a similar language. Taking the close relationship between Albinus and the Senate into consideration, it seems possible that the use of clementia by Albinus was one indication of goodwill between him and the Senate, and this could support the stories provided by Herodian and the Historia Augusta. In contrast, clementia appears to be quite absent from Severan propaganda. In the numismatic evidence, we know of one possible example of clementia appearing in the Severan period; a coin dedicated, not to the emperor, but to the empress Julia Domna. However, even this case is uncertain. The coin depicts the bust of Julia on one side and a figure that could represent clementia on the other, but there is no legend referring to clemency. The date of the coin is also unknown.21 The written sources are mostly lacking as well. However, one interesting detail can be found in the Historia Augusta. When the biography describes (Sev. 12.9.–13.1) Severus speaking to the senators in CE 197, it mentions how Severus reminded the Senate about the clemency he had shown, de sua clementia disseruit, and immediately after that executed a great number of senators. In other words, the concept of mercy appears only in the situation where the emperor shows the precise opposite towards the nobility of the capital.

Severus the Tyrant

To gain a deeper understanding of Dio’s attitude towards Severus, we should also take notice of Severus’ praise of many controversial figures of Roman history, both recent and distant ones. As we have seen, Dio was not impressed when Severus honoured his new “brother” Commodus, whose reign was still remembered with horror by many senators. However, Severus also praised the cruelty of Sulla, Marius, and Augustus. The emperor’s admiration of the latter was obviously very deep, as there are many examples of how Severus wanted to appear as a new Augustus,22 but Sulla is an interesting case as well. This is especially so because his significance for Severan rulers seemed to last for some time at least. We know that Severus’ heir Caracalla erected statues in 21   Roman Imperial Coinage IV n. 600 (Septimius Severus). 22  For Augustus as an example for Septimius Severus, see Barnes 2008, 251–267; Cooley 2007, 385–401.

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honor of Sulla (Herod. 8.4), and even restored his grave in the Campus Martius (Cass. Dio 78[77].13.7). Among the senators of the third century, the legacy of Sulla was certainly not good, nor was that of Marius, at least based on the account of Cassius Dio. Even if only fragments of his history that covers the period of Sulla remain, enough text is preserved to notice that, for Dio, Sulla was a cruel tyrant. The historian gave Sulla some credit for his initial policy but, as he stated, Sulla committed, “acts which he had censured in other persons while he still was weak and many others were even more outrageous” after gaining power (30–35.109.2).23 All in all, Dio’s account of Sulla is a warning of what absolute power could do to a man, and what assistants with bad intentions could do to a leader.24 One of the aspects of Sulla’s reign that Dio viewed with particular horror was the fear Sulla created among senators. Dio described (30–35.109.6–10) how the senatorial class lived in continuous uncertainty regarding their fate, as Sulla organized killings inside and outside Rome. Of course, Sulla was not the only figure in Dio’s history who created terror. As already mentioned, Severus had praised the cruelty of Augustus, and Dio mentions some atrocities conducted by Augustus, or to be precise, by Octavian as well. For example, Dio provides a vivid picture of the proscriptions under the so-called Second Triumvirate of Octavian, Antony, and Lepidus. He writes (47.1–6) how the city was, “filled with corpses” and how people were killed, “in their houses, many even in the streets and here and there in the forum and around the temples”. Dio constantly compares these incidents with the crimes of Sulla, and in some cases considers them even worse. However, Dio stresses (47.7.1–2; 47.8.1) that the crimes were mainly conducted by Anthony and Lepidus, while Octavian, “had no need at all to kill a large number; for he was not naturally cruel”, and that Octavian, “saved the lives of as many as he could”. All in all, Dio’s account of Octavian is mainly positive, despite the fact that he occasionally reports crimes of the future emperor.25 The reason for Dio’s attitude is very likely the position of Octavian/ Augustus as the founder of the monarchical system that the historian considered essential. Indeed, in Dio’s history we can trace his fear that major shifts in social order could be dangerous both for his own senatorial class as well as for

23  For Sulla’s legacy in imperial Rome, see Thein 2006. 24  Cf. Cass. Dio 36.31, where Dio has senator Catulus to warn against giving too much power to Pompey (who was fighting against pirates). Dio’s describes how Catulus used Marius and Sulla as warning examples, how people who receive too much power and too many commanding positions will not “abide the ancestral customs” any more. 25  Rich 1990, 13–18.

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the whole empire.26 For him, the monarchy created by Augustus was an ideal form of government, and if Octavian occasionally behaved badly while creating the system, it was something to be forgiven. In that sense, Sulla is a different case; he was a cruel tyrant who, to the historian’s disgust, was honoured by Severus and Caracalla, emperors of his own age. Indeed, it is perhaps possible to see an analogy between the reigns of Sulla and Septimius Severus in Dio’s writing. For Dio, both rulers began their reign with some good intentions but then suddenly turned out to be something much worse. Moreover, both Sulla and Severus were products of civil war. Thus, the writers of the early third century, such as Dio, who had witnessed a civil war themselves, might have felt that they were living in times which could be compared to the great civil struggles of Roman history, such as the period between Marius and Sulla. As a result, Septimius Severus’ praise of Sulla, who symbolized tyranny and other horrors of the civil war, must have been quite unpleasant for the senators, who themselves lived in a post-war period and were dominated by a ruler who not only gave honour to Sulla but also acted in a very similar manner. Dio also provides an even more direct criticism of Severus’ actions as a ruler. As he writes (75[74].2.3), Severus did many things the senators disliked, and Dio is especially critical of the emperor’s use of the army for his own safety instead of trusting the goodwill of his associates. This claim by Dio actually seems to point out that Severus acted as a tyrant since, from the classical point of view provided by Aristotle (Pol. 3.14.25), one of the main marks of a tyrant is that they rely on the military for security, and that they use foreign troops, not citizens, for personal protection. This is an interesting detail, as Dio also stresses that senators did not accept the decision of Severus to open the imperial bodyguard to people outside of Italy, Spain, Macedonia, and Noricum – places with, “more respectable people with simpler habits”, as Dio mentions himself. He continues that Severus, “incidentally ruined the youth of Italy who turned to bad habits such as brigandage and gladiator fighting”, and that, “now the city was full of no-good soldiers, with savage appearance, terrifying speech, and crude conversation” (75[74].2.4–6). Even if citizenship is not mentioned precisely, in Dio’s eyes, these new members of the Praetorian Guard were not Romans but foreigners, even barbarians. Dio’s comments can be read as an extremely serious critique of Severus, as the historian seems to place Severan rule in the long tradition of tyrannical governments in ancient political thought. The tyranny as a political idea as such was, of course, very old and was discussed over and over again in ancient literature. Discussion began to appear already in early Greek texts, such as the 26  Reinhold 1988, 182.

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poems from the 6th century CE,27 and later in many other genres of literature. In the history of Herodotus, for example, the author’s aim was to show the superiority of a democratic Greek polis compared to some of the barbaric and tyrannical Greek city-states.28 Another famous example is the fragmentary text of Democritus, who considered poverty in democracy more desirable than well-being in tyranny.29 All in all, through the centuries, the concept of tyranny was a much evaluated topic in the texts of many Greek philosophers and thinkers who tried to discover the ideal model of government. The importance of the Greek intellectual tradition, even among the Roman nobility of Dio’s lifetime, should not be underestimated, as Greek-speaking senators from the eastern parts of the empire were far from being a rarity in the capital during the early third century CE. This was a result of a process started by the first emperor, Augustus. One of his objectives had been to create a sort of unification among the aristocracy from different parts of the empire, and one way to achieve this target was to grant places in the Senate for provincial, non-Italian nobles.30 As a result, the number of senators who came from outside of Italy began to grow from the first century CE on. During the Flavian period, CE 69–96, Italians still composed about three-quarters of the Senate, but the growth in the number of provincials continued to rise steadily. In the Antonine era, the reigns of Trajan and Hadrian saw the amount of non-Italians in the Senate come to about fifty percent,31 and it has been estimated that during the days of Severus and Dio, Greek-speaking senators from the east composed about one quarter of the Roman Senate. In fact, the growing role of provincials in the leadership of the empire was not limited to the senators, as most of the Antonine emperors had their roots outside Italy as well. Trajan and Hadrian came from Spanish colonial families, and Antoninus Pius’ roots traced back to Gaul. Marcus Aurelius’ family also had ties with Spain.32 The great number of Greek-speaking members of the Senate hints at Dio’s audience. It is very probable that his history was written for the senators of 27  Raaflaub 2000, 38. 28  Winton 2000, 106. 29  See Taylor 2000, 127–128. 30  Potter 2004, 66–68. 31  Potter 2004, 68–69. 32  Birley 1999, 38. When we evaluate the number of senators coming from abroad, it should be noticed that initially most of the “foreign” members of the Senate came primarily from the western part of the empire, especially from Gaul and Spain. However, the amount of senators coming from the east started to rise during the Antonine dynasty, and the reign of Septimius Severus can be seen, in fact, as a culmination point of the process; visiting the province in CE 199 (or 200), the emperor allowed the Egyptians to enter the senatorial service in Rome for the first time. Bowman 2005, 315; Halfmann 1979, 74–101.

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Rome that had come to the capital from the eastern provinces.33 The suggestion that Dio’s history was written for the senatorial elite of the capital is perhaps further strengthened by the fact that the events of his own time were most likely in his mind when he wrote his grand work. In other words, one of the aims of his history was to solve the, mostly political, problems of his own age, especially those of the senatorial class. As Reinhold (1988, 14) summarizes: “to Dio history was a usable past that offered guidance to an understanding of the present”.34 Dio took his task of providing guidance by means of history very seriously, as he apparently was the first historian since Livy (59 BCE–17 CE) who wrote a complete history of the empire, from the legendary foundation of the city of Rome up to his own lifetime.35 Considering his audience, it is also suggested that Dio’s purpose was to explain to his Greek-speaking fellow senators how the empire worked, and to introduce them to the political scene, history, and nature of the empire.36 This function of Dio’s history perhaps becomes clearer if we compare his work with another Greek historian of the early third century, Herodian. Even if we know very little about him, it looks probable that Herodian was not a member of the Roman senatorial class. For example, it appears that Herodian explains to his readers many details that should be self-evident for members of the Roman upper-class. As a result, it has been estimated that the audience of Herodian was actually the Greek nobility, who pondered questions of identity, such as Greek culture, as a part of the Roman Empire.37 As Dio seemed to concentrate much more on major political events in Roman history,38 it appears that he had not only a different audience, but also different motifs compared to Herodian. Moreover, the question of tyranny was important not only in the Greek cultural tradition, but also in Roman political history; after all, one of the most important stories concerning the birth of the Roman republic was the e­ xpulsion of the tyrant Tarquinius Superbus, the last king of Rome.39 Cassius Dio was naturally very familiar with both Greek and Roman traditions 33  Gowing 1992, 292; Rich 1990, 5. 34  Reinhold 1988, 14. 35  Rich 1990, 4–5. 36  Gowing 1992, 292–294. 37  Sidebottom 2007, 78–82, recently disputed in Kemezis 2014, 266–270. Greek culture and its relationship with Rome and other cultures was an extremely important topic among many writers of third century. Of Greek cultural identity in general, see e.g. Goldhill 2007. 38  Perhaps the most famous example is the birth of Roman monarchy in the Augustan age, a process to which Dio gives considerable attention. For studies see, for example, Reinhold 1988 and Rich 1990. 39  See Mustakallio 1994, 24–26.

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of ­tyranny and its role in political thinking. He knew Greek culture through and through, by his own heritage, and did not hesitate to show this in his works. For example, Dio avoided transliteration and if possible used Greek synonyms for Latin terminology when describing the history of the Roman Empire.40 His style followed the model of the great Greek writers of the fifth and fourth centuries BCE, and was especially influenced by Thucydides. Like this famous predecessor, as a historian, Dio took a stance of a somewhat cynical observer of human affairs, conflicts, and power.41 However, even if we accept that Dio considered himself culturally Greek, he clearly identified himself also with the senatorial class of Rome, by constantly reminding his readers about his own position as a senator.42 He also defended the role of the Roman senators in the political system of the empire through his history. Dio created a certain feeling of the senatorial class, as a group very closely tied together. This is evident, for example, when he reported about senators watching the emperor Commodus performing in the arena and witnessing the funeral of Pertinax (75[74].4.2–5). He was also showing pride when describing to his readers the acts of the earlier generations of the senatorial class and the privileges granted to them, and felt sorry for those senators of the past who were humiliated by ruthless emperors. Moreover, when he wrote about his own lifetime, he strongly disapproved of the actions of Macrinus and Elagabalus, who used their imperial titles even though the Senate had not yet granted them to them.43 All in all, as a senator of the second generation, his views and attitudes seem to reflect those of a typical and rather conservative member of the Roman senatorial class.44 In this sense, it is hard to argue that he was not a Roman.45

40  Sidebottom 2007, 77. 41  Rich 1990, 11. 42  See Madsen 2009, 124–126. 43  Talbert 1984, 73, 85. 44  De Blois 1997, 2655; Madsen 2014. 45  Dio’s identity has been a subject of some debate. Fergus Millar (1964) claimed that Dio was a typical member of the new Greco-Roman nobility, a prime example of a Romanized Greek aristocrat who acknowledged his Greek heritage and was in many ways rooted to its culture, but nevertheless identified himself to Roman rule, especially in terms of governance. Today this traditional view is accepted by many scholars, but dismissed by some who argue that Dio saw himself first and foremost as a Greek. This revisionist view claims that even if the nobility in the Greek world accepted the fact that they were now under Roman rule, their identity was constructed on Greek culture and traditions. For the t­raditional view, see Aalders 1986, 282–304; De Blois 1998, 3406–3407; Millar 1964, 174–192. For the revisionist view see, for example, Freyburger-Galland 1993, 117–128; Swain 1996, 405.

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Taking all this into consideration, it would appear that Dio’s comments about Severus’ policy were not pure coincidental, but should be seen as a conscious attempt to demonstrate the unpleasant nature of the Severan reign. By basing his power on foreign troops and not on co-operation with his fellow citizens, Severus possessed, in Dio’s eyes, all the features of a tyrant, and so Dio wrote this in his account in a political language his audience well understood. Conclusion Cassius Dio witnessed a great change in his lifetime; he saw not only a civil war and the birth of a new dynasty, but also a change in the imperial ideology that dominated Roman political life. The Antonine idea of co-operation between the emperor and the Senate had more or less been abandoned during the reign of the last emperor of the dynasty, Commodus, but the new post-war reign of Septimus Severus did not see the return of the good old days either, despite the earlier promises of the emperor. For a Roman senator such as Dio, this must have been a disappointment, and his strong disapproval of Severus’ policy can be noticed in his critique towards the emperor. Writing his history in a situation like this, Dio tried to explain the nature of the Roman Empire to his readers; to give a blueprint of how the empire should work from the senatorial point of view. Considering the function of Dio’s history as an “introduction” to the Roman political system, combined with his criticism of Severus’ policy included as a part of this introduction to the new senators, his writing can be considered as a strong senatorial statement and an intellectual resistance against the new imperial doctrine, where more autocratic ideology had replaced the ideas of respect and “equality in clemency”. In Dio’s eyes, Severus lacked the qualities of a good leader precisely because he had attacked and violated the traditional Antonine values and had, at the same time, basically become a tyrant, dismantling the ideal form of government. While direct resistance was out of the question, feelings of opposition continued to exist among the Senate even after the purge of CE 197, as Dio quite directly mentions in his history. Therefore, it is very likely that the senators actively sought different forms of resistance. One way to defend old political ideas was to write; written text was a tool for senators to show their disapproval, and Dio’s account of Severan rule can be considered as an example of this. His “senatorial handbook” of Roman politics, which reminded its readers that Severan rule had violated the ideal model of the Roman government, was a work of strong resistance indeed.

CHAPTER 9

Cassius Dio’s Secret History of Elagabalus Josiah Osgood Pseudo-Antoninus, the Assyrian, and Sardanapalus: these are some of the names Cassius Dio regularly uses for the teenage emperor Elagabalus. Just as unforgiving are Dio’s stories and images. Elagabalus, Dio claims, schemed to make a former-slave and chariot-driver Hierocles not just a partner in bed but in power by naming him Caesar (80[79].15). Elagabalus had the exceptionally well-endowed athlete, Aurelius Zoticus, summoned to Rome, to be made chamberlain. Upon seeing him for the first time, Sardanapalus “jumped up with rhythmic movements” and when Zoticus addressed him with the customary salutation, “Lord emperor, hail,” Elagabalus bent his neck, turned his eyes on Zoticus with a melting gaze, and replied, “Do not call me Lord, for I am a Lady” (μή με λέγε κύριον: ἐγὼ γὰρ κυρία εἰμί (80[79].16.1–5)).1 Elagabalus secretly visited taverns at night in a wig; he would work with wool, put on a hairnet, and paint his eyes. Madly devoted to the god Elagabal, he wore the dress of a Syrian priest. He danced constantly – “not only in the orchestra, but also somehow while walking and performing sacrifices, while receiving salutations and publicly speaking” (οὔτι γε ἐν ὀρχήστρᾳ μόνον, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐμβαδίζων τρόπον τινὰ καὶ θύων ἀσπαζόμενός τε καὶ δημηγορῶν (80[79].14.3)). This is some of Dio’s funniest writing in his whole history, and it is my goal in this paper to suggest a new interpretation of its purpose. As a recent biographer of Elagabalus, Martin Icks, has commented, “It is clear that Dio was not attempting an accurate portrayal of the emperor.”2 That is to put it mildly. A comparison with Herodian’s slightly later account shows just how extreme Dio is – not least because, as Andrea Scheithauer has shown

1  I use the text of Boissevain. Translations are those of Earnest Cary, slightly modified. I wish to thank Jesper Majbom Madsen and Carsten Hjort Lange for the invitation to participate in the October, 2014 conference and for their help with the written version of this paper, as well as to the anonymous reader for the press and Andrew Meshnick. 2  Icks 2011, 94. He goes on to observe that “Dio was modeling him [Elagabalus] on the stereotypical bad ruler of many Greek and Roman works.”

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���6 | doi ��.��63/9789004335318_011

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in a 1990 article in Hermes, Herodian relied heavily on Dio.3 Let me give three main examples: (1) Nicknames: Herodian makes no use of the many that Dio peppers his narrative with. (2) Effeminacy: Herodian’s emperor wears flowing robes of purple and gold and adorns himself with jewels, and he dances in religious rites with Phoenician women – but there is no wig, no wool-working, not a mention at all of Hierocles or Zoticus.4 “In fact,” as Icks observes, “the subject of sex is hardly touched at all.”5 (3) The god Elagabal: Herodian emphasizes the emperor’s favoritism, but also acknowledges efforts made to smooth the way for the god’s arrival in Rome by sending a painting in advance.6 Herodian’s emperor showers urban crowds with all kinds of gifts, except pork, “which he did not touch by Phoenician law” (5.6.9). In Dio, Elagabalus’ religious practices are just one entry in a catalogue of the emperor’s “violations of inherited customs” (ἔξω . . . τῶν πατρίων (80[79].8.1)); not only does Elagabalus abstain from pork (the favorite Roman meat), he was circumcised and even “had planned to cut off his genitals completely” (80[79].11.1). That Dio wrote soon after Elagabalus’ death certainly helps us to understand his account, as scholars have emphasized. Already in his 1964 book, Millar (170) helpfully pointed out that the “scandalous stories” that accumulated around emperors need not be attributed to a “later elaboration of tradition.” Indeed, it was immediately after an emperor’s demise that such stories might be most salient. Even as the Senate considered recognizing a newly deceased emperor’s godhead, crowds on the street might be desecrating his memory. Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis, while satirizing Claudius, also brilliantly satirized the sorts of mythmaking that occurred after an emperor’s death, not just in imperial rituals such as funerals and consecrations but also in revisionist history writing.7 Let us remember that Dio was familiar with Apocolocyntosis – we owe the title 3  Sommer 2004, Icks 2011, 103–108, and Rowan 2012, 167–175 usefully characterize and contextualize Herodian’s account of Elagabalus. In his rehabilitation of Herodian’s account of Elagabalus, Bowersock 1975 probably overstates Herodian’s independence of Dio, but rightly emphasizes some key divergences. 4  Robes and jewels: Hdn. 5.3.6, 5.5.3. Religious rites: Hdn. 5.5.9. 5  Icks 2011, 105. 6  Favoritism: Hdn. 5.5.3–4, 5.5.9, 5.6.6–10. Painting: Hdn. 5.5.6–7. 7  Damon 2010 is an interesting discussion of Apocolocyntosis partly from this point of view.

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to him – as well as the good joke attributed to Seneca’s brother, that Claudius was elevated to heaven on an executioner’s hook (61[60].35.3–4). It is Dio, too, who tells us that after Commodus’ assassination Senate and people alike wished to tear the emperor’s body limb from limb, but had to content themselves with toppling his statues and calling him such names as “the gladiator,” “the charioteer,” and “the left-handed” (74[73].2.1–2). The crowd that had shouted out rhythmic cheers for Commodus in the amphitheater changed their wording, “making them utterly ridiculous” (ἐς τὸ γελοιότατον (74[73].2.3)).8 With the death of Commodus, the so-called practice of damnatio memoriae – best understood as a dishonoring rather than destruction of memory – was revived and was exercised with novel ferocity in the decades to follow.9 In a valuable article Michael Sommer has argued that all this is the context in which we need to view Dio’s account of Elagabalus.10 Like Herodian’s, Dio’s account really is an image, ein Bild. Or as I would put it, Dio is giving us a kind of secret history, not dissimilar to that of Seneca’s Apocolocyntosis or Procopius’ much later account of Justinian.11 Dio purports to reveal the casualties of the reign, the real reasons they died; he reveals the “secret sacrifices” the emperor made to his Syrian god; he reveals the secret plan to make Hierocles Caesar.12 As in any good political satire or cartoon, in a “secret history” literal truth is often beside the point. Secret history aims to share the author’s – and one might suppose his contemporaries’ – experience on an emotional level. Exaggeration allows Dio to convey his feeling that the whole reign of Elagabalus was “an outrage”, as Millar (1964, 169) rightly puts it. 8  A lengthy transcript of the Senate’s acclamations following the death of Commodus is given in SHA Comm. 18–19 (with Marius Maximus cited as the source). They are generally taken to be authentic or a very convincing pastiche: see FRH 101 F16, with its commentary. 9  Flower 2006, 281 and Gleason 2011, 38 for damnatio after Commodus. In her stimulating paper, Gleason sees the reinvigoration of damnatio memoriae along with the rise in usurpation in Dio’s adult lifetime as essential contexts for understanding the contemporary books of his history; I view my essay as complementary to Gleason’s in seeing these books – culminating with the reign of Elagabalus – as distinctive. Hedrick 2000, 88–130 (esp. 117) interprets damnatio as a “masquerade”, ostensibly erasing memory but actually perpetuating it. 10  See esp. Sommer 2004, 96–98. 11  Seneca’s was hardly Dio’s only predecessor to blend traditions of satire and historiography. Tacitus did too, especially in his Annals, as shown in the exemplary reading of Ash 2013. 12  Casualties: see esp. Dio 80[79].4.3–7. “Secret sacrifices”: Dio 80[79]11.3. Hierocles: Dio 80[79].15.

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Thus I agree with Icks that Dio was not attempting an “accurate portrayal” of Elagabalus and I agree with Sommer that Dio seeks to undermine his memory by showing him as a “bad emperor.” But we can go farther than Sommer and Ick’s claim that Dio models his emperor on the stereotypical bad rulers of the Greco-Roman tradition. I propose that we should also read Dio’s account of Elagabalus as a satire that draws the reader’s attention to disturbing political trends since the death of Marcus Aurelius, when, as Dio famously put it (72[71].36.4), the golden age turned to iron. In the rest of my paper I shall look at Dio’s use of nicknames, his portrayal of Elagabalus’ effeminacy, and the exotic rites of Elagabal in turn. My analysis relates these to the use in 180 and afterward of dynastic claims – even when bogus – in legitimizing an emperor’s claim to power. In Dio’s eyes legitimization through dynasty severed the link between status and achievement important to Senators, while also allowing emperors to indulge in idiosyncratic and dangerous behavior. I conclude with a few thoughts on the implications of Dio’s placement of this satire as the culmination of his epic history of Rome. Nicknames It is Dio’s constant use of nicknames that most obviously gives his account of Elagabalus its satiric flavor. While he notes how Commodus became “the gladiator” or “the charioteer” after his death, Dio doesn’t call him that earlier (74[73].2.2). Likewise, it was after Caracalla’s death that this son of Septimius Severus ceased to be Antoninus and was renamed Bassianus – his original name – or Caracallus, or Tarautas, from the name of an ugly, bloodthirsty gladiator, Dio tells us (79[78].9.3); but Dio refrains from use of these names himself while narrating Caracalla’s reign (afterward, he uses ‘Caracallus’ and ‘Tarautas’).13 In contrast, Dio adroitly incorporates the Elagabalus nicknames into his narrative, for example noting in a discussion of attempted ­usurpations that the son of a centurion tried to stir up the Third Legion Gallica, 13  Bruun 2003 helpfully collects evidence for imperial nicknames from Augustus through Probus. Virtually all of the sources are retrospective, raising the question of whether the nicknames were also retrospective. This is unanswerable, but it is worth recalling the number of nicknames that appear in Cicero’s letters; in 60 and 59 BC, for example, he was calling Pompey Epicrates (“The Conquering Hero”), Hierosolymarius (“The Jerusalem Wallah”), and Arabarches (“The Sheikh of Araby”): see Stockton 1971, 170 (source of these translations).

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and a private citizen the fleet stationed at Cyzicus, “when Pseudo-Antoninus was spending the winter at Nicomedia” (80[79].7.3). The nickname reminds us here that in Dio’s view Elagabalus’ claim to imperial power was no better than that of a private citizen – especially when we recall that it was the Third Legion Gallica, previously stationed near Elagabalus’ hometown of Emesa and frequent visitors to the city and its temple of Elagabal, who first proclaimed Elgabalus emperor.14 And when it is “Sardanapalus” rather than Varius Avitus who chants to the god Elagabal with his mother and grandmother, the scene becomes even more incongruous (80[79].10.2). The times are topsy-turvy, as Dio explicitly states (80[79].7.2). But there is more to Dio’s use of nicknames in the Elagabalus narrative. A clue comes early in the account. After his usurpation in the east, Elagabalus writes the Senate disparaging Macrinus for his low birth and his treachery against Caracalla, and he styles himself in his communications as “emperor and Caesar, the son of Antoninus, the grandson of Severus, Pius, Felix, Augustus, proconsul, and holding tribunician power – taking these titles before they had been voted” Dio writes (80[79].2.2).15 Now of course, when Julia Maesa and her followers launched the coup against Macrinus, she sought to legitimize her fourteen-year-old grandson by pretending that he was Caracalla’s natural son, “readily sacrificing her daughter’s reputation to the fortune of her grandson,” as Edward Gibbon tartly put it.16 Brought to the camp of the Third Legion Gallica near Emesa, young Elagabalus was dressed in clothing that had once belonged to Caracalla, Dio claims, and was hailed as “Marcus Aurelius Antoninus” (79[78].31.3, 32.2). In calling Elagabalus “pseudo-Antoninus,” Dio reminds his readers of the blatant fiction that was the foundation myth of the whole reign. It was not from names, but rather from his own deeds that an

14  Hdn. 5.3.9. 15  Inscriptions reveal the same titles and lineage (ILS 466–477 is a good selection). Ando 2012, 28–40 provides an excellent introduction to the communicative strategies of emperors in the Severan age, showing how much attention was paid (by the emperor and his subjects alike) to the “information . . . transmitted in the protocols or headers of official documents” (29–30). Arrizabalaga y Prado 2010, 106–125 gives a thorough discussion (see esp. 106–116). 16  Gibbon 1994[1776], 1.163. To judge by the fragmentary remains of his narrative at this point Dio assigns more of a role to Maesa’s protege Gannys than to Maesa herself, but Maesa is not ignored (Dio 79[78].38.4). Icks 2011, 10–15 is a recent account of Elagabalus’ accession, with discussion of the sources.

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emperor’s splendor should come, as Maecenas urged to Augustus in the programmatic speech earlier in Dio’s history (52.35.3).17 Sadly for Dio, though, Elagabalus and his backers weren’t up to anything new. Already Septimius Severus had claimed kinship with Marcus Aurelius and usurped the name of Antoninus. As Dio notes, after Septimius’ final victory in civil war in 197, “he especially shocked us” – “us” of course is the Roman Senate – “by calling himself the son of Marcus and the brother of Commodus and by bestowing upon Commodus divine honors, whom just recently he had insulted” (μάλιστα δ’ ἡμᾶς ἐξέπληξεν ὅτι τοῦ τε Μάρκου υἱὸν καὶ τοῦ Κομμόδου ἀδελφὸν ἑαυτὸν ἔλεγε, τῷ τε Κομμόδῳ, ὃν πρῴην ὕβριζεν, ἡρωικὰς ἐδίδου τιμάς (76[75].7.4)). Dio reports that the acerbic Senator Auspex made a good joke of this at the time by telling Septimius, “I congratulate you, Caesar, for finding a father” (77[76].9.4). When, in 217, Macrinus launched his bid for power, he wrote to the Senate and subscribed himself as “Caesar, emperor, and Severus, adding to the name Macrinus the titles Pius, Felix, Augustus, and proconsul, without waiting for any vote on our part, as would have been fitting” (79[78].16.2). His young son was soon made Caesar – and simultaneously named “Antoninus” (79[78].19.1). This was another offense, but at least Macrinus and his son did not last long. Elagabalus was able to rule four long years, using his fictional lineage and fake names. Dio’s use of nicknames – especially pseudo-Antoninus – underscores how, beginning with Septimius Severus, usurpers (or their backers) were able to legitimize claims to power through the adoption of a name and a lineage. Personal merit counted for nothing, as the fourteen-year-old Elagabalus so clearly showed. What also now counted for nothing was the views of the Senate. While in many ways the civil wars unleashed with the assassination of Commodus in 193 resembled those of 68 to 70, then, at least, the Senate had been shown some respect by the contenders for power, according to Dio. Julius Vindex refused the titles given to him by his soldiers, declaring “this to be the prerogative of the Senate and the people,” while Galba “did not take the name Caesar until the Senate’s envoys had come to him” (63.25.3; 63.29.6). Dio’s repeated use of nicknames for Elagabalus, rather than the names Elagabalus gave himself, can be read as a comment on just how easy it was for usurpers to rename themselves – and also as an assertion of at least one Senator’s right to bestow the names and titles that he deemed fit for an emperor (or would-be emperor). Dio’s history of Elagabalus, in other words, 17  Gleason 2011, 76 remarks on Dio’s “essential” view of imperial (and also Senatorial) identity (i.e., Senators or emperors have to meet certain standards of excellence really to be Senators or emperors).

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is a ­counterblast to ­communications from Septimius or Macrinus or Elagabalus that included names and titles not yet voted by the Senate. Effeminacy Let me turn now to Dio’s extreme emphasis on the effeminacy of Elagabalus. As Martin Icks shows, Dio owes a debt here to the stereotype of the Oriental despot, epitomized by the essentially mythical king of Assyria Sardanapalus, who was said to have spent his days as a woman, spinning purple garments of the softest wool, wearing female clothing, covering his face and body with whitening make-up, and pursuing love with men as well as women.18 There is more to it than this, however, as the story of the ex-charioteer from Caria, Hierocles, in particular shows. Elagabalus “was bestowed in marriage”, Dio begins, cleverly using the middle voice of the verb γαμέω, and “was named wife, mistress, and queen” (ἐγήματο, γυνή τε καὶ δέσποινα βασιλίς τε ὠνομάζετο (80[79].14.4)).19 As husband, Hierocles grew so powerful “that he even had power exceeding the emperor himself, and it was considered a minor matter that his mother, while still a slave, should be brought to Rome by soldiers and be numbered among the wives of ex-consuls” (ὥστε καὶ ὑπὲρ αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον ἰσχῦσαι, καὶ βραχύ τι νομισθῆναι τὸ τὴν μητέρα αὐτοῦ ἔτι δούλην οὖσαν ἔς τε τὴν Ῥώμην ὑπὸ στρατιωτῶν ἀχθῆναι κἀν ταῖς τῶν ὑπατευκότων γυναιξὶ συναριθμηθῆναι (80[79].15.2)). The beatings that Hierocles administered to Elagabalus only increased the emperor’s sense of affection, so much so that he wished to make the ex-charioteer Caesar, threatening his grandmother when she expressed her opposition (80[79].15.4). While obviously ridiculing Elagabalus, this story also takes aim at the Severan dynasty as a whole, and the ramifications of a heightened emphasis on dynasty since the accession of Commodus. The marriage to Hierocles and the plan to make him Caesar is a send-up of how members of the Severan dynasty including its women, as well as their hangers-on, propagated their power by creating new Caesars. After having brought Elagabalus to power with a false claim of paternity, Maesa later turned on him, using the same trick: it was Alexander who was really Caracalla’s son she claimed (80[79].19.4). Just as 18  Icks 2011, 98–103 (esp. 98–99). Key extant accounts of Sardanapalus are Diod. Sic. 2.23–28 (esp. 2.23) and Ath. 12.528e–529d. On the latter passage, see Gambato 2000, esp. 229. Lenfant 2001 traces the changing image of Sardanapalus in Greco-Roman culture. 19  Compare Dio’s teaser on the subject of marriages at 80[79].5.5: καὶ περὶ μὲν τῶν γάμων αὐτοῦ, ὧν τε ἐγάμει ὧν τε ἐγήματο, αὐτίκα λελέξεται. There are similar juxtapositions of active and passive roles throughout the narrative, e.g., 80[79].13.2.

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a­ rtificial are the claims made on behalf of the Carian slave Hierocles, whose real attainments, Dio’s secret history reveals, were his skills in chariot-racing and ­seduction – and his head of thick, blond hair. As with the choice of an emperor’s names, the Senate, and the sorts of attainments traditional Senators such as Dio valued, are completely cut out here. And the seeds of such disrespect for the Senate went back to Septimius himself, who unilaterally named his own young children Caesars and – perhaps even worse – hoped to make the equestrian Plautianus (the father-in-law of Caracalla) Caesar, according to Dio.20 That Elagabalus is beaten by Hierocles, and takes pleasure in it, suggests too the growing power of palace insiders, at the expense even of the emperor himself, a trend initiated by Commodus and his chamberlain Cleander. The sequel to the Hierocles story is telling in this respect too (80[79].16.1–6). With the arrival of the well-endowed athlete Aurelius Zoticus – nicknamed “the Cook” after his father’s trade, even as Elagabalus renamed him “Avitus” – Hierocles grew nervous for his own position and had the cup-bearers administer a drug that rendered the Cook impotent; he was instantly deprived of all honors and driven from the palace. It is key to note here how honor is gained and lost. Emperors are no longer surrounding themselves with high-ranking men – and Dio does mean men – of virtue, as Maecenas advised was essential if the emperor was to have real power (52.37.5–6).21 Under the Severans, Dio is claiming, women were taking over; not only was there Maesa, but also Julia Domna, who schemed “to become sole ruler” and was put in charge of petitions and correspondence by Caracalla, with her name included in his letters to the Senate.22 Such undermining of the emperor’s authority was not just ­lamentable – it was dangerously destabilizing. Like Caracalla before him, Elagabalus would be killed by his soldiers and Dio takes the opportunity to draw a moral in the latter case: persons who have become accustomed to feel contempt for their rulers will set no limits to their own actions, even taking up arms against the very man who empowered them (80[79].17.1).

20  Naming of children ‘Caesars’: Birley 1998, 117, 130. Plautianus: Dio 76[75].15.1–2. 21  Kemezis 2014, 144–145 takes emperors’ elevation of “unworthy persons to positions of high influence” as a major unifying theme of Dio’s narrative in the years following Marcus’ death. Gleason 2011, esp. 67 and 79 explains how usurping emperors tended to undermine the “honor system” Dio and (other Senators) subscribed to. 22  Domna’s scheming: 79[78].23.2. Petitions: 78[77].18.2; cf. 79[78].4.2–3.

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Through his later books, Dio is suggesting how the strengthening of dynasty and with it hereditary principles of succession can be highly corrupting.23 Not naturally wicked, Commodus still came to power so young and surrounded himself with such low companions that it was natural for him to give up performing his imperial duties.24 And so Commodus’ immediate successor, the tragic figure Pertinax, is praised by Dio for refusing to let his son be called Caesar, “though we voted it”; he did so perhaps out of fear for his own position, perhaps so that his son would not be “spoiled by the bombast and the prospects involved in the title [of Caesar]” (τῷ τε ὄγκῳ καὶ τῇ ἐλπίδι τῇ ἐκ τοῦ ὀνόματος διαφθαρῆναι (74[73].7.2)). As Dio sees it, that is exactly what happened to Caracalla, whose outrages went back to his youth. While the thuggish behavior disturbed Septimius, there was little he could do to stop it. He was defeated by the logic of his own dynastic system. It is a poignant moment when Dio tells us that Septimius often blamed Marcus for not quietly putting away Commodus (77[76].14.7). Though – unlike Commodus and Caracalla – Elagabalus came to power unexpectedly, Elagabalus represents for Dio the disastrous end results dynasty can yield, and this brings me now to the exotic rites of Elagabal. Elagabal Dio organizes his account of Elagabalus such that he can have a whole section (80[79].8–11) devoted to “violations of inherited customs.” This allows him to achieve a Suetonian-style crescendo. He begins with a mention of Elagabalus applying titles to himself before they were voted by the Senate and other such offenses of “simple kind” (80[79].8.1). Then he can move on to the god Elagabal. To introduce the Syrian deity was not the offense; it was rather to place Elagabal before Jupiter, to have himself as emperor voted the priest of Elagabal, to circumcise himself and to require the same of his companions – and so on. As much recent scholarship has emphasized, it is hard to take Dio at face value as a source on the rites of Elagabal.25 Certainly Elagabalus promoted in 23  Davenport and Mallan (2014) cogently relate Dio’s account of the dominance of hereditary succession in and after 180 AD to the speech Dio composes for Hadrian justifying adoption of Antoninus Pius (69.20.1–5); the “central theme” of this speech is that “qualities and virtues equip men for the throne, nor their bloodline.” 24  See esp. Dio 73[72].1–4. 25  There have been a number of important discussions. For example, Millar 1993, 300–309 gives an account of the cultural profile of Emesa and the cult of Elagabal, urging caution in attaching any one meaning to the latter. Rowan 2012, 164–218 argues (among other

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Rome the deity of his hometown, and the emperor was officially represented as high priest of Elagabal as well as pontifex maximus.26 It is conceivable, as some have argued or speculated, that Elagabalus thus was trying to lay new foundations for imperial power.27 But a good deal of Dio’s hostility may have arisen from a simple misunderstanding of the Emesene god. Still, taken within his account of Elagabalus as a whole, as Sommer and Icks suggest, the emperor’s religious practice and policy reinforces the image of him as a tyrant.28 I would add that in the wider context of the end of Dio’s golden age in 180 and the rise of the new type of dynasty that essentially equated itself with the imperial office, Elagabalus also represents the latest, if most horrible example, of an emperor’s ability to indulge his whims to the point of megalomania. Readers coming from the earlier books must think of Commodus – who gave himself up to horse-racing, beast-hunting, and gladiatorial combat and who bestowed upon himself the name of Hercules, while assuming the titles of Amazonius and Superatorius.29 Letters reached the Senate from “the emperor Caesar Lucius Aelius Aurelius Commodus Augustus Pius Felix Sarmaticus Germanicus Maximus Britannicus, Pacifier of the Whole Earth, Invincible, the Roman Hercules . . .” (73[72].15.5). Statues showed Commodus as Hercules, and Commodus’ era was to be the golden age (73[72].15.6). “Now this ‘Golden one,’ this ‘Hercules’, this ‘god’,” Dio scathingly writes, “. . . suddenly drove from his suburban estate into Rome one afternoon” to race (73[72].16.1). At these games, Senators were forced to cry out whatever Commodus commanded, including some acclamations that Dio quotes verbatim, which show characteristic points) that some provincial communities voluntarily adopted worship of Elagabal, the cult was varied, and while Elagabal was a “patron deity” for the emperor, the emperor did not seek to replace Jupiter as head of the pantheon. Arrizabalaga y Prado 166–175 reviews Dio’s claims thoroughly, speculating that what offended Dio was the Senate’s (necessary) involvement in creating an official priesthood in Rome. See also n. 27 below. 26   Sacerdos amplissimus dei invicti Solis Elagabali became part of the emperor’s official title, appearing in inscriptions and (in part) advertised on coins: Icks 2011, 73; Rowan 2012, 210– 213; The evidence can be found (with some effort) in the hard-to-use book of Arrizabalaga y Prado 2010. 27  Arrizabalga y Prado 2010, 162–259 passim, 266–268 speculates that Elagabalus personally saw “design designation” as the basis for his rule; Icks 2011, 72–79 argues for a concerted religious reform in 220, putting Elagabal at the head of the pantheon. Kemezis 2014, 82–85 argues that the emperor’s self-presentation as priest was critical in his initial bid for power and helps to explain later developments in Rome (supported by at least some of Elagabalus’ advisors). 28  Icks 2011, 101–102. 29  See esp. Dio 73.10.2–3, 73.15.

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repetitiveness: “You are lord and you are first, of all men most fortunate. Victor you are, and victor you shall be; from everlasting, Amazonian, you are victor” (73[72].20.2).30 Commodus’ action is almost literally the direct inversion of Maecenas’ advice that an emperor should not allow the Senate to exaggerate his status (52.35.1–3). Nearly as bad was Caracalla’s almost maniacal obsession with Alexander the Great.31 The emperor used weapons and cups believed to have been Alexander’s. He organized a phalanx composed entirely of Macedonians. He traveled around with elephants. He called Alexander ‘the eastern Augustus.’ And of course, Dio claims, Caracalla had to write the Senate, reporting that Alexander had come to life again – in the person of the emperor himself (78[77].7.2). Dio’s Caracalla has some of the more conventional features of a tyrannical emperor. He drove chariots, hunted beasts, fought as a gladiator, drank, and mixed great bowls of wine for his soldiers.32 He terrorized the Senate, as did Commodus too. Who can forget Dio’s image of Commodus killing an ostrich, cutting off its head, and coming over to a group of Senators, with the cut-off head in his left hand, the sword in his right hand, wagging his head with a grin (73[72].21.1–2)? Dio’s Elagabalus also committed his share of murders. But it is as the votary of Elagabal, chanting with his mother and grandmother, clad in amulets, making secret sacrifices, slaying boys, shutting up alive in the god’s temple a lion, a monkey, a snake, and throwing in among them human ­genitals – it is this Elagabalus who shocks us far more. With “Commodus Hercules” and with Caracalla “the new Alexander” he forms a triptych in the last books of Dio’s history that exposes the deterioration of the imperial image since Marcus Aurelius. Elagabalus’ jangling charms and jewels, his robe and wig, symbolize for Dio a radical break with the less flamboyant style of emperors in the golden age – a style crucial to their maintenance of power and to Rome’s wellbeing.

30  By Dio’s day Senators were accustomed to offer formal (i.e., rhythmical) acclamations of the emperor in the Senate, but at least in theory they were voluntary (and there were likely spontaneous, if somewhat simpler, acclamations). See Talbert 1984, 297–302 (focusing on Senate meetings) and for rich discussions of acclamations in a wider variety of contexts, Roueché 1984 and Aldrete 1999. 31  See esp. Dio 78[77].7–8 (source of what follows), along with the discussion by Carlsen in this volume. 32  See esp. Dio. 78[77].17.4.

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Conclusion To conclude, I offer a few thoughts on the implications of Dio’s satirical treatment of Elagabalus for the appreciation of his history as a whole. Effectively, the narrative ends with the assassination of Elagabalus. After that time, Dio claims, he could not give an accurate account, having been away from Rome (80.1.2). The likelier reason was that it was too difficult, politically, to recount the reign of the emperor under whom Dio’s own fortunes had improved.33 Even if “Ulpian rectified many of the irregularities introduced by Sardanapalus,” as Dio puts it (80.2.2), we are left with the sense that Elagabalus, and his immediate predecessors, had wrought irreparable damage. In the last pages of the history, Ulpian is assassinated by the Praetorians, despite taking refuge with the emperor and the emperor’s mother in the palace, and the new Persian king Ardashir – Artaxerxes, as Dio calls him – is threatening renewed expedition against Roman Mesopotamia and even Syria: “he boasted that he would win back everything that the ancient Persians had once held, as far as the Greek Sea, claiming that this was his rightful inheritance from his fore­ fathers” (80.4.1).34 What Dio claims to find alarming is not Ardashir’s vaunting, but the fact that Roman troops were joining him, or at least refusing to defend themselves against him (80.4.1). Discipline had broken down such that soldiers had killed the commanding general in Mesopotamia. Readers cannot find this surprising, after the assassinations of Pertinax, Caracalla, Macrinus, and Elagabalus himself by soldiers. And if some soldiers embraced Artaxerxes, was it a surprise after they had been ruled by the new Alexander, Caracalla, and by his bogus son, Sardanapalus? Leaving readers with unease about the present and future, Dio at the same time invites them, through his account of Elagabalus, to look back on the development of the imperial monarchy from Augustus onwards. Without committing ourselves to a view on when, exactly, Dio wrote each book of his history, we can say that the last books, culminating with Elagabalus, retrospectively give new significance to much that comes before, even before 180.35

33  Cf. Millar 1964, 170: Dio “could hardly have been unaware of political conditions in Rome [under Severus Alexander], since the last phase of his own career was a product of them.” 34  Assassination of Ulpian: Dio 80.2.2. 35  Kemezis 2014, 282–293 helpfully reviews the whole problem, concluding that Dio “retained and exercised substantial editorial control” over the whole history through the reign of Elagabalus (283). He suggests that it was only fully released after Dio’s death, thus indeed making its later books somewhat akin to Procopius’ Secret History.

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Just ­consider a few examples from Dio’s account of the Principate of Nero.36 Seneca and Burrus indulged Nero, Dio says, expecting that he would sate his desires with little harm, and then experience a change of heart – “as though they did not know that a young and self-willed spirit, when reared in unrebuked license and absolute authority, so far from being sated by indulgence of its passions, is ruined more and more by those very things” (ὥσπερ οὐκ εἰδότες ὅτι ψυχὴ νέα τε καὶ αὐθάδης ἔν τε τρυφῇ ἀνεπιπλήκτῳ καὶ ἐν ἐξουσίᾳ αὐτοτελεῖ τραφεῖσα οὐχ ὅσον οὐ κόρον αὐτῶν ἴσχει, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐξ αὐτῶν τούτων προσδιαφθείρεται (61.4.2)). Nero’s dynastic position allowed him to indulge autocratic whims, including chariot-racing, singing, and lyre-playing. In their wake social distinctions were toppled, in ways that readers of the Elagabalus narrative will find all too familiar.37 Dio’s Boudica herself can call Nero a woman – “in name a man, in fact a woman,” she rails; “the proof is his singing, lyre-playing, and beautification of his person” (62.6.3). And inevitably the Senate suffered, forced to acclaim Nero with the ridiculous self-aggrandizing titles. Upon his return from Greece, the whole population, the Senators most of all, kept shouting in chorus: “Hail, Olympian Victor! Hail, Pythian Victor! Augustus! Augustus! Hail to Nero, our Hercules! Hail to Nero, our Apollo! The only Victor of the Grand Tour, the only one from the beginning of time! Augustus! Augustus! O, Divine Voice!” (63[62].20.5). Dio makes an interesting comment on this verbatim quotation of the acclamations (63[62].20.6).38 Of course he could have paraphrased, he says. But reversing the usual canon, he claims that the expressions he uses do not disgrace his history. Rather, they lend it distinction. And the same might be said for his account of Elagabalus as a whole, which is more than the “violent and hysterical diatribe” that Barnes once called it in passing.39 By including negative, as well as positive, paradigms of imperial rule across his history, Dio sets up an ideal relevant to his own day, as Martin Hose has argued.40 And, I would add, if readers have failed to heed the warning provided by an emperor like Nero, the extreme obscenities at the end of the history, Elagabalus’ and in truth Dio’s own, should wake them up to the 36  Gowing 1997 brings out the connections between Nero and the emperors Cassius Dio lived under and wrote about, especially Elagabalus. 37  See, e.g., Dio 62(61).17.3–5 (men and women of Equestrian and Senatorial rank performing in games); 62(63).12.1–2 (the freedman Helius’ complete authority over ordinary Romans, Equestrians, and Senators). 38  Note also his verbatim quotation of Nero at 63.26.3. 39  Barnes 1970, 31. But he goes on to observe: “comparison [with Dio] reveals the HA to be feeble and dull.” 40  Hose 2011.

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ugly potential of dynastic monarchy and autocracy and their consequences for Roman society. As Dio sees it, in contrast with Maecenas’ ideal Principate, dynastic monarchy can bring the wrong men to power; they bring contempt upon themselves, and then drag Rome down with them as they demoralize the Senate and soldiery. Dio’s Elagabalus offers an essential angle on the historian’s moral imagination.

Part 3 Rhetoric and Speeches in Cassius Dio

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CHAPTER 10

Fictitious Speeches, Envy, and the Habituation to Authority: Writing the Collapse of the Roman Republic Christopher Burden-Strevens* The surviving speeches of Cassius Dio’s Roman History have not traditionally been enthusiastically received. The historian visibly imitated the language and style of Demosthenes and Thucydides.1 Often his orators appear to make little detailed reference to the specific historical context.2 Certain of them simply do not ‘sound’ Roman, and would seem more at home in the Athenian democracy than in the internecine conflicts of the Late Republic.3 And, as Andriy Fomin shows, the content of Dio’s speeches was demonstrably informed by the preliminary exercises (progymnasmata) of the Imperial schools of rhetoric. The view expressed by Millar in his landmark study, that the speeches are banal expositions of commonplace moral ideas which characterise Dio’s work as a whole, has been influential.4 As Barbara Saylor Rodgers has recently remarked, these compositions appear to serve the historian’s philosophical or moralising proclivities better than they serve history.5 These considerations, particularly on Dio’s relationship with Classical models and with the progymnasmata, are important aspects of the historian’s speechwriting. Certainly he wished to demonstrate his culture (παιδεία), particularly writing during a self-consciously intellectual period.6 But Dio also had * I am grateful to C. Hjort Lange and J. Majbom Madsen for arranging the conference at which I presented an earlier version of this paper, and for their considerate approach to its revisions in the editorial stage. Further thanks are also due to the reviewers for their invaluable corrections and suggestions. Translations are my own unless otherwise specified and preferred book numbers are those of Carey’s LCL edition. 1  Vlachos 1905; Saylor Rodgers 2008, 313–318. 2  Millar 1964, 78–83; Gowing 1992, 243–244. 3  Greenhalgh 1980, 88; McKechnie 1981. 4  Millar 1964, 49–55, 78–83. 5  Saylor Rodgers 2008, 297. 6  Brandon Jones contribution to this volume in particular gives a good overview in which Cassius Dio may be considered a member of a ‘sophistic’ intellectual climate. His attitude to the sophists and to centres of sophistic activity in the Greek East seems to me very often

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his own story to tell about how and why the Republic collapsed, and despite the considerable bibliography on the speeches, remarkably little work has been undertaken on how he used speeches to tell that story.7 Rhetoric was, fundamentally, a means of persuasion; this much was made clear to ancient authors even in school. Yet among the literature on Dio’s speeches, a question that seems to me important has met little attention: the question of how the historian used rhetoric to form a persuasive interpretation of why the Republic collapsed, and why the new Augustan regime was a successful replacement.8 As he states himself, Cassius Dio firmly believed that monarchy was the best form of government;9 and as such he was particularly interested in explaining how the Principate under which he lived came to be. Accordingly, he made the Late Republic the longest and most detailed section of his work.10 Although it is not commonly recognised (and occasionally rejected outright),11 Dio did apply a causative framework to that constitutional change; but a significant part of that, I suggest, can be very clearly identified in the speeches. In this paper I focus on two aspects of that framework. The first is the ‘habitu‑ ation to authority’ (imperii consuetudo) which the historian viewed as the inevitable consequence of successive office-holding, and especially of military authority in the provinces. This phenomenon, Dio argues through his speech  hostile (Cass. Dio 52.30.3–10; 52.36.3–4; 52.37.9–10; 54.23.8; 72.53.1–2; 78[77].17.2; 78[77].18.4; 78[77].19.1–2) although I do not think that this is inconsistent with Brandon Jones’ point. Dio criticised squabbling poleis, witchcraft, sophistry, and false philosophers, but not the intellectual milieu in which he lived. 7  The analysis of Fechner 1986 is the first serious attempt to unearth the causal, historical, and theoretical framework contained within Dio’s speeches by considering them in relation to the narrative that surrounds them. However, while Fechner examined these compositions innovatively to find that framework, he did not set out how Dio used his speeches to explain the causal effect it exerted upon historical events. For this thesis, see Burden-Strevens 2015a. 8  Giua 1983; Reinhold 1988, 12; Reinhold and Swan 1990; and Swan 2004, 13–17 point out the positivity of Dio’s presentation of the Augustan Principate. 9  Cass. Dio 44.2.1. He presents its counterpart in the Republic (called δημοκρατία in his work and in Appian, for which see Aalders 1986, 296–299; Freyburger-Galland, 1997, 116–123) as untenable, at least in the first century BCE. But as Kemezis 2014, 129 has recently observed, by the historian’s time monarchy had ‘long ceased to be something one was for or against’. 10  Swan 1997, 2533 shows that the number of years per book increases significantly after Augustus’ rule; his account of the Late Republic was far more detailed and less compressed. 11   Pace Millar 1964, 46, 77, 115, who writes that Cassius Dio had no general historical views whatsoever, was not profound or original in his approach, and did not have an overarching or consistent interpretation of the causes for the decline of the Republic. Millar’s remains the most influential study of Dio.

