The Project Gutenberg EBook of The History of The Decline and Fall of the
Roman Empire, by Edward Gibbon
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Title: The History of The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire
Volume 1
Author: Edward Gibbon
Posting Date: June 7, 2008 [EBook #890]
Release Date: April, 1997
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN EMPIRE ***
Produced by David Reed, Dale R. Fredrickson and David Widger
Introduction—The Extent And Military Force Of The Empire In The Age Of The Antonines.
Of The Union And Internal Prosperity Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of The Antonines.
Of The Constitution Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of The Antonines.
The Cruelty, Follies, And Murder Of Commodus. Election Of Pertinax—His Attempts To Reform The State—His Assassination By The Prætorian Guards.
Public Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus By The Prætorian Guards—Clodius Albinus In Britain, Pescennius Niger In Syria, And Septimius Severus In Pannonia, Declare Against The Murderers Of Pertinax—Civil Wars And Victory Of Severus Over His Three Rivals—Relaxation Of Discipline—New Maxims Of Government.
The Death Of Severus.—Tyranny Of Caracalla.—Usurpation Of Macrinus.—Follies Of Elagabalus.—Virtues Of Alexander Severus.—Licentiousness Of The Army.—General State Of The Roman Finances.
The Elevation And Tyranny Of Maximin.—Rebellion In Africa And Italy, Under The Authority Of The Senate.—Civil Wars And Seditions.—Violent Deaths Of Maximin And His Son, Of Maximus And Balbinus, And Of The Three Gordians.—Usurpation And Secular Games Of Philip.
Of The State Of Persia After The Restoration Of The Monarchy By Artaxerxes.
The State Of Germany Till The Invasion Of The Barbarians In The Time Of The Emperor Decius.
The Emperors Decius, Gallus, Æmilianus, Valerian, And Gallienus.—The General Irruption Of The Barbari Ans.—The Thirty Tyrants.
Reign Of Claudius.—Defeat Of The Goths.—Victories, Triumph, And Death Of Aurelian.
Conduct Of The Army And Senate After The Death Of Aurelian.— Reigns Of Tacitus, Probus, Carus, And His Sons.
The Reign Of Diocletian And His Three Associates, Maximian, Galerius, And Constantius.—General Reestablishment Of Order And Tranquillity.—The Persian War, Victory, And Triumph.— The New Form Of Administration.—Abdication And Retirement Of Diocletian And Maximian.
Troubles After The Abdication Of Diocletian.—Death Of Constantius.—Elevation Of Constantine And Maxen Tius. Six Emperors At The Same Time.—Death Of Maximian And Galerius. —Victories Of Constantine Over Maxentius And Licinus.— Reunion Of The Empire Under The Authority Of Constantine.
The Progress Of The Christian Religion, And The Sentiments, Manners, Numbers, And Condition Of The Primitive Christians.
The great work of Gibbon is indispensable to the student of
history. The literature of Europe offers no substitute for "The
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire." It has obtained undisputed
possession, as rightful occupant, of the vast period which it
comprehends. However some subjects, which it embraces, may have
undergone more complete investigation, on the general view of the
whole period, this history is the sole undisputed authority to
which all defer, and from which few appeal to the original
writers, or to more modern compilers. The inherent interest of
the subject, the inexhaustible labor employed upon it; the
immense condensation of matter; the luminous arrangement; the
general accuracy; the style, which, however monotonous from its
uniform stateliness, and sometimes wearisome from its elaborate
art., is throughout vigorous, animated, often picturesque always
commands attention, always conveys its meaning with emphatic
energy, describes with singular breadth and fidelity, and
generalizes with unrivalled felicity of expression; all these
high qualifications have secured, and seem likely to secure, its
permanent place in historic literature.
This vast design of Gibbon, the magnificent whole into which
he has cast the decay and ruin of the ancient civilization, the
formation and birth of the new order of things, will of itself,
independent of the laborious execution of his immense plan,
render "The Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" an
unapproachable subject to the future historian:* in the eloquent
language of his recent French editor, M. Guizot:—
"The gradual decline of the most extraordinary dominion which
has ever invaded and oppressed the world; the fall of that
immense empire, erected on the ruins of so many kingdoms,
republics, and states both barbarous and civilized; and forming
in its turn, by its dismemberment, a multitude of states,
republics, and kingdoms; the annihilation of the religion of
Greece and Rome; the birth and the progress of the two new
religions which have shared the most beautiful regions of the
earth; the decrepitude of the ancient world, the spectacle of its
expiring glory and degenerate manners; the infancy of the modern
world, the picture of its first progress, of the new direction
given to the mind and character of man—such a subject must
necessarily fix the attention and excite the interest of men, who
cannot behold with indifference those memorable epochs, during
which, in the fine language of Corneille—
'Un grand destin commence, un grand destin
s'achève.'"
This extent and harmony of design is unquestionably that which
distinguishes the work of Gibbon from all other great historical
compositions. He has first bridged the abyss between ancient and
modern times, and connected together the two great worlds of
history. The great advantage which the classical historians
possess over those of modern times is in unity of plan, of course
greatly facilitated by the narrower sphere to which their
researches were confined. Except Herodotus, the great historians
of Greece—we exclude the more modern compilers, like Diodorus
Siculus—limited themselves to a single period, or at least to
the contracted sphere of Grecian affairs. As far as the
Barbarians trespassed within the
Grecian boundary, or were necessarily mingled up with Grecian
politics, they were admitted into the pale of Grecian history;
but to Thucydides and to Xenophon, excepting in the Persian
inroad of the latter, Greece was the world. Natural unity
confined their narrative almost to chronological order, the
episodes were of rare occurrence and extremely brief. To the
Roman historians the course was equally clear and defined. Rome
was their centre of unity; and the uniformity with which the
circle of the Roman dominion spread around, the regularity with
which their civil polity expanded, forced, as it were, upon the
Roman historian that plan which Polybius announces as the subject
of his history, the means and the manner by which the whole world
became subject to the Roman sway. How different the complicated
politics of the European kingdoms! Every national history, to be
complete, must, in a certain sense, be the history of Europe;
there is no knowing to how remote a quarter it may be necessary
to trace our most domestic events; from a country, how apparently
disconnected, may originate the impulse which gives its direction
to the whole course of affairs.
In imitation of his classical models, Gibbon places
Rome as the cardinal point from which
his inquiries diverge, and to which they bear constant reference;
yet how immeasurable the space over which those inquiries range;
how complicated, how confused, how apparently inextricable the
causes which tend to the decline of the Roman empire! how
countless the nations which swarm forth, in mingling and
indistinct hordes, constantly changing the geographical limits—incessantly confounding the natural boundaries! At first sight,
the whole period, the whole state of the world, seems to offer no
more secure footing to an historical adventurer than the chaos of
Milton—to be in a state of irreclaimable disorder, best
described in the language of the poet:—
"A dark Illimitable ocean, without bound,
Without dimension, where length, breadth, and height,
And time, and place, are lost: where eldest Night
And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold
Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise
Of endless wars, and by confusion stand."
We feel that the unity and harmony of narrative, which shall
comprehend this period of social disorganization, must be
ascribed entirely to the skill and luminous disposition of the
historian. It is in this sublime Gothic architecture of his work,
in which the boundless range, the infinite variety, the, at first
sight, incongruous gorgeousness of the separate parts,
nevertheless are all subordinate to one main and predominant
idea, that Gibbon is unrivalled. We cannot but admire the manner
in which he masses his materials, and arranges his facts in
successive groups, not according to chronological order, but to
their moral or political connection; the distinctness with which
he marks his periods of gradually increasing decay; and the skill
with which, though advancing on separate parallels of history, he
shows the common tendency of the slower or more rapid religious
or civil innovations. However these principles of composition may
demand more than ordinary attention on the part of the reader,
they can alone impress upon the memory the real course, and the
relative importance of the events. Whoever would justly
appreciate the superiority of Gibbon's lucid arrangement, should
attempt to make his way through the regular but wearisome annals
of Tillemont, or even the less ponderous volumes of Le Beau. Both
these writers adhere, almost entirely, to chronological order;
the consequence is, that we are twenty times called upon to break
off, and resume the thread of six or eight wars in different
parts of the empire; to suspend the operations of a military
expedition for a court intrigue; to hurry away from a siege to a
council; and the same page places us in the middle of a campaign
against the barbarians, and in the depths of the Monophysite
controversy. In Gibbon it is not always easy to bear in mind the
exact dates but the course of events is ever clear and distinct;
like a skilful general, though his troops advance from the most
remote and opposite quarters, they are constantly bearing down
and concentrating themselves on one point—that which is still
occupied by the name, and by the waning power of Rome. Whether he
traces the progress of hostile religions, or leads from the
shores of the Baltic, or the verge of the Chinese empire, the
successive hosts of barbarians—though one wave has hardly
burst and discharged itself, before another swells up and
approaches—all is made to flow in the same direction, and the
impression which each makes upon the tottering fabric of the
Roman greatness, connects their distant movements, and measures
the relative importance assigned to them in the panoramic
history. The more peaceful and didactic episodes on the
development of the Roman law, or even on the details of
ecclesiastical history, interpose themselves as resting-places or
divisions between the periods of barbaric invasion. In short,
though distracted first by the two capitals, and afterwards by
the formal partition of the empire, the extraordinary felicity of
arrangement maintains an order and a regular progression. As our
horizon expands to reveal to us the gathering tempests which are
forming far beyond the boundaries of the civilized world—as we
follow their successive approach to the trembling frontier—the
compressed and receding line is still distinctly visible; though
gradually dismembered and the broken fragments assuming the form
of regular states and kingdoms, the real relation of those
kingdoms to the empire is maintained and defined; and even when
the Roman dominion has shrunk into little more than the province
of Thrace—when the name of Rome, confined, in Italy, to the
walls of the city—yet it is still the memory, the shade of the
Roman greatness, which extends over the wide sphere into which
the historian expands his later narrative; the whole blends into
the unity, and is manifestly essential to the double catastrophe
of his tragic drama.
But the amplitude, the magnificence, or the harmony of design,
are, though imposing, yet unworthy claims on our admiration,
unless the details are filled up with correctness and accuracy.
No writer has been more severely tried on this point than Gibbon.
He has undergone the triple scrutiny of theological zeal
quickened by just resentment, of literary emulation, and of that
mean and invidious vanity which delights in detecting errors in
writers of established fame. On the result of the trial, we may
be permitted to summon competent witnesses before we deliver our
own judgment.
M. Guizot, in his preface, after stating that in France and
Germany, as well as in England, in the most enlightened countries
of Europe, Gibbon is constantly cited as an authority, thus
proceeds:—
"I have had occasion, during my labors, to consult the
writings of philosophers, who have treated on the finances of the
Roman empire; of scholars, who have investigated the chronology;
of theologians, who have searched the depths of ecclesiastical
history; of writers on law, who have studied with care the Roman
jurisprudence; of Orientalists, who have occupied themselves with
the Arabians and the Koran; of modern historians, who have
entered upon extensive researches touching the crusades and their
influence; each of these writers has remarked and pointed out, in
the 'History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire,' some
negligences, some false or imperfect views some omissions, which
it is impossible not to suppose voluntary; they have rectified
some facts combated with advantage some assertions; but in
general they have taken the researches and the ideas of Gibbon,
as points of departure, or as proofs of the researches or of the
new opinions which they have advanced."
