2

Plutarch and Catiline

Plutarch came to the story of Catiline four times. His first account was also his fullest, the lavish treatment of Cicero (10–23). Some time later, he returned to the subject when he was preparing – if the argument of ch. 1 is correct, preparing simultaneously – a whole series of Lives of the period, and included treatments in Caesar (7–8), Cato Minor (22–4), and Crassus (13).

This should give us a useful glimpse of Plutarch’s technique. He considered some items relevant for one Life, others for the next: what criteria did he adopt for his selection? Did he simply choose the items most relevant to each of his successive heroes? Or those which presented each of them in the most favourable light? If he included the same material in different Lives, how did he vary his treatment? And what sort of points did he wish to make about each subject – does each hero receive a similar type of treatment, or do Plutarch’s biographical interests vary from one Life to the next? Questions such as these will occupy the second half of this chapter. First, we might try to gain further insight into his method of working. There are close verbal similarities among the four accounts: how are these to be explained? Perhaps Plutarch always went back to the same single source, and exploited this anew for each Life. Perhaps he simply re-used the items already included in his first account in Cicero, selecting what was relevant for each new subject. Perhaps he filled out the Cicero material from the other sources which he must have consulted for the later group of Lives. Or perhaps he made full notes in the first instance, which he could later exploit in a variety of ways.

I. Method of work

(a) The sources of the version in Cicero

This is a weary subject.¹ Sadly, we cannot ignore it. ‘It is universally accepted that the part of Plutarch’s biography devoted to Cicero’s consulship (10–23) clearly forms a single unit, and, apart from occasional insertions, must be drawn from one source.’ So wrote Lendle in 1967.² The arguments adduced for this view are not, in fact, particularly strong. Of course, this part of Cicero is unified enough, and presents a coherent picture of Cicero himself; but Plutarch would not be much of a biographer if he could not produce such a unified portrait himself, however many sources he used.³ Of course, Plutarch is warm in his appreciation of Cicero in these chapters – warmer, perhaps, than later in the Life;⁴ but that need not suggest a different source, for Plutarch himself might reasonably decide that Cicero deserved more praise for his consulship than for his later career. Lendle’s formulation may still be close to the truth, but qualifications may be needed: in particular, different parts of the Cicero account may show a rather different texture; and the number of ‘occasional insertions’– that is, additions made by Plutarch and drawn from different sources – may be greater than is normally thought.

It will be useful to divide the Cicero narrative into three sections: chs. 10–11, on the background of the conspiracy; chs. 12–20, the meat of the narrative; 20.4–23.6, the final debate and its sequel. The second of these sections is marked by its extreme closeness to the account of Cassius Dio (37.25–35). Both Plutarch and Dio naturally impose their own emphases and organization,⁵ but the underlying similarities are unmistakable. The balance of the treatment, the choice of the material, the sequence and articulation of the narrative – all are far too close to be coincidental.⁶ It is clear that both authors ultimately derive from a common source, whether or not they knew it directly. That source is very likely to be Cicero’s own ‘On his consulship’ (περὶ ὑπατείας), the commentarium consulatus mei graece compositum (‘memoir of my consulship written in Greek’) mentioned at Att. 1.19(19).10.⁷ Some of the items included by Plutarch and Dio are explicitly attested for that work,⁸ and the whole narrative is tellingly sympathetic to Cicero.⁹ As we shall see later, Plutarch seems to have known the περὶ ὑπατείας at first hand, and he presumably took over his narrative structure directly from that reading.¹⁰ There may well be a few ‘occasional insertions’ from Plutarch’s other reading and general knowledge – the detail on Lentulus in ch. 17, for instance;¹¹ but in this section such ‘insertions’ are, it seems, fairly limited.

The introduction to the conspiracy (chs. 10–11) seems rather different. Here too some of the material may come from the περὶ ὑπατείας: the account of Catiline’s youthful outrages, perhaps (10.3–4) – though it is difficult to be sure.¹² Other elements are harder to assign to this source. Plutarch antedates the conspiracy to the year 64, and uses it to explain the aristocratic support for Cicero’s election campaign (10.1; 11.2–3). It is possible that the περὶ ὑπατείας did the same, but it is not very likely: Cicero himself would hardly have felt that the enthusiasm for his election required that sort of explanation.¹³ These chapters in fact seem to show traces of a different source, one influenced by Sallust’s Bellum Catilinae. Sallust, like Plutarch, antedates the conspiracy, and thus explains Cicero’s election (BC 23.5–24.1). Plutarch criticizes those who ‘wished to stir up a revolution’ ἰδίων ἔνεκα πλεονεξι ω̑ν, οὐ πρὸς τὸ βέλτιστον (‘for the sake of their own greed, not for the best ends’, 10.2): his strong words are redolent of Sallust’s famous remark of BC 38.3 – bonum publicum simulantes pro sua quisque potentia certabant, ‘they pretended it was for the common good; in fact each was struggling to advance his own power’ – and are slightly odd in their Plutarchan context. Plutarch stresses the significance of Pompey’s absence in words very close to the phraseology of Sallust (Cic. 10.2; cf. Sall. BC 16.5). There is little trace of Sallust in Plutarch’s subsequent narrative: it does seem likely that these first two chapters are influenced by a different source.

The end of the account (20.4–23.6) is equally unlikely to be drawn solely from the περὶ ὑπατείας. It is not perhaps very significant that Plutarch misrepresents the terms of Caesar’s proposal, making him suggest temporary rather than permanent imprisonment (21.1).¹⁴ That seems simply to be his own misunderstanding of an accurate source.¹⁵ But 20.4–6, where Plutarch discusses the possible complicity of Caesar, is harder to explain: it is very difficult to believe that that delicate theme was treated in the περὶ ὑπατείας.¹⁶ Cicero’s own speech in the senate is described unsympathetically (21.2–3), and his role in the debate is really very small: one would have expected the περί ύπατείας to show much more of the amour propre revealed in Cicero’s correspondence (Att. 12.21(260).1). And the περὶ ὑπατείας would hardly have preserved the propaganda of the tribunes, proclaiming that they were eager to recall Pompey ‘so that he could destroy Cicero’s tyranny’ (23.4). Yet a great deal remains which can perfectly well derive from the περὶ ὑπατείας: the entire ch. 22 is gushful in its enthusiasm for Cicero, and Plutarch is careful to stress Cicero’s popularity when he lays down his consulate.¹⁷ It is natural to infer that two sources are here combined by Plutarch. One is the περὶ ὑπατείας; the other is harder to identify, and guesswork is profitless. One small clue might be the enthusiastic treatment which this second source apparently afforded to the role of Cato (cf. 21.4, 23.5–6). ‘Catonian’ literature – biographies, pamphlets, speeches, and more – was of course ubiquitous in the early Empire, and was doubtless familiar to Plutarch;¹⁸ but equally enthusiasm for Cato soon infiltrated the main stream of historical tradition, and (for instance) Livy might be the second source here. It does not matter much.

It seems, then, that Plutarch’s account does not simply derive from the περὶ ὑπατείας: most of his material can still come from that work, but – particularly at the beginning and end of the account – the material has been supplemented and corrected from other sources.

