Introduction

By way of introducing this second section of the present chapter, let us return to the brief reign of Didius Julianus. Having purchased the throne from the praetorians, Julianus proceeded straightaway, accompanied by his new, heavily armed, retinue, to the Senate House. There, he received the official sanction of the conscript fathers, albeit under duress. On the following day, the senators all visited him to pay their respects. Since they both feared and hated their new prince, they feigned a happy mood in his presence. The urban populace, on the other hand, was vociferous in its displeasure, loudly branding Julianus a parricide and a thief. So he offered them money. When they responded that they desired no cash from him, that they could not be bought, Julianus’ tolerance had been pushed too far. He set the soldiers on them, and a number of people were killed. The crowd then betook itself to the circus maximus, where a night and a day were spent shouting abuse of Julianus, and pleading that the legionary soldiers might come to Rome and rescue the people from the lout and his praetorians. In the end, the people gave up, and went home - though not at all happily. The general mood in Rome remained sullen (Dio 74.1213). The events of these two or three days clearly demonstrate several things.

First, the Senate had little to say in the selection of emperors. On the other hand, it was essential that the Senate, once the emperor had been (by whatever process) proclaimed, “officially” grant him his position (Talbert 1984: 354-8). For this, in combination perhaps with a law passed by one of the popular assemblies, was the only available method of giving a new prince the sheen of legitimacy (note, however, that the last recorded act of a Roman popular assembly comes from 97 ce, just as our period starts - see Rotondi 1912: 471). But even more importantly, senatorial opinion was crucial for any emperor who hoped to die naturally, or to function decently; for these were the men upon whom he must rely in the actual running of the empire. And of course, the historical record was largely written by senators, so emperors who desired to be remembered well needed to please this group of potential authors.

As for the Roman populace, they could become very loud, and very annoying - even significantly dangerous. Nonetheless, while they could dislike, criticize, and generally make life difficult and unpleasant for the reigning emperor, they generally could not select him (by the late second century, however, this group had gained rather more power in this respect: see Sunskes Thompson 1993).

The traditional picture of the people’s political activity holds that, during the republican period, the aristocracy pretty well controlled the common folk. A web of client-patron relationships, along with various ‘‘constitutional’’ arrangements, prevented the people, as a whole, from being able to exercise much real political muscle. Hence, when the republic was dissolved, they, unlike the aristocracy, lost rather little in any practical, political sense. They therefore wholeheartedly supported the monarchy, unlike the more elite members of society. The main concern of the plebs urbana, once basic needs (largely a steady supply of food and entertainments) had been met, came to be that emperors comport themselves in a fashion that the urban populace found appropriate (Yavetz 1969: esp. 130-40).

Recently, however, the very nature of the republican political system has been called into question. In particular, one school of thought now holds that the republic was much more democratic than many have been willing to admit, and that the common people really did have significant political clout (see Millar 1998; though for an argument more along the lines of the traditional picture, see now Mouritsen 2001). If this interpretation is correct (or if it be accepted), then we (or those who take this line) will have to think again about the position of the plebs urbana under the imperial regime. For if the Roman people did lose real liberties and real political standing with the advent of the principate, then their expectations of the new political order deserve some reconsideration. Although this problem cannot be settled here (indeed, it may never be settled absolutely), the debate should be kept in mind as we consider the political position of the urban populace.

Let us return to the main line of our argument. While neither the senators nor the urban plebs could realistically hope to make an emperor, either group could contribute significantly to a ruler’s downfall. And for that reason, if we ask what an emperor was ‘‘supposed’’ to do, we must consider the wishes of these two groups - as well, of course, as the desires of the soldiers. For emperors who could please these three constituencies would surely be judged to have ruled well and be classed among the ‘‘good’’ emperors, while failure at this task was likely to be fatal, both to the emperor himself and to his memory in the annals of history.

We shall turn momentarily to an examination of what an emperor had to do to keep each of these groups content, thus to the constraints on his conduct as emperor. As we shall see, what made for a ‘‘good’’ emperor, in Roman eyes, was not necessarily what might occur first to a modern audience. But before considering such matters, it is worth asking, although briefly, (a) just what an emperor, at least in theory, was allowed to do, and (b) again, broadly speaking, what he was supposed to do.