M. Guizot goes on to state his own impressions on reading
Gibbon's history, and no authority will have greater weight with
those to whom the extent and accuracy of his historical
researches are known:—
"After a first rapid perusal, which allowed me to feel nothing
but the interest of a narrative, always animated, and,
notwithstanding its extent and the variety of objects which it
makes to pass before the view, always perspicuous, I entered upon
a minute examination of the details of which it was composed; and
the opinion which I then formed was, I confess, singularly
severe. I discovered, in certain chapters, errors which appeared
to me sufficiently important and numerous to make me believe that
they had been written with extreme negligence; in others, I was
struck with a certain tinge of partiality and prejudice, which
imparted to the exposition of the facts that want of truth and
justice, which the English express by their happy term
misrepresentation. Some imperfect
(tronquées) quotations; some
passages, omitted unintentionally or designedly cast a suspicion
on the honesty (bonne foi) of the
author; and his violation of the first law of history—increased to my eye by the prolonged attention with which I
occupied myself with every phrase, every note, every reflection—caused me to form upon the whole work, a judgment far too
rigorous. After having finished my labors, I allowed some time to
elapse before I reviewed the whole. A second attentive and
regular perusal of the entire work, of the notes of the author,
and of those which I had thought it right to subjoin, showed me
how much I had exaggerated the importance of the reproaches which
Gibbon really deserved; I was struck with the same errors, the
same partiality on certain subjects; but I had been far from
doing adequate justice to the immensity of his researches, the
variety of his knowledge, and above all, to that truly
philosophical discrimination (justesse
d'esprit) which judges the past as it would judge
the present; which does not permit itself to be blinded by the
clouds which time gathers around the dead, and which prevent us
from seeing that, under the toga, as under the modern dress, in
the senate as in our councils, men were what they still are, and
that events took place eighteen centuries ago, as they take place
in our days. I then felt that his book, in spite of its faults,
will always be a noble work—and that we may correct his errors
and combat his prejudices, without ceasing to admit that few men
have combined, if we are not to say in so high a degree, at least
in a manner so complete, and so well regulated, the necessary
qualifications for a writer of history."
The present editor has followed the track of Gibbon through
many parts of his work; he has read his authorities with constant
reference to his pages, and must pronounce his deliberate
judgment, in terms of the highest admiration as to his general
accuracy. Many of his seeming errors are almost inevitable from
the close condensation of his matter. From the immense range of
his history, it was sometimes necessary to compress into a single
sentence, a whole vague and diffuse page of a Byzantine
chronicler. Perhaps something of importance may have thus
escaped, and his expressions may not quite contain the whole
substance of the passage from which they are taken. His limits,
at times, compel him to sketch; where that is the case, it is not
fair to expect the full details of the finished picture. At times
he can only deal with important results; and in his account of a
war, it sometimes requires great attention to discover that the
events which seem to be comprehended in a single campaign, occupy
several years. But this admirable skill in selecting and giving
prominence to the points which are of real weight and importance—this distribution of light and shade—though perhaps it may
occasionally betray him into vague and imperfect statements, is
one of the highest excellencies of Gibbon's historic manner. It
is the more striking, when we pass from the works of his chief
authorities, where, after laboring through long, minute, and
wearisome descriptions of the accessary and subordinate
circumstances, a single unmarked and undistinguished sentence,
which we may overlook from the inattention of fatigue, contains
the great moral and political result.
Gibbon's method of arrangement, though on the whole most
favorable to the clear comprehension of the events, leads
likewise to apparent inaccuracy. That which we expect to find in
one part is reserved for another. The estimate which we are to
form, depends on the accurate balance of statements in remote
parts of the work; and we have sometimes to correct and modify
opinions, formed from one chapter by those of another. Yet, on
the other hand, it is astonishing how rarely we detect
contradiction; the mind of the author has already harmonized the
whole result to truth and probability; the general impression is
almost invariably the same. The quotations of Gibbon have
likewise been called in question;—I have, in
general, been more inclined to admire their
exactitude, than to complain of their indistinctness, or
incompleteness. Where they are imperfect, it is commonly from the
study of brevity, and rather from the desire of compressing the
substance of his notes into pointed and emphatic sentences, than
from dishonesty, or uncandid suppression of truth.
These observations apply more particularly to the accuracy and
fidelity of the historian as to his facts; his inferences, of
course, are more liable to exception. It is almost impossible to
trace the line between unfairness and unfaithfulness; between
intentional misrepresentation and undesigned false coloring. The
relative magnitude and importance of events must, in some
respect, depend upon the mind before which they are presented;
the estimate of character, on the habits and feelings of the
reader. Christians, like M. Guizot and ourselves, will see some
things, and some persons, in a different light from the historian
of the Decline and Fall. We may deplore the bias of his mind; we
may ourselves be on our guard against the danger of being misled,
and be anxious to warn less wary readers against the same perils;
but we must not confound this secret and unconscious departure
from truth, with the deliberate violation of that veracity which
is the only title of an historian to our confidence. Gibbon, it
may be fearlessly asserted, is rarely chargeable even with the
suppression of any material fact, which bears upon individual
character; he may, with apparently invidious hostility, enhance
the errors and crimes, and disparage the virtues of certain
persons; yet, in general, he leaves us the materials for forming
a fairer judgment; and if he is not exempt from his own
prejudices, perhaps we might write
passions, yet it must be candidly
acknowledged, that his philosophical bigotry is not more unjust
than the theological partialities of those ecclesiastical writers
who were before in undisputed possession of this province of
history.
We are thus naturally led to that great misrepresentation
which pervades his history—his false estimate of the nature
and influence of Christianity.
But on this subject some preliminary caution is necessary,
lest that should be expected from a new edition, which it is
impossible that it should completely accomplish. We must first be
prepared with the only sound preservative against the false
impression likely to be produced by the perusal of Gibbon; and we
must see clearly the real cause of that false impression. The
former of these cautions will be briefly suggested in its proper
place, but it may be as well to state it, here, somewhat more at
length. The art of Gibbon, or at least the unfair impression
produced by his two memorable chapters, consists in his
confounding together, in one indistinguishable mass, the
origin and
apostolic propagation of the new
religion, with its later progress. No
argument for the divine authority of Christianity has been urged
with greater force, or traced with higher eloquence, than that
deduced from its primary development, explicable on no other
hypothesis than a heavenly origin, and from its rapid extension
through great part of the Roman empire. But this argument—one,
when confined within reasonable limits, of unanswerable force—becomes more feeble and disputable in proportion as it recedes
from the birthplace, as it were, of the religion. The further
Christianity advanced, the more causes purely human were enlisted
in its favor; nor can it be doubted that those developed with
such artful exclusiveness by Gibbon did concur most essentially
to its establishment. It is in the Christian dispensation, as in
the material world. In both it is as the great First Cause, that
the Deity is most undeniably manifest. When once launched in
regular motion upon the bosom of space, and endowed with all
their properties and relations of weight and mutual attraction,
the heavenly bodies appear to pursue their courses according to
secondary laws, which account for all their sublime regularity.
So Christianity proclaims its Divine Author chiefly in its first
origin and development. When it had once received its impulse
from above—when it had once been infused into the minds of its
first teachers—when it had gained full possession of the
reason and affections of the favored few—it might
be—and to the Protestant, the rational
Christian, it is impossible to define
when it really
was—left to make its way by its
native force, under the ordinary secret agencies of all-ruling
Providence. The main question, the divine origin of
the religion, was dexterously eluded, or speciously
conceded by Gibbon; his plan enabled him to commence his account,
in most parts, below the apostolic
times; and it was only by the strength of the dark
coloring with which he brought out the failings and the follies
of the succeeding ages, that a shadow of doubt and suspicion was
thrown back upon the primitive period of Christianity.
"The theologian," says Gibbon, "may indulge the pleasing task
of describing religion as she descended from heaven, arrayed in
her native purity; a more melancholy duty is imposed upon the
historian:—he must discover the inevitable mixture of error
and corruption which she contracted in a long residence upon
earth among a weak and degenerate race of beings." Divest this
passage of the latent sarcasm betrayed by the subsequent tone of
the whole disquisition, and it might commence a Christian history
written in the most Christian spirit of candor. But as the
historian, by seeming to respect, yet by dexterously confounding
the limits of the sacred land, contrived to insinuate that it was
an Utopia which had no existence but in the imagination of the
theologian—as he suggested rather
than affirmed that the days of Christian purity were a kind of
poetic golden age;—so the theologian, by venturing too far
into the domain of the historian, has been perpetually obliged to
contest points on which he had little chance of victory—to
deny facts established on unshaken evidence—and thence, to
retire, if not with the shame of defeat, yet with but doubtful
and imperfect success.
Paley, with his intuitive sagacity, saw through the difficulty
of answering Gibbon by the ordinary arts of controversy; his
emphatic sentence, "Who can refute a sneer?" contains as much
truth as point. But full and pregnant as this phrase is, it is
not quite the whole truth; it is the tone in which the progress
of Christianity is traced, in
comparison with the rest of the
splendid and prodigally ornamented work, which is the radical
defect in the "Decline and Fall." Christianity alone receives no
embellishment from the magic of Gibbon's language; his
imagination is dead to its moral dignity; it is kept down by a
general zone of jealous disparagement, or neutralized by a
painfully elaborate exposition of its darker and degenerate
periods. There are occasions, indeed, when its pure and exalted
humanity, when its manifestly beneficial influence, can compel
even him, as it were, to fairness, and kindle his unguarded
eloquence to its usual fervor; but, in general, he soon relapses
into a frigid apathy; affects an
ostentatiously severe impartiality; notes all the faults of
Christians in every age with bitter and almost malignant sarcasm;
reluctantly, and with exception and reservation, admits their
claim to admiration. This inextricable bias appears even to
influence his manner of composition. While all the other
assailants of the Roman empire, whether warlike or religious, the
Goth, the Hun, the Arab, the Tartar, Alaric and Attila, Mahomet,
and Zengis, and Tamerlane, are each introduced upon the scene
almost with dramatic animation—their progress related in a
full, complete, and unbroken narrative—the triumph of
Christianity alone takes the form of a cold and critical
disquisition. The successes of barbarous energy and brute force
call forth all the consummate skill of composition; while the
moral triumphs of Christian benevolence—the tranquil heroism
of endurance, the blameless purity, the contempt of guilty fame
and of honors destructive to the human race, which, had they
assumed the proud name of philosophy, would have been blazoned in
his brightest words, because they own religion as their principle—sink into narrow asceticism. The
glories of Christianity, in short,
touch on no chord in the heart of the writer; his imagination
remains unkindled; his words, though they maintain their stately
and measured march, have become cool, argumentative, and
inanimate. Who would obscure one hue of that gorgeous coloring in
which Gibbon has invested the dying forms of Paganism, or darken
one paragraph in his splendid view of the rise and progress of
Mahometanism? But who would not have wished that the same equal
justice had been done to Christianity; that its real character
and deeply penetrating influence had been traced with the same
philosophical sagacity, and represented with more sober, as would
become its quiet course, and perhaps less picturesque, but still
with lively and attractive, descriptiveness? He might have thrown
aside, with the same scorn, the mass of ecclesiastical fiction
which envelops the early history of the church, stripped off the
legendary romance, and brought out the facts in their primitive
nakedness and simplicity—if he had but allowed those facts the
benefit of the glowing eloquence which he denied to them alone.
He might have annihilated the whole fabric of post-apostolic
miracles, if he had left uninjured by sarcastic insinuation those
of the New Testament; he might have cashiered, with Dodwell, the
whole host of martyrs, which owe their existence to the prodigal
invention of later days, had he but bestowed fair room, and dwelt
with his ordinary energy on the sufferings of the genuine
witnesses to the truth of Christianity, the Polycarps, or the
martyrs of Vienne.
And indeed, if, after all, the view of the early progress of
Christianity be melancholy and humiliating we must beware lest we
charge the whole of this on the infidelity of the historian. It
is idle, it is disingenuous, to deny or to dissemble the early
depravations of Christianity, its gradual but rapid departure
from its primitive simplicity and purity, still more, from its
spirit of universal love. It may be no unsalutary lesson to the
Christian world, that this silent, this unavoidable, perhaps, yet
fatal change shall have been drawn by an impartial, or even an
hostile hand. The Christianity of every age may take warning,
lest by its own narrow views, its want of wisdom, and its want of
charity, it give the same advantage to the future unfriendly
historian, and disparage the cause of true religion.
The design of the present edition is partly corrective, partly
supplementary: corrective, by notes, which point out (it is
hoped, in a perfectly candid and dispassionate spirit with no
desire but to establish the truth) such inaccuracies or
misstatements as may have been detected, particularly with regard
to Christianity; and which thus, with the previous caution, may
counteract to a considerable extent the unfair and unfavorable
impression created against rational religion: supplementary, by
adding such additional information as the editor's reading may
have been able to furnish, from original documents or books, not
accessible at the time when Gibbon wrote.
The work originated in the editor's habit of noting on the
margin of his copy of Gibbon references to such authors as had
discovered errors, or thrown new light on the subjects treated by
Gibbon. These had grown to some extent, and seemed to him likely
to be of use to others. The annotations of M. Guizot also
appeared to him worthy of being better known to the English
public than they were likely to be, as appended to the French
translation.
The chief works from which the editor has derived his
materials are, I. The French translation, with notes by M.