In this particular case, we can be reasonably sure that it is Plutarch himself who has done this supplementation and correction: the alternative possibility, that the various sources were combined by some intermediate source whom Plutarch then closely copied, is really much less likely.¹⁹ For, although Plutarch does not quote the περὶ ὑπατείας explicitly in the Cicero version, he does so twice in the later Lives, and those passages clearly imply that he knew the work at first hand. The first passage is Crass. 13.3–4: Plutarch quotes ‘a certain work’²⁰ of Cicero which accused Crassus and Caesar of complicity in the plot, but points out that this work was published after both men were dead: ‘but in the περὶ ὑπατείας Cicero says that Crassus came to him at night, bringing a letter...’ – and he goes on to give an account tellingly similar to the one he had earlier given at Cic. 15. The second of the passages is Caes. 8.3–4, where he reports a tale that Caesar was threatened by ‘many of the youths who formed Cicero’s bodyguard’ as he left the senate, but Cicero shook his head to stop them from attacking. ‘If this was true,’ he goes on, ‘I do not know why Cicero did not mention it in the περὶ ὑπατείας. He was later criticized for losing an extraordinarily good opportunity for attacking Caesar...’ If we take those passages at face value, their implication is evident: Plutarch is familiar with the content of the περὶ ὑπατείας, knowing both what it contained and what it omitted, and is confident enough to exploit his knowledge in historical argument. That is entirely credible. What is difficult to accept is the alternative, sceptical view – that Plutarch simply lifted the two references to the περὶ ὑπατείας from an intermediate source, and did not know the work at first hand. For, if he took over the references in this way, we must assume that he also took over the entire historical arguments to which the references contribute. (Why, after all, should any author have commented that ‘the story is omitted in the περὶ ὑπατείας’ unless he was discussing the historicity of that story?) Yet those arguments do not look as if Plutarch has simply stolen them from a source. Indeed, they are precisely the sorts of argument that Plutarch himself produces elsewhere. There is the characteristic use of wide reading, the shrewd sense of the distortions which bias can produce, the facility in deploying one version against another – and at the same time a certain naiveté in political judgement, an excessive taste for the argumentum ex silentio, and a wooliness of logical argument.²¹ That is particularly clear in the second passage, the one from Caesar: the omission of the incident from the περὶ ὑπατείας should not have surprised him. Indeed, ‘it is exactly the sort of incident which Cicero might be expected to omit’²² – for the very reasons which Plutarch goes on to discuss. Cicero, criticized for letting Caesar escape scot-free, would have no wish to remind contemporaries of the incident. This does sound very much like Plutarch himself.

When we talk of Plutarch’s sources, we should remember that he doubtless used different sources in different ways: sometimes he would have an authority before his eyes as he composed, sometimes he would rely on his memory of a work which he had read at a preliminary stage.²³ The dominant role of the περί ύπατείας in most of this account might suggest that this, and this alone, was open in front of him as he composed his own draft. He will have read his other sources during his earlier preparation: it would not be surprising if he now relied on his memory of their content and used them to supplement the περὶ ὑπατείας in various ways. Some of these supplements could be quite extensive, as we have seen: others might be more trivial and fleeting. Consider, for instance, Plutarch’s digression on Lentulus (Cic. 17). Cicero himself would hardly have conveyed all the stray antiquarian knowledge of that chapter; yet this was Lentulus’ one important excursion into Roman history, and Plutarch must have derived most of his information from his general reading for the conspiracy.²⁴ He remembered it, and he exploited it. A few chapters later, Plutarch came to the story of the Bona Dea. He again included some digressions – one item on the festival itself, one on Terentia’s interest in politics, one on Cicero’s trust in P. Nigidius. It is possible that the περὶ ὑπατείας included at least some of this material: ‘Cicero himself’ is quoted for the Terentia item. But it is likely that at least some of it comes from Plutarch’s earlier, wider reading.

When preparing Cicero, then, Plutarch seems to have proceeded as follows. He first read a number of sources: guided by this preliminary reading, he decided to base most – but not all – of his account on the περὶ ὑπατείας; he also noted the particular areas where the περὶ ὑπατείας would require addition and correction. He then composed: very probably, the περί ύπατείας alone would be open before his eyes as he dictated or wrote, but he would remember enough from his earlier reading to revise or supplement that account when it was necessary. One final point: it is very unlikely that, as he stood with the scroll of περὶ ὑπατείας in his hands, Plutarch proceeded immediately to write his final version. The normal practice was to write a ὑπóμνημα, a businesslike ‘draft’ of the final version, containing the factual material but lacking the essential artistic finish.²⁵ Plutarch presumably did the same: he first dictated the ὑπóμνημα, and then rewrote it, devoting a whole separate stage to the stylistic and literary refinement which mattered so much.

(b) The later Lives

What did Plutarch do, when he came back to the same subject in his later Lives? Did he laboriously start from scratch, going back to the original sources and repeating the whole process? Did he simply base his account on Cicero, rearranging the items he had already amassed? Did he combine his old material with some new additions, gleanings from his more recent reading? Or perhaps the four accounts were compiled quite independently, with Plutarch turning to new sources for each new Life?

The last possibility may immediately be excluded, for the four accounts are strikingly similar in their language and their narrative articulation. This is clearest in their versions of the final debate: a few examples will be enough.

Caesar has just made his moderate proposal. Cic. (21.2) goes on: οὕσης δὲ τη̑ς γνώμης ἐπιεικου̑ς καὶ του̑ λὲγοντος εἰπει̑ν δυνατωτατου... (‘the proposal seeming a reasonable one, and the speaker being most eloquent...’). At the same point, Caes. (8.1) has: οὕτω δὲ τη̑ς γνώμης φιλανθρώπου φανείσης καὶ του̑ λόγου δυνατω̑ς ἐπ’ αὐτη̑ ῥηθέντος... (‘the proposal having struck the senate as humane, and the speech having been powerfully delivered...’). Caesar’s speech has a great impact, ὥστε (as Cic. 21.3 puts it) καὶ τὸν Σιλανὸν αυ̑θις μεταβαλὸμενον παραιτει̑σθαι καί λέγειν, ώς οὐδ’ αὐτὸς εἴποι θανατυκὴν γνώμην ἐσχατην γὰρ ἀνδρὶ βουλευτῃ̑ ‘Pωμαίων είναι δίκην τὸ δεσμωτήριον (‘so that Silanus too changed his view, excused himself, and said that not even he had meant to suggest execution: for the “ultimate penalty” for a Roman senator was prison’). Compare the language of Cato Minor (22.6): ὥστε καί Σιλενὸν ἒξαρναι ει̑ναι καί λέγειν ὡς οὐδ’ αὐτός εἲποι θὰνατον, ὰλλ’ εἰργμόν ἒσχατον γὰρ ἀνδρὶ ‘pωμαίῳ του̑το κακω̑ν ἁπάντων. (‘so that Silanus too denied what he had implied, and said that he too had not meant death but imprisonment: for this was the ultimate evil of all for a Roman’). Cato himself soon stops the flood of support for Caesar, and attacks Caesar personally – καί τῳ̑ λόγῳ σφοδρῳ̑ς συνεπερείσας ὲπὶ τὸν Kαίσαρα τὴν ὐπὸνοαιν (‘in his speech he pressed home vehemently the suspicions against Caesar’), as Cic. 21.4 puts it: compare Caes. 8.2, Kατωνος δὲ καί τὴν ὐπόνοιαν ἂμα τῳ̑ λόγῳ συνεπερείσαντος αὐτῳ̑ καί συγκατεξαναστάντος²⁶ ερρωμὲνως (‘as he spoke Cato pressed home the suspicion vehemently against him, and joined in confronting him vigorously’: cf. also Cato 23.1).

