The Rise of Rome (Penguin Classics)

  The Romans fleshed out the legends of their early rulers by making each into a repository for institutional developments and national characteristics. Romulus founded his city, it was ultimately agreed, in 753 BC, and in his person and character he exemplified Rome’s natural belligerence, its native sense of justice and the valour of its people. His tale is by turns inspiring and disturbing. He and his twin brother, Remus, were taken from their mother and left to die on the orders of Amulius, the tyrant of Alba Longa who had usurped the throne of its rightful king, Numitor, who was also the boys’ grandfather. The truth about the twins’ birth, whether they were indeed the sons of Mars, is unsurprisingly left doubtful in historicizing versions of their story but was obviously essential to their original myth. Plutarch handles the matter delicately (chs. 2 and 4), as did his principal sources. Grown to manhood, the twins led a rebellion that restored Numitor to his throne and afterwards, owing to their robust personal ambitions, left Alba Longa to found a new city. Rivalry between the two brothers, however, led to the death of Remus, a baleful sign of the Romans’ proclivity for bloodshed, although Plutarch like other writers introduces exculpating evidence on Romulus’ behalf (ch. 10). Despite its violent beginnings, Rome managed to thrive, even if its first steps also exhibited a good deal of brute force: the Romans stole their wives from the neighbouring Sabines (an event still known as the Rape of the Sabine Women) and they thereafter expanded their domains through unrelenting warfare. In the end, Romulus’ reign was marred when the king’s disposition began to exhibit autocratic traits. But he never became a tyrant: he was either assassinated by his senate or vanished to become the god Quirinus.

  Romulus always sustained his vitality as an exemplar for Roman authority. He appealed to Caesar and to Augustus,2 and even in Plutarch’s day the emperor could burnish his image by appealing to the legend of Rome’s first king.3 Owing to such continuing imperial interest, any biography of Romulus required delicacy.4 His incipient autocracy when at the height of his power, for instance, was liable to be misconstrued unless handled deftly. And because accounts of his death invariably evoked the assassination of Caesar, that part of the Life was also likely to attract a close reading. So, too, Plutarch’s treatment of the legend of Romulus’ ultimate apotheosis, which could only activate modern concerns in imperial Rome, when emperors anticipated divine honours for themselves. In this Life, however, Plutarch is at pains to emphasize Romulus’ antiquity, his sheer distance from the contemporary Roman society of which he was the founder. Although by Roman reckoning, as we have seen, Romulus was a figure of the eighth century, he is paired by Plutarch with Theseus, a denizen of the mythological past lying far beyond the grasp of authentic history.

  Out of History

  The pairing of Romulus with Theseus is not a neat one. The Greek was not the founder of Athens but rather the figure associated with its synoecism, that is, with the political unification of Attica which constituted the true beginning of Athens’ political identity. For all that, however, Theseus was and remains better known as the slayer of the Minotaur and the hero who battled Amazons and Centaurs and who journeyed to the underworld. This is very different territory from any other Plutarchan pairing, and, in its Prologue, Plutarch acknowledges the anomaly. He observes how, after extending his historical range back to Lycurgus and Numa, ‘there seemed to be nothing unreasonable in going back a step further to Romulus’. Except that, in taking this further step, Plutarch found himself in a world in which his ideas about history did not always apply:

  Let us hope, then, that I shall succeed in purifying fable, and make her submit to reason and take on the appearance of history. But when she obstinately defies probability and refuses to admit any element of the credible, I shall throw myself on the indulgence of my readers and of those who can listen with forbearance to the tales of antiquity.

  (Theseus 1)

  One consequence of Plutarch’s reaching back into the realm of mythology is that this pairing becomes something of a demonstration of his historicizing techniques. Greek and Roman scholars were keen to rationalize or contextualize myths in order to align them with modern expectations: indeed, this practice was essential for maintaining any continuity between the present and the distant but still meaningful mythological past, with events like the Trojan War or the founding of Rome. In writing biographies of Theseus and Romulus, then, Plutarch situated himself in a long-standing and highly respectable tradition of Greek historiography and antiquarianism.5

  Myth and Moralism

  For Plutarch, his universalizing moralism applies even in the world of myth. And so this pairing, like the others, centres on familiar moral themes. Romulus is both legislator and warrior, and, as is frequently the case in Plutarch, his Life underscores the importance of combining might with intelligence and self-control.6 Indeed, Romulus’ final communication to the Romans makes this very point:

  Farewell, and tell the Romans that if they cultivate self-restraint together with valour they will not fail to attain the utmost degree of human power.

  (Romulus 28)

  Neither Theseus nor Romulus is an ideal monarch, however, and, through their errors and successes alike, each serves as a vivid reminder of how monarchical government relies on the moral virtue of the king himself. Plutarch was keenly interested in the extent to which any statesman’s character affected his administration,7 and the issue was by no means irrelevant in a world governed by emperors.