Guizot; 2d edition, Paris, 1828. The editor has translated almost
all the notes of M. Guizot. Where he has not altogether agreed
with him, his respect for the learning and judgment of that
writer has, in general, induced him to retain the statement from
which he has ventured to differ, with the grounds on which he
formed his own opinion. In the notes on Christianity, he has
retained all those of M. Guizot, with his own, from the
conviction, that on such a subject, to many, the authority of a
French statesman, a Protestant, and a rational and sincere
Christian, would appear more independent and unbiassed, and
therefore be more commanding, than that of an English
clergyman.
The editor has not scrupled to transfer the notes of M. Guizot
to the present work. The well-known zeal for knowledge, displayed
in all the writings of that distinguished historian, has led to
the natural inference, that he would not be displeased at the
attempt to make them of use to the English readers of Gibbon. The
notes of M. Guizot are signed with the letter G.
II. The German translation, with the notes of Wenck.
Unfortunately this learned translator died, after having
completed only the first volume; the rest of the work was
executed by a very inferior hand.
The notes of Wenck are extremely valuable; many of them have
been adopted by M. Guizot; they are distinguished by the letter
W.*
III. The new edition of Le Beau's "Histoire du Bas Empire,
with notes by M. St. Martin, and M. Brosset." That distinguished
Armenian scholar, M. St. Martin (now, unhappily, deceased) had
added much information from Oriental writers, particularly from
those of Armenia, as well as from more general sources. Many of
his observations have been found as applicable to the work of
Gibbon as to that of Le Beau.
IV. The editor has consulted the various answers made to
Gibbon on the first appearance of his work; he must confess, with
little profit. They were, in general, hastily compiled by
inferior and now forgotten writers, with the exception of Bishop
Watson, whose able apology is rather a general argument, than an
examination of misstatements. The name of Milner stands higher
with a certain class of readers, but will not carry much weight
with the severe investigator of history.
V. Some few classical works and fragments have come to light,
since the appearance of Gibbon's History, and have been noticed
in their respective places; and much use has been made, in the
latter volumes particularly, of the increase to our stores of
Oriental literature. The editor cannot, indeed, pretend to have
followed his author, in these gleanings, over the whole vast
field of his inquiries; he may have overlooked or may not have
been able to command some works, which might have thrown still
further light on these subjects; but he trusts that what he has
adduced will be of use to the student of historic truth.
The editor would further observe, that with regard to some
other objectionable passages, which do not involve misstatement
or inaccuracy, he has intentionally abstained from directing
particular attention towards them by any special protest.
The editor's notes are marked M.
A considerable part of the quotations (some of which in the
later editions had fallen into great confusion) have been
verified, and have been corrected by the latest and best editions
of the authors.
June, 1845.
In this new edition, the text and the notes have been
carefully revised, the latter by the editor.
Some additional notes have been subjoined, distinguished by
the signature M. 1845.
It is not my intention to detain the reader by expatiating on
the variety or the importance of the subject, which I have
undertaken to treat; since the merit of the choice would serve to
render the weakness of the execution still more apparent, and
still less excusable. But as I have presumed to lay before the
public a first volume only of the History of the Decline and Fall
of the Roman Empire, it will, perhaps, be expected that I should
explain, in a few words, the nature and limits of my general
plan.
The memorable series of revolutions, which in the course of
about thirteen centuries gradually undermined, and at length
destroyed, the solid fabric of human greatness, may, with some
propriety, be divided into the three following periods:
I. The first of these periods may be traced from the age of
Trajan and the Antonines, when the Roman monarchy, having
attained its full strength and maturity, began to verge towards
its decline; and will extend to the subversion of the Western
Empire, by the barbarians of Germany and Scythia, the rude
ancestors of the most polished nations of modern Europe. This
extraordinary revolution, which subjected Rome to the power of a
Gothic conqueror, was completed about the beginning of the sixth
century.
II. The second period of the Decline and Fall of Rome may be
supposed to commence with the reign of Justinian, who, by his
laws, as well as by his victories, restored a transient splendor
to the Eastern Empire. It will comprehend the invasion of Italy
by the Lombards; the conquest of the Asiatic and African
provinces by the Arabs, who embraced the religion of Mahomet; the
revolt of the Roman people against the feeble princes of
Constantinople; and the elevation of Charlemagne, who, in the
year eight hundred, established the second, or German Empire of
the West
III. The last and longest of these periods includes about six
centuries and a half; from the revival of the Western Empire,
till the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, and the
extinction of a degenerate race of princes, who continued to
assume the titles of Cæsar and Augustus, after their
dominions were contracted to the limits of a single city; in
which the language, as well as manners, of the ancient Romans,
had been long since forgotten. The writer who should undertake to
relate the events of this period, would find himself obliged to
enter into the general history of the Crusades, as far as they
contributed to the ruin of the Greek Empire; and he would
scarcely be able to restrain his curiosity from making some
inquiry into the state of the city of Rome, during the darkness
and confusion of the middle ages.
As I have ventured, perhaps too hastily, to commit to the
press a work which in every sense of the word, deserves the
epithet of imperfect. I consider myself as contracting an
engagement to finish, most probably in a second volume, the first
of these memorable periods; and to deliver to the Public the
complete History of the Decline and Fall of Rome, from the age of
the Antonines to the subversion of the Western Empire. With
regard to the subsequent periods, though I may entertain some
hopes, I dare not presume to give any assurances. The execution
of the extensive plan which I have described, would connect the
ancient and modern history of the world; but it would require
many years of health, of leisure, and of perseverance.
Bentinck Street, February 1, 1776.
P. S. The entire History, which is now published, of the
Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire in the West, abundantly
discharges my engagements with the Public. Perhaps their
favorable opinion may encourage me to prosecute a work, which,
however laborious it may seem, is the most agreeable occupation
of my leisure hours.
Bentinck Street, March
1, 1781.
An Author easily persuades himself that the public opinion is
still favorable to his labors; and I have now embraced the
serious resolution of proceeding to the last period of my
original design, and of the Roman Empire, the taking of
Constantinople by the Turks, in the year one thousand four
hundred and fifty-three. The most patient Reader, who computes
that three ponderous volumes have been already employed on the
events of four centuries, may, perhaps, be alarmed at the long
prospect of nine hundred years. But it is not my intention to
expatiate with the same minuteness on the whole series of the
Byzantine history. At our entrance into this period, the reign of
Justinian, and the conquests of the Mahometans, will deserve and
detain our attention, and the last age of Constantinople (the
Crusades and the Turks) is connected with the revolutions of
Modern Europe. From the seventh to the eleventh century, the
obscure interval will be supplied by a concise narrative of such
facts as may still appear either interesting or important.
Bentinck Street, March 1, 1782.
Diligence and accuracy are the only merits which an historical
writer may ascribe to himself; if any merit, indeed, can be
assumed from the performance of an indispensable duty. I may
therefore be allowed to say, that I have carefully examined all
the original materials that could illustrate the subject which I
had undertaken to treat. Should I ever complete the extensive
design which has been sketched out in the Preface, I might
perhaps conclude it with a critical account of the authors
consulted during the progress of the whole work; and however such
an attempt might incur the censure of ostentation, I am persuaded
that it would be susceptible of entertainment, as well as
information.
At present I shall content myself with a single observation.
The biographers, who, under the reigns of Diocletian and
Constantine, composed, or rather compiled, the lives of the
Emperors, from Hadrian to the sons of Carus, are usually
mentioned under the names of Ælius Spartianus, Julius
Capitolinus, Ælius Lampridius, Vulcatius Gallicanus,
Trebellius Pollio and Flavius Vopiscus. But there is so much
perplexity in the titles of the MSS., and so many disputes have
arisen among the critics (see Fabricius, Biblioth. Latin. l. iii.
c. 6) concerning their number, their names, and their respective
property, that for the most part I have quoted them without
distinction, under the general and well-known title of the
Augustan History.
I now discharge my promise, and complete my design, of writing
the History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire, both in
the West and the East. The whole period extends from the age of
Trajan and the Antonines, to the taking of Constantinople by
Mahomet the Second; and includes a review of the Crusades, and
the state of Rome during the middle ages. Since the publication
of the first volume, twelve years have elapsed; twelve years,
according to my wish, "of health, of leisure, and of
perseverance." I may now congratulate my deliverance from a long
and laborious service, and my satisfaction will be pure and
perfect, if the public favor should be extended to the conclusion
of my work.
It was my first intention to have collected, under one view,
the numerous authors, of every age and language, from whom I have
derived the materials of this history; and I am still convinced
that the apparent ostentation would be more than compensated by
real use. If I have renounced this idea, if I have declined an
undertaking which had obtained the approbation of a
master-artist, * my excuse may be found in the extreme difficulty
of assigning a proper measure to such a catalogue. A naked list
of names and editions would not be satisfactory either to myself
or my readers: the characters of the principal Authors of the
Roman and Byzantine History have been occasionally connected with
the events which they describe; a more copious and critical
inquiry might indeed deserve, but it would demand, an elaborate
volume, which might swell by degrees into a general library of
historical writers. For the present, I shall content myself with
renewing my serious protestation, that I have always endeavored
to draw from the fountain-head; that my curiosity, as well as a
sense of duty, has always urged me to study the originals; and
that, if they have sometimes eluded my search, I have carefully
marked the secondary evidence, on whose faith a passage or a fact
were reduced to depend.
I shall soon revisit the banks of the Lake of Lausanne, a
country which I have known and loved from my early youth. Under a
mild government, amidst a beauteous landscape, in a life of
leisure and independence, and among a people of easy and elegant
manners, I have enjoyed, and may again hope to enjoy, the varied
pleasures of retirement and society. But I shall ever glory in
the name and character of an Englishman: I am proud of my birth
in a free and enlightened country; and the approbation of that
country is the best and most honorable reward of my labors. Were
I ambitious of any other Patron than the Public, I would inscribe
this work to a Statesman, who, in a long, a stormy, and at length
an unfortunate administration, had many political opponents,
almost without a personal enemy; who has retained, in his fall
from power, many faithful and disinterested friends; and who,
under the pressure of severe infirmity, enjoys the lively vigor
of his mind, and the felicity of his incomparable temper. Lord
North will permit me to express the feelings of friendship in the
language of truth: but even truth and friendship should be
silent, if he still dispensed the favors of the crown.
In a remote solitude, vanity may still whisper in my ear, that
my readers, perhaps, may inquire whether, in the conclusion of
the present work, I am now taking an everlasting farewell. They
shall hear all that I know myself, and all that I could reveal to
the most intimate friend. The motives of action or silence are
now equally balanced; nor can I pronounce, in my most secret
thoughts, on which side the scale will preponderate. I cannot
dissemble that six quartos must have tried, and may have
exhausted, the indulgence of the Public; that, in the repetition
of similar attempts, a successful Author has much more to lose
than he can hope to gain; that I am now descending into the vale
of years; and that the most respectable of my countrymen, the men
whom I aspire to imitate, have resigned the pen of history about
the same period of their lives. Yet I consider that the annals of
ancient and modern times may afford many rich and interesting
subjects; that I am still possessed of health and leisure; that
by the practice of writing, some skill and facility must be
acquired; and that, in the ardent pursuit of truth and knowledge,
I am not conscious of decay. To an active mind, indolence is more
painful than labor; and the first months of my liberty will be
occupied and amused in the excursions of curiosity and taste. By
such temptations, I have been sometimes seduced from the rigid
duty even of a pleasing and voluntary task: but my time will now
be my own; and in the use or abuse of independence, I shall no
longer fear my own reproaches or those of my friends. I am fairly
entitled to a year of jubilee: next summer and the following
winter will rapidly pass away; and experience only can determine
whether I shall still prefer the freedom and variety of study to
the design and composition of a regular work, which animates,
while it confines, the daily application of the Author. Caprice
and accident may influence my choice; but the dexterity of
self-love will contrive to applaud either active industry or
philosophic repose.
Downing Street, May 1, 1788.