To bring Crassus into the analysis, we have to go back earlier. The story of Crassus’ night-time visit to Cicero is very similar in Cicero and in Crassus, and the same impression recurs. Plutarch is too good an artist to repeat his exact words, but he often comes very near to it. It is not just the close verbal parallels; it is the organization and articulation of the whole narrative. These accounts could not have been written independently.

Yet Plutarch did not simply re-read Cicero, and choose his material from the items he had there exploited. It will be helpful to list the new items which the later versions include:

Caesar

1.Piso and Catulus criticize Cicero for not taking the opportunity to implicate Caesar (7.5): cf. 8.4, the general ‘blame’ which Cicero incurred. The Cicero account discussed Cicero’s reasons for not assailing Caesar (20.6–7), but there was no suggestion that Cicero had been criticized for this, and certainly no hint of the agitation of Piso and Catulus.

2.The arguments used in Caesar’s speech: it would not be right to execute men of such dignity and high birth without a trial; if they were imprisoned until the crisis was over, the senate would be able to take its decision with calmness and reflection (7.8–9). Hints of these arguments recur in Cato (22.5).

3.Cicero’s youths threaten Caesar; Curio protects him, and Cicero shakes his head to deter them (8.3–4).

4.Caesar speaks in his defence in the senate: there are popular demonstrations in his favour (8.5).

5.Cato’s corn-dole (8.6–7).

Crassus

6.Crassus denounced by ‘a certain person’ (13.3).

7.Cicero accused Crassus and Caesar of complicity in ‘a certain work’ published after their death (13.4). (This was presumably his ‘Theopompean’ de consiliis, mentioned at Att. 2.6(26).2 and 14.17(371).6: cf. Dio 39.10.3).²⁷

Cato

8.The arguments used by Cato (23.1–2).

9.Cato’s speech is said to survive because it was taken down by stenographers (23.3–4).

10. Servilia’s letter (24.1–3) – a tale told also in Brut. (5.2–4). While Cato was speaking, a message was brought to Caesar. Cato was suspicious, and challenged Caesar to read it aloud. Caesar silently passed it to Cato: it was a love-letter from Cato’s own sister, Servilia. Cato angrily hurled it back at Caesar.

Not all this material need be taken from a source. Plutarch is quite capable of composing the speeches of Caesar and Cato from his imagination, and indeed there is some indication that this is what he has done.²⁸ But most of the items must come from somewhere. There are several which Plutarch had probably discovered in his recent reading, and had not known at the time when he was writing Cicero.²⁹ He would probably have included the tale of the stenographers in Cicero, had he known it then: it was exactly the antiquarian item to catch his interest. It is hard, too, to believe that he would have neglected the de consiliis story in the context of Cic. 20.6–7, when he was discussing Caesar’s complicity: he would have revelled in the erudite allusion to Cicero’s own works (cf. 20.3).³⁰ Again, the role of Piso and Catulus was probably mentioned by one of Plutarch’s sources for Caesar. Plutarch has just told the tale of Caesar’s election as pontifex maximus (Caes. 7.1–4). His source for that story might very well have concluded by remarking on Catulus’ resentment, that resentment which now became apparent. And, finally, the story of Servilia’s letter may well have come from the special reading – biographies, pamphlets, and memoirs – which Plutarch undertook for Cato and Brutus.³¹

But a few cases remain: items which show a telling similarity to the material included in Cicero, items which he knew, but omitted, when writing the earlier Life. One very probable case is Caes. 8.3–4, the youths’ attack on Caesar and Curio’s timely move to protect him. The story is known to Suetonius (Div. Iul. 14.2); that part of Suetonius’ account is very similar to Plutarch’s account in Cicero, and surely derives from a source which Plutarch knew at that stage.³² The same is likely to be true of several of the other items. The Cicero is well-informed on the senatorial sessions which followed the conspirators’ execution (23–4), and Plutarch may well already have known of the session when Caesar delivered his apologia (Caes. 8.5): it was not very relevant for his purposes in Cicero, and he might very reasonably choose to omit it. Again, the ‘Catonian’ nature of some of the Cicero account has already been observed. Plutarch’s source there evidently stressed Cato’s statesmanship in quelling the ills of the city (Cic. 23.5–6, especially the emphasis on Cato’s activity as a boon ‘both for Cicero and for the whole city’, καὶ πάσῃ τῃ̑ πὸλει...). It would be odd if that source omitted Cato’s corn-dole (Caes. 8.6–7). Compare Cato 26: it is very similar in its enthusiasm to both the Cicero and the Caesar passages, and it treats the corn-dole and the proposal to recall Pompey (cf. Cic. 23.4) in close connection. It is very likely indeed that Plutarch knew of the dole at the time of writing Cicero, and that the omission was deliberate.

It seems, then, that much of the new material in the later Lives derives from the same sources as Cicero; and the verbal and stylistic closeness of the accounts is quite clear. There are several possible explanations of this.

1. Perhaps Plutarch simply went back to the same sources as before, and exploited them anew: the close verbal similarities will then reflect Plutarch’s slavish adhesion to the language of a particular source, closely copied on a number of different occasions.³³ That is not very likely. It would be an oddly uneconomic procedure, involving a good deal of mechanical repetition of the same labour; and it is very hard to believe that Plutarch kept so close to the precise language and style of his sources. Where we can check his stylistic adaptation of his source-material, he does not behave like this: in Coriolanus, for instance, he takes over a great deal of material from Dionysius of Halicarnassus, but such close verbal copying is hard to parallel.³⁴ ‘Plutarch naturally felt no obligation to follow Dionysius’ wording or rhetorical treatment. Even if it stuck in his mind, he did not apparently admire it greatly; generally speaking, he could do much better.’ ³⁵

2. Perhaps he re-read Cicero, based most of his account on that, and inserted odd extra items which he happened to remember from the research which he had undertaken at that time. This affords a good explanation of the verbal similarities: it is much more plausible to think that Plutarch kept closely to an earlier account of his own than to suppose such a mechanical copying of a source. And his memory was evidently very good.³⁶ It is not hard to believe that (for instance) Cato’s corn-dole lodged in his mind, and he was able to refer to it years after he first read the story. He may, of course, have come across other references to it since then; and, if in doubt, he could always go back to check a particular item in its original source, though that was a more laborious procedure for him than it would be for a modern scholar.³⁷ All this is perfectly reasonable.