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of Q. Lutatius Catulus, engendered monarchical ambitions in all the major military figures of the Late Republic, whose repeated positions of authority made them addicted to power. The second is the proliferation of envy (φθóνος) as a motivating factor in the hostile actions of the senatorial elite. The historian suggests through a patchwork of speeches that this factor was no mere commonplace, but was deeply embedded in his historical perspective on Late Republican aristocratic discord. Importantly, Dio used the Agrippa-Maecenas debate of Book 52 to reflect upon both of these issues, and to suggest his own interpretation of the measures necessary in the new regime to counter them. My focus throughout will not be on the content of the speeches per se, but on how this content is consonant with Dio’s authorial comments elsewhere; on how the speeches relate to one another in their argumentation; and on how both elements, speech and narrative, were arranged in a particular order to build a persuasive argument about the drivers of constitutional change over many books, which, growing cumulatively more convincing, culminates with the Augustan Principate.

Imperii Consuetudo

I begin with imperii consuetudo. The phrase first appears a century before Dio, in Suetonius’ biography of Julius Caesar. “Some”, he writes, “think that Caesar was overcome by his habituation to his own authority (captum imperii consuetudine) and that, when he had weighed up his own strength and that of his enemies, he embraced the opportunity to seize power”.12 Perhaps this was obvious to Suetonius. By the time of the Civil War, Caesar had been in possession of imperium for a period of thirteen years: praetor, governor of Lusitania, consul, and then proconsul in Gaul for eight years. Commanding had simply become his habit (consuetudo), and he was loath to give it up.13 As Eckstein argues, the experience of governing a province for years at a time, with absolute authority and far from senatorial oversight, inevitably caused the expansion of Caesar’s ambitions in particular. He had become addicted to power, and this was directly caused by the way that the Republic organised its empire, with frequent over-reliance upon individual commanders.14 In Dio’s view, Caesar was not the exception in the Late Republic, but the rule. For him, the problem of imperii consuetudo originated long before 12  Suet. Iul. 30.5. 13  App. B Civ. 2.28 makes a similar suggestion. 14  Eckstein 2004, esp. 285. See also Crawford 2008, 631–643.

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the Civil War of 49–45 BCE.15 It was a key factor in the downfall of the Republic. But it is in three speeches, and not solely in narrative, that Dio most clearly elucidates that argument. To begin with the first, in the oration of Q. Lutatius Catulus (36.31–36) the historian sets out his interpretation of the causes of imperii consuetudo and explores its ramifications for the Republic. This speech, placed within Dio’s account of the year 67 BCE, is framed as a vehement rejection of the controversial lex Gabinia, proposed by the tribune A. Gabinius to rectify the issue of Mediterranean piracy. The pirate problem had grown to extraordinary dimensions, and in consequence called for an extraordinary solution: a grant of proconsular imperium for a period of three years over the entire Mediterranean and fifty miles into the littoral, with a vast army and fleet at the chosen commander’s disposal.16 In Dio’s account of this episode, both Pompeius and Gabinius are first made to give short speeches in the contio – the former disingenuously pretending to reject the command, the latter exhorting the people to ratify it – before the set-piece of Catulus, longer than the first two speeches combined. Amongst this trio, Dio brings Catulus’ to the fore not only by its length, but its credibility. Shortly before Pompeius and Gabinius are made to speak, Dio underlines in the narrative that both were motivated purely by self-interest.17 This authoritative preface directs our negative reading of these disingenuous speeches. In the prefatory remarks prior to the speech of Catulus, however, the orator is described favourably as “one who always spoke and acted for the people’s advantage”, and Catulus correspondingly begins in the proemium by underlining his devotion to the state.18 In this way we are actively directed to read what follows as a trustworthy piece of analysis. This method of furnishing the reader with a guiding preface to a speech is common in Dio’s technique.19 15  Of course Dio does not use this Latin term, nor finds a simple Greek expression to denote “habituation to authority”; but his Greek expressions such as “ruling successively” (κατὰ τὸ ἑξῆς ἀρχὰς) and “for many years in succession” (τοσούτοις ἐφεξῆς ἔτεσι) capture the sense of the historical problem. 16  Ferrary 2007 gives an overview of the terms of the law and our sources. For the nature of Pompeius’ imperium in 67 BCE, see Jameson 1970. On Pompeius’ military career in general and his use of deception before the people to further this, as in Dio, see Vervaet 2009, 2010; van der Blom 2011. 17  Cass. Dio 36.23.4–5; 36.24.5–6. 18  Cass. Dio 36.30.5–31.1. See also the favourable necrology of Catulus at 37.46.3. 19  Cass. Dio 38.35.1–3 (Caesar at Vesontio); 41.26.1–2 (Caesar at Placentia); 41.15.1–2 (Caesar in the Senate); 53.2.6–7 (Augustus in the Senate). In each case, our reading of the speech, generally negative, is directly informed by Dio’s comments.

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But it is especially important in this case. Dio is not merely acknowledging the encomiastic tradition of writing Catulus as the ideal Republican ­statesman.20 Here, he ensures that the argument about imperii consuetudo which his speaker will raise cannot be doubted on the basis of character. This is particularly important in that Catulus’ speech is the first elaboration of this problem. An unconvincing exposition here would render Dio’s comments on imperii consuetudo unpersuasive later. Having laid this foundation, Dio’s Catulus moves on from the proemium to the first of three argumentative sections. The first maintains that the lex Gabinia is forbidden by law (36.31.3–32.3). The second, that the extraordinary new powers enshrined in it are unnecessary as long as other imperium-­ holders exist (36.33.1–34.4). And the third, that the proposed command would be better exercised by a number of generals directly answerable to the people (36.35.1–36.4). Although the title of each of these headings is debatable, this is cosmetic.21 All three sections have at their heart the fundamental question of imperii consuetudo in Dio’s history: the effect of prolonged power upon the individual and upon the res publica. The opening to Catulus’ first section is worth quoting in full: ἐγὼ τοίνυν πρῶτον μὲν καὶ μάλιστά φημι δεῖν μηδενὶ ἑνὶ ἀνδρὶ τοσαύτας κατὰ τὸ ἑξῆς ἀρχὰς ἐπιτρέπειν. τοῦτο γὰρ καὶ ἐν τοῖς νόμοις ἀπηγόρευται καὶ πείρᾳ σφαλερώτατον ὂν πεφώραται. οὔτε γὰρ τὸν Μάριον ἄλλο τι ὡς εἰπεῖν τοιοῦτον ἐποίησεν ἢ ὅτι τοσούτους τε ἐν ὀλιγίστῳ χρόνῳ πολέμους ἐνεχειρίσθη καὶ ὕπατος ἑξάκις ἐν βραχυτάτῳ ἐγένετο, οὔτε τὸν Σύλλαν ἢ ὅτι τοσούτοις ἐφεξῆς ἔτεσι τὴν ἀρχὴν τῶν στρατοπέδων ἔσχε καὶ μετὰ τοῦτο δικτάτωρ, εἶθ᾽ ὕπατος ἀπεδείχθη. οὐ γάρ ἐστιν ἐν τῇ τῶν ἀνθρώπων φύσει ψυχήν, μὴ ὅτι νέαν ἀλλὰ καὶ πρεσβυτέραν, ἐν ἐξουσίαις ἐπὶ πολὺν χρόνον ἐνδιατρίψασαν τοῖς πατρίοις ἔθεσιν ἐθέλειν ἐμμένειν. First and most importantly, I say that we should never entrust so many commands to a single man, one after another. For this is not only forbidden by law, but has been found to be very dangerous in our experience. Nothing else made Marius ‘what he was’, so to speak, except being entrusted with so many wars in the shortest space of time and being made consul six times 20  Amply represented at: Cic. Brut. 133, 222; Phil. 2.12; Leg. Man. 51; Red. sen. 9; Sest. 122; Vell. Pat. 2.31–32; Plut. Pomp. 16.1, 17.3; possibly Sall. Hist. 5 frg. 23, though it is not clear whether the fragment actually refers to Catulus as Gelzer 1943, 180 suggests. 21  Jameson 1970, 546 and Fechner 1986, 45–46 both define these three sections slightly differently.

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in the briefest period. Nor Sulla, except that he commanded our armies for so many years in succession and after this was made dictator, then consul. For it is not in human nature, not only in the youthful spirit but the elder too, to wish to abide by the customs of our ancestors when one has been in power for a long time.22 According to Dio’s speaker, the lust for power that led Marius and Sulla to seize control could be explained as the direct result of Rome’s over-reliance upon their skills. Historically, C. Marius owed his six consulships in the period 107–101 BCE to the threat of Jugurtha in Numidia and a possible Cimbrian invasion. L. Cornelius Sulla took continual charge of the First Mithridatic War between 87–83 BCE before serving as dictator and then consul in the two following years, as Dio’s Catulus outlines here.23 The fact that the lex Villia effectively forbade successive office-holding (which the historian may be hinting at in this passage) did not prevent this. Whether this is the first point at which the historian explicitly states that Marius’ and Sulla’s protracted periods of authority made them seek absolute power is unclear, as his narrative of their careers is extremely fragmentary. Is this explanation of the cause of Marian and Sullan tyranny merely a representation of what the historian believed to be the standard or commonplace views of a Republican optimas objecting to unconstitutional powers?24 Or, is Dio using his speaker to articulate his own historical interpretation about the destructive role of imperii consuetudo in the Late Republic? Earlier fragments on Sulla suggest the latter. In the aftermath of the battle of the Colline Gate, Dio describes the shift in Sulla’s character following his victory over the Marians. Although he had once been considered the “foremost in humanity and piety”, Sulla was transformed by his victory. It seemed as if he had left behind his former self, in Dio’s own words, outside the city walls, and proceeded to outdo Cinna and Marius in brutality.25 Prior to this time he had relied upon good men; “but when he grew closer to his desire of absolute conquest, he considered their advice of no worth, and placed his trust instead in the basest”. Although Dio concedes that his longing for power may have lay dormant from the beginning, his interpretation in these passages is clear: 22  Cass. Dio 36.31.3–4. 23  Although the precise date of Sulla’s resignation of the dictatorship is debatable, see Hinard, 1999 for a recent analysis with accompanying bibliography. Hinard suggests an early date of resignation, within the permitted six-month term. 24  Leach 1978, 68. 25  Cass. Dio frg. 109.1–3.

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it was closeness to power, Sulla’s experience of absolute conquest (τοῦ παντελῶς κρατήσειν), that corrupted his character and made him institute a tyranny over the Republic.26 Dio plays out a similar argument in his narrative of Caesar’s third consecutive term as dictator and consul in 46 BCE, though in more prosaic language. Caesar’s reforms to the provincial administration, the historian states, were informed by the experience of his own career: ὅτι τε αὐτὸς πολλοῖς τῶν Γαλατῶν ἐφεξῆς ἔτεσιν ἄρξας ἔς τε τὴν ἐπιθυμίαν ἀπ᾽ αὐτοῦ τῆς δυναστείας μᾶλλον προήχθη καὶ ἐς τὴν παρασκευὴν τῆς ἰσχύος ἐπηυξήθη, κατέκλεισε νόμῳ τοὺς μὲν ἐστρατηγηκότας ἐπ᾽ ἐνιαυτὸν τοὺς δὲ ὑπατευκότας ἐπὶ δύο ἔτη κατὰ τὸ ἑξῆς ἄρχειν, καὶ μηδενὶ τὸ παράπαν ἐπὶ πλεῖον ἡγεμονίαν τινὰ ἔχειν ἐξεῖναι. Because he himself had ruled the Gauls for many years in succession and as a result of this had been led to desire absolute power and to increase his military might, he limited by law the term of propraetors to one year and proconsuls to two consecutive years, ruling that absolutely no one be permitted to hold any command for a longer time than this.27 Two accounts of this law survive which predate Dio: Cicero’s First Philippic and Suetonius Life of Julius Caesar.28 Mention of the dictator’s previous career is absent in these. Although it is likely that the historian read both,29 Dio is our only ancient author who argues that Caesar’s own experience of ruling Gaul precipitated his reassertion in 46 BCE that commanders ought not to wield power over extended periods. In Dio’s view, continual military authority had habituated Caesar to his own power and led him to desire monarchy. He therefore moved to prevent anyone following in his footsteps. Catulus’ reflection on the careers of Marius and Sulla therefore looks forward as well as back, crystallising the historical problem of imperii consuetudo into a single persuasive 26  Cass. Dio frg. 108.1. 27  Cass. Dio 43.25.3. 28  Cic. Phil. 1.9; Suet. Iul. 42.1–3. 29  Dio’s use of the Philippics is commonly attested in older scholarship, for which see Fischer 1870; Haupt 1884, 688–690; Gabba 1957; Millar 1964, 53–54. For a more detailed rhetorical analysis of the historian’s use of Cicero, see Burden-Strevens (2015a) 47–72, with BurdenStrevens (forthcoming 2017a) for comments also on his re-elaboration of Cicero’s letters. On the complexities of Dio’s relationship with Suetonius, see Millar 1964, 85–87, 105; Manuwald 1979, 260–268; Rich 1989; Swan 1987; Swan 1997.

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moment which applies not only to Caesar as Suetonius wrote, but to earlier generals too. Dio’s Catulus opens the second section of his speech by reiterating that his first argument, that power ought not to be concentrated repeatedly in one man’s hands, is the most important of all.30 But this next section asserts that the unconstitutional powers of the lex Gabinia were in any case not required, as the usual system of propraetors and proconsuls functioned perfectly well. “For why bother to elect the annual magistrates at all”, Catulus asks, “if you are not going to make use of them for such tasks? Surely not just so they can go about in purple-bordered togas?”31 It is possible that Dio imitates Demosthenes in this thought,32 although it is revealing, in the context of Catulus’ rejection of Pompeius’ power, that the purple toga is particularly relevant to Pompeius: Cicero in a letter to Atticus quips that “our good pal Pompeius is protecting that little purple toga of his (togulam illam pictam) with his silence”.33 More of interest to the problem of imperii consuetudo is the point that the speaker raises in this section about the dictatorship. He states that, if the pirate problem required far-reaching powers, a dictator could be appointed. Dio makes this argument deliberately illogical: such a person, Catulus observes, would have to fight the pirates from Italy, as the law required that dictatores remain there.34 The historical message made implicit in this by Dio is that the supreme emergency power of the Republic was unable to respond to the needs of the newly-enlarged empire, thereby necessitating the monarchy. Again, this laboured focus upon the dictatorship returns to the destructive impact of imperii consuetudo: πῶς δ᾽ ἂν ὀρθῶς ἔχοι καινὴν ἡγεμονίαν, καὶ ταύτην ἐς ἔτη τρία καὶ ἐπὶ πᾶσιν ὡς εἰπεῖν καὶ τοῖς ἐν τῇ Ἰταλίᾳ καὶ τοῖς ἔξω πράγμασιν, ἀποδειχθῆναι; ὅσα γὰρ ἐκ τοῦ τοιούτου δεινὰ ταῖς πόλεσι συμβαίνει, καὶ ὅσοι διὰ τὰς παρανόμους φιλαρχίας τόν τε δῆμον ἡμῶν πολλάκις ἐτάραξαν καὶ αὐτοὶ αὑτοὺς μυρία κακὰ εἰργάσαντο, πάντες ὁμοίως ἐπίστασθε.

30  Cass. Dio 36.33.1. 31  Cass. Dio 36.33.2. 32  Saylor Rodgers 2008, 315 places this passage alongside Dem. 4.26, although there is little similarity between the two beside the fact that both argue that officials ought to be allowed to do their jobs, and verbal parallels are very few. 33  Cic. Att. 1.18.6. 34  Cass. Dio 36.34.2.

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How can it be right that a new command be created, and that for three years and over all affairs within Italy, without Italy, and, in a word, over everything? For I think that you all know how many disasters come to states from this practice, and how many men have often disturbed our people and wrought incalculable harm upon themselves because of their lust for extra-legal powers.35 By this point Dio’s readers have seen for themselves the validity of this statement. Though fragmentary, the earlier narrative of Marius and Sulla’s control over Rome is discernibly savage. Here again Catulus lights upon the problem not only of great authority, but of great authority over a protracted period of time, and the deleterious consequences of “this practice” (ἐκ τοῦ τοιούτου). Allowing ambitious commanders to become habituated to the experience of wielding power had, and would again, upset the harmony of the state. The existing yearly magistrates should be maintained, and no single person should have too much power, especially military power. Dio confirms later in his narrative of events following Caesar’s infamous “funeral” in the Forum that this argument of Catulus is his own. The historian simply lists the events here, except for one: the lex Antonia, M. Antonius’ law abolishing the dictatorship. Dio viewed this as especially misguided: “for they passed this law for posterity, thinking that the disgrace of men’s actions lay in their titles; but in fact, those actions arise from their possession of armed forces (ἐκ τῶν ὅπλων)”.36 In the context of the lex Antonia this is a reflection upon Caesar in particular. But Catulus speech makes clear that to Dio, Caesar was merely a further iteration of a problem which went further back, to Marius and Sulla: of individual commanders holding military power for long periods. The third section underscores this argument about imperii consuetudo a final time. But it is also used by Dio to set a chain-reaction into motion which, in the historian’s view, culminated two decades after the lex Gabinia with the defeat of Pompeius at Pharsalus and the inception of Caesar’s monarchy.37 Marianne Coudry’s contribution to this volume rightly explores Dio’s presentation of the lex Gabinia in institutional terms as a turning point in the Republican constitution. But the historian also judged the consequences of the law of 67 BCE in

35  Cass. Dio 36.34.3–4. 36  Cass. Dio 44.51.3. 37  I use the loaded term “monarchy” as a reflection of what Cass. Dio himself calls Caesar’s rule at 44.2, but see Carson (1957) and Rawson (1975) for other views on Caesar’s position in the few years leading up to 44 BCE.

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strongly moral terms – ones which had significant historical consequences, as his Catulus predicts. τίς γὰρ οὐκ οἶδεν ὅτι οὔτ᾽ ἄλλως καλῶς ἔχει οὔτε συμφέρει ἑνί τινι τὰ πράγματα προστάσσεσθαι καὶ ἕνα τινὰ πάντων τῶν ὑπαρχόντων ἡμῖν ἀγαθῶν κύριον γίγνεσθαι, κἂν τὰ μάλιστα ἄριστός τις ᾖ; αἵ τε γὰρ μεγάλαι τιμαὶ καὶ αἱ ὑπέρογκοι ἐξουσίαι καὶ τοὺς τοιούτους ἐπαίρουσι καὶ διαφθείρουσιν. Who does not know that it is neither remotely appropriate nor advantageous to entrust all our business to one man, or for any one man to be master of all our possessions, even if he is the most excellent? Great honours and excessive powers exalt, and then destroy, even such excellent men.38 As I outlined earlier, the reader has already observed the truth of this in the now fragmentary accounts of Marius and Sulla. In Dio’s assessment, the character of Sulla in particular was exalted by his great and continual power, and then destroyed by that same agency. Dio’s argument in this passage is that granting Pompeius yet another position of great authority, enshrined in the lex Gabinia, would make him as habituated to his own power as his predecessors, exalting and ultimately destroying him. The Republic would again suffer as a result. This is precisely what the later consequences of Pompeius’ imperii consuetudo turn out to be. In his prefatory comments before the narrative of the battle of Pharsalus, Dio outlines that both Pompeius and Caesar were ambitious for absolute power.39 His reflection on their respective careers at this point is interesting, and I think relevant. He envisages the pair enumerating their former achievements, Pompeius thinking of Africa, Sertorius, Mithridates, and his pirate command, and Caesar of Gaul, Spain, the crossing of the Rhine, and the expedition to Britain. “And thinking, indeed, that all those achievements were at stake, and each being eager to appropriate the other’s glory, they were most excited”.40 The pair were thus incited to battle, and indeed to the civil war, by their long and glorious careers. Caesar, Dio states, had no intention of becoming a private citizen again after “commanding for such a long time” (ἐκ χρονίου ἡγεμονίας);41 but Pompeius, too, had been similarly corrupted by his imperii consuetudo. Too corrupted, in fact, even to win 38  Cass. Dio 36.35.1. 39  Cass. Dio 41.53.2. 40  Cass. Dio 41.56.2–3. 41  Cass. Dio 40.60.1.

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at Pharsalus. Dio’s ­interpretation of the battle makes clear that Pompeius lost not because of a tactical error, but because of his complacency: in view of his career, he expected an easy conquest and took victory for granted.42 The lex Gabinia, the historian argues through Catulus, was instrumental in Pompeius’ moral decline and failure to save the Republic at Pharsalus – though we are not supposed to believe he was even trying. Dio places Pompeius in a continuum of ambitious generals whose lengthy tenure of military authority corrupted and destroyed both them and the res publica. One view accepts that the oration of Catulus appears to elucidate the historical situation more effectively than Dio’s other speeches.43 I think that we can go further than this. The composition seems to me a careful exploration of a fundamental problem in the organisation of military power under the Late Republic as Dio perceived it. Dio achieves this, on the one hand, by simply having his speaker state views which are his own: for example, on the role of successive and lengthy periods of authority in the degeneration of Marius and Sulla. On the other hand, I posit that the historian expects his readers to recall the speech of Catulus at later points in the narrative, in for example his own comments on Caesar’s motivation in limiting the tenure of pro-magistracies, or on the lex Antonia. Catulus’ recurring argument on the destructive role of imperii consuetudo in the Late Republic functions, on the one hand, as a standalone set-piece on the dangers of prolonged personal power. But within the broader narrative context, it is also clear that the concerns voiced by Dio’s Catulus apply to all the major military actors of this period. The speech of Catulus, fictitious though it may be,44 is the author’s method of exploring the historical problem of imperii consuetudo and of persuading his readers of the validity of his interpretation. How, then, to prevent imperii consuetudo among the commanders of the regime that followed the Republic? Manuwald’s analysis of Dio’s treatment of Octavian-Augustus finds the lack of positive or negative extremes rather bland, and his necrology of the first princeps a sober, albeit generally positive, 42  Cass. Dio 42.1.1–2.1. 43  Millar 1961, 15 n. 46. 44  Although the speech of Catulus is clearly Dio’s own composition, it is also evident that he drew a number of key arguments from the De Imperio of Cicero, as Van Ooteghem 1954, 170 n. 1; Saylor Rodgers 2008, 308–313; and Kemezis 2014, 113 n. 53 have briefly noted. It is not clear, in fact, whether Catulus actually spoke in 67 BCE as Vell. Pat. 2.32.1–3, Val. Max. 8.15.9, Plut. Pomp. 25.5–6, and Cass. Dio suggest. However, it is clear that the evidence of Cicero alone is not sufficient to assert with Saylor Rodgers 2008 that Catulus did not speak in 67 BCE; for the detail, see Burden-Strevens (2015a) 47–49.

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­summary.45 Perhaps so, but it is hardly possible to escape the idea that the historian treated the Augustan Principate as an enlightened example of effective monarchy,46 especially in contradistinction to the turpitude of the δημοκρατία which immediately preceded it. But even that change, certainly for the better in the historian’s assessment, could not in itself directly address all the flaws of the res publica. Dio’s hortatory speeches of Agrippa and Maecenas suggest that in his interpretation the key lay in Augustus’ reforms to the provincial administration. The Agrippa-Maecenas debate is framed as a controversia: after being called by Augustus to deliberate with him on the future of the constitution, Agrippa argues for the restitution of the Republic, and Maecenas for the return of the monarchy. The two speeches seem to be the historian’s own fabrication; Dio may have drawn inspiration for the role at least of Agrippa from a literary tradition which depicted him arguing for the restoration of the republic.47 Even so, Dio again uses these speeches to persuade the reader of the gravity of the problem of imperii consuetudo in the Late Republic, and posits effective solutions in the speech of Maecenas. First Dio’s Agrippa in his rejection of monarchy outlines the key issue that the absolute ruler would have to face: men who are naturally proud detest the rule of another on principle.48 This would be problematic: “for if the monarch allows these to grow in strength, he cannot live in safety; but if he tries to curtail them, he cannot do so justly. What will you do with them, then?”.49 Worse still, such men would have to be sent out to the provinces, far from the monarch’s oversight. Augustus, Dio argues through his speaker, could not manage the empire alone: καὶ γὰρ εἰ αὐτὸς μόνος πρός τε τὸ τὰ πολιτικὰ καὶ πρὸς τὸ τὰ πολεμικὰ καλῶς καὶ κατὰ καιρὸν πράττειν ἐξήρκεις, καὶ μηδενὸς συνεργοῦ πρὸς μηδὲν αὐτῶν 45  Manuwald 1979, 273–276. 46  As Millar 1964, 100–105; Manuwald 1979, 273–284; Giua 1983, 441–450, 445–456 discuss, Dio’s presentation of Augustus is not uniform. In particular, as Reinhold 1988, 13 spells out, Dio seems to have endorsed Augustus as an emperor, but not approved of his earlier incarnation, Octavian, as a Late Republican dynast. In this connection, Rich 1989, 96–97 states that it is a mistake to view the historian’s presentation of Octavian as particularly hostile in any case, as the Senate and tyrannicides were the ones to blame in Dio’s view. Rich furthermore concludes at 101–102 that to Dio, Augustus was “a model emperor both at home and abroad”. 47  Millar 1964, 105, Reinhold 1988, 166–167; Rich 1989, 98–99. 48  Cass. Dio 52.8.1. 49  Cass. Dio 52.8.1.

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ἔχρῃζες, ἕτερος ἂν ἦν λόγος: νῦν δὲ πᾶσά σε ἀνάγκη συναγωνιστὰς πολλούς, ἅτε τοσαύτης οἰκουμένης ἄρχοντα, ἔχειν, καὶ προσήκει που πάντας αὐτοὺς καὶ ἀνδρείους καὶ φρονίμους εἶναι. οὐκοῦν ἂν μὲν τοιούτοις τισὶ τά τε στρατεύματα καὶ τὰς ἀρχὰς ἐγχειρίζῃς, κίνδυνος ἔσται καὶ σοὶ καὶ τῇ πολιτείᾳ καταλυθῆναι. For if you alone were enough to respond properly both to political and military circumstances and didn’t need assistants to help in any of them, then that’d be a different story. But as it is, you will need to have many helpers in governing so great an empire, and those must all of course be brave and spirited. And so, if you entrust armies and offices to such men as these, both you and your government will be in danger of overthrow.50 Of course this applies to the Late Republic more than any other period in Dio’s narrative. The reader cannot fail to think of Marius, Sulla, Pompeius, and Caesar as examples of generals in the empire who attempted to overthrow the government. Indeed, the speaker later uses these precise exempla.51 Agrippa’s argument on the relative danger of monarchy compared to Republicanism is deliberately illogical on the historian’s part, but not because the speech acts as a cosmetic prelude to the main feature of Maecenas.52 Rather, Dio suggests through Agrippa that imperii consuetudo would always be an issue when the strong are given military authority far from the city of Rome, regardless of the constitution. It certainly had been under the Republic, which Dio’s Agrippa idealises into unpersuasive fantasy. The historian interpreted the solution to the problem through his Maecenas. The speech has traditionally been examined as a political pamphlet on Dio’s part, an essay on effective monarchy third century CE.53 This was surely one aspect; but it additionally serves an explanatory purpose. Augustus, the speaker advises, should neutralise the fractious elements in the senatorial class by simply hand-picking them himself. He advises firstly that Augustus cleanse the Senate of unsavoury figures and install loyal aristocrats in their place: “for in this way, you will have many assistants and secure the loyalty of the leading provincials; and the provinces, having no reputable leaders, will

50  Cass. Dio 52.8.3–4. 51  Cass. Dio 52.13.2–4. 52  For this point see Gabba 1955, 316; McKechnie 1981, 150. 53  Hammond 1932; Gabba 1955, 320–322; Bleicken 1962; Reinhold 1988, 182–183; Dorandi 1985. Kuhlmann 2013, 110–112 has also recently returned to the very familiar topic of the speech’s anachronisms.

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not cause political uprisings”.54 Secondly, Augustus should appoint magistrates and governors himself. This, Maecenas argues, would prevent “the same things happening all over again” (ἵνα μὴ τὰ αὐτὰ αὖθις γένηται) and give ambitious commanders neither reason nor opportunity to again march on Rome.55 Finally – and crucially – Maecenas insists on a long hiatus between a magistrate’s tenure in the city and his position of command abroad. Pro-magistrates should not go out immediately after their urban office, but should wait: “for after being private citizens for a time, they will be milder, and, not having been placed in command of legions alongside the prestige of their titles, they will not rebel”.56 Maecenas’ recommendations of Book 52 are framed as a response to the Late Republican problem of individual commanders growing habituated to their own authority by long periods in power. This is exactly the interpretation that the historian applies to Augustus’ reforms to the provincial administration in 27 BCE in Book 53. Dio writes that the new princeps feigned a reluctant acceptance of the absolute power offered to him by the Senate,57 and, wishing to appear “democratic” (δημοτικός), declared that he would not govern all the provinces himself. Instead, he made some senatorial, and others imperial, entrusting to the Senate the weaker provinces, “on the pretext that they were safer and peaceful and not at war”, but to himself the stronger provinces. Dio’s analysis is incisive: “he said that he was taking this course so that the Senate might enjoy the best of the empire without fear while he himself would have all the hardships and dangers. In reality, it was so that under this pretext the Senate would be unarmed and feeble, while he alone would have arms and maintain troops” (αὐτὸς δὲ δὴ μόνος καὶ ὅπλα ἔχῃ καὶ στρατιώτας τρέφῃ.).58 To complete the package, Augustus decreed that the governors of the imperial provinces be selected by the princeps himself, while those of the senatorial provinces be chosen at random, by lot – thereby imposing his direct control over the stronger territories.59 Against the backdrop of Maecenas’ recommendations, Dio’s interpretation of Augustus’ provincial reforms is significant. The historian implicitly frames these measures as a preventative response to the problem of military authority under the Republic, which the reader has to this point seen played out numerous times. 54  Cass. Dio 52.19.3. 55  Cass. Dio 52.20.3. 56  Cass. Dio 52.20.4. 57  See Rich 2010 and Vervaet 2010 on Augustan recusatio imperii. 58  Cass. Dio 53.12.1–3. 59  Cass. Dio 53.13.2–5. For a discussion of the relationship between the princeps and the proconsuls, see Hurlet 2006.

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So Catulus’ dissuasio of Pompeius’ pirate command and the AgrippaMaecenas debate seem to form a logical unity, one which book-ends a Late Republican narrative in which imperii consuetudo is of fundamental historical importance. An historical analysis is being formed. By reflecting on imperii consuetudo as one of the dangers of monarchy, Agrippa is in fact made to reiterate, implicitly, the consequences of this problem in the Republic. The reader has by this point already seen these grave consequences reflected on, and predicted further, in the speech of Catulus. Maecenas, by way of response, verbalises the historian’s interpretation of the measures necessary to address that issue. And, finally, Dio’s own later account of Augustus’ reforms spells out how the new princeps, by acting in accordance with Maecenas’ recommendations, was able to prevent strong and independently-minded provincial governors from becoming habituated to power. Dio’s is a convincing exploration of the problem of imperii consuetudo over a span of twenty books, and the speeches played a considerable role in that argument. Φθóνος Dio also devotes considerable attention in his speeches to the problem of spiteful envy (φθóνος) in the Late Republic.60 It is easy to dismiss this focus. On the one hand, the suggestion that successful political figures would incur the jealousy of their competitors was commonplace enough, and this may be the reason that remarkably little research has been undertaken on the prominence of φθóνος as a factor of history in Dio’s work.61 On the other, traditions of Late Republican moral decline were naturally canonical in the historiography of this period, and easy enough to replicate. Sallust’s portrait of the political culture of the 60s depicts an aristocracy in a state of endemic invidia that is only momentarily set aside with the temporary return of metus hostilis in Catilina.62 Not that Sallust, who by critiquing the turpitude of his contemporaries “inscribed his own condemnation all too well in the pages of his history”,63 60  On the spiteful connotations of φθóνος as distinct from other signifiers of jealousy (νέμεσις), see Kaster 2003. 61  Although see some brief comments in Kemezis 2014, 110–115 and in Marianne Coudry’s contribution to this volume. 62  Sall. Cat. 23. As both Sallust (Cat. 10.3) and Tacitus (Hist. 2.38) attribute Late Republican moral decline to the disappearance of metus hostilis, the inverse in 63 BCE is not a surprising point to make. 63  Cass. Dio. 43.9.3.

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was too ­sententious to accept the corrupting influence of invidia even upon himself, as he admits in his preface.64 But the causal ramifications of φθóνος were a significant motivating factor in the decline of the Republic in Dio’s view, even in spite of the time-honoured place of envy as an historiographical topos.65 As the historian again uses his speeches to elucidate his interpretation not only of the role of φθóνος in internecine conflict and its consequences, but also of the alleviation of this problem by the Augustan Principate, it merits consideration here. I wish to dwell on Catulus and the other speeches surrounding the lex Gabinia a moment longer. As we have seen, in Catulus the historian foreshadowed the later consequences of Pompeius’ extraordinary position. Like Marius and Sulla before him, the general was corrupted by power, leading not only to his destructive ambitions, but to his complacency and ultimate defeat at Pharsalus. In the same fashion, Catulus’ oration against the lex Gabinia makes a further prediction: the gravity of the φθóνος that would result from further extraordinary powers. In one fragment of Book 36 attributed to the speech of Catulus, Dio’s speaker warns that Pompeius’ “monarchy” (μοναρχῆσαι) over all the Romans’ possessions “will not be free from envy” (οὔτε ἀνεπίφθονον ἔσται).66 Quite simply, further powers would be harmful not only to the res publica, but to the holder’s safety at the hands of his competitors. In fact Dio’s Catulus is merely rounding off a thought that had already been alluded to in the previous two speeches. Pompeius in his disingenuous rejection of power (recusatio imperii) declines the honour, on the grounds that “all such positions of power incur envy and hatred” (ἐπίφθονα καὶ μισητὰ).67 No man, he argues, could happily live among those who envy him (τίς μὲν γὰρ ἂν εὖ φρονῶν ἡδέως παρ᾽ ἀνθρώποις φθονοῦσιν αὐτῷ ζῴη;).68 The speech of Gabinius which follows builds on this theme: Dio’s speaker encourages Pompeius not to fear the 64  Sall. Cat. 3.5: Quae tametsi animus aspernabatur insolens malarum artium, tamen inter tanta vitia imbecilla aetas ambitione corrupta tenebatur; ac me, cum ab reliquorum malis moribus dissentirem, nihilo minus honoris cupido eadem, qua ceteros, fama atque invidia vexabat. 65  And not only in the tradition that Sallust, Livy, and Tacitus represent; Harrison 2003 and Rees, W. 2011, 30–35 have shown the role played by φθóνος in Herodotus and Thucydides respectively. 66   Anecd. Bekk. 157, 30. 67  Cass. Dio 35.26.1. On Pompeius’ rhetorical strategies in the contio, see van der Blom 2011. For Pompeius’ recusatio imperii in particular, see Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 36; and Vervaet 2010, who with Rich 2010 views Pompeius as the model for Augustus’ later adoption of the tactic. 68  Cass. Dio 35.26.2–3.

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envy of ­others (μηδὲ ὅτι τινὲς φθονοῦσι φοβηθῇς), but to make even more of a success of the pirate command and thereby spite his competitors.69 The prediction of Dio’s Catulus again proves true. In Book 37, the historian narrates Pompeius’ victorious return from Asia Minor in 62 BCE. Landing at Brundisium like Sulla two decades before, Pompeius symbolically disbanded his legions, in order, Dio states, to avoid a repetition of the Sullan precedent.70 Although he returned with a host of political settlements for the East,71 his measures were effectively blocked by his own favoured candidate for the consulship of 60 BCE, Q. Caecilius Metellus Celer. Pompeius could accomplish nothing, and in Dio’s assessment the simple reason for this was φθóνος: after declaring that his enemies envied him and that he would communicate this to the people, “he realised that he was not actually powerful, but really possessed only the reputation and the envy for his previous positions” (τὸ μὲν ὄνομα καὶ τὸν φθόνον ἐφ᾽οἷς ἠδυνήθη ποτὲ εἶχεν).72 Simply put, in the historian’s view the lex Gabinia, as his Catulus and Pompeius expressed in advance, generated the φθóνος which led to Pompeius’ political impotence in 60 BCE. This envy, in fact, had farther-reaching consequences: Dio states explicitly that he entered the First Triumvirate that year to regain the political power he had recently lost,73 and it is hard not to think of the φθóνος of Metellus in this context. Not that the case of Pompeius is the only example of Dio using his speeches to underline the historical ramifications of φθóνος in the Late Republic. In the wake of Caesar’s assassination, Dio inserts a speech into the mouth of Cicero, advocating an amnesty for the tyrannicides and the ratification of the former dictator’s acts. Whether the historian drew some content from previous versions of a written Amnesty speech of Cicero is unclear, as none but Dio’s exists.74 It may be that the historian took only the historical occasion of speech and fabricated the content himself, with some references to Demosthenes, Thucydides, and the Athenian Amnesty of 403 BCE thrown in. Despite this, Dio’s speech of Cicero slots neatly into the interpretative framework that the historian applied to the downfall of the Late Republic because of its focus on 69  Cass. Dio 36.29.2. 70  Cass. Dio 37.20.3. 71  See Steel 2013, 148–149 for a synopsis of these arrangements. 72  Cass. Dio 37.50.6. 73  Cass. Dio 37.56.3. 74  Cic. Phil. 1.1 and Att. 14.10 and 14.14 indicate that Cicero did speak publicly on March 17th 44 BCE in favour of an amnesty. Vell. Pat. 2.58.4 and Plut. Cic. 42 merely allude to such a speech and do not provide details, and it is not mentioned in App. B Civ. For summaries of the source-material for this speech see Millar 1961, 17–18; Fechner 1986, 58 n. 111.

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envy. Cicero encourages the Senate to “relinquish our enmities or jealousies (πρὸς ἀλλήλους ἔχθρας ἢ φιλονεικίας), or whatever you want to name them, and instead return to our former condition of peace, friendship, and concord”.75 The idea returns later, where Cicero states that it is φιλονεικία that universally drives men to civil strife, with the important Republican exempla of Marius, Sulla, Cinna, Strabo, Pompeius, and Caesar as proof.76 The preceding decades of the first century BCE, and indeed decades earlier as the exemplum of the Gracchi makes clear,77 is reflected upon as an envious contest between individual dynasts. The vocabulary in this instance is slightly different to the lex Gabinia speeches: φιλονεικία, rather than φθóνος, is the undesirable aspect of Republican political culture most to be abandoned. But while reading Cicero’s reflection upon senatorial competition the reader cannot fail to think of the assassination of Caesar which occurred a few chapters before. The cause of this, Dio states moments prior the Amnesty speech, was φθóνος: “because of envy (φθόνῳ) of his advancement and hatred of the honours he had received instead of them, a destructive frenzy struck certain men, and they unjustly killed him”.78 Were the point not sufficiently laboured, the historian reflects a chapter later upon the danger of φθóνος, arguing that it is germane to republics (δημοκρατία) in general.79 But Dio additionally suggests that the spiteful envy that was fatally attached to Caesar was the deliberate creation of the Senate: they voted him extravagant honours not in order to gratify him, “but in order that he might be the more swiftly destroyed, wishing to make him envied and resented all the sooner” (ἔς τε τὸ ἐπίφθονον καὶ ἐς τὸ νεμεσητὸν).80 Dio appears to have made a conscious and deliberate choice in the Amnesty speech to bring forward the theme of φιλονεικία, and predicates this upon an immediately preceding narrative in which φθóνος takes centre-stage as a key motive in dynastic power-struggles. These comments on the danger of envy in the speeches are consistent with the historian’s interpretation of aristocratic behaviour throughout the Late Republic. There are only eight instances of an historical character acting

75  Cass. Dio 44.24.3. 76  Cass. Dio 44.27.4–28.5. 77  Cass. Dio 44.30.4. 78  Cass. Dio 44.1.1. 79  Cass. Dio 44.2.3. 80  Cass. Dio 44.7.3.

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because of their φθóνος in the half-millennium period prior to the Gracchi.81 This may be influenced by the lacunose state of Dio’s Regal- to Mid-Republican narrative; although the fragments suggest that Dio may have conceived of the Mid-Republic as a golden age, at least compared to the decline that followed.82 In the century between the Gracchi and the reign of Augustus, however, φθóνος becomes significantly more pronounced, especially as the catalyst for hostile individual action. All told, in the period from the Gracchi to the death of Augustus (Books 25–55) there are 82 instances of the morpheme -φθον-, indicating envy.83 It is telling that eight of these occur in the narrative of Caesar’s assassination and funeral. This focus upon φθóνος as a causal force in history is particular to Dio among our Imperial Greek historians of this period. Causal participles of the verb φθονεῖν, the phrase “because of envy” (ὑπὸ τοῦ φθόνου), and the dative of cause (φθόνῳ) appear frequently, but much less so in Plutarch and Appian, who place far less emphasis on envy as a factor of history. Cassius Dio thus applies a framework of historical causation to the late res publica in which the emotive aspect, the jealous begrudging of another’s success, plays a central role in aristocratic discord. The historian accordingly made his speeches of the Late Republic consistent with that framework. Like imperii consuetudo the historian viewed this issue as distinctly Late Republican and as the inevitable product of individual power under that constitution. But paradoxically, it was again the absolute power of a single monarch in Augustus which in Dio’s view broke the cycle of competition and envy, restoring the elite to relative harmony. The constitutional debate of Agrippa and Maecenas serves, again, as the historian’s final reflection on this problem 81  Cass. Dio 5 frg. 19; 11 frg. 43.1–2; 14 frg. 57.20; 17 frg. 57.54; 17 frg. 57.62; 19 frg. 63; 21 frg. 70.9; 22 frg. 74. 82  For a comparison of Dio’s presentation of these two periods, see Kemezis 2014, 104–112. As I suggest at Burden-Strevens 2016, 12, there is ample evidence to indicate that the historian in fact broke with idealised traditions of early Rome, and formed a more negative interpretation which is distinctive within Roman historiography; see the contributions of Lange and Lindholmer in Burden-Strevens & Lindholmer (forthcoming, 2017b). 83  Cass. Dio 25.85.3; 26.89.3; 27.91.1; 27.91.1; 29.98.2; 30–35 frg. 109.10; 36.14.3; 36.24.6; 36.26.1; 36.26.2; 36.29.2; 36.43.4; 37.23.4; 37.50.6; 38.11.2; 38.11.4; 38.12.7; 38.21.2; 38.36.4; 38.39.2; 39.25.4; 39.26.1; 39.26.2; 39.37.4; 40.8.1; 40.51.1; 41.28.1; 42.1.3; 42.20.5; 43.12.1; 43.18.3; 44.1.1; 44.2.3; 44.3.1; 44.7.3; 44.29.3; 44.36.5; 44.36.5; 44.39.2; 44.43.1; 45.4.3; 45.8.1; 45.11.4; 46.8.3; 46.17.2; 46.55.2; 47.15.4; 47.33.2; 47.38.3; 48.45.6; 49.7.5; 49.18.7; 49.21.1; 49.23.2; 49.41.6; 51.12.7; 52.2.2; 52.2.2; 52.11.3; 52.15.3; 52.25.4; 52.26.4; 52.30.8; 52.31.4; 52.31.4; 52.33.8; 52.33.9; 52.33.9; 52.40.2; 53.3.1; 53.6.2; 53.8.6; 53.10.3; 53.23.3; 53.29.6; 54.1.5; 54.12.2; 54.29.3; 54.31.1; 55.15.1; 55.18.5; 55.24.9.

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in the Late Republic and on the measures necessary to resolve it. In his argument against monarchy and its associated troubles, Dio’s Agrippa sets out the problem: μὴ θαυμάσῃς, ὦ Καῖσαρ, εἰ μέλλω σε ἀποτρέπειν ἀπὸ τῆς μοναρχίας, καίπερ πολλὰ καὶ ἀγαθὰ ἀπολαύσας ἂν ἀπ᾽ αὐτῆς σοῦ γε αὐτὴν ἔχοντος. εἰ μὲν γὰρ καὶ σοὶ ὠφέλιμος γενήσεσθαι ἔμελλε, καὶ πάνυ ἂν αὐτὴν ἐσπούδασα: ἐπειδὴ δ᾽ οὐδὲν ὅμοιον τοῖς τε αὐταρχοῦσι καὶ τοῖς φίλοις σφῶν παρέχεται, ἀλλ᾽ οἱ μὲν καὶ ἀνεπιφθόνως καὶ ἀκινδύνως πάνθ᾽ ὅσα ἐθέλουσι καρποῦνται, τοῖς δὲ καὶ φθόνοι καὶ κίνδυνοι συμβαίνουσιν, οὐ τὸ ἐμαυτοῦ ἴδιον, ὥσπερ οὐδὲ ἐν τοῖς ἄλλοις, ἀλλὰ τὸ σὸν τό τε κοινὸν προϊδέσθαι ἐδικαίωσα. O Caesar, do not be surprised if I try to turn you away from monarchy, even if under that system I would acquire many benefits from it – or at least if you held it. For if it were to be in your interest, I would of course desire it very much. But since monarchy does not offer the same benefits to rulers as to their friends, but the friends can reap the fruit of all the benefits they wish safely and unenvied and the rulers on the other hand get only the jealousies and dangers, I have decided as usual to look not to my own interests, but to yours and the common good.84 It may be reading too much into Dio to suggest that Agrippa’s focus on φθóνος is especially significant here: it is among the opening lines of the speech. This admonishment against monarchy in fact begins by emphasising a key problem of the Republic in its opening words. But even if we do not accept this significance, the reader knows from all that has come before, and especially from Caesar, that this was no empty warning. Agrippa is here being used to articulate a very real historical problem in Dio’s reconstruction: by setting himself up as monarch, Augustus risked following the same course as previous dynasts of the Late Republic invested with great power. In the historian’s assessment, part of the solution to the problem of φθóνος lay in the title that the princeps was to adopt, and indeed in the self-presentation of the Augustan regime more generally. In his response to Agrippa’s defence of δημοκρατία, Maecenas concludes his list of recommendations for the new constitutional settlement by suggesting, last of all, that Augustus assume the title not of “king”, but “imperator” (αὐτοκράτωρ), “so that you may reap the fruit of all the reality of kingship, without the envy that comes with the name” (ἄνευ 84  Cass. Dio 52.2.1.

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τοῦ τῆς ἐπωνυμίας αὐτῆς ἐπιφθόνου).85 Perhaps deliberately, Dio book-ended the Agrippa-Maecenas debate with φθóνος, both opening and closing the controversia with an historical problem endemic in his account of the Late Republic. To ensure that the reader is convinced of this argument about φθóνος, Dio also places it in the opening lines to Augustus’ recusatio imperii in the following book, as one of the speaker’s (false) bases for rejecting absolute ­power.86 By reiterating the problem of envy as a cause of violence and civil strife in the speeches of Agrippa, Maecenas, and Augustus, Dio thus recalls not only the destructive influence of φθóνος in the Late Republic, but suggests through Maecenas one of the reasons for the success of the Augustan Principate: the studious avoidance of the appearance of kingship.87 Dio is more explicit in this regard later. The Romans, he states, “hated the name of monarchy so much that they called their rulers neither dictators nor kings, nor any other such name”. But since monarchy was in any event necessary, they chose the name imperator, even for rulers who had not conquered in battle, “in order that the rulers might seem to have their power not from domination, but from the laws”. As such, Augustus assumed the title.88 However, in 22 BCE an enamoured populace gave the now-abolished title of dictator a final attempt, and Dio’s interpretation is revealing: τὴν δὲ δικτατορίαν οὐ προσήκατο, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν ἐσθῆτα προσκατερρήξατο, ἐπειδὴ μηδένα τρόπον ἄλλως σφᾶς ἐπισχεῖν, μήτε διαλεγόμενος μήτε δεόμενος, ἠδυνήθη: τήν τε γὰρ ἐξουσίαν καὶ τὴν τιμὴν καὶ ὑπὲρ τοὺς δικτάτορας ἔχων, ὀρθῶς τό τε ἐπίφθονον καὶ τὸ μισητὸν τῆς ἐπικλήσεως αὐτῶν ἐφυλάξατο. Augustus did not accept the dictatorship, and even rent his clothes when he could find no other way to restrain the people, either through speaking to them or begging them. For since he already had power and honour well superior to the dictators anyway, he rightly staved off the jealousy and the hatred of their title.89 So φθóνος, as the natural result of individual success within a competitive governing elite in Dio’s presentation of the Republic, was overcome by a single princeps. This princeps had, on the one hand, the authority to reform the 85  Cass. Dio 52.40.2. 86  Cass. Dio 53.3.1. 87  On which see Wallace-Hadrill 1982. 88  Cass. Dio 53.17.2–4. 89  Cass. Dio 54.1.4–5. In this Dio captures the self-justifying tone of RG 5.

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provincial administration and prevent individuals’ imperii consuetudo from precipitating conflict. On the other hand, his avoidance of the appearance of kingship remedied the problem of φθóνος. The fora in which the Republican elite had attempted to compete – the Senate floor, popular elections and assemblies, and the provinces – were not only brought under monarchical control, as Dio explains in Book 53. They were brought under the control of a monarch who, by avoiding the trappings of kingship which had brought fatal φθóνος to Caesar, avoided φθóνος himself, and secured the transition from Republic to Principate. This may explain why the moral problem of φθóνος takes a less prominent role in the later account. The morpheme -φθον-, which occurs 82 times in the century from the Gracchi to Augustus’ time (Books 25–55), occurs only 39 times in the two hundred years which follow (Books 56–80).90 This may be a problem of transmission, as the text becomes less secure from the reign of Tiberius. But more likely, the historian conceived of φθóνος as a distinctly Late Republican issue which, though always inevitable in human nature, was especially pervasive and acute in the power-struggles of the first century BCE. In any case, it is clear that in Dio’s interpretation the problem of φθóνος and Augustus’ measures to counter it played a significant role in the decline of Dio’s res publica and the success of the new regime. In his speakers of this period – Pompeius, Gabinius, Catulus, Cicero, Agrippa, Maecenas, and Augustus – the historian found a persuasive means of articulating that problem, and assessing its implications in the process of constitutional change. Conclusion Dio’s speeches form a thematic unity which makes clear the interpretative skeleton the historian applied to the Late Republic. Of course they served to enhance his own self-presentation as an educated elite who could write in polished Attic and declaim on a set theme. The studies of Andriy Fomin and Brandon Jones in this volume demonstrate that Cassius Dio was very much an author of his time, who frequently deployed his rhetorical education and his familiarity with Classical texts to assert his παιδεία. Most of all in the speeches. But in tandem with this aesthetic aspect, Dio also used these compositions 90  Cass. Dio 56.35.5; 56.35.6; 56.40.1; 56.40.6; 56.41.4; 57.6.1; 57.18.7; 57.21.5; 58.3.2; 58.14.2; 59.17.4; 59.27.4; 60.6.7; 60.23.2; 60.27.3; 60.30.5; 62.14.2; 63.28.5; 64.13.3; 66.10.3; 66.16.3; 66.18.2; 66.21.1; 67.14.3; 68.6.4; 68.15.5; 68.32.5; 69.3.3; 69.4.6; 71.20.2; 75[74].9.3; 75[74].10.3; 75[74].15.3; 76[75].16.3; 77[76].11.5; 78[77].24.2; 79[78].10.3.