P. S. I shall embrace this opportunity of introducing two
verbal remarks, which have not conveniently offered
themselves to my notice. 1. As often as I use the definitions of
beyond the Alps, the Rhine, the Danube, &c., I
generally suppose myself at Rome, and afterwards at
Constantinople; without observing whether this relative geography
may agree with the local, but variable, situation of the reader,
or the historian. 2. In proper names of foreign, and especially
of Oriental origin, it should be always our aim to express, in
our English version, a faithful copy of the original. But this
rule, which is founded on a just regard to uniformity and truth,
must often be relaxed; and the exceptions will be limited or
enlarged by the custom of the language and the taste of the
interpreter. Our alphabets may be often defective; a harsh sound,
an uncouth spelling, might offend the ear or the eye of our
countrymen; and some words, notoriously corrupt, are fixed, and,
as it were, naturalized in the vulgar tongue. The prophet
Mohammed can no longer be stripped of the famous, though
improper, appellation of Mahomet: the well-known cities of
Aleppo, Damascus, and Cairo, would almost be lost in the strange
descriptions of Haleb, Demashk, and Al
Cahira: the titles and offices of the Ottoman empire are
fashioned by the practice of three hundred years; and we are
pleased to blend the three Chinese monosyllables,
Con-fû-tzee, in the respectable name of Confucius,
or even to adopt the Portuguese corruption of Mandarin. But I
would vary the use of Zoroaster and Zerdusht, as I drew
my information from Greece or Persia: since our connection with
India, the genuine Timour is restored to the throne of
Tamerlane: our most correct writers have retrenched the
Al, the superfluous article, from the Koran; and we
escape an ambiguous termination, by adopting Moslem
instead of Musulman, in the plural number. In these, and in a
thousand examples, the shades of distinction are often minute;
and I can feel, where I cannot explain, the motives of my
choice.
Introduction—The Extent And Military Force Of The Empire In The Age Of The Antonines.
In the second century of the Christian Æra, the empire
of Rome comprehended the fairest part of the earth, and the most
civilized portion of mankind. The frontiers of that extensive
monarchy were guarded by ancient renown and disciplined valor.
The gentle but powerful influence of laws and manners had
gradually cemented the union of the provinces. Their peaceful
inhabitants enjoyed and abused the advantages of wealth and
luxury. The image of a free constitution was preserved with
decent reverence: the Roman senate appeared to possess the
sovereign authority, and devolved on the emperors all the
executive powers of government. During a happy period of more
than fourscore years, the public administration was conducted by
the virtue and abilities of Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, and the two
Antonines. It is the design of this, and of the two succeeding
chapters, to describe the prosperous condition of their empire;
and after wards, from the death of Marcus Antoninus, to deduce
the most important circumstances of its decline and fall; a
revolution which will ever be remembered, and is still felt by
the nations of the earth.
The principal conquests of the Romans were achieved under the
republic; and the emperors, for the most part, were satisfied
with preserving those dominions which had been acquired by the
policy of the senate, the active emulations of the consuls, and
the martial enthusiasm of the people. The seven first centuries
were filled with a rapid succession of triumphs; but it was
reserved for Augustus to relinquish the ambitious design of
subduing the whole earth, and to introduce a spirit of moderation
into the public councils. Inclined to peace by his temper and
situation, it was easy for him to discover that Rome, in her
present exalted situation, had much less to hope than to fear
from the chance of arms; and that, in the prosecution of remote
wars, the undertaking became every day more difficult, the event
more doubtful, and the possession more precarious, and less
beneficial. The experience of Augustus added weight to these
salutary reflections, and effectually convinced him that, by the
prudent vigor of his counsels, it would be easy to secure every
concession which the safety or the dignity of Rome might require
from the most formidable barbarians. Instead of exposing his
person and his legions to the arrows of the Parthians, he
obtained, by an honorable treaty, the restitution of the
standards and prisoners which had been taken in the defeat of
Crassus.
His generals, in the early part of his reign, attempted the
reduction of Ethiopia and Arabia Felix. They marched near a
thousand miles to the south of the tropic; but the heat of the
climate soon repelled the invaders, and protected the un-warlike
natives of those sequestered regions. The northern countries of
Europe scarcely deserved the expense and labor of conquest. The
forests and morasses of Germany were filled with a hardy race of
barbarians, who despised life when it was separated from freedom;
and though, on the first attack, they seemed to yield to the
weight of the Roman power, they soon, by a signal act of despair,
regained their independence, and reminded Augustus of the
vicissitude of fortune. On the death of that emperor, his
testament was publicly read in the senate. He bequeathed, as a
valuable legacy to his successors, the advice of confining the
empire within those limits which nature seemed to have placed as
its permanent bulwarks and boundaries: on the west, the Atlantic
Ocean; the Rhine and Danube on the north; the Euphrates on the
east; and towards the south, the sandy deserts of Arabia and
Africa.
Happily for the repose of mankind, the moderate system
recommended by the wisdom of Augustus, was adopted by the fears
and vices of his immediate successors. Engaged in the pursuit of
pleasure, or in the exercise of tyranny, the first Cæsars
seldom showed themselves to the armies, or to the provinces; nor
were they disposed to suffer, that those triumphs which
their indolence neglected, should be usurped by the
conduct and valor of their lieutenants. The military fame of a
subject was considered as an insolent invasion of the Imperial
prerogative; and it became the duty, as well as interest, of
every Roman general, to guard the frontiers intrusted to his
care, without aspiring to conquests which might have proved no
less fatal to himself than to the vanquished barbarians.
The only accession which the Roman empire received, during the
first century of the Christian Æra, was the province of
Britain. In this single instance, the successors of Cæsar
and Augustus were persuaded to follow the example of the former,
rather than the precept of the latter. The proximity of its
situation to the coast of Gaul seemed to invite their arms; the
pleasing though doubtful intelligence of a pearl fishery,
attracted their avarice; and as Britain was viewed in the light
of a distinct and insulated world, the conquest scarcely formed
any exception to the general system of continental measures.
After a war of about forty years, undertaken by the most stupid,
maintained by the most dissolute, and terminated by the most
timid of all the emperors, the far greater part of the island
submitted to the Roman yoke. The various tribes of Britain
possessed valor without conduct, and the love of freedom without
the spirit of union. They took up arms with savage fierceness;
they laid them down, or turned them against each other, with wild
inconsistency; and while they fought singly, they were
successively subdued. Neither the fortitude of Caractacus, nor
the despair of Boadicea, nor the fanaticism of the Druids, could
avert the slavery of their country, or resist the steady progress
of the Imperial generals, who maintained the national glory, when
the throne was disgraced by the weakest, or the most vicious of
mankind. At the very time when Domitian, confined to his palace,
felt the terrors which he inspired, his legions, under the
command of the virtuous Agricola, defeated the collected force of
the Caledonians, at the foot of the Grampian Hills; and his
fleets, venturing to explore an unknown and dangerous navigation,
displayed the Roman arms round every part of the island. The
conquest of Britain was considered as already achieved; and it
was the design of Agricola to complete and insure his success, by
the easy reduction of Ireland, for which, in his opinion, one
legion and a few auxiliaries were sufficient. The western isle
might be improved into a valuable possession, and the Britons
would wear their chains with the less reluctance, if the prospect
and example of freedom were on every side removed from before
their eyes.
But the superior merit of Agricola soon occasioned his removal
from the government of Britain; and forever disappointed this
rational, though extensive scheme of conquest. Before his
departure, the prudent general had provided for security as well
as for dominion. He had observed, that the island is almost
divided into two unequal parts by the opposite gulfs, or, as they
are now called, the Friths of Scotland. Across the narrow
interval of about forty miles, he had drawn a line of military
stations, which was afterwards fortified, in the reign of
Antoninus Pius, by a turf rampart, erected on foundations of
stone. This wall of Antoninus, at a small distance beyond the
modern cities of Edinburgh and Glasgow, was fixed as the limit of
the Roman province. The native Caledonians preserved, in the
northern extremity of the island, their wild independence, for
which they were not less indebted to their poverty than to their
valor. Their incursions were frequently repelled and chastised;
but their country was never subdued. The masters of the fairest
and most wealthy climates of the globe turned with contempt from
gloomy hills, assailed by the winter tempest, from lakes
concealed in a blue mist, and from cold and lonely heaths, over
which the deer of the forest were chased by a troop of naked
barbarians.
Such was the state of the Roman frontiers, and such the maxims
of Imperial policy, from the death of Augustus to the accession
of Trajan. That virtuous and active prince had received the
education of a soldier, and possessed the talents of a general.
The peaceful system of his predecessors was interrupted by scenes
of war and conquest; and the legions, after a long interval,
beheld a military emperor at their head. The first exploits of
Trajan were against the Dacians, the most warlike of men, who
dwelt beyond the Danube, and who, during the reign of Domitian,
had insulted, with impunity, the Majesty of Rome. To the strength
and fierceness of barbarians they added a contempt for life,
which was derived from a warm persuasion of the immortality and
transmigration of the soul. Decebalus, the Dacian king, approved
himself a rival not unworthy of Trajan; nor did he despair of his
own and the public fortune, till, by the confession of his
enemies, he had exhausted every resource both of valor and
policy. This memorable war, with a very short suspension of
hostilities, lasted five years; and as the emperor could exert,
without control, the whole force of the state, it was terminated
by an absolute submission of the barbarians. The new province of
Dacia, which formed a second exception to the precept of
Augustus, was about thirteen hundred miles in circumference. Its
natural boundaries were the Niester, the Teyss or Tibiscus, the
Lower Danube, and the Euxine Sea. The vestiges of a military road
may still be traced from the banks of the Danube to the
neighborhood of Bender, a place famous in modern history, and the
actual frontier of the Turkish and Russian empires.
Trajan was ambitious of fame; and as long as mankind shall
continue to bestow more liberal applause on their destroyers than
on their benefactors, the thirst of military glory will ever be
the vice of the most exalted characters. The praises of
Alexander, transmitted by a succession of poets and historians,
had kindled a dangerous emulation in the mind of Trajan. Like
him, the Roman emperor undertook an expedition against the
nations of the East; but he lamented with a sigh, that his
advanced age scarcely left him any hopes of equalling the renown
of the son of Philip. Yet the success of Trajan, however
transient, was rapid and specious. The degenerate Parthians,
broken by intestine discord, fled before his arms. He descended
the River Tigris in triumph, from the mountains of Armenia to the
Persian Gulf. He enjoyed the honor of being the first, as he was
the last, of the Roman generals, who ever navigated that remote
sea. His fleets ravaged the coast of Arabia; and Trajan vainly
flattered himself that he was approaching towards the confines of
India. Every day the astonished senate received the intelligence
of new names and new nations, that acknowledged his sway. They
were informed that the kings of Bosphorus, Colchos, Iberia,
Albania, Osrhoene, and even the Parthian monarch himself, had
accepted their diadems from the hands of the emperor; that the
independent tribes of the Median and Carduchian hills had
implored his protection; and that the rich countries of Armenia,
Mesopotamia, and Assyria, were reduced into the state of
provinces. But the death of Trajan soon clouded the splendid
prospect; and it was justly to be dreaded, that so many distant
nations would throw off the unaccustomed yoke, when they were no
longer restrained by the powerful hand which had imposed it.
It was an ancient tradition, that when the Capitol was founded
by one of the Roman kings, the god Terminus (who presided over
boundaries, and was represented, according to the fashion of that
age, by a large stone) alone, among all the inferior deities,
refused to yield his place to Jupiter himself. A favorable
inference was drawn from his obstinacy, which was interpreted by
the augurs as a sure presage that the boundaries of the Roman
power would never recede. During many ages, the prediction, as it
is usual, contributed to its own accomplishment. But though
Terminus had resisted the Majesty of Jupiter, he submitted to the
authority of the emperor Hadrian. The resignation of all the
eastern conquests of Trajan was the first measure of his reign.
He restored to the Parthians the election of an independent
sovereign; withdrew the Roman garrisons from the provinces of
Armenia, Mesopotamia, and Assyria; and, in compliance with the
precept of Augustus, once more established the Euphrates as the
frontier of the empire. Censure, which arraigns the public
actions and the private motives of princes, has ascribed to envy,
a conduct which might be attributed to the prudence and
moderation of Hadrian. The various character of that emperor,
capable, by turns, of the meanest and the most generous
sentiments, may afford some color to the suspicion. It was,
however, scarcely in his power to place the superiority of his
predecessor in a more conspicuous light, than by thus confessing
himself unequal to the task of defending the conquests of
Trajan.