3. But another possibility also deserves consideration, even if it is speculative. That ύπὸμνημα, the ‘draft’ for Cicero which preceded the final version, may have played a more important role. There was no reason for Plutarch to confine its scope to material which he was certain he would use in Cicero itself. He must have known that he would be writing other Roman biographies later in the series – even if he did not know which ones they would be, or how many he would complete. The ύπόμνημα was the obvious place to jot down any items which he might later need, and it would be an easy matter to refer back to it when he came to write the other Lives. It was a very rational way to work, and one which would ultimately save him a great amount of labour. He might very well note in his ύπομνημα the story of the youths’ attack on Caesar, and Cicero’s warning shake of the head; if he did, he would add a note that the story was omitted from the περὶ ύπατείας. When he came back to the subject in Caesar, he would find the note, and choose to exploit it.³⁸

This may even help to explain the inconsequential nature of the argument (p. 48) – the point that, despite Plutarch’s puzzlement, it was natural for Cicero to omit the incident from the περὶ ύπατείας, precisely because he had later been criticized in this way for missing his opportunity. When originally drafting his ύπομνημα for Cicero, it would be easy enough for Plutarch to note the silence of the περὶ ύπατείας: that work would be in the top of his mind. But he need not at that time have been thinking of the later criticisms of Cicero. That theme would be more in his thoughts at the time of writing Caesar, when he was dwelling more on Caesar as the great man of the people and the opponents who lost their chance. That would be the natural time to add the further thought that Cicero ‘was certainly accused later of missing an ideal opportunity of foiling Caesar because of his terror of the ordinary people’, and he might then take over his earlier περὶ ύπατείας note without thinking through its implications.

All this is naturally guesswork; and, even if the conjecture is right, we cannot know how detailed and coherent the draft would be. But this theory would provide another explanation of the verbal and narrative closeness of the four accounts, for all four would represent elaborations of the same original draft. It would not be surprising if the language of that draft left its mark upon each of the final versions.

II. Biographical technique

It is useful for this inquiry that the most detailed account, that of Cicero, is the earliest. We can now be sure that Plutarch knew all the Cicero material when writing the later Lives, and, if he omits any of the Cicero items, this must be a matter of conscious decision, not mere ignorance.

Plutarch’s biographical theory provided one unequivocal criterion for selecting or excluding material for a Life. On several occasions, he says that he will concentrate particularly on the individual hero’s character, his ἠ̑θος or τρὸπος.³⁹ Hence, one might think, Plutarch would simply select the items most relevant to that hero, picking the material most directly relating to the hero’s career, actions, and experience. That is a fairly simple criterion: ‘the law of biographical relevance’.⁴⁰

Some applications of this ‘law’ are quite clear. The scale of the treatment naturally varies: the conspiracy was central to Cicero’s career, less material to Cato and to Caesar, and barely relevant at all to Crassus. Cicero consequently gives the fullest treatment – though even there he dismisses the military side swiftly, for Cicero had no part in it.⁴¹ Caesar and Cato limit themselves to the debate in the senate: they even omit the events immediately subsequent to that debate, Cicero’s final triumphant moments, the dramatic announcement of the execution, and the exultant homeward procession. Crassus deals only with the incident of the letters, adding a comment on Crassus’ subsequent relations with Cicero. Even within these limits, the emphasis inevitably differs. Caesar’s brush with Cicero’s band of youths is mentioned only in his own Life (8.2–4). Caesar gives the most detail of Caesar’s speech, Cato develops the arguments used by Cato: both ignore the speech of Cicero, to which Cic. 21.2–3 had given a full treatment. Plutarch evidently exploits his biographical licence to abbreviate or exclude material.

Yet this is a ‘licence’ rather than a ‘law’. Plutarch often spreads himself in unexpected places. Crassus called on Cicero at dead of night, bringing a set of letters which incriminated his old acquaintance Catiline. Crassus may have been acting from nobility of character, or he may have been concerned to save his own neck: Cic. 15.3 hints at both possibilities. Either way, the story told more about Crassus’ character than about Cicero’s. Yet it is Cicero, not Crassus, which gives the more lavish version of the tale. Again, some said that Caesar had been involved in the conspiracy, and that was hardly irrelevant to the delineation of his character. Yet it is Cicero which gives the fullest discussion of the question (20.6–7); Caes. 7.7 passes very swiftly over the topic – αδηλον εστίν, ‘it is unclear’, and Plutarch hurries on to the senatorial sitting. During that debate a billet doux was brought to Caesar from Servilia, Cato’s sister: she and Caesar were having an affair. Indicative of Caesar’s character – but Caesar omits the tale, Cato (24.1–3) and Brutus (5.3–4) include it.⁴² Plutarch is indeed always capable of being side-tracked from his biographical subject. Cicero can accommodate a long digression on the character of Lentulus (17); Cato includes a distracting item on Cicero’s stenographers (23.3–4).

Perhaps, then, Plutarch simply selects the items most favourable to each of his subjects?⁴³ That view is closer to the truth: it might at least explain why Caesar omits the affair with Servilia, or plays down the question of Caesar’s complicity; it might explain why Cato seems less enthusiastic about Caesar’s moderate proposal than Cicero and Caesar.⁴⁴ And it is true that Plutarch thought a biographer should not give too much stress to his subject’s faults or weaknesses: he says as much at Cim. 2.3–5. But there does seem to be more to it than this. In the same passage of Cimon he makes it clear that he will include such faults and weaknesses, even if he does not emphasize them, and that does seem to reflect his biographical practice. In these very Lives, he is prepared to criticize Crassus, for instance, for his greed and his glory-hunting: indeed, the item immediately preceding the Catilinarian conspiracy is an unambiguous criticism of Crassus’ unsatisfactory censorship. In Cato, he is normally enthusiastic, but he passes from the mention of Servilia to discuss the unfortunate way in which Cato treated his womenfolk (24.4–25).⁴⁵

Nor in fact is it true that each Life treats its subject in the most favourable way. Consider, again, the Crassus. Had Plutarch been genuinely eager to be generous to Crassus, what would he have done? He would have passed quickly over the question of Crassus’ possible involvement with Catiline; he would have dwelt on the circumstances in which Crassus passed the letters over to Cicero;he would have emphasized the contribution which Crassus thereby made to the detection of the conspirators. But he does none of this. He discusses the complicity question in some detail – much more than he had in Cicero, where he had simply remarked that Crassus was ‘anxious to clear himself a little of the suspicions he had incurred through his earlier friendship with Catiline’ (15.3). He passes over the story of the letters swiftly, mentioning it only as the clinching argument in the complicity question: there is none of the dramatic richness and elaboration he had given the story in Cicero.⁴⁶ What interests him here is the lasting hatred which Crassus and Cicero developed for one another (13.5). The train of his thought is not very clear,⁴⁷ but it is anyway not the most generous emphasis to give.

