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ОглавлениеFor early Rome, historiographic study must precede historical.1
It is now twenty-five years since the publication of T. J. Cornell’s magisterial history of early Rome, The Beginnings of Rome: Italy and Rome from the Bronze Age to the Punic Wars (c. 1000–264 bc). And it is some measure of Cornell’s achievement that, even after a quarter of a century and even though recent archaeological discoveries have made sections of it obsolete, his book remains the standard work of its kind on the subject in the English language. At the time of its publication, reviewers were full of praise. The book was welcomed as ‘a truly magnificent achievement’, and rightly so.2
As any good book should, The Beginnings of Rome also prompted disagreement and debate. There was one issue in particular about which many expressed reservations, and that was Cornell’s handling of the literary evidence, in the historicity of which he had placed considerable confidence. For a number of reviewers, that confidence was misplaced.3
The problem is simple: while the Romans generally came to date the foundation of Rome to sometime in the mid-eighth century bc, no one at Rome wrote history until the end of the third century, and it is not clear that Rome’s first historians had access to anything much in the way of genuine or reliable evidence from more than a century or so before their own day. Recent archaeological discoveries, which have pushed Rome’s origins further back in time, have only (or ought only to have) made the ←1 | 2→situation worse. Since historians of antiquity are so used to dealing with lengthy periods of time, on account of the paucity of the evidence, it is all too easy to overlook the sheer length of time involved and all that that means. How could Fabius Pictor, Rome’s first historian, have possibly known anything much, or even anything at all, about what had happened several hundred years before his own day?
Further complicating matters is the fact that Fabius Pictor’s work has not survived, while the literary evidence for early Rome that has comes from some century and a half later, and often even later still. Much had happened during that time, and not all of it was beneficial to the preservation or reconstruction of an accurate account of the events of Rome’s past. A lot of it may have been detrimental. There are all manner of issues that need to be taken into account, from questions of evidence, research, methods and purpose, to conceptions of truth and plausibility, standards of honesty, the influence of later events on the traditions of the past, and even the simple understanding of historical change and development. It cannot just be taken for granted (although it often is) that people living more than 2,000 years ago consistently worked with methods and to standards that are recognised today and that the only difference is one of degree.
It is really very easy to see why Cornell’s reviewers did not share his optimistic assessment of what the Romans had to say about Rome’s distant past. And yet, despite the nature and scale of the problem, the seriousness of the criticism and, it must be said, the overwhelming persuasiveness of many of the objections to Cornell’s position and approach, it is fair to say that Cornell’s general assessment of the literary evidence has nonetheless been influential and can readily be detected in the work of a number of British scholars in particular. Even more significant, however, is a recent assessment of Cornell’s book as ‘more skeptical’ in its handling of that evidence.4 That claim was made in comparison with the work of A. Carandini and should be understood in that context, but it nonetheless stands in striking contrast to the views of a quarter of a century ago. So what has happened to move scholarship so far in the direction of the very position, and indeed even beyond it, that had earlier invited so much stern and valid criticism?
←2 | 3→
The specific circumstance behind Carandini’s optimism – that optimism that makes Cornell’s position one of scepticism by comparison – is, of course, the discovery of traces of what may be a wall at the foot of part of the Palatine hill, a discovery that has prompted Carandini to claim that the foundation myth of Rome is actually historical.5 And it may well seem to follow that, if the stories the Romans told about the very origins of Rome are somehow historical, then what they said about later times ought to be historical too.
The position of Carandini and his followers is not new. A comparable reaction can be found in scholarship – work that has long since been abandoned – from about a century ago, following the archaeological discoveries of G. Boni, in this case in the Roman Forum. At that time, as more recently, the archaeological evidence was used to justify the almost complete rehabilitation of the literary evidence; the existence of Rome’s mythical founder was announced as a matter of fact; and the optimists, now fully vindicated (or so some of them claimed), could openly declare their faith to the world.6
It is difficult not to draw a very different conclusion. Instead of proving the existence of Romulus, which the archaeological evidence does not do and has never done, these different discoveries appear instead simply to have been used as justification for those who already wanted to believe that the literary evidence for early Rome was reliable to go ahead with their beliefs. The issue is not the archaeological evidence (which ought to be important in its own right) and the sorts of questions that such evidence can and cannot answer, but instead the preconceived views of a group of scholars and their appropriation of that evidence to validate those views.7
←3 | 4→
Even when the archaeological evidence is not misused in this way, there is still plenty of evidence for the influence of the will to believe in the reliability of the literary evidence.8 Indeed, for some, it seems that it is simply inconceivable that ancient accounts of Rome’s early history are altogether unreliable, so much so in fact that it has even been asserted that the burden of proof lies with those who doubt the historicity of those accounts.9 The problem is, the proof exists, but those who believe in the reliability of the evidence simply dismiss it or otherwise seek to explain it away.