The martial and ambitious of spirit Trajan formed a very
singular contrast with the moderation of his successor. The
restless activity of Hadrian was not less remarkable when
compared with the gentle repose of Antoninus Pius. The life of
the former was almost a perpetual journey; and as he possessed
the various talents of the soldier, the statesman, and the
scholar, he gratified his curiosity in the discharge of his duty.
Careless of the difference of seasons and of climates, he marched
on foot, and bare-headed, over the snows of Caledonia, and the
sultry plains of the Upper Egypt; nor was there a province of the
empire which, in the course of his reign, was not honored with
the presence of the monarch. But the tranquil life of Antoninus
Pius was spent in the bosom of Italy, and, during the
twenty-three years that he directed the public administration,
the longest journeys of that amiable prince extended no farther
than from his palace in Rome to the retirement of his Lanuvian
villa.
Notwithstanding this difference in their personal conduct, the
general system of Augustus was equally adopted and uniformly
pursued by Hadrian and by the two Antonines. They persisted in
the design of maintaining the dignity of the empire, without
attempting to enlarge its limits. By every honorable expedient
they invited the friendship of the barbarians; and endeavored to
convince mankind that the Roman power, raised above the
temptation of conquest, was actuated only by the love of order
and justice. During a long period of forty-three years, their
virtuous labors were crowned with success; and if we except a few
slight hostilities, that served to exercise the legions of the
frontier, the reigns of Hadrian and Antoninus Pius offer the fair
prospect of universal peace. The Roman name was revered among the
most remote nations of the earth. The fiercest barbarians
frequently submitted their differences to the arbitration of the
emperor; and we are informed by a contemporary historian that he
had seen ambassadors who were refused the honor which they came
to solicit of being admitted into the rank of subjects.
The terror of the Roman arms added weight and dignity to the
moderation of the emperors. They preserved peace by a constant
preparation for war; and while justice regulated their conduct,
they announced to the nations on their confines, that they were
as little disposed to endure, as to offer an injury. The military
strength, which it had been sufficient for Hadrian and the elder
Antoninus to display, was exerted against the Parthians and the
Germans by the emperor Marcus. The hostilities of the barbarians
provoked the resentment of that philosophic monarch, and, in the
prosecution of a just defence, Marcus and his generals obtained
many signal victories, both on the Euphrates and on the Danube.
The military establishment of the Roman empire, which thus
assured either its tranquillity or success, will now become the
proper and important object of our attention.
In the purer ages of the commonwealth, the use of arms was
reserved for those ranks of citizens who had a country to love, a
property to defend, and some share in enacting those laws, which
it was their interest as well as duty to maintain. But in
proportion as the public freedom was lost in extent of conquest,
war was gradually improved into an art, and degraded into a
trade. The legions themselves, even at the time when they were
recruited in the most distant provinces, were supposed to consist
of Roman citizens. That distinction was generally considered,
either as a legal qualification or as a proper recompense for the
soldier; but a more serious regard was paid to the essential
merit of age, strength, and military stature. In all levies, a
just preference was given to the climates of the North over those
of the South: the race of men born to the exercise of arms was
sought for in the country rather than in cities; and it was very
reasonably presumed, that the hardy occupations of smiths,
carpenters, and huntsmen, would supply more vigor and resolution
than the sedentary trades which are employed in the service of
luxury. After every qualification of property had been laid
aside, the armies of the Roman emperors were still commanded, for
the most part, by officers of liberal birth and education; but
the common soldiers, like the mercenary troops of modern Europe,
were drawn from the meanest, and very frequently from the most
profligate, of mankind.
That public virtue, which among the ancients was denominated
patriotism, is derived from a strong sense of our own interest in
the preservation and prosperity of the free government of which
we are members. Such a sentiment, which had rendered the legions
of the republic almost invincible, could make but a very feeble
impression on the mercenary servants of a despotic prince; and it
became necessary to supply that defect by other motives, of a
different, but not less forcible nature—honor and religion.
The peasant, or mechanic, imbibed the useful prejudice that he
was advanced to the more dignified profession of arms, in which
his rank and reputation would depend on his own valor; and that,
although the prowess of a private soldier must often escape the
notice of fame, his own behavior might sometimes confer glory or
disgrace on the company, the legion, or even the army, to whose
honors he was associated. On his first entrance into the service,
an oath was administered to him with every circumstance of
solemnity. He promised never to desert his standard, to submit
his own will to the commands of his leaders, and to sacrifice his
life for the safety of the emperor and the empire. The attachment
of the Roman troops to their standards was inspired by the united
influence of religion and of honor. The golden eagle, which
glittered in the front of the legion, was the object of their
fondest devotion; nor was it esteemed less impious than it was
ignominious, to abandon that sacred ensign in the hour of danger.
These motives, which derived their strength from the imagination,
were enforced by fears and hopes of a more substantial kind.
Regular pay, occasional donatives, and a stated recompense, after
the appointed time of service, alleviated the hardships of the
military life, whilst, on the other hand, it was impossible for
cowardice or disobedience to escape the severest punishment. The
centurions were authorized to chastise with blows, the generals
had a right to punish with death; and it was an inflexible maxim
of Roman discipline, that a good soldier should dread his
officers far more than the enemy. From such laudable arts did the
valor of the Imperial troops receive a degree of firmness and
docility unattainable by the impetuous and irregular passions of
barbarians.
And yet so sensible were the Romans of the imperfection of
valor without skill and practice, that, in their language, the
name of an army was borrowed from the word which signified
exercise. Military exercises were the important and unremitted
object of their discipline. The recruits and young soldiers were
constantly trained, both in the morning and in the evening, nor
was age or knowledge allowed to excuse the veterans from the
daily repetition of what they had completely learnt. Large sheds
were erected in the winter-quarters of the troops, that their
useful labors might not receive any interruption from the most
tempestuous weather; and it was carefully observed, that the arms
destined to this imitation of war, should be of double the weight
which was required in real action. It is not the purpose of this
work to enter into any minute description of the Roman exercises.
We shall only remark, that they comprehended whatever could add
strength to the body, activity to the limbs, or grace to the
motions. The soldiers were diligently instructed to march, to
run, to leap, to swim, to carry heavy burdens, to handle every
species of arms that was used either for offence or for defence,
either in distant engagement or in a closer onset; to form a
variety of evolutions; and to move to the sound of flutes in the
Pyrrhic or martial dance. In the midst of peace, the Roman troops
familiarized themselves with the practice of war; and it is
prettily remarked by an ancient historian who had fought against
them, that the effusion of blood was the only circumstance which
distinguished a field of battle from a field of exercise. ^39 It
was the policy of the ablest generals, and even of the emperors
themselves, to encourage these military studies by their presence
and example; and we are informed that Hadrian, as well as Trajan,
frequently condescended to instruct the unexperienced soldiers,
to reward the diligent, and sometimes to dispute with them the
prize of superior strength or dexterity. Under the reigns of
those princes, the science of tactics was cultivated with
success; and as long as the empire retained any vigor, their
military instructions were respected as the most perfect model of
Roman discipline.
Nine centuries of war had gradually introduced into the
service many alterations and improvements. The legions, as they
are described by Polybius, in the time of the Punic wars,
differed very materially from those which achieved the victories
of Cæsar, or defended the monarchy of Hadrian and the
Antonines. The constitution of the Imperial legion may be
described in a few words. The heavy-armed infantry, which
composed its principal strength, was divided into ten cohorts,
and fifty-five companies, under the orders of a correspondent
number of tribunes and centurions. The first cohort, which always
claimed the post of honor and the custody of the eagle, was
formed of eleven hundred and five soldiers, the most approved for
valor and fidelity. The remaining nine cohorts consisted each of
five hundred and fifty-five; and the whole body of legionary
infantry amounted to six thousand one hundred men. Their arms
were uniform, and admirably adapted to the nature of their
service: an open helmet, with a lofty crest; a breastplate, or
coat of mail; greaves on their legs, and an ample buckler on
their left arm. The buckler was of an oblong and concave figure,
four feet in length, and two and a half in breadth, framed of a
light wood, covered with a bull's hide, and strongly guarded with
plates of brass. Besides a lighter spear, the legionary soldier
grasped in his right hand the formidable pilum, a
ponderous javelin, whose utmost length was about six feet, and
which was terminated by a massy triangular point of steel of
eighteen inches. This instrument was indeed much inferior to our
modern fire-arms; since it was exhausted by a single discharge,
at the distance of only ten or twelve paces. Yet when it was
launched by a firm and skilful hand, there was not any cavalry
that durst venture within its reach, nor any shield or corselet
that could sustain the impetuosity of its weight. As soon as the
Roman had darted his pilum, he drew his sword, and
rushed forwards to close with the enemy. His sword was a short
well-tempered Spanish blade, that carried a double edge, and was
alike suited to the purpose of striking or of pushing; but the
soldier was always instructed to prefer the latter use of his
weapon, as his own body remained less exposed, whilst he
inflicted a more dangerous wound on his adversary. The legion was
usually drawn up eight deep; and the regular distance of three
feet was left between the files as well as ranks. A body of
troops, habituated to preserve this open order, in a long front
and a rapid charge, found themselves prepared to execute every
disposition which the circumstances of war, or the skill of their
leader, might suggest. The soldier possessed a free space for his
arms and motions, and sufficient intervals were allowed, through
which seasonable reenforcements might be introduced to the relief
of the exhausted combatants. The tactics of the Greeks and
Macedonians were formed on very different principles. The
strength of the phalanx depended on sixteen ranks of long pikes,
wedged together in the closest array. But it was soon discovered
by reflection, as well as by the event, that the strength of the
phalanx was unable to contend with the activity of the
legion.
The cavalry, without which the force of the legion would have
remained imperfect, was divided into ten troops or squadrons; the
first, as the companion of the first cohort, consisted of a
hundred and thirty-two men; whilst each of the other nine
amounted only to sixty-six. The entire establishment formed a
regiment, if we may use the modern expression, of seven hundred
and twenty-six horse, naturally connected with its respective
legion, but occasionally separated to act in the line, and to
compose a part of the wings of the army. The cavalry of the
emperors was no longer composed, like that of the ancient
republic, of the noblest youths of Rome and Italy, who, by
performing their military service on horseback, prepared
themselves for the offices of senator and consul; and solicited,
by deeds of valor, the future suffrages of their countrymen.
Since the alteration of manners and government, the most wealthy
of the equestrian order were engaged in the administration of
justice, and of the revenue; and whenever they embraced the
profession of arms, they were immediately intrusted with a troop
of horse, or a cohort of foot. Trajan and Hadrian formed their
cavalry from the same provinces, and the same class of their
subjects, which recruited the ranks of the legion. The horses
were bred, for the most part, in Spain or Cappadocia. The Roman
troopers despised the complete armor with which the cavalry of
the East was encumbered. Their more useful arms
consisted in a helmet, an oblong shield, light boots, and a coat
of mail. A javelin, and a long broad sword, were their principal
weapons of offence. The use of lances and of iron maces they seem
to have borrowed from the barbarians.
The safety and honor of the empire was principally intrusted
to the legions, but the policy of Rome condescended to adopt
every useful instrument of war. Considerable levies were
regularly made among the provincials, who had not yet deserved
the honorable distinction of Romans. Many dependent princes and
communities, dispersed round the frontiers, were permitted, for a
while, to hold their freedom and security by the tenure of
military service. Even select troops of hostile barbarians were
frequently compelled or persuaded to consume their dangerous
valor in remote climates, and for the benefit of the state. All
these were included under the general name of auxiliaries; and
howsoever they might vary according to the difference of times
and circumstances, their numbers were seldom much inferior to
those of the legions themselves. Among the auxiliaries, the
bravest and most faithful bands were placed under the command of
præfects and centurions, and severely trained in the arts
of Roman discipline; but the far greater part retained those
arms, to which the nature of their country, or their early habits
of life, more peculiarly adapted them. By this institution, each
legion, to whom a certain proportion of auxiliaries was allotted,
contained within itself every species of lighter troops, and of
missile weapons; and was capable of encountering every nation,
with the advantages of its respective arms and discipline. Nor
was the legion destitute of what, in modern language, would be
styled a train of artillery. It consisted in ten military engines
of the largest, and fifty-five of a smaller size; but all of
which, either in an oblique or horizontal manner, discharged
stones and darts with irresistible violence.