Plutarch’s technique is, in fact, rather more subtle. Different Lives have different interests,⁴⁸ and he does not use the conspiracy in the same way in every Life. Caesar, for instance, is not very concerned to make moral points, whether favourable to Caesar or not: he does not, for example, make much of Caesar’s affection for his comrades, or his clemency in the Civil Wars, or his personal respect for Pompey. His concern in that Life is rather different: he wishes to bring out the historical factors which enabled Caesar to establish the ‘tyranny which he had sought all his life’ (69.1; cf. 57.1), and particularly the support of the urban demos for their champion.⁴⁹ The tale of the conspiracy is carefully woven into this scheme. The introduction is eloquent: the fearful optimates wonder how far Caesar will lead on the demos (7.4). Piso and Catulus consequently attack Cicero for missing his opportunity: Caesar might now have been cut short (7.5). But Cicero was said to have stopped his bodyguard from attacking Caesar – perhaps ‘in fear of the demos’ (8.3): people certainly criticized him for his ‘cowardice before the demos’ later, as they bewailed the opportunity for crushing Caesar which had been lost (8.4). Popular demonstrations for Caesar followed, and these are emphasized (8.5). The next item is closely linked, Cato’s corn-dole, represented as a successful attempt to quell Caesar’s growing power. All this is clearly relevant to Caesar’s biography – but there is no word of Caesar’s ethos, no attempt to characterize the man himself. He is seldom said to seek popularity, he merely acquires it. Plutarch is simply concerned to trace the sources of his coming power.

This immediately explains some of the omissions. If Caesar was involved with Catiline, it would have illuminated his character. But it was historically unimportant, it did not lead to anything: Caesar got out in time, and his opponents lost their chance. Plutarch is more interested in Caesar’s defence against these accusations in the senate (8.5), for that promoted the popular unrest which Cato needed to calm. Again, Servilia’s letter would have illuminated Caesar’s personal morality; but Caesar shows very little interest in such personalia, and gives very little information on Caesar’s private life.⁵⁰ Plutarch again preferred to omit the story.

Cicero is rather different. There too Plutarch is interested in placing his subject in a firm and intelligible historical context, and begins with a powerful introduction. He digresses on the Sullan settlement; he stresses the significance of Pompey’s absence; he gives some idea of the nature of Catiline’s support; he mentions the Etruscan troubles, and emphasizes that inequality of wealth played a part; he knows the prejudice of the optimates, and the difficulties which confronted a novus homo.⁵¹ Not all the points are well expressed: the treatment of inequality of wealth is restricted and unimaginative; and he later introduces the Sullan veterans purely for their electoral significance (14.3). But the interest in the historical background is quite clear. Such interests, however, are soon submerged, and there is little attempt to relate the detailed narrative of the conspiracy to any wider framework. These are not the representatives of an oppressed demos rising to fight their oligarchic masters, they are simply a group of villains subverting the empire for their own ends. After the first chapters, Plutarch’s main concern is to tell a good story. And the tale of Crassus was certainly a good story: and so, with a classic story-telling ‘it happened like this’ (ἠ̑ν δὲ τοιόνδε), he allows a lavish treatment. A little later, Cicero was debating the line he should take with the Catilinarian prisoners. His psychology offered ample room for imaginative speculation, and Plutarch did not resist the temptation (19.6–7). The topic suggested a further question: why did Cicero not move against Caesar? And this was where the question of Caesar’s complicity became relevant (20.6–7). These chapters are unusually rich in such imaginative psychology: here it was an obvious way of adding depth and suspense to the story. It also adds to the picture of Cicero’s agonized vacillation which so often recurs in this Life. It is very unlike the austere Caesar.⁵²

The clearest contrast with Caesar is furnished by Cato. As usual in that Life, there is no attempt to give a wider historical background – certainly nothing as striking as the remarkable analysis of Dio 37.22, representing Cato as a ‘lover of the people’, δημεραστής. Plutarch assumes that the senate’s vacillation during the final debate was influenced by ‘their fear of the demos’ (Cato 22.6), but makes nothing of it. He is much more interested in his moralizing, in painting his picture of the unbending political sage. That moralism is not confined to Cato himself. Plutarch also tells us his view of Caesar. His policy is disgraceful and self-interested: ‘whenever there was any hint of revolution or commotion in the city, he saw it as the material for his own ambitions, and sought to foster it rather than see its fire quenched. And so he made many specious and lenient remarks...’ (καί πα̑σαν ἐν τᾐ̑ πόλει μεταβολὴν καὶ κὶνησιν, ὥσπερ ὒλην ώ̑ν αὐτὸς διενοει̑το, βουλὸμενος αὒξειν μα̑λλον ἢ σβεννυμὲνην περιορα̑ν, ἐπαγωγὰ πολλὰ καὶ φιλανθρωπα διαλεχθείς, 22.5). The vigorous denunciation comes as a surprise, for the Caesar had not explicitly suggested that Caesar was simply furthering his own long-term ambitions. Both Cicero and Caesar had given the impression that Plutarch rather approved of Caesar’s proposal: Cicero had described it as επίείκης (‘reasonable’, Cic. 21.2, quoted on p. 49 above).⁵³ But in Cato the ethical colouring is consistent, and Caesar is the villain, the perfect foil to Cato himself.⁵⁴ In such a context, it is not surprising that room is found for the episode of Servilia’s letter (24.1–3). Cato emerges from that story as the champion of morality, with contempt for the despicable Caesar. The whole Catilinarian story is transmuted to a moral fable, for that is what the texture of the Life requires.

As with content, so with style. The passage on Caesar’s ambitions is obviously striking: the two bold metaphors, ὒλην and σβεννυμὲνην combine to suggest the ruthless fanning of a perilous fire. The excited tone had been struck at the beginning: the Catilinarian affair is ‘the greatest and most glorious’, Catiline plans the ‘fatal and utter revolution’ of the empire, he is ‘stirring up civil conflicts and wars’. The elevation of the language persists. Cicero’s μεταβαλόμενον is replaced by ἒξαρνον εί̑ναι δεσμωτήριον gives way to the more picturesque είργμὸν. Legal precision is out of place here, and so Silanus no longer says, as he said in Cicero, that imprisonment is the ultimate penalty for a Roman senator ; it is now simply the ultimate penalty for ‘a Roman’. (The passages are quoted on pp. 49–50.) Then we have the breathless fervour of Cato’s speech (23.1–2): the vocabulary is pungent, the words tumble out, much too precipitate and rapid to accommodate Plutarch’s usual elegant periods. It is by far the most unrestrained passage of all four accounts, and it fits the air of the whole piece. Plutarch concentrates on rousing the audience’s reaction, admiration for Cato and disgust for Caesar. By the stylistic treatment as much as by the choice of material, he achieves that end.

This artistic sense is ubiquitous. The language of Caesar is lucid, elegant, and periodic, with some solemn and weighty phrases: note particularly the ponderous words of 8.2 νεανικώ̑ς ἐναντίωθέντων...συνεπερείσαντος αῢτῳ̑ καί συγκατεξαναστάντος ἐρρωμὲνως.⁵⁵ Such a style is appropriate enough for its careful political analysis. The Cicero account, by contrast, employs a whole variety of styles, sharpening and controlling the reader’s reactions to the story. Consider, for instance, his treatment of the Otho story (Cic. 13). The tale is introduced with a portentous, periodic generalization (13.1), pompous in content and full of abstractions: τὸ δίκαιον, τό καλὸν, τὸ κολακευ̑ον, τὸ λυπουν, τὸ συμφέρον. It reads almost like a parody of Thucydides. The balanced, periodic sentences continue: the cola remain long and fluent, the solemn Mα̑ρκος ”Oθων στρατηγώ̑ν maintains the stylistic level. Then three brief, staccato sentences, with equally abrupt cola (§§ 3–4): these describe the actual events, and the speed and tension of the moment are admirably conveyed. The story is rounded off with another long, surging period (§ 4), stressing Cicero’s role: another splendid exploit for the successful consul, who has calmed the troubled moment. The impression is conveyed by the style as much as by the content.