Since his work has been lost, no one today knows for sure where Fabius Pictor got his material or even what material he used. But for those who maintain that ancient accounts of Rome’s early history are broadly reliable, it simply follows that Pictor must have had access to good evidence. It is possible, moreover, to identify some of his potential sources: he could, it seems, have consulted family records, state documents and archives made ←4 | 5→by priestly colleges, the pontifical in particular.10 The very nature of the material sounds reassuring: official, serious and safe (but no doubt for that reason, anachronistic, although the early existence of such material is regularly taken for granted). And since Pictor was an historian, it apparently follows that he must have been consistently engaged in an activity that – while admittedly different in many respects – was fundamentally the same as that of a modern historian, at least one concerned primarily with the military and political history of Rome. That assumption is implicit in the very question of his sources.
One serious difficulty with this view is the fact that the Romans themselves were aware that extremely few documents – some laws and a few treaties only – had survived from early times. They explained these circumstances with the story that Rome had been sacked by the Gauls in the early fourth century bc.11 For many years, this was a problem with which modern historians also had to contend. After all, if ancient accounts of Rome’s early history are reliable, then Rome must have been thoroughly burnt by the Gauls.12 And if the city and the documents in it had been destroyed, how could anyone at Rome have known anything about Rome’s early history?
The Roman account of the destruction of Rome was long seen as necessitating a deeply sceptical reaction to the literary evidence for early Rome, although those who wanted to have faith in the evidence certainly sought ways to get around what was for them an inconvenient problem.13 It has, however, since been discovered that there is no archaeological evidence ←5 | 6→for widespread destruction and so the story of the sack of Rome has been happily dismissed, along with all the implications of it for the historical record.14 Documentary evidence could have survived after all and so Roman accounts of Rome’s early history can, it seems, be taken as broadly reliable. That position is already a stretch, and not only because it involves a non sequitur. It is also based on the assumption (one made by the Romans themselves but clearly anachronistically) that documents had been made in archaic times in the first place. It is likely that the story of the loss of records was invented to explain the absence of records; after all, if such documents had actually existed, their absence would not have required an explanation. But that general absence is probably just what should be expected in an essentially oral society, as archaic Rome was. As for the production of anything along the lines of ‘state’ or ‘public’ records, since that requires not only the existence of a state, but also of a state able and concerned to produce such material, the very absence of documents is potentially significant evidence in its own right. It should not be argued away, and especially not on the basis of some belief (whether ancient or modern) that such material simply must have existed.
←6 | 7→
There is a certain irony in the fact that the solution to what was undoubtedly the single biggest problem for the study of early Rome was the discovery that the Gauls had not destroyed the city after all. The historicity of what the Romans had to say about early Rome had been saved, apparently, because the archaeological evidence had disproved the historicity of one of the things the Romans had to say about early Rome. With the unwanted story safely out of the way, all the rest of what the Romans said suddenly had the potential to be useful evidence for what had actually happened. The objection is obvious: if one story – and one story long considered to be sound – should have been invented, then why not others or even, for that matter, the rest? (Part of the answer to that question, no doubt, is that the rest is not quite so inconvenient.)
The Roman historian Livy certainly drew attention to problems in his sources. Some of these problems are very serious indeed. Livy complained about inconsistencies in the lists of magistrates;15 he lamented that funeral speeches and the like contained mendacious material, material that had found its way into other accounts of the events of the past;16 he complained ←7 | 8→about the distortions, exaggerations and lies of the historian Valerius Antias (whose work he nonetheless used);17 and he also observed that the historian Licinius Macer was unreliable when he wrote about his own family.18
For those who believe that the literary evidence for early Rome is generally reliable, what Livy has to say is a problem that clearly needs to be got rid of. The names of magistrates that can be extracted from Livy’s work and from Dionysius of Halicarnassus’ are broadly consistent and so, it supposedly follows, must be historical;19 funeral speeches and other such family records can only have been a source of minor corruption, apparently;20 Valerius Antias was, it seems, actually a serious historian who carried out extensive research in the archives of the Senate and, if there were problems in his work, that was the fault of his sources (the Senate’s archives excluded, of course);21 as for Licinius Macer, his work was not really all that unreliable either.22 Besides, no one at Rome could possibly have distorted or misrepresented the events of the past and hoped to get away with it. Everyone knew what had happened, so any lie would have been so quickly rooted out that no one would have even attempted to tell it in the first place.23
The fact that Livy had actually read the works of Antias and Macer, which no one today can do, is often ignored. So too is the fact that no ←8 | 9→Roman funeral speech survives; moreover, the evidence for them that does exist is frequently played down or just passed over.24 Also played down is the fact that the extant evidence for the names of magistrates comes mostly from works from the first century bc, and that the nature and content (and even the existence) of lists of such names in the second, third, fourth and fifth centuries bc are unknown. As if that were not enough, Livy’s assessment of Macer’s work has been rejected on the basis of what Livy himself had to say about it, as if Livy were incapable of assessing the work properly and also so incompetent as to reveal that fact.25 As for Antias, if he had indeed done all that research, why should he have also used sources that were patently unreliable? Why does Livy criticise specifically him and not those sources or his use of them? And does it ultimately make any difference, whether Antias or his sources were to blame for the problems that Livy encountered? But there is simply no evidence to support the claim that Antias conducted research in the Senate’s archives anyway.26
As for the idea that distortion and fabrication were impossible, because everyone knew what had really happened, not only is that evidence of a certain determination to believe in the historicity of the literary evidence no matter what, but it is also evidence of wilful blindness to a substantial body of evidence to the contrary (ancient Rome would need to be somehow unique in human history).27 Besides, arguments of this kind potentially result in a paradox: if Rome’s historians could not distort, misrepresent ←9 | 10→or lie about what everyone knew to be true, then Livy’s comments about the works of Antias and Macer would have to be untrue; but Livy was an historian too and his comments can hardly be dismissed as mistakes or accidents, or as unimportant. The position of the optimists often seems, in the end, ultimately to be based not only on a refusal to see the wood for the trees, but also on the belief that each individual tree should be chopped down, using one means or another as required in each instance, so that the wood does not even exist.