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to reflect upon key historical problems in the Roman Republic. Envy, and the trend of celebrated commanders growing accustomed to their own power, are repeatedly underlined. This does not seem a coincidence, but rather a conscious and deliberate choice on Dio’s part to use his speeches to build a persuasive picture of the historical significance of these issues. The historian achieved this in a number of ways. Often his method is rather simple: for example, placing concerns about φθóνος in the opening lines to Agrippa’s oration and then reiterating these in the closing lines of Maecenas’ which follows, effectively framing the debate; or having his Catulus explicitly posit imperii consuetudo as the cause for Marius and Sulla’s tyranny, using the speaker to express clearly his own view. At other points his use of speeches within this framework is more complex. Catulus’ predictions of the ramifications of the lex Gabinia – the degeneration of Pompeius’ character through continued authority and the φθóνος the lex would bring – are only realised when one looks far beyond the immediate context, to Pompeius’ blocked eastern settlement in 60 BCE or the Battle of Pharsalus. Agrippa’s defence of δημοκρατία appears another well-constructed case. By making his speaker hold forth on the dangers of envy and imperii consuetudo within monarchies, the historian merely states all the more clearly that these problems were distinctly Late Republican, with all the preceding narrative as proof. This deliberately weak argument serves the historian’s purpose of underlining the problems of the Republic and the desirability of monar­ chy. But it also functions in a call-and-response relationship with Maecenas’ speech, which underlines the measures necessary to rectify these problems – measures which Dio’s later narrative implements. The argumentative purpose of the speeches becomes clearer when they are read not only in relation to the broader narrative, as Marianne Coudry’s study here shows, but in relation to each other. They reveal a more coherent and sophisticated explanation of the downfall of the Republic than is generally recognised, and which appears to be Dio’s own. Of course this particular analysis may have been informed by Cassius Dio’s own experiences. While it is possible to overstate the historian’s consciousness of the looming Crisis of the Third Century,91 Dio himself lived to see ambitious commanders again struggle for control of the Roman state. He had been made praetor for the following year by the short-lived emperor Pertinax in 193 CE, a year which famously boasted no fewer than five emperors. The transition from Antonine to Severan, “from a kingdom of gold to one of iron and rust”,92 91  Rees, W. 2011, 2–5. 92  Cass. Dio 72.36.4. Kemezis 2014, 30–74 provides a clear discussion of this change.

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involved bloodshed. Indeed, his historical project as a whole was inspired by a war monograph on Septimius Severus’ campaigns.93 In these contexts, it is hard not to imagine that Dio saw similarities between the imperii consuetudo of the dynasts of the Late Republic and the generals of his own time who vied for supremacy. But even if this is the case, Dio’s evaluation of the causal role of imperii consuetudo and φθóνος in the collapse of the Roman Republic merits consideration in its own right, divorced from the Severan context, as an historical interpretation. He may not have been wrong. And how better to persuade the audience, than in a speech? 93  Cass. Dio 73[72].23.1–3.

CHAPTER 11

Speeches in Dio Cassius Andriy Fomin Ἢν δέ ποτε καὶ λόγους ἐροῦντά τινα δεήσῃ εἰσάγειν, μάλιστα μὲν ἐοικότα τῷ προσώπῳ καὶ τῷ πράγματι οἰκεῖα λεγέσθω, ἔπειτα ὡς σαφέστατα καὶ ταῦτα. πλὴν ἐφεῖταί σοι τότε καὶ ῥητορεῦσαι καὶ ἐπιδείξαι τὴν τῶν λόγων δεινότητα. If a person has to be introduced to make a speech, above all let his language suit his person and his subject, and next let these also be as clear as possible. It is then, however, that you can play the orator and show your eloquence.1 Lucian, Hist. conscr. 58

∵ The Agrippa-Maecenas debate in book fifty-two of Cassius Dio’s Ῥωμαϊκά is prefaced by the following remark about Augustus’ deliberate choice of the political system of Rome (Dio Cass. 52.1.2): ἐποιήσατο δὲ τὴν διάγνωσιν μετὰ τε τοῦ Ἀγρίππου καὶ μετὰ τοῦ Μαικήνου (τούτοις γὰρ πάντα τὰ ἀπόρρητα ἀνεκοίνου) . . . He made such decision, however, in consultation with Agrippa and Maecenas, to whom he was accustomed to communicate all his secret plans . . . This is a fascinating statement, because this preamble introduces the constitutional debate (which immediately follows) as such that can potentially reveal the secrets behind imperial decision-making and modes of 1  Unless otherwise noted, original Greek and Latin passages and also their translations derive from the standard editions of the Loeb Classical Library series. For Cassius Dio, Earnest Cary’s nine-volume text and translation (with slight adjustments) in this series was used. Translations from Russian are mine.

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c­ommunication between the princeps and his amici and also provide the reader with an insight into the workings of the mind of the most outstanding men of the time. Yet despite unprecedented attention which this debate received in the ­twentieth-century scholarship, it has resisted univocal interpretation. Makhlajuk & Markov (2008, 48) provided a summary of the main difficulties with which the modern scholar of Agrippa-Maecenas debate is usually confronted: The debate of Agrippa and Maecenas . . . is not only of the greatest interest among the inserted speeches of the Roman History, but also of the greatest difficulty in respect to the interpretation from the point of view of its general purpose, political and ideological orientation . . . Is this sort of discussion historical? . . . Within these speeches, what is the relation between generalities, rhetorical and ideological clichés and Dio’s own political views? In this paper I would like to revisit the traditional dichotomy in interpretation of Dio’s speeches: are they just arrays of rhetorical commonplaces or do they truly represent the author’s own views and attitudes toward the events he describes? Both interpretations are current. Adler (2012, 483) commented on the nature of the debate: “[W]e have strong reason to believe that this invented dialogue can tell us much about Dio’s own political proclivities” since “the dialogue contains many of the historian’s own opinions”. However, there is the antipodal point of view according to which speeches in Dio and the so-called constitutional debate of book fifty-two in particular do not reflect any original analytic thinking of the author. Rather, because of the perceivable artificiality of their composition and more so by their conforming to certain known oratorical standards, conventions, and topoi, speeches resemble and, probably, are in fact declamatory exercises, akin to the suasoria and controversia of the imperial rhetorical schools. For example, characterizing the constitutional debate of book fifty-two, Reinhold (1988, 170) stated: Because of its general, largely theoretical nature, Agrippa’s speech is usually dismissed as conventional rhetoric, following a pattern of the traditional suasoria of the schools, filled with rhetorical topoi.2

2  The seminal works defending each of these two opposing views are referenced in Adler 2012, 483, nn. 23–25.

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While I agree with the general assessment suggested here by Reinhold, it must also be noted that the content of such exercises could surely reflect individual values and political conceptualization. In the process of interpreting a work from an ancient historian and extracting “hard data” useful in “our own historical reconstructions”, a modern scholar is bound to take into account possible biases of the historian in question, which may be a result of the latter’s own political inclinations and affiliations, as well as the socio-political climate of the time when the work was written.3 Yet literary, rhetorical, and educative influences may be equally strong in shaping a historical narrative, and, in my opinion, Ῥωμαϊκά of Cassius Dio itself supplies excellent support for such a claim. This paper attempts to highlight Dio’s indebtedness to the rhetorical protocols which were conventionalized during the Second Sophistic. While this approach does not deny Dio’s originality and insightfulness of his own interpretations of history, it does assume that, in order to understand Dio’s intentions more fully, we need a “roadmap” for navigating through rhetorical commonplaces and deliberate literary allusiveness, which are well documented in Dio. Members of the cultural milieu of the Empire in the second and third centuries of our era were perhaps better equipped for recognizing these allusions and separating Dio’s own contributions from what appears to be a sensitivity toward the literary tradition that sometimes verges on homage. Yet it is important to realize that these rhetorical and literary links were created by Dio purposefully – in order to place his work firmly within existing historiographic traditions and at the same time to emphasize the validity and usefulness of his own historiographical contributions as accordant with the intellectual demands of his era. Rich has noted that Dio was both “a rhetorician, eager to show off his skills, and the political moralist”.4 In large part, this “showing off” was necessary in Dio’s work to dramatize his competence and erudition, and, therefore, constituted a sui generis claim to authority, one that would appeal to his educated audience (or to any of those aspiring to join the intellectual and political elite of his time).5 On the basis of observing several tendencies in Cassius Dio’s use of speeches and also some general methodological principles employed by him in Ῥωμαϊκά, I shall suggest a few further generalizations regarding possible implications of

3  See editor’s introduction to Rich 1989. 4  Rich 1989, 89. 5  Cf. Marincola 1997, esp. 3–12 and 258–266.

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the fact that Dio’s work was highly informed by the rhetorical discourse of the Second Sophistic.

Speeches That Belong Anywhere in the Narrative

In his examination of Dio’s treatment of Lex Iulia and Lex Papia Poppaea, Kemezis (2007, 275) comments about the speech of Augustus in Dio Cass. 56.2–9 (discussed below): The speeches that Dio gives Augustus in Book 56 are both highly general in nature . . . It appears that Dio wrote a set-piece passage about Augustus and marriage, which he could have put anywhere, and he chose, at some cost in rhetorical verisimilitude, to put it in Book 56. Marincola (2007, 119) remarked that one of the functions of speeches in historiography is “abstract analysis of the underlying issues at stake in actions that were seen as important or distinctive”. Thus speeches, he continues, are “political, almost philosophical, analyses in miniature”. Therefore, the speeches in historiography should be contextualized within a specific historico-political framework. Contrary to this expectation, it is often observed that Dio Cassius’ speeches do not comply with the standards of proper political analysis.6 Moreover, they reach such a level of rhetorical abstraction and universality that the historical context becomes in a sense irrelevant, although this does not necessarily mean that they were resolutely separated from it and that nothing in these speeches could be correlated to the historical facts. So then, in the case of the oration of Fabius Rull(ian)us the Elder, Millar (1964, 79) observes:7 Livy’s speech belongs in its setting, Dio’s could have been put in at any point in his History at which the relevant moral situation occurred. It illustrates what is a general, though not quite universal, tendency in Dio, to use his speeches not to focus a particular political situation or a particular character, but to set forth the moral sentiments appropriate to the situation. This tendency, i.e. speeches acquiring the characteristics of artificial rhetorical compositions, is often noted as a feature of later historians (imperial and 6  See, e.g., Millar 1964, 78–83, esp. 83; cf. Swan 2004, 28. 7  Dio Cass. 8 frg. 36.1–5 and Livy 8.33.12–22.

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beyond).8 An apposite formulation of the role of speeches in this historicoliterary period is provided by Fornara (1983, 157) as he, in an attempt to reconcile Thucydidean famous programmatic statement at 1.22 with observations regarding the rhetorical, “sophistic” character of the Melian dialogue, suggests the following: [T]his [the choice of the form of dialogue which assumes a dramatic structure with philosophical overtones] is not to suggest that Thucydides was on the watch for an opportunity to insert a dialogue, like some rhetor of imperial times with a list of devices that he must interpolate at the proper time into his work. The analysis of speeches in Dio may bring us to some conclusions in the same spirit as Fornara’s insight. Rhetorical considerations were predominant for our author over other concerns in the process of shaping historical speeches and making decisions regarding their insertion into the work. Dio was, in fact, “on the watch” for the appropriate and plausible situations to insert a speech so as to correspond to his rhetorical aims.9 While expressly presenting his profound interest in and care for the oratorical element in his history,10 Dio, however, underscores with different means the very artificiality of his rhetorical compositions (see below). This peculiarity undoubtedly reflects an original feature of Dio’s method.

Dio’s Historical Analysis and Familiar Rhetorical Devices

Let us consider the following comparative example aimed at demonstrating the elusiveness of Dio’s historical analysis in speeches and also the high degree of permeation of theoretical rhetoric into historiography. Tacitus records public opinion of Augustus (de Augusto sermo) just after his death and in particular the tendency among “men of intelligence” (apud prudentes) to exculpate Augustus of his atrocities during his early years (Tac. Ann. 1.9): 8  E.g., Walbank 1965, 19. 9  Cf. Rich (1989, 99) regarding certain aspects of the Agrippa-Maecenas debate’s historicity: “Dio the realist had to give place here: the rhetorical and didactic opportunities of the debate were too good to miss”. 10  Cf. Swan 2004, 26: “The fact that speeches occupy about a quarter of Dio’s fully extant books (36–54) indicates how fundamental a constituent of historiography he deemed them to be”.

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hi pietate erga parentem et necessitudine rei publicae, in qua nullus tunc legibus locus, ad arma civilia actum quae neque parari possent neque haberi per bonas artis. multa Antonio, dum interfectores patris ulcisceretur, multa Lepido concessisse. postquam hic socordia senuerit, ille per libidines pessum datus sit, non aliud discordantis patriae remedium fuisse quam ut ab uno regeretur. non regno tamen neque dictatura sed principis nomine constitutam rem publicam. According to some, “filial duty and the needs of a country, which at the time had no room for law, had driven him to the weapons of civil strife – weapons which could not be either forged or wielded with clean hands. He had overlooked much in Antony, much in Lepidus, for the sake of bringing to book the assassins of his father. When Lepidus grew old and indolent, and Antony succumbed to his vices, the sole remedy for his distracted country was government by one man. Yet he organized the state, not by instituting a monarchy or a dictatorship, but by creating the title of First Citizen”. The parallel place in Dio is taken from the constitutional debate. At first glance, this excerpt from the speech is not a mere invention: it addresses (although anachronistically) some public concerns and opinions presented in the Tacitean narrative as facts. At the same time, it contains Dio’s own comments and interpretations which he put in the mouth of Maecenas (Dio Cass. 52.18.1–3): ἔπειτα δὲ τίς οὐκ οἶδε τὴν ἀνάγκην ὑφ᾽ ἧς ἐς τὰ πράγματα ταῦτα προήχθης; ὥστε εἴπερ τι αἰτίαμα αὐτῆς ἐστι, τοῖς τοῦ πατρός σου σφαγεῦσι δικαιότατα ἄν τις αὐτὸ ἐγκαλέσειεν· εἰ γὰρ ἐκεῖνοι μήτ᾽ ἀδίκως μήτ᾽ οἰκτρῶς οὕτως αὐτὸν ἀπεκτόνεσαν, οὔτ᾽ ἂν τὰ ὅπλα ἀντήρω, οὔτ᾽ ἂν τὰ στρατεύματα συνελέξω, οὔτ᾽ ἂν Ἀντωνίῳ καὶ Λεπίδῳ συνέθου, οὔτ᾽ ἂν αὐτοὺς ἐκείνους ἠμύνω. καὶ ὅτι μὲν ὀρθῶς καὶ δικαίως πάντα ταῦτ᾽ ἐποίησας, οὐδεὶς ἀγνοεῖ· εἰ δ᾽ οὖν τι καὶ πεπλημμέληται, ἀλλ᾽ οὔτι καὶ μεταθέσθαι ἔτ᾽ ἀσφαλῶς δυνάμεθα. ὥστε καὶ ἡμῶν αὐτῶν ἕνεκα καὶ τῆς πόλεως πεισθῶμεν τῇ τύχῃ τῇ τὴν μοναρχίαν σοι διδούσῃ. Again, what man is there who does not know the circumstances which constrained you to assume your present position? Hence, if there be any fault to find with these compelling circumstances, one might with entire justice lay it upon your father’s murderers. For if they had not slain him in so unjust and pitiable a fashion, you would not have taken up arms, would

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not have gathered your legions, would not have made your compact with Antony and Lepidus, and would not have had to defend yourself against these men themselves. That you are right, however, and were justified in doing all this, no one is unaware. Therefore, even if some slight error has been committed, yet we cannot at this time with safety undo anything that has been done. Therefore, for our own sake and for that of the state let us obey Fortune, who offers you the sole rulership. Yet one cannot overlook Dio’s special emphasis, in comparison with Tacitus, on the justification of Augustus’ actions during the civil war. Dio perceives it as needed to underscore the legitimacy of Augustus’ choices; he seemingly has qualms about the potential implication drawn from Tacitean phrase “the needs of a country, which at the time had no room for law” (necessitudine rei publicae, in qua nullus tunc legibus locus), that anything goes under the general state of lawlessness. Dio insists that Augustus responded to the unlawful actions of Caesar’s assassins which were themselves the true cause of the civil war. Therefore, according to Dio, at the time when Augustus was to become the sole ruler, the task of engendering the desirable public opinion of himself put him into a difficult situation as to how to explain the atrocities committed during the civil war which now appeared to have been publicly known. The decision was made to shift the blame onto the assassins of Caesar, emphasizing the forced character of Augustus’ response to the extremely violent actions of these murderers. Not only this, but also the assumption of the position of princeps was presented as a measure forced by emergency. Yet the crucial question remains, is this Dio’s genuine interpretation? That is, did Dio use the speech as an opportunity to provide arguments in support of a pro-Augustan point of view and, at the same time, to reflect on the process of creating the right public image of the emperor and illustrate that public opinion may be manipulated? One may argue that this latter conclusion was scarcely news for educated people under the Severans. Ps.-Hermogenes helps us consider the problem from yet another angle. In On Invention, Ps.-Hermogenes explains the rules for the usage of a rhetorical device called prokatastasis should an orator be talking about the matters of war and peace (Ps.-Hermog. Inv. 114): Ὁμοίως κἂν πολεμεῖν γράφωμέν τισιν ἢ καταλύειν πόλεμον, χρησόμεθα ταῖς προκαταστάσεσιν οὕτως· ἂν μὲν γράφωμεν πολεμεῖν τισιν, εἰς τὰ πρεσβύτερα τῶν ἐγκλημάτων ἀνατρέχοντες καὶ λέγοντες ὅτι “τούτοις πάλαι ἐχρῆν πολεμεῖν· ἐχθροὶ γὰρ καὶ πρὸ τούτων τῶν ἀδικημάτων ἄλλα εἰς ἡμᾶς πολλὰ εἰργασμένοι”,

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εἶτα καταβαίνοντες εἰς τὰ νῦν γεγενημένα. τὰ μὲν γὰρ πρεσβύτερα τῶν ἀδικημάτων προκατάστασίς ἐστι τῆς διηγήσεως, ἃ δὲ νῦν διὰ τὸν πόλεμον γράφεις, ἡ διήγησις. Similarly, if we introduce a motion to go to war with someone or to end a war, we shall use prokatastases as follows. If we are introducing a motion to go to war with someone, we shall run over earlier complaints and say that “we ought to have gone to war with these people long ago, for they are enemies and have committed many other wrongs against us before these”, then coming to what now happened. The earlier wrongs provide a prokatastasis of the diegesis, and (an account of ) the present wrongs, for which you propose the war, constitutes the diegesis.11 Prokatastasis amplifies the meaning of diegesis (narration) by foreshadowing the events which need reasoning. Prokatastasis, then, is an illustration from the past recalled to emphasize the legitimacy of the current situation or decision. It could be employed in a variety of situations. In Dio Cass. 52.18.1–3, therefore, we see this device in action: the assumption of the position of princeps is diegesis amplified by prokatastasis, which comprises the wrongdoings of Brutus and Cassius. Now, what does Dio’s passage in question tell us about his methods? Does it reflect Dio’s mode of interpretation or is it just a simple rhetorical device that he had learned in school? In other words, could the speech of Maecenas in part be read as a suasoria the topic of which was the justification of the civil war, proscriptions, and murders from the point of view of Augustus?12 In fact, the very last words of this section of Maecenas’ speech read almost like a formulated topic (τὸ ζήτημα) for such suasoria or declamation. Maecenas advises Augustus to accept sole rulership in order that, by taking good care of the state, he could “prove to all mankind that those troubles were stirred up and that mischief wrought by other men, whereas you are an upright man” (Dio Cass. 52.18.4: δείξῃς ἅπασιν ἀνθρώποις ὅτι ἐκεῖνα μὲν ἄλλοι καὶ ἐτάραξαν καὶ ἐκακούργησαν, σὺ δὲ δὴ χρηστὸς εἶ). Did Dio simply illustrate a possible way of conclusively arguing in favor of one of the viewpoints on the inauguration of the Principate? I believe that this question could be answered only on the basis of observation of the general tendencies pertaining to the employment of speeches in Dio Cassius. 11  Translation by Kennedy 2005. 12  We must remember that Lucian characterized the function of speeches in a historical work almost as a playground for the use of oratorical sophistries (Hist. conscr. 58).

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Examples of Rhetorical Topoi

It was Burgess (1902, 207) who first pointed out the great influence of conventional rhetoric on Dio’s speeches: “Dio Cassius has many long speeches, all in general epideictic style”. Every speech that Burgess mentions in his brief analysis of Dio’s epideictic features could be, in principle, correlated with a certain type of rhetorical exercise: for example, the speeches of Gabinius (36.27–29) and Philiskos (38.18–29) Burgess qualifies as ἐγκώμια (“eulogies”); the orations of Antony (44.36–49) and Tiberius (56.35–41) on the occasion of deaths of Caesar and Augustus respectively are structured as ἐπιτάφιοι (“funeral orations”); there are abundant speeches of exhortation pronounced by the generals before battles that contain topoi specific to this type of set oration.13 We should add the speech of Augustus (56.2–9, considered below) as an example of θέσις (“general question”), and Catulus’ speech (36.31–36a) as an illustration of ψόγος (“blame”, “invective”).14 No scholarly study of the Agrippa-Maecenas debate of book fifty-two can disregard the fact of its close connection to conventional rhetoric. Patterns of school suasoria have been observed in Agrippa’s speech.15 Zawadski called this speech a “mere rhetorical declamation that fails to rise to the level of a political program”.16 Maecenas’ reply, on the other hand, was qualified by Burgess (1902, 206, n. 2) as a pure treatise περὶ βασιλείας (“on kingship”), yet another type of oration with a very particular set of characteristic topoi.17 Augustus’ address on marriage (Dio Cass. 56.2–9)18 exemplifies the abundance of such topoi in Dio’s speeches. Albeit anachronistic, a comparison of this speech with one of Libanius’ progymnasmata,19 in particular a θέσις in which the topic “Whether one should marry” is elaborated,20 would not be out of place here, since the chronological gap between two authors would only 13  Although general’s speech is not listed in theoretical treatises as a form of progymnasmata, it is mentioned in this context by Theon and Ps.-Hermogenes, and, most importantly, as Burgess (1902, 211) claims, “[a]ll speeches of this character follow with varying exactness a well-defined series of τόποι and are artificial in the extreme”. 14  Defined by Burgess (1902, 108–109, n. 1) simply as “the opposite to ἐγκώμιον”. 15  Reinhold 1988, 170. 16  Zawadski 1983, 283, translated by Adler (2012, 483, n. 24). 17  Cf. the opposite view of Millar (1964, 107). Also, see Whitmarsh 2001, 231–238 for an insightful analysis of a comparable constitutional debate in Philostr. VA 5.27–38 which may likewise be classified as a set of περὶ βασιλείας speeches. 18  See also Suet. Aug. 89.2 and Livy Per. 59. 19  Libanius of Antioch lived between 314 and ca. 393 CE (so Gibson 2008, xvii). 20  Lib. Prog. 13.1 classified by Gibson (2008, 510) as a “simple, political, practical” thesis.

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strengthen the point of the perseverance of the rhetorical precepts and conventions in such compositions. Let us trace some similarities in the sequence of logical arguments in both authors. (1) Marriage is what characterizes a real man. (a) “Let us compel others to do what belongs to a man with good sense” (Lib. Prog. 13.1.2: τοὺς δὲ ποιεῖν ἃ ἀνδρός ἐστι νοῦν ἔχοντος ἀναγκάσωμεν). (b) “For you alone [the married crowd] may properly be called men” (Dio Cass. 56.3.8: μόνοι γὰρ ἂν ἄνδρες δικαίως ὀνομάζοισθε). (2) Even gods marry, and that is the best proof that marriage is just, good, and noble. (a) “If marriage were not noble, the gods would never have participated in it” (Lib. Prog. 13.1.6: εἰ δὲ τὸ γαμεῖν οὐ καλὸν ἦν, οὔτ’ ἂν οἱ θεοί ποτε τοῦτο μετῆλθον). (b) “Even among these beings [gods] . . . marriage and the begetting of children have been approved as a noble thing” (Dio Cass. 56.2.5: οὕτω καὶ παρ’ ἐκείνοις . . . καλὸν εἶναι δέδοκται καὶ γάμος καὶ τέκνωσις). (3) Married life makes man have more self-control and curtails extreme emotions. (a) “The man who was praised before becomes more greatly admired, as he is thought to have more self-control, and those who had any faults before marriage are absolved of them” (Lib. Prog. 13.1.23: ὅ τε γὰρ πρότερον ἐπαινούμενος θαυμαστότερος γίνεται μᾶλλον δοκῶν σωφρονεῖν οἷς τέ τινες ἦσαν πρὸ τῶν γάμων αἰτίαι λύονται). (b) “For is there anything better than a wife who is chaste . . . to restrain the mad passion of youth and to temper the unseasonable harshness of old age?” (Dio. Cass. 56.3.3: πῶς μὲν γὰρ οὐκ ἄριστον γυνὴ σώφρων . . . τοῦ τε νέου τὴν ἐμμανῆ φύσιν καθεῖρξαι καὶ τοῦ πρεσβυτέρου τὴν ἔξωρον αὐστηρότητα κεράσαι;). (4) Other no less common topoi include the arguments concerning a wife who shares the pleasure of good times and provides consolation in bad times (Lib. Prog. 13.1.14 and 16; cf. Dio Cass. 56.3.3); the necessity to rear children for the benefit of the state, to make it stronger with men (Lib. Prog. 13.1.11; cf. Dio Cass. 56.4.4–5 and 2.2–3); and also the comparisons to the animal world (Lib. Prog. 13.1.9; cf. Dio Cass. 56.6.6). (5) In order to refute the argument that marriage comes with some unpleasant things both authors use maxims the general implication of which is the same: “the greatest evils reside in our greatest blessings” (Lib. Prog. 13.1.28; cf. Dio Cass. 56.8.2).

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Therefore, although the speech contains references to the contemporary events,21 for example, to some of the provisions of the Lex Iulia of 18 BCE (56.7.2–3) and thus is not entirely separated from the historical context, it bears close affinity to θέσις, one of the types of school rhetorical exercises, the progymnasmata.22 Burgess (1902, 199) pointed out: “The προγυμνάσματα . . . as a whole had an important bearing upon history and the fact is frequently referred to by rhetors”.23 Notably, Ps.-Hermogenes (Prog. 24), giving a definition of θέσις, discusses “whether to marry” as an example of the questions appropriate for discussion in this form of progymnasmata. Since it is the only example included in his discussion, we may surmise that it was one of the, if the most, common and traditional topics for a θέσις. The “traditionality” of this topic further corroborates the observation about the pointedly artificial, “scholastic” character of Augustus’ address about his marriage legislation (Dio Cass. 56.2–9). I shall suggest this example as an illustration of how Dio separates an epideictic element of his history from the main narrative by deliberately elevating a speech to a high level of abstraction and universality. This elevation serves the reader as a sui generis signal of the transition to epideictic mode, the pause in the factual narrative and the beginning of what, in essence, is a form of progymnasmata or, in Roman terms, suasoria or controversia. This generic differentiation of narrative modes within the history is important for Dio.

Dio’s Conception of the Function of Speeches

While explicit methodological statements are a regular feature of Dio’s history, he never directly describes his methodological procedures for inserting speeches. The closest to an explanatory statement by Dio on the function of speeches is fragment 1.2. It is very curious that Dio here implies 21  Cf. Swan 2004, 230–231. 22  Burgess (1902, 108–109, n. 1) defines θέσις as “an argument for or against an assumed question”. 23  According to Gibson 2004, the most common types of progymnasmata, the topics of which traditionally intersected with history, were the following: fable, narrative, anecdote, refutation and confirmation, encomium, invective, comparison, personification, ekphrasis, and thesis. Gibson (2004, 108–109) remarks: “For most of the exercises the theorists recommend specific passages in the historians to memorize and imitate”. Cf. Burgess’ classification (1902, 108–109, n. 1).

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that p ­ reoccupation with rhetorical ornamentation may undermine the truthfulness of a historical narrative (Dio Cass. 1 frg. 1.2): Ἀνέγνων μὲν πάντα ὡς εἰπεῖν τὰ περὶ αὐτῶν τισι γεγραμμένα, συνέγραψα δὲ οὐ πάντα ἀλλ’ ὅσα ἐξέκρινα. μὴ μέντοι μηδ’ ὅτι κεκαλλιεπημένοις, ἐς ὅσον γε καὶ τὰ πράγματα ἐπέτρεψε, λόγοις κέχρημαι, ἐς τὴν ἀλήθειαν αὐτῶν διὰ τοῦτὸ τις ὑποπτεύσῃ, ὅπερ ἐπ’ ἄλλων τινῶν συμβέβηκεν· ἐγὼ γὰρ ἀμφότερα, ὡς οἷόν τε ἦν, ὁμοίως ἀκριβῶσαι ἐσπούδασα. Although I have read pretty nearly everything about them that has been written by anybody, I have not included it all in my history, but only what I have seen fit to select. I trust, moreover, that if I have used a fine style, so far as the subject matter permitted, no one will on this account question the truthfulness of the narrative, as has happened in the case of some writers; for I have endeavored to be equally exact in both these respects, so far as possible. The original sentence, it seems to me, allows for two interpretations: “In my style of narration I will use embellishments, as far as subject-matter allows, but it should not compromise the truthfulness of what is expressed in fine style” and “On certain occasions I will use elevated style, but that fact should not compromise the rest of my narrative, where I will follow the truth”.24 I interpret this passage not as a statement about the intent to maintain the balance between adherence to the truth and stylistic enhancement of the writing at all times, but rather as an attempt to differentiate two approaches to the choice of style: an ornate style (κεκαλλιεπημένοι λόγοι) for the speeches, on the one hand, and plain style, suitable for discovering the truth of the facts (ἀλήθειαν), for the narration of events, on the other.25 Indeed, it seems to be indicated in 24  It is clear from the Greek text that this variation in meaning is contingent upon what is taken as the antecedent of αὐτῶν. In the phrase ἐς τὴν ἀλήθειαν αὐτῶν . . . ὑποπτεύσῃ, literally, “would doubt the truth of them”, αὐτῶν could be taken not with λόγοις, but with ὅσα [ἐξέκρινα] of the previous sentence (Cary seems to have taken it into account and his translation preserves the ambiguity of the Greek original). 25  We may agree on these general points with Markov (2006, 34): “Dio’s style is far from being uniform. It varies according to contents. For example, elevated style characterized by archaisms, pathos, and abundance of rhetorical embellishments dominates in the description of dramatic events (be they battles, natural catastrophes, or political repressions). Plain style, which is defined by dryness and simplicity, prevails in ethnographic and geographic sketches. The choice of style in the process of writing the historical work, according to the canons of ancient literature, depended on the plot and the aims set forth

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this passage that only certain occasions allow for the usage of this elevated style: “to which extent the circumstances [i.e. narrated events] allowed” (ἐς ὅσον γε καὶ τὰ πράγματα ἐπέτρεψε). Naturally, there is no better occasion for Dio than a speech to display his rhetorical talents, to “exceed” in oratory. This interpretation is in keeping with the role of speech in Lucian’s ideal history (Hist. conscr. 58). Dio by means of different devices deliberately created a clear distinction between the two modes of narration in his history: narrative proper (= factual and analytic core) and speeches (= epideictic ornamentation). One of these devices is a recurrent feature of Dio’s design. Should a factual matter, first introduced in a speech, become important in the subsequent narrative, Dio re-introduces this fact anew as though a speech alone was not a proper source for a reader to get trustworthy historical data. Book fifty-two provides several of such correlative examples, and this is not a full list: 52.20.4 and 53.14.2 (on the military authority of ex-consuls and ex-praetors); 52.31.1 and 53.21.6 (on the embassies being introduced to the Senate); 52.33.6 and 53.21.3 (on Augustus being open to advice from anybody); 52.33.4 and 55.25.4 (on Augustus requesting the individual opinions of the senators being written on the tablets/books); 52.36.1–2 and 53.2.4 (on religious attitudes). Nor is this tendency confined to book fifty-two. The address of Marcus Aurelius to his soldiers in Dio Cass. 72[71].24–26 is an unusual speech. Hardly conforming to the conventions of a general’s address to the soldiers, this entire oration took the form of conversation with himself, where Marcus lays down a detailed (philosophically grounded) rationale why the rebellious legate Avidius Cassius should be spared and forgiven. Yet in the main narrative Dio repeated the same sentiment which had been minutely elaborated in the speech just a few sections before. Not only did Dio reintroduce the point which had been presented to the reader in all clarity in the speech, but supported it with independent arguments based on examples (Dio Cass. 72[71].30.4): ἐξ οὗπερ καὶ πάνυ τι πιστεύω ὅτι καὶ τὸν Κάσσιον αὐτόν, εἴπερ ἐζωγρήκει, πάντως ἂν ἐσεσώκει. καὶ γὰρ πολλοὺς καὶ εὐηργέτησε τῶν σφαγέων, ὅσον τὸ ἐπ᾽ αὐτοῖς, αὐτοῦ τε καὶ τοῦ υἱέος αὐτοῦ.

by the author. For example, the high style was used to “excite” the reader, while the historical accuracy in this case did not matter. Plain style, conversely, was considered most proper for explanation”.

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Hence I verily believe that if he had captured Cassius himself alive, he would certainly have spared his life. For he actually conferred benefits upon many who had been the murderers, so far as lay in their power, of both himself and his son. This tendency may serve as additional argument in favor of the hypothesis that the function of Dio’s speeches is chiefly epideictic and therefore they were not intended as a primary medium for Dio’s own political views and historical commentary. Although speeches were often placed in the real historical context of the time of their potential delivery, it remains arguable to what extent the speeches were invested with author’s original analysis.

“The Ideal Philippic”

Gibson (2004, 104–106) maintains that declamatory practices of the rhetorical schools and historiography mutually influenced each other. Ancient discussion mostly asserts the usefulness to the student of oratory of reading history and drawing examples from it for the purpose of rhetorical elaboration.26 However, in Cassius Dio we may trace the reverse direction of this mutual influence: the introduction of the elements of progymnasmata into the canvas of the historical narrative. This judgment might not seem flattering for a historiographic work, especially if one considers how modern scholars prefer to see the function of the speech in history. Gibson (2004, 105) suggested one possible explanation: [A]s imperial-era Greek literature richly attests, writers trained in the progymnasmata continued to deploy the forms of these basic exercises long after their formal education was complete. This must have been true for historians, as well.27 A popular educative technique of the rhetorical schools was inventing a fictional speech in response to some famous “published” oration. One of the famous writers of such exemplary replies, according to Quintilian (Inst. 10.5.20), 26  For the examples of historical events (recorded in Livy) taken as material for exercises in refutation and confirmation (ἀνασκευή and κατασκευή), see Quint. Inst. 2.4.18–19. For a topic for a popular suasoria suggested by historian Asinius Pollio, see Sen. Suas. 6.14–15 with Quint. Inst. 3.8.46. For usefulness of reading history, see, e.g., Quint. Inst. 2.5. 27  Cf. Millar 1961, 19–20.

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was L. Cestius Pius, a rhetor from Smyrna who lived during the Augustan ­period.28 Notable is Seneca’s comment about popularity of this form of exercise which probably reveals a preoccupation with the formal aspect of training in the first century CE (Sen. Controv. 3 pr. 15): pueri fere aut iuvenes scholas frequentant; hi non tantum disertissimis viris, quos paulo ante rettuli, Cestium suum praeferunt sed etiam Ciceroni praeferrent, nisi lapides timerent. Quo tamen uno modo possunt praeferunt, huius enim declamationes ediscunt, illius orationes non legunt nisi eas quibus Cestius rescripsit. It is boys, usually, or youths who throng the schools: and they prefer their Cestius to the eloquent men I have just mentioned – and they’d prefer him to Cicero if they didn’t fear a stoning. They do prefer him to Cicero, in fact, in the one way open to them: they learn off Cestius’ declamations while not reading Cicero’s speeches – except the ones to which Cestius has written replies. This practice by analogy may be extrapolated to bear on the debate between Cicero and Calenus at Dio Cass. 45.18–47 and 46.1–28: in particular, on Calenus’ reply to the speech of Cicero that may be construed as a type of fictional response to a famous oration, the very kind that Quintilian and Seneca the Elder had in mind.29 This way of looking at the debate between Cicero and Calenus should help us explain the character of Cicero’s speech as a medley of multiple Philippics.30 It does heavily rely on all Philippics,31 especially on the first eight and represents a rather particular pattern of speech-writing, “a fictional speech for a real orator who had been involved in a real historical context”.32 It would be rather hard to explain satisfactorily the function of such pastiche in a historical work, unless we assert that Dio’s decision to include it was mainly influenced by rhetorical considerations. Calenus’ response may be interpreted as an exemplary exercise in ψόγος that Dio wrote using an opportunity to fill up what he perceived as the vacant place

28   O CD s.v. Cestius Pius, Lucius. 29  In support of such presupposition, see Millar 1961, 19. 30  Dio Cass. 45.18–47. Brock (1995, 217) named it “the ideal Philippic”. 31  The similarities are indeed striking and have been discussed extensively in the literature. See Millar 1964, 54 with n. 9; Ramsey 2007, 13 with n. 16; Gowing 1992, 238 with n. 34. 32  Brock 1995, 216.

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in the literature for the debate.33 Technically, of course, the speech of Cicero in the form of the summary of all Philippics, was not absolutely necessary in order to provide context for Calenus’ reply: Calenus briefly (and sometimes almost verbatim) sums up the arguments from Cicero’s speech that he is about to refute, the arguments that ultimately go back to the original Philippics. Similarly to the students who, not being the admirers of Cicero’s talent, still needed to read those Ciceronian speeches to which Cestius wrote replies in order to appreciate the latter (above), Dio’s audience is being prepared for Calenus’ speech by reading through an epitome of the fourteen Philippics first. This approach not only engages the readers in active comparison of Dio’s Cicero with the real Cicero by reminding them about the contents of the Philippics, but also helps the readers to orient themselves better in the system of references to the original orations when reading Calenus’ reply.34 In addition, it provides Dio with the opportunity to show his skill in the art of imitation and, in general, to signal and emphasize the artificiality of the entire debate by, on the one hand, openly and extensively borrowing from Cicero and, on the other, freely arranging the borrowed material. In this paper, I have pointed out several characteristics that indicate the epideictic quality of Dio’s speeches: stylistically speeches are separated from the main narrative; they display the features of careful compositional design consistently employing rhetorical topoi appropriate for this or that type of oration; speeches tend to universality and oftentimes are not very firmly anchored in the historical context. In addition, frequently the internal line of argument is built entirely on the chain of aphorisms (gnomai) that explain one another in succession (a good example is the dialogue between Livia and Augustus regarding clemency to plotters in Dio Cass. 55.14–21); in choosing whether to include or omit a speech, it seems, stylistic and compositional design criteria prevail for Dio over considerations of historicity. A few examples will further illustrate this latter point.

The Significance of Omissions

Orations in Dio’s Ῥωμαϊκά represent a variety of speakers, topics, and situations. Besides generals’ speeches, the following types are notable: a speech of a woman as historical actor (Hersilia: Dio Cass. 1 frg. 5.5–6; Boudicca: 61.3–6), a speech of an adversary (Hannibal: 14 frg. 57.4 and 5), an address to 33  Cf. Brock 1995, 216. 34  Cf. Fotheringham 2015, esp. 205–206. For some considerations on Dio’s possible readership, see the last section of this chapter.

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the ­mutinous troops (Caesar: 41.27–35), a consolation to an exile (Philiskos: 38.18–29), and a spouse’s advice (Livia: 55.14–21). In the debates the speakers polemicize over a wide range of concerns, from the personal qualities and trustworthiness of a single person (Cicero and Calenus against and for Antony: 45.18–47 and 46.1–28) to the choice of a political system (Agrippa vs. Maecenas about democracy and monarchy: 52.2–40). At the same time, while not every “speech occasion” is utilized by Dio, a single type of a set oration usually does not occur more than twice in the surviving history. In this way, for example, the omission of the two eulogies by Augustus and Tiberius over the body of Drusus in 9 BCE could simply be explained by the fact that in his history Dio planned to provide only two versions of ἐπιτάφιος λόγος (“funeral oration”), one at 44.36–49 (Antony for Caesar) and the other at 56.35–41 (Tiberius for Augustus). Remarkably, in this particular case Dio has sacrificed a seemingly attractive “speech occasion”: not only was the opportunity for a speech left vacant in Tacitus, but we also learn from Tacitus (Ann. 3.5) about the particularly splendorous character of this funeral and the special honors that Augustus paid to Drusus, facts which could have provided additional material for rhetorical elaboration in an ἐπιτάφιος, had Dio decided to write it. Without repeating certain clichés, such set orations cannot be varied ad infinitum simply by being applied every time anew to some concrete situation. For example, we observe one such cliché repeated twice in two epitaphs. Antony in Dio Cass. 44.38.3–6 and Tiberius in 56.35 elaborate over what is essentially the same idea: “I do not feel fit for the task of speaking about such a man” or, put somewhat differently, “I cannot find appropriate words to describe the virtues of the deceased”. This is a commonplace for an exordium of an epitaph apparently descending originally from Pericles’ funeral oration (Thuc. 2.35.1). Throughout the work, however, Dio manages to maintain a fair amount of balance between, on the one hand, inclusion of commonplace rhetoric elements and, on the other, avoiding repetitiveness and duplication. This same principle, probably, was also at work when Dio made a decision whether or not to rewrite a speech already “published” in another historian. In this sense the omission of the debate concerning the disposition of the case of the Catilinarians in Dio may be illustrative. It would be, perhaps, difficult to exploit this context for the purpose of inventing an exemplary (in rhetorical sense) debate between Caesar and Cato without employing a well-trodden topos that involves considerations for and against capital punishment, with the obligatory allusion to the famous Mytilenean debate in Thucydides.35 35  On the influence of Mytilenean debate on the Caesar-Cato debate in Sallust see, e.g., Drummond 1995, 51–56 and Marincola 2010, 279–287.

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The opportunity for such debate was already utilized by Dio earlier in the work, in the episode concerning Quintus Fabius Maximus Rull(ian)us (8 frg. 36.1–5), and Dio did make an allusion to Thucydides, thus welcoming the reader to make a corresponding reflection.36 The rhetorical potential of an already clichéd topic would have been exhausted at this point, making similar controversy redundant in the context of Catiline’s conspiracy and the author thus self-imitative. Omission of polemics between Caesar and Cato can also be explained by the eminence of the Sallustian version, but the main method­ ological principle remains the same: Dio strives for originality and novelty in his rhetorical compositions. Originality is seen even in the very fact that for a rhetorical étude in Thucydidean style he did not choose the obvious candidate, but used a more intriguing and fresh opportunity, the Fabius Rull(ian)us’ episode.37 It is also worth noting in this connection that in Dio, no matter the degree of historicity of a speech, the “speech occasion” itself is always justified by some known historical fact, and a speech as a rule has an easily traceable “historical starting-point”.38 This statement should not be perceived as contradicting the observations discussed above. The ability to find opportune “speech occasions” and to integrate virtually any speech which rests on stock elements (like in the example above) into the historical canvas of the narrative is meaningful by itself for Dio and constitutes an aspect of the author’s creativity – a side of his rhetorical talent.

Paideusis: Dio’s History in the Context of Educational System of His Time

What is then the meaning of the tendency in Dio to elevate the speeches to the highest level of abstract discourse and construct them according to the conventions developed in school rhetorical declamations on historical topics? Indeed, one may raise the objection to this interpretation, Dio’s Ῥωμαϊκά was not intended as a rhetorical textbook or an exemplary collection of school progymnasmata. 36  Cf. esp. Dio Cass. 8 frg. 36.2 and Thuc. 3.45.4. Although the direct derivation of Dio’s passage from Thucydides is not immediately apparent, it would be, however, hard to imagine Dio writing this sentence without having Thucydides’ text in front of him. 37  On the absence of orations in direct speech in Dio before the battle of Philippi, see Gowing 1992, 244–245. 38  Term is Millar’s (1961, 17). Cf. Rich 1989, 98–99.

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In a sense, however, this last statement may not be as far-fetched as it seems. Let us briefly consider the historical and intellectual conditions of Dio’s time under which a contemporary historical work would enter into wide circulation. According to his own testimony in the oft-quoted passage at 73[72].23.3, Dio sent a draft of one of his first historical endeavors, a history of the Severan age, to Severus himself, and “it won high approval” from the emperor and certain “others” (ἄλλοι). Yet can the circle of Dio’s friends, even if including such figure as the emperor, be envisaged as Dio’s only intended audience? Perhaps not, as this readership was not quite commensurate with the ambition of Dio’s undertaking: “This goddess . . . inspires me with fair hopes that future time will permit my history to survive and never dim its luster” (Dio Cass. 73[72].23.4: τὴν δὲ δὴ θεὸν ταύτην . . . καὶ καλὰς ἐλπίδας περὶ τοῦ μέλλοντος χρόνου διδοῦσάν μοι ὡς ὑπολειψομένου τὴν ἱστορίαν καὶ οὐδαμῶς ἀμαυρώσοντος). This is Dio’s version of Thucydides’ famous formulation regarding the enduring significance of his work: κτῆμά τε ἐς αἰεὶ (Thuc. 1.22.4). But how could this goal ever be achievable in Dio’s time? As Gibson (2004, 126) has convincingly argued, on the one hand, the contemporary school curriculum (which was geared to rhetoric, an all-embracing type of intellectual activity under the Second Sophistic) played a decisive role for development of the standards of discourse used by historians. On the other hand, however, the rhetorical schools and the system of education in general constituted one primary way through which the historical works were reaching their readers. Apart from the declamation of parts of their history by authors themselves, the classroom was an important setting for history to be learned and discussed.39 In other words, during the era of the Second Sophistic, it was in rhetorical contexts that historiography was consumed as a literary product. Rhetorical treatises of the first and second centuries CE recommend historical works in general and certain passages from them in particular as specimens for instruction and imitation (Gibson 2004, 108–118). One may surmise that if Dio hoped for long-lasting glory of this work, he must have realized that one of the surest ways for his history to survive was to become discussed, referenced, and eventually imitated in the rhetorical schools. Although this assertion might seem somewhat speculative, there are traces in Ῥωμαϊκά which show an attempt at adaptation of the compositional structure of the work for use in the schools. As Aalders (1986, 290–291) observed, Dio shows special interest, particularly in the early books of the history, with the Roman magistrates and political institutions. Aalders rightly points out that 39  Ancient testimonia of this practice are also extant, e.g., Sen. Controv. 10 pr. 8. On the declamation of history, see Schmitz 1999.

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these “elaborate expositions” would be superfluous for Roman educated elite. At the same time, the students, young representatives of the Roman elite in the future, would seem the most appropriate addressees of such digressions in Dio. In addition, in Dio we observe the organization of material into clusters easily separable from the context. This phenomenon not only embraces, for example, the ethnographic sketches abundant in Dio, but also episodes which receive a special dramatic or dynamic treatment, like the description of Sulla’s proscriptions (frg. 109.6–21). In these episodes, we may surmise deliberate organization of the text in such manner as to serve the purposes of quick reference (and also for imitation, as in the case of the account of Sulla’s proscriptions). We shall note exactly this kind of justification in a remark with which Dio, having enumerated the Augustan legions, prefaces the list of legions that were organized after Augustus (Dio Cass. 55.24.1): Ἐπειδὴ δὲ ἅπαξ ἐς τὸν περὶ τῶν στρατοπέδων λόγον προήχθην, καὶ τἄλλα τὰ νῦν ὄντα, ὥς που πρὸς τῶν μετὰ ταῦτα αὐταρχησάντων κατελέχθη, φράσω, ἵν’ ἑνὶ χωρίῳ πάντα γεγράμμενα ῥᾳδίως τὸν βουλόμενόν τι περὶ αὐτῶν μαθεῖν διδάσκῃ. Now that I have been once led into giving an account of the legions, I shall speak of the other legions also which exist today and tell of their enlistment by the emperors subsequent to Augustus, my purpose being that, if any one desires to learn about them, the statement of all the facts in a single portion of my book may provide him easily with the information. Especially notable is Dio’s word choice here: μαθεῖν (“learn”) and διδάσκῃ (“teach”). It would be highly improbable that Severus and perhaps his amici, although the only certain readers explicitly attested by Dio himself, were the implied subjects for this διδάσκω. It is rather the classroom setting that Dio has in mind – so strongly does this word suggest the connotation of formal teaching or training. Finally, it is by no coincidence that παίδευσις (“education”) is at the very core of Dio’s historical method as evident from his famous methodological pronouncement (Dio Cass. 46.35.1): καὶ γὰρ καὶ παίδευσις ἐν τούτῳ τὰ μάλιστα εἶναί μοι δοκεῖ, ὅταν τις τὰ ἔργα τοῖς λογισμοῖς ὑπολέγων τήν τε ἐκείνων φύσιν ἐκ τούτων ἐλέγχῃ καὶ τούτους ἐκ τῆς ἐκείνων ὁμολογίας τεκμηριοῖ. For it seems to me to be particularly instructive, when one takes facts as the basis of his reasoning, investigates the nature of former by the latter, and thus proves his reasoning true by its correspondence with the facts.

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The similar educational rhetoric and, in fact, the idea of the importance and significance of good education in rhetoric, permeates Dio’s history: it becomes an important criterion in the characterization of individuals for ascertaining their personal motivations.40 Actual educational discourse is also present in Dio’s speeches.41 If the foregoing analysis is correct, Dio’s history betrays the traces of a system of references pertaining to the learning experience, to a kind of intellectual edification based on a studying of already then “classical” literature. Modern historical scholarship tends to overlook as a factor of influence on histori­ ography an intellectual discourse in its own right – that of the formal education with its own traditions, system of conventions, rules, and meta-­language. We may gain a new and fresh interpretation of Dio’s endeavor to write a total history of Rome if, when reading Ῥωμαϊκά, we keep in mind the supposition that Dio composed a work that needed to correspond to the intellectual requirements which were set by – first and foremost – the educational system of his time. From this point of view, speeches, even if they were completely divorced from the historical context, would not be thought of as “empty rhetoric” – and I do not think we should ever be apprehensive about the conclusion that Dio’s speeches were a sort of ars gratia artis. In Dio’s history, instead of being an instrument of historical analysis, speeches refer the reader to another, no less meaningful, discourse. The vector of such reference is not the historical, but literary or, more generally, intellectual reality, the knowledge of and interest in which Dio shared with his readership. Therefore, Dio’s deliberate and pervasive intertextuality with, say, Thucydides should not be mistaken for crude imitation. Conversely, this intertextuality, through the system of references to other “classical” authors, allows Dio to position himself firmly in the context of ancient classical historiography and rhetoric while underscoring his intellectual authority. For Dio to be able to demonstrate his original features of composition, experiment with the rhetorical devices, freely and playfully employ mimesis balancing on the verge of the factual, probable, and possible; to be able to revamp Cicero’s Philippics into one single speech – is only possible when both Cassius Dio and his readers were aware of the same system of literary and rhetorical coordinates. Both have acquired a good idea about such a system through participation in the same milieu of formal education of the Second Sophistic.

40  E.g., Dio Cass. 73[72].11.2 on Victorinus, a city prefect under Commodus. 41  E.g., Tiberius’ eulogy for Augustus in Dio Cass. 56.37.7; cf. Thuc. 2.36.4.

