Sanctity permeated the annual calendar, which controlled political and legal processes according to a religious framework. The calendar was divided into twelve columns and each day was marked with an F or an N, depending on whether it was fastus or nefastus—lucky or unlucky, lawful or unlawful. On the former days, business could be conducted, the law courts could sit, farmers could begin plowing or harvesting crops. Especially fortunate days were marked with a C (for comitialis), which meant that popular assemblies could meet. Some days were thought to be so unlucky that it was not even permissible to hold religious ceremonies: these included the days following the Kalends (first of a month), Nones (the ninth day before the Ides), the Ides (the thirteenth or fifteenth of the month) and the anniversaries of national disasters.
If a day was nefastus, the gods frowned on human exertion (although one was allowed to continue a task already started). An added complication was that some days were partly lucky and partly unlucky. According to a stone-carved calendar discovered at Antium, 109 days were nefasti, 192 comitiales, and 11 were mixed. The Roman year was also punctuated by numerous festivals or public holidays (some of which were one-time events caused, say, by the need to expiate some offense or sacrilege). For certain public holidays the dates were not fixed until the last minute by the priests and officeholders who managed the calendar.
The interfusion of church and state gave plenty of leeway for manipulation and chicanery by the colleges and by politicians. Julius Caesar’s colleague during his first Consulship, Marcus Calpurnius Bibulus, tried to invalidate all Caesar’s legislation by withdrawing to his house to “scrutinize the heavens,” a step that theoretically brought all political activity to a halt. Popular assemblies were sometimes prevented from meeting by the simple expedient of declaring nefastus the day when they were to be called.
Public and religious ceremonies were conducted according to precise forms of words and any mistake by the officiant was held to be so unlucky that the entire ritual had to be repeated. Men in public life did their best to avoid accidental events or actions from being seen as unlucky. On a famous occasion during the civil war, Caesar tripped when disembarking from a ship on the shores of Africa and fell flat on his face. With his talent for improvisation, he spread out his arms and embraced the earth as a symbol of conquest. By quick thinking he turned a terrible omen of failure into one of victory.
Cicero came to know the Forum well during his student years. But then, alarmed by the turbulent reigns of Marius and Sulla, he stayed clear of public life. During the latter part of the 80s, he read and wrote, studied literature and philosophy and improved his knowledge and practice of public speaking. His aim was “not (as most do) to learn my trade in the Forum, but so far as possible to enter the Forum already trained.” Other ambitious young upper-class Romans were trying their hands as advocates in their early twenties, building political support and generally getting noticed; but for the time being Cicero was mostly silent and invisible.
In the summer of 81 the proscription came to an end, and life began to return to normal. Sulla turned his attention to political reform. His basic idea was to prevent the dominance of two classes of politician who, he believed, had come near to destroying the Republic. The first was the radical Tribune, like the Gracchus brothers with their dangerous obsession with land reform. The second was the powerful general willing to lead his loyal army on Rome—in other words, someone very like himself. He was determined to stop another Sulla from expropriating the state.
He increased the powers and size of the depleted Senate. Between 300 and 400 new members were appointed. He also raised the quota of Quaestors and introduced the rule that they became Senators ex officio. In order to prevent inexperienced young men from gaining power too early, he set strict age limits for officeholders. Although there were scandalous exceptions, this was the basic pattern to which the younger generation, including Cicero and Caesar, had to conform.
Tribunes lost much of their authority: their right to present legislation to the General Assembly, thus bypassing the Senate, was withdrawn. More seriously, they were debarred from holding any other public office. The Tribuneship could no longer fast-forward a political career.
New rules were introduced to control elected officials abroad. The Senate allocated provincial appointments and was expected to ensure that the most dangerously ambitious politicians were kept from the most sensitive governorships. Postings were usually to be for one year only and a new treason law regulated governors’ behavior. They were not allowed to start wars without permission, leave their provinces or take their troops into someone else’s. With a few spectacular exceptions, governors adhered to these rules.
Cicero warmly approved of Sulla’s ends but not his means; he believed that the Dictator had won “a disreputable victory in a reputable cause.” He was greatly relieved when order was restored. It meant not only that the constitution had survived but that at long last it was safe to return to the Forum and launch his career at the bar. He was twenty-five years old.
We do not know how the inexperienced advocate won his first briefs. Almost certainly his family’s clientela network was put to work and cases were found that for one reason or another were unattractive to more senior lawyers. His first extant speech dates from 81; it was a defense of a certain Publius Quinctius, who had become embroiled in a complicated dispute with his dead brother’s business partner about the ownership of a cattle farm in Transalpine Gaul. Cicero was noticed as a promising newcomer; but while his voice was powerful, it was harsh and untrained and he strained it from overuse.
All his life he suffered from first-night nerves. He acknowledged:
Personally, I am always very nervous when I begin to speak. Every time I make a speech I feel I am submitting to judgment, not only about my ability but my character and honor. I am afraid of seeming either to promise more than I can perform, which suggests complete irresponsibility, or to perform less than I can, which suggests bad faith and indifference.
On at least one occasion he is known to have broken down completely. He would work up and polish his speeches after delivery and publish them in a form which may sometimes have been substantially different from the original versions. A few times he published speeches that had never been delivered at all.
Malicious critics drew an unkinder picture. A contemporary attack on Cicero’s method in 43 (as reported, perhaps invented, by an imperial historian) is knockabout invective and not to be taken too seriously, but it has a ring of truth.
Why, you always come to the courts trembling, as if you were about to fight as a gladiator, and after uttering a few words in a meek and half-dead voice you take your leave.… Do you think anyone is ignorant of the fact that you never delivered those wonderful orations of yours that you have published but wrote them all out afterwards, like craftsmen who mold generals and cavalry leaders out of clay?
In 80 the case arose that made Cicero’s reputation. He must have hesitated before taking it on, for it touched on corruption in the Dictator’s entourage. Famous legal names had declined to have anything to do with it, fearful of Sulla’s well-known vengefulness. It took some courage for the timid young orator to accept the brief.