The combination of sometimes extraordinary confidence in the historicity of the literary evidence, a growing body of archaeological evidence for early Rome and the belief that that evidence can be interpreted with reference to the literary evidence (which it is supposed, in an entirely circular way, to verify) has had predictable enough consequences. Those who work on the literary evidence for early Rome may well now find themselves confronted with the expectation that they should advance a positive thesis about the history of early Rome, even when the case they are making involves a deeply sceptical assessment of that evidence. They may also find that they are now expected to incorporate the archaeological evidence into their discussion as a matter of course, even when the discussion is concerned with issues to which the archaeological evidence cannot actually contribute. (As it happens, the limits of the archaeological evidence can be easily discerned in certain recent work on early Rome, in which that evidence is quickly left behind in favour of the literary evidence, even in the work of those who declare themselves to be archaeologists.)28
When the arguments in defence of the reliability of the literary evidence for early Rome are as unpersuasive as they generally are, and when the underlying will to believe in the historicity of the evidence is so readily apparent, there is every reason to dismiss the optimistic assessment and simply accept what ancient authors have to say about the lack of material from early times and about the problems in the material that was available ←10 | 11→to them. The results of such an approach need not just be negative. What the Romans said about the origins and early history of Rome may reveal little about Rome’s actual origins and early history, but it does have the potential to shed light on all manner of other issues; and while those issues may have little to do with archaic Rome, they may reveal something about later circumstances. It may well be that the study of Rome’s earliest history is just as much, indeed probably even more so, the study of the ideas, views and thinking of later times.
The quote that appears at the start of this introduction (namely that, ‘For early Rome, historiographic study must precede historical’) was originally used as the epigraph for the essay that forms Chapter 5 of this book. Since the observation is pertinent to the work as a whole, it made sense to put it at the very beginning. Not only does it remain as valid as ever but, given certain recent trends and developments, it may be that it is in need of some emphasis. The extant literary evidence for early Rome comes mostly from the late first century bc, and what is found in the works of Livy, Dionysius and the rest is the outcome of centuries of story-telling and several generations of the writing not just of history but clearly also of pseudo-history. It is the outcome of research of various kinds involving material of differing nature and value, but also of learned conjecture, speculation and invention, whether simply of a plausible nature, for entertainment’s sake or for more partisan purposes. These circumstances also explain why the archaeological evidence cannot simply be used to verify Roman accounts of the past. To pick only one simple and obvious problem: how is it possible to distinguish between a reliable account of some early monument and a plausible-sounding story invented outright in later times to explain that monument?
* *
One of the main themes of this book is the development of the Roman state and its system of government (which, if only for convenience, will sometimes be referred to simply as the constitution). It will be useful therefore to summarise the Roman account very briefly, as it is found in the extant sources.
The Romans came to believe that Rome had been founded, that is to say, that their city and state had been created at one moment in time ←11 | 12→and by one individual. That moment was calculated to be sometime in the mid-eighth century and the individual was usually said to have been Romulus, although there were other dates and other candidates.29 After it had been founded, Rome was subsequently ruled by a series of kings, most of whom were effectively elected to office and each of whom was said to have contributed in some way to Rome’s development. When the last of those kings, L. Tarquinius Superbus, proved to be an abusive tyrant, the Romans expelled him and decided to do away with their monarchy. The kings were immediately replaced with two annually elected magistrates called consuls. Unlike the kings, who had ruled for life, the consuls were in office for only a year and, unlike the kings who had ruled alone (a brief period of co-regency during Romulus’ reign aside), the two consuls shared their power. The consulship, with its collegiality and limited tenure of office, became synonymous with the free Republic.