CHAPTER 12

Dio, Caesar and the Vesontio Mutineers (38.34–47): A Rhetoric of Lies Adam Kemezis* In his forty-plus years as a senator, Cassius Dio undoubtedly heard hours on hours of speeches, and delivered more than a few. By his time, there were of course no more opportunities for Catos and Ciceros to shape the course of the res publica with high-stakes deliberative orations, but politics in the Imperial era was not carried on in silence.1 Emperors expressed their will, and aristocrats their adulation, in elaborate rhetorical prose, and in times of foreign or civil war every campaign in the field had its verbal counterpart, made up of self-justification and invective. The brilliant drama of Republican political speech was gone, but the ability to produce persuasive rhetoric remained a crucial part of the self-definition of the elite. The political classes still expected their rulers and peers to be articulate, even eloquent, and how well or poorly they fulfilled that expectation had real consequences for their credibility and legitimacy. With this in mind, it should not surprise us that as a historian, Dio proves remarkably sensitive to the role of rhetoric in different political settings. Compared with most ancient historians, Dio’s speeches are relatively few, but they are long and elaborate, and have complicated relationships with the surrounding narrative.2 Most of the surviving orations are found in his account of the late Republic, which for Dio’s contemporaries as for us represented the * I must express my profound gratitude to Jesper Madsen and Carsten Lange, both as editors of this volume and as gracious hosts and stimulating collaborators. Many thanks also to my fellow conference attendees for their questions and comments, and to Brill’s anonymous referee. In what follows, all translations are my own. 1  Rutledge 2007 gives a useful overview of the role of political oratory under the emperors, though mostly addressing a period well before Dio’s. The survey of imperial senatorial procedure at Talbert 1984, 221–289 makes clear how much of a role oratory continued to play in that body’s daily functioning, even though again some forms of debate seem to become less common in the second century. 2  For general consideration of speeches in Dio, see Millar 1964, 78–83. Several important studies of individual speeches have been published recently, including Markov 2013; Davenport and Mallan 2014; Mastrorosa 2014, as well as many contributions in this volume.

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peak period of Roman oratory. We can see Dio here exercising his literary muscles and relishing the opportunity to re-create and pastiche in Greek the greatest hits of Latin rhetoric. Also, and more importantly, we can see him as an astute critical analyst of the functioning of political rhetoric. Dio is intrigued not just by the content of persuasive speech, but by the questions of who persuades whom, and of what, by what means and with what effect. He is aware that in the late Republic these questions were answered very differently than in his own day, and that difference is for him a critical component of the larger difference between the republican and monarchical political systems. Though Dio is considering the entire late republican political scene, it is Cicero and Caesar above all who hold forth at length in his pages.3 Dio’s view of Cicero has been fruitfully studied, but there remains much to be said about his portrait of Caesar, including Caesar as orator. Not the least important example is the first of Caesar’s speeches in Dio, which occurs in Book 38 and may for convenience be called the “Vesontio Speech” after the Gaulish settlement (modern Besançon) where it takes place. The incident of which it is a part, a near-mutiny by Caesar’s army in the midst of his first German campaign, offers us a unique opportunity in that Caesar’s own commentaries on the Gallic War contain a version of the same scene and the same speech, which naturally reflect the author’s self-presentation as a consummate general. Dio’s speech serves as a re-writing of that scenario and a reinterpretation of Caesar’s self-serving version of the function of rhetoric in political and military leadership. In Dio’s version, Caesar’s relationship with his audience is based on a technique of collusive mendacity, whereby an orator manipulates his hearers through lies that are recognized for what they are but still retain their persuasive power. Dio sees this as characteristic of speakers and audiences throughout the late Republic, and indeed it is a key component of what for him is the deep political dysfunction of that period. This chapter will consider first the historical episode as presented by Caesar, and then Dio’s version, and the thematic links between the Vesontio speech and other speeches in Dio’s narrative down to and including the rhetoric of Octavian that introduces a new era of Roman politics.

3  Caesar receives three speeches: 38.36–46 (Vesontio speech); 41.27–35 (to mutinous troops at Placentia); 43.15–18 (in the Senate after Thapsus). Cicero gets two: 44.23–33 (advocating an amnesty after Caesar’s assassination) and 45.18–47 (invective against Antony). It is notable that although Caesar’s speeches are spaced over five books, no other direct-discourse speeches intervene between them, whereas both of Cicero’s are quickly answered, by Antony’s Funeral Oration and Calenus’ “counter-Philippic” respectively.

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Mutiny in the Jura

In 58 BC, the first year of his great Gallic command, Caesar made two major campaigns, first against the Helvetii, and then against the Germanic chieftain Ariovistus. Immediately before the second of these, an incident occurred in which at least some part of Caesar’s army proved reluctant to set out against a new and reputedly fearsome opponent. The general was able to overcome their hesitancy, and to lead them in thrashing Ariovistus. Our knowledge of the details is based almost entirely on the account Caesar himself gives of the matter in his Bellum Gallicum (B Gall).4 Unsurprisingly, Caesar emerges from this account rather well. His writings give us a propagandistic justification of a controversial episode of his career: Caesar’s authority to make war on Ariovistus was in reality dubious at best, and his actions have been seen in antiquity and modern times as a particularly transparent act of aggression.5 Nonetheless, Caesar could also use the episode as a key element of the mythology he built around himself as a uniquely charismatic commander whose intimate bond with his men made him invincible. In Caesar’s telling, the war comes about because Ariovistus has become the leader of tens of thousands of warlike Germans settled in east-central Gaul, and is oppressing the local Gaulish peoples, the Aedui and Sequani especially. Representatives of those peoples approach Caesar and persuade him that he should relieve their distress and head off future troubles for Rome by stopping the menace (B Gall 1.31–33). In response, Caesar tries to call Ariovistus in for a conference on neutral ground, but the German haughtily refuses (1.34). Caesar then tries a firm but still conspicuously polite and fair-minded ultimatum, and is answered with taunts. Ariovistus is contumacious enough to assert that his own people have just as much right as the Romans to lord it over the Gauls, and can maintain that right against a Roman army (1.35–36). This amounts to a declaration of war, and when Caesar considers that Ariovistus might occupy the principal settlement of the Sequani at Vesontio, he moves his own army

4  Hagendahl 1944 and Christ 1974 provide thorough and perceptive readings of this episode, both drawing useful comparisons between the B Gall and Dio. See also James 2000 for a rhetorical analysis of Caesar’s account in the B Gall. Burden-Strevens 2015a, 90–94 reads Dio’s version from a rhetorical perspective similar to that found here, but in the context of a fuller analysis of late Republican speeches in Dio. The episode is naturally dealt with in the various biographies and campaign histories of Caesar, most extensively by Rice Holmes 1911, 60–62; Gelzer 1968, 109–110; Goldsworthy 2006, 224–227. 5  On the question of Caesar’s legal position, see Hagendahl 1944, 8–14.

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there first, in a march that makes up in heroic effort what it lacks in legal justification (1.38). It is in Vesontio that problems begin in Caesar’s army, because local Gauls and traders have been telling stories about how huge, fierce and brave the Germans are (1.39.1). These stories first begin to depress the junior officers (1.39.2: tribunis militum, praefectis). These men are political climbers (amicitiae causa Caesarem secuti) rather than experienced soldiers (non magnum in re militari usum habebant), and at this crisis many of them suddenly discover urgent business that requires them to be elsewhere. Those who cannot bring themselves to leave still fail to conceal their fear and dejection, and “gradually even those who had plenty of military experience, the soldiers and centurions and cavalry commanders, were shaken” (1.39.5: paulatim etiam ii qui magnum in castris usum habebant, milites centurionesque quique equitatui praeerant, perturbabantur). In Caesar’s version, nobody questions the legality of the war against Ariovistus, nor its justice and expedience for the res publica, and no political divisions within the army are mentioned; the army’s reluctance is based on genuine if misplaced fear.6 The experienced men find pretexts of their own to cover their fear, pointing out to Caesar travel and supply problems with the coming campaign (1.39.6), and he is finally told by non nulli that if the next morning he gives the order to march, it will not be obeyed (1.39.7). The commander’s response is to call a consilium to which “the centurions of all units had been summoned” (B Gall 1.40.1 omniumque ordinum ad id consilium adhibitis centurionibus), and he harangues the centurions particularly in a speech of rebuke (eos incusavit) that is reproduced in indirect discourse. Most of it addresses the widespread fear of the Germans: Caesar gives various reasons from the distant and recent past why Ariovistus is not the fearsome opponent people make out. At the end, however, he changes tack (1.40.8– 10), and asserts that whoever is claiming that the men will not follow him is simply incorrect. Soldiers only desert commanders who are demonstrably incompetent or criminally venal, whereas Caesar’s men know he is blameless 6  The only mention in the B Gall of any political or legalistic opposition to Caesar’s war with Ariovistus comes in the most prejudicial context possible, namely from the mouth of Ariovistus himself. At the end of his final parley with Caesar (1.44.8–13), Ariovistus notes that Caesar is exceeding his authority and that Caesar’s protestations of friendship for the Aedui are specious. The B Gall constructs the dialogue in such a way, however, that questioning Caesar’s authority is made equivalent to questioning the right of the Roman people to make war in Gaul. Ariovistus goes on to claim that Caesar’s Roman opponents have sent envoys urging the German chieftain to kill the proconsul.

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in his conduct and lucky in war. He will hasten his plans and move out the next morning, and they can see who follows him. Even if everyone else deserts him, he says, the Tenth Legion alone will be faithful and sufficient. The response is everything Caesar could wish: the Tenth, highly flattered, respond that of course he’s right, and they will most certainly follow him; the other legions are shamed and promise to obey him as well, and the campaign is under way. The keynote of this account is Caesar’s masterful reassertion of control through his bond with his men, who are portrayed as rather impressionable, childlike figures in need of firm guidance, which Caesar knows better than their own centurions how to provide. In his own telling, Caesar is a uniquely gifted military leader whose men are bound directly to him by the force of their shared virtus. This avoids any mediation through the middle-ranking officers, whose part in the Vesontio narrative is remarkably ignominious, in spite of the class solidarity that one might expect Caesar to show.7 The speech is not completely honest: Caesar minimizes the threat Ariovistus represents with arguments that readers can tell are dubious, and the part about the Tenth Legion is meant to be seen as a bluff.8 These ruses demonstrate Caesar’s shrewdness and coolness under pressure, but they still rely on the reality (in the B Gall’s world at any rate) that Caesar is an invincible general who really will deliver on his promises, as well as being a unique exemplar and judge of virtus, whose praise and trust are prizes worth competing for.9 This aspect of Caesar’s self-portrait has rung true for subsequent tellers of the same tale, both in antiquity and later. Modern biographers, even those who are otherwise critical of Caesar’s actions and veracity, have found the notion of his charismatic link with his men intuitively plausible given his record of success, and the Vesontio episode is often cited as a key example of Caesar’s “brilliant grasp of military psychology.”10 The various secondary traditions from antiquity, none of which demonstrably goes back to contemporary sources other than Caesar, tend to agree.11 The two longest testimonia to the 7 See on this point Will 2009, 103. Also Welch 1998 for Caesar’s portrayals of officers as political gestures, though in her case focusing on high-ranking legates. 8 In particular, the details that Caesar gives about Ariovistus’ poor fighting record against the Gauls (1.40.7–8) were nowhere mentioned in the earlier narrative, and the Aeduan and Sequanian ambassadors at 1.31–32 certainly consider him a fearsome military threat. 9 On the question of Caesar’s rhetorical honesty with respect to the internal audience, see James 2000. 10  Billows 2009, 136. See also e.g. Gelzer 1968, 110: “At such decisive moments an overwhelming power radiated from [Caesar’s] deliberate calm and unshakable confidence.” 11  Of the other secondary traditions on Caesar, Florus (1.45.9–12) mentions the episode, but conflates it with Caesar’s later campaigns on the Rhine and mentions general fear but

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incident, other than Caesar and Dio, are Plutarch (Caes. 19.2–3) and Frontinus (Strat. 1.11.3), both of whom seize in particular on to the detail about the Tenth Legion, while the Periochae to Livy have it that Caesar “gave a speech to the army that checked the agitation that had arisen among his men from fear of the new enemy” (104: trepidationem militum propter metum novorum hostium ortam adlocutione exercitus inhibuit). Given how generally Caesar’s version of his relationship with his men has been accepted, it is all the more surprising to see how little credence it receives from Dio.

Dio as Reader of Caesar

The question thus arises of whether and in what form Dio in fact knew Caesar’s version of the story, and his commentaries in general. This chapter does not claim to offer major new insights into this question: most of the scholarship on this question concludes that Dio used the B Gall directly at many points throughout Books 38–40, and there is every reason to count the Vesontio episode as one of those.12 The overall outline of events in Dio is in effect a condensed version of the B Gall, there are no discrete events in Dio that are not in the B Gall, and there are several points of close correspondence.13 To be sure, there is also a great deal of material that evidently did not come from the B Gall nothing about a mutiny or a speech. Orosius’ account of the Ariovistus war (6.7.6–8) mentions a generalized Roman fear of Germans, but nothing about the particular incident at Vesontio. Nothing at all about the mutiny is mentioned in Eutropius, Suetonius, Velleius Paterculus or the surviving parts of Appian. 12  See most recently Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, xiv–xvii, who provide a useful parallel synopsis of the two narratives (xlv–l). The most sustained argument against Dio’s having used Caesar is Zecchini 1978, 15–108, well answered by Pelling 1982. 13  Thus in both accounts there is a statement of Gaulish grievances (B Gall 1.30–32; Dio Cass. 38.34.1–2); explanation of Caesar’s motivations, which are very different in the two accounts (B Gall 1.33; Dio Cass. 38.34.3); Caesar summons Ariovistus for a conference and is indignantly rebuffed (B Gall 1.34; Dio Cass. 38.34.4); a second exchange in which Caesar gives Ariovistus an ultimatum that the latter rejects (B Gall 1.35–6; Dio Cass. 38.34.5–6, though with Ariovistus’ reply referred to briefly rather than laid out in full). In more specific terms, the brief excerpt of direct speech by Ariovistus at 38.34.4 matches up well with B Gall 1.34.2. The terms of Caesar’s ultimatum at 38.34.5 have the same three headings as at B Gall 1.35.3, though in condensed form and different order. None of these instances precludes the use of an intermediate source, but there is nothing that requires one (i.e. no mixture of factual material that must derive from Caesar with factual material that cannot). Given the good evidence from elsewhere in Dio that he used Caesar directly (see previous n.), such an intermediate source seems unlikely.

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and indeed directly contradicts the picture that Caesar gives of himself. None of this material, however, includes circumstantial details or descriptions of events that would have to come from a narrative source parallel to the B Gall. Some of it may be traceable to contemporary material, but this could consist of anti-Caesarian writings in any genre that had found their way into a variegated later tradition. To search for another single major author is misguided. And above all, most of the characterizations and explanations are best explained as Dio’s own inventions, consistent with an overall portrait of Caesar that is distinctly his own.14 For while Dio draws heavily on Caesar for his material, that does not mean he tells the story Caesar’s way. Quite the contrary. Dio’s version of Julius Caesar, at least during his rise to power in the 60s and 50s, is a cynically self-interested figure who contrives the Gallic campaign as a means to gain glory, wealth and power. His many political skills include being able to get what he wants out of people by making alliances that appear mutually advantageous but end up yielding far more good to Caesar than to the other parties. The First Triumvirate with Pompey and Crassus is an obvious example of this, but it can be seen also in Dio’s version of the war with Ariovistus.15 In Dio’s version, Caesar makes a cynical bargain with Ariovistus’ enemies: they give him a pretext for a war that will bring him glory, he gives them the chance for revenge.16 Caesar accordingly provokes and then defeats Ariovistus but, as readers know (or will soon find out), the Aedui and Sequani will not have much time to enjoy the German’s discomfiture before they in turn become Caesar’s victims. This is the figure who faces down the mutinous army at Vesontio. The outline of events in Dio is the same as for Caesar, but several key details are changed, and the content of the speech is almost wholly Dio’s own. The resulting narrative has an entirely different dynamic from what the author of the B Gall had in mind. The first significant change is in the source and nature of the discontent. Whereas the B Gall stresses how the fear started with the timorous aristocratic hangers-on and only later infected the real soldiers, Dio elides any distinction, and simply says that “the soldiers became terribly discouraged” (38.35.1: 14  See on this point Pelling 1982. For Dio’s characterization of Caesar more generally, see Pelling 2006; Pitcher 2009. 15  For the First Triumvirate, see Dio’s long explanation at 37.54–56. 16  At 38.34.1 Dio says explicitly that the ambassadors of the Sequani and Aedui, “seeing [Caesar’s] ambition . . . wished to lay up some good will with him and at the same time take revenge on their German neighbors” (τήν τε ἐπιθυμίαν αὐτοῦ ἰδόντες . . . ἐκείνῳ τε εὐεργεσίαν ἅμα καταθέσθαι καὶ τοὺς Κελτοὺς τοὺς ὁμοχώρους σφίσι τιμωρήσασθαι ἠθέλησαν). See on this point Christ 1974, 272–273.

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οἱ στρατιῶται, [. . .], δεινῶς ἠθύμησαν). This is not simply a result of Dio’s omitting detail in a more compressed narrative.17 The dynamics of class and status in Caesar’s castigation of his junior officers stand out to the modern reader, and cannot have escaped the self-consciously aristocratic Dio. Plutarch, who compresses the entire Ariovistus war into two pages, still finds time to comment on the “young nobles who had come along with Caesar to enjoy pleasure and profit on his campaign” (Caes. 19.2: ὅσοι τῶν ἐπιφανῶν καὶ νέων αὐτῷ συνεξῆλθον, ὡς δὴ τρυφῇ χρησόμενοι καὶ χρηατισμῷ τῇ μετὰ Καίσαρος στρατείᾳ).18 Dio is equally capable of understanding Caesar’s self-positioning relative to his men, but chooses not to replicate it. Instead of the horizontal, value-laden division that the B Gall creates between contemptible officers and the soldiers they infect, Dio’s army, as will become clear, is divided vertically into pro- and anti-Caesarians, and initially the latter have very much the upper hand.19 Furthermore, the discontent focuses around different issues. In Dio, as in the B Gall, the basic problem is fear of the Germans, specifically their size (μεγέθη), numbers (πλῆθος) and ferocity (θράσος). Again as in the B Gall, the men are ashamed to give this as a reason, and put forward another. But where in Caesar they had invented logistical difficulties, in Dio their complaints are explicitly political. They begin to mutter (ἐθρύλουν) that “the war was unjustified and undeclared, and they were undertaking it for the sake of Caesar’s personal ambition” (ὅτι πόλεμον οὔτε προσήκοντα οὔτε ἐψηφισμένον διὰ τὴν ἰδίαν τοῦ Καίσαρος φιλοτιμίαν ἀναιροῖντο). These objections are not, as in the B Gall, transparent pretexts, since Dio’s narrator has made it clear that the men are factually correct on the point and φιλοτιμία above all is Caesar’s defining characteristic throughout Dio’s history.20 One gets the impression that neither the fears nor the political scruples are alone decisive. If the men’s fears were allayed, they might overlook the legal and moral niceties; equally, if they were less doubtful of the cause they were fighting in, they might discover new reserves of courage. The portrayal is not implausible, and Dio’s soldiers are a complex political constituency, quite unlike their naive counterparts in the B Gall.

17  Dio takes only slightly less space than Caesar to get from arrival in Vesontio to the start of the oration (Dio Cass. 38.35; B Gall 1.39, each about a page in the Loeb edition). 18  On Plutarch’s account, see Pelling 2011, 226–234, who recognizes the importance of Dio’s different characterization of Caesar’s audience (230–231). 19  The political division among the officers is made explicit at 38.47.1. 20  On Caesar’s φιλοτιμία in the context of the Vesontio speech in Dio, see Steidle 1988, 211–214.

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Caesar thus approaches them more as a politician than a general, as is shown by a crucial change Dio makes regarding the internal audience of the speech. Neither in Caesar’s own account nor in Dio’s is this speech delivered to the army en masse. Caesar in the B Gall claims to have spoken to a consilium to which he had specifically called all the army’s centurions (1.40), who represent the fighting men with whom he has a unique rapport.21 When they receive his speech enthusiastically, that seems to be all the revival of morale that is required, and Caesar feels no need to describe how the centurions appeal to the men. Instead, he does note that the resulting expressions of support from the men were relayed back through the tribunes, who are thus strengthened from above and below. Dio’s version of the same events runs as follows (Dio Cass. 38.35.2): μαθὼν οὖν ταῦτ’ ἐκεῖνος τῷ μὲν πλήθει τῶν στρατιωτῶν οὐδὲν διελέξατο (οὔτε γὰρ καλὸν ἐνόμιζεν εἶναι τοιαῦτα πρὸς πολλοὺς λέγειν, καὶ ταῦτ’ ἐς τοὺς πολεμίους μέλλοντα ἐκφοιτήσειν, καὶ ἔδεισε μή πως ἀπειθήσαντες θορυβήσωσι καὶ κακόν τι ἐξεργάσωνται), τοὺς δὲ δὴ ὑπάρχους καὶ τοὺς ὑπομείονας ἀθροίσας τοιάδε ἐν αὐτοῖς ἔλεξεν. When [Caesar] learned [of the soldiers’ fears], he did not make his arguments to the mass of the soldiers, since he did not think it a good idea to say such things before many men, both because the news would spread to the enemy and because he was afraid that if the soldiers were not won over, they might riot and cause some disaster. Instead he gathered together the legates and subordinate officers and spoke with them along these lines. The rhetorical situation is entirely different from what we find in the B Gall.22 Where in the B Gall Caesar had summoned centurions to his consilium to make a grand public gesture, in Dio he is anxious rather to restrict his audience and keep a lid on the morale problem. Dio’s phrase about “legates and subordinate officers” (ὑπομείονας) is vague, but it certainly includes tribunes and prefects and not, on the most natural reading, centurions.23 This once again is a 21  See Welch 1998, 89–90 for Caesar’s portrayal of centurions. 22  See on this point James 2000, 57. 23  For Dio’s military terminology, see Freyburger-Galland 1997, 195–202. As she illustrates, ὑπομείονας in military contexts does not have a precise or consistent referent for Dio. It is used three other times: on one occasion (79[78].32.4) it explicitly refers to “junior officers incuding centurions,” while at 42.55.1, it is specifically opposed to centurions

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conscious alteration: leaving out the centurions here continues the pattern Dio established when he left out Caesar’s snub of his junior officers. He recognizes that the Caesar of the B Gall is a charismatic military genius, and he prefers in his own version to give us a political figure contending for the highest stakes at a game that he plays very well, but not so perfectly that he can dispense with caution. Thus he opts to work through the established hierarchy, and first win over the officers so that they in turn can pass on his message to the men.

Caesar Speaks

That message comes in the form of an oration running to eleven pages of Greek, about five times as long as its counterpart in the B Gall. Its content thus cannot be properly summarized in this space, but it falls into three overall arguments: The first and most generalized (§37–40) consists a series of “realist” precepts about why constant offensive warfare is necessary for any imperialist power that does not wish to lose what it already possesses, illustrated with examples from the earlier history of Roman expansion. The second (§41–44) is a specific reply to the legalistic objections, saying that Caesar is within the discretion the Senate and People have given him, and that Ariovistus’ insubordinate response to his diplomatic overtures constitutes in itself grounds for war and proves what a threat the German is. The third part (§45–46) responds to the unexpressed fears regarding the Germans, and then, as in the B Gall, the speech concludes with a pledge to fight with the Tenth legion alone if need be,

(ἑκατοντάρχους). The closest parallel to our current instance, however, is 47.51.5, where it designates “officers below the rank of legatus (ὑποστράτηγος),” and the officers in question are meant to be reading speeches to armies before the battle of Philippi. One gets the sense that relatively high-ranking persons are meant (per Freyburger-Galland 201n.), analogous to the tribuni and praefecti of B Gall 1.39.2. Here at 38.35.2, the ὑπομείονας are again defined relative to legati (ὑπάρχους). Given that Dio has made it clear earlier in the same sentence that Caesar was anxious to keep his speech to a restricted audience, it is difficult to see how readers would naturally infer the presence of centurions. Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, xv, take the ὑπομείονας, which they translate as “sous-officiers,” as including centurions, and argue that the lack of precise Greek equivalents for Roman military ranks has led Dio to use an ambiguous term. However, Dio regularly uses the respectably classical words ἑκατόνταρχος and (less often) λοχαγός for centurio (see Freyburger-Galland 1997, 195–196) and χιλίαρχος for tribunus. It seems unlikely that Dio is trying to render the B Gall’s Latin closely at this point, given he has already introduced the idea of a restricted audience where the B Gall has suggested an expanded one.

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and as in the B Gall this stirs up a laudable rivalry that makes the whole army anxious to fight. As often with Dio’s speeches, Caesar’s oration is a massive set-piece, out of all proportion to the rest of Dio’s treatment of the war. One can reasonably assume that it serves some function beyond the immediate need to illustrate how Caesar overcame a particular difficulty in this one campaign. One should not, however, go the extra step of assuming that the speech’s content is basically detachable from the situation, and that Dio has taken the opportunity to put in Caesar’s mouth a basically digressive reflection of his own.24 On the contrary, the speech is fully integrated into the narrative: Dio has constructed a speaker, an audience and a rhetorical scenario, and the content of the speech, though thematically related to other parts of Dio’s text, is still primarily dictated by those dramatic imperatives.25 This can perhaps be better understood if we consider the echoes of Thucydides that are stronger in this speech than in perhaps any other in surviving Dio.26 Dio’s Caesar channels above all the final speech of Pericles to the Athenians (Thuc. 2.60–64), but there are also distinct echoes of Alcibiades speaking on the Sicilian expedition (6.16–18), and it is difficult not to think of Cleon’s speech on the Mytileneans (3.37–40). Thucydides has these speakers voice generalized arguments that continue to resonate with debates about imperialism and aggression down to this day, but he is also very much concerned to illustrate what sort of person (say) Pericles was, the way in which he was able to keep the Athenians on the path of war, and the example he provides of how rhetoric functioned in Greek politics more generally. The Vesontio speech similarly needs to be considered in its dramatic setting, and in that setting it can only be read as a series of lies that the external audience is surely not expected to miss. This is most evident in the second part of the speech, the answers to legalistic objections. Nearly everything Caesar says is contradicted by Dio’s explicit narratorial statements. Thus Caesar 24  Largely the view of Millar 1964, 82–83, who calls it “an extrapolation in commonplace terms (with some examples from Republican history thrown in) of a speech in which a general urges his soldiers to fight,” as well as Zecchini 1978, 33–37. It is also implicit to varying degrees in the line of scholarship that sees the speech as part of a larger thematic discussion of Roman imperial expansion, for which see below. 25  In this, it may be fruitfully contrasted with the other speech in Book 38, that of Philiscus consoling Cicero, which in fact does seem remarkably detachable from the narrative background of Cicero’s exile and return, on which see Kemezis 2014, 290. For other considerations on speeches and rhetorical scenarios in Dio, see Fomin in this volume. 26  They have been traced most fully by Kyhnitzsch 1894, 9–25, who begins his survey of Thucydidean references in Dio’s speeches with the Vesontio speech, as being the richest example.

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spends two pages (38.42–44) railing at the insulting way in which Ariovistus rejected his “friendly invitation” (§42.2 πέμψαντος γάρ μου πρὸς αὐτὸν φιλικῶς) to “talk over our current situation together” (κοινῇ μεθ’ ἡμῶν βουλεύσηται περὶ τῶν παρόντων). And yet the narrator has made it clear (38.34.3–6) that Caesar’s entire objective in his “negotiations” with the German was to provoke him to a quarrel that would lead to war. This same disconnect marks the speech right from its beginning, where Caesar sanctimoniously asserts that “I do not suppose, my friends, that we ought to think about public matters in the same way as private ones,” (38.36.1 οὐ τὸν αὐτόν, ὦ ἄνδρες φίλοι, τρόπον ἡγοῦμαι δεῖν ἡμᾶς περί τε τῶν ἰδίων καὶ περὶ τῶν κοινῶν βουλεύεσθαι) then argues at length that one must heed public interest and fight, even when one’s natural inclinations and personal advantage would lead one to stay at home, and goes on to repeatedly portray himself as the instrument of the Senate and People’s will.27 But Caesar has spent the last book and a half systematically harnessing the political process to his own ends, and Dio’s narrator makes it clear that Caesar’s command in Gaul does not reflect the will of the Senate or People but was the result of the self-interested machinations of Caesar himself as part of a ruling junta with Pompey and Crassus.28 We are dealing here not with isolated untruths, but with an entirely false presentation of the situation facing Caesar and his army. This extends to the early arguments about Roman expansion. Caesar’s “Thucydidean realist” arguments do contain echoes of earlier statements other speakers and the narrator have made about the imperatives of imperial expansion.29 This thematic link will be addressed below, but for now it is enough to say that in the context of the speech, Caesar’s talk about what the Romans must do in their own interests is overshadowed by the readers’ knowledge that Caesar is acting entirely in his own interest and destroying the Roman political system in the process. Caesar’s arguments are not incorrect in themselves, but they are based on an 27  This is the thrust of §36 as a whole. Caesar speaks in general terms and does not explicitly claim that he personally is acting only out of duty, but that is the clear implication. He does mention at §36.7 that “most of us are here willingly, because of the honor (τιμἀς) and profit (ὠφελίας) that derive from war,” but the overall logic of the passage suggests that the “honor and profit” are compensations incidental to and inseparable from doing good for one’s country, rather than primary motivations. The will of the people will be invoked at length again at 38.41.4–7. 28  See Dio Cass. 38.8.3–5 for the voting of Caesar’s special command, and 37.54 for desire to gain military glory as a principal motive for forming the First Triumvirate. Fechner 1986, 221–223 sees the same discrepancy between the speech and Caesar’s career more generally. 29  As detailed by Hose 1994, 367–370 and Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, lxi–lxvi.

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intentionally false premise about what is at stake in the situation. Furthermore, Caesar’s version of “realism” is a particularly bombastic and chauvinistic one, running to parody when he asserts that (Dio Cass. 38.40.8–9): ὅταν οὖν τούτων οὕτως ἐχόντων λέγῃ τις ὅτι οὐ χρὴ πολεμεῖν ἡμᾶς, οὐδὲν ἄλλο φησὶν ἢ ὅτι οὐ χρὴ πλουτεῖν, οὐ χρὴ ἑτέρων ἄρχειν, οὐκ ἐλευθέρους, οὐ Ῥωμαίους εἶναι. ὥσπερ οὖν ἄν, εἴπερ τι τούτων εἶπέ τις, οὐκ ἂν ἠνέσχεσθε ἀλλὰ κἂν ἐν χερσὶν αὐτὸν ἀπεκτείνατε, οὕτω καὶ νῦν, ὦ ἄνδρες ἑταῖροι, πρὸς τοὺς ἐκεῖνα λέγοντας διατίθεσθε, μὴ τοῖς ῥήμασί σφων ἀλλὰ τοῖς ἔργοις τὸν νοῦν τεκμαιρόμενοι. Whenever, in spite of these facts [i.e. that in the past the only way to stop Germans attacking Roman territory has been for Romans to attack German territory], anyone may say that we should not make war, what he is really saying is that we should not be rich, that we should not have dominion over others, that we should not be free, that we should not be Romans. So just as, if someone were to say such things, you would not put up with it but would kill him, even with your own hands, so now, my comrades, that should be your attitude towards whoever says those things, as you judge their minds from their deeds rather than their words. Cold realism here has slipped into a jingoism that aims not at advancing any collective interest, but at stirring up the audience’s hatred of the speaker’s opponents. The third part of the speech, that addresses the men’s fear of Ariovistus, is not exactly false, but still weaker in its factual basis than its equivalent in the B Gall, which was full of resounding arguments from the earlier history of Roman-German conflict.30 Dio’s Caesar passes over this history in one vague sentence (§45.1) and proceeds to an apparently specious argument (§45.2–3) about Ariovistus’ weak political position and some topoi about the poor fighting qualities of Germans (§45.3–5).31 This last will in fact hold true, but that cannot balance out the dishonesty of what went before. Dio is flagging 30  See B Gall 1.40.5–7, where Caesar cites the Cimbri and Teutoni, the Germans in Spartacus’ slave-army, and the victories of the Helvetii over German peoples. See Riggsby 2006, 96 for the functioning of these examples. 31  At 38.45.3, Caesar claims that Ariovistus will be unable to obtain support from other German peoples; no evidence of this problem comes up in the subsequent narrative. Caesar’s observation that the Germans’ physical size and ferocity are not decisive military advantages does appear to be confirmed by the narrator at 38.47.5, and in the battlenarrative at 38.49–50.

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the entire speech as a piece of specious, self-serving mendacity, but also and crucially as an effective piece of persuasion that is meant to make us reflect on the relationship of speech to political action. We thus return to the earlier questions of how and why the persuasion functions. We have on this point considerable guidance from Dio’s narrator, who explains that after Caesar finished (Dio Cass. 38.47.1): οὐ μόνον οὐδεὶς ἀντεῖπεν, εἰ καὶ τὰ μάλιστά τινες [ἐς] τἀναντία σφίσιν ἐγίγνωσκον, ἀλλὰ καὶ συνῄνεσαν πάντες, καὶ οὐχ ἥκιστα οἱ δι’ ὑποψίας αὐτῷ ὄντες, λογοποιεῖν ἃ ἤκουσαν. καὶ τούς γε στρατιώτας οὐ χαλεπῶς ἔπεισαν πειθαρχῆσαι, τοὺς μὲν ἐκ τοῦ προκεκρίσθαι προθυμουμένους, τοὺς δ’ ἄλλους δι’ ἐκείνους φιλοτιμουμένους not only did nobody speak against him, even though some of them had sentiments entirely the opposite of his, but they all consented to give speeches along the lines of what they had they had heard, and those men of whom Caesar had any suspicion were not the least eager. And they had no difficulty persuading the soldiers to submit to authority, as some of them were heartened by the preference shown them, while others were moved to rivalry with that first group. Several points stand out here. Most notably, Caesar’s arguments are by no means compelling in themselves, to the internal any more than the external audience. One gets the impression that Caesar’s officers are a politically polarized group, and the people who supported Caesar before still support him after, and those who didn’t still don’t. The latter, however, respond with no less alacrity than the former, seemingly from resignation and fear, because they realize that the speech will work on the troops regardless of the officers’ qualms. The speech does, of course, work at second hand on the soldiers. It seems from Dio that the crucial point is the last line about the Tenth legion, which, as in Caesar’s own account, causes an outbreak of constructive competition between those who have been singled out for praise and those that feel the need to earn it. Before the speech, the men were suspicious of their leader’s φιλοτιμία. After hearing the speech, they are themselves assimilated to that quality (φιλοτιμουμένους), and thereby become at a stroke the inseparably loyal army that will bear Caesar to victory over the Gauls and supreme power over the Romans. For both parties, φιλοτιμία will have unforeseen negative consequences. In Caesar’s case, once he has won his victory, it will become vanity, to be exploited by enemies who will flatter him into accepting ever more outrageous honors that eventually undermine his popularity and leave him

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vulnerable to assassination.32 The soldiers, on the other hand, will find themselves driven to ever greater crimes in the service of their chief, and in Dio’s version they regress from hesitant civil-warriors at Pharsalus (41.58) to grimly murderous automatons at Munda (43.37–38). Thus there is surely a bond between Caesar and his troops, but it works very differently from the legend Caesar cultivated in his own writings. It is based not on anything military, but on the overpowering personal ambition that is the principal motive of all the main figures in Dio’s version of the late Republic. Caesar’s rhetoric is thus the means by which an individual transmits his ambition to the body politic more generally, or to a particular segment of it that he needs as a tool. But if the last few lines about the Tenth Legion were all that was needed to inspire this φιλοτιμία, we are still left without an explanation for the previous ten pages of the speech. The answer must be related to the reason why Dio invented the men’s legalistic objections in the first place, or at any rate chose to emphasize them. Dio, I would suggest, is genuinely interested in how the various segments of the political public were manipulated in an era when political rhetoric ostensibly had far greater freedom and scope than in his own time. As I have already argued, Dio is willing to grant Caesar’s soldiers at least a measure of complexity as a political audience; just as they are capable of using moral or legalistic arguments to rationalize their fear, so they require similar arguments to rationalize their indulging of their new-found thirst for glory. The arguments they get from Caesar are on one level rather weak, and it is hard to imagine such obviously self-serving material winning over an audience that was genuinely skeptical. If, however, the speaker has other means of making the audience want to share his point of view, then giving them hollow but ringing justifications of that point of view is a much more sensible technique. Caesar’s exaggerated, tendentious broadside, what American political commentators would call “red meat,” is exactly the sort of thing that one can see working to bring out the latent φιλοτιμία that Caesar is relying on all along.

Caesar, Thucydides and Republican Rhetoric

The Vesontio speech is thus not the detachable rhetorical exercise that some have suggested: it is fully integrated into its dramatic setting and the larger 32  For the manipulation, see Dio Cass. 44.7.3, along with Pelling 2006, 261 and Kemezis 2014, 119–120.

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narrative. But it does also have a larger thematic resonance within Dio’s corpus as a whole, as part of his ongoing consideration of the role of rhetoric. If Dio is invoking Thucydides, then he is putting Caesar less in the role of Pericles than of Alcibiades or Cleon, demagogues who pretend to offer the Athenian dēmos rational deliberative speeches in favor of aggression, when in fact they are pandering to the audience’s inflated self-image, which in turn is manifested in the speaker’s own delusions of grandeur. Like his Athenian predecessor, Dio sees this deformation of language and political speech as characteristic of a particular historical moment, that being the late republic in the years from Marius (or perhaps the Gracchi) to Actium. In Dio’s periodization, these later decades are seen as an entirely different political landscape from the early or middle republic, and one of the key differences is in the function of rhetoric.33 We lack Dio’s complete text for the years before 70, but as best we can reconstruct it from fragments and epitomes, it appears that in the early-to-mid Republican narrative, speeches were somewhat more numerous than in the surviving books, and those speeches functioned as genuine deliberative oratory, in which speakers with no hidden agendas made arguments that they more or less believed in, which actually persuaded audiences to do things differently for the reasons stated in the speeches. In Books 36 to 51, by contrast, it is difficult to find a single speech that matches those criteria. A full survey of these speeches is not possible here, but it is worth expanding a little on this point, to give some wider application to the case study of the Vesontio speech.34 This part of Dio’s history deals with the age of Cicero, and readers would have expected him to furnish numerous speeches. He does not exactly disappoint, but the speeches do not function quite as one might suppose. It has often been pointed out that Dio gives a great deal of attention to Cicero himself, but seemingly only to highlight his ineffectuality and lack of political substance.35 Why, one may ask, does Dio never give a speech to Cato the Younger, the one figure from the 50s that he credits with any integrity, or to any of the Assassins, whom he finds morally deficient

33  For an expanded argument along these lines, see Kemezis 2014, 104–115. 34  For a full-scale study of late Republican rhetoric in Dio, see now Burden-Strevens 2015a, and the same author’s contribution in this volume. 35  For Dio’s version of Cicero, see Millar 1964, 46–55; Gowing 1992, 143–161 and, with specific reference to Books 38–40, Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, xxxvi–xxxviii. Mallan in this volume gives full consideration of the effects of Cicero’s παρρησία in his debate with Calenus.

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but still takes seriously as political ideologues?36 Dio is certainly interested in the rhetoric of the late Republic, but not as an opportunity to create eloquent heroes giving voice to noble sentiments and forcing arms to yield to the toga. If one looks for successful rhetoric in Dio’s late republic, one sees instead Caesar’s speech here and later to another set of mutinous troops in Placentia (41.27–35), also earlier, in Book 36 (§25–36), the speeches of Pompey and Gabinius regarding the pirate command, and again later in Book 44, (§36–49) Antony’s funeral oration for Caesar. In very different ways, I would suggest, all of these speeches involve what I earlier called “collusive mendacity,” in which the speaker presents lies or obfuscations that the audience recognizes as such but nonetheless finds in some way useful or gratifying and chooses to accept.37 This is for Dio a key component of the political system in this period. We are used to saying that under Augustus Rome ceased to function as a republic but retained the forms and language of republican government. For Dio, I would suggest, that separation of function and language occurred much earlier. His late republic is not properly speaking a republic (δημοκρατία) at all, any more than the world in which he lived. In particular, by Cicero’s time meaningful and open public debate has ceased to operate, notwithstanding the tremendous volume of political oratory. Successful rhetoric is not a deliberative process for determining what is expedient for the community, but rather the means whereby powerful men acquire the popular followings required to realize their personal ambitions. The Vesontio speech is designed to illustrate how this state of affairs manifested itself in the sphere of external war and conquest: it is by far the longest treatment of this topic in the surviving corpus of Dio. This last fact has led to what is probably the most influential reading of the speech in modern scholarship, namely that it, along with several fragments earlier in Dio that express similarly “Thucydidean realist” sentiments, should be seen as a unified argument or discussion regarding Roman imperial expansion.38 While the links between Caesar’s speech and the earlier passages are indisputable, to read 36  On Cato, see e.g. Dio Cass. 37.22, and the remarks of Mallan in this volume. For the Assassins, 47.42.3. 37  For the pirate debate in Book 36, see Kemezis 2014, 112–115, as well as Coudry’s contribution in this volume. 38  Seen in Gabba 1955, 301–311; Christ 1974, 272–279; Hose 1994, 367–370 and Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, lxi–lxvi. Passages that find clear echoes in the Vesontio speech include especially frg. 2.8 (Ancus Marcius’ motives for aggression) and frg. 13.55.1–2 (Lentulus advocating war with Carthage in 218). For a critique of this line of interpretation, see Fechner 1986, 219–228.

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them together out of context and try to divine a single coherent opinion or dialectic is to mistake the nature of Dio’s literary aims. Dio is above all a political historian, an inheritor of the Roman annalistic tradition. As such, describing the political experiences of the Roman people, their leaders and their changing institutions, is for him an end in itself and determines the sort of historical questions he asks. It is useful in this respect to compare Dio with Appian.39 As Appian makes clear in his preface, his object of study is the Roman empire as a fact of human geography, and he aims to describe the process, driven by Roman ἀρετή, that led to its existence in its current form.40 Rome’s internal political history is of interest because it fostered that ἀρετή and led to that conquest and expansion. Dio, on the contrary, is describing Rome as a political community centered above all on the senatorial elite with which he identifies: conquest and expansion are of interest because (but only inasmuch as) they were dominant themes of Roman politics for several centuries. Since Roman conquest and expansion are primary for Appian, it is legitimate to expect from him a single coherent conception of their causes and moral significance. This is not the case with Dio: as a historical individual, he may have had a consistent opinion on the subject, but we should not expect it to emerge from his history. No doubt he shared Appian’s view that the empire as it existed in his time was in some sense a good thing, but that does not mean that he felt the same need as Appian to evaluate all of Roman history as the process by which it came into being. Indeed Dio’s scope and methods are not designed to give consistent answers to questions such as those surrounding imperial expansion. Dio is narrating a thousand years of history in which the Roman political system underwent several radical changes leading up to the monarchical state of his own day. In describing each of these stages, Dio uses quite different methods and describes quite different kinds of events.41 Thus for the Principate after Augustus, the character and actions of the emperor become the key focus of the narrative in a way that had not been true for political leaders under the republic. Likewise in the case of imperial expansion: in Dio’s version of the mid-republic, politics is dominated by the efforts of a unified ruling class to maintain the interests of the state, it is on that basis that leaders act and decisions are made. Thus the question of whether it is expedient to fight Carthage 39   For more general comparisons between these two authors, see Gowing 1992 and Potter 2011. 40  On the relationship between the structure of Appian’s work and Roman imperial expansion, see now Osgood 2015. 41  For a fuller argument along these lines, see Kemezis 2014, 94–104.

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is politically meaningful and of interest to characters such as Lentulus and Fabius, and presumably to the narrator as well, though his comments do not survive. In Caesar’s time, by contrast, it is the ambitions of individual dynasts that drive the political process, and the collective interest of the community has lost its importance. Simply put, it does not really matter to Dio whether the conquest of Gaul was in the public interest, because in the world of his text it does not really matter to Caesar, or to his audience. What does matter to Dio is how someone like Caesar controlled Roman political life in the late Republic, and that includes the army, and all the ideological and rhetorical apparatus that goes along with conquest. What is remarkable here is that even though Caesar is a very different kind of political leader from the men of the Punic Wars, he still talks like them. In changing his style of narration from the middle to late Republic, Dio could have given his characters a new political language to speak, one that reflected their selfinterest and egotism. Instead he has them continue to talk like guardians of the res publica, consulting for the common good. This is not exactly deception, because, as Dio makes clear, the audience are not fooled, and their positive response is not based on accepting Caesar’s arguments. Rather it is that the pretense gives them the ideological means to maintain continuity with the past and still meaningfully call themselves Romans, even as they adopt a new political role, as willing partakers in Caesar’s ambitions and his glory. I would suggest, finally, that the culmination of this rhetorical process is to be found exactly where one might naturally expect, namely with Augustus and the start of the Roman monarchy. Specifically, it can be seen in Book 53, in which Dio describes what we refer to as the “Settlement of 27” whereby Augustus took that name and delineated his formal powers, while assuming a new set of honors.42 Dio’s description begins with a speech (§3–10) that shares fully in the mendacity that the speaker’s adoptive father deployed so well. The future Augustus pretends to lay down power, all the while delivering arguments about his own greatness and indispensability. And, in an unmistakeable echo of Vesontio, nobody is really deceived. Instead Dio gives a very detailed explanation (§11) of how several different groups in the senatorial audience feel differently about the speech, but all find it in their interest to act the same way, namely by vehemently demanding that the speaker retain the power he so transparently covets. Augustus’ speech marks thus not the start of a new era of political dishonesty, but the end of an old one. He remains in Book 53 a figure of the late Republic, driven by the same φιλοτιμία as Caesar and the others. His form of φιλοτιμία, however, will lead him to accept honors that are 42  This scene and its various ironies are considered in Rich 1990, 136–139.

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acceptable to his subjects and serve as the basis of a stable monarchy, rather than, as with earlier figures, provoking lethal resentment. This is a political change that Dio considers positive. To be sure, it includes the end of public oratory as Cicero and Caesar knew it, but I hope to have shown in this chapter that Dio does not consider this any great loss, because that oratory was in his version either ineffective or disingenuous. I began this essay by noting that Dio had heard a great many speeches in his life: no doubt also he had disbelieved or discounted much of what he had heard.43 His political career began with the masquerades of Commodus’ reign, continued through the civil wars and intrigues of Septimius Severus down to the many fictions surrounding the child emperors Elagabalus and Alexander. He had seen generals stirring up army and public for civil wars, and emperors contriving foreign campaigns to further their political agendas. It left him a shrewd and skeptical interpreter of political speech. His own experience was of a monarchical state in which one man’s words had to be taken as authoritative even when they were manifestly not true. He did not, however, make the mistake of exclusively equating monarchy with mendacity and assuming that an earlier, pluralistic world necessarily did better. On the contrary, he saw clear analogies beneath the apparent contrast, and his version of Cicero’s Rome can be every bit as treacherous as Cleon’s Athens was for Thucydides, or Tiberius’ Rome for Tacitus.

43  Schulz in this volume considers Dio’s reaction to panegyrical rhetoric and imperial political discourse.

CHAPTER 13

Parrhêsia in Cassius Dio Christopher Mallan* Introduction In the preamble to his narrative of the Battle of Philippi, Cassius Dio says (47.39.2–3): συνέπεσον μὲν γὰρ καὶ αὖθις ἀλλήλοις, ὥσπερ καὶ πρότερον· ἀλλ’ ἐκείνους μὲν τοὺς ἀγῶνας ὑπὲρ τοῦ τίνος ἐπακούσουσιν ἐποιήσαντο, τότε δὲ οἱ μὲν ἐς δυναστείαν αὐτοὺς ἦγον, οἱ δὲ ἐς αὐτονομίαν ἐξῃροῦντο. ὅθεν οὐδ’ ἀνέκυψεν ἔτι πρὸς ἀκριβῆ παρρησίαν ὁ δῆμος καίπερ ὑπ’ οὐδενὸς ἀλλοτρίου . . . ἀλλ’ αὐτός τε ἑαυτοῦ κρείττων τε ἅμα καὶ ἥττων γενόμενος καὶ ἔσφηλεν ἑαυτὸν καὶ ἐσφάλη, κἀκ τούτου τό τε δημοκρατικὸν συμπαρανάλωσε καὶ τὸ μοναρχικὸν ἐκράτυνε. For though they were again to come to blows with one another, just as they had done previously, these later struggles were for the purpose of finding out what master they should obey, whereas on the present occasion one side was trying to lead them to autocracy whereas the other to selfgovernment. Hence the people never attained again the genuine freedom of speech, even though vanquished by no foreign nation . . . but the people at one and the same time triumphed over and were vanquished by themselves, defeated themselves and were defeated, and consequently they exhausted the democratic element and strengthened the monarchial. The passage is a significant one in Dio’s broader account of the transition from Republic to monarchy at Rome. On the surface, Dio’s comments seem to echo similar statements which juxtaposed the domination of the Caesars with the

* I would like to thank Carsten Lange, Jesper Madsen, Chris Pelling, and Caillan Davenport for their comments on a draft version of this paper. Similarly, I am grateful for the comments and suggestions from the conference audience at the University of Southern Denmark (29–31 October 2014) where this paper was delivered. I am grateful also to the conference organisers and the various funding bodies who subsidised my participation. All translations from Dio have been taken from Cary’s Loeb edition, sometimes adapted.

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idea of Republican libertas found in the Latin tradition.1 Yet Dio plays with this theme in a particular and specific way, and he focuses his attention not only on a general sense of freedom (that is to say ἐλευθερία), but on the concept of “genuine freedom of speech” (ἀκριβὴς παρρησία), a political freedom, lost as a result the defeat of the Liberators. As we shall see, the idea of παρρησία (hereafter, parrhêsia) is a recurring theme in Dio’s Roman History, and that it has a distinct, if not unique place in his historical and broader intellectual outlook. This paper comprises three sections. First, I shall consider Dio’s understanding of parrhêsia in his Republican narrative, with a focus on his characterisations of Cicero and the Younger Cato. Second, I shall look at what Dio says about parrhêsia under the empire. Third, I would like to turn the discussion around to look at Dio himself, and the importance of parrhêsia in his project of writing the history of his own age.

Parrhêsia and the Fall of the Republic

The largest cluster of parrhêsia words (that is to say the noun parrhêsia, the verb παρρησιάζομαι) fall in what remains of Dio’s late Republican narrative.2 Although perhaps such a figure is skewed by what survives of Dio’s text, this distribution is consonant with the democratic connotations of the idea of parrhêsia. Given Dio’s familiarity with the classics of Attic literature, it seems probable that Dio’s understanding of parrhêsia was influenced (to some degree) by his reading of classical texts. For many of the classical Athenian authors of the fifth and fourth centuries, parrhêsia and its twin concept ἰσηγορία (hereafter isêgoria) were tied not only to the (democratic) Athenian’s self perception, but also were indicative of a state of individual freedom, as opposed to slavery.3 As we shall see throughout this paper this seems to accord with Dio’s presentation of parrhêsia in his history, and is implicit in the quote concerning the outcome of Philippi, which began this chapter.

1  E.g. Luc. 7.695–7; Tac. Agr. 3.1, Tac. Hist. 1.1.1, etc. 2  Nawijn 1931, 606. 3  An indicative example is Euripides Phoen. 391–2: “And one thing in particular, he is not able to speak freely.| This you speak of is the slave’s lot, not to say what one is thinking” (ἓν μὲν μέγιστον· οὐκ ἔχει παρρησίαν.| δούλου τόδ᾽ εἶπας, μὴ λέγειν ἅ τις φρονεῖ). For discussion of the parrhêsia in the classical Athenian context, note especially, Konstan 2012; Saxonhouse 2008; Momigliano 1973, 256–263. For the freedom/slavery dichotomy in Dio (and its likely Thucydidean origins), see Lavan 2013, 131–140.