The camp of a Roman legion presented the appearance of a
fortified city. As soon as the space was marked out, the pioneers
carefully levelled the ground, and removed every impediment that
might interrupt its perfect regularity. Its form was an exact
quadrangle; and we may calculate, that a square of about seven
hundred yards was sufficient for the encampment of twenty
thousand Romans; though a similar number of our own troops would
expose to the enemy a front of more than treble that extent. In
the midst of the camp, the prætorium, or general's
quarters, rose above the others; the cavalry, the infantry, and
the auxiliaries occupied their respective stations; the streets
were broad and perfectly straight, and a vacant space of two
hundred feet was left on all sides between the tents and the
rampart. The rampart itself was usually twelve feet high, armed
with a line of strong and intricate palisades, and defended by a
ditch of twelve feet in depth as well as in breadth. This
important labor was performed by the hands of the legionaries
themselves; to whom the use of the spade and the pickaxe was no
less familiar than that of the sword or pilum. Active
valor may often be the present of nature; but such patient
diligence can be the fruit only of habit and discipline.
Whenever the trumpet gave the signal of departure, the camp
was almost instantly broke up, and the troops fell into their
ranks without delay or confusion. Besides their arms, which the
legendaries scarcely considered as an encumbrance, they were
laden with their kitchen furniture, the instruments of
fortification, and the provision of many days. Under this weight,
which would oppress the delicacy of a modern soldier, they were
trained by a regular step to advance, in about six hours, near
twenty miles. On the appearance of an enemy, they threw aside
their baggage, and by easy and rapid evolutions converted the
column of march into an order of battle. The slingers and archers
skirmished in the front; the auxiliaries formed the first line,
and were seconded or sustained by the strength of the legions;
the cavalry covered the flanks, and the military engines were
placed in the rear.
Such were the arts of war, by which the Roman emperors
defended their extensive conquests, and preserved a military
spirit, at a time when every other virtue was oppressed by luxury
and despotism. If, in the consideration of their armies, we pass
from their discipline to their numbers, we shall not find it easy
to define them with any tolerable accuracy. We may compute,
however, that the legion, which was itself a body of six thousand
eight hundred and thirty-one Romans, might, with its attendant
auxiliaries, amount to about twelve thousand five hundred men.
The peace establishment of Hadrian and his successors was
composed of no less than thirty of these formidable brigades; and
most probably formed a standing force of three hundred and
seventy-five thousand men. Instead of being confined within the
walls of fortified cities, which the Romans considered as the
refuge of weakness or pusillanimity, the legions were encamped on
the banks of the great rivers, and along the frontiers of the
barbarians. As their stations, for the most part, remained fixed
and permanent, we may venture to describe the distribution of the
troops. Three legions were sufficient for Britain. The principal
strength lay upon the Rhine and Danube, and consisted of sixteen
legions, in the following proportions: two in the Lower, and
three in the Upper Germany; one in Rhætia, one in Noricum,
four in Pannonia, three in Mæsia, and two in Dacia. The
defence of the Euphrates was intrusted to eight legions, six of
whom were planted in Syria, and the other two in Cappadocia. With
regard to Egypt, Africa, and Spain, as they were far removed from
any important scene of war, a single legion maintained the
domestic tranquillity of each of those great provinces. Even
Italy was not left destitute of a military force. Above twenty
thousand chosen soldiers, distinguished by the titles of City
Cohorts and Prætorian Guards, watched over the safety of
the monarch and the capital. As the authors of almost every
revolution that distracted the empire, the Prætorians will,
very soon, and very loudly, demand our attention; but, in their
arms and institutions, we cannot find any circumstance which
discriminated them from the legions, unless it were a more
splendid appearance, and a less rigid discipline.
The navy maintained by the emperors might seem inadequate to
their greatness; but it was fully sufficient for every useful
purpose of government. The ambition of the Romans was confined to
the land; nor was that warlike people ever actuated by the
enterprising spirit which had prompted the navigators of Tyre, of
Carthage, and even of Marseilles, to enlarge the bounds of the
world, and to explore the most remote coasts of the ocean. To the
Romans the ocean remained an object of terror rather than of
curiosity; the whole extent of the Mediterranean, after the
destruction of Carthage, and the extirpation of the pirates, was
included within their provinces. The policy of the emperors was
directed only to preserve the peaceful dominion of that sea, and
to protect the commerce of their subjects. With these moderate
views, Augustus stationed two permanent fleets in the most
convenient ports of Italy, the one at Ravenna, on the Adriatic,
the other at Misenum, in the Bay of Naples. Experience seems at
length to have convinced the ancients, that as soon as their
galleys exceeded two, or at the most three ranks of oars, they
were suited rather for vain pomp than for real service. Augustus
himself, in the victory of Actium, had seen the superiority of
his own light frigates (they were called Liburnians) over the
lofty but unwieldy castles of his rival. Of these Liburnians he
composed the two fleets of Ravenna and Misenum, destined to
command, the one the eastern, the other the western division of
the Mediterranean; and to each of the squadrons he attached a
body of several thousand marines. Besides these two ports, which
may be considered as the principal seats of the Roman navy, a
very considerable force was stationed at Frejus, on the coast of
Provence, and the Euxine was guarded by forty ships, and three
thousand soldiers. To all these we add the fleet which preserved
the communication between Gaul and Britain, and a great number of
vessels constantly maintained on the Rhine and Danube, to harass
the country, or to intercept the passage of the barbarians. If we
review this general state of the Imperial forces; of the cavalry
as well as infantry; of the legions, the auxiliaries, the guards,
and the navy; the most liberal computation will not allow us to
fix the entire establishment by sea and by land at more than four
hundred and fifty thousand men: a military power, which, however
formidable it may seem, was equalled by a monarch of the last
century, whose kingdom was confined within a single province of
the Roman empire.
We have attempted to explain the spirit which moderated, and
the strength which supported, the power of Hadrian and the
Antonines. We shall now endeavor, with clearness and precision,
to describe the provinces once united under their sway, but, at
present, divided into so many independent and hostile states.
Spain, the western extremity of the empire, of Europe, and of
the ancient world, has, in every age, invariably preserved the
same natural limits; the Pyrenæan Mountains, the
Mediterranean, and the Atlantic Ocean. That great peninsula, at
present so unequally divided between two sovereigns, was
distributed by Augustus into three provinces, Lusitania,
Bætica, and Tarraconensis. The kingdom of Portugal now
fills the place of the warlike country of the Lusitanians; and
the loss sustained by the former on the side of the East, is
compensated by an accession of territory towards the North. The
confines of Grenada and Andalusia correspond with those of
ancient Bætica. The remainder of Spain, Gallicia, and the
Asturias, Biscay, and Navarre, Leon, and the two Castiles,
Murcia, Valencia, Catalonia, and Arragon, all contributed to form
the third and most considerable of the Roman governments, which,
from the name of its capital, was styled the province of
Tarragona. Of the native barbarians, the Celtiberians were the
most powerful, as the Cantabrians and Asturians proved the most
obstinate. Confident in the strength of their mountains, they
were the last who submitted to the arms of Rome, and the first
who threw off the yoke of the Arabs.
Ancient Gaul, as it contained the whole country between the
Pyrenees, the Alps, the Rhine, and the Ocean, was of greater
extent than modern France. To the dominions of that powerful
monarchy, with its recent acquisitions of Alsace and Lorraine, we
must add the duchy of Savoy, the cantons of Switzerland, the four
electorates of the Rhine, and the territories of Liege,
Luxemburgh, Hainault, Flanders, and Brabant. When Augustus gave
laws to the conquests of his father, he introduced a division of
Gaul, equally adapted to the progress of the legions, to the
course of the rivers, and to the principal national distinctions,
which had comprehended above a hundred independent states. The
sea-coast of the Mediterranean, Languedoc, Provence, and
Dauphine, received their provincial appellation from the colony
of Narbonne. The government of Aquitaine was extended from the
Pyrenees to the Loire. The country between the Loire and the
Seine was styled the Celtic Gaul, and soon borrowed a new
denomination from the celebrated colony of Lugdunum, or Lyons.
The Belgic lay beyond the Seine, and in more ancient times had
been bounded only by the Rhine; but a little before the age of
Cæsar, the Germans, abusing their superiority of valor, had
occupied a considerable portion of the Belgic territory. The
Roman conquerors very eagerly embraced so flattering a
circumstance, and the Gallic frontier of the Rhine, from Basil to
Leyden, received the pompous names of the Upper and the Lower
Germany. Such, under the reign of the Antonines, were the six
provinces of Gaul; the Narbonnese, Aquitaine, the Celtic, or
Lyonnese, the Belgic, and the two Germanies.
We have already had occasion to mention the conquest of
Britain, and to fix the boundary of the Roman Province in this
island. It comprehended all England, Wales, and the Lowlands of
Scotland, as far as the Friths of Dumbarton and Edinburgh. Before
Britain lost her freedom, the country was irregularly divided
between thirty tribes of barbarians, of whom the most
considerable were the Belgæ in the West, the Brigantes in
the North, the Silures in South Wales, and the Iceni in Norfolk
and Suffolk. As far as we can either trace or credit the
resemblance of manners and language, Spain, Gaul, and Britain
were peopled by the same hardy race of savages. Before they
yielded to the Roman arms, they often disputed the field, and
often renewed the contest. After their submission, they
constituted the western division of the European provinces, which
extended from the columns of Hercules to the wall of Antoninus,
and from the mouth of the Tagus to the sources of the Rhine and
Danube.
Before the Roman conquest, the country which is now called
Lombardy, was not considered as a part of Italy. It had been
occupied by a powerful colony of Gauls, who, settling themselves
along the banks of the Po, from Piedmont to Romagna, carried
their arms and diffused their name from the Alps to the Apennine.
The Ligurians dwelt on the rocky coast which now forms the
republic of Genoa. Venice was yet unborn; but the territories of
that state, which lie to the east of the Adige, were inhabited by
the Venetians. The middle part of the peninsula, that now
composes the duchy of Tuscany and the ecclesiastical state, was
the ancient seat of the Etruscans and Umbrians; to the former of
whom Italy was indebted for the first rudiments of civilized
life. The Tyber rolled at the foot of the seven hills of Rome,
and the country of the Sabines, the Latins, and the Volsci, from
that river to the frontiers of Naples, was the theatre of her
infant victories. On that celebrated ground the first consuls
deserved triumphs, their successors adorned villas, and their
posterity have erected convents. Capua and Campania possessed the
immediate territory of Naples; the rest of the kingdom was
inhabited by many warlike nations, the Marsi, the Samnites, the
Apulians, and the Lucanians; and the sea-coasts had been covered
by the flourishing colonies of the Greeks. We may remark, that
when Augustus divided Italy into eleven regions, the little
province of Istria was annexed to that seat of Roman
sovereignty.
The European provinces of Rome were protected by the course of
the Rhine and the Danube. The latter of those mighty streams,
which rises at the distance of only thirty miles from the former,
flows above thirteen hundred miles, for the most part to the
south-east, collects the tribute of sixty navigable rivers, and
is, at length, through six mouths, received into the Euxine,
which appears scarcely equal to such an accession of waters. The
provinces of the Danube soon acquired the general appellation of
Illyricum, or the Illyrian frontier, and were esteemed the most
warlike of the empire; but they deserve to be more particularly
considered under the names of Rhætia, Noricum, Pannonia,
Dalmatia, Dacia, Mæsia, Thrace, Macedonia, and Greece.
The province of Rhætia, which soon extinguished the name
of the Vindelicians, extended from the summit of the Alps to the
banks of the Danube; from its source, as far as its conflux with
the Inn. The greatest part of the flat country is subject to the
elector of Bavaria; the city of Augsburg is protected by the
constitution of the German empire; the Grisons are safe in their
mountains, and the country of Tirol is ranked among the numerous
provinces of the house of Austria.
The wide extent of territory which is included between the
Inn, the Danube, and the Save,—Austria, Styria, Carinthia,
Carniola, the Lower Hungary, and Sclavonia,—was known to the
ancients under the names of Noricum and Pannonia. In their
original state of independence, their fierce inhabitants were
intimately connected. Under the Roman government they were
frequently united, and they still remain the patrimony of a
single family. They now contain the residence of a German prince,
who styles himself Emperor of the Romans, and form the centre, as
well as strength, of the Austrian power. It may not be improper
to observe, that if we except Bohemia, Moravia, the northern
skirts of Austria, and a part of Hungary between the Teyss and
the Danube, all the other dominions of the House of Austria were
comprised within the limits of the Roman Empire.