Much of this has long been accepted as broadly historical and much of it, at least at first sight, may seem plausible enough. More confidence has generally been placed in the evidence for later events than earlier, although there are some who would accept almost the entire account largely as it stands. On closer inspection, however, there is much that is problematic. The view that cities were founded was prevalent in antiquity, but it is hardly historical in Rome’s case and there is an abundance of evidence to show this (see Chapter 1 in particular). The idea that each of Rome’s kings contributed to Rome’s development certainly has some semblance of historical reality, but it does not follow from that that the Roman account is therefore historical. One obvious and significant problem is that, while the regal period supposedly lasted for some 250 years, there were in total just seven kings, and that is simply absurd. Several of those kings are quite clearly unhistorical too. The whole account looks to be an artificial reconstruction, and that assessment is further supported by the quite distinctive nature of the depiction of some of the kings.30 Rome’s development was, moreover, so closely tied to those seven kings that it was possible for the Romans to conceive of them as a series of founders. And when that idea gets used in turn to argue that Rome was superior to other states, precisely ←12 | 13→because those states had had only the one founder, there is further reason to be suspicious.
The idea that Rome was the work of many founders and was for that reason superior was inevitably strengthened by the Romans’ belief that they had – somewhat uniquely – elected their kings and so had been able to choose the best men for the job. It was an established view, on the other hand, that hereditary succession leads to bad rulers. It can hardly be a coincidence that only one of Rome’s kings was said to have been bad and that that king was also the only one said to have acquired his position on hereditary grounds. But, if the Romans always chose their kings, how else could such a man have ever come to power?
A bad king was needed, but only the one. That was enough to provide a plausible explanation for why the Romans had brought an end to the rule of kings and established the free Republic. It also allowed for Rome’s earlier kings to be assessed positively; after all, since they were Rome’s founders, it would not do to make them all into abusive tyrants. What sort of state would such men have established? The whole reconstruction is patently contrived, and the surprisingly widespread evidence for stories about Rome’s kings that presuppose hereditary succession suggests that it was probably a later development; even the story of the bad king whose abuses led to the end of the monarchy may well be unhistorical.31 Much of this reconstruction is nonetheless widely accepted today. These matters are considered in Chapter 2.
Although the Romans later believed that their kings had been immediately replaced with magistrates known as consuls, there is good evidence to show that that was not the case. The consulship may have actually been created as late as the fourth century bc (see Chapters 3, 5 and 6). That means that the anti-monarchic ideology that was associated with it must have developed at a later date and in a different context. The most obvious context in which the Romans might have found it useful to set their republican institutions in direct opposition specifically to the rule of kings is when they came into conflict with the kings of the Hellenistic world. The benefits of such a reinterpretation are obvious. When, for instance, ←13 | 14→the Romans later did away with the ancient and illustrious Macedonian monarchy, they established annually elected magistrates in its place and thus were able to present their actions as a benefaction. The Macedonian people, they claimed, were now free (see Chapter 5). That, of course, involved a definition of freedom no Hellenistic king could possibly entertain.
* *
For the Romans, the events of the past were always relevant and they were so in ways that they are simply not today.32 The final chapter explores how the descent – both asserted and denied – of M. Iunius Brutus from L. Iunius Brutus, the legendary founder of the Roman Republic, was an important and contentious issue in the first century bc. L. Brutus had led the conspiracy to oust Tarquinius Superbus, while M. Brutus was a prominent figure in the plot to assassinate Iulius Caesar. Marcus’ descent from Lucius evidently mattered; it helped to justify his involvement in Caesar’s murder, which is precisely why his opponents challenged it. The achievements of ancestors were important, whether they consisted of getting rid of a king or something a little more commonplace, such as reaching the consulship, the magistracy that was the ‘hallmark’ of Rome’s office-holding nobility (a topic explored in Chapters 6 and 7). It is hardly surprising, therefore, that Livy should have complained precisely about problems in the lists of magistrates, the making of false claims in funeral speeches and Licinius Macer’s unreliability when he wrote about his own family. Similar charges have since been levelled against other Roman historians (see Chapter 7).
