democracy and revolution. No man ever trusted more entirely to popular
opinion than Cicero, or was more anxious for aristocratic authority.
But neither in one direction nor the other did he look for personal
aggrandizement, beyond that which might come to him in accordance with
the law and in subjection to the old form of government.

It is because he was in truth patriotic, because his dreams of a
Republic were noble dreams, because he was intent on doing good in
public affairs, because he was anxious for the honor of Rome and of
Romans, not because he was or was not a "real power in the State" that
his memory is still worth recording. Added to this was the intellect
and the wit and erudition of the man, which were at any rate supreme.
And then, though we can now see that his efforts were doomed to
failure by the nature of the circumstances surrounding him, he was
so nearly successful, so often on the verge of success, that we are
exalted by the romance of his story into the region of personal
sympathy. As we are moved by the aspirations and sufferings of a hero
in a tragedy, so are we stirred by the efforts, the fortune, and at
last the fall of this man. There is a picturesqueness about the life
of Cicero which is wanting in the stories of Marius or Sylla, of
Pompey, or even of Caesar--a picturesqueness which is produced in
great part by these very doubtings which have been counted against him
as insincerity.

His hands were clean when the hands of all around him were defiled by
greed. How infinitely Cicero must have risen above his time when he
could have clean hands! A man in our days will keep himself clean from
leprosy because to be a leper is to be despised by those around him.
Advancing wisdom has taught us that such leprosy is bad, and public
opinion coerces us. There is something too, we must suppose, in the