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By the late second century BC, Polybius recognized parrhêsia and isêgoria as defining characteristics of democratic constitutions.4 But uniquely, at least among extant historians of Rome writing in Greek, Dio appears to have considered parrhêsia as a characteristic of the Roman Republic.5 The appropriateness of this judgment may be questioned. It was argued by Wirszubski long ago that the Romans of the Republic never possessed a sense of freedom of speech cognate with the Classical Athenian sense of parrhêsia. For Wirszubski, such outspokenness would have seemed more like licentia than libertas to a Roman of that age.6 There is possibly something to this view with regards to Dio’s conception of parrhêsia. At the very least, Dio seems to have been cognizant of some differences between the Athenian-style democracy and what he interpreted as the dêmokratia of the Romans. Perhaps significantly, isêgoria – parrhêsia’s ideological twin – does not appear in the extant books of the Roman History.7 Nevertheless, Dio seems to have regarded parrhêsia (in the abstract sense) as a freedom to offer an opinion that might cause offence, or be contrary to the will of the sovereign body (be it the populus/δῆμος, the Senate, a general, or an emperor). Here there is perhaps an overlap with Tacitus’ frequent use of libertas where it appears as something close to ‘candour’.8 Yet as we would expect from Dio there is nuance to this picture, and he seems aware of an ethical boundary between frankness and unrestrained offensiveness. As with many before him, he recognized that the context and manner with which individuals exercised their ‘outspokenness’ or ‘frankness of speech’ was important.9 Yet Dio approached the idea of parrhêsia from what may be termed an historical perspective as well. In his judgment, he saw that it was possible for individuals to exercise parrhêsia under the Republican constitution in a way that would become impossible following the (re)establishment of monarchy at Rome.

4  Polyb. 2.38.6, 6.9.4–5; cf. Walbank 1957, 657. 5  Cf. Bertrand 2008, 71, 82. 6  Wirszubski 1950, 13. Wirszubski’s conclusions are drawn from Cic. Resp. 3.23; Flacc. 15ff and Phaedrus 1.2.1–2. Cf. Momigliano 1973, 261, who suggests that whereas “[i]n the Senate freedom of speech was complete”. He goes on to note that “only persons of authority had the right to speak freely” and that the idea of free speech (libera lingua) thus belonged more to the domain of auctoritas rather than libertas. See further Brunt 1988, 314–317. 7  Interestingly, Xiphilinus uses isêgoria twice – both independently of Dio: cf. Xiph. 41.1 and Dio Cass. 46.34.5; Xiph. 80.31 and Dio Cass. 51.19. 8  E.g. Tac. Dial. 10.8, with Mayer 2001, 121. 9  Stob. Anth. 3.13.47 = Democritus F 226 (Diels-Kranz); Phild. Lib. 2b ll. 11–13; [Xen.] Ath. Pol. 1.6; Isocr. 8.14; Plut. Quomodo adulat. internos. 25–37 = Mor. 66A–74E.

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Here again Dio is not far from the world portrayed in Tacitus’ Dialogus.10 It is in Dio’s narrative of the downfall of the Republic that he develops his characterization of two figures who appear to be paradigmatic in his treatment of parrhêsia: Cicero and the Younger Cato. Cato provides us with an appropriate starting point. Apart from anything else, Dio’s Cato represents a more straight-forward exemplum of a plain-speaking politician than the senator from Arpinum.11 In a way the two need to be considered together, as Cato represents Cicero’s twin in terms of parrhêsia. Cato was, for Dio, the very model of the Republican senator. Like Cicero, Cato is a doomed figure, albeit a heroic one. Scrupulous in his personal conduct, Cato was the quintessential defender, and ultimately martyr of the Republican system of government.12 Cato’s formal introduction to the narrative, which comes in the context of his opposition to the voting of extraordinary honours to Pompey in 63 BC, sets the tone of his portrayal (Dio Cass. 37.22.2–3): ἤσκει δὲ τὰ τοῦ πλήθους ἀκριβῶς, καὶ ἕνα μὲν ἀνθρώπων οὐδένα ἐθαύμαζε, τὸ δὲ δὴ κοινὸν ὑπερηγάπα, καὶ πᾶν μὲν τὸ ὑπὲρ τοὺς ἄλλους πεφυκὸς ὑποψίᾳ δυναστείας ἐμίσει, πᾶν δὲ τὸ δημοτικὸν ἐλέῳ τῆς ἀσθενείας ἐφίλει. [. . .] καὶ τὴν ὑπὲρ τοῦ δικαίου παρρησίαν καὶ μετὰ κινδύνων ἐποιεῖτο. καὶ ταῦτα μέντοι πάντα οὔτε πρὸς ἰσχὺν οὔτε πρὸς δόξαν ἢ τιμήν τινα, ἀλλ’ αὐτῆς ἕνεκα τῆς τε αὐτονόμου καὶ τῆς ἀτυραννεύτου διαίτης ἔπραττε. He diligently promoted the interests of the plebs and admired no one man, but was thoroughly devoted to the common weal. Suspicious of unlimited power, he hated anyone who had grown above his fellows, but loved any one of the common people through pity of their weakness. [. . . He] indulged in outspokenness on behalf of the right, even when it involved danger. Yet he did all this not with a view to power or glory or any honour, but solely for the sake of a life of independence, free from the dictation of tyrants. The sentiments are pure Dio.13 As we shall see, Dio’s direct characterization of Cato mirrors the sort of ideal that Dio’s Cicero portrays himself as 10  E.g. Tac. Dial. 2.1. 11  Note Lintott 1997, 2517, 2520, for a superficial sketch of Dio’s portrayal of the younger Cato. 12  For the reputation of Cato as an exemplum of Republicanism, see Wirszubski 1950, 129– 131; MacMullen 1992, 5–8, 18–19; Wilkinson 2012, 37–38, 178. This exemplary status was, however, came to be more moral than it was political: cf. Gowing 2005, 76–79. 13  Cf. Plutarch’s comments concerning Cato’s parrhêsia (Cato. min. 33.2, 35.6).

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representing in his speech in Book 45. But unlike Cicero, in the case of Cato the ideal matched the reality. Dio’s characterization of Cato sets him in direct contrast to not only Cicero, but also to Caesar and Pompey: all three men driven by a desire for honours and power (Dio Cass. 36.43.3–44.2; cf. 37.22.1). More than this, Cato’s “outspokenness on behalf of the right” is set against Cicero’s habit of supporting whichever side was to his advantage, and Caesar’s (and indeed Pompey’s) more studied dissimulation.14 Finally, Cato’s opposition to Pompey, unlike Cicero’s opposition to Antony in Book 45, was not based on personal enmity (Dio Cass. 37.22.4; 46.1.1–2; cf. 46.29.2), but on a desire to preserve the interests of the commonwealth. The prelude to Cato’s spectacular death at Utica reinforces these themes. Cato, knowing that the cause is lost resolves to kill himself, not wanting to submit to Caesar’s domination. As Cato organizes the passage of his comrades from Utica, the following exchange occurs between Cato and his son (Dio Cass. 43.10.4–5): πυθομένου τε τοῦ νεανίσκου “διὰ τί οὖν οὐχὶ καὶ σὺ τοῦτο ποιεῖς;” ἀπεκρίνατο αὐτῷ ὅτι “ἐγὼ μὲν ἔν τε ἐλευθερίᾳ καὶ ἐν παρρησίᾳ τραφεὶς οὐ δύναμαι τὴν δουλείαν ἐκ μεταβολῆς ἐπὶ γήρως μεταμαθεῖν· σοὶ δ’ ἐν τοιαύτῃ καταστάσει καὶ γεννηθέντι καὶ τραφέντι τὸν δαίμονα τὸν λαχόντα σε θεραπεύειν προσήκει”. When the youth asked, “Why, then, do you not do so too?” He [sc. Cato] replied, “I, who have been brought up in freedom with the right of freespeech, cannot in my old age change and learn slavery instead; but for you, who were both born and brought up amid such a condition, it is proper to serve the divinity that presides over your fortunes.” A similar scene appears in Plutarch’s Life of the Younger Cato, and the two versions may stem from a common tradition. But the Plutarchan version is unelaborated with speech.15 Indeed, that the brief exchange is Dio’s own creation is clear. We see the presence of the old Athenian connection between political freedom (eleutheria) and parrhêsia. There may also be an echo of Polybius’ statement that whereas the founders of democracies prized parrhêsia (and isêgoria) above all else, their descendants did not, causing individuals to strive for domination over their compatriots (Polyb. 6.9.5). It also serves to emphasise the incompatibility between parrhêsia and the domination of an individual. Cato’s final gnomic statement recalls Dio’s own quasi-religious 14  See further Kemezis’ chapter in this volume. 15  Plut. Cato min. 65.3–4.

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devotion to Τύχη or the heavenly power (τὸ δαιμόνιον), and contributes to the thematic unity of the work.16 Moreover, Dio’s Cato recognises the futility of maintaining the Republican struggle in a world that is about to change. Cicero’s parrhêsia is more problematic than Cato’s. It has been over fifty years since Fergus Millar gave his judgment on Dio’s portrayal of Cicero. The verdict was damning: “Dio’s handling of Cicero is a failure, perhaps the most complete failure in his History.”17 But Millar knew also that Dio’s portrayal of Cicero could (and perhaps should?) be read in what he described as “purely literary terms”. From such a perspective Cicero emerges as is a complex figure, and the pejorative nature of the portrayal in general should not blind us to his many functions in the narrative.18 From the point of his introduction alongside Caesar in the context of the debate over the lex Gabinia, Cicero appears, like Caesar, as a man eager for power and the position of the foremost man in the state. Cicero and Caesar are also complementary figures: whereas it is Caesar’s ability to dissimulate and obfuscate his intentions and plans, Cicero’s defining characteristic is his parrhêsia. The problematic nature of Cicero’s parrhêsia is addressed directly during the Cicero-Philiscus dialogue in Book 38. Philiscus foreshadows Cicero’s death by remarking on Cicero’s reluctance to give up his habit of exercising his characteristic parrhêsia (Dio Cass. 38.29.1–2). Such an idea stems from Dio’s unexceptionable belief that parrhêsia is sufficient to incur the hatred of others. For Dio, this was a constant of human nature, and may be seen in the Illyrian Queen Teuta’s decision to execute a group of ambassadors for their plain-speaking.19 But in the example of Cicero, it is not so much a case of his exhibiting parrhêsia per se, but the manner in which he did it. For Dio, it was Cicero’s excessive parrhêsia, which lapsed into slander (διαβολή), which caused so much offence and attracted such enmity (Dio Cass. 38.12.6–7). This is again made explicit in the speech of Q. Fufius Calenus which opens Book 46. The debate between Cicero and Calenus that straddles Books 45 and 46 is crucial to Dio’s consideration of Republican parrhêsia. The debate is a characteristically multi-dimensional set-piece.20 Prima facie, both speeches are 16  For Dio devotion and religious views, note Liebeschuetz 1979, 227–229; Swan 2004, 8–11. 17  Millar 1964, 55; cf. Lintott 1997, 2514–2517. 18  See now Kemezis’ (2014, 289–290) discussion of the parallels between the themes of the Cicero-Philiscus dialogue in Book 38 and Dio’s own position of quasi-exile following his consulship in AD 229. 19  Dio Cass. frg. 49.3; cf. 44.10.3. 20  For discussion of the speeches, note in particular Fechner 1986, 63–69; Koster 1980, 200–210; Millar 1961, 18–21. Note also, Millar 1964, 52: “[the debate between Cicero and

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textbook examples of invective, and function to augment Dio’s characterization of both Cicero and Antony.21 In the past, these speeches have drawn comparison with the parallel pair of speeches (that is, those of Cicero and L. Calpurnius Piso) given by Appian at the corresponding point in his narrative (App. B Civ. 3.213–248). Yet the comparison is deceptive as the speeches in Appian and Dio bear only superficial resemblances to each other. For the Alexandrian historian, the speeches of Cicero and Piso serve as a means of propelling the narrative of events, as well as adding a degree of dramatic colour. The speeches of Cicero and Calenus go beyond this and are in many ways far more complex and subtle creations than the speeches of Cicero and Piso as rendered by Appian.22 Traditionally the speeches of Cicero and Calenus have been viewed through the lens of Quellenforschung.23 But such a technique takes us only so far and the cumulative length of the Cicero-Calenus set piece (and this observation can be made for Dio’s narrative generally in Books 44–46),24 cannot be properly understood simply in terms of Dio’s use of sources. Indubitably Dio had access to a wealth of material, not least such material as Cicero’s own Philippics, as well as the corpus of genuine and pseudepigraphical anti-Ciceronian diatribes. Yet it would be wrong to assume that the speeches in Books 45–46 are the result of Dio’s reluctance or inability to condense his source material. As we shall see, part of this programme was to use both speeches to deal with the idea of parrhêsia – both as a political ideal and as a political reality.25 The narrative setting for such a discussion is, as we shall see, appropriate. Moreover, the speeches have a mimetic quality. The unrestrained ad hominem arguments presented by both Cicero and Calenus represent examples of parrhêsia in action, and point to the limitations of employing such frank speech in political debate. As with Dio’s other paired speeches – the Agrippa-Maecenas debate in Book 52, and the speeches of Boudicca and Suetonius Paulinus preserved Calenus is] evidently an attempt to sum up in two balanced speeches the complex political situation at the beginning of 43 BC”. 21  For a convenient summary of the standard commonplaces in Greco-Roman invective, see Craig 2004, 188–192. 22  For a brief comparison of the speeches of Cicero and Calenus/Piso in Dio and Appian respectively, see Gowing 1992, 147–149. 23  E.g. Millar 1961, 18–21; Lintott 1997, 2517, 2519. Kyhnitzsch 1894, 59–64, provides a list of the several Thucydidean echoes in the two speeches. 24  As noted well by Kemezis (2014, 128 n. 89), taken together these speeches are longer than Agrippa-Maecenas debate. 25  Cf. Fechner 1986, 67.

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by Xiphilinus – the speeches of Cicero and Calenus must be read together. It would be wrong for us to assume that the text endorses the views of either of the speakers.26 Indeed, the characters of both speakers should warn against such a reading: Cicero on the one hand, and a partisan of Marcus Antonius on the other. There is more. Cicero may come across in Dio’s narrative as being a generally odious individual, but his speech contains some noble sentiments, and his criticism of Antony justified. Similarly, the speech of Calenus is not straightforward – although again he may be justified in his general criticisms of Cicero, he takes them too far and is guilty of malicious exaggeration. Rather, it seems that the speeches touch on similar ideas from different perspectives, and thus problematise some of the key concepts raised in each speech. The place of these speeches in the narrative is important. Book 45 opens with Dio’s lengthy description of Caesar’s heir – the future Augustus, and Book 46 concludes the formation of the Triumvirate. Moreover, in the immediate lead up to the speech, Dio explicitly foreshadows the death of Cicero (Dio Cass. 45.17.3–4), as well as that of the Republic (Dio Cass. 45.17.5). Perhaps most tellingly, there is a moment at the beginning of Book 45 where Dio describes the future Augustus as realizing that if he were going to succeed, he would have to restrain his inclination for parrhêsia (Dio Cass. 45.6.1). The reader, thus primed, reads on with a reinforced knowledge that Cicero and his cause are lost. Cicero opens his speech with the theme of the impending threat of constitutional change and the impact the shift towards autocracy would have on his prized freedom of expression. Cicero says (Dio Cass. 45.18.2): οὔτε γὰρ ἐν δυναστείᾳ καὶ τυραννίδι ζῆν ὑπομείναιμ’ ἄν, ἐν ᾗ μήτε πολιτεύσασθαι μήτε παρρησιάσασθαι ἀσφαλῶς μήτε τελευτῆσαι χρησίμως ὑμῖν δύναμαι . . . For I could not, on the one hand, endure to live under a monarchy or a tyranny, since under such government I cannot live rightly as a free citizen nor speak my mind to you. These comments set the tenor of his speech. Where Cicero deals with the idea of parrhêsia, he does so in an idealized manner. Cicero’s comments here 26  As noted correctly by Pelling 1983, 224–225. Lintott (1997, 2516–2517) is too uncritical in his assumption that Calenus acts largely as a mouthpiece for Dio’s own appraisal of Cicero. While it is true that many of the hostile opinions expressed by Calenus are consonant with some of Dio’s, the caricature of Cicero that emerges from the speech goes beyond the Dio’s portrayal of Cicero. See further, Gowing 1992, 147–148.

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employ the same connection between parrhêsia and eleutheria that we saw in the Classical Athenian sources and in Cato’s speech at Utica. The theme of parrhêsia and political freedom is continued throughout the speech. Cicero describes Antony’s domination of political affairs since Caesar’s murder, and notes that under Antony’s rule it was impossible for the Senate to exercise parrhêsia without a guard (Dio Cass. 45.22.5, cf. 45.25.1–2). Although this claim is later repudiated by Calenus,27 Dio’s Cicero may be seen to be anti­ cipating one of the great themes of early Roman imperial historiography, that of the tenuous existence of senatorial libertas under a monarchic system. Cicero then drives home these points with another quasi-Athenian statement (Dio Cass. 45.35.1–2): καὶ πῶς οὐκ αἰσχρὸν τοὺς μὲν προγόνους ἡμῶν ἐν δουλείᾳ τραφέντας ἐπιθυμῆσαι ἐλευθερίας, ἡμᾶς δὲ ἐν αὐτονομίᾳ πολιτευθέντας ἐθελοδουλῆσαι . . . Would it not be disgraceful if, after our forefathers, who had been brought up in slavery, and felt the desire for liberty, we, who have lived under a free government, should become slaves of our own accord. Cicero’s comments, although commonplace, are also an echo of the sentiment made by the Younger Cato discussed above. They are also deeply ironic, like many other features of the Cicero-Calenus set piece. Cicero is ultimately delivering his speech against Antony to further the cause of the ultimate victor in what Dio saw to be the struggle to seize monarchic power – Caesar’s heir. Cicero concludes his speech with the following (Dio Cass. 45.46.3): οὔτε γὰρ ἄλλως τὸν θάνατόν ποτε τὸν ἐκ τῆς παρρησίας ἐφοβήθην (καὶ διὰ τοῦτο καὶ κατώρθωσα πλεῖστον· τεκμήριον δὲ ὅτι καὶ θῦσαι καὶ ἑορτάσαι ἐφ’ οἷς ὑπατεύων ἐποίησα ἐψηφίσασθε, ὅπερ οὐδενὶ πώποτε ἄλλῳ μὴ οὐκ ἐν πολέμῳ γέ τι καταπράξαντι ἐγένετο), νῦν δὲ καὶ ἥκιστα. For I have never at any time been afraid of death as a consequence of my outspokenness (this accounts, indeed for my overwhelming success, the proof of which lies in the fact that you decreed a sacrifice and festival in memory of the deeds done in my consulship, an honour which had never 27  Dio Cass. 46.26.1: “For certainly you were not deprived of full freedom of speech; at any rate you indulged in a great deal of barking, and to no purpose.” (οὐ γάρ που καὶ παρρησίας ἐνδεὴς ἦσθα· πολλὰ γοῦν καὶ μάτην ὑλάκτεις).

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before been granted to anyone except one who had achieved some great success in war), and now I fear it least of all. In the context of the speech, Cicero’s words represent a strong attempt at selffashioning.28 Again we may note the irony. As with the comments of Philiscus in Book 38, Cicero this time himself recognizes that his outspokenness could lead to his death. Moreover, any reader who remembered the earlier narrative on the Catilinarian conspiracy and the execution of the conspirators would recognize the dubiousness of Cicero’s claim that his frankness of speech was employed for the good of the State.29 If Cicero’s speech represents, at least superficially, the ideal of parrhêsia – frank speech exercised for the good of the commonwealth – Calenus’ speech undermines this very notion. It reinforces the negative portrayal of Cicero as a disreputable demagogue: challenging the reader to reappraise Cicero’s speech in terms of appearances rather than realities. As Calenus notes (Dio Cass. 46.9.4): καὶ λοιδορεῖς μὲν ἀεὶ πάντας πανταχοῦ, τὴν ἐκ τοῦ θρασέως παρρησιάζεσθαι δοκεῖν δύναμιν περὶ πλείονος τι τῶν δεόντων εἰπεῖν ποιούμενος, And you abuse everybody all the time, setting more store by the influence which comes by appearing to speak your mind boldly than by saying what duty demands. For Calenus, Cicero’s speciality is slander, exercised for his own personal advantage: “So utterly reckless is he about pouring out anything that comes to his tongue’s end, as if it were mere breath” (οὕτω μὲν οὖν οὐδ’ ὁτιοῦν αὐτῷ διαφέρει πᾶν ὅ τι ποτ’ ἂν ἐπὶ τὴν γλῶτταν αὐτοῦ ἐπέλθῃ, καθάπερ τι πνεῦμα,30 ἐκχέαι), says Calenus at 46.15.3.31 It is true that this picture of Cicero the slanderer is 28  Cf. Cic. Phil. 2.118. 29  And even if not, Calenus will draw attention to the problematic nature of Cicero’s claim in his speech. 30  Cary in his Loeb edition prints (and translates) πλῦμα “soap-suds” following the conjecture of Naber, instead of the MSS reading πνεῦμα. The supposed reference to soap-suds is an allusion to the accusation that Cicero’s father was a fuller (cf. Plut. Cic. 1.2), but I do not see that such an emendation is warranted here, and have preferred to follow Boissevain and others in rejecting it. Cf. Bertrand 2008, 160; Koster 1980, 206 n. 663. 31  Note Phild. Lib. col. 1b ll. 1–13: the good man is the one who employs parrhêsia does not do so to win fame, and never insults, struts, nor shows contempt or cause harm.

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found in the anti-Ciceronian rhetorical tradition, for example in the pseudoSallustian invective against Cicero, where Cicero’s habit of abusing others is a source of criticism (e.g. [Sall.] Inv. 1.1–2).32 But Dio’s focus on these features is largely his own and feeds into the broader narrative themes of his Republican narrative, and the speech cannot be fully understood purely in terms of Dio’s putative reliance on the anti-Ciceronian rhetorical tradition.33 Calenus’ characterization of Cicero as a self-serving demagogue who pursues his own interests under the pretext of speaking his mind openly also maintains that Cicero was inimical to the harmony of the Roman state (Dio Cass. 46.25.3). This ties in with one of Dio’s major themes for Books 44–46, which is the importance of homonoia in the state, and the inability of the Republican constitution to safeguard such harmony (Dio Cass. 44.2–3). Yet we would be wrong to assume that Calenus’ speech is a simple attack on Cicero’s behaviour. If Cicero’s parrhêsia is inimical to harmony, so too is that of Calenus. Calenus’ motives are not entirely pure: his decision to speak in defence of Antony, as he himself claims at the beginning of the speech, is because Cicero had earlier insulted him (Dio Cass. 46.1.2). At the end of Calenus’ speech Dio says (Dio Cass. 46.29.1): τοιαῦτα τοῦ Καλήνου εἰπόντος ὁ Κικέρων οὐκ ἤνεγκεν· αὐτὸς μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἀκράτῳ καὶ κατακορεῖ τῇ παρρησίᾳ ἀεὶ πρὸς πάντας ὁμοίως ἐχρῆτο, παρὰ δὲ δὴ τῶν ἄλλων οὐκ ἠξίου τὴν ὁμοίαν ἀντιλαμβάνειν. καὶ τότε οὖν ἀφεὶς τὸ τὰ δημόσια διασκοπεῖν ἐς λοιδορίας αὐτῷ κατέστη, ὥστε τὴν ἡμέραν ἐκείνην καὶ διὰ τοῦτο οὐχ ἥκιστα μάτην κατατριβῆναι. Such language from Calenus, Cicero could not endure; for while he himself always spoke out his mind intemperately and immoderately to all alike (αὐτὸς μὲν γὰρ καὶ ἀκράτῳ καὶ κατακορεῖ τῇ παρρησίᾳ ἀεὶ πρὸς πάντας ὁμοίως ἐχρῆτο), he could not bring himself to accept similar frankness from others. So on this occasion, too, he dismissed the consideration of the public interests and set himself to abusing his opponent, with the result that the day was largely wasted, primarily on this account. Earlier readings have interpreted Dio’s comment here as being nothing more than a superfluous dig at Cicero.34 Such a view is unsatisfying. Dio’s comment 32  For the question of Dio’s sources, see Millar 1961, 18–21; cf. Millar 1964, 53–54. 33   pace Lintott 1997, 2515–2516. Syme’s comment (1939, 167 n. 1), that “something at least of Calenus’ speech may be recovered from Dio”, is optimistic. 34  Millar 1964, 55.

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draws the two speeches together, and reinforces their central theme. The two speeches, where antagonists exchanged unchecked abuse, result in a wasted opportunity for fruitful debate and resolution, and thus serve to highlight the potential of parrhêsia being an instrument of discord. Hence, we see the speeches playing out Dio’s thesis about the state of the Republic – a time when individuals were driven by their own love of honour, and where moderation (σωφροσύνη) and concord (ὁμόνοια) could no longer be achieved.35 Not even, as it happens, in the Temple of Concordia, where the speeches of Cicero and Calenus were purportedly delivered (Dio Cass. 46.28.3).

Parrhêsia and the Principate

The transition to monarchy at Rome was a gradual process. Indeed, Dio seems to have considered that there were several key moments which marked this change: Philippi, Actium, the ‘settlement’ of 28/27 BC36 But of the various vestiges of the Republic that were eventually to give way during this process, it was parrhêsia that died at Philippi (Dio Cass. 47.39.2–3, quoted above). From that point, Dio believed that parrhêsia became an indulgence rather than a guaranteed political freedom. Taken as a generalization, Dio’s views are unexceptionable: tyrannies or autocratic governments (ancient and modern) are seldom tolerant of opposing voices. Dio was not alone in this belief. Some of the more interesting comments on parrhêsia made under the Principate are those preserved in the fragments of Musonius Rufus’ tract On Exile. Musonius, taking as his lead Euripides Phoenissae (391–2), argues that it is in fact the exiled man who can exercise his parrhêsia without fear, whereas the man still engaged in politics cannot, as he is prevented by his fear of the consequences.37 Dio’s imperial narrative represents an important shift in emphasis in his discussion of parrhêsia. Dio’s focus turns predominantly to how rulers reacted to displays of parrhêsia. An emperor’s tolerance of such outspokenness is a component of Dio’s conception of the ciuilis princeps (or better δημοτικὸς

35  Cf. Dio Cass. 44.2.4–5; 47.39.4–5. 36  Note Dio’s comments at 51.1.1 (31 BC), 52.1.1 (29 BC), 57.17.1 (27 BC). Cf. Rich 1990, 14; Reinhold 1988, 118–119, 231. The victory over Brutus and Cassius at Philippi represented for Dio the point where monarchic government became inevitable (Dio Cass. 47.39.2–3). 37  Muson. frg. 9 [Hense p. 48–50], with commentary in Geytenbeek 1963, 143. Plutarch (De Exilio 16 = Mor. 605F–606D) reacts to the same lines of Euripides, and his argument is virtually identical to that of Musonius.

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αὐτοκράτωρ).38 Part of this idea, like the connection between parrhêsia and eleutheria, was long a staple of political discourses on kingship. It is a theme that appears throughout Isocrates’ Cyprian orations, where we see the ideal king eschewing the flattery of toadies, but being tolerant of and receptive to the frank advice of his friends and associates.39 It is perhaps not surprising that the idea appears in the Meditations of the philosophically minded Marcus Aurelius, where the emperor acknowledges his debt to his tutor Diognetus, who taught him to tolerate displays of parrhêsia (Med. 1.6). More generally, the idea that a man should listen to frank criticism is a commonplace of ethical treatises. Most conspicuously it is found in the fragments of Philodemus’ On Flattery (P. Herc. 1082) preserved among the charred papyri of Herculaneum, and perhaps in its most developed, although hardly most original form in Plutarch’s How to tell a flatterer from a friend.40 This nexus of ideas finds expression in the context of the Agrippa-Maecenas debate. Before launching into his argument in favour of the Republican form of government, Agrippa craves Augustus’ permission to speak frankly (Dio Cass. 52.3.3). Owing to a lacuna we do not know whether Maecenas made a similar request at the beginning of his speech, but in the body of his speech he advises Augustus to permit his advisors to exercise parrhêsia when voicing their opinions (Dio Cass. 52.33.6). In this sense, the Agrippa-Maecenas set piece is in some ways representative of how advisors should behave towards an emperor, and how an emperor should behave towards his advisors. When it came to appraising Augustus’ deeds both in Dio’s own authorial commentary and through the device of Tiberius’ funeral oration, the emperor is praised for allowing his friends to employ such outspokenness when offering him advice (Dio Cass. 56.43.1; cf. 56.40.3). The appraisal of emperors based on their reactions to displays of parrhêsia forms one of the “trans-regnal themes” (to use Pelling’s phrase) of the imperial books.41 Occasionally this criticism is implicit. In a well-known anecdote, Dio reinvents a well-known folkloric topos in his telling of the story of Hadrian’s sober reaction to an elderly petitioner, who had just reprimanded the emperor

38  Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 38–39. For Dio’s adoption of this model, see Davenport 2014; Davenport and Mallan 2014, 645–647; and Jones’s contribution in this volume. 39  For the idea of parrhêsia being a special privilege, appropriate to a wise advisor, see Momigliano 1973, 260; cf. Plato Leg. 640B; Laches 188E. 40  For the connection between frank speech and friendship, see now Kemp 2010, 72–76; Momigliano 1973, 260. 41  For this phrase, note Pelling 1997.

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for claiming that he was too busy to hear her request (Dio Cass. 69.6.3).42 Of Dio’s contemporaries, Septimius Severus is praised for not punishing Cassius Clemens, a one time partisan of Pescennius Niger, for the parrhêsia the senator exhibited during his trial (Dio Cass. 75[74].9.1; 75[74].9.4). Especially interesting among these imperial examples is the group of anecdotes concerning parrhêsia under the reign of Tiberius. That notoriously cryptic emperor, although he rarely disclosed his own thoughts or intentions (Dio Cass. 57.1), did not as a rule punish others for demonstrating parrhêsia.43 When Asinius Gallus called Tiberius’ bluff during the so-called succession debate in September AD 14, Dio (57.2.5) tells us that Tiberius was incensed at Gallus, not for his outspokenness, but on account of a long-held grudge. Indeed, Dio, like Suetonius, commends Tiberius’ encouragement of parrhêsia during senatorial meetings.44 In AD 16, Cn. Piso went against the will of the princeps and his son, and seemed to carry the day in the Senate, until his proposal was vetoed by a tribune (Dio Cass. 57.15.9). Of course this sort of parrhêsia was specious. But for Dio, appearances mattered, and such fictions were important to maintain. At the most fundamental level, an emperor who refrained from exercising his constitutional and extra-constitutional powers was preferable to one who did not. There are points, however, in his imperial narrative where Dio shows interest in how an individual exercised his parrhêsia, and not just an emperor’s reaction to such displays. In this regard we see a continuity of thought between Dio’s attitudes in the Republican and Imperial narratives. As in the case of Cicero, he is critical of individuals who showed little restraint in their manner of speaking (Dio Cass. 66[65].12.1). The hostility Dio shows towards Helvidius Priscus is at first surprising. For Dio, Helvidius Priscus represented the sort of ostentatious, and pointless opposition that had little value.45 Dio accuses Priscus of trying to stir up the people by praising Republican government and denouncing monarchy. Priscus’ opposition to Vespasian, we are told, was not due to any pure ideals, but rather due – in language that recalls Dio’s reason for Cicero’s opposition to Antony – to Priscus’ personal enmity with the emperor. Dio does not leave the issue here. Rather, he contrasts Priscus with his father-in-law, the 42  For the topos, see Schmidt 2000, 20–21. Hadrian is, of course, hardly an uncomplicated example of a δημοτικός emperor. Note his punishment of the architect Apollodorus for the latter’s parrhêsia (Dio Cass. 69.4.1–3). 43  Dio Cass. 57.7.3–5; 57.17.3. 44  Suet. Tib. 28; Dio Cass. 57.7.3–4. 45  The same may be said for Tacitus’ attitude towards Priscus (e.g. Wirszubski 1950, 166), although Tacitus’s portrayal of Priscus is notably less pejorative than Dio’s.

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exemplary P. Clodius Thrasea Paetus. Paetus represented, in his way, the imperial age’s equivalent to Cato. Yet Paetus was able to express his opposition by not saying anything at all (Dio Cass. 66[65].14.1–2). Here Paetus’ actions spoke louder than words. In the political world of the Principate, where the expression of senatorial consensus was expected, and indeed required as a symbol of imperial legitimacy, such silence struck at the very heart of this ideology. These comments perhaps also reveal something of an underlying tension in Dio’s attitudes towards political behaviour and ideology. Dio might have thought that monarchy was the preferable form of government for a state the size Rome had grown,46 but many of his ideas about appropriate senatorial and imperial behaviour harked back to idealised Republican models. It is not for nothing that Dio uses the adjective δημοτικός approvingly when noting the exemplary conduct of those emperors who showed appropriate deference to the Senate; much in the same way as Latin authors use ciuilis. Thus, monarchy was preferable only when the ruler conducted himself as though in a Republic. Moreover, a similar observation can be made to his presentation of appropriate senatorial conduct. Hence, it is the ‘Republicans’ like Agrippa, Cato, and Thrasea Paetus, who emerge from our historian’s narrative as exemplary senatorial figures.

The Historian Speaks Out

As we saw in the previous section, for Musonius Rufus it was physical exile that allowed a man of affairs the freedom to express his opinions frankly. But there was perhaps another, less drastic form of exile: the writing of history. As a coda to this paper, I would offer some thoughts about the role of parrhêsia in Dio’s own self-fashioning as a senatorial historian. Dio understood that time and occasion mattered when it came to exercising parrhêsia. When we recall many of Dio’s descriptions of his own participation in the business of his day, we see him as a silent or otherwise anonymous senatorial participant in affairs. Indeed, Dio the senator appears to know when and when not to speak. When Didius Julianus, a one-time opponent of Dio, 46  Dio Cass. 44.2.1–4; Cf. Millar 1964, 93; Rich 1990, 13. Note, however, the nuanced comments of Kemezis (2014, 129) on Dio’s political views: “[T]o label Dio a “monarchist” based on Maecenas’ apparent victory is to misunderstand political discourse in the high empire. In Dio’s own world, monarchy had long ceased to be something one was for or against. The practical workings and ideological basis of monarchy, however, were still very much live issues.”

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was acclaimed emperor by the troops, Dio joined the rest of the senators in endorsing Julianus’ claims to the purple, despite his dislike of the man and belief that Julianus was manifestly not capax imperii.47 In another scene, when feeling the urge to laugh at Commodus’ actions in the arena, Dio chose instead to disguise his natural urge by chewing on bay leaves (Dio Cass. 73[72].21.2). The contrast with his outspoken criticism of his contemporaries found in the History is profound. It has long been taken as a truism of ancient historiography that history concerned past emperors and delivers panegyric on those who were still living. While there may be a degree of truth to this in reality, it was clearly not the ideal. We may look to Lucian’s oft quoted How to write history for such an articulation of this ideal. For the second century man of letters, it was a historian’s task to employ parrhêsia when describing the deeds of one’s contemporaries. A historian should be in Lucian’s words (Hist. conscr. 41), “fearless, incorruptible, free, a friend of parrhêsia and truth” (ἄφοβος, ἀδέκαστος, ἐλεύθερος, παρρησίας καὶ ἀληθείας φίλος).48 The product of the historian’s labours was for Lucian, as it was for Dio and Thucydides, intended to be a possession for all time – and a monument to the author. As Lucian puts it, readers of a history should think of the historian along the following lines (Hist. conscr. 61): “he was a free man, full of frankness, with no adulation or servility anywhere, but everywhere truthfulness” (ἐκεῖνος μέντοι ἐλεύθερος ἀνὴρ ἦν καὶ παρρησίας μεστός, οὐδὲν ὄυτε κολακευτικὸν οὔτε δουλοπρεπές ἀλλ᾽ ἀλήθεια ἐπὶ πᾶσαν). The conventionality of such a portrait is patent. Lucian’s ideal historian is an amalgam of the familiar rhetorical binaries – a free man and not a slave, who employs frankness rather than flattery.49 Indeed, the portrait might as well be of an ideal Athenian citizen of the 5th century, or one of Dio’s heroic Republican grandees – a Cato or a Catulus. The view is implicit at the beginning of Tacitus’ Histories, where the Latin annalist outlined the perceived loss of eloquentia and libertas that was a staple of pre-Actium historiography, but had fallen into abeyance.50 Yet was this an ideal to which Dio aspired in his writing? We may assume that Dio’s early works were not exemplary specimens of impartiality. At any 47  Dio Cass. 74[73].12.1–13.1. 48  Cf. Lucian. Hist. conscr. 44: Ὡς γὰρ τῇ γνώμῃ τοῦ συγγραφέως σκοποὺς ὑπεθέμεθα παρρησίαν καὶ ἀλήθειαν. For this ideal, note Avenarius 1956, 40–46. 49  For the commonplace that flattery was inimical to truthfulness, see Marincola 1997, 160–161. 50  Tac. Hist. 1.1.1, with discussion in Sailor 2007, 124–132. Note also, Tac. Hist. 2.101.1, for Tacitus’ pejorative judgment on Flavian historiography.

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rate, Dio’s opuscule documenting Severus’ Dreams and Portents which Severus had experienced before staging his coup d’état, and Dio’s short history of the wars under Severus, seem to have been works more influenced by political expediency than a desire for critical independence.51 The Roman History, as we have it, is a different matter. Dio’s contemporary history determinedly refutes and subverts the propaganda of his contemporary emperors. A few illustrations will suffice. Commodus’ catch-cry of the new Golden Age is turned around by Dio to be the new “age of iron and rust”.52 Severus’ sanitized version of the battle of Lugdunum against the imperial pretender Clodius Albinus is flatly and explicitly contradicted (Dio Cass. 76[75].7.3). Dio also memorializes the witticism of his coeval, Pollenius Auspex, who congratulated Severus with having found a father, following Severus’ self-adoption into the Aurelii.53 More tellingly, the dynastic propaganda of Severus Alexander, the emperor under whom the history was supposedly completed, is subverted. This may be seen most succinctly in Dio’s exposition of Alexander’s parentage. Caracalla, the scion of Severus and Julia Domna was regarded officially as the biological father of both Elagabalus and Severus Alexander: a claim upon which the imperial legitimacy of the two cousins was based.54 Yet Dio went about refuting this in a most thorough, and frank, way – not only by his outright rejection of such bogus claims, but also by providing the actual parentage of both Elagabalus and Alexander (Dio Cass. 79[78].30.2–4). Moreover, as if this was not enough, Dio had earlier made a point of revealing Caracalla’s sexual impotence.55 Other historians were not so diligent, and were prepared to accept the dynasty’s specious claims. So much is clear from the perpetuation of this dynastic fantasy in Herodian and in the tradition dependent on Enman’s putative Kaisergeschichte.56 Finally, as if to ensure his impartiality, Dio eschews any temptation to write about the reign of Severus Alexander directly, and in its place Dio confines himself to the elaborate yet subtle character sketch of himself which closes the work. 51  Dio Cass. 73[72].23.1–3. For discussion of these early works, see Schmidt 1997, 2605–2618. 52  Dio Cass. 72[71].36.4; cf. 73[72].16.1. Note Beaujeau 1955, 369–370, for Commodus’ ‘Golden Age’. 53  Dio Cass. 77[76].9.4. It may be noted that Auspex is one of only a few of Dio’s contemporaries who receives a positive portrayal in the latter books of Dio’s history. For Dio on Severus, note Rantala’s contribution in this volume. 54  The issue of Dio’s attitude to the imperial succession in the Antonine and Severan periods has been discussed recently in Davenport and Mallan 2014, 657–661. 55  Dio Cass. 78[77].16.1; cf. 78[77].16.4. 56   Epit. de Caes. 23.1; Eutr. 8.22. Herodian (5.7.3) and SHA Heliog. 2.1 are non-committal on the truth or spuriousness of the claim that Caracalla was the father of Elagabalus. For Dio’s account of Elagabalus, see the contribution of Osgood in this volume.

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Conclusion If the contemporary books of Dio’s history represent an attempt at senatorial parrhêsia, we should give a thought to the sort of parrhêsia which Dio believed died on the field of Philippi. For a clue, we need to turn back to Cicero’s speech in Book 45. As has been noted well in the scholarship, the speech draws freely from Cicero’s genuine Philippics. Dio’s version, although a pastiche of many of Cicero’s more stinging attacks directed against Antony, is not unrepresentative of the tenor of the Philippics as a whole. The nature and direction of Cicero’s attack is crucial. Antony was (in Dio’s mind) the possessor of near absolute power in the Roman world at the time the speech was delivered. Therefore, it must have struck Dio as he read through his Cicero, that such an unchecked attack would have been impossible during his own age: only the insane or the suicidal attacked living emperors with such words. One recalls the Lemnian Philostratus’ comment regarding Aelian’s vehement denunciation of Elagabalus. It was all well and good, but it would have been more impressive had he delivered such a speech while the emperor was alive (Philostr. VS 625). Yet in the case of Cicero, Dio saw a leading senator launch such an attack in the context of an open senatorial debate. This, I would posit, was the parrhêsia that Dio believed was not possible after the defeat of Brutus and Cassius. And he might have been right.57 Momigliano believed that “after the first decades of the second century freedom of speech ceased to be an important issue”.58 Whatever the strength of this observation as a generalisation, it certainly cannot be said to apply to Dio. Although as I have argued many of Dio’s thoughts about parrhêsia were well grounded commonplaces that were firmly classical in origin, the way in which he wove these ideas into his narrative of constitutional change at Rome was largely idiosyncratic, and not without subtlety. As such, Dio’s approach to parrhêsia represents a fascinating snapshot of his own political and historical thought. Moreover, the fact that Dio is the last non-Christian author from antiquity to discuss parrhêsia in any sort of detail should prompt us to think not only more about Dio, but also about the political and intellectual world in which he lived.

57  Cf. Wallace-Hadrill 1982, 38: “Since the execution of Cicero, no man had been free to speak against the dynast with power of life and death, except to the extent that he permitted it.” 58  Momigliano 1973, 262.

CHAPTER 14

Historiography and Panegyric: The Deconstruction of Imperial Representation in Cassius Dio’s Roman History Verena Schulz* 1

The Deconstruction of Tyrants – Panegyric and Historiography

Cassius Dio has always been more popular among historians as a source for Roman history than among philologists as the author of a work of literature. As he has usually stood in the shadow of Tacitus, most philologists have not considered Dio worthy of a detailed literary analysis. But the study of the rhetoric and the literary mechanisms of his work definitely contributes, among other things, to understanding Dio the historian.1 Hence, interest in Dio as a writer has grown in recent years.2 This chapter is about Dio’s characteristics as a writer of imperial history. One of the literary features of Dio’s later books is a rhetorical device I would like to call “deconstruction of imperial Representation”. This strategy underlies the depiction of the so called bad emperors. Dio’s picture of them played an important role in the process that shaped their image as tyrants, especially if we think of Caligula, Nero, Domitian, or of Commodus, Caracalla and Elagabalus. I focus on one of Dio’s descriptions of one such bad emperor, namely Domitian, because I think that the rhetorical techniques applied there are typical of Dio. Domitian is also a suitable subject because his memory was still an inspiring topic in Dio’s time. As such different texts as the Life of Apollonius of Tyana (Domitian as tyrant) and the Twelfth Sibylline Oracle (Domitian as provident

* I would like to express my warmest thanks to Brandon F. Jones and Alain M. Gowing who never tired of discussing Cassius Dio and this chapter with me during my wonderful time at the University of Washington. 1  I explore these literary mechanisms in greater depth as part of my habilitation (in progress) on the rhetoric of deconstruction in Roman imperial historiography. 2  Cf. Hose 1994; Pelling 1997; Lintott 1997; Schmidt 2000; Hidber 2004; Gleason 2011; Kemezis 2014. See also Osgood in this volume.

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peacemaker) attest, there was a vital interest in this emperor in the first half of the third century.3 To analyse Dio’s deconstruction of imperial representation4 mainly involves examining the literary discourses around Roman emperors who broke with established political, social and moral norms, such as the emperors just mentioned. They thus stood out from the rest with regard to their forms of representation. I aim to show, through the example of Domitian, that it is worth looking at these emperors and their representation from two different perspectives or discourses, which can (in theory) be separated, but which also overlap: panegyrical discourse and historiographical discourse, and I would like to analyse their relations to each other and the dynamics between them. Within these discourses, imperial representation is put into certain literary codes. The panegyrical discourse, which in Domitian’s case is mainly represented by Martial and Statius, uses these codes to praise the emperor’s style of representation for going beyond the usual boundaries. By employing different forms of literary variation, the panegyrical poets celebrate the emperors for exceeding expected forms of public representation, with regard to their imperial building programmes, their good behaviour towards the people, their spectacles in the theatre and the circus, and their divinity.5 Thus, this kind of panegyrical literature itself becomes a medium of imperial representation. This is true regardless of whether the emperors did or did not deliberately influence the literary panegyrical codes. Historiographical discourse, especially if we look at the works of Dio and Tacitus, aims at the opposite. The senatorial authors who wrote after the emperors’ death, want to show that the rulers overstepped their bounds in a negative way, that they broke with certain (aristocratic, well established) rules and they want to criticise their behaviour, especially towards the Senate. In some extreme cases, they may also imply or even state explicitly that these 3  For Domitian in Philostr. VA see especially 7.1, 7.11–12, 7.32–35, 8.7–8, 8.25. For the Twelfth Sibylline Oracle (terminus post quem is the death of Alexander Severus) cf. Sidebottom 2007, 66–67; Backhaus 2014, 392. 4  By “representation” I mean both official portrayals created by the emperor or his advisors and unofficial images that are ascribed to the emperor by others, as we find them in texts, inscriptions, buildings, statues and coins. The representation of an emperor is not fixed. I rather conceive of it as a developing process in which several forms of self-portrayal and expectations from outside are continuously tested and adapted. Cf. Bönisch-Meyer et al. 2014, 438–439. In defining imperial representation as distinguished from propaganda and self-portrayal I follow Weber & Zimmermann 2003, 33–40. 5  Cf. Newlands 2002; Nauta 2002; Leberl 2004; Rühl 2006. Cf. Cordes 2014, 341–346 for the ambiguity of panegyrical codes.

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emperors were mad, psychopathic tyrants. In order to make their negative descriptions most effective, the historians pick up and re-interpret panegyrical motifs and transform them into a new discourse. Within this procedure of recoding in a historiographical context, the once positive elements of imperial representation are a basis for a negative, recoded portrayal of the emperor. This literary process of recoding a formerly positive code into a negative one can be referred to as “deconstruction”.6 Such negative descriptions of emperors do not simply reflect historical reality. They should rather be considered as literary attributions applied by the authors who create them as part of a methodical critique of emperors.7 Following up this idea I consider Dio’s Roman History to be an important part of political communication and a medium for negotiating the boundaries of the emperors’ behaviour. My focus is on this process of deconstructing imperial representation in Dio’s account of the early Roman Empire, probably – with the exception of Augustus’ reign – the least studied part of his work: By which literary mechanisms and rhetorical strategies are forms of imperial representation that were once excessively celebrated transformed into negative judgments? 2

Rhetorical Strategies of Deconstruction

2.1 Dio on Domitian The reign of Domitian is dealt with in book 67 of the Roman History. Like the majority of Dio’s work, this book has not come down to us directly. We possess only excerpts dating from under Constantine Porphyrogennetos and epitomes by the monks Xiphilinos and Zonaras dating from the 11th and 12th century.8 For book 67, Xiphilinos’ text is the most important. I will only speak of “Dio”, even though it is Xiphilinos’ version of Dio’s text that we have to rely on most of 6  This term is usually used to describe a method of critical analysis that a modern scholar applies to a literary text to demonstrate that this text challenges its own meaning or creates multiple, even contradicting meanings. I employ this term because I also focus on variable, non-fixed meanings of texts. But departing from the “traditional” usage of the term I analyse how one text or discourse reacts and comments on another text or discourse (not on itself) and thus tries to assign a new meaning to its message. The way I apply the term, “deconstruction” refers to a set of mechanisms in ancient texts. I take into account the peculiarities of Roman historical writing and the practices of Roman Historiographers, and deal with a text whose meaning requires a consideration of source texts. 7  Cf. Hose 2011, 113–115; 123–124. 8  For fragments and epitomes of Dio’s text in general cf. Millar 1964, 1–4; Potter 1999, 74–76; Swan 2004, 33–38; 378–380.

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the time. I have chosen for close analysis a passage about Domitian that combines several forms of his imperial representation and that I consider typical both of Dio’s techniques of deconstruction and of the problems that the text offers.9 I will turn to these problems and their implications for our interpretations later (pp. 292–295) in more detail. For the time being, I follow the text as it is printed in the edition of Boissevain (and by Cary in his Loeb edition). We can divide this section into four subsections of disparate length dealing with different stories about and aspects of Domitian’s representation. The context into which the first section (6.4) is put, an excerpt from the excerpta Valesiana, placed here in the text by Boissevain, is Domitian’s wars against the Quadi, Marcomanni, and the Dacians, more precisely the so-called First Pannonian War. We are given information about Domitian as a military leader. The second section (7.2–4) is an excerpt from the excerpta Ursiniana and was placed here by Herrmann Samuel Reimar, who edited Dio in 1750/1752. It describes how, after the defeat by the Marcomanni, Domitian presents the truce with Decebalus and the Dacians as a victory and celebrates a fake triumph. The third section (8.1–4) comes from Xiphilinos and is mainly about Domitian’s spectacles. The fourth section (9.1–6), directly following the third in Xiphilinos’ epitome, describes a feast for senators and knights. 2.2 Deconstructing Panegyrical Motifs 2.2.1 Domitian’s Military Achievements (67.6.4) The first section of the passage to be studied contributes to recoding Domitian’s image as a military leader, his most important historical form of public representation.10 By building up two straightforward antitheses ‒ of success and defeat ‒ the text aims to show that Domitian was both incapable of managing military issues and a perfidious person. Domitian’s successes, we learn, were not due to himself, but he claimed all of them for himself. Defeats were consequences of the orders which Domitian issued, but in the case of a defeat Domitian would blame his commanders.11 It seems impossible to satisfy him since, on the one hand, he hated those who succeeded but, on the other hand, he blamed those who met with reverses (καὶ ἐμίσει μὲν τοὺς κατορθώσαντάς τι, ἐμέμφετο δὲ τοὺς πταίσαντας). It is not the strategy of the text to deny that there were military successes under Domitian. They were historical facts, and were praised and celebrated in the panegyrical literature of Martial and Statius. 9   Translations (and to some extent paraphrases) of Dio follow Cary (1925). 10  Cf. Leberl 2004, 45–49. 11  For a more general discussion of the princeps blaming his generals for defeat, cf. Wardle 1991, especially 47–49.

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Martial’s Book 8 and Statius’ Silvae 1.1 in particular focus on Domitian’s military achievements and victoriousness.12 But Dio’s remarks on Domitian’s personality and behaviour in both successes and reverses transform them and set them in a new light. It was not he who was responsible for the victories; rather, because he hated those who were successful, he claimed the victories for himself. This thesis is consistent with the statement that he is also to blame for the defeats. The argument is not proven, but it is coherent in itself. And it is not easy to contradict this argument since it is based on Domitian’s personality and yet does not neglect the actual events that really happened. 2.2.2 Domitian’s Triumphs (67.7.2–4) The second section presents Domitian as public performer in military or political events (in AD 89). It is not about military decisions or leadership in the stricter sense, but about the official demonstration of military power as it is performed in the ritual of the triumph. The text starts after Domitian’s defeat by the Marcomanni which obviously makes him ask the king of the Dacians, Decebalus, for a truce, although he had declined Decebalus’ frequent requests for a truce before.13 Decebalus accepts the truce because ‒ as we are told ‒ he had suffered grievous hardships (δεινῶς γὰρ ἐτεταλαιπώρητο).14 This piece of information makes Domitian’s own request for a truce appear somewhat superfluous and cowardly, because Dio implies that the situation would have allowed for more. Domitian could have been the one to accept (and not the one to ask for) a truce or even, if we think of Decebalus’ “grievous hardships”, could have kept on pursuing the war against the Dacians. Then we are told that Decebalus sent Diegis who gives Domitian the arms and only a few captives, and pretends that he does not have more (ὡς καὶ μόνους ἐκείνους ἔχων). Thus, Domitian is modelled as a weak emperor who is not in control of the situation and who either does not know or does not care that he is being deceived by his weaker enemies. But, in what follows, Dio’s Domitian acts as though he had won a victory against the Dacians (καθάπερ ὡς ἀληθῶς κεκρατηκὼς; ὡς νενικηκώς).15

12  Cf. Leberl 2004, 143–167; 245–265. 13  Cf. with Strobel 1989, 62–67 the (historically incorrect) account of 67.6.5. 14  As this is an allusion to his defeat at Tapae in 88, this passage has to be removed to a position after 10.3 or even 11.5 or 11.6. See p. 293 and Murison 1999, 234. 15  The same reproach is found in Tac. Agr. 39.1, but there referring to the triumph in AD 83. Cf. also Pliny’s mimicos currus and falsae simulacra victoriae (Plin. Pan. 16.3). For fake triumphs in Dio in general, see Lange in this volume.