The events of the past could be contentious in other ways too. The Romans were not the only ones to write about Rome’s history. Others did so as well and not all were admirers. Some were opponents, and these circumstances no doubt also help to account for some of the different interpretations and reconstructions that can be found in the literary evidence. One notable detractor was Philinus of Agrigentum, whose account of the First Punic War was later used by the historian Polybius. Polybius knew that Philinus’ work was unfavourable to Rome and unreliable for ←14 | 15→that reason, just as he knew that his other main source for the war, Fabius Pictor’s history, was favourable and so unreliable too. Polybius himself had much higher standards, but the simple fact that he felt it necessary to insist that the writing of history requires impartiality is good evidence of what generally went on.33
Polybius had no difficulties at all showing up Philinus’ account of the start of the First Punic War.34 He went to greater lengths, however, to disprove Philinus’ claims about the terms of the treaty between Rome and Carthage that was in place at the time of its outbreak, terms that unsurprisingly and somewhat suspiciously put the Romans wholly and unambiguously in the wrong.35 Polybius’ efforts led to the discovery and publication of some extremely important evidence.
Rome and Carthage had long had dealings with one another and they had on several occasions made treaties with each other. Polybius got access to a number of these, which had evidently been inscribed on bronze, and he discussed the terms of them in his work. Given the considerable lengths of time involved (Polybius dated the earliest treaty he found to the first year of the republican period), as well as the partisan nature of some accounts, the fact that there are uncertainties, inconsistencies and even incompatible claims in the evidence for Rome’s early dealings with Carthage is perfectly understandable. The record may well be incomplete too, although gaps often do tend, by their very nature, to be undetectable.
Given these circumstances, the confidence with which so many have written on this topic in modern times may well come as a surprise. No less extraordinary is the method that is widely employed when dealing with this material. Despite the many and often obvious problems, the evidence is treated not only as reliable but also as complete. No one source preserves intact the whole record of Rome’s dealings with Carthage, but it is usually assumed that the several different sources have somehow managed to do this between them. All that needs to be done is for the different pieces of that record to be picked out of those different accounts and put back together. The fact that the pieces are often selected and reassembled to suit ←15 | 16→the desired reconstruction is neither here or there, apparently, nor is the fact that some of the pieces are incompatible with one another.
This method and the specific problem of Rome’s treaties with Carthage are the focus of Chapter 4, but the importance of the issue extends far beyond this specific body of evidence. This is because the use of this method – and the accompanying willingness to ignore not only the existence of divergent accounts but also the very implications of their existence – is not confined to this one topic. The evidence for Rome’s origins has likewise been handled in a highly selective manner in some recent work, although in this case the desired interpretation of the archaeological evidence has often provided the criterion for what is to be accepted and what ignored.36
It is worth repeating that the extant literary evidence for early Rome consists of a mix of material, some of which is older, but some newer, some of which is based on evidence, but a good part of which owes its existence to argumentation, reconstruction, interpretation and even invention. It needs to be handled accordingly.
* *
So where does this leave early Rome? Polybius’ research into Rome’s treaties with Carthage turned up some early material which he presented in his work (some of this was evidently newly discovered and the implications of that for the efforts or attitude of Rome’s first historians should not be overlooked, nor should the absence of this material from subsequent works). Some of what Polybius found is especially significant because it seems to be inconsistent with the extant Roman accounts. That should probably not come as a surprise, although some have responded to this by dismissing what Polybius found in favour of what the Romans themselves had to say. But that is to champion later reconstruction over early evidence. This matter is discussed in Chapter 3.
In Livy’s work a comparable piece of early evidence can be found. Livy records the content of an early inscription in which, it would appear, the chief magistrate of the state was called the praetor maximus. That name is ←16 | 17→inconsistent with later Roman accounts (including Livy’s own), in which the chief magistracy of the state was the consulship, and it is also difficult to reconcile with the collegiality and power-sharing that were associated with the consulship. As with Polybius’ evidence, some have responded by dismissing what Livy relates in favour of those Roman accounts, but that is again to champion later reconstruction over what appears to be a good piece of early evidence. These matters are addressed in Chapters 3, 5 and 6.
Evidence of this kind is significant, not only because it is contemporary with early times, but also because it raises doubts about what the Romans themselves said in much later times. Scattered throughout the literary evidence is a small body of material that is incompatible with the general account of events that is found in Livy, Dionysius and the rest. It does not automatically follow, of course, that this material is therefore reliable, but it seems less likely that it should have been invented. And what Polybius says about the content of Rome’s first treaty with Carthage is certainly based on early evidence and what Livy says about the praetor maximus appears to be so too.
Another important early document is the so-called Lapis Satricanus, an inscription from the late sixth century bc that, in this case, actually happens to survive. This inscription provides evidence for a group of people who defined themselves with reference simply and only to one individual. Circumstances such as these are difficult to reconcile with ideas of fully developed states and citizenship (see Chapters 1 and 3). And if the literary evidence contains a few stray stories that appear to involve comparable groups, stories that some accounts struggle to accommodate or cannot adequately explain, it is not unreasonable to suppose that they may conceivably reveal something of earlier circumstances (whether only in the context of story-telling and the development of the Roman account, or of actual historical realities).