On a slightly larger scale, one can see the same stylistic variety in Cic. 18–19. First, note the way in which he uses detail as he introduces the monstrous plans of Lentulus (18.1–3). He is an expert at the picturesque sharpening of a scene at crucial moments. The assault is planned for ‘a night of the Saturnalia’; the conspirators hide ‘swords and tow and brimstone’ in Cethegus’ house; the city is divided into one hundred areas, each one man’s responsibility; there is a plan to block the conduits and murder anyone bringing water. None of this detail really leads to anything, and certainly none is very relevant to Cicero’s character. But the reader is left with the sense of a thickening plot, with a ruthless and meticulous villain who knows exactly what he is about. Then we move on to the revelations of the Allobroges. The story is told in a slow, heavy, solemn style. Note the anaphora – ‘letters to their senate, letters to Catiline’ (§ 5), ‘many outside informants, many within the conspirators’ confidence’ (§ 7). Note the metaphors and the tone of § 7: ‘the conspirators were unstable, they conducted most of their dealings amid wine and women: Cicero pursued them with his sober calculation and his powerful intelligence.’ The balance of the sentences is very carefully controlled, and the rolling clauses of § 7 powerfully convey the irresistible combination of so many sources of strength for Cicero’s cause. Then, in ch. 19, the dénouement. The beginning of the chapter is swift and staccato – again, not merely the sentences, but the clauses and cola as well. Note especially 19.2 with its rush of hasty cola, ending with the curt νεοθήκτους άπάσας, ‘all of them newly sharpened’. There is none of the solemn language of the previous chapter. And Plutarch is again not afraid of the sharpening detail: the individuals are named, however obscure; room is found for Lentulus’ change of clothing. The speed and vigour of the narrative are engaging.

On a larger scale, too, the Cicero account is excellently controlled. The narrative is divided into panels by a series of relaxing diversions: the digression on Lentulus (17), then the leisurely treatment of the Bona Dea story (19.4–20.3). Such quiet stories are naturally not told with such stylistic elaboration. The end of the story is marked by a string of apophthegmata (24–8). That part of the Life may strike us as ill-conceived, but it gives a shift of register after the Life’s narrative highlight.⁵⁶ Similarly, the encomiastic flood of the Cato is relieved by the digression on his womenfolk (25–6); the careful analysis of the Caesar finds a more leisurely complement in the expansive story of Clodius and the Bona Dea (9–10). Naturally, such stories do not receive such a powerful and elaborate style: everything is more relaxed.

Plutarch has the faults of his virtues. He can become interested in the strayest items: this gives his work much of his charm, but it can also distract. The notice of the stenographers is interesting, but it disturbs the rapidity of Cato’s narrative (23.3–4), and the detail of the end of the debate has to be incorporated curtly and awkwardly (23.5). It may be fascinating to know that the temple of Jupiter Stator stands at the beginning of the Sacra Via; but the reader might not want to be told it at Cic. 16.3, in the middle of the tense narrative of Catiline’s assassination plot and the following senatorial meeting. Again, he tries to find historical keys, but these are seldom cogent. The views of the Roman demos developed in Caesar and Cicero are not ultimately reconcilable.⁵⁷ Social factors are mentioned only when they affect urban politics – the Sullan veterans coming to Rome for the elections or the Etruscan reports provoking the senatus consultum ultimum (Cic. 14.1; 15.5). He stresses the Rullan bill (12), but not as an index of rural discontent: it is simply an example of the vastness of the revolutionaries’ plans.

The virtues remain: and an important element in those virtues is the freedom with which he operates. The choice of material for each Life may be very wide-ranging, and the Lives can be very varied indeed in their interests and their principles of selection.

Notes

¹ For bibliography, cf. Lendle 1967, 97–8 and then Scardigli’s indispensable survey, 1979, 114–17, supplemented by Titchener 1992, 4146 and Moles 1988, 31–2. Add now particularly Schettino 2000.

² 1967, 96–7.

³ Erbse 1956, 420 n. 2: ‘the favourite inference from unity of composition to unity of source seems self-evident to even the best of source-critics. No-one bothers even to speak of it. But that assumes a particular answer to the real question – the question of the nature and form of the unity which we have.’ In that article Erbse convincingly argues that much of the unity of Cicero is owed to Plutarch himself.

⁴ Scardigli 1979, 195 n. 658.

⁵ A few examples. At 14.4 Plutarch summarizes a series of omens preserved in several different contexts by Dio (37.9.1–2; 25.1–2; 34.3–4). At 15.1 he greatly abbreviates the material of Dio 37.30 – the gathering of Catiline’s supporters – because he has already covered so much of the ground at Cic. 10–11. Dio includes some typical guesses at motivation (37.29.2; 30.5; 33.4, etc.), and transposes thepactioprouinciarum of Antonius and Cicero (Plut. Cic. 12.3–4) to a later context (37.33.4): that may well be because, with a characteristically interesting but extravagant piece of historical guesswork, he has decided that the Romans felt no suspicion of Antonius in the early stages of the conspiracy.

⁶ Again, a few examples. The order of events in Plut. Cic. 12–13 and Dio 37.25–8 is very similar, but cannot be historical: cf. Cicero’s list of consular orations, Att. 2.1(21).3. The style, language, and narrative articulation of Plut. Cic. 14.7–8 and Dio 37.22.3–5 is particularly close, and indeed all the surrounding narrative is very similar in the two authors. The same is true of Plut. Cic. 16.6 and Dio 37.33.2–3. At Plut. Cic. 17.1 and Dio 37.34.1 the switch of attention back to Lentulus is exactly similar in both writers.

⁷ Cf. esp Lendle 1967. Lendle’s paper has important flaws: his attempt to infer the character of περί ὐπατείας from Cic. Fam. 5.12(22) is misconceived (like many others, he does not feel the light-hearted and witty tone of that letter: there is some neglected good sense in Guillemin 1938); and he greatly underestimates Plutarch’s own capacity for independent research and artistic recasting. But he successfully shows that much of Plutarch’s narrative is wholly consistent with what we know of the περί ὐπατείας. – Forsythe 1992 also argues that the description of T. Volturcius as Kροτωνιὰτης at Cic. 18.6 and App. BC 2.4.14 refers to Cortona rather than Crotona, and derives from the περί ύπατείας.

⁸ Cf. Crass. 13.4 with Cic. 15.3–5 and Dio 37.31.1 (Lendle 1967, 95–7); Serv. ad Ecl. 8.106 with Cic. 20.1–2 and Dio 37.35.4 (Servius is presumably misdating, though Lendle 1967, 101–3 gives an alternative explanation); and the omens of Dio 37.25.2 (abbreviated at Cic. 14.4) are close to Cicero’s words in his poem ‘de consulatu’ (cit. Cic. Div. 1.17). Besides Lendle, cf. Buresch 1888, 222–3; Willrich 1893, 45–6.