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First, he places a diadem on the head of Diegis, showing that he has the power to assign kingdoms. The same act is praised in Martial (6.10.5–7).16 In this epigram Domitian is approximated to Jupiter and his giving a diadem to Diegis is described as a gracious and benign act. Second, Dio’s Domitian grants honours and money to the soldiers. Third, he sends envoys from Decebalus and a letter from Diegis, as he claims (ὥς γε ἔφασκεν), to Rome that obviously confirms the supposed victory ‒ but, as Dio adds, rumour has it that the letter is forged.17 Fourth, he holds a festival which includes many exhibits appropriate to a triumph. They do not come from booty, says Dio, as Domitian has captured none, but from the store of imperial furniture (ἀλλ’ ἐκ τῶν βασιλικῶν ἐπίπλων). Unlike a true victory, this fake victory, the truce with Decebalus, costs Domitian a lot of losses and a lot of money. Dio goes even further when he points out that it was only logical that the fake exhibits in the fake triumph were pieces of the imperial furniture which Domitian treated as captured spoils, as he had enslaved even the empire itself (ἅτε καὶ τὴν ἀρχὴν αὐτὴν δεδουλωμένος). Not only did the Romans fail to win a victory over their enemy, they have even become slaves to their own emperor and have paid large sums to their enemy. In fact, the victory and the triumph-like events have been exactly reversed in Dio’s account. We can conclude for this section that the deconstruction relies on the clear distinction between things that can be seen or things as they appear on the one hand, and the reality that is brought to light by the historian on the other hand. This is a technique that Dio shares with other historians, especially with Tacitus who may have depicted Domitian’s military success in a similar way in his Histories. What is visible for everybody at the surface are the rituals and symbols of a victory ‒ the crowning of a king by the Roman emperor, rewards for soldiers, people and documents confirming the victory, and triumph-like festivals displaying things that look like booty. But Dio’s Domitian is an emperor who only makes use of these rituals as symbolic acts. They do not have a foundation in reality. Domitian is depicted as someone who knows what things have to appear like. Again, Dio cannot completely deny these events. The double triumph over the Chatti and Dacians really took place in the year 89. But he can recode these events as acts of mere showing off. And here again, of course, he cannot prove his version of the events, but can only make it plausible. This strategy is supported silently by the things he decides not to discuss. At least in the epitomes he does not mention two facts 16  On Diegis cf. also Mart. 5.3. 17  Strobel 1989, 91 suspects with good reasons that this rumour was part of the Trajanic propaganda that aimed to distinguish Trajan’s own Dacian war in AD 102 from Domitian’s.

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that would allow for a less hostile presentation of Domitian’s triumph in 89. The war against the Chatti in 89, an important reason for the double triumph, is completely left out. Furthermore there is no direct or indirect reference to the common Roman practice to make alliances with people outside of the borders of the Roman Empire for Rome’s own protection.18 It is instructive to see that there is a corresponding technique in the panegyrical discourse. Whereas Dio (as well as Tacitus and Pliny) claims that something that was officially staged as triumph was in fact no triumph at all, the panegyrical discourse stages events that were no triumphs as such. This is especially true for Martial’s account of Domitian’s adventus in Rome after the Second Pannonian War in 93.19 Unlike in the years 83, 85, and 89, Domitian did not hold a triumph after this German campaign. But Martial in Book 8, which refers to the year 93, tries to promote Domitian’s ovatio, the smaller version of a triumph which he calls a “secret triumph” (hos quoque secretos memorabit Roma triumphos, 8.15.5), to a proper triumph. He focuses on the expected solemn entry into the city (8.21), the triumphal reception (8.11), the ovatio and congiarium (8.15, 8.56), a public feast (8.49), different spectacles (8.26, 8.78), the adventus including “triumphal” buildings (8.65). Altogether there are more poems on the Second Pannonian War in Martial than on any other campaign of Domitian.20 Paradoxically, the military event that produced the smallest triumphal celebrations is most celebrated by the poet. Statius makes use of this non-triumph by praising the emperor’s clemency (Silv. 3.3.170–171): it was Domitian’s clementia, the poet claims, that did not deem these military exploits worthy of a triumph. Keeping these panegyrical strategies of embellishing and exaggerating in mind, it is even easier for critics to claim the opposite and to contend that some of the triumphs were not triumphs at all. From that perspective, Dio’s literary account of Domitian’s triumph can be considered as the exact counter reaction to the panegyrical discourse. 2.2.3 Domitian’s Spectacles (67.8.1–4) The third section ‒ and now we are reading the text of Xiphilinos ‒ starts by mentioning the number of honours that were voted to Domitian, expressed in the number of his images and his silver and golden statues. It is not clear which year Dio is talking about, but most of the events he mentions seem to refer to

18  For this practice cf. Murison 1999, 237. 19  For the Second Pannonian War cf. Strobel 1989, 99–104 and Dio’s account in 67.5.2. 20  Cf. Schöffel 2002, 30–31.

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the Capitoline Games in 86.21 The rest of this chapter deals with spectacles that are also mentioned by Suetonius, but there they are among Domitian’s positive deeds (Suet. Dom. 4.1–5). One of the spectacles is described as very costly. Dio is always interested in finances. One might, for example, consider his famous speech in Book 52, in which he has Maecenas advise Augustus that games should never be too costly (52.30.4). The spectacle Dio is talking about now, he implies, did not pay off, there being nothing worthy of historic record except that maidens competed in the footrace. Dio constructs a chronological order when he says that after this costly spectacle (μετὰ δὲ ταῦτα) Domitian arranged numerous contests, such as battles between infantry, between cavalry, and a naval battle, which purported to be triumphal celebrations (ἑορτάς τινας νικητηρίους δῆθεν ἐπιτελῶν ἀγῶνας συχνοὺς ἐποίησε), following the triumph over the Dacians (if we accept that the text refers to AD 86). With regard to the naval battle he goes into more detail (8.2–4): καὶ ἀπέθανον ἐν αὐτῇ πάντες μὲν ὀλίγου δεῖν οἱ ναυμαχήσαντες, συχνοὶ δὲ καὶ ἐκ τῶν θεωμένων· ὑετοῦ γὰρ πολλοῦ καὶ χειμῶνος σφοδροῦ ἐξαίφνης γενομένου οὐδενὶ ἐπέτρεψεν ἐκ τῆς θέας ἀπαλλαγῆναι, ἀλλ’ αὐτὸς μανδύας ἀλλασσόμενος ἐκείνους οὐδὲν εἴασε μεταβαλεῖν, καὶ ἐκ τούτου ἐνόσησαν οὐκ ὀλίγοι καὶ ἐτελεύτησαν. ἐφ’ ᾧ που παραμυθούμενος αὐτοὺς δεῖπνόν σφισι δημοσίᾳ διὰ πάσης τῆς νυκτὸς παρέσχε. At this last event practically all the combatants and many of the spectators as well perished. For, though a heavy rain and violent storm came up suddenly, he nevertheless permitted no one to leave the spectacle; and though he himself changed his clothing to thick woollen cloaks, he would not allow the others to change their attire, so that not a few fell sick and died. By way, no doubt, of consoling the people for this, he provided for them at public expense a dinner lasting all night. This passage provides an excellent example of how historiographical deconstruction can be based on the destruction of panegyrical motifs. In this case Dio transforms and recodes a motif that is developed in the panegyrical discourse in different ways and that could be glossed as “Domitian in the theatre during bad weather”. We can find at least the weather element in Suetonius’ biography of Domitian (4.2) where we are told that Domitian stayed in theatre even when 21  So this section is chronologically earlier than the previous section. Cf. Murison 1999, 237–238.

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it rained heavily. This is much shorter than Dio’s version, but still comparable, both treating what once happened in the theatre when it rained heavily. Both say that Domitian stayed in the theatre. Unlike Dio, Suetonius does not explicitly judge Domitian’s behaviour. But given the structure of his biography of Domitian, which begins with the positive deeds of this emperor, we must assume that Suetonius has a positive attitude towards Domitian’s staying in the theatre. This is understandable since the theatre was considered the social and sacred space where the emperor and his people could meet and interact.22 When an emperor stayed in the theatre even though the weather conditions were bad, people would probably read that as a sign that he takes interacting with them seriously. Another positively coded version of a story of Domitian in the theatre during bad weather is given in Martial’s epigram 4.3: Aspice quam densum tacitarum vellus aquarum defluat in vultus Caesaris inque sinus. indulget tamen ille Iovi, nec vertice moto concretas pigro frigore ridet aquas, sidus Hyperborei solitus lassare Bootae et madidis Helicen dissimulare comis. quis siccis lascivit aquis et ab aethere ludit? suspicor has pueri Caesaris esse nives. See how dense a fleece of silent waters flows down on Caesar’s countenance and bosom. Yet he humours Jove, and without moving his head laughs at the moisture congealed by paralyzing frost. For he is wont with dripping locks to weary the stars of Hyperborean Bootes and ignore Helice. Who sports with dry waters and plays games from heaven? I suspect these snows come from Caesar’s child.23 In Martial’s text it is snow, not rain, although the snow is ‒ coming close to rain ‒ described as “silent waters” and as “moisture congealed”. There is no storm. Altogether the situation is depicted as calmer than in Dio. The focus is completely on Domitian, not on the spectators. And Domitian, implicitly characterised as superior to Jupiter (he humours him), stays calm since he has become used to all kinds of weather conditions on his hard military campaigns 22  Cf. Flaig 2003, 232–260, especially 237–242, whose approach to Roman society is mainly influenced by Paul Veyne and Pierre Bourdieu. 23  Translations of Martial follow Shackleton Bailey 1993 (Loeb).

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against the Chatti and the Dacians to whom Martial alludes. The perspective at the end transfers to heaven. The epigrammatic “I” of the poem suspects that Domitian’s child, who died at a young age and was deified is playing and is responsible for the snow.24 Besides all the single details, these perspectives at the end of the two texts are in sharp contrast. Both of them imply death. But the divinity of Domitian’s playing child in Martial is still far from the seriousness produced by the spectators’ death from a cold in Dio. There is another poem in Martial in which snow in the theatre and clothing play an important role. It is epigram 4.2, directly preceding the one just discussed. It reflects Domitian’s decree that only white togas were allowed in theatre.25 In the epigram a certain Horatius does not oblige and wears a black toga. Everybody else including Domitian is dressed in white. Sudden snowfall makes Horatius white too. Domitian’s decree, we understand, is thus fulfilled by a higher force. Whereas in this epigram of Martial everybody consents with the emperor and the only one who dissents is made to adapt by nature or a weather deity, Dio in his text creates a strong separation between Domitian and all of his people. Dio continues by saying that Domitian provided a public dinner to console the people for what happened in the circus (ἐφ’ ᾧ που παραμυθούμενος αὐτοὺς δεῖπνόν σφισι δημοσίᾳ διὰ πάσης τῆς νυκτὸς παρέσχε). Normally, public dinners were forms of representation that demonstrate the emperor’s virtues of liberalitas and civilitas, which we can also see from the way in which they are coded and praised in the panegyrical discourse, for example in Stat. Silv. 1.6.26 The poem describes a feast for the whole people. They are given various gifts, the so-called missilia (12–28, 75–80). The poet asks Vetustas to compare this to the times of ancient Jove and the Golden Age (39–40). Social order does not play a role since all social groups are sitting and eating together (43–45). The general atmosphere is that of freedom (libertas, 45). Everyone who participates boasts about dining with the emperor (49–50). The participants even call Domitian their lord, dominus, “in loving favour” (dulci favore, 83), though he does not want to be addressed like this (83–84). Martial too describes a feast connected to a military victory of Domitian. Epigram 8.49, mentioned briefly above, is set after Domitian’s return from the Second Pannonian War

24  For Domitian’s child cf. Moreno Soldevila 2006, 113. This epigram is usually connected to the famous coin (RIC II.1 152 Domitian) that depicts Domitian’s son as divus sitting on the globe and playing with the stars. 25  Cf. Leary 1996, 199 on Mart. 14.135. 26  Cf. Newlands 2002, 227–259; Nauta 2002, 397–402; Rühl 2006, 329–335.

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and shows the emperor as extremely generous in his celebrations. He provides a banquet for all of Rome to everybody’s happiness including the gods. This close comparison between panegyric and historiography may be the right occasion to stress that the panegyrical and the critical discourse are not only represented by literature, by panegyrical poems and critical historiography. The dynamics of these discourses are not confined to intertextuality. To put it a different way, I do not think that we have to assume that Dio read Martial and Statius and deconstructed what he found in their texts.27 My interest in Dio’s sources thus differs from traditional Quellenforschung and its very valuable results. I would like to suggest a different approach assuming that right after the event in the theatre ‒ whatever really happened there ‒ people started to talk about it. Report, conversation, and rumour spread. The event was put into different codes and different versions existed, influenced each other, were retold and changed in their details again and again, first in oral tradition. The fact that we are lacking sources for this tradition nevertheless should not make us underestimate their importance. These stories, which people told on the street, must have been quite variable already, before they formed the basis of our written texts. Later, Martial and Statius stand for such positive, laudatory stories, just as Dio stands for the critical versions. They all present fragments of living discourses and describe their “truth”, the way they wanted this event to be interpreted and remembered in their time. This stands true even if Dio followed a source that we do not know (e.g. Tacitus’ account of Domitian in the Histories) and shared some of its strategies. In that case, the depiction may not be entirely his own creation, but he nevertheless decided that it would suit his narrative and purposes. Finally, Dio gives one last piece of information about Domitian and his spectacles, namely that games were also held at night, and that dwarfs and women also competed against each other. Again, Dio is being highly selective in choosing the information that he presents to his readers. In his account Domitian’s games thus appear as, at the least, bizarre. 2.2.4 Domitian’s Feasts (67.9.1–6) The fourth section deconstructs feasts as forms of imperial representation that were important political institutions for senators and knights in Dio’s own 27  But I do not consider it impossible either that Dio read Latin poetry such as Martial and Statius, or Pliny’s Panegyricus. He claims himself that he collected and read all the relevant literature (cf. 1.2) for 10 years (cf. 73[72].23.5) and these texts, although not historiographical texts, did and do tell a lot about the history of Roman emperors. For Dio reading Latin literature cf. Aalders 1986, 291–293; Freyburger-Galland 1992, 127; Gowing 1998, 389.

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time just as much as in Domitian’s.28 They can be considered as social spaces that confirm the inner order of society and bound it against the outside world.29 Feasts were a ritualised social institution based on a cultural code where the emperor showed himself as friend of the senators.30 At least this is what the senators would want them to be.31 They were also an important and famous topic in the literature of Dio’s time.32 In his text, Dio combines different kinds of public feasts with different social groups. The temporal order is not important anymore; like Suetonius, Dio is interested in the rubric of feasts. As poetical texts remind us of descriptions of feasts in the panegyrical discourse, it is worthwhile to look at Dio’s account of the story with an eye on them. Statius’ Silvae 4.2 is the most interesting as the poet here thanks Domitian for an invitation to a banquet of a more private character for senators and knights in his palace.33 But there are again also parallels to Silvae 1.6. The deconstruction of such a panegyrical idea of a feast for senators and knights is achieved by recoding all the single elements that contribute to a successful feast: its place, the food and presents, and the atmosphere. Dio deconstructs the feast he describes by its indirect characterisation as excessively cruel. Worst of all is how tactically and deliberately Domitian is acting. He behaves like a god since he decides over life and death very easily. In fact, the description of the setting of this feast reminds us of the Underworld. In the panegyrical poems the palace, which was indeed a lavish and luxurious building, is coded as a heavenly place.34 The dining room is described as big and high with a golden ceiling and marbles in different colours (Stat. Silv. 4.2.18–31). In Dio it has become a dark and frightening place. Ceiling, walls, the uncovered floor, and the benches are all pitch black. Domitian’s guests are coming at night and alone. Gravestone-like slabs are installed with the names of the guests written on them, as well as lamps as they can be found in tombs. So much for the decoration of the room and the overall atmosphere: Dio goes on 28  For convivia in Severan times cf. Schöpe 2014, 57–82. For banquets with Roman emperors cf. Vössing 2004, 265–539. 29  Cf. Rühl 2006, 329. 30  Cf. Stein-Hölkeskamp 2002, 22, who focuses on Nero’s feasts in historiography. 31  Cf. Dio’s short positive description of Pertinax, his ideal emperor, in 74.3.4. 32  Cf. the literary symposium of Athenaeus’ Deipnosophistae and their Severan context with Whitmarsh 2007, 46–47. 33  Cf. Klodt 2001, 37–62 (who detects criticism in the panegyrical account itself); Newlands 2002, 260–283; Nauta 2002, 391–397; Rühl 2006, 335–341. 34  For the (hyperbolic) ecphrasis of Domitian’s palace in Stat. Silv. 4.2 cf. Coleman 1988, 82–84, 88–93.

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to explain what happened during this banquet and shows how Domitian created fear also by theatrical acts. Similar to Statius’ account in Silv. 1.6 of a feast in the amphitheatre, the description gets more dynamic. Domitian has actors appear as ghosts (ὥσπερ εἴδωλα). They are naked and painted black, enter like phantoms, dance and finally sit down at the feet of a guest. Sacrifices for the dead are set before the guests (πάνθ’ ὅσαπερ ἐν τοῖς ἐναγίσμασι καθαγίζεται), again black and in black dishes. All this makes the guests fear and tremble and expect their immediate death (ὥστε καὶ φοβεῖσθαι καὶ τρέμειν καθ’ ἕκαστον αὐτῶν πάντας, ἀεί τε ὅσον οὐκ ἤδη σφαγήσεσθαι προσδέχεσθαι). This contrasts sharply with the absent-mindedness of the spectators in Stat. Silv. 1.6.51–52 where Domitian’s gifts make the spectators forget to watch the spectacles although they are described as innovative. In this positive context appear also women and dwarfs. The fear on the contrary, that is described by Dio, is enhanced by silence. Only Domitian talks and he speaks about death and slaughter. He is thus singled out, whereas Statius’ Domitian is explicitly staged as right amidst his guests (Stat. Silv. 4.2.16–17). Dio’s guests feel as if they are already among the dead (ὥσπερ ἐν τεθνηκόσιν). Domitian dismisses them, but does not relieve them of their fear. On their way home they are accompanied not by their own slaves but by Domitian’s people, which makes them even more frightened. Finally at home, they just start to catch their breath again and are soon told that a messenger of Domitian has arrived.35 They expect to be killed once again. But in fact they are delivered the guest presents and these (very costly) presents were parts of the props that he had used at the Underworld-like banquet, such as the gravestones, the dishes and even the boy that had played the guest’s spirit. Thereby Domitian transfers the fear he evoked in the senators from the palace, his sphere, into their private homes, their sphere.36 He keeps this fear alive by gifts that will always remind the senators of the sadistic feast. In panegyrical discourse the gifts described by Statius (Silv. 1.6.12–27, 75–80) – the nuts, dates, damsons, figs, pastries, apples (or pears), flamingos, pheasants, guinea fowl – create an “atmosphere of abundance”.37 They contribute to the joy people experience from dining with the emperor (Stat. Silv. 4.2.5–6, 63–64). When Statius says that the day he experienced will live on in time (Silv. 1.6.98) he thinks, of course, of a positive remembrance. Domitian’s 35  Dio considered it especially cruel to make a victim stagger between fear and hope. Cf. with Kuhn-Chen 2002, 175 Tiberius’ treatment of Gallus in 58.3.1–6. 36  For the connection of imperial dinner and fear (both of the emperor and his guests) cf. Tac. Hist. 1.81 on Otho’s banquet. 37  Nauta 2002, 399.

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gifts in Dio enhance the fear and contribute to a negative remembrance. Dio finally tells us that this “triumphal celebration” was called “funeral banquet” by the people (Δομιτιανὸς τοιαῦτα νικητήρια, ἢ ὥς γε ὁ ὅμιλος ἔλεγε, τοιούτους ἐναγισμούς). The people experiencing Domitian’s feast in the amphitheatre also utter a name for the spectacle which took place in December. They call it Saturnalia principis (Stat. Silv. 1.6.81–82). As in Silvae 4.2.10–12,20–22 Domitian is referred to as “our Jupiter” (Silv. 1.6.27).38 Especially in Silv. 4.2 he is given a sacred aura and closely approximated to the gods and celebrated as clement emperor (4.2.14–16): tene ego, regnator terrarum orbisque subacti/ magne parens, te, spes hominum, te, cura deorum,/ cerno iacens? (“Do I behold you as I recline, sovereign of the lands, great parent of a world subdued, you, hope of mankind, you, care of the gods?”).39 In Dio, Domitian has become a kind of god of the Underworld, and an emperor who employs psychological tricks to intimidate his citizens. These stories about dining with Domitian could hardly be more different. Historians have tried to discover the truth behind Dio’s version, which is the only extant source for this banquet. There are, as far as I can see, four different types of explanation, which all try to get through to Domitian’s true intentions. First, those who consider Domitian a cruel tyrant can take Dio’s story for granted. Dio’s account is then, in fact, read as a negative description of a brutal event. But in recent decades scholarship has tended more and more to rehabilitate Domitian.40 Some interpreters hence assume that there was another, less tyrannical purpose in Domitian’s dinner. So the second explanation starts from other examples where dinners prove to be a space in which the worlds of the living and the dead are linked. The most prominent literary account of such a feast is Trimalchio’s dinner in Petronius’ Satyricon (Petr. 26.7–78). The scene not only entails a general memento mori (Petr. 34.8–10). What is more, Trimalchio even stages his own funeral (Petr. 71–78), finally to the utmost disgust (ad summam nauseam, Petr. 78.5). Following such descriptions of dinners, explanations of this second type claim that Domitian is supposed to have humorously satirised the institution of the convivium. Waters (1964, 76) thinks that “all those present who were not suffering from a very bad conscience” must have liked it and sees Dio’s description as extremely humorous and not as critical. Third, Dunbabin (1986, 193–195) agrees

38  Domitian was the first emperor to feature as Jupiter on the reverse of a coin (since AD 85). Cf. Wolters & Ziegert 2014, 62 on RIC II.1 283 (Domitian). 39  Translations of Statius’ Silvae follow Shackleton Bailey 2003 (Loeb). 40  Cf. Schnurbusch 2011, 286–289 and the biography by Jones 1992.

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as far as the historical event is concerned,41 but still reads Dio as criticising this event. So she concludes that Dio or Dio’s source has not understood Domitian’s point. Fourth, Vössing even sees a pedagogical motive at work, arguing that Domitian probably wanted to remind the dining senators how lucky they were to have survived in contrast to those who had died for and in Rome.42 Let me suggest another way of reading this episode and another perspective from which to look at it. Starting from the historical Domitian and leaving aside the prejudiced literary “sources” there is no evidence that Domitian’s banquets were much different from those of his predecessors.43 I suppose that if there was a historical dinner party that is the origin for Dio’s story,44 it must have been as ambivalent an event as the modern views about it. Just because there was a tradition of linking dining and death does not mean that everybody felt the same about it. Concepts of fear and humour, social constructions they may be, have also always had a very individual element. Being invited by an autocratic emperor to dine with him in the setting of a graveyard was probably not received in the same way by all the senators, no matter if it was meant seriously or as a joke. And there is a big difference between the historicity of an event like the one in the theatre just discussed and an event such as this. Whether Domitian prevented the spectators in the theatre on a certain day from putting on cloaks may be right or wrong. But whether a “funeral banquet” is funny, cannot be right or wrong. It definitely stirs emotions differently, positive or negative ones, and is thus an event which is polysemantic in itself. What one thinks it stands for – humour? Threat? – depends on the code with which one reads it. Domitian either did not choose a code that was clear enough or did not succeed in protecting his code against another way of de- or recoding. Dio’s account of the story, written more than four generations after the possible event, can be read as an attempt to fix the code for this dinner in favour of his critical story-line. I personally cannot find humour in Dio’s account of

41  Cf. Dunbabin 1986, 195: “[. . .] the emperor seems here to have been simply carrying to extremes a fashion current for over a century [. . .] After this however, the fashion vanishes from the literature; Domitian may indeed already have been a little out of date.” Cf. also her chapter on “Death at the feast of the living” in Dunbabin 2004, 132–140, where she does not, however, discuss this passage. 42  Cf. Vössing 2004, 471. 43  Cf. Vössing’s analyses of Domitian’s banquets in Vössing 2004, 312–314; 348–353; 366–367; 385–386; 405–406; 466–471; 487–488; 503–506; 524–527. 44  Cf. the doubts of Stein-Hölkeskamp 2005, 52 who also reads this episode as an imaginative literarised account of the negative views on Domitian’s banquets.

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the story.45 And even if one does prefer to read it as not completely serious, the “humour” it might comprise is, at most, a cruel humour.46 Dio’s Domitian remains an overall cruel emperor. As banquets were social and political institutions, they could also be used to illustrate an emperor’s cruel personality and attitude towards the aristocrats and, thus, to evaluate him.47 Dio’s interest in a negative depiction of Domitian seems to be the guiding line also for the reconstruction of his banquets. This ties in with the fact that Dio shares this interest with other authors who also deconstruct Domitian’s banquets, but who employ very different strategies. Whether Dio’s depiction is also influenced by accounts of a banquet like this in a text that is lost (especially in Tacitus’ Histories) is, of course, impossible to say. Dio’s “funeral banquet” is, as said above, mentioned nowhere else. But Pliny the Younger who uses Domitian as a negative foil for his praise of Trajan, talks about dining with the emperor in Pan. 49. Trajan’s dinners are full of humanitas, courtesy, charm, and dignity. He dines in public, his table is open to all, food and pleasure are for everyone, and he encourages conversation and joins in. His love of culture and civilised wit contrasts sharply with Domitian’s obscaena petulantia, his indecent insolence. Pliny’s Domitian is just there to watch. He even eats before he joins the dinner and gives only food to his guests that he would not touch himself. He arrogantly pretends a proper dining together, but can hardly endure it. There are no ghosts as in Dio, but ministrants of an oriental superstition. Interestingly, in Suetonius Domitian’s feasts are deconstructed by yet another method. It is said that Domitian often held big convivia, but that they ended rather quickly (paene raptim). They never lasted longer than sunset and there was no comissatio, no drinking party after the dinner. This description is put at the end of the biography among Domitian’s vitia (Suet. Dom. 21), but actually as a potentially positive point. Just think of Suetonius’ criticism towards emperors who drink or dine or party too much such as Nero (Nero 27.2), Vitellius (Vit. 13), or even Titus (Tit. 7.1), Suetonius’ favourite emperor. But instead of having a long dinner, says Suetonius, Domitian went for a walk on his own.

45  For humour in Dio cf. by contrast esp. 73[72].21.1–2 and discussions of this passage in Plass 1988, 70; Beard 2014, 1–8 and 128–155 (more generally on laughter and power). See also Osgood in this volume. 46  Cf. Plass 1988, 127 who briefly mentions this episode as an example of “metacruelty”. Plass focuses on its ending, on the panic that the guests felt at home when they heard that a messenger had arrived who then only delivered presents. 47  Cf. Stein-Hölkeskamp 2002, 17.

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Each of these authors had an interest in depicting Domitian as a tyrant and they all used the deconstruction of his behaviour during banquets as a means for that. But the way they deconstruct dinner parties varies heavily according to the needs of their individual narratives. Pliny needs a negative foil for Trajan, Suetonius collects arguments for Domitian’s preference for being on his own, and Dio aims to prove Domitian an autocrat who is crafty at cruelness, which is one of the main points of his story-line. 2.3 The Rhetoric of a New Narrative When we look at these four sections in Dio together, we can see a very effective practice of deconstructing imperial representation. I suggest that we can describe this efficiency from two different perspectives. First, Dio shows Domitian in all the different roles that an emperor has to fulfil and he makes it clear that Domitian does not fulfil them properly, but rather to everybody’s harm. He is depicted in the imperial roles of a military leader, a politician who uses the symbolic capital of rituals, the benefactor of the people and host of games and feasts. Second, when he does not perform these roles he displeases different social groups. Senators, knights, and the people of Rome must be equally dissatisfied. All in all, Dio thus creates the image of an emperor who used his power and his representation as a weapon to harm his people. But not only are the single aspects of imperial representation deconstructed, Dio’s deconstruction is even more forceful because these single elements are combined in a very persuasive way and fit together in a new master narrative which he presents for Domitian. How does deconstruction, Dio’s version of events as compared to the panegyrical accounts, become persuasive? This issue is a rhetorical issue. Similar to an orator who has to rewrite the narration of the opposing party and come up with a narration that supports his own client or undermines his opponent,48 Dio recodes and deconstructs panegyrical narratives. At the same time, he integrates the deconstructed elements into his own new story-line. To better understand parts of Dio’s narrative, we therefore have to take the whole narrative about Domitian into account. And when we talk about Dio’s text as a whole, we always have to bear in mind, as outlined above, that in book 67 we are not reading Dio’s original. This implies certain precautions and limitations for interpreting this text. We have to be extremely cautious with arguments that rely on the structure of the text, the order of the fragments 48  A good example is Cicero’s narratio in his Pro Sexto Roscio. Cf. Stroh 1975, 55–60; 69–70. Cf. Quint. Inst. 4.2.20–22: The narratio is not so much about the “facts” as about making the judge take the preferred perspective on these “facts”.

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and excerpts, or the exact wording. As already pointed out, our first section (6.4) was placed at this position by Boissevain, who thinks that it probably belongs to the Marcomannic War. But its content is so general that it might also belong between 6.3 and 6.5, in the context of the beginning of the war against the Dacians.49 Resulting in even more serious changes of the text, the section on the Pannonian War (which most probably took place after the revolt of Antonius Saturninus at the beginning of AD 89) as a whole (7.1–4, or 7.1–4 including 6.4) is misplaced here and should be put after 10.3, 11.5 or 11.6.50 Additionally, it bears traces of an abridgement of Dio’s text by the epitomator.51 But even given this situation we can still say something about the rhetoric of deconstruction with a broader perspective than just the deconstruction of single elements of imperial representation in separate text sections, as presented above in chapter 2.2. When we look at the variety of all the different testimonies, we can see how the single elements of deconstruction support each other on a logical level of argumentation which does not depend on the exact position of each argument in the text or the words in which it is put forward. The text usually provides us with new explanations, reasons for things and instances of imperial representation that challenge the official version. The things we see in the triumphlike-celebrations for example are said to come not from booty, but from the imperial household. These new explanations and reasons cannot be proven, but the important thing is that they do not have to be. They merely help to establish an alternative version of events that stands against the official one and thus makes the reader doubt the official version. Dio’s tactic is, as already mentioned, not to deny these official and positive events on the surface. For an emperor with Domitian’s military achievements this is just not possible. Instead, as we have seen, he accepts the events as they appear on the surface; he accepts their historicity so to speak, and creates a second layer which can only be seen when it is uncovered by the historian. This second layer functions as a constant commentary on the events described on the surface. It consists of reasons, motives, thoughts and the like of Domitian that constitute a coherent depiction of his character and it provides the correct code with which to read the events described. Domitian’s character and personality form an important part of this argumentation. For this reason Dio starts his account of Domitian’s reign, if we can trust the beginning of Xiphilinos’ text, with a statement about his character: “Domitian was not only bold and quick to anger (καὶ θρασὺς καὶ 49  Cf. Murison 1999, 232–233. 50  Cf. Murison 1999, 234, 235. 51  Cf. Murison 1999, 235.

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ὀργίλος) but also treacherous and secretive (καί ἐπίβουλος καὶ κρυψίνους)” (67.1.1; cf. 67.1.2–4). By saying this he provides the tool for interpreting Domitian’s deeds. The same technique is applied by Tacitus in the Agricola. There too an explicit characterisation of Domitian both proves right the description of several of his deeds and events and is itself proven by these descriptions. This is, of course, a circular form of argumentation from a logical view point. But from a rhetorical point of view, the different contentions support each other. Repetition of character traits and events, and coherence between the character described and the deeds done attribute persuasiveness to the narrative. Going into further detail, we can say even more in those cases in which we have a continuous text of Xiphilinos. When we compare passages in Dio that are still extant to the parallel passages in Xiphilinos we can see that Xiphilinos keeps relatively close to Dio’s original text, both to the structure of his narrative and even to his wording.52 So we can base arguments at least on the order of the recoded elements in the narrative. In our case this is true for the third and the fourth section. The epitomes of 9.1–5 especially form such a detailed and coherent narrative that they are very likely to be extremely close to Dio’s original.53 Studying this excerpt of Xiphilinos we can see three devices that add more force to the description of Domitian. The first concerns the connection of the feast for the people with the event in the theatre (67.8.2–3). Dio supports his version of this event by another new causal connection to the ensuing public feast given by Domitian. For Dio claims that this feast was a kind of compensation present for what happened in the theatre (67.8.4). Domitian wanted to console the people. First he kills some of them by his licentious and autocratic behaviour and then he tries to bribe the rest of them with free food. By claiming that Domitian felt guilty or was at least afterwards conscious of his misbehaviour, Dio supports his own version of the story. Second, this feast for the people is taken as an opportunity to talk about the feast for senators and knights (67.9). The feast described here in 8.4 might well be the same as described in 4.4.54 But it doesn’t matter if it was mentioned before, because here it serves a new purpose. It is only loosely connected by time (τότε . . . αὖθις). But by mentioning it in connection to the feast for the people it makes the rubric “feasts for different social groups” complete. This second feast appears as the climax of the first one: It concerns the higher social classes, presents more clearly Domitian’s sadistic character, and is dealt 52  For Xiphilinos’ technique of epitomisation cf. note 8 and Brunt 1980, 488–492; Schmidt 1989, 55–59; Gowing 1997, 2560–2563; Pelling 1997, 124–125; Murison 1999, 1–5. 53  Cf. Murison 1999, 239. 54  Also suggested by Murison 1999, 227.

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with in great detail. Third, after his description of this funeral banquet Dio comes back to the context, calling it a “triumphal celebration” (67.9.6). Thus, he comes full circle, linking back to the beginning of the passage where he unmasked the events that he recounted as fake triumphal celebrations (67.8.1). In this way he closely connects the faking of the victory and the triumph with the death of the spectators in the theatre and two different kinds of feasts which involve death and the fear of death. These elements of imperial repre­ sentation are connected and they build a chain of recoded elements in the narrative and the logic of events. The effect of this construction is that once the reader accepts one of them, it is easier to accept them all since they are all logically connected in one story-line. 3

The Purpose of Deconstruction

As I pointed out at the beginning, these literary mechanisms which Dio applies to recode and deconstruct imperial representation are not confined to Domitian. The same rhetorical strategies can be detected in his descriptions of the other emperors whose representation and behaviour he disapproved. But Dio adapts these mechanisms to the differences of the emperors, to their historical and panegyrical discourses of representation. While Domitian, as we have seen in the short, but representative passage we studied, is mainly attacked in his role as military and social leader, Nero, for example, is deconstructed in his role as artist.55 Historiographical deconstruction can only be effective if it regards the specific historical and panegyrical representation of each emperor. Let us finally move back from Dio the historian and author to Dio the politician of the Severan period.56 This period can be characterised by the strained relations between senators and emperors following the rather quiet and harmonious Antonine dynasty. I suggest that this viewpoint also helps explain why at the beginning of the third century Dio looks back to the first century in the way he does.57 There he finds problems of excessive imperial behaviour and representation similar to his own times. The parallels between Domitian (as well as Nero and Caligula) and later emperors are more than obvious. A few of the motifs that we have come across in our passage are worth mentioning: 55  Cf. Gowing 1997, 2568–2580. 56  For Dio’s criticism of the contemporary dynasty cf. Madsen in this volume. 57  For the importance of contemporary history for Cassius Dio’s imperial history cf. Bleicken 1962, 445; Flach 1973, 134; Gowing 1997, 2560; Hose 2007, 465.

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the way Commodus tries to construct fear by theatrical acts recalls Domitian (73[72].21.1–2). Septimius Severus has women competing in footraces, which results in the derision of noble women (76[75].16.1). Caracalla has to buy his victory against the Alamanni (78[77].14.2) and is criticised because he does not want to dine with the senators anymore (78[77].18.4). Many more examples can be found. Of course, they can (partly) be explained by general topoi about tyrants, but that does not illuminate their effectiveness. The topical structure of these characterisations invests them with predisposed meaning, and thus helps to construct the intended meaning by referring to well-known patterns of interpretation.58 At the same time these topoi are individualised enough by Dio to create pictures of emperors that recall each other without being identical. By criticising and deconstructing Domitian’s (and also Nero’s and Caligula’s) forms of representation, Dio shows his contemporary and future emperors what he and senators who think like him are going to accept and what not. The critique of Domitian and the others is paradigmatic and thus is used as a method of influencing Severan emperors and those still to come.59 The relation between the emperor and the senators is one of the guiding lines of Dio’s Roman History. And it probably became more and more important to apply senatorial norms in his work,60 since, over the time in which Dio wrote, Septimius Severus, the emperor who began as a promising friend of the Senate, developed ever more eccentric and absolutist forms of public representation.61 Dio thus uses historiography as a medium for discussion between the emperor and the senators.62 In this way, the rhetorical tool of literary deconstruction can be used as a political device to reconstruct ideals of a ruler’s representation. 58  On the interpretative power of stereotypes and topoi in Dio cf. Gleason 2011, 59; 77–78; 80. See also Kemezis 2014, 143. 59  For the emperor(s) as Dio’s potential addressee cf. Fechner 1986, 250. For a senatorial readership cf. Gowing 1992, 292–293. Explicitly both in Hose 1994, 424; Ameling 1997, 2491–2493. Less persuasive: Wirth 1985, 13–14 (citizens outside of the city of Rome); Aalders 1986, 290–291; 302 (Greeks in imperial cities); Schmidt 1999, 101 (Dio tries to make sense out of history for himself: “Verfolg persönlicher Sinnfindung”). 60  Cf. Mallan’s 2013, 734 thesis that Dio uses characterisation as a means to discuss ethical and political issues. 61  Rubin 1975 shows how Cassius Dio reacts to (and criticises) Septimius Severus’ representation after the events in Hatra in the Second Parthian War. On Septimius’ propaganda see also Rubin 1980, 21–40. 62  This also includes senators who do not agree with Dio. For different factions in the Senate of Dio’s time cf. Gleason 2011, 46; 55; Davenport 2012, 811–814; Kemezis 2012, 388; 410–414. See also Kemezis 2014, 22–23.

CHAPTER 15

Cassius Dio – Pepaideumenos and Politician on Kingship Brandon Jones With few exceptions, it has been agreed that Cassius Dio prefers monarchy as the most effective form of government in the Roman Empire.1 For support of this position, one might look to the Agrippa-Maecenas debate of Book 52, where Maecenas outlines the weaknesses of democracy and the benefits and manners of implementing monarchy.2 Dio adds that with Augustus’ decision to follow Maecenas “the government was changed for the better and in the interest of greater security; for it was no doubt quite impossible for the people to be saved under a republic” (Ἡ μὲν οὖν πολιτεία οὕτω τότε πρός τε τὸ βέλτιον καὶ πρὸς τὸ σωτηριωδέστερον μετεκοσμήθη (Cass. Dio 53.19.1)).3 More simply, one might look to blank statements in Dio’s narrative, such as that of the introduction to Book 44: “Monarchy has an unpleasant sound, but is the most practical form of government to live under” (ἡ μοναρχία δυσχερὲς μὲν ἀκοῦσαι, χρησιμώτατον δὲ ἐμπολιτεύσασθαι ἐστί (Cass. Dio 44.2.1)).4 Explanations for Dio’s monarchism abound, many hinging on his position as conservative senator and political pragmatist or on the idea that monarchy preserves democracy.5 I, however, would like to offer an additional motive for Dio’s monarchism, namely that it serves his personal purposes as pepaideumenos and political figure during the 1  On monarchical preferences in Dio, see Aalders 1986, 297; Ameling 1997, 2480–2483; Giua 1983, 455–456; Gowing 1992, 26; Hose 1994, 394; Kemezis 2007, 270; Kemezis 2014, 120–126; McKechnie 1981, 154; Millar 1964, 75; Pelling 1983, 223; Reinhold 1988, 12, 117, 185; Rich 1989, 95; Rich 1990, 13; Roddaz 1983, 86. 2  For recent bibliography and summary of positions on this debate (Cass. Dio 52.2–40), see Adler 2012, 477 n. 3 and 482 n. 21; Kemezis 2014, 126–136. See also Burden-Strevens in this volume. 3  Text and translation of Dio follows Cary 1914–1927 with some modification. Other translations are mine unless otherwise noted. 4  See similarly Cass. Dio 47.39.1; 56.39.5. 5  On Dio’s view of monarchy as (un)favorable to the Senate see Bleicken 1962, 463–466; Hose 1994, 406; Kuhlmann 2010, 119; Meyer 1891, 93; Rich 1989, 100; Smyshlyayev 1991, 139. On pragmatism and monarchy see n. 1 above as well as Hose 1994, 366. On monarchy as preserving democracy, see Ameling 1997, 2480; Giua 1983, 455; Manuwald 1979, 13; Reinhold 1988, 185.

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cultural and historical movement termed by many as the Second Sophistic.6 While I will not go so far as to claim that Dio is an outright sophist, his many sophistic qualities place him within such a milieu.

Cassius Dio – Sophistic Pepaideumenos

From a literary perspective, this sophistic world was characterized by the acquisition and display of paideia.7 An author achieved the status of pepaideumenos in a number of ways, not least through preoccupation with the following: linguistic purity, archaism and novelty; elite education in the literary canon; and competitive epideictic oratory and rhetoric including invective and encomium. Dio engages with each of these. His interest in linguistic purity is demonstrated by his ability to atticize. Fragment 1.2, for example, with its projection of a “finely wrought style” (κεκαλλιεπημένοι λόγοι), is a potential nod to his Atticism.8 Moreover, Dio reports his efforts to procure and produce Atticism while translating the aureus into Greek, remarking, “Some of the Greeks, whose books we read in order to Atticize, call [the aureus] thus” (καὶ τῶν Ἑλλένων δέ τινες, ὧν τὰ βιβλία ἐπὶ τῷ ἀττικίζειν ἀναγινώσκομεν, οὕτως αὐτὸ ἐκάλεσαν (Cass. Dio 55.12.5)).9 6  For surveys on the definition of and scholarship on the Second Sophistic, see Eshleman 2012, 4 n. 16; Swain 1996, 1; Whitmarsh 2005, 4–10. The suggestion that Dio belongs in the Second Sophistic is not a new one. Ameling (1984, 127–129) suggests that he is, in fact, a sophist. But see Burden-Strevens in this volume for evidence of Dio’s odium for this class. Millar (1964, 177–181) asserts Dio’s participation in Greek culture. Reardon (1971, 207–210) includes him in a discussion of sophistic applied rhetoric. See also Fomin in this volume. Reinhold (1988, 11) characterizes Dio as “the product of the Second Sophistic as it flourished in his native land.” See also Gowing 1992, 290; Swain 1996, 401–408; Swan 2004, 27. 7  Paideia is yet another complicated term. I have defined it elsewhere as an “individual’s acquisition and display of literary and cultural knowledge” (Jones 2015, 18). See also Anderson 1993, 8; Borg 2004, 1; Bowie 1991, 196–198; Bowie 2015, 239; Eshleman 2012, 7; Schmitz 1997, 15; Schmidt and Fleury 2011, xii; Swain 1996, 33; Whitmarsh 2005, 13–22. 8  Dio writes, “I trust, moreover, that if I have used a finely wrought style, so far as the subject matter permitted, no one will on this account question the truthfulness of the narrative, as has happened in the case of some writers” (μὴ μέντοι μηδ’ ὅτι κεκαλλιεπημένοις, ἐς ὅσον γε καὶ τὰ πράγματα ἐπέτρεψε, λόγοις κέχρημαι, ἐς τὴν ἀλήθειαν αὐτῶν διὰ τοῦτό τις ὑποπτεύσῃ, ὅπερ ἐπ’ ἄλλων τινῶν συμβέβηκεν (Cass. Dio frg. 1.2)). 9 The remark survives only in epitome, but it appears in both Zonaras and Xiphilinus. See Ameling (1984, 127–128) for discussion of Atticism as a contributing factor in his characterization of Cassius Dio as a sophist. Millar (1964, 13, 41–42) and Swan (2004, 27, 138) define Dio’s Atticism as “pure”, Harrington (1970, 150–151) as “Roman Attic.”

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Millar (1964, 41) has persuasively demonstrated that those Greek authors are not Thucydides or Attic orators, but Dio’s contemporaries. Such practice was perhaps a popular method of improving one’s Attic vocabulary, as Lucian (Rhet. Praec. 9–17), albeit satirically, has his teacher of rhetoric recommend learning a selection of Attic words studied from contemporary declamations in lieu of the original fifth- and fourth-century works.10 However, as Dio demonstrates elsewhere, his acquisition in the classical Greek canon should not be doubted.11 Like many authors of the Second Sophistic, Dio was keen to display his readings in Plato.12 Fragment 30.2 offers a good example, in which Curtius gives the following exhortation just before plunging into the Lacus Curtius (Cass. Dio frg. 30.2): οὐκ ἔστιν οὐδὲν ζῷον θνητὸν οὔτ’ ἄμεινον οὔτ’ ἰσχυρότερον ἀνθρώπου. ἢ οὐχ ὁρᾶτε ὅτι τὰ μὲν ἄλλα πάντα κάτω κέκυφε καὶ ἐς τὴν γῆν ἀεὶ βλέπει, πράττει τε οὐδὲν ὃ μὴ τροφῆς καὶ ἀφροδισίων ἔχεται, οὕτω καὶ ὑπ’ αὐτῆς τῆς φύσεως ἐς ταῦτα κατακέκριται, μόνοι δὲ ἡμεῖς ἄνω τε ὁρῶμεν καὶ τῷ οὐρανῷ αὐτῷ ὁμιλοῦμεν, καὶ τὰ μὲν ἐπὶ τῆς γῆς ὑπερφρονοῦμεν, τοῖς δὲ δὴ θεοῖς αὐτοῖς ὡς καὶ ὁμοίοις οὖσιν ἡμῖν σύνεσμεν, ἅτε καὶ φυτὰ καὶ ποιήματα αὐτῶν οὐ γήινα ἀλλ’ οὐράνια ὄντες; There is no mortal creature either better or stronger than man. Do you not see that all the rest go bent downwards and look forever toward the earth and accomplish nothing save what is connected with their nourishment and the propagation of their species (for to these pursuits they have been condemned even by nature herself), while we alone gaze upwards and associate with heaven itself, despising things on the earth and dwelling with the very gods, whom we believe to be similar to ourselves inasmuch as we are both their offspring and creation, not earthly, but heavenly?

10  On Dio’s translation of Latin terms, see Freyburger-Galland 1997, 215–219. 11  On Dio’s general education, see Aalders 1986, 291–295. Freyburger-Galland (1997, 8–9) suggests the possibility of study under Chrestus and Quirinus and attendance at Hadrian of Tyre’s lectures. On references to Demosthenes, see Fromentin and Bertrand 2008, xix; Harrington 1970, 33–34; Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, lxiii; Lintott 1997, 2501; Vlachos 1905. For Herodotus, see Ameling 1984, 133; Hidber 2004, 191; Kuhlmann 2010. For Homer, see Aalders 1986, 292; Bering-Staschewski 1981, 126. For Plato, see Crook 1955, 126–127; Giua 1983, 440 n. 3; Gowing 1997, 2582 n. 92; Gowing 1998, 383–386; Hammond 1932, 90–91; Reinhold 1988, 186–187. 12  See De Lacy 1974; Trapp 1990.

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Curtius’ scorn for earthly pleasures parallels various Platonic precepts.13 In addition to thematic parallels, verbal borrowings from the discussion of the upward and downward gazes in Plato’s Republic are apparent. Curtius’ hunched over beasts (κάτω κέκυφε καὶ ἐς τὴν γῆν ἀεὶ βλέπει), for example, echo those of Socrates’ fools, who failing to reach for higher virtue, “always look down at the ground like cattle, and, with their heads bent over the dinner table, they feed, fatten, and fornicate” (ἀλλὰ βοσκημάτων δίκην κάτω ἀεὶ βλέποντες καὶ κεκυφότες εἰς γῆν καὶ εἰς τραπέζας βόσκονται χορταζόμενοι καὶ ὀχεύοντες (Pl. Resp. 586a)).14 The Philiscus speech from Book 38 is similarly peppered with Platonic consolations. In addition to the allusions to Phaedrus, Republic and Alcibiades II elucidated by Gowing (1998, 385–386), Philiscus’ insistence that the soul, a divine entity, holds supreme over the earthly body further echoes the Phaedo –15 a work which Dio familiarly calls, “Plato’s book on the soul” (τὸ τοῦ Πλάτωνος βιβλίον τὸ περὶ τῆς ψυχῆς (Cass. Dio 43.11.2)). Dio’s Platonic philosophy extends to the political with Maecenas’ speech, as Augustus’ advisor summons up Plato’s ship of state, comparing Rome to “a great merchantman manned with a crew of every race and lacking a pilot” (ἡ πόλις ἡμῶν, ὥσπερ ὁλκὰς μεγάλη καὶ πλήρης ὄχλου παντοδαποῦ χωρὶς κυβερνήτου (Cass. Dio 52.16.3)).16 Consistent reference to Plato’s Republic, Phaedo and Phaedrus concords with Michael Trapp’s (2000, 236) outline of the allusive preferences of sophistic intellectuals of the period. In addition to such displays of Platonic paideia, Dio is keen to prove his Homeric aptitude.17 He is aware of the state of Homeric scholarship, as demon­ strated by a report of Hadrian’s attempt to replace Homer with Antimachus of Colophon (Cass. Dio 69.4.6). Moreover, among no fewer than ten Homeric quotations in the History is one from Iliad 11.163–164, which famously closes Dio’s work (Cass. Dio 80.5.3):

13  See, e.g., Pl. Phd. 64d–e, 82c. 14  Trans. Grube, rev. Reeve 1992. See also Pl. Resp. 529a for verbal echoes of the upward gaze. 15  See, e.g., Pl. Phd. 73A; 81A. 16  Cf. Pl. Resp. 488. 17  On the popularity of Homeric reference in the Second Sophistic, see Kindstrand 1973; Kim 2010; Zeitlin 2001. For Homeric quotation in the Roman History see Cass. Dio frg. 56.2; 59.19.2; 59.28.6; 60.16.7; 77[76].15.1; 78[77].6.1; 79[78].8.4; 79[78].30.1; 79[78].40.4; 80.5.3. Christopher Burden-Strevens has pointed out to me that many of these Homeric quotations serve a further purpose of character development. See Burden-Strevens 2015b for a discussion of such instances.