Dalmatia, to which the name of Illyricum more properly
belonged, was a long, but narrow tract, between the Save and the
Adriatic. The best part of the sea-coast, which still retains its
ancient appellation, is a province of the Venetian state, and the
seat of the little republic of Ragusa. The inland parts have
assumed the Sclavonian names of Croatia and Bosnia; the former
obeys an Austrian governor, the latter a Turkish pacha; but the
whole country is still infested by tribes of barbarians, whose
savage independence irregularly marks the doubtful limit of the
Christian and Mahometan power.
After the Danube had received the waters of the Teyss and the
Save, it acquired, at least among the Greeks, the name of Ister.
It formerly divided Mæsia and Dacia, the latter of which,
as we have already seen, was a conquest of Trajan, and the only
province beyond the river. If we inquire into the present state
of those countries, we shall find that, on the left hand of the
Danube, Temeswar and Transylvania have been annexed, after many
revolutions, to the crown of Hungary; whilst the principalities
of Moldavia and Wallachia acknowledge the supremacy of the
Ottoman Porte. On the right hand of the Danube, Mæsia,
which, during the middle ages, was broken into the barbarian
kingdoms of Servia and Bulgaria, is again united in Turkish
slavery.
The appellation of Roumelia, which is still bestowed by the
Turks on the extensive countries of Thrace, Macedonia, and
Greece, preserves the memory of their ancient state under the
Roman empire. In the time of the Antonines, the martial regions
of Thrace, from the mountains of Hæmus and Rhodope, to the
Bosphorus and the Hellespont, had assumed the form of a province.
Notwithstanding the change of masters and of religion, the new
city of Rome, founded by Constantine on the banks of the
Bosphorus, has ever since remained the capital of a great
monarchy. The kingdom of Macedonia, which, under the reign of
Alexander, gave laws to Asia, derived more solid advantages from
the policy of the two Philips; and with its dependencies of
Epirus and Thessaly, extended from the Ægean to the Ionian
Sea. When we reflect on the fame of Thebes and Argos, of Sparta
and Athens, we can scarcely persuade ourselves, that so many
immortal republics of ancient Greece were lost in a single
province of the Roman empire, which, from the superior influence
of the Achæan league, was usually denominated the province
of Achaia.
Such was the state of Europe under the Roman emperors. The
provinces of Asia, without excepting the transient conquests of
Trajan, are all comprehended within the limits of the Turkish
power. But, instead of following the arbitrary divisions of
despotism and ignorance, it will be safer for us, as well as more
agreeable, to observe the indelible characters of nature. The
name of Asia Minor is attributed with some propriety to the
peninsula, which, confined betwixt the Euxine and the
Mediterranean, advances from the Euphrates towards Europe. The
most extensive and flourishing district, westward of Mount Taurus
and the River Halys, was dignified by the Romans with the
exclusive title of Asia. The jurisdiction of that province
extended over the ancient monarchies of Troy, Lydia, and Phrygia,
the maritime countries of the Pamphylians, Lycians, and Carians,
and the Grecian colonies of Ionia, which equalled in arts, though
not in arms, the glory of their parent. The kingdoms of Bithynia
and Pontus possessed the northern side of the peninsula from
Constantinople to Trebizond. On the opposite side, the province
of Cilicia was terminated by the mountains of Syria: the inland
country, separated from the Roman Asia by the River Halys, and
from Armenia by the Euphrates, had once formed the independent
kingdom of Cappadocia. In this place we may observe, that the
northern shores of the Euxine, beyond Trebizond in Asia, and
beyond the Danube in Europe, acknowledged the sovereignty of the
emperors, and received at their hands either tributary princes or
Roman garrisons. Budzak, Crim Tartary, Circassia, and Mingrelia,
are the modern appellations of those savage countries.
Under the successors of Alexander, Syria was the seat of the
Seleucidæ, who reigned over Upper Asia, till the successful
revolt of the Parthians confined their dominions between the
Euphrates and the Mediterranean. When Syria became subject to the
Romans, it formed the eastern frontier of their empire: nor did
that province, in its utmost latitude, know any other bounds than
the mountains of Cappadocia to the north, and towards the south,
the confines of Egypt, and the Red Sea. Phoenicia and Palestine
were sometimes annexed to, and sometimes separated from, the
jurisdiction of Syria. The former of these was a narrow and rocky
coast; the latter was a territory scarcely superior to Wales,
either in fertility or extent. * Yet Phoenicia and Palestine will
forever live in the memory of mankind; since America, as well as
Europe, has received letters from the one, and religion from the
other. A sandy desert, alike destitute of wood and water, skirts
along the doubtful confine of Syria, from the Euphrates to the
Red Sea. The wandering life of the Arabs was inseparably
connected with their independence; and wherever, on some spots
less barren than the rest, they ventured to for many settled
habitations, they soon became subjects to the Roman empire.
The geographers of antiquity have frequently hesitated to what
portion of the globe they should ascribe Egypt. By its situation
that celebrated kingdom is included within the immense peninsula
of Africa; but it is accessible only on the side of Asia, whose
revolutions, in almost every period of history, Egypt has humbly
obeyed. A Roman præfect was seated on the splendid throne
of the Ptolemies; and the iron sceptre of the Mamelukes is now in
the hands of a Turkish pacha. The Nile flows down the country,
above five hundred miles from the tropic of Cancer to the
Mediterranean, and marks on either side of the extent of
fertility by the measure of its inundations. Cyrene, situate
towards the west, and along the sea-coast, was first a Greek
colony, afterwards a province of Egypt, and is now lost in the
desert of Barca. *
From Cyrene to the ocean, the coast of Africa extends above
fifteen hundred miles; yet so closely is it pressed between the
Mediterranean and the Sahara, or sandy desert, that its breadth
seldom exceeds fourscore or a hundred miles. The eastern division
was considered by the Romans as the more peculiar and proper
province of Africa. Till the arrival of the Phnician colonies,
that fertile country was inhabited by the Libyans, the most
savage of mankind. Under the immediate jurisdiction of Carthage,
it became the centre of commerce and empire; but the republic of
Carthage is now degenerated into the feeble and disorderly states
of Tripoli and Tunis. The military government of Algiers
oppresses the wide extent of Numidia, as it was once united under
Massinissa and Jugurtha; but in the time of Augustus, the limits
of Numidia were contracted; and, at least, two thirds of the
country acquiesced in the name of Mauritania, with the epithet of
Cæsariensis. The genuine Mauritania, or country of the
Moors, which, from the ancient city of Tingi, or Tangier, was
distinguished by the appellation of Tingitana, is represented by
the modern kingdom of Fez. Salle, on the Ocean, so infamous at
present for its piratical depredations, was noticed by the
Romans, as the extreme object of their power, and almost of their
geography. A city of their foundation may still be discovered
near Mequinez, the residence of the barbarian whom we condescend
to style the Emperor of Morocco; but it does not appear, that his
more southern dominions, Morocco itself, and Segelmessa, were
ever comprehended within the Roman province. The western parts of
Africa are intersected by the branches of Mount Atlas, a name so
idly celebrated by the fancy of poets; but which is now diffused
over the immense ocean that rolls between the ancient and the new
continent.
Having now finished the circuit of the Roman empire, we may
observe, that Africa is divided from Spain by a narrow strait of
about twelve miles, through which the Atlantic flows into the
Mediterranean. The columns of Hercules, so famous among the
ancients, were two mountains which seemed to have been torn
asunder by some convulsion of the elements; and at the foot of
the European mountain, the fortress of Gibraltar is now seated.
The whole extent of the Mediterranean Sea, its coasts and its
islands, were comprised within the Roman dominion. Of the larger
islands, the two Baleares, which derive their name of Majorca and
Minorca from their respective size, are subject at present, the
former to Spain, the latter to Great Britain. * It is easier to
deplore the fate, than to describe the actual condition, of
Corsica. Two Italian sovereigns assume a regal title from
Sardinia and Sicily. Crete, or Candia, with Cyprus, and most of
the smaller islands of Greece and Asia, have been subdued by the
Turkish arms, whilst the little rock of Malta defies their power,
and has emerged, under the government of its military Order, into
fame and opulence.
This long enumeration of provinces, whose broken fragments
have formed so many powerful kingdoms, might almost induce us to
forgive the vanity or ignorance of the ancients. Dazzled with the
extensive sway, the irresistible strength, and the real or
affected moderation of the emperors, they permitted themselves to
despise, and sometimes to forget, the outlying countries which
had been left in the enjoyment of a barbarous independence; and
they gradually usurped the license of confounding the Roman
monarchy with the globe of the earth. But the temper, as well as
knowledge, of a modern historian, require a more sober and
accurate language. He may impress a juster image of the greatness
of Rome, by observing that the empire was above two thousand
miles in breadth, from the wall of Antoninus and the northern
limits of Dacia, to Mount Atlas and the tropic of Cancer; that it
extended in length more than three thousand miles from the
Western Ocean to the Euphrates; that it was situated in the
finest part of the Temperate Zone, between the twenty-fourth and
fifty-sixth degrees of northern latitude; and that it was
supposed to contain above sixteen hundred thousand square miles,
for the most part of fertile and well-cultivated land.
Of The Union And Internal Prosperity Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of The Antonines.
It is not alone by the rapidity, or extent of conquest, that
we should estimate the greatness of Rome. The sovereign of the
Russian deserts commands a larger portion of the globe. In the
seventh summer after his passage of the Hellespont, Alexander
erected the Macedonian trophies on the banks of the Hyphasis.
Within less than a century, the irresistible Zingis, and the
Mogul princes of his race, spread their cruel devastations and
transient empire from the Sea of China, to the confines of Egypt
and Germany. But the firm edifice of Roman power was raised and
preserved by the wisdom of ages. The obedient provinces of Trajan
and the Antonines were united by laws, and adorned by arts. They
might occasionally suffer from the partial abuse of delegated
authority; but the general principle of government was wise,
simple, and beneficent. They enjoyed the religion of their
ancestors, whilst in civil honors and advantages they were
exalted, by just degrees, to an equality with their
conquerors.
I. The policy of the emperors and the senate, as far as it
concerned religion, was happily seconded by the reflections of
the enlightened, and by the habits of the superstitious, part of
their subjects. The various modes of worship, which prevailed in
the Roman world, were all considered by the people, as equally
true; by the philosopher, as equally false; and by the
magistrate, as equally useful. And thus toleration produced not
only mutual indulgence, but even religious concord.
The superstition of the people was not imbittered by any
mixture of theological rancor; nor was it confined by the chains
of any speculative system. The devout polytheist, though fondly
attached to his national rites, admitted with implicit faith the
different religions of the earth. Fear, gratitude, and curiosity,
a dream or an omen, a singular disorder, or a distant journey,
perpetually disposed him to multiply the articles of his belief,
and to enlarge the list of his protectors. The thin texture of
the Pagan mythology was interwoven with various but not
discordant materials. As soon as it was allowed that sages and
heroes, who had lived or who had died for the benefit of their
country, were exalted to a state of power and immortality, it was
universally confessed, that they deserved, if not the adoration,
at least the reverence, of all mankind. The deities of a thousand
groves and a thousand streams possessed, in peace, their local
and respective influence; nor could the Romans who deprecated the
wrath of the Tiber, deride the Egyptian who presented his
offering to the beneficent genius of the Nile. The visible powers
of nature, the planets, and the elements were the same throughout
the universe. The invisible governors of the moral world were
inevitably cast in a similar mould of fiction and allegory. Every
virtue, and even vice, acquired its divine representative; every
art and profession its patron, whose attributes, in the most
distant ages and countries, were uniformly derived from the
character of their peculiar votaries. A republic of gods of such
opposite tempers and interests required, in every system, the
moderating hand of a supreme magistrate, who, by the progress of
knowledge and flattery, was gradually invested with the sublime
perfections of an Eternal Parent, and an Omnipotent Monarch. Such
was the mild spirit of antiquity, that the nations were less
attentive to the difference, than to the resemblance, of their
religious worship. The Greek, the Roman, and the Barbarian, as
they met before their respective altars, easily persuaded
themselves, that under various names, and with various
ceremonies, they adored the same deities. The elegant mythology
of Homer gave a beautiful, and almost a regular form, to the
polytheism of the ancient world.