⁹ Note the rare compliment of Dio (37.34.1); the enthusiastic treatment of the proagones (Cic. 12–13; Dio 37.25–8); the recurrent stress on vast crowds of supporters (Cic. 14.7; 16.1) the emphasis on Cicero’s popularity (Dio 37.34.3–4, cf. Cic. 19.4); the tendency to represent the credit as his alone (esp. Cic. 18.7). Plutarch himself might reasonably have decided that a generous treatment was appropriate (p. 46) – but the coincidences with Dio are so numerous that the emphasis must go back to the shared source. Dio, of course, is not usually kind to Cicero: Millar 1964, 46–55.

¹⁰ It is less clear whether Dio knew the περί ὐπατείας at first hand. The old theory was that Dio regularly followed Livy, and in this case Livy may therefore have been drawing on the περί ὐπατείας: thus e.g. Schwartz 1897, 581 ff.; Willrich 1893, 45–51. The Livian thesis was shown by Manuwald 1979 to be precarious (see p. 19 and n. 125), but there may still have been an intermediate source here, Livy or another: we cannot tell.

¹¹ See p. 48.

¹² Schettino 2000 now makes a strong case for thinking that 10.3–5 is also based on Sallust. If she is right, that supports my argument here for a Sallustian provenance of Cic. 10–11, though I think that more here is owed to Sallust than she does. She accepts my general reconstruction of Plutarch’s working method, and she too thinks that he consulted Sallust at the stage of preliminary reading (Schettino 2000, 451: cf. pp. 20–2,48–9 above).

¹³ So I wrote in 1985, but this gibe at Cicero’s expense now seems to me cheap and unfair: Schettino 2000, 445 n. 8 rightly takes me to task. For all we know, there may have been other reasons in play, such as the shaping of the whole work around a Catiline–Cicero chiaroscuro contrast.

¹⁴ Lendle 1967, 103–5, here goes astray. – It does seem clear that Plutarch is wrong to make Caesar propose only temporary imprisonment. (App. BC 2.6.20 agrees, but that part of Appian’s account is probably dependent on Plutarch himself: cf. p. 36 n. 75.) The other sources give a clear impression that the imprisonment was to be permanent: Sall. BC 51.43; Cic. Cat. 4.8, and Dio 37.36.2 mention an explicit sanctio, setting a punish- ment for anyone who should bring up the question again. The same impression is given by Cic. Cat. 4.10, aeternis tenebris uinculisque mandare (‘consigning them to perpetual darkness and chains’), and 7, uincula sempiterna (‘eternal chains’). The confiscation of their property would be very odd, if imprisonment were not to be permanent; and life imprisonment was ‘not totally unprecedented’, even though it was ‘distinctly unusual’ (Lintott 1968, 169). Cf. Holmes 1923, i. 469 and n. 14; Vretska 1976 on Sall. BC 51.43. – I go into this in more detail, along with other historical issues, in my forthcoming commentary on Caesar.

¹⁵ Suet. Div. Iul. 14 seems to derive from the same source as Plutarch (p. 51 and n. 32), and he does not mention the possibility of the case being re-opened. Drummond 1995, 37 n. 14, agrees that it is probably Plutarch himself who has misinterpreted. It is possible that Plutarch confuses Caesar’s proposal with that of Ti. Claudius Nero, which he omits (cf. Holmes 1923, i. 469); it is just as likely that he first misinterpreted his source’s account of Caesar’s proposal – then discovered he had no logical space for Nero’s.

¹⁶ Strasburger 1938, 121; cf. Willrich 1893, 8.

¹⁷ Cic. 23.4; Dio 37.38 (this part of Dio does not seem to derive from περί ύπατείας) by contrast stresses Cicero’s unpopularity.

¹⁸ For ‘Catonian’ literature cf. e.g. Macmullen 1967, 1–45; Afzelius 1941, 198–203. For Plutarch’s use of it, above, pp. 10, 13; Geiger 1979.

¹⁹ That regrettable view is argued briefly by Gelzer 1964, and at some length by Homeyer 1964. Homeyer argues that Plutarch derives virtually all his material from a Greek first- century biography, which in its turn was based on a Latin biography by one of Cicero’s contemporaries – perhaps Tiro, more probably Nepos. Her arguments for this intricate hypothesis are surprisingly weak. She thinks that Plutarch’s coherent, sympathetic, and acute portrait of Cicero must be the work of an author intimately familiar with Cicero’s own writings: this cannot be Plutarch, she thinks, because of his deficient knowledge of Latin (Dem. 2.2–4). But (1) Dem. 2.2–4 makes it perfectly clear that Plutarch did read Latin sources, and it is very likely that he read fairly widely in Cicero’s works when he was preparing this Life: cf. pp. 16–17; Scardigli 1979, 115. (2) In some ways, Cicero is a peculiarly uneven Life. Plutarch’s knowledge of the conspiracy is full and rich, but the second half of the Life is scrappy (pp. 2, 27–8). That is easy enough to explain if Plutarch was reliant on his own independent researches: for the consulship, he had the περί ύπατείας, but he had not yet found a coherent narrative source for the history of the fifties. But one cannot believe that a contemporary of Cicero could produce a Life like this: Tiro or Nepos, of course, would have much fuller and better information. (3) Plutarch’s portrait of Cicero is indeed a good one. It need not follow that it comes from a source (cf. pp. 45–6). More than any other Roman hero, after all, Cicero was Plutarch’s sort of person: he understood him well. Erbse’s judgement is again good (cf. n. 3): ‘It is certainly astonishing that Plutarch, despite his limited knowledge of Latin, was able to produce so accurate a portrait. But the astonishing must be accepted’ (1956, 411 n. 3).

²⁰ Probably the de consiliis: pp. 2 and n. 15, 44 n. 172, 50 and n. 27.

²¹ A sample of passages: Alc. 3.2; Them. 32.4; Ant. 59.1; Pomp. 10.9; Per. 28.3; Arat. 38.12; Arist. 1: similar arguments from silence, Alc. 32.2; Alex. 46.3; Cic. 49.4. Hamilton 1969, xliii–xlix, has a good discussion. See also n. 47 and ch. 6, esp. pp. 144–52.

²² Hardy 1924, 104 n. 1. See further p. 53 for a possible explanation of Plutarch’s inconsequentiality; I also return to this in ch. 3 (pp. 67–8, 75 and 82).

²³ The rest of this section is heavily dependent on the view of Plutarch’s methods I develop in ch. 1, esp. pp. 19–26.

²⁴ Though the etymology of ‘Sura’ may perhaps come from Roman oral tradition: cf. Theander 1959, 113.

²⁵ Above, pp. 23–4.

²⁶ Or συνεξαναστάντος (the reading of LH). The monstrous compound συγκατεξα- ναστάντος (PMC) would admittedly be ἂπαξ λεγόμενον in Greek, while συνεξίστασθαί is amply attested (e.g. Dem. 18.3, 24.1; Gracch. 10.1; Cato Min. 59.9). But the longer compound has exactly the right meaning: to join (σὐν) in attacking (κατά) Caesar by rising up (ἐξ-ἀνά) to speak against him. It is a powerful passage, and the word should probably be retained.