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ὄναρ γάρ ποτε ἔδοξα προστάσσεσθαι ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ προσγράψασται τῷ ἀκροτελευτίῳ τὰ ἔπη τάδε, Ἔκτορα δ’ ὲκ βελέων ὕπαγε Ζεὺς ἔκ τε κονίης ἔκ τ’ ἀνδροκτασίης ἔκ θ’ αἵματος ἔκ τε κυδοιμοῦ. For once in a dream I thought I was commanded by it to write at the close of my work these verses: Hector did Zeus lead forth out of range of the missiles, out of the dust and the slaying of men, out of the blood and the uproar. Lucian’s Nigrinus quotes the very same line in a similar context of escape from Rome (Lucian Nigr. 18): Οὕτω δὴ βουλευσάμενος καὶ καθάπερ ὁ Ζεὺς τὸν Ἕκτορα ὑπεξαγαγὼν ἐμαυτὸν ἐκ βελέων, φασίν, ἔκ τ’ ἀνδροκτασίης ἐκ θ’ αἵματος ἔκ τε κυδοιμοῦ τὸ λοιπὸν οἰκουρεῖν εἱλόμην. After deliberating with myself thus and just like Zeus did Hector, pulling myself “out of the range of missiles,” as he says, “and out of the slaying of men, out of the blood and the uproar” I decided to spend the rest of my time at home. Dio, thus, uses Homer to self-fashion in a Lucianic manner. Whether he does so knowingly or not probably cannot be determined, but the historian certainly does understand the sophistic cache of Homeric appropriation. In addition to attainments in the literary and linguistic canon, the sophistic intellectual sought to display paideia in rhetoric – often demonstrated through meletai or declamation.18 That Dio too had undergone and displayed rhetorical training has been illustrated elsewhere.19 The Agrippa-Maecenas debate is an excellent testament – a paired cabinet speech, arguing about state constitution with Herodotean precedent, but with Thucydidean style, rhetoric and

18  See Anderson 1993, 18–19; Pernot 2005, 186–196; Reardon 1971, 99–120; Russell 1983. On traces of controversiae in Dio’s rhetoric see Burden-Strevens and Fomin in this volume. 19  See Aalders 1986, 293–294; Adler 2011b, 141–161; Ameling 1984, 128; De Blois 1997, 2654; Edmondson 1992, 41; Escribano 1999; Fromentin and Bertrand 2008, xix; Gleason 2011, 59; Gowing 1998, 378; Lachenaud 2001, 100–104; Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, lvii; Lintott 1997, 2501; Millar 1964, 13; Reinhold 1986, 219; Rich 1990, 11–12, 136; Rodgers 2008; Schmidt 2000, 21–25 and 32; Swan 2004, 326.

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allusion.20 Dio’s Augustan speeches on marriage provide another example of rhetorical pairings, but here with a syncrisis of bachelors and family men. Philiscus’ speech takes a celebrated rhetorical exercise, the consolatio ad exulem, and adds a further ethopoiia by making Cicero the interlocutor.21 Dio’s various Räubergeschichten, such as the tale of Bulla Felix, offer opportunity for quick anecdote and gnomic statement.22 In short, Dio’s accumulation of rhetorical and literary attainments amounts to self-presentation as paedeutic specialist.

Cassius Dio – Sophistic Politician

It would, of course, be difficult to characterize Dio as one of Bowersock’s (1969, 13) “virtuoso rhetor[s] with a big public reputation” even if one accepts that the Philiscus or Maecenas speeches were composed and performed as rhetorical exercises.23 In terms of function, however, Bowersock’s sophists are not limited to public speaking. Rather, they tend to be members of the social elite who have political ambition and serve as ambassadors between eastern provinces and the emperor.24 One can easily discover in Dio the elite eastern background, imperial ambassadorship and egocentrism that seem to characterize the socio-political sophist. We know from Dio’s own narrative that he considered himself both 20  Dio’s reception of Thucydidean rhetoric is well documented. See Escribano 1999, 175; Freyburger-Galland 1997, 189–200; Millar 1964, 42; Harrington 1970, 57; Hose 1994, 366; Kyhnitsch 1894; Lintott 1997, 2499–2500; Litsch 1893; Rich 1989, 88; Rich 1990, 11; Schmidt 1999, 93; Swan 2004, 26–27. 21  On declamatory consolatio ad exulem in Philiscus’ speech, see Gowing 1998, 378. See Adler (2011a; 2011b, 122–123, 141–142) on Boudicca and Livia’s set speeches, Adler (2011b, 141–161) on set speeches in Dio more generally. 22  For bandit anecdotes, see Cass. Dio frg. 73.2–3; 57.16.3–4; 75.2.4; 77[76].10 with Gleason 2011, 56–60; Schmidt 2000, 32–35. 23  On the Maecenas speech and declamation, see Freyburger-Galland 1997, 10; Millar 1964, 19, 104. Ameling (1997, 2491) finds the idea clever, but prefers a presentation before Severus Alexander. Reinhold (1988, 180) entertains the idea as an original dual declamation replaced at Cass. Dio 52.18.6 with a “propaganda pamphlet.” On Philiscus and declamation, see Gowing 1992, 290; Gowing 1998, 377–378; Lachenaud and Coudry 2011, lx–lxi. 24  “Theirs was the grander destiny of powerful influence with emperors and personal prestige such as Polemo, Herodes, or Aristides enjoyed. The consulate was always a possibility, as in the case of Herodes Atticus. But the greatest service these men could render the imperial regime was to preside over the factions and finances of the eastern cities” (Bowersock 1969, 58). See also Whitmarsh (2001, 18) on sophistic Greek political influence.

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Roman and Bithynian, using the first person when speaking of each.25 His father held various official positions within the Roman government, perhaps even the consulship.26 It seems that his family maintained political prestige, as an inscription attests to a Cassius Dion, consul 291 and prefect of the city 296/7 (PIR² C 491). But more than simply having this elite background, Dio is eager to advertise it, reporting his father’s offices even when they add little to the History. Such efforts at self-promotion certainly do not end with his father, as Dio inserts himself sporadically in his early books and centrally in the contemporary books, often in ways that add more to his own social and political status than they do to his History.27 Self-promotion is Dio’s most obvious sophistic feature, but shades of others exist as well. Interest in local prosperity and tension between beneficence and self-interest is one such example.28 On one hand, Dio likely took part in Caracalla’s travels in Bithynia in order to mitigate the potentially harsh financial blow upon locals that was associated with entertaining the emperor. Perhaps he even presented local petitions.29 Through Maecenas’ speech, on the other hand, Dio criticizes overly ambitious municipal largesse backed by local elites.30 At any rate, he was in favor of provincial participation in government, as Maecenas’ speech makes clear here (Cass. Dio 52.19.2–3): ἀντὶ δὲ δὴ τῶν ἄλλων τούς τε γενναιοτάτους καὶ τοὺς ἀρίστους τούς τε πλουσιωτάτους ἀντεσάγαγε, μὴ μόνον ἐκ τῆς Ἰταλίας ἀλλὰ καὶ παρὰ τῶν συμμάχων τῶν τε ὑπηκόων ἐπιλεξάμενος· οὕτω γὰρ σύ τε πολλοῖς συνεργοῖς 25  See Cass. Dio frg. 1.2; 69.14.4; 76[75].15.3; 77[76].2.1; 80.5.2–3. On Dio’s Bithynian, Greek and Roman ties, see Ameling 1984, 123; Madsen 2009; Millar 1964, 10, 191. See Burden-Strevens 2015b on Dio’s use of the first person plural. 26  Governor of Cilicia: 69.1.3; 73[72].7.2. Legate in Dalmatia: 49.36.4. On the possibility of a suffect consulship, see Barnes 1984, 242; Hose 1994, 357; Millar 1964, 8. 27  For Dio’s self-insertion emphasizing senatorial status, see Cass. Dio 73[72].4.2; 73[72].18.1– 21.3; 74.12.2; 74.17.2; 77[76].8.1–9.3. On his emphasis on imperial ties, see 73[72].23.1–3; 77[76].17.1; 78[77].17.3; 79[78].8.4; 80.5.1. On his emphasis on offices or provincial power, see 49.36.3; 60.2.3; 73[72].7.2; 80.7.4; 80.1.2–2.1; 80.4.2. See Swan (2004, 4) for further discussion and citations. See also Davenport 2012, 799–803; Hidber 2004, 190 n. 10; Marincola 1997, 147; Schmidt 1997, 2625–2626. 28  For a discussion of the relationship between Bithynian ethnicity, Greek culture and Roman government, see Madsen 2009, 64–81. As Madsen shows, Dio’s attitude, behavior and reception seem to accord with that of other elites. 29  See Davenport (2012, 802) on potential petitions, Millar (1964, 17) and Rich (1990, 2) on general local support. 30  See Ameling 1984, 134; Reinhold and Swan 1990, 165.

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χρήσῃ, καὶ τοὺς κορυφαίους ἐξ ἁπάντων τῶν ἐθνῶν ἐν ἀσφαλεῖ ποιήσῃ, καὶ οὔτε ἐκεῖνα νεοχμώσει τι μηδένα ἐλλόγιμον προστάτην ἔχοντα, καὶ οἱ πρωτεύοντες παρ’ αὐτοῖς φιλήσουσί σε ἅτε καὶ κοινωνοί σοι τῆς ἀρχῆς γεγονότες. In the place of those who have been dropped introduce the noblest, the best and the richest men obtainable, selecting not only from Italy but also from the allies and the subject nations. In this way you will have many assistants for yourself and will have in safe keeping the leading men from all the provinces; thus the provinces, having no leaders of established repute, will not begin rebellions, and their prominent men will regard you with affection because they have been made sharers in your empire. In the following excerpt, Dio’s praise of Nerva for choosing Trajan as Caesar because of his ability, ignoring his non-Italic nationality, further demonstrates provincial ties (Cass. Dio 68.4.1–2): ἀλλ’ οὐ γὰρ τῆς τῶν κοινῶν σωτηρίας ὁ ἀνὴρ τὴν συγγένειαν προετίμησεν, οὐδ’ αὖ ὅτι Ἴβηρ ὁ Τραϊανὸς ἀλλ’ οὐκ Ἰταλὸς οὐδ’ Ἰταλιώτης ἦν, ἧττόν τι παρὰ τοῦτο αὐτὸν ἐποιήσατο, ἐπειδὴ μηδεὶς πρόσθεν ἀλλοεθνὴς τὸ τῶν Ῥωμαίων κράτος ἐσχήκει· τὴν γὰρ ἀρετὴν ἀλλ’ οὐ τὴν πατρίδα τινὸς ἐξετάζειν δεῖν ᾤετο. But Nerva did not esteem family relationship above the safety of the State, nor was he less inclined to adopt Trajan because the latter was a Spaniard instead of an Italian or Italiot, inasmuch as no foreigner had previously held the Roman sovereignty; for he believed in looking at a man’s ability rather than at his nationality. Notably, while Dio openly praises Nerva for choosing a provincial as princeps, Pliny the Younger avoids discussion of Trajan’s provincial origins in the Panegyricus, as Roger Rees (2014, 105–109) has demonstrated.31 Dio’s interest in provincial power is demonstrably greater than that of his Italian counterpart. Beyond Bithynian culture and politics, Dio displays a general interest in sophistic society that is not entirely different from that of his contemporary, Philostratus.32 This is evident in his consistent chronicle of relations between

31  See also Davenport & Mallan (2014, 638, 644–645) on Trajanic succession with an eye on Pliny’s Panegyricus. 32  It is perhaps informative that Graham Anderson begins his monograph on Philostratus with a quotation from Cassius Dio.

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the literati and ruling power –33 relations that may have been of particular interest to an elite who spent time in Rome and Smyrna, two major centers for scholastic rhetoric,34 and who was the contemporary, if not acquaintance or colleague, of various virtuoso intellectuals.35 Certainly he was aware of and interested in Julia Domna’s intellectual pursuits, as he is one of two sources for the famous circle of sophists.36 Discussions about the components and nature of this circle are wide-ranging and, unfortunately, mostly doomed to speculation.37 But it is, at the very least, attractive to assume some social or literary interaction between Dio and other potential associates of the empress. For example, Dio’s version of Apollonius of Tyana’s prognostication of Domitian’s assassination and his descriptions of Neapolitan belief in giants looming beneath Vesuvius are too similar to Philostratus’ versions to be coincidental.38 There is reasonable suggestion that in the consolation to Cicero, Dio playfully employs the sophist Philiscus of Thessaly,39 another certain connection to Julia. Aelius Antipater, ab epistulis Graecis under Severus, tutor of Caracalla and Geta, teacher of Philostratus and governor of Bithynia also authored a history of Severus’ times.40 It is hard to imagine that Antipater was not at all connected with Julia or that Dio had never encountered him. Some have even proposed that the historian and the 33  See Cass. Dio 59.19.7; 59.20.6; 67.13.3–4; 67.13.5; 69.3.4; 72[71].22.2; 76[75].5.1–3; 76[75].15.1–7; 79[78].18.3. 34  See Bowersock 1969, 17; Kennedy 1974, 18. 35  See Gowing 1998, 376 n. 14. 36  Cass. Dio 76[75].15 and 78[77].18.3; Philostr. VS 622 and VA 1.3. 37  See Bowersock (1969, 102–109) for the lack of concrete evidence of the circle’s enrollment and the most elaborate rejection of the significance of Julia’s circle. See also Adler 2011a, 150; Birley 1988, 168; Freyburger-Galland 1997, 10; Giua 1981, 332; Hemelrijk 1999, 123–126; Levick 2007, 112–120; Mallan 2013; Millar 1964, 19–20; Moscovich 2004. The notion of literati such as Philostratus, Dio, Galen, Oppian and Athenaeus simultaneously philosophizing together with Julia is perhaps fabulous. But if we take a less rigid view and think not of regular members, but fluid participants, there is no reason to deny the possibility of direct and indirect exchange of ideas among the intellectuals of this period. 38  On similar accounts of Apollonius of Tyana see Cass. Dio 67.18.1 and Philostr. VA 8.26. On giants and Vesuvius see Cass. Dio 66.23.1 and Philostr. Her. 140.15 with Murison 1999, 192. For the suggestion that Philostratus and other sophists were a source for Dio, see Moscovich 2004. See Kemezis 2014 for a treatment of Cassius Dio and Philostratus among the Severan milieu. 39  See Fechner 1986, 49–50; Gowing 1998, 377–378; Hose 1994, 447 n. 40; Millar 1964, 19–20, 50; rejected by Bowersock 1965, 472. 40  See Moscovich (2004, 358) for further discussion of Antipater and the Severans. See also Sidebottom (2007, 55) with further bibliography.

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consul Quadratus are one and the same and, further, that his Ionic history was written in competition with Dio’s Attic history.41 In short, Dio was a product of and contributor to the second- and third-century milieu, in which sophists improved their status and prestige through local and imperial service and plotted careers in Roman government that brought them close to the emperor.42

Cassius Dio on the Consilium of Kings

Dio, as literary and socio-political member of the Second Sophistic, takes a supportive position on monarchy. This is not to say that he supports every monarch. His judgments of individual principes are not always simple – much discussed, for example, are his evaluations of Augustus and Severus.43 Clear evaluations of Tiberius and Titus are likewise problematic for our interpretation of Dio’s assessments, as he admits that it is unclear whether Tiberius is naturally good or bad in spite of proper upbringing (Cass. Dio 57.11–13)44 and suggests that Titus may have only fared well because of the brief length of his reign (Cass. Dio 66.18.5). While most of Dio’s evaluations can be characterized more by this sort of ambivalence than by decisiveness, it nevertheless seems fair to say that Dio classifies as “bad” emperors: Caligula, Nero, Domitian, Commodus, Julianus, Caracalla, Macrinus and Elagabalus.45 As “good” emperors one could at least make a case for including Augustus, Claudius, Vespasian, Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, Marcus, Pertinax and, perhaps, Severus.46 Grounds for criticism or praise vary,47 but Dio’s evaluation of principes frequently treats their behavior in two areas: their inclusion of leading men 41  Sidebottom 2007, 53; Zecchini 1998, 3000–3015. 42  See Bowersock 1969, 42, 109. 43   On complexity in evaluating Augustus, see Kemezis 2007; Kemezis 2014, 120–126; Manuwald 1979; Reinhold and Swan 1990; Rich 1989. On complexity in evaluating Severus, see Barnes 1984, 253; Birley 1988, 198–199; Eisman 1977; Escribano 1999, 192–193; Giua 1983, 454; Madsen in this volume. 44  On the characterization of Tiberius, see Pelling 1997, 125–135. 45  See Gowing (1992, 27–28) on “bad” emperors, among whom he includes Severus. So too Molin 2006, 442 and Madsen, in this volume. See Schulz in this volume on deconstruction of representation in the case of Domitian. See Osgood in this volume on Elagabalus. 46  Presumably Antoninus would have made this list had more of Dio’s treatment of his reign survived. See Davenport & Mallan 2014, 645–647, 655–657. See further Gowing (1992, 26–27) on “good” emperors, among whom he includes only Marcus and Pertinax. 47  For some parameters for judgment, see Ameling 1997, 2482–2484; Davenport & Mallan 2014, 650; Gowing 1992, 25–28; Hose 1994, 408–409; Kemezis 2014, 139–140; Madsen 2014, 24–26.

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in an advisory capacity and their acceptance of and appreciation for paideia. To be sure, he is not unusual in assessing emperors based on their willingness and ability to consult with the best men in the government, but he is unusually preoccupied with doing so. Dio establishes the importance of consulting leading men from the very beginning of the History, where he assesses Romulus’ harsh attitude toward the Senate as tyrannical behavior: Ὅτι ὁ Ῥωμύλος πρὸς τὴν γερουσίαν τραχύτερον διέκειτο καὶ τυραννικώτερον αὐτῇ προσεφέρετο (Cass. Dio frg. 5.11). As Rome returns to monarchy in the form of the Principate, Dio returns to the importance of consultation. Tiberius’ laudatio funebris of Augustus includes praise because “in connection with the Senate’s decrees he did not do away with their privilege of voting, but even added safeguards for their freedom of speech” (οὔτε ἐν ταῖς διαγνώμαις τὴν ἐξουσίαν τῆς διαψηφίσεως κατέλυσεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν ἀσφάλειαν τῆς παρρησίας προσέθηκεν (Cass. Dio 56.40.3)). Dio notes of Claudius that he “renewed the practice of having advisers sit with him, a practice that had been abandoned from the time that Tiberius withdrew to his island” (καὶ γὰρ τὸ κατὰ τοὺς συνέδρους, ἐκλειφθὲν ἐξ οὗ ὁ Τιβέριος ἐς τὴν νῆσον ἐξεχώρησεν, ἀνενεώσατο (Cass. Dio 60.4.3)). Vespasian is lauded because under him, “the doors of the palace stood open all day long and no guard was stationed at them. He regularly attended the meetings of the Senate, whose members he consulted on all matters” (αἵ τε θύραι τῶν βασιλείων ἠνεῳγμέναι διὰ πάσης τῆς ἡμέρας ἦσαν, καὶ φρουρὸς οὐδεὶς ἐν αὐταῖς ἐγκαθειστήκει. ἔς τε τὸ συνέδριον διὰ παντὸς ἐφοίτα, καὶ περὶ πάντων αὐτοῖς ἐπεκοίνου (Cass. Dio 66[65].10.5)). Nerva “did nothing without the advice of the foremost men” (ἔπραττε δὲ οὐδὲν ὅ τι ὴ μετὰ τῶν πρώτων ἀνδρῶν (Cass. Dio 68.2.3)).48 Of Trajan he offers little in terms of elite and senatorial interaction, except that he did many things that pleased the agathoi (Cass. Dio 68.5.2–4). Hadrian “always kept the noblest men around him both in Rome and abroad” (ἀεί τε περὶ ἑαυτον καὶ ἐν τῇ Ῥώμῃ καὶ ἔξω τοὺς ἀρίστους εἶχε (Cass. Dio 69.7.3)).49 Even from youth, Marcus “showed honor to the others who were the foremost in the State without giving offense. He used always to salute the most worthy men in the House of Tiberius” (τοὺς ἄλλους τοὺς πρώτους ἀνεπαχθῶς ἐτίμησεν. ἠπάζετο τε τοὺς ἀξιωτάτους ἐν τῇ Τιβεριανῇ οἰκίᾳ (Cass. Dio 72[71].35.3–4)). Pertinax “conducted himself in a very democratic manner toward us senators; for he was easy of access, listened readily to anyone’s requests, and in 48  See also Cass. Dio 68.1.3. 49  On Hadrian’s relationship with the Senate, see further Davenport & Mallan 2014, 654–655; Juntunen 2013a.

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answer gave his own opinion in a kindly way” (ἐχρῆτο δὲ καὶ ἡμῖν δημοτικώτατα· καὶ γὰρ εὐπροσήγορος ἦν, ἤκουέ τε ἑτοίμως ὅ τι τις ἀξιοίη, καὶ ἀπεκρίνετο ἀνθρωπίνως ὅσα αὐτῷ δοκοίη (Cass. Dio 74.3.4)). Severus “gave us, his advisers, full liberty to speak” (καὶ ἡμῖν τοῖς συνδικάζουσιν αὐτῷ παρρησίαν πολλὴν ἐδίδου (Cass. Dio 77[76].17.1)). The “bad” emperors, conversely, are systematically characterized by their inappropriate or complete lack of collaboration with the elite ruling class. Caligula “was ruled by the charioteers and gladiators, and was the slave of the actors and others connected with the stage” (Γάιος δὲ ἤρχετο μὲν καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν ἁρματηλατούντων καὶ ὑπὸ τῶν ὁπλομαχούντων, ἐδούλευε δὲ καὶ τοῖς ὀρχησταῖς καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις τοῖς περὶ τὴν σκηνὴν ἔχουσι (Cass. Dio 59.5.2)). Furthermore, he put Antiochus to death “without sending any communication to the Senate” ([καὶ κατέσφαξε.] καὶ οὐδὲ ἐπέστειλέ τι περὶ αὐτοῦ τῇ βουλῇ (Cass. Dio 59.8.2)). Nero behaves similarly, rejecting the advice of Seneca and Burrus (Cass. Dio 61.4.5–5.1). Domitian likewise took no advice from the leading men, but instead “was putting many of the foremost men out of the way on many different pretexts, some by murder, others by banishment” (Πολλοὺς δὲ τῶν πρώτων ἀνδρῶν κατὰ πολλὰς προφάσεις φόνοις τε καὶ ὑπερορίαις ἐκποδὼν ποιούμενος (Cass. Dio 67.3.3¹)).50 Commodus “was nineteen years old when his father died, leaving him many guardians, among whom were numbered the best men of the Senate. But their suggestions and counsels Commodus rejected” (ἦν δὲ ἐννεακαιδεκαέτης ὅτε μετήλλαξεν ὁ πατὴρ αὐτοῦ, πολλοὺς αὐτῷ καὶ τοὺς κρατίστους τῶν βουλευτῶν ἐπιτρόπους καταλιπών (Cass. Dio 73[72].1.2)).51 Caracalla “wished not only to know everything but to be the only one to know anything, and he desired not only to have all power but to be the only one to have power. Hence he asked no one’s advice and was jealous of those who had any useful knowledge” (πάντα τε γὰρ οὐχ ὅτι εἰδέναι ἀλλὰ καὶ μόνος εἰδέναι ἤθελε, καὶ πάντα οὐχ ὅτι δύνασθαι ἀλλὰ καὶ μόνος δύνασθαι ἠβούλετο, καὶ διὰ τοῦτο οὔτε τινὶ συμβούλῳ ἐχρῆτο καὶ τοῖς χρηστόν τι εἰδόσιν ἐφθόνει (Cass. Dio 78[77].11.5)). Elagabalus’ position can be summed up by the fact that he promoted the mime Comazon to consul (Cass. Dio 80.4.1–2). In Dio’s scheme, monarchy, then, can be the best form of government when the princeps consults with the leading men of the Senate. The “good” emperors are evidence of this. The “bad” emperors’ failure to do so, like Romulus’, 50  On Domitian’s social relations, see Schulz 2014, 422–423. 51  On evaluation of Commodus and other contemporary rulers, see Davenport & Mallan 2014, 657–658.

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plummets monarchy to tyranny or, like Commodus’, thrusts Rome into an age of iron and rust.

Cassius Dio on Paideia among Principes

A second trend in Dio’s assessment of “good” emperors is his preoccupation with their attainments in or, at least, appreciation for paideia.52 Once again he cues this theme early in his History, not least with Scipio and Cato, but perhaps most emphatically with the assessment of Hannibal. The Carthaginian, Dio notes, was capable of so much “because in addition to his natural capacity he was versed in much Phoenician paideia common to his country, and likewise in much Greek paideia” (ὅτι πρὸς τῇ τῆς φύσεως ἀρετῇ καὶ παιδείᾳ πολλῇ μὲν Φοινικικῇ κατὰ τὸ πάτριον πολλῇ δὲ καὶ Ἑλληνικῇ ἤσκητο (Cass. Dio frg. 54.3)). With the first princeps comes an unusual digression highlighting Augustus’ destiny to rule, which includes a description of his education:53 “he was practised in oratory, not only in the Latin language but in the Greek as well” (λόγοις τε γὰρ ῥητορικοῖς, οὐχ ὅτι τῇ τῶν Λατίνων ἀλλὰ καὶ τῇδε τῇ γλώσσῃ, ἠσκεῖτο (Cass. Dio 45.2.8)). Claudius “was practiced in paideia such that he had actually written some historical treatises” (ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν παιδείᾳ ἤσκητο, ὥστε καὶ συγγράψαι τινά (Cass. Dio 60.2.1)). While Vespasian is never noted in Dio for his own paideia, he “established in Rome teachers of both Latin and Greek paideia, who drew their pay from the public treasury” (μετὰ τοῦτο διδασκάλους ἐν τῇ Ῥώμῃ καὶ τῆω Λατίνων καὶ τῆς Ἑλληενικῆς παιδείας κατέστησε, μισθὸν ἐκ τοῦ δημοσίου φέροντας (Cass. Dio 66[65].12.1a)). In doing so, he seems to have taken the advice that Maecenas had given Augustus – that is, to establish public educational systems (Cass. Dio 52.26.1–2). Like Vespasian, Trajan “lacked paideia in the strict sense, when it came to speaking, but its substance he both knew and applied” (παιδείας μὲν γὰρ ἀκριβοῦς, ὅση ἐν λόγοις, οὐ μετέσχε, τό γε μὴν ἔργον αὐτῆς καὶ ἠπίστατο καὶ ἐποίει (Cass. Dio 68.7.4)). Hadrian “was fond of literary study in both Greek and Latin languages, and has left behind a variety of prose writings as well as compositions in verse” (φιλολόγος ἐν ἑκατέρᾳ τῇ γλωσσῃ· καί τινα καὶ πεζὰ καὶ ἐν ἔπεσι 52  See Gowing (1992, 27 n. 25) for discussion and citations of Dio’s character assessments on the basis of paideia. Paideia alone, though often a useful measuring stick, does not guarantee virtuous kingship – like any good educator or sophist, Dio leaves room for nature and birth. See further Kemezis 2007, 281 n. 27. 53  See Gowing 1992, 60–61.

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ποιήματα παντοδαπὰ καταλέλοιπε (Cass. Dio 69.3.1)). Marcus “was aided very much by his paideia. For he had been trained both in rhetoric and in philosophical disputation” (Πάμπολλα μὲν γὰρ καὶ ὑπὸ παιδείας ὠφελήθη, ἔν τε τοῖς ῥητορικοῖς ἔν τε τοῖς φιλοσοφίας λόγοις ἀσκηθείς (Cass. Dio 72[71].35.1)). Pertinax obtained only basic literacy (Cass. Dio 74.3.1), but he appreciated and understood the power of paideia well enough to use it as a tool to discover the False Sextus Condianus, who “though nature had made him like Condianus in appearance and practice had made him similar in other respects yet he did not share in his paideia” (οὕτω που τὸ μὲν εἶδος ἐκ φύσεως καὶ τἆλλα ἐξ ἐπιτηδεύσεως αὐτῷ ἐῴκει, τῆς δὲ δὴ παιδείας αὐτοῦ οὐ μετεσχήκει (Cass. Dio 73[72].6.5)).54 Severus “was eager for more paideia than he obtained” (παιδείας μὲν γὰρ ἐπεθύμει μᾶλλον ἢ ἐπετύγχανε (Cass. Dio 77[76].16.1)), but was educated enough to carry on evening conversations in Latin and Greek (Cass. Dio 77[76].17.2). Whereas these “good” emperors are marked for their paideutic aspirations, paideia is either absent from descriptions of the “bad” emperors or, worse, it is perverted or undercut. Dio provides nothing directly concerning Caligula’s attainments in paideia. But the fact that, in spite of the emperor’s enthusiasm for oratory, Callistus was able to trick him and stifle his sense of critical judgment, demonstrates a certain lack of intellectual depth (Cass. Dio 59.19.3–7). Caligula, furthermore, attempted to put Seneca away solely because of his talent (Cass. Dio 59.19.7–8). Nero displayed similar jealousy and avoidance of paideutic specialists. Though Agrippina provided him with the best education under Seneca (Cass. Dio 61[60].32.3), “he was resolved not [. . .] to submit to Seneca and Burrus as wiser. Finally he lost all shame, dashed to the ground and trampled underfoot all their precepts, and began to follow in the steps of Gaius” (τὰ δὲ καὶ φιλονεικῶν [. . .] τοῦ Σενέκου τοῦ τε Βούρρου ὡς καὶ φρονιμωτέρων ἡττᾶσθαι, τέλος ἀπηρυθρίασε, καὶ πάντα τὰ παραγγέλματα αὐτῶν συγχέας καὶ καταπατήσας πρὸς τὸν Γάιον ἔτεινεν (Cass. Dio 61.4.5–5.1)).55 Instead of a list of Domitian’s attainments in paideia, Dio registers the learned men whom he killed, including Mettius Pompusianus, who had a map and read speeches from Livy on kingship (Cass. Dio 67.12.3); Maternus, a sophist, who gave speeches on tyranny (Cass. Dio 67.12.5); Arenulus Rusticus, who was a philosopher (Cass. Dio 67.13.2); Herrenius Senecio, who wrote 54  See Gleason (2011, 34–40) for a full discussion of the Condianus affair, focusing on appearance and duplicity; see Kemezis (2012, 399–400) focusing on culture and status. 55  On the Dekomposition of Nero as Künstler, including (what I would call) a sort of perversion of paideia through overly effeminate participation in artistic forms, see Schulz 2014, 408–416.

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a biography of Helvidius Priscus (Cass. Dio 67.13.2); and many others (Cass. Dio 67.13.3). Domitian’s engagement with the intellectual world is so out of tune that he uses his stylus not for literary or even administrative activity, but rather as an instrument for killing flies (Cass. Dio 66[65].9.4). Commodus likewise killed men of paideia such as the Condianus briefly discussed above (Cass. Dio 73[72].5.3). Like Nero, his parents’ concern for his education was futile, as “after rearing and educating his son in the best possible way, Marcus was vastly disappointed in him” (τὸν υἱὸν καὶ θρέψας καὶ παιδεύσας ὡς οἷόν τε ἦν ἄριστα, πλεῖστον αὐτοῦ ὅσον διήμαρτε (Cass. Dio 72[71].36.4). Caracalla, like Nero and Commodus, was provided with an education, but forgot it (Cass. Dio 78[77].11.3). Dio reports further that “he actually held in contempt those of us who possessed anything like paideia” (καὶ ἐν ὀλιγωρίᾳ ἡμᾶς τούς τι παιδείας ἐχόμενον εἰδότας ἐποιεῖτο (Cass. Dio 78[77].11.2)). Macrinus, Dio suggests, was of such lowly birth and rank that he promoted Adventus, an illiterate man, in hopes of obscuring his own inadequacy (Cass. Dio 79[78].14.1–15.4). In criticizing each emperor on the basis of his reception of paideia, Dio adds a further caveat to his monarchic position – monarchy can be better if the princeps, even if uneducated himself, welcomes paideia in others.

Cassius Dio on Kingship

It is obvious that Dio prefers that the emperor respect paideia and the leading men of the state. It might even be said that he prefers monarchy because of its association with paideia and leading men. Such preference may be further revealed elsewhere by the popularity of a mode of sophistic literature in which an emperor with appreciation for paideia turns to the advice of wiser men – the peri basileias or discourse on kingship. The tradition of the peri basileias stretches down Stoic lines to the Hellenistic period and beyond, but became popularized once again at least by the time of Dio Chrysostom, who produced four orations On Kingship.56 In such Kingship orations, examples of enlightened monarchy are put forth and lauded with the intention of carefully advising the ruling power. As Dio Chrysostom puts it, “this discourse, spoken plainly without any flattery or blame in its own right points out the person who is like the good king and praises him insofar as he is like that good king, but brings the one who is unlike that good king to trial and reproaches him” (οὗτος γὰρ ὁ λόγος 56  For extended treatment of the peri basileias, especially in Dio Chrysostom, see Moles 1990; Sidebottom 2006; Swain 1996, 192–206; Whitmarsh 1998; Whitmarsh 2001, 181–216.

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ἁπλῶς λεγόμενος ἄνευ πάσης κολακείας ἢ λοιδορίας αὐτὸς ἀφ’ αὑτοῦ τὸν μὲν ὅμοιον τῷ ἀγαθῷ γνωρίζει τε καὶ ἐπαινεῖ, καθ’ ὅσον ἐστὶν ἐκείνῳ ὅμοιος, τὸν δὲ ἀνόμοιον ἐξελέγχει τε καὶ ὀνειδίζει (Dio Chrys. Or. 1.15)). Yet, Dio Chrysostom and other sophistic advisers are not acting entirely altruistically. Tim Whitmarsh and Harry Sidebottom have persuasively argued that Dio Chrysostom’s peri basileias aimed not only at giving advice, but also at presenting himself as paideutic specialist. Of Dio Chrysostom, Whitmarsh (2001, 200–201) remarks thus: Dio’s self-representation as an expert in paideia plays a fundamental role in the Kingships. Although elsewhere Dio defines Hellenism in terms of both paideia and genealogy, the emphasis here, as we shall see, is restricted to the former. For a start, these texts (as one might expect) contain much material drawn from the canonical works of Greek literature. Homer is accorded a central place in Dio’s exposition on kingship [. . .] In addition, Dio places great store by the prose stylists of the fourth century, especially Plato [. . .] I am not so interested here, however, in cataloguing literary allusions and references, although Dio elsewhere explicitly presents himself as a learned and recherché reader of the Hellenic classics. Nor shall I consider the conventional praise of the emperor’s own education, although it is important to bear in mind that this appears to have been a topos of imperial encomium. My interest here is in Dio’s representation of himself as paideutic specialist, and educator of Trajan, and thus a paradigm of Greek culture as defined against the unlearned but empowered Roman. Sidebottom (2006, 152) elaborates, applying the theory of creolization to Dio Chrysostom’s Kingship Orations, whereby Chrysostom as member of a subject group accepts the culture of kingship, but makes kingship his own by judging it in terms of Greek virtue and vice, or as I would have it, in terms of acceptance of paideia as a symbol of virtue. Dio Chrysostom takes advantage of the institution of monarchy in order to advance his own authority as paideutic specialist, by outlining what counts as paideia, displaying his own aptitude therein and establishing himself as the arbiter of its possession in others, particularly the ruling power. In terms of literary sophistry, monarchy is the preferred form of government because it provides the opportunity for this sort of self-advancement. Cassius Dio employs a similar method and to similar ends as that of his fellow Bithynian. In fact, if we were to read Cassius Dio instead of Dio Chrysostom in the quotation from Whitmarsh above, the remainder would still be true. Having established himself as a pepaideumenos, Cassius Dio engages in a peri

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basileias, but at a macro level, extending his advice and exempla less obviously, yet systematically, across 80 books of his Roman History. The ability to participate in kingship literature is evident in rhetorical set speeches that, even when lacking a strict framework of the peri basileias, at least spring from that tradition. Meyer (1891), for example, initiated a string of arguments on the question of the Maecenas speech’s relationship with the peri basileias.57 Giua (1981, 328) sees elements of both Dio Chrysostom and Aelius Aristides’ kingship literature in Livia’s speech from Book 55. To this might be added that the speech echoes Seneca’s De Clementia, which follows from the peri basileias tradition. Giua (1983, 439) and Reinhold and Swan (1990, 170) placed Tiberius’ laudatio funebris in that class of kingship orations; and Millar (1964, 78–83) added to each of these Caesar’s speech to the Senate from Book 43, among others. The accumulation of these miniature kingship exercises within the History suggests that Dio is aware that the peri basileias and its attendant monarchy grant him, perhaps somewhat paradoxically, the greatest possible literary authority – thus his position on monarchy as sophistic intellectual. The peri basileias presents opportunities for self-fashioning to the sophistic politician as well. Ewen Bowie (1978, 1668) has noted in discussing Philostratus’ Life of Apollonius that advising emperors was integral to the sophist’s role. Jaap-Jan Flinterman (2004, 365–368) argues for a similar phenomenon in Philostratus Lives of the Sophists and, while analyzing Aristides’ association with the emperor in his Sacred Tales, has cleverly noted that a relationship with the emperor and attendant possibilities for patronistic provincial “brokerage” is the subject of sophistic dreams. Sidebottom argues for the signifi­ cance of Dio Chrysostom’s Kingship Orations as speeches (as opposed to treatises). For him, the implication, real or not, that Dio Chrysostom advised the king in person adds an element of importance, danger and therefore respectability, especially among his other audience: the provincial elite.58 In each of these cases the social proximity to the princeps that provides the opportunity to give advice advances socio-political authority at Rome and in one’s province. For these sophistic philosophers the peri basileias is a means not only to literary, but also social esteem. Cassius Dio, again, is playing the same sophistic game. As noted above, he approves of the emperor who favors the leading men. To a certain point, this may seem to be the senatorial class. But Dio prefers greater exclusivity. In the first place, there are uneducated men in the Senate, as the Maecenas 57  See also Dorandi 1985, 57; Gabba 1955, 320–325; Millar 1964, 102–104; Reinhold 1988, 183– 184. Kemezis (2014, 131) excludes the debate from the framework of kingship literature. 58  See Sidebottom 2006, esp. 118, 130–131, 152.

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speech implies when suggesting a purge (Cass. Dio 52.19.1). The story of poor bald Marcellinus, who was betrayed by a nod from a colleague in the Senate (Cass. Dio 77[76].8.1–9.1), further illustrates the Senate’s potential cowardice and brutality. Therefore, it cannot be said that Dio blankly prefers monarchy as a promoter of the Senate. Rather, those best men whom Dio has in mind are likely to be the class John Rich (1980, 217) suggests in discussing the protoi and Agrippa, namely eminent consulars who may or may not be noble, but are admitted to the emperors’ cabinet – in other words, a certain sect of the emperor’s consilium and amici.59 In short, when Dio argues that the emperor ought to work closely with the leading men, he means men like Maecenas, Agrippa, Seneca, Burrus, Fronto – men like Dio himself, who leads us to believe that he was a part of Severus’ legal and administrative consilium, Caracalla’s comites and, perhaps, Alexander’s amici. Dio perhaps aspires to give or at least to appear to give more than just a literary peri basileias. He would have been aware that close counsel with the ruling power would cement his sociopolitical position. Aelius Antipater, for example, reached a powerful station through his paideia and advisory position. If it is correct to place Gordian in Julia Domna’s circle, one paideutic personage actually became princeps. For Dio, a member of the educated elite, who did not find any success with the military,60 promotion at the imperial and provincial level depended on closeness to the princeps. This, to some extent, explains why Dio prefers monarchy – it is his avenue to socio-political advancement. In short, Dio promotes the political program that is pragmatically superior, not only in terms of imperial and governmental ends, but in terms of personal ends as well. Conclusion As Dio has Agrippa argue in his speech, monarchy brings advantage to a ruler’s friends, but danger upon the ruler himself (Cass. Dio 52.2.2). This is true in Dio’s own case – paradoxically, monarchy offered him a socio-political ceiling that exceeded what other political constitutions could offer. While his 59  See Crook (1955) for definitions and discussions of these terms. Yet here too, one must exclude the rabble that make up a significant portion of such cabinets – the people with whom Caracalla was drinking in Bithynia when, as Dio complains, he should have been meeting with his advisers (Cass. Dio 78[77].17.3–4). See Crook (1955, 24–25) on comites and amici, including dilettanti, wits and sycophants. See more recently Kemezis 2014, 142–145. 60  See, e.g., Cass. Dio 80.4.2 on Dio’s strained relations with the military.

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benefactors – Pertinax, Severus and Macrinus – met their various ends, the historian continued accumulating official positions, including two consulships, and presumably wealth and status, and even managed to leave a lasting record of it. Despite Dio’s posturing as risk-taker in his concluding verse of escape, the Roman monarchy advanced the Bithynian. Dio’s contemporary, Philostratus, skipped past the Roman Republic in his treatment of figures of the Second Sophistic and resumed his sophistic biographies with Nicetes of Smyrna under the reign of Nero. Although Philostratus credits elements of style for his decision, perhaps political constitution played a role as well. Monarchy provided an arena for distinction for the sophistic elite – in both the intellectual and political spheres. Cassius Dio carved a rather unique place for himself through his ability to moderate between these two worlds.61

61  I am grateful to Carsten Lange and Jesper Madsen for convening an excellent group of Dio scholars in Odense, to the members of that group for their enlightening papers and comments, and to the Philip De Lacy fund at the University of Washington for making my travel to Denmark possible. I am much indebted to Alexander Hollmann and Adriana Vazquez, who read versions of a related paper, and to Alain Gowing, Carsten Lange and Verena Schulz, who have shared valuable comments and advice.

CHAPTER 16

Alexander the Great in Cassius Dio Jesper Carlsen The Roman emperor Caracalla’s imitation of Alexander the Great half a millennium after the death of the Macedonian king has been noticed both by ancient sources and modern scholarship. One of the most important literary sources to Caracalla’s ‘Alexander-mania’ is the contemporary Greek intellectual and Roman politician Cassius Dio,1 who also mentions Alexander the Great on occasions other than in the context of the Severan dynasty. In total, the Greek senatorial historian explicitly mentions the Macedonian king in nearly twenty passages in the extant parts of the Roman History.2 Of course, Cassius Dio is not an important written source for Alexander the Great, but the Macedonian

1  For short biographies of Cassius Dio see e.g. Millar 1964; Rich 1990, 1–4, and Gowing 1992, 19–32. The question of an early or late date of the composition and publication of Cassius Dio’s work is not crucial for the arguments in this paper. For an overview of the debate see most recently Schmidt 1997, 2618–2625; Swan 2004, 28–34, and Kemezis 2014, 282–293. 2  Cassius Dio makes brief remarks on Alexander the Great twice in connection with Roman campaigns against the Parthians in the East on places such as Zeugma and Gaugamela which were also known from Alexander’s campaign against Darius III. The first time is in 53 BCE when Crassus crossed the Euphrates (40.17.3): τῷ δὲ δὴ Κράσσῳ τὸν Εὐφράτην κατὰ τὸ Ζεῦγμα ῾οὕτω γὰρ ἀπὸ τῆς τοῦ Ἀλεξάνδρου στρατείας τὸ χωρίον ἐκεῖνο, ὅτι ταύτῃ ἐπεραιώθη, κέκληταἰ διαβαίνοντι (“he was crossing the Euphrates at Zeugma, a place so called from the campaign of Alexander, because he crossed at this point”). See Plácido 1990, 68. The second time is when Trajan crossed the Tigris in 116 CE (68.26.4): ἅπασαν παρεστήσαντο ῾ἔστι δὲ τῆς Ἀσσυρίας τῆς περὶ Νίνον μέρος αὕτη, καὶ τά τε Ἄρβηλα καὶ τὰ Γαυγάμηλα, παρ᾽ οἷς ὁ Ἀλέξανδρος τὸν Δαρεῖον ἐνίκησε, ταῦτα τῆσδέ ἐστι (“This is a district of Assyria in the vicinity of Ninus; and Arbela and Gaugamela, near which places Alexander conquered Darius, are also in this same country”). See Bennett 1997, 198. The name of Alexander the Great also appears in the short Parthian history in (40.14.2): οἵ τε τοῦ Ἀλεξάνδρου διάδοχοι στασιάσαντες ἄλλοι ἄλλα ἀπετέμοντο καὶ βασιλείας ἰδίας κατεσκευάσαντο, ἔς τε τὸ μέσον τότε πρῶτον ὑπ᾽ Ἀρσάκου τινὸς ἀφίκοντο, ὅθενπερ καὶ οἱ ἔπειτα βασιλεύσαντες αὐτῶν Ἀρσακίδαι ἐπωνομάσθησαν (“and when the successors of Alexander had quarrelled with one another, cutting off separate portions for themselves and setting up individual monarchies, the Parthians then first attained prominence under a certain Arsaces, from whom their succeeding rulers received the title of Arsacidae”). Translations, unless otherwise stated, are taken from the Loeb Classical Library, but sometimes slightly revised.

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king was one of the most popular historical figures in the Second Sophistic, with which movement Cassius Dio is often associated.3 This paper is a contextual reading of these passages in order to explore the attitude of Cassius Dio to his Greek past and to contemporary Roman politics.4 He was a native of Nicaea in Bithynia and has been described by modern scholars as both “Roman in political, not in cultural terms”5 and one who “saw himself as a man who belonged to and represented the Roman Empire.”6 Cassius Dio wrote his Roman History in an Attic Greek with Thucydides as his model, but its annalistic structure represents a Roman genre of historical writing. Cassius Dio sometimes explains, translates or transcribes into Greek the political institutions of the Roman Republic. This indicates that the work was addressed to an educated Greek audience, now part of the provincial political élite in the Roman Empire, but unfamiliar with Roman Republican history; this audience, it seems likely, was not restricted to a Greek senatorial elite.7

3  See Zecchini 1984; Swain 1996, 401–408, and Whitmarsh 2005, 68–70. For the picture and use of Alexander in the Latin literature see Spencer 2002. 4  Cassius Dio is omitted by Weber 1909; Plácido 1990, 68–75, was the first attempt to discuss some, but not all passages. Swan 2004, 329 n. 215, characterizes these passages as ‘­numerous’. Same in André 1990, 12: “les réferences à Alexandre sont nombreuses chez Dion”, but note also Palm 1959, 82: “Für Griechenland hat Cassius Dio nicht viel Interesse übrig.” See Carlsen 2014a for an analysis of Arrian, another Bithynian senator and author belonging to the Second Sophistic, and his view of the Macedonian king in a Roman context. 5  Swain 1996, 405; cf. Edmondson 1992, 18: “He was at once both a Greek and a Roman”, and de Blois 1999, 267: “Dio was a Greek as well as a Roman, a senator from Nicaea in Bithynia, an insider in Roman politics who was acquainted with emperors and other powerful men, as well as a cultured Greek author of the period of the Second Sophistic.” Burden-Strevens 2015b, 304: “The Roman History supports a reading of Cassius Dio as politically Roman but culturally Greek time and again.” 6  Madsen 2009, 125; Kemezis 2014, 17: “Cassius Dio is our most obvious representative of the synthesized imperial culture that the decades of Antonine rule had produced in the upper echelons of Greco-Roman society.” 7  See Millar 1964, 41–42; Aalders 1986, 290–291, and Freyburger-Galland 1997. Also Swan 1997, 2525: “The ‘Roman History’ is remarkable for the extent to which it integrates or combines elements of Dio’s dual heritage as a Roman senator native in the Greek east.” Hose 1994, 418–424, argues for ‘einer intendierten senatorischen Leserschaft’, as does Kemezis 2014, 22. See Hinard 2005; Urso 2005, and Simons 2009, 33–119, for the Republican institutions in Cassius Dio.

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Alexander the Great before the Era of the Severan Dynasty

Cassius Dio speaks of Alexander the Great for the first time in the extant work in connection with The Third Macedonian War. According to Zonaras’ epitome of Cassius Dio, the last Macedonian king Perseus “even hoped to surpass Alexander in glory and in the size of his domain.”8 After the victory Cassius Dio records that Perseus was settled in Alba Fucens, and the historian concludes this part of his narrative with the ironic point that Περσεὺς ό δι᾽ ἔικοσι βασιλέων αὺχῶν γεγονέναι, καὶ πολὺν μἐν τὸν Φίλιππον, πλείω δῖ θρυλλῶν τòν Άλέξανδρον, καὶ τὴν βασιλείαν ἀπώλεσε καὶ αὶχμάλωτος γεγονε καὶ ἐν τοῖς ἐπινικίοις ἐπόμπευσε, δεσμἀ μετἀ τόῦ διαδήματος περικείμενος (“Perseus, who boasted of tracing his descent through twenty kings and often had on his lips the name of Philip and still oftener that of Alexander, lost his kingdom, became a captive, and marched in the triumphal procession wearing chains as well as his diadem”).9 The admiration of Alexander the Great’s achievements expressed in these passages does not include his successors as Macedonian kings and especially not Perseus. Perseus foolishly thought himself as a military genius superior to Alexander the Great, but was instead humiliated by being paraded in the triumph of L. Aemilius Paullus in Rome in 167 BCE. Julius Caesar is the first Roman mentioned together with Alexander the Great. Cassius Dio relates that as quaestor in Spain Caesar saw the statue of the king in the temple of Hercules in Gades and made a comparison of his own few achievements with those of Alexander the Great.10 This famous anecdote is also preserved by Suetonius in his Caesar-biography; it underlines not only the reputation of Alexander the Great as the young world conqueror, but also raises the question whether Cassius Dio used Suetonius directly. Manuwald had analysed the common passages in the accounts of the reign of Augustus in Suetonius and the Roman History and concluded that they used a common ‘Traditionsmasse’. This is probably also the case with the Caesar-anecdote, and this common source could be a collection of imperial sayings.11 8 Cass. Dio. 20 = Zonaras 9.22; same in Cassius Dio 20 = Zonaras 9.24. For the relationship between Cassius Dio and Zonaras see Simons 2009, 25–32, with further references. 9 Cass. Dio. 20 = Zonaras 9.24; Plácido 1990, 68. 10  Cass. Dio 37.52.2: ὅθενπερ καὶ εἰκόνα Ἀλεξάνδρου ἐνταῦθα ἐν τῷ Ἡρακλέους ἀνακειμένην ἰδὼν ἀνεστέναξε, καὶ κατωδύρατο ὅτι μηδέν πω μέγα ἔργον ἐπεποιήκει (“Hence, on beholding there a likeness of Alexander dedicated in the temple of Hercules, he had groaned aloud, lamenting that he had performed no great deed as yet”). See Plácido 1990, 68–69; Kühnen 2008, 77–79. 11  Suet. Iul. 7.1; Manuwald 1979, 258–268. Plut. Caes. 11.3 is a somewhat different version, where Caesar’s remark comes when reading the history of the Macedonian king.

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Caesar’s heir also expressed his admiration for the Macedonian king. Octavian visited the tomb of Alexander the Great in Alexandria in 30 BCE after the death of Marcus Antonius and Cleopatra. According to Cassius Dio, it was the first thing Octavian did after the speech in which he announced to the Alexandrians his pardon. He showed the Macedonian king his respect, when he refused to view the remains of the Ptolemeys with the scornful remark: “I wished to see a king, not corpses” (Cass. Dio 51.16.5; cf. Suet. Aug. 18.1: regem se voluisse ait videre, non mortuos).12 According to Cassius Dio, Octavian actually touched the body of the Macedonian king with the result that a piece of his nose was broken off. So far the picture of Alexander the Great has been unambiguously favourable, but the two episodes involving Caesar and Augustus also contain historical commonplaces and generic traditions on an extraordinary general or universal ruler who serve as a model. It is the two Roman politicians and not the Macedonian king who are the central characters in this part of Cassius Dio’s narrative. Another picture of Alexander the Great appears in Tiberius’ public funeral oration for Augustus in 14 CE, which almost all modern scholars understand as Cassius Dio’s own composition (56.35–41).13 The Macedonian king is mentioned in the beginning of the long eulogy, in which Cassius Dio has Tiberius place Alexander the Great and Romulus on an equal footing for their youthful achievements as founders of two great empires, but goes on to say that their accomplishments were not on the same level as the exploits of Augustus who even surpassed Hercules’ (56.36.3–4): καίτοι τί τοιοῦτον ἢ Ἀλέξανδρος ὁ Μακεδὼν ἢ Ῥωμύλος ὁ ἡμέτερος, οἵπερ που μάλιστα νεαροὶ ὄντες ἐλλόγιμόν τι ποιῆσαι δοκοῦσιν, ἔπραξαν; ἀλλὰ τούτους μὲν ἐάσω, ἵνα μὴ καὶ ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ παραβάλλειν οἱ καὶ παραδεικνύναι σφᾶς, καὶ ταῦτα ἐν ὑμῖν μηδὲν ἧττον ἐμοῦ αὐτοὺς εἰδόσι, σμικροτέραν τὴν τοῦ Αὐγούστου ἀρετὴν ποιεῖν νομισθῶ· πρὸς μόνον δὲ δὴ τὸν Ἡρακλέα καὶ τὰ ἐκείνου ἔργα παραθεωρῶν αὐτὸν ὀρθῶς μὲν ἂν κατ’ αὐτὸ τοῦτο ποιεῖν δόξαιμι, τοσοῦτον δ’ ἂν τῆς προαιρέσεως διαμάρτοιμι ὅσον ἐκεῖνος μὲν ἔν τε παισὶν ὄφεις καὶ ἐν ἀνδράσιν ἔλαφόν τέ τινα καὶ κάπρον καὶ νὴ Δία καὶ λέοντα ἄκων καὶ ἐξ ἐπιτάξεως ἀπέκτεινεν.