  Sources

  It is obvious that, in writing this Life, Plutarch turned to both Dionysius of Halicarnassus and Livy.8 Historians of early Rome had no choice but to exploit antiquarian research and speculation, and Plutarch was no different: he seems to have read Marcus Terentius Varro (116–27 BC), a Roman officer and intellectual who rose (at an uncertain date) to the rank of praetor. He was famous for his prodigious learning, and two of his many compositions were useful to Plutarch: On the Latin Language (De Lingua Latina, in twenty-five books, of which Books 5 to 10 are partially preserved) and Antiquarian researches into matters human and divine (Antiquitates rerum humanarum et divinarum, in 41 books which are now lost). Plutarch also cites several leading authorities for early Rome, such as Diocles of Peparethus (FGrH 840), a third-century BC Greek historian who was Fabius Pictor’s main source for his account of the foundation of Rome, Fabius Pictor himself and Promathion9 (FGrH 817), the obscure author of a work on Italy. He also mentions Juba, the learned king of Mauretania and friend of Augustus who composed a now lost history of Rome in Greek (FGrH 275). He is apparently familiar with Valerius Antias,10 the first-century BC Roman historian whose history of Rome from its origins to 91 BC celebrated, perhaps tendentiously, the achievements of the Valerian family. And it should not be forgotten that Plutarch had erudite friends from whom he could seek advice on Roman history and antiquarianism: at Romulus 15 he acknowledges the help of Sextius Sulla, also a figure in Plutarch’s Table Talk and a distinguished man whom Plutarch had visited in Rome (Moralia 727b).

  Life of Romulus

  [reigned 753–716 BC]

  1. Scholars disagree about the origins of the great name of Rome, the fame of which has spread among all peoples. After whom was the city named, and why? Some claim that the Pelasgians, after they had wandered over most of the known world and had overpowered most of its inhabitants, chose that spot to settle and, on account of their military might, named their city Rome.1 Others relate a different story. When Troy was captured, a few escaped and found ships and, blown by strong winds until they reached the territory of the Etruscans, lay at anchor in the River Tiber. By this point the women were bewildered and distressed at the prospect of another sea voyage, when one of them, a woman of distinguished family and superior intelligence, whose name was Rome, proposed burning the ships. This was done, and, at first, the men reacted with fury. Afterwards, out of sheer necessity, they settled around the Palatine, where they were soon faring better than they might have hoped, for they found that the land was good and their neighbours proved
friendly. At that time, they paid a distinct honour to Rome and named their city after her, since it was because of her that it had been founded. And this explains, we are told, why it is customary for Roman women to greet their kinsmen with kisses,2 because these women, after they had burnt the ships, greeted their husbands in just this affectionate manner as they entreated with them and induced them to lay aside their anger.

  2. There are others who say that the Rome who gave her name to the city was a daughter of Italus and Leucaria3 and that she was married to Aeneas; others, however, make her a daughter of Telephus, the son of Heracles – and still others say she was the wife not of Aeneas but of Ascanius, his son. Others again claim that the city was founded by Romanus, a son of Odysseus and Circe, while others mention the son of Emathion, Rhomus, who was sent to Italy from Troy by Diomedes.4 Still others insist that Rome was founded by Romis, a tyrant of the Latins,5 after he had driven off the Etruscans, who had themselves made their way from Thessaly to Lydia and then from Lydia to Italy.6

  Not even those scholars who specify Romulus as the city’s eponym, which is the version found in the best accounts, can agree about his lineage. It is claimed by some that he was a son of Aeneas and Dexithea, the daughter of Phorbas.7 While still a baby, he was brought to Italy along with his brother Remus. But the travellers’ boats were all destroyed by the floodwaters of the Tiber, except the one carrying the two boys, which was gently guided to a grassy place along the river’s edge. Since the boys had been so unexpectedly saved, the site was named Rome. But others have it that Rome, a daughter of that Trojan woman I mentioned earlier,8 was married to Latinus, son of Telemachus,9 and bore Romulus to him. There are others who maintain that Aemilia, Aeneas’ daughter, bore Romulus to Mars.10 Still others insist that it was Lavinia11 who bore him to Mars.

  And some authors relate the most fantastic tales about his origins. Here is an example. A divine apparition visited the house of Tarchetius, the savage and cruel king of Alba Longa.12 It took the form of a phallus rising out of his hearth, and it remained there for many days. Now in Etruria there was an oracle of Tethys.13 When Tarchetius consulted this oracle, he received the revelation that a virgin must have intercourse with the apparition and should bear a son destined to be famous for his bravery and superior in both fortune and might. Tarchetius explained this prophecy to one of his daughters and ordered her to have intercourse with the phallus. She, however, deemed it too degrading, so she sent in a servant. Tarchetius, when he discovered this, was so outraged that he arrested both women with the intention of putting them to death. But Vesta14 appeared to him in his sleep and warned him not to carry out the executions. He instead instructed the imprisoned girls to busy themselves at the loom, on the pretext that, once they had completed their weaving, they should be given in marriage. Day after day they laboured at weaving, but, by night, other women, on Tarchetius’ orders, unravelled their work. When at last the servant, who had been impregnated by the phallus, gave birth to twins, Tarchetius handed them over to a certain Teratius, whom he commanded to do away with them. This man carried the infants to the bank of the river and left them there. Afterwards, a she-wolf watched over them and suckled them, while birds of every species brought morsels of food, which they fed to the babies. This continued until a cowherd caught sight of the boys. Though he was astonished by what he saw, he ventured to approach the children so he could carry them away. Such was the story of their rescue, and, when the boys became men, they attacked Tarchetius and defeated him. This is the account given by a certain Promathion,15 who compiled a history of Italy.