There is also early inscriptional evidence that confirms the existence of the position of rex [king] at Rome.37 This evidence appears to associate the rex with religious matters but, beyond that, its value is actually quite limited: the powers of this rex, the way in which he acquired them and the manner in which he exercised them are all unknown. It cannot even ←17 | 18→be assumed that they were his for life. On the other hand, the significance of the very act of setting up such an inscription should not be overlooked. That alone is important evidence.
There is one other type of evidence that has the potential to be contemporary with early times. Whatever the origins and original nature and purpose of such structures as the curiae and the tribes may have been, their names appear to have been kept in continuous use and thus preserved unchanged. The tribes that Romulus was said to have set up are problematic and they were clearly mysterious even in antiquity,38 but the tribal system that Servius Tullius was said to have established is potentially much more helpful. Some of the Servian tribes – the earliest, it seems – were named after gentes (‘clans’ is the usual translation, although it does come with baggage). This would seem to suggest that some gentes or perhaps individual members of them were especially prominent and influential, and that possibility is not at all incompatible with the sorts of circumstances implied by the Lapis Satricanus and by some of what Polybius has to say about Rome’s first treaty with Carthage.
When brought together, even if only loosely (but that is often all that is really possible), much of this evidence suggests that this was a world where the idea of the city-state was inchoate, and where powerful individuals and their followers and families could assert themselves, act independently and perhaps even take control of the pre-urban settlement and its inhabitants and, later, the city. The possibility that powerful individuals might have established themselves as ‘kings’ of some description (the meaning of the word need not have been stable or uncontested), on occasion no doubt by force of arms, whether actual or merely understood,39 certainly seems more plausible than the Roman account of an elective monarchy, stable ←18 | 19→and indeed static from the start; that idea is undoubtedly anachronistic, certainly for early times, and also unhistorical, envisaging as it does little or no change.
This is not, of course, to deny the possibility that some men may have ruled Rome by popular consent or that some may have come to power following the rule of another member of their own family. Given the nature of the evidence, it is impossible to know how Rome’s kings had acquired their powers or even, for that matter, what powers they had. If it happened that, later on, towards the end of the sixth century, there was growing resistance to the idea that Rome should continue to be ruled by one man, a period of change, uncertainty and perhaps even experimentation when it came to the replacement of the king and the creation of the earliest magistracies would hardly be surprising, as different groups sought to secure influence for themselves and also to set limits on the powers and activities of others, and as the new city-state began to develop and assert itself. It goes without saying that this is all necessarily tentative and hypothetical, but the Romans’ own account is no less a matter of later reconstruction.
As will become apparent, no attempt is made here to offer any sort of detailed or systematic account of the history of early Rome, even within the narrow scope of the concerns of this book. This is because the evidence simply does not allow for it. The extant literary evidence is demonstrably problematic and there is simply insufficient reliable material to permit anything more than a few conjectures about early circumstances (which is precisely why a series of essays offers a suitable way to approach things). And – to address in advance that other expectation – the issues with which this book is primarily concerned are ones to which the archaeological evidence for the early inhabitation of the site of Rome contributes little. The results of the archaeological work that has been carried out during the last thirty or so years may have made sections of Cornell’s The Beginnings of Rome obsolete, but Cornell’s assessment of the value of the archaeological evidence remains unaffected by that: ‘archaeology,’ he says, ‘cannot tell us much about the details of social structure or institutions … If we want to know about the earliest institutions of the Roman state, it is to the literary sources that we must turn.’40
←19 | 20→←20 | 21→
1 Pinsent 1971, 272.
2 Wiseman 1996, 315.
3 See most notably Wiseman 1996; McDonnell 1997; Oakley 1997b. Since Cornell’s book contains large sections of material reworked from his contributions to The Cambridge Ancient History, it is also worth noting the comments of Billows 1992, 193–4 in his review of that volume.
4 Armstrong 2016, 1.
5 Carandini is immensely prolific; the specific work with which Armstrong compares Cornell’s book is his Rome: Day One (Carandini 2011b); this work is described simply as ‘optimistic’ (Armstrong 2016, 1), which hardly seems sufficient to describe a work of what may be called selective faith. Cornell, it should be noted, does not follow Carandini; see Cornell 1995, 30; Cornell 2012; Cornell 2014b.
6 See pp. 47–8 below.
7 As Feeney 2007, 91–2 says: ‘If the ancient tradition had fixed on 1000 as the “real” date [of Rome’s foundation], then these scholars would all be focusing on the exiguous human remains at Rome from around 1000 as “corroboration.”’