12  See Manuwald 1979, 261; Freyburger-Galland 1997, 20; Reinhold 1988, 139–140; Erskine 2002, 163–164; Kühnen 2008, 113–114, with further references, but also Wardle 2014, 157–158, with a much useful discussion. 13  See Millar 1964, 101; Manuwald 1979, 133–140; Giua 1983. See also Swan 2004, 325–339, for a commentary with further references.

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Yet what deed like this can be cited of the Macedonian Alexander or of our own Romulus, who perhaps above all others are thought to have performed some notable exploit in youth? But these men I shall pass over, lest from merely comparing them with him and using them as examples – and that among you who know them as well as me – I may be thought to be detracting from the virtues of Augustus. With Hercules alone and his exploits I might compare him, and should be thought justified in so doing, if that were all; but even so I should fall short of my purpose, in so far as Hercules in childhood only fought with serpents, and in his manhood with a stag or two, and a boar, which he killed, and of course a lion, but this he did unwillingly, and under orders.14 That Cassius Dio uses the Macedonian king in his efforts to present Augustus as a model ruler by stressing his superiority to both Romulus and Alexander the Great is clear from the composition and contents of the fictional eulogy that can be seen as a parallel to the dialogue between Agrippa and Maecenas on democracy versus monarchy in Book 52 (52.2–40).15 Alexander the Great and Romulus are mentioned in the beginning of the outline of Augustus’ political career, where, with Tiberius as his spokesman, Cassius Dio stresses “that the largest and best element of the people and of the Senate was in accord with him” (56.37.1). It was Marcus Antonius, Lepidus, Brutus and Cassius who were belligerent, but the narrative of the civil wars is very brief in Tiberius’ speech. However, Cassius Dio twice underlines the clemency of Augustus in contrast to Sulla (56.38.1; 38.4), which could be an allusion to Septimius Severus.16 According to the Greek historian, Augustus honoured his friends, respected the political role of the Senate as partner in governance, was a benefactor of the people, but was also careful with public funds (56.40.4). The emperor maintained strongly military discipline, so that the soldiers were the “most formidable protectors against alien races, while being unarmed and unwarlike to the people at home” (56.40.2), unlike the Severan army. These and other implicit allusions to the reign of the Severan dynasty in the speech emphasize

14  The ethnic Macedonian is remarkable as observed by Swan in his historical commentary on Book 56 as Cassius Dio perhaps “used it to avert confusion with Alexander Severus”: Swan 2004, 329. 15  Millar 1964, 102–118; Rich 1989, 98–101; Schmidt 1999. 16  See Giua 1983, 447–449; Schettino 2001, 550, and Swan 2004, 332, on Sulla as a reference to Septimius Severus.

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that Cassius Dio uses Tiberius’ funeral oration for Augustus to express his own norms for the ideal princeps of the Roman Empire.17 Alexander the Great continued to inspire members of the imperial family. Germanicus, Tiberius’ adoptive son and nephew, together with his own son, Gaius Caligula, was apparently an admirer of the Macedonian king and wished to be identified with him.18 Both Suetonius and Cassius Dio relate that the young emperor wore the breastplate of Alexander the Great, but only the Greek historian records that Gaius Caligula did it, when he crossed a bridge of boats over the Bay of Naples, and like the Macedonian king, was followed by his ‘friends and companions’.19 This physical imitatio Alexandri promoted by Caligula himself does not reflect the tradition in Latin literature, going back to Livy, of a negative image of the Macedonian king as an example of the corruption of power and despotic tyranny.20 An example of the young emperor’s ridiculous behaviour is when Gaius Caligula tries to demonstrate his superiority to Alexander the Great in a triumph-like manner. The Macedonian king extended his empire to the Indian Ocean, but with the crossing the Bay of Naples in a chariot the young Roman emperor showed that he ruled over both land and sea.21

17  See Reinhold & Swan 1990 in general for Cassius Dio’s assessment of Augustus, and Swan 2004, 335, for more allusions to the author’s own age in Cass. Dio 56.40.5, where Augustus’ supposed modesty is in opposition to the conduct of Septimius Severus. For the ideal ruler: Swan 2004, 326, and Lange 2009, 141, but note also that Aalders 1986, 299, argues that “if we may speak of his idea of an ideal ruler, the cultured Marcus Aurelius comes closest to it.” Same in Scott 2015, 160, and Kemezis 2014, 96: “Marcus Aurelius, the one emperor whom Dio most idealizes”, but see also Possienke 2011. For Cassius Dio’s assessment of Tiberius see Baar 1990, 225–228. 18  See e.g. Tac. Ann. 2.73 on popular reactions in connection with Germanicus’ funeral where his death was compared with that of Alexander the Great. For the relationship between Germanicus and Alexander the Great: Demandt 2009, 413; Spencer 2002, 191–193, and Isager 1993, 81. 19  Suet. Cal. 52; Cass. Dio 59.17.3: ἐπειδή τε ἕτοιμα ἦν, τόν τε θώρακα τὸν Ἀλεξάνδρου, ὥς γε ἔλεγε, καὶ ἐπ᾽ αὐτῷ χλαμύδα σηρικὴν ἁλουργῆ, πολὺ μὲν χρυσίον πολλοὺς δὲ καὶ λίθους Ἰνδικοὺς ἔχουσαν, ἐπεενέδυ (“When everything was ready, Gaius put on the breastplate of Alexander (or so he claimed), and over it a purple silk chlamys, adorned with much gold and many precious stones from India”). For this so-called ‘mock-triumph’ see Kleijwegt 1994; Malloch 2001, and Kühnen 2008, 146–147; see Lange in this volume. 20  Briquel 2014 with further references, but see also Isager 1993 and Carlsen 2014a, 221. Plácido 1990, 69, who does not discuss the context of the passage, argues that “la mención no descalifica a Alejandro.” 21  Diosono 2013, 162–164, with further references.

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After Gaius Caligula until the Severan dynasty, Alexander the Great only appears in the extant parts of the Roman History in connection with Trajan, who also was an admirer of the Macedonian king. Cassius Dio mentions Alexander the Great twice during the narrative of Trajan’s Parthian campaign. The Macedonian king was an obvious example for a Roman emperor who expanded the empire to its height and was the first princeps to lead in person military campaigns in the Near East. When Trajan stopped in Babylon, he honoured Alexander the Great with a sacrifice in the room, where the Macedonian king had died.22 Trajan apparently also had thought of an expedition to India, but gave up the idea, because he was too old as he wrote in a letter to the Senate after the capture of Ctesiphon, the Parthian capital, that gave him the title Parthicus (Cass. Dio 68.29.1): κἀντεῦθεν ἐπ’ αὐτὸν τὸν ὠκεανὸν ἐλθών, τήν τε φύσιν αὐτοῦ καταμαθὼν καὶ πλοῖόν τι ἐς Ἰνδίαν πλέον ἰδών, εἶπεν ὅτι “πάντως ἂν καὶ ἐπὶ τοὺς Ἰνδούς, εἰ νέος ἔτι ἦν, ἐπεραιώθην”. Ἰνδούς τε γὰρ ἐνενόει, καὶ τὰ ἐκείνων πράγματα ἐπολυπραγμόνει, τόν τε Ἀλέξανδρον ἐμακάριζε. καίτοι ἔλεγε καὶ ἐκείνου περαιτέρω προκεχωρηκέναι, καὶ τοῦτο καὶ τῇ βουλῇ ἐπέστειλε, μὴ δυνηθεὶς μηδὲ ἃ ἐκεχείρωτο σῶσαι. Then he came to the ocean itself, and when he had learned its nature and had seen a ship sailing to India, he said: “I should certainly have crossed over to the Indi, too, if I were still young.” For he began to think about the Indi and was curious about their affairs, and he counted Alexander a lucky man. Yet he would declare that he himself had advanced farther than Alexander, and would so write to the Senate, although he was unable to preserve even the territory that he had subdued.23 Cassius Dio’s critique of Trajan’s conquest of Mesopotamia is remarkable, since the senatorial Greek historian was not biased towards this emperor. On the contrary, Cassius Dio admired Trajan and his Dacian War, although he was 22  Cass. Dio. 68.30.1: μαθὼν δὲ ταῦτα ὁ Τραϊανὸς ἐν Βαβυλῶνι (καὶ γὰρ ἐκεῖσε ἦλθε κατά τε τὴν φήμην, ἧς οὐδὲν ἄξιον εἶδεν ὅ τι μὴ χώματα καὶ λίθους. καὶ ἐρείπια, καὶ διὰ τὸν Ἀλέξανδρον, ᾧ καὶ ἐνήγισεν ἐν τῷ οἰκήματι ἐν ᾧ ἐτετελευτήκει (“Trajan learned of this at Babylon; for he had gone there both because of its fame – though he saw nothing but mounds and stones and ruins to justify this – and because of Alexander, to whose spirit he offered sacrifice in the room where he had died”). See Forte 1972, 288; Bennett 1997, 199; Kühnen 2008, 168–169. 23  See Wirth 1976, 198; Plácido 1990, 70; Freyburger-Galland 1997, 21, and Migliorati 2003, 127–128.

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not so good an emperor as Augustus and Marcus Aurelius. The historian knew that unlike Alexander the Great, Trajan had not won a decisive battle against the Persian/Parthian king. Trajan’s reason for the Parthian War seems to have been primarily military glory, but it can best be described as a failure if compared to his other triumphs. The criticism of Trajan’s Parthian War could at the same time be another allusion to Septimius Severus. It echoes Cassius Dio’s harsh comments on Septimius Severus’ campaigns in the east and the creation of a new province across Euphrates that, according to Greek historian, could only be ascribed to the emperor’s desire for fame, but was a drain on Roman resources (75[74].3.2): ἔλεγέ τε μεγάλην τέ τινα χώραν προσκεκτῆσθαι καὶ πρόβολον αὐτὴν τῆς Συρίας πεποιῆσθαι. ἐλέγχεται δὲ ἐξ αὐτοῦ τοῦ ἔργου καὶ πολέμων ἡμῖν συνεχῶν, ὡς καὶ δαπανημάτων πολλῶν, αἰτία οὖσα. He [Severus] used to declare that he had added a vast territory to the empire and had made it a bulwark of Syria. On the contrary, it is shown by the facts themselves that this conquest has been a source of constant wars and great expense to us. For it yields very little and uses up vast sums.24 Cassius Dio’ associations between Alexander the Great and various preSeveran individuals – one Macedonian and four Romans – appear in two contexts. Most important is, of course, Alexander the Great as the young conqueror of the East to which Perseus, Caesar, Gaius Caligula and Trajan all allude. But Augustus’ visit to the tomb in Alexandria and Trajan’s sacrifice in Babylon also show how they held the Macedonian king in deep respect. This pattern of references, however, alters when Cassius Dio writes contemporary history, and new aspects of Alexander the Great appear.

The Severan Dynasty and Alexander the Great

As mentioned in the introduction, the majority of the references to Alexander the Great in Cassius Dio’s Roman History appears in Xiphilinus’ epitome of Books 76–80 on the Severan age.25 To become sole emperor, Septimius Severus 24  Millar 1993, 124; Burden-Strevens 2015b, 291. For examples of Cassius Dio’s high regards of Trajan see 68.6.3 and 68.7.1. In general see Migliorati 2003, 173–175. 25  On Xiphilinus see Juntunen 2013b, 460–465.

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had to fight a most violent and cruel five-year civil war before he had eliminated all his rivals in 197 CE. He first battled against Pescennius Niger, the governor of Syria, who had also proclaimed himself emperor and controlled the East. According to the excerpt of Valesiana, Pescennius Niger was called ‘a new Alexander’ by his soldiers. Nevertheless, he lost the decisive battle near Issus in the early spring of 194 CE, where the Macedonian king had defeated Darius III in 333 BCE.26 Septimius Severus visited Egypt in 199 CE, and at Alexandria he not only saw Alexander’s body like Augustus had done, but also “he closed the tomb of Alexander; this was in order to prevent that no one in the future should view Alexander’s body . . .” (Cass. Dio 76[75].13.2).27 This symbolic gesture indicates that Septimius Severus did not see himself as a successor to Alexander the Great, although he fought against Parthians; perhaps Septimius Severus feared the myth of the Macedonian king that Pescennius Niger had tried to exploit in the civil war a few years before. The sealing of the tomb did not have lasting effects. When his eldest son and successor, Caracalla, again visited Alexandria late in 215 CE, he reopened the tomb.28 From the beginning of his reign Caracalla had taken the Macedonian king as his model and sought to imitate him in many different ways, as is stressed by Cassius Dio in a passage that is important for my purposes and deserved to be quoted almost in full (78[77].7): περὶ δὲ τὸν Ἀλέξανδρον οὕτω τι ἐπτόητο ὥστε καὶ ὅπλοις τισὶ καὶ ποτηρίοις ὡς καὶ ἐκείνου γεγονόσι χρῆσθαι, καὶ προσέτι καὶ εἰκόνας αὐτοῦ πολλὰς καὶ ἐν τοῖς στρατοπέδοις καὶ ἐν αὐτῇ τῇ Ῥώμῃ στῆσαι, φάλαγγά τέ τινα ἐκ μόνων τῶν Μακεδόνων ἐς μυρίους καὶ ἑξακισχιλίους συντάξαι, καὶ αὐτὴν Ἀλεξάνδρου τε ἐπονομάσαι καὶ τοῖς ὅπλοις οἷς ποτὲ ἐπ᾽ ἐκείνου ἐκέχρηντο ὁπλίσαι . . . καὶ οὐδὲ ταῦτα μέντοι αὐτῷ ἐξήρκεσεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτὸν ἐκεῖνον ἑῷον Αὔγουστον ἐπεκαλεῖτο, καί ποτε καὶ τῇ βουλῇ ἔγραψεν, ὅτι ἐς τὸ σῶμα αὖθις τὸ τοῦ 26  Cass. Dio 75[74].6.2a: ὅτι ὁ Νίγρος ἦν μὲν οὐδ᾽ ἄλλως ἀρτίφρων, ἀλλὰ καὶ πάνυ πολλὰ δυνηθεὶς ἐπλημμέλησε: τότε δὲ καὶ μᾶλλον ὠγκώθη, ὥστε τοῖς μèν Ἀλέξανδρον αὐτὸν νέον ὀνομάζουσι χαίρειν, τῷ δὲ ἐρομένῳ “τίς σοι ταῦτα ποιεῖν ἐπιτέτροφεν”; τὸ ξίφος δεῖξαι, καὶ εἰπεῖν ὅτι “τοῦτο” (“Niger was not a man of keen intelligence in any case, but made mistakes in spite of his vast power. At this time he was more puffed up than ever, so that, when men called him a new Alexander, he showed his pleasure, and when a man asked, “Who gave your permission to do this?” he pointed to his sword and answered, “This”). For Pescennius Niger see Forte 1972, 455–457; Birley 1988, 112–113; Plácido 1990, 72–73; Butor 2006, and Kühnen 2008, 175. See also the critical analysis of the sources to the Severan battle of Issus by Kolb 1972, 70–77, and in general Schettino 2001 and Blonce 2013. 27  See Birley 1988, 135–136; Espinosa 1990, 37, and Erskine 2002, 178. 28  Hdn. 4.8.9. See Espinosa 1990, 46; Meckler 1999, 41, and Bérenger 2013, 363–365.

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Αὐγούστου ἐσῆλθεν, ἵνα, ἐπειδὴ ὀλίγον τότε χρόνον ἐβίω, πλείονα αὖθις δι᾽ ἐκείνου ζήσῃ. . .ταῦτα μὲν οὕτως ἐποίησε, καὶ νὴ Δία καὶ ἐλέφαντας πολλοὺς συμπεριήγετο, ὅπως καὶ ἐν τούτῳ τὸν Αλέξανδρον, μᾶλλον δὲ τὸν Διόνυσον, μιμεῖσθαι δόξῃ. He was so enthusiastic about Alexander that he used certain weapons and cups which he believed had once been his, and he also set up many likenesses of him both in the camps and in Rome itself. He organized a phalanx, composed entirely of Macedonians, sixteen thousand strong, named it ‘Alexander’s phalanx’, and equipped it with the arms that warriors had used in his days; . . . Not even this, however, satisfied him, but he must call his hero ‘the Augustus of the East’; and once he actually wrote to the Senate that Alexander had come to life again in the person of the Augustus, that he might live on once more in him, having had such a short life before. . . . Such was his behaviour in these matters; any more, he even took about with him numerous elephants, that in this respect, also, he might seem to be imitating Alexander, or rather, perhaps, Dionysus.29 The close connection between Dionysus’ triumphant returns from India, elephants and Alexander the Great was strong in the Hellenistic world. The elephants symbolized victory and became part of Roman triumph for the first time in the last decades of the third century BCE.30 It was therefore obvious that Caracalla who, as the reincarnated Alexander the Great had formed a Macedonian phalanx, seems also to have brought elephants with him in his Parthian War. Cassius Dio’s description of Caracalla’s imitation of the Macedonian king is embedded in a very hostile picture of the emperor as modern scholars long have realized.31 It is, however, beyond the scope of this paper to consider whether the Greek senatorial historian’s bias against the young emperor is due to the alleged political estrangement of the Senate during the Severan dynasty or – as it has recently been argued – Cassius Dio’s jealousy of new senators favoured by Caracalla while he himself stood in the periphery

29  Castritus 1998; Kühnen 2008, 178–180. See also Gleason 2011, 60–65, on Caracalla’s ‘Alexander masquerades’ and Osgood in this volume. 30  See Östenberg 2009, 173–184, and Carlsen 2014b, 111–112, with further references. 31  Reinhold & Swan 1990, 162 n. 29: “He had only scorn for his imitation of Alexander the Great;” Rowan 2012, 16: “Dio’s epitome presents an unashamedly hostile vision of Caracalla.” Kühnen 2008, 177: “Der Hass, den Cassius Dio, ein direkter Zeitgenosse, ihm gegenüber empfand.”

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of power.32 The interesting point for this paper is the function of Alexander the Great in Cassius Dio’s narrative of Caracalla’s reign. Baharal has argued that Cassius Dio’s hostile account of Caracalla and his Alexander-mania should both be taken seriously; and looked at critically. He concludes that: “there is no room for doubt regarding Caracalla’s eagerness to imitate Alexander the Great in every possible way. Nevertheless, we have also seen that the historians of the time were probably influenced by their personal feelings toward Caracalla when describing the time of his reign, and did not even attempt to conceal their lack of admiration for him (an assumption accepted by most modern scholars). It is therefore reasonable to suppose that they exaggerated in their descriptions of Caracalla’s behaviour and that they took advantage of every detail which could damage Caracalla’s reputation and blacken his name.”33 Cassius Dio characterizes Caracalla as φιλαλεξανδρότατος (78[77].9),34 and I believe there is more to the question of Cassius Dio’s view on Caracalla and Alexander the Great if we take a further step and look at these passages in a broader perspective that both includes the Severan context and the role of Alexander the Great as a mirror of the Roman emperor. Caracalla was also a young ruler seeking military honour in the East. Like the Macedonian king he honoured Achilles with sacrifices and games at Troy and died in the Near East after travelling across Asia Minor by almost the same route that Alexander the Great had (Cass. Dio 78[77].16.7).35 Cassius Dio begins Book 78[77] with the peace on the British frontier after the accession of Caracalla, but very quickly the narrative jumps to Rome and the new emperor’s first victims who included members of the imperial household. The first paragraph ends with a bad omen that predicts the fortune of Caracalla and his brother Geta: two wolves went up to the Capitol, and one of them was killed in the Forum and the other outside the pomerium. In the next paragraph there is a detailed description of the murder of Geta (78[77].2) followed by brief quotations from the emperor’s speeches to the soldiers and the Senate (78[77].3), and a report of the persecution of Geta’s supporters and the dismissal of influential senators (78[77].4–5). According to the Excerpta Valesiana, Cassius Dio describes Caracalla as belonging to three races (78[77].6.1a): 32  Meckler 1999, 40, and Davenport 2012. See most recently Scott 2015. 33  Baharal 1994, 564, without reference to ‘most modern scholars.’ 34  Cf. Cass. Dio 78[77].22.1: καίτοι τὸν Ἀλέξανδρον ὑπεραγαπᾶν φάσκων (“the immense affection which he professed to cherish for Alexander”). For Caracalla’s imitatio Alexandri see in general Espinosa 1990 and Kühnen 2008. 35  For the route see Levick 1969, but note also the sceptism of Johnston 1983. See now Bérenger 2013, 358–359.

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ὅτι τρισὶν ἔθνεσιν ὁ Ἀντωνῖνος προσήκων ἦν, καὶ τῶν μὲν ἀγαθῶν αὐτῶν οὐδὲν τὸ παράπαν τὰ δὲ δὴ κακὰ πάντα συλλαβὼν ἐκτήσατο, τῆς μὲν Γαλατίας τὸ κοῦφον καὶ τὸ δειλὸν καὶ τὸ θρασύ, τῆς Ἀφρικῆς τὸ τραχὺ καὶ ἄγριον, τῆς Συρίας, ὅθεν πρὸς μητρὸς ἦν, τὸ πανοῦργον. He possessed none of their virtues at all, but combined in himself all their vices; the fickleness, cowardice, and recklessness of Gaul were his, the harshness and cruelty of Africa, and the craftiness of Syria, whence he was sprung on his mother’s side. Caracalla’s affection for gladiatorial and animal fights underlines his cruelty and is the last topic before the emperor’s obsession of Alexander the Great is the theme in Cassius Dio’s account. It is not Caracalla’s admiration of Alexander the Great in itself that is the real problem in Cassius Dio’s narrative as is clear from the passages concerning other emperors; it is the exaggerated and ridiculous way in which the young Roman emperor imitated the Macedonian king by not only using certain objects that were thought to have belonged to Alexander the Great, but also by calling Alexander ‘the Augustus of the East’ and proclaiming himself Alexander’s reincarnation. Cassius Dio emphasizes in his narrative the military aspects of this imitatio Alexandri by the so-called ‘Alexander’s phalanx’, equipped with old weapons. In the next paragraph, it is said that Caracalla was fascinated by the Macedonians. He even promoted a Macedonian officer Antigonus, son of Philip, and appointed him senator with the grade of ex-praetor simply because of these two names. This apparently bizarre promotion is, however, an example of how deliberately Cassius Dio presents Caracalla’s Alexander-mania. He omits Antigonus’ or rather Domitius Antigonus’ later career that underlines that he was not an ordinary Macedonian tribune. Domitius Antigonus first commanded the legio XXII Primigenia in Upper Germany around 220 CE and then legio V Macedonia in Dacia before he became consul suffectus and governor in Moesia Inferior during the reign of Maximinus Thrax (235–238 CE).36 The last episode recorded in the Roman History on the reign of Caracalla involves the Macedonian king more directly. According to Cassius Dio, a criminal called Alexander was tried by the emperor by appeal (78[77].8.3; cf. Kemezis 2014, 76–77): 36  Cass. Dio 78[77].8.1; IG 14.888 = IGRR 1.407; CIL 3.14429; AE 1964, no. 180; AE 1966, no. 262; AE 1985, no. 726. PIR2 A 736; Alföldy 1987, 361–367, with further references; most recently Davenport 2012, 809–810; Bowie 2014, 53, and Scott 2015, 168, but remark also Forte 1972, 475, taking Cassius Dio as face value: “Antigonus’ case proves that Rome could be the city of opportunity for the most obscure provincial.”

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ὁ κατηγορῶν αὐτοῦ ῥήτωρ συνεχῶς ἔλεγεν “ὁ μιαιφόνος Ἀλέξανδρος, ὁ θεοῖς ἐχθρὸς Ἀλέξανδρος”, ὠργίσθη τε ὡς καὶ αὐτὸς κακῶς ἀκούων, καὶ ἔφη “εἰ μὴ ἀρκέσει σοι ὁ Ἀλέξανδρος, ἀπολέλυσα”. . . . when the orator who was accusing him kept saying, ‘the bloodthirsty Alexander, the god-detested Alexander’, Antoninus became angry, as if he himself were being called these bad names, and said: “If you cannot be satisfied with plain ‘Alexander’, you may consider yourself dismissed.” The examples mentioned by Cassius Dio do not justify the assertion that “Caracalla’s imitation of Alexander was no superficial whim but the determining factor in his actions as emperor.”37 Caracalla was a much more complex ruler. In his historical narrative of Caracalla’s reign, Cassius Dio uses Alexander the Great not as a role model for the ideal ruler, but rather as a reflection in which the vices of the young emperor are reinforced. It is clearly demonstrated both in the last paragraph on the trial against the criminal Alexander and in Cassius Dio’s description of the massacre of the Alexandrians in 215 CE: “Now Antoninus, in spite of the immense affection which he professed to cherish for Alexander, all but utterly destroyed the whole population of Alexander’s city” (78[77].22.1).

The Pseudo-Alexander

Alexander the Great is not mentioned in the extant excerpts of the accounts of the reign of Alexander Severus, with whom in 229 CE Cassius Dio held his second, but ordinary consulship as colleague. He is the only Roman emperor with same name as the Macedonian king. The emperor was born as Gessius Alexianus Bassianus, but his name was changed to M. Aurelius Alexander Caesar in 221 CE, when he was adopted by his cousin, the emperor Elagabalus. The Historiae Augustae mentions the imitatio Alexandri of Alexander Severus,38 but Cassius Dio records that the change of the name at the adoption was closely connected with one of the more mysterious episodes in Roman History; this in turn raises several problems. Cassius Dio relates that a so-called daemon, δαίμων, appeared in Upper Moesia and claimed to be Alexander the Great. According to Cassius Dio’s 37  Millar 1993, 142. 38  See in general Rösger 1988; Bertrand-Dagenbach 1990, 76–87, with further references, and for the imitation of Alexander the Great see Blázquez 1990.

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detailed narrative (which is the only preserved source for this episode), the pseudo-Alexander travelled alongside four hundred Bacchantes without opposition, but with public support all the way into Asia Minor, where he suddenly disappeared after sacrificing near Chalcedon (80[79].18.1–3): ὀλίγον γὰρ τούτων τοῦτων πρότερον δαίμων τις Ἀλέξανδρός τε ὁ Μακεδὼν ἐκεῖνος εἶναι λέγων καὶ τὸ εἶδος αὐτοῦ τήν τε σκευὴν ἅπασαν φέρων, ὡρμήθη τε ἐκ τῶν περὶ τὸν Ἴστρον χωρίων, οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὅπως ἐκείνῃ ἐκφανείς, καὶ διά τε τῆς Μυσίας καὶ τῆς Θρᾴκης διεξῆλθε βακχεύων μετ᾽ ἀνδρῶν τετρακοσίων, θύρσους τε καὶ νεβρίδας ἐνεσκευασμένων, κακὸν οὐδὲν δρώντων. ὡμολόγητο δὲ παρὰ πάντων τῶν ἐν τῇ Θρᾴκῃ τότε γενομένων ὅτι καὶ καταγωγαὶ καὶ τὰ ἐπιτήδεια αὐτῷ πάντα δημοσίᾳ παρεσκευάσθη· καὶ οὐδεὶς ἐτόλμησεν οὔτ᾽ ἀντειπεῖν οἱ οὔτ᾽ ἀντᾶραι, οὐκ ἄρχων, οὐ στρατιώτης, οὐκ ἐπίτροπος, οὐχ οἱ τῶν ἐθνῶν ἡγούμενοι, ἀλλ᾽ ὥσπερ ἐν πομπῇ τινὶ μεθ᾽ ἡμέραν ἐκ προρρήσεως ἐκομίσθη μέχρι τοῦ Βυζαντίου. ἐντεῦθεν γὰρ ἐξαναχθεὶς προσέσχε μὲν τῇ Χαλκηδονίᾳ. γῇ, ἐκεῖ δὲ δὴ νυκτὸς ἱερά τινα ποιήσας καὶ ἵππον ξύλινον καταχώσας ἀφανὴς ἐγένετο. ταῦτα μὲν ἐν τῇ Ἀσίᾳ ἔτι, ὡς εἶπον, ὤν, πρὶν καὶ ὁτιοῦν περὶ τὸν Βασσιανὸν ἐν τῇ Ῥώμῃ γενέσθαι, ἔμαθον. For shortly before this time a spirit, claiming to be the famous Alexander of Macedon, and resembling him in looks and general appearance, set out from the regions along the Ister, after first appearing there in some manner or other, and travelled through Moesia and Thrace, conducting Bacchic rites with four hundred male attendants, who were equipped with thyrsi and faun skins and did no harm. It was admitted by all those who were in Thrace at the time that lodgings and all provisions for the spirit were donated at public expense, and none – whether magistrate, soldier, procurator, or the governors – dared to oppose the spirit either by word or by deed, but it proceeded in broad daylight, as if in a solemn procession, as far as Byzantium, as it had foretold. Then taking ship it landed in the territory of Chalcedon, and there, after performing some sacred rites by nights and making a wooden horse, it vanished. These facts I ascertained while still in Asia, as I have stated, and before anything had been done at all about Bassianus at Rome.39

39  Kühnen 2008, 40 and 187. For the different meanings of δαίμων in Cassius Dio see Puiggali 1984, who calls the episode ‘rocambolesque’ (879). For different dating of the affair see Millar 1964, 214: 221 CE; Syme 1971, 144: 220 CE, and Letta 1979, 129–130: 219 CE.

330

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Millar is one of few scholars to discuss this neglected passage. Millar argued that the pseudo-Alexander followed Caracalla’s route in 214 CE and concluded that “the pseudo-Alexander was in reality, so to speak, a pseudo-pseudoAlexander. He was imitating Caracalla imitating Alexander.”40 Many details in this incredible story can certainly only be understood in a contemporary religious and political context lost to modern readers, but it is important to notice that Cassius Dio explicitly connects the appearance of a pseudo-Alexander in the East with the adoption of Alexander Severus in Rome. The help that the daemon – being also a pseudo-Caracalla – apparently got from provincial civic and military authorities could indicate discontent that Elagabalus tried in vain to stop with the adoption of his cousin and his change of name to Alexander.41 But it is also important to notice that Cassius Dio claims that he had got his information when he himself was in Asia Minor. It is of course a narrative trick to strength his credibility, but dreams, prodigies and portents play an important role in the Roman History as this has to be taken seriously, if we want to understand Cassius Dio as an historian in his own right.42 Conclusions Two decades ago Jacob Isager suggested that “Cassius Dio reflects a rehabilitation of Alexander in the era of the Severi.”43 The analysis in this paper of the passages in which the Greek historian refers to the Macedonian king shows a muddier picture that perhaps best can be described as a double image.44 Alexander the Great is by no means a crucial figure in the preserved parts of the Roman History, in which he appears in fewer than twenty passages, and there is no hint of Greek nostalgia and no trace of an Alexander history. It seems that the Greek senatorial historian took it for granted that the figure or perhaps rather the myth of the Macedonian king was familiar to his readers. Alexander the Great is mentioned in connection with the last Macedonian king, Perseus, Caesar and five Roman emperors. Three of them visited the tomb of Alexander the Great in Alexandria and three led campaigns in the 40  Millar 1964, 215, but see also Zecchini 1988. 41  Zecchini 1988, 207. 42  Millar 1964, 179–181, but see also Gleason 2011, 43–46, on Cassius Dio’s first-person statements. It misses the point to use the episode on pseudo-Alexander to characterize Cassius Dio as “historien scrupuleux, mais par trop crédule”: Puiggali 1984, 883. 43  Isager 1993, 83. 44  Ceauşescu 1974; Carlsen 2014a.

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Near East against the Parthians in person. In almost all significant passages, Cassius Dio uses the Macedonian king to characterize different Roman emperors – good as well as bad – in an indirect way, and therefore we do not find a homogenous picture of Alexander the Great. He is the young world conqueror mentioned together with rulers such as Caesar, Augustus and Trajan, but functions as a magical mirror in connection with despotic emperors such as Caligula and especially Caracalla with his imitatio Alexandri and obsession with Macedonians, where the comparison is obvious. It is not a new conclusion that there existed a double image of Alexander the Great in Latin and Greek literature in the imperial period, but normally the Macedonian king is either the model of the world conqueror or the despotic tyrant.45 Cassius Dio seems, however, to have drafted his account of the history of Rome in such way that Alexander the Great appears an intermediary between Greek and Roman cultures and thus reflects the dual heritage of the Greek senatorial historian. 45  Ceau‚sescu 1974 and Isager 1993 with references.

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Index Achilles 326 Acilius, Marcus Glabrio 49 Actium 90, 96, 105, 108, 121, 123, 253, 269, 273 Adventus 311 Aelius Antipater 305, 314 Aelius Aristides 121, 302, 313 Aemilius, L. Paullus 318 Africa 34, 100, 136, 141, 158, 202, 327 Agamemnon 134–5 Agrippa 8, 25, 28, 42, 63, 106, 111, 127–9, 204–5, 207, 211–5, 217–8, 225, 233, 270, 272, 314, 320 Agrippina 110, 310 Alba Fucens 318 Albinus 4, 7, 13–4, 18, 154–5, 165–6, 167–70, 274 Alcibiades 248, 253 Alexander the Great 10, 107, 316–31 Alexander Severus 86, 117, 134, 136–7, 139, 141, 157, 183, 188, 257, 274, 277, 302, 314, 320, 328, 330 Alexandria 57, 62, 103–4, 123, 319, 323–4, 330 Ammianus Marcellinus 124–6, 132 Amyntas 69 Ancus Marcius 254 Antimachus 300 Antioch 55, 81, 225 Antiochus 308 Antoninus Pius 152, 163–4, 173, 185 Antonius, Lucius 57–9, 63–4, 66, 101, 104 Antonius Saturninus 293 Antony, Mark 20, 34, 48, 57, 60, 63, 66–9, 73–4, 76, 80, 101–6, 110, 112, 171, 201, 222–3, 225, 233, 239, 254, 262, 264–6, 268, 271, 275 Aphrodisias 80 Apollo 89, 111, 189 Apollonios, of Menophilos 80 Apollonius of Tyana 305 Appian 20–1, 23, 26, 34, 36–7, 40, 47, 49, 57–8, 62–4, 68, 102, 194, 211, 243, 255, 264 Ardashir 188 Ardea 119 Arenulus Rusticus 310 Ariovistus 39, 240–5, 247, 249–50

Aristotle 172 Armenia 35, 83–4, 90, 103, 105, 110 Arpinum 261 Arrian 10, 317 Artemis 89 Asia 5, 76–7, 79–91, 136, 148 Asia Minor 209, 326, 329–30 Asinius, Marcus Gallus 71, 271 Asinius Pollio 58, 61, 66 Assyria 183, 316 Athenaeus 287, 305 Atilius, Aulus Calatinus 27 Attika 80 Augustus 1–2, 4–6, 8, 10, 13–4, 21–2, 25, 41, 43, 46, 48, 51, 53, 60–3, 69, 72–4, 77, 79–83, 85–91, 95, 103, 105–6, 110–4, 118, 122, 128–9, 133, 143–4, 146–9, 150–1, 153, 155–6, 160, 166, 169–73, 180–2, 187–9, 194, 196, 203–8, 211–4, 217, 220–1, 223–35, 227, 229, 232–3, 236–7, 254–6, 265, 270, 278, 283, 297, 300, 306–7, 309, 318–21, 323–5, 327, 331 Aurelius Zoticus 177–8, 184 Avidius, Gaius Cassius 229–30 Babylon 322–3 Balbus, Lucius Cornelius 119 Bauli 107 Bithynia 49, 76–7, 79, 81–6, 88, 90–1, 117, 133–4, 136, 140, 148, 303, 305, 314, 317 Boudicca 232, 264, 302 Britain 108–9, 165, 169, 202 Brundisium 39, 209 Bulla Felix 302 Burrus, Sextus Afranius 189, 308, 310, 314 Byzantium 135, 329 Caesar, Gaius Iulius 5, 8–10, 13, 16–26, 28–9, 35–7, 39–40, 44–5, 47, 49–57, 63–5, 67–9, 72–4, 76, 82, 90, 92–3, 98, 100–3, 105–6, 109, 113, 121, 127, 129–30, 144–5, 147, 155, 165–6, 195–6, 199–203, 205, 209–12, 214, 223, 225, 233–4, 238–54, 256–8, 262–3, 265–6, 284, 313, 318–9, 323, 330–1

360 Caligula 10, 88, 106–9, 148–9, 276, 295–6, 306, 308, 310, 321–3, 331 Calpurnius, Gn. Piso 271 Calpurnius, L. Piso 264 Calpurnius, M. Bibulus 144 Campania 133–4 Cannutius, Tiberius 59, 61 Cappadocia 83, 90 Capri 123 Capua 112, 117, 123, 133, 137, 158 Caracalla 10, 15, 17, 88, 90, 119, 127, 129, 136, 139, 141, 154, 156–8, 164, 167, 170, 172, 180–1, 183–5, 187–8, 274, 276, 296, 303, 305–6, 308, 311, 314, 316, 324–8, 327, 330–1 Carbo, Gnaeus Papirius 24, 31 Caria 183 Carthage 142, 254–5 Cassius Dio passim Cassius, Gaius Longinus 5, 52, 67–8, 72–3, 75, 101–2, 275, 320 Catilina, Lucius Sergius 24, 207 Cato, Marcus Porcius 145, 309 Cato (the younger), Marcus Porcius Uticensis  9, 233–4, 238, 253–4, 259, 261–3, 266, 272–3 Cestius, Lucius Pius 231–2 Chalcedon 329 Cicero, Marcus Tullius 9, 17, 23–4, 35, 37–8, 43, 45, 49–50, 67, 73, 101, 120, 145, 180, 199–200, 203, 209–10, 214, 231–3, 237–9, 248, 253–4, 257, 259, 261–9, 271, 275, 292, 302, 305 Cilicia 33, 49, 303 Claudius (emperor) 78, 103, 109, 148–9, 178–9, 305–7, 309 Claudius, Appius Pulcher 98 Claudius, Marcus Marcellus 101 Claudius Pompeianus 133 Claudius, Tiberius Nero 61 Claudius, Tiberius Patrobius 81 Cleon 248, 253, 257 Cleopatra 66, 76, 103–5, 129, 319 Clodius, Lucius Pulcher 24 Clodius, P. Thrasea Paetus 272 Commodus 13–5, 74, 88, 119, 133, 140–1, 143, 152–3, 155, 157, 163–4, 166–7, 169–70, 175–6, 179–80, 182–7, 257, 273–4, 276, 296, 306, 308, 311

Index Constantine Porphyogennetos 278 Constantinople 135 Constantius II 107, 124–5, 132 Corfu 3 Cornelius, Cossus Lentulus 71 Cornelius, Gaius 54–6 Cornelius, Lucius Cinna 18–9, 24, 198, 210 Cornelius, Lucius Lentulus 254, 256 Crassus, Marcus Licinius 36, 244, 249, 316 Cremutius Cordus, Aulus 5, 51–2, 60–1, 66–8, 71–5 Crete 29, 33, 49 Cyzicus 181 Dalmatia 117, 136, 303 Darius III 316, 324 Decebalus 279–81 Decimus Brutus 63, 101–2, 113 Deiotarus 69 Delphi 82 Democritus 173, 260 Demosthenes 29, 193, 200, 209, 299 Didius Julianus 272–3, 160, 306 Diegis 280–1 Dio Cassius passim Dio Chrysostom 79, 86, 153, 311–3 Diognetus 270 Dionysius of Halicarnassus 7, 29, 31, 120 Dionysus 54, 325 Divus Iulius 60, 73, 76–7, 81, 86, 88–9, 91 Domitian 9, 105–6, 137, 151–2, 157, 163, 276–96, 305–6, 308, 310–1 Domitius Ahenobarbus, Lucius 23, 104 Domitius Antigonus 327 Domitius Calvinus 47 Drusus 106, 233 Egypt 105, 324 Elagabal 90, 177–8, 180–1, 185–6 Elagabalus 7, 73, 88, 90, 136, 139, 157, 175, 177, 179–90, 257, 274–6, 306, 308, 328, 330 Ephesus 76–7, 79, 86, 89 Euphrates 110, 316, 323 Eutropius 243 Evander 121, 131 Fabius, Quintus Maximus 47, 63–4, 93, 234, 256

361

Index Flaminius, Gaius Nepos 98, 111 Fregellae 112 Frontinus 243 Fronto 314 Fufius, Quintus Calenus 231–3, 239, 253, 263–9 Fulvia 104 Furius Camillus 92, 94–7, 100, 119–20, 135 Furius Philus 98 Gabinius, Aulus 5, 33, 35, 37–9, 42–3, 46–50, 144, 196, 208, 214, 225, 254 Galatia 82–4, 90 Galba 159, 182 Gallus 288 Gaugamela 316 Gaul 54, 58, 109, 119, 132, 148, 165, 173, 195, 199, 202, 240–2, 249, 251, 256, 327 Gellius, Aulus 15 Germania 108 Germanicus 321 Geta 113, 156–7, 305, 326 Greece 76, 111, 189 Hadrian 151–3, 163–4, 173, 185, 270–1, 299–300, 306–7, 309 Hannibal 15, 142, 232, 309 Hector 134–5, 301 Helvidius Priscus 150, 271, 311 Herculaneum 270 Hercules 111, 129, 131, 186–7, 189, 318–20 Herodes Atticus 302 Herodian 17, 113, 163, 167, 169–70, 174, 177–9, 274 Herodotus 79, 173, 208, 299 Herrenius Senecio 310 Hierocles 177–9, 183–4 Hirtius, Aulus 62, 65 Homer 299–301, 312 Horatius 285 Horatius Barbatus 97 Illyria 103 Italy 29, 54, 101, 105, 117–8, 133, 144, 148, 158, 172–3, 200–1, 304 Janiculum 119 Janus 76

Jerusalem 66, 180 John Tzetzes 6, 94–6, 103 Juba 74, 100 Jugurtha 198 Julia Domna 139, 161, 170, 184, 274, 305, 314 Julius Obsequens 68 Julius Patroeinus 84 Julius Severus 84 Julius Vindex 182 Junius, Marcus Brutus 5, 52, 67–70, 72–3, 75, 102, 224, 269, 275, 320 Juno 59, 61 Jupiter 103, 107, 119, 125, 127, 131, 285 Justinian 179 Lentulus, Gnaeus Cornelius Gaetulicus 108 Lepidus, Marcus Aemilius (the Older) 24 Lepidus, Marcus Aemilius (triumvir) 20, 61, 64, 101–2, 104, 171, 222–3, 320 Libanius 225 Licinius, Gaius Mucianus 112 Licinius, Lucius Lucullus 145 Livia 232–3, 302, 313 Livy 5, 35, 51–3, 55–8, 61–2, 66, 68–9, 75, 92, 96–7, 99, 118–9, 121–3, 133, 174, 208, 220, 230, 243, 310, 321 Lucan 52 Lucian 123, 224, 229, 273, 299, 301 Lusitania 195 Lutatius, Quintus Catulus 5, 8, 26–9, 37–8, 42–50, 95, 99, 127, 171, 195–203, 207–9, 214–5, 225, 273 Macedonia 102, 142, 172 Macrinus 136, 172, 175, 181–3, 188 Maecenas 7, 24–5, 119, 127, 138, 182, 184, 187, 189–90, 204–7, 211–5, 217–8, 222, 224, 233, 270, 272, 283, 297, 300, 302–3, 309, 313–4, 320 Maesa 181, 183–4 Manilius, Gius 43, 49, 145 Manlius, Marcus Capitolinus 122 Marcia 72 Marcius, Lucius Censorinus 64–6 Marcius, Quintus Rex 49 Macrinus 136, 175, 181–3, 188, 306, 311, 315

362 Marcus Aurelius 18, 148, 152–5, 157, 163–6, 168, 173, 180–2, 187, 229, 270, 306, 310–1, 319, 321, 323, 328 Marius, Gaius 4, 13–20, 22, 24–6, 28, 31–2, 40, 64, 99, 155, 166, 169–72, 197–9, 201–3, 205, 208, 210, 215, 253 Marius, Gaius (the Younger) 31 Martial 277–8, 280–2, 284–6 Maternus 310 Mauretania 109 Maximinus Thrax 327 Mesopotamia 188, 322 Messina 64 Metellus, Caecilius Creticus 99 Metellus, Quintus Caecilius 25, 41, 49, 209 Militus 80, 82, 87–9 Minerva (Deity) 69 Mithridates VI (king of Pontus) 35, 39, 145, 202 Modena 44 Moesia 327–9 Mummius, Lucius Achaicus 111 Munda 44, 47, 93, 100, 252 Musonius Rufus 269, 272 Mutina 63, 101–2 Neptune 107 Nero 7, 78–9, 82, 103, 110–2, 119, 123, 148–9, 157, 189, 276, 287, 291, 295–6, 306, 308, 310–1, 315 Nerva 143, 151, 153, 163, 304, 306–7 Nicaea 76–7, 79, 82, 86, 135, 140, 158, 317 Nicete 315 Nicomedia 77, 79, 86, 181 Nigrinus 301 Nikephoros Phokas 29–30 Ninus 316 Noricum 172 Numa 131 Numidia 198 Nursia 62 Octavia 92 Octavian (Young Caesar) 20, 40, 57, 59–63, 66–9, 90, 101–4, 106, 110–1, 113, 141, 143, 147, 171–2, 203, 239, 319 Orosius 243 Ostia 117, 167

Index Otho 19, 22, 159, 288 Ovid 120 Pannonia 117, 132–3, 137, 141, 158 Pansa, Gaius Vibius 62 Parthia 103, 122 Patavium 53–6, 66 Pedius, Quintus 47, 63–4, 93 Pergamum 54–5, 76–7, 79–80, 82–3, 86, 136 Pericles 233, 248, 253 Perperna, Marcus Vento 99 Perseus 10, 318, 323, 330 Pertinax 14, 18, 152–3, 175, 185, 188, 215, 287, 306–7, 310, 315 Perusia 5, 52, 57–63 Pescennius Niger 86, 136, 154, 271, 324 Petronius 289 Pharsalus 5, 8, 29, 52–3, 55–6, 74, 113, 201–3, 208, 215, 252 Philippi 52, 67–9, 234, 247, 258–9, 269, 275 Philiscus 248, 263, 300, 302, 305 Philistes 81 Philostratus 275, 304–5, 313, 315 Philp II 29, 318 Placentia 196, 239, 254 Plato 299–300, 312 Plautianus 156, 184 Pliny the Elder 110 Pliny the Younger 120, 137, 140, 280, 282, 286, 291–2, 304 Plutarch 10, 15, 19, 23, 27, 29–30, 34–8, 40, 49, 55–6, 95, 97–8, 103–4, 153, 211, 243, 245, 261–2 Polemo 302 Pollenius Auspex 182, 274 Polybius 105, 123, 142, 260, 262 Pompeius Magnus 5, 8, 13, 19, 21–2, 24–5, 27, 34–44, 46–50, 52, 54–7, 64, 71, 74, 79, 99–101, 103, 110, 119, 121, 125, 127, 129, 144–5, 147, 155, 166, 171, 180, 196, 200–3, 205, 207–10, 214–5, 244, 249, 254, 261–2 Pompeius, Sextus 64, 101–4 Pompeius Strabo 24 Pomponius, Titus Atticus 200 Pontus et Bithynia (province) 77, 85, 90 Puteoli 107

363

Index Priene 81–2 Procopius 179, 188 Propertius 58 Prusias ad Hypium 82 Ptolemy 55, 319 Quintilian 230–1 Ravenna 119 Rhascyporis 69 Roma, Dea 76–7, 81, 86, 88–9 Rome 1–2, 6, 40, 56, 95, 103, 107–9, 117–20, 122–30, 130–1, 133–47, 149–50, 152–6, 158–60, 162–3, 165–7, 169, 171, 173–5, 177–8, 180, 183, 186–8, 190, 198, 201, 205–6, 211, 217, 237, 240, 254–5, 257–8, 260, 269, 272, 275, 281–2, 286, 290, 292, 296, 300–1, 305, 307 Romulus 97, 131, 142, 307–8, 319–20 Sallust 23 Salvidienus Rufus 64 Sardanapalus 177, 181–3, 188 Sardis 82 Scribonius, Gaius Curio 74 Scipio Africanus 33–4, 45, 309 Sejanus 71–2 Sempronius, Gaius Gracchus 23, 142–3 Seneca 120, 148, 178–9, 189, 231, 308, 310, 313–4 Septimius Severus 4–7, 13–8, 20, 22, 31, 57, 86, 113, 117, 125–8, 130, 136, 139–41, 143, 154–73, 176, 180–2, 188, 216, 235–6, 257, 271, 274, 296, 302, 305–6, 308, 310, 314–5, 320–1, 323–4 Sertorius, Quintus 99, 202 Servius Tullius 131 Smyrna 81, 86, 89, 136, 231, 305 Sosius Falco 133 Sosius, Gaius 66, 104 Spain 33–4, 36, 45, 47, 89, 99, 172–3, 202, 318 Statilius Taurus 131 Statius 277, 279–80, 282, 286–8 Strabo 210 Suetonius 14, 19, 60–1, 89, 108–9, 111–2, 127, 148, 195, 199–200, 243, 264, 271, 283–4, 287, 291–2, 318, 321

Sulla 4–5, 13–6, 18–32, 40, 42, 48, 99, 101, 145, 155, 166, 169–72, 198–9, 201–3, 205, 208–10, 215, 336 Syria 54, 83, 90, 102, 188, 323, 327 Tacitus 19, 23, 89, 112, 118–20, 121–3, 130–1, 133, 137, 147–9, 179, 207–8, 221, 223, 233, 257, 260–1, 271, 273, 276–7, 281–2, 286, 291, 294 Tarquinius Superbus 174 Teuta 263 Thapsus 16–7, 45, 50, 141, 239 Theodosius Diaconus 29–30 Thessalonica 74 Thrace 329 Thucydides 3, 7, 57, 97, 175, 193, 208–9, 221, 233–5, 237, 248, 252–3, 257, 273, 299, 317 Tiber 120 Tiberius 21–2, 41, 71, 89, 106, 123, 128, 142, 146, 148–9, 214, 225, 233, 237, 257, 270–1, 288, 306–7, 313, 319–20 Tigranes II 35, 103, 145 Tigris 316 Tiridates 110, 126 Titus 112, 143, 150–1, 157, 291, 306 Titus Laricus 29 Tomis 90 Trajan 10, 100, 119, 125, 128, 132–3, 140, 151–3, 163–4, 173, 281, 291–2, 304, 306–7, 309, 312, 316, 322–3, 331 Tralles 54–5 Trimalchio 289 Troy 67, 134–5, 326 Ulpian 188 Utica 262, 266 Valerius Falto 95 Valerius Maximus 94, 96, 112 Valerius Poplicola 97 Varro, Marcus Terentius 97 Veii 92, 119 Velleius Paterculus 34, 43, 243 Ventidius, Publius Bassus 48, 63 Venus 119, 129 Vergil 87, 120 Vesontio 196, 240–5, 256

364 Vespasian 112, 128, 143, 149–51, 156, 159, 271, 306–7, 309 Vesuvius 123, 305 Vetustas 285 Vitellius 159, 291 Vitruvius 127

Index Xiphilinus 14, 16, 71, 99, 108, 110, 130, 132, 260, 265, 298, 323 Zeugma 316 Zeus 134, 301 Zonaras 6, 27–8, 92, 94–8, 103, 113–4, 278, 298, 318