  3. But the account of Rome’s founding that possesses the greatest credibility and is most widely attested was first published among the Greeks by Diocles of Peparethus,16 whom Fabius Pictor for the most part follows.17 Even this version exhibits numerous variations, but the essential narrative runs as follows. The descendants of Aeneas reigned as kings in Alba Longa, and the succession eventually fell upon two brothers, Numitor and Amulius. Amulius divided their inheritance into two parts: on one side he set the throne, on the other their ancestral wealth, which included gold that had been brought from Troy. Numitor chose the throne. Consequently, Amulius took possession of the wealth, by means of which he soon came to have greater power than Numitor and easily deprived him of his kingdom. Because he was frightened that his brother’s daughter might one day have children, Amulius appointed her a priestess of Vesta, which meant that she should always remain unmarried and a virgin. Some give her name as Ilia, others as Rhea, others as Silvia.

  It was not long after this had taken place that she was found to be pregnant, a violation of the established law for priestesses of Vesta. The daughter of the king, Antho, pleaded with her father and persuaded him not to put his niece to death. She was instead placed in solitary confinement, so that she could not give birth without Amulius’ knowledge. She bore two sons who were extraordinary for their size and beauty, an event that caused Amulius even greater alarm than he had felt before. So he ordered a servant to dispose of the boys. Some say that this servant’s name was Faustulus, but others insist that it was not this man but the boys’ rescuer who bore that name. This servant placed the boys in a basin and went down towards the river, where he intended to pitch them into the water. But when he saw the river in a violent flood, he was too afraid to go near it. He left the boys on the bank and departed. The inundation of the rising river lifted up the basin and bore it gently along until it came to rest at a quite comfortable place, which the Romans now call Cermalus but in the past called Germanus, no doubt because germanus is the Latin word for brother.18

  4. Near this place was a wild fig tree, called the Ruminal fig, either from Romulus, as most people believe, or from the ruminating of animals that once gathered under its shade in the heat of the day, or, what is the best explanation, from the fact that there is where the infants were suckled. For the ancient Romans used the word ruma to refer to the nipple, and there is a goddess, still called Rumina, who looks after the rearing of young children. When sacrificing to her the Romans do not use wine but instead pour libations of milk19 over her victims. In any case, it was here the infants lay, and, according to the historians, here is where a she-wolf nursed them and where a woodpecker came to help to feed and watch over them. These animals are deemed sacred to Mars, and the Latins especially worship and venerate the woodpecker. Consequently their mother was widely taken at her word when she claimed that her children were fathered by Mars. However, others say that she was deceived in this and that in reality it was Amulius himself who deflowered her, when he came to her dressed in armour and violated her.

  In the view of some, this fable arose from the ambiguity of the name of the infants’ nurse. The Latins use the word lupa not only for a she-wolf but also for any woman who is a prostitute, and the wife of Faustulus, the man who took in and reared the children, whose name was Acca Larentia, was such a woman. Still, the Romans offer sacrifices to her, and in the month of April the priest of Mars pours libations in her honour, at a feast called the Larentalia.20

  5. There is another Larentia whom the Romans also honour, and the explanation is as follows. The custodian of the temple of Hercules, when once, it seems, he had nothing else to occupy his time, proposed a game of dice to the god. The terms of their wager were that, if he should win, he would gain something valuable from the god, whereas if he should lose, he would furnish the god with a sumptuous banquet and with a beautiful woman for his pleasure. He then threw the dice, first for the god and then for himself, and found that he had lost. Inasmuch as he wished to keep faith and thought it only just to meet the terms of their wager, the custodian prepared a feast for the god and hired Larentia, who, though not yet famous, was in the full bloom of her beauty. He served her dinner in the temple, where he had also placed a bed, and after the meal he closed her within, as if the god would actually embrace her. Even so, it is reported that the god did in fact come to her, and he instructed her to go early in the morning to the foru
m, where she should greet the first man whom she met and befriend him. Now there she was met by a citizen of mature years, who was very wealthy but childless and a lifelong bachelor, whose name was Tarratius. This man took Larentia as his lover and became so fond of her that, when he died, he named her as heir to his many precious possessions, most of which she bequeathed to the people in her will. Furthermore, so the story goes, after she had become famous, being esteemed because she was the god’s beloved, she suddenly vanished at the very spot where the previous Larentia lay buried. This place is now called Velabrum,21 because, when the river overflowed, as in the past it often did, it was there that people crossed over to the forum by way of ferries, and the Latin word for a ferry is velatura. Others, however, prefer the view that this place’s name is derived from velum, which is the Roman word for sail, for the street leading from the forum to the Circus Maximus is, from that point onwards, hung with sails by those who exhibit public spectacles. In any case, it is for these reasons that this second Larentia is honoured by the Romans.