8 The phrase ‘will to believe’ was used by Finley of those who insist that ‘the tradition of the expedition against Troy must have a basis of historical fact’; Finley commented: ‘In the absence of literary or archaeological documentation, there is no immediate control over this will to believe’ (1964, 2). In 1979, Wiseman used the phrase with reference to the writings of Rome’s republican historians: ‘Nowadays we have learned to pay lip-service, at least, to the danger of accepting annalistic material as reliable, but the will to believe is still strong’ (1979b, 52–3). In 2016, Wiseman devoted a short chapter to the topic (29–37); as he puts it there: ‘If you want to believe in something strongly enough, you may find it easy to overlook the arguments against it’ (34). Note Billows 1992, 194 on the coverage of early Rome in The Cambridge Ancient History: ‘Too often … [the] rules of logic are dispensed with by authors seeking to make a partisan case.’
9 Cornell 1995, 16: ‘Given what we now know about the extent and uses of writing in archaic Rome, the burden of proof clearly lies on those who wish to deny the authenticity of a public document cited in our sources.’ It does not follow, of course, that evidence for Roman literacy proves the authenticity of any early public document recorded in the sources (consider, for instance, Romulus’ treaty with Veii, mentioned by Dion. Hal. Ant. Rom. 2.55.6). Cf. Momigliano 1969, 15: ‘why should the Romans say that two yearly praetores or consules replaced the king, if that was not the truth? How could they forget the character of the momentous change from monarchy to Republic?’ On Cornell’s approach, see Wiseman 1996, 312–13, on Momigliano’s, Wiseman 1995, 105.
10 Bispham and Cornell 2013, 175–8 for Pictor’s possible sources; cf. also Cornell 1995, 9–16; Oakley 1997a, 22–72 (with a focus on later times); Forsythe 2005, 69–77; Armstrong 2016, 21–39; Rich 2018, passim, etc.
11 Livy 6.1.2, 6.1.10; cf. Plut. Numa 1.2; on the documentary evidence mentioned in the literary sources, see Ampolo 1983a; on the treaties, see Richardson 2017, 264–71.
12 Diod. 14.115.6, 14.116.8–9; Livy 5.41.10–43.1, 5.55.3–5; Plut. Cam. 22.6, 31–32.3, etc.
13 For example, Roberts 1918; Ogilvie 1965, 6 n. 1 (‘I believe …’); Heurgon 1973, 249: ‘“most of [the archives] perished”, says Livy, and the Romans, one supposes, set about reconstituting them immediately after … we should think not of masses of annals that could have been destroyed in the fire, but of a few inscriptions on stone or bronze, which might have survived … In any case, if they were made up again, to reconstruct a hundred years is not beyond the powers of memory of a primitive people.’
14 Scullard 1980, 408: ‘It has sometimes been maintained that all the old temples perished in the fire. Archaeological research has shown that this is not true in the main … And if the Gauls spared the temples they probably spared the archives and records which they contained.’ Cornell 1995, 318: ‘the belief that the scarcity of documentary sources for early Roman history was due to their destruction at the hands of the Gauls … is a false solution to a non-existent problem. The important point to make about records in relation to the sack is not that so many ancient documents, buildings, monuments and relics were destroyed, but rather that so many of them survived. The best explanation of all the evidence is that the Gauls were interested in moveable booty … They ransacked the place, and made off with whatever they could carry … This conclusion is in line with common sense and is moreover consistent with the fact that no archaeological trace of the Gallic disaster has yet been positively identified.’ And earlier, 24: ‘we know that many important documents, not to speak of buildings and monuments, did, in fact, escape. In any case it is unlikely that the Roman authorities, who were careful to send the Vestal Virgins and their sacred cult objects to Caere, did not take similar precautions to protect their archives when they heard news of the impending Gallic attack.’ See also Delfino 2009; Rich 2013a, 149; Rich 2018, 22–3.
15 See Chapter 6 in particular.
16 Livy 8.40.3–5: nec facile est aut rem rei aut auctorem auctori praeferre. vitiatam memoriam funebribus laudibus reor falsisque imaginum titulis, dum familiae ad se quaeque famam rerum gestarum honorumque fallente mendacio trahunt; inde certe et singulorum gesta et publica monumenta rerum confusa. nec quisquam aequalis temporibus illis scriptor exstat quo satis certo auctore stetur. [It is not easy to prefer one account to another or one authority to another. I think the record has been corrupted by funeral speeches and false inscriptions for the masks of ancestors, as each family claims for itself with deceitful lies the fame of deeds and honours; assuredly as a result both the achievements of individuals and the public records of events have been thrown into disorder. Nor is there extant any writer contemporary with those times on whose authority it would be sufficient to depend.] On this problem, see also Cic. Brut. 62: et hercules eae quidem exstant: ipsae enim familiae sua quasi ornamenta ac monumenta servabant et ad usum, si quis eiusdem generis occidisset, et ad memoriam laudum domesticarum et ad illustrandam nobilitatem suam. quamquam his laudationibus historia rerum nostrarum est facta mendosior. multa enim scripta sunt in eis quae facta non sunt: falsi triumphi, plures consulatus, genera etiam falsa et ad plebem transitiones, cum homines humiliores in alienum eiusdem nominis infunderentur genus; ut si ego me a M’. Tullio esse dicerem, qui patricius cum Ser. Sulpicio consul anno x post exactos reges fuit. [[Funeral speeches] are certainly extant: for the families themselves used to keep them as their marks of honour and as memorials, and for use when any member of the family died, both as a record of the house’s distinctions and to illustrate its nobility; and yet, by these eulogies, our history has been made quite faulty. For many things are written in them which did not happen: false triumphs, too many consulships, even false genealogies and transitions to the plebs, as men of humbler birth were mixed into another family of the same name, as if I should say that I was descended from M’. Tullius, who was a patrician consul with Ser. Sulpicius ten years after the expulsion of the kings.]