²⁷ Cf. p. 2 and n. 15, p. 44 n. 172.

²⁸ It seems that Plutarch is in the wrong over the terms of Caesar’s proposal (above, n. 14): he has misunderstood a source (above, n. 15). But note that Caesar’s final argument at Caes. 7.9 is directly dependent on that misinterpretation: ‘the senate will be able to debate the matter later, at peace and at their leisure’. That argument can clearly have no authority, and Plutarch is following the usual custom of ancient historiography and biography and composing the speech from his imagination. He picked the most obvious argument, resting on the point he already knew from Cicero: the conspirators’ high social standing. That argument would come easily to a Greek of the Roman empire (cf. Garnsey 1970, esp. 105–11). But it is doubtless unhistorical. The elaborate speech of Cato at Cato 23.1–2 is unlikely to carry any more authority, even though distinguished scholars have thought it authentic: Holmes 1923, i. 276; Strasburger 1938, 121; Gelzer 1969, 99 and n. 297 (and elsewhere); Syme 1964, 73; Earl 1961, 96. True, Plutarch notes that ‘they say’ Cato’s speech was preserved, because Cicero had it taken down by stenographers. But Plutarch makes no claim to have seen the speech himself: he adds the fact and circumstances of its survival as a pure curiosity.

²⁹ For similar cases, cf. pp. 2–5: note especially Ant. 19.3, clearly reflecting a later stage of research than Cic. 46.5.

³⁰ See also p. 44 n. 172, against Moles.

³¹ pp. 10–11, 13–15.

³² Willrich 1893, 37–8; cf. p. 67 below. Note particularly the similar treatment of Silanus’ proposal; also the account of Caesar’s speech, the stress on the role of Cato, the omission of Ti. Claudius Nero, and the emphasis on the theme of unpopularity with the Roman people (a plebe Romana inuidia). Suetonius also knows of the suggestion of Caesar’s complicity (17.1).

³³ This is the approach of, for instance, Uxkull-Gyllenband 1927, 85.

³⁴ An almost random example: compare Cor. 18 with Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 7.33–6. Individual phrases are sometimes remotely echoed (cf. Russell 1963, 22 n. 7 = Scardigli 1995, 359 n. 7 for further examples) – but there is nothing like the very close borrowing of style and structure which we should have to assume to explain the present series of verbal parallels.

³⁵ Russell 1963, 22 = Scardigli 1995, 359–60.

³⁶ Cf. pp. 1 and n. 2, 20–3.

³⁷ p. 21.

³⁸ There may be some further instances, in particular Pomp. 63.2, where Cicero blames Pompey for leaving the city and ‘imitating Themistocles rather than Pericles’. Here the original source is Cicero himself, who uses the Themistocles comparison in two letters to Atticus (7.11(134).3 and 10.8(199).4). At pp. 16–18 I suggest that Plutarch read extensively in Cicero’s own writings when preparing Cicero itself, but did not carry on any further reading for the later Lives. If that is right, then he presumably came across this item when reading ‘for’ Cicero. He does not use it in Cicero itself, but might well have included it in the ύπόμνημα for that work; he could then have drawn on this again for Pompey. I return to this instance in the next chapter (pp. 81–2), for the item recurs in the Apophthegmata collection for Cicero himself (nr. 15 = 205c): I shall there suggest that the Apophthegmata version too is drawn from the ύπόμνημα for Cicero. The other cases noted at p. 39 n. 107 may also fit here: Pomp. 42.13, the reason for Pompey’s divorce is ‘written in the letters of Cicero’, and Phoc. 3.2, Cicero’s famous gibe at Cato for ‘speaking as if he was in Plato’s Republic rather than in the sewer of the Roman people’ (Cic. Att. 2.1(21).8).

³⁹ Cf. esp. Pomp. 8.6–7; Dem. 11.7; for Plutarch’s terminology and categories, see ch. 13; Russell 1966b, 139–54 = Scardigli 1995, 75–94; Brenk 1977, 179–80 n. 36; Gill 1983, 478–9; Swain 1989a; and now esp. Duff 1999, 72–98.

⁴⁰ The phrase of Stuart 1928, 78.

⁴¹ Cf. Cic. 16.6. 22.8.

⁴² Cf. pp. 104–5 and n. 58, 260.

⁴³ Scardigli 1979, 116, quoting Bargstadt 1950.

⁴⁴ pp. 56–7.

⁴⁵ Cato has other criticisms of its hero: cf. p. 103.

⁴⁶ p. 56.

⁴⁷ Plutarch notes that the ‘certain work’, inculpating Crassus and Caesar, was not published until both men were dead; in the περί ύπατείας Cicero tells of Crassus’ night- time visit with the letters; ‘because of this’ (διὰ του̑το) Crassus always hated Cicero, but was deterred from attacking him because of his son Publius, who greatly admired Cicero. Because of what? Evidently not the publication of the ‘certain work’, for that cannot affect Crassus’ lifetime; nor is it easy to see why the night-time visit should occasion such hatred. Presumably Plutarch hints at mutual suspicion and distrust caused by Cicero’s feeling that Crassus was involved, but which only surfaced in the ‘certain work’ when it was finally published. But he might have made himself clearer. He probably wanted a peg for the item concerning Publius’ admiration for Cicero (a tale he remembered from Cicero, cf. Cic. 31.1 and 33.8), and thrust it into his narrative at this point without much concern for logical clarity. For similar cases, cf. p. 95 on ‘fabrication of a context’.

⁴⁸ I elaborate this point at pp. 102–7.

⁴⁹ Cf. pp. 5–6, 103–5, 207–8, and ch. 11.

⁵⁰ pp. 104–5 and 260.

⁵¹ Cic. 10–11; cf. p. 208 and n. 8.

⁵² Though we do have Caes. 32, the very powerful treatment of Caesar’s thoughts at the Rubicon – more powerful for being so isolated in the Life. See below, pp. 327–8.

⁵³ So also Moles 1988, 169–70, on Cic. 21.2, 21.4, and 21.5, reasonably commenting that the Cicero version implies that ‘Caesar’s position is the one naturally congenial to Cicero’, and that Cato’s intervention is described in negative terms, leading as it does the senate to decide a difficult issue in the wrong spirit.

⁵⁴ Cf. Duff 1999, 136, 151, for the way this fits into the general ‘moralism’ of Cato.

⁵⁵ Cf. n. 26 above.

⁵⁶ On the style appropriate to such collections of apophthegmata – brusque and unelabo- rate – see pp. 74–5.

⁵⁷ The demos is wholly behind Caesar in Caesar ; Cicero could not allow this sort of treatment, for Plutarch has presented Cicero himself as the greatpopularis: cf. Cic. 8.6–7, 9.2, 9.7. His popularity is accordingly stressed throughout the conspiracy (11.2, 13.4, 22.5–7, 23.3). Consequently Cicero does not here fear Caesar’s popularity, only ‘his friends and his power’ (20.6). Indeed, the Cicero is notably reluctant to represent the conspiracy as at all popular in texture: Catiline thinks he is strong in the senate (14.6). When Plutarch thinks of inequality of wealth, he interprets this in terms relevant only to the upper classes (10.5).