17 Livy 26.49.3, 30.19.11, 33.10.8, 36.38.5–7, 38.23.8, 39.41.6, 40.29.8, 42.11.1, etc.
18 Livy 7.9.5: quaesita ea propriae familiae laus leviorem auctorem Licinium facit. [The glory that he seeks for his own family makes Licinius an authority of lesser weight.]
19 See Chapter 6.
20 Cornell 1995, 10 on Cic. Brut. 62 and Livy 8.40.2 (n. 16 above); cf. Smith 2011a, 26 and Glinister 2017, 71 on Cic. Brut. 62.
21 See in particular Rich 2005 and Rich 2013b.
22 Smith 2011a, 31.
23 Cornell 1986, 80, 82; Oakley 1997a, 31–2, 39–40; Cornell 2005, 49, 52; Glinister 2017, 71–2.
24 In addition to Livy 8.40.3–5 and Cic. Brut. 62, which are effectively just dismissed (see n. 20 above), see Livy 27.27.12–14 for variant accounts; Suet. Iul. 6.1, where the claims are demonstrably unhistorical; Plin. HN 7.139–40, in which the exaggerated nature of the claims is self-evident; note also the inconsistencies between the claims made in the elogium of Scipio Barbatus (ILLRP 309) and Livy’s account of Scipio’s consulship of 298 (10.12.3–8); the elogia of the Scipios may owe something to funeral speeches, cf. Zevi 1969–70, 66–7. On the evidence for the events of 298, see Oakley 2005b, 173–4: most solutions involve some combination of the different accounts, even though they are incompatible. On tituli, see Livy 4.16.3–4, 4.34.6–7.
25 See Smith 2011a, 28–31.
26 Richardson 2018.
27 Of course, it was not unique: see, for example, Cic. Att. 6.1.17–18 for Metellus Scipio’s ignorance about the history of his own family. See Armstrong and Richardson 2017, 6–8.
28 Carandini 2011b, 4. Carandini’s book, Rome: Day One, provides an overview of his findings and reconstruction of Rome’s origins. It includes an appendix in which the relevant literary evidence, free from Carandini’s interpretation of it, is set out at length (123–63); there is, however, no comparable appendix containing the raw archaeological data.
29 See Wiseman 1995, 160–8 for the evidence.
30 See pp. 121–4 on Romulus, Numa and Servius Tullius. Note Flor. 1.8.
31 See p. 99, n. 50 for the evidence and arguments that Lars Porsenna, the king of Clusium, may have been responsible for ending Tarquinius Superbus’ reign.
32 See Richardson 2012, 17–55; the bibliography on the role of the past in Roman society is considerable; see for instance Gallia 2012; Galinksy 2014; Roller 2018, all with various references to further work.
33 Polyb. 1.14, 1.15.12, cf. also 3.8–3.9.5.
34 Polyb. 1.15.1–11.
35 Polyb. 3.21.9–26.7.
36 As Ridley 2017, 50 says, ‘History is not reconstructed by simply choosing the source which suits you.’
37 See Cristofani 1990, 58–9.
38 Hence the various etymologies for, and uncertainties about, their names (Cic. Rep. 2.14; Varro Ling. 5.55; Livy 1.13.8; Plut. Rom. 20.1; Ps.-Asc. in Cic. Verr. 2.1.14; Paul. Fest. 106L, etc.), and the alternative view that they were equestrian centuries (see, in particular, Livy 1.13.8; De vir. ill. 2.11; Fugmann 1990, 135–8); on their names, see Rix 2006. But the Romulean tribes may not have actually ever even existed as such, see Bormann 1893 and the comprehensive discussion in Poucet 1967, 333–410.
39 Cf. Vaahtera 1993 for the clashing of weapons as a means to signal approval; Richardson 2019, 286–7.
40 Cornell 1995, 114. And hence Carandini (see n. 28). The basic point was made long ago, see Thuc. 1.10.2 (although his concern is power).