The philosophers of Greece deduced their morals from the
nature of man, rather than from that of God. They meditated,
however, on the Divine Nature, as a very curious and important
speculation; and in the profound inquiry, they displayed the
strength and weakness of the human understanding. Of the four
most celebrated schools, the Stoics and the Platonists endeavored
to reconcile the jaring interests of reason and piety. They have
left us the most sublime proofs of the existence and perfections
of the first cause; but, as it was impossible for them to
conceive the creation of matter, the workman in the Stoic
philosophy was not sufficiently distinguished from the work;
whilst, on the contrary, the spiritual God of Plato and his
disciples resembled an idea, rather than a substance. The
opinions of the Academics and Epicureans were of a less religious
cast; but whilst the modest science of the former induced them to
doubt, the positive ignorance of the latter urged them to deny,
the providence of a Supreme Ruler. The spirit of inquiry,
prompted by emulation, and supported by freedom, had divided the
public teachers of philosophy into a variety of contending sects;
but the ingenious youth, who, from every part, resorted to
Athens, and the other seats of learning in the Roman empire, were
alike instructed in every school to reject and to despise the
religion of the multitude. How, indeed, was it possible that a
philosopher should accept, as divine truths, the idle tales of
the poets, and the incoherent traditions of antiquity; or that he
should adore, as gods, those imperfect beings whom he must have
despised, as men? Against such unworthy adversaries, Cicero
condescended to employ the arms of reason and eloquence; but the
satire of Lucian was a much more adequate, as well as more
efficacious, weapon. We may be well assured, that a writer,
conversant with the world, would never have ventured to expose
the gods of his country to public ridicule, had they not already
been the objects of secret contempt among the polished and
enlightened orders of society.
Notwithstanding the fashionable irreligion which prevailed in
the age of the Antonines, both the interest of the priests and
the credulity of the people were sufficiently respected. In their
writings and conversation, the philosophers of antiquity asserted
the independent dignity of reason; but they resigned their
actions to the commands of law and of custom. Viewing, with a
smile of pity and indulgence, the various errors of the vulgar,
they diligently practised the ceremonies of their fathers,
devoutly frequented the temples of the gods; and sometimes
condescending to act a part on the theatre of superstition, they
concealed the sentiments of an atheist under the sacerdotal
robes. Reasoners of such a temper were scarcely inclined to
wrangle about their respective modes of faith, or of worship. It
was indifferent to them what shape the folly of the multitude
might choose to assume; and they approached with the same inward
contempt, and the same external reverence, the altars of the
Libyan, the Olympian, or the Capitoline Jupiter.
It is not easy to conceive from what motives a spirit of
persecution could introduce itself into the Roman councils. The
magistrates could not be actuated by a blind, though honest
bigotry, since the magistrates were themselves philosophers; and
the schools of Athens had given laws to the senate. They could
not be impelled by ambition or avarice, as the temporal and
ecclesiastical powers were united in the same hands. The pontiffs
were chosen among the most illustrious of the senators; and the
office of Supreme Pontiff was constantly exercised by the
emperors themselves. They knew and valued the advantages of
religion, as it is connected with civil government. They
encouraged the public festivals which humanize the manners of the
people. They managed the arts of divination as a convenient
instrument of policy; and they respected, as the firmest bond of
society, the useful persuasion, that, either in this or in a
future life, the crime of perjury is most assuredly punished by
the avenging gods. But whilst they acknowledged the general
advantages of religion, they were convinced that the various
modes of worship contributed alike to the same salutary purposes;
and that, in every country, the form of superstition, which had
received the sanction of time and experience, was the best
adapted to the climate, and to its inhabitants. Avarice and taste
very frequently despoiled the vanquished nations of the elegant
statues of their gods, and the rich ornaments of their temples;
but, in the exercise of the religion which they derived from
their ancestors, they uniformly experienced the indulgence, and
even protection, of the Roman conquerors. The province of Gaul
seems, and indeed only seems, an exception to this universal
toleration. Under the specious pretext of abolishing human
sacrifices, the emperors Tiberius and Claudius suppressed the
dangerous power of the Druids: but the priests themselves, their
gods and their altars, subsisted in peaceful obscurity till the
final destruction of Paganism.
Rome, the capital of a great monarchy, was incessantly filled
with subjects and strangers from every part of the world, who all
introduced and enjoyed the favorite superstitions of their native
country. Every city in the empire was justified in maintaining
the purity of its ancient ceremonies; and the Roman senate, using
the common privilege, sometimes interposed, to check this
inundation of foreign rites. * The Egyptian superstition, of all
the most contemptible and abject, was frequently prohibited: the
temples of Serapis and Isis demolished, and their worshippers
banished from Rome and Italy. But the zeal of fanaticism
prevailed over the cold and feeble efforts of policy. The exiles
returned, the proselytes multiplied, the temples were restored
with increasing splendor, and Isis and Serapis at length assumed
their place among the Roman Deities. Nor was this indulgence a
departure from the old maxims of government. In the purest ages
of the commonwealth, Cybele and Æsculapius had been invited
by solemn embassies; and it was customary to tempt the protectors
of besieged cities, by the promise of more distinguished honors
than they possessed in their native country. Rome gradually
became the common temple of her subjects; and the freedom of the
city was bestowed on all the gods of mankind.
II. The narrow policy of preserving, without any foreign
mixture, the pure blood of the ancient citizens, had checked the
fortune, and hastened the ruin, of Athens and Sparta. The
aspiring genius of Rome sacrificed vanity to ambition, and deemed
it more prudent, as well as honorable, to adopt virtue and merit
for her own wheresoever they were found, among slaves or
strangers, enemies or barbarians. During the most flourishing
æra of the Athenian commonwealth, the number of citizens
gradually decreased from about thirty to twenty-one thousand. If,
on the contrary, we study the growth of the Roman republic, we
may discover, that, notwithstanding the incessant demands of wars
and colonies, the citizens, who, in the first census of Servius
Tullius, amounted to no more than eighty-three thousand, were
multiplied, before the commencement of the social war, to the
number of four hundred and sixty-three thousand men, able to bear
arms in the service of their country. When the allies of Rome
claimed an equal share of honors and privileges, the senate
indeed preferred the chance of arms to an ignominious concession.
The Samnites and the Lucanians paid the severe penalty of their
rashness; but the rest of the Italian states, as they
successively returned to their duty, were admitted into the bosom
of the republic, and soon contributed to the ruin of public
freedom. Under a democratical government, the citizens exercise
the powers of sovereignty; and those powers will be first abused,
and afterwards lost, if they are committed to an unwieldy
multitude. But when the popular assemblies had been suppressed by
the administration of the emperors, the conquerors were
distinguished from the vanquished nations, only as the first and
most honorable order of subjects; and their increase, however
rapid, was no longer exposed to the same dangers. Yet the wisest
princes, who adopted the maxims of Augustus, guarded with the
strictest care the dignity of the Roman name, and diffused the
freedom of the city with a prudent liberality.
Till the privileges of Romans had been progressively extended
to all the inhabitants of the empire, an important distinction
was preserved between Italy and the provinces. The former was
esteemed the centre of public unity, and the firm basis of the
constitution. Italy claimed the birth, or at least the residence,
of the emperors and the senate. The estates of the Italians were
exempt from taxes, their persons from the arbitrary jurisdiction
of governors. Their municipal corporations, formed after the
perfect model of the capital, * were intrusted, under the
immediate eye of the supreme power, with the execution of the
laws. From the foot of the Alps to the extremity of Calabria, all
the natives of Italy were born citizens of Rome. Their partial
distinctions were obliterated, and they insensibly coalesced into
one great nation, united by language, manners, and civil
institutions, and equal to the weight of a powerful empire. The
republic gloried in her generous policy, and was frequently
rewarded by the merit and services of her adopted sons. Had she
always confined the distinction of Romans to the ancient families
within the walls of the city, that immortal name would have been
deprived of some of its noblest ornaments. Virgil was a native of
Mantua; Horace was inclined to doubt whether he should call
himself an Apulian or a Lucanian; it was in Padua that an
historian was found worthy to record the majestic series of Roman
victories. The patriot family of the Catos emerged from Tusculum;
and the little town of Arpinum claimed the double honor of
producing Marius and Cicero, the former of whom deserved, after
Romulus and Camillus, to be styled the Third Founder of Rome; and
the latter, after saving his country from the designs of
Catiline, enabled her to contend with Athens for the palm of
eloquence.
The provinces of the empire (as they have been described in
the preceding chapter) were destitute of any public force, or
constitutional freedom. In Etruria, in Greece, and in Gaul, it
was the first care of the senate to dissolve those dangerous
confederacies, which taught mankind that, as the Roman arms
prevailed by division, they might be resisted by union. Those
princes, whom the ostentation of gratitude or generosity
permitted for a while to hold a precarious sceptre, were
dismissed from their thrones, as soon as they had per formed
their appointed task of fashioning to the yoke the vanquished
nations. The free states and cities which had embraced the cause
of Rome were rewarded with a nominal alliance, and insensibly
sunk into real servitude. The public authority was every where
exercised by the ministers of the senate and of the emperors, and
that authority was absolute, and without control. But the same
salutary maxims of government, which had secured the peace and
obedience of Italy were extended to the most distant conquests. A
nation of Romans was gradually formed in the provinces, by the
double expedient of introducing colonies, and of admitting the
most faithful and deserving of the provincials to the freedom of
Rome.
"Wheresoever the Roman conquers, he inhabits," is a very just
observation of Seneca, confirmed by history and experience. The
natives of Italy, allured by pleasure or by interest, hastened to
enjoy the advantages of victory; and we may remark, that, about
forty years after the reduction of Asia, eighty thousand Romans
were massacred in one day, by the cruel orders of Mithridates.
These voluntary exiles were engaged, for the most part, in the
occupations of commerce, agriculture, and the farm of the
revenue. But after the legions were rendered permanent by the
emperors, the provinces were peopled by a race of soldiers; and
the veterans, whether they received the reward of their service
in land or in money, usually settled with their families in the
country, where they had honorably spent their youth. Throughout
the empire, but more particularly in the western parts, the most
fertile districts, and the most convenient situations, were
reserved for the establishment of colonies; some of which were of
a civil, and others of a military nature. In their manners and
internal policy, the colonies formed a perfect representation of
their great parent; and they were soon endeared to the natives by
the ties of friendship and alliance, they effectually diffused a
reverence for the Roman name, and a desire, which was seldom
disappointed, of sharing, in due time, its honors and advantages.
The municipal cities insensibly equalled the rank and splendor of
the colonies; and in the reign of Hadrian, it was disputed which
was the preferable condition, of those societies which had issued
from, or those which had been received into, the bosom of Rome.
The right of Latium, as it was called, * conferred on the cities
to which it had been granted, a more partial favor. The
magistrates only, at the expiration of their office, assumed the
quality of Roman citizens; but as those offices were annual, in a
few years they circulated round the principal families. Those of
the provincials who were permitted to bear arms in the legions;
those who exercised any civil employment; all, in a word, who
performed any public service, or displayed any personal talents,
were rewarded with a present, whose value was continually
diminished by the increasing liberality of the emperors. Yet
even, in the age of the Antonines, when the freedom of the city
had been bestowed on the greater number of their subjects, it was
still accompanied with very solid advantages. The bulk of the
people acquired, with that title, the benefit of the Roman laws,
particularly in the interesting articles of marriage, testaments,
and inheritances; and the road of fortune was open to those whose
pretensions were seconded by favor or merit. The grandsons of the
Gauls, who had besieged Julius Cæsar in Alcsia, commanded
legions, governed provinces, and were admitted into the senate of
Rome. Their ambition, instead of disturbing the tranquillity of
the state, was intimately connected with its safety and
greatness.
So sensible were the Romans of the influence of language over
national manners, that it was their most serious care to extend,
with the progress of their arms, the use of the Latin tongue. The
ancient dialects of Italy, the Sabine, the Etruscan, and the
Venetian, sunk into oblivion; but in the provinces, the east was
less docile than the west to the voice of its victorious
preceptors. This obvious difference marked the two portions of
the empire with a distinction of colors, which, though it was in
some degree concealed during the meridian splendor of prosperity,
became gradually more visible, as the shades of night descended
upon the Roman world. The western countries were civilized by the
same hands which subdued them. As soon as the barbarians were
reconciled to obedience, their minds were open to any new
impressions of knowledge and politeness. The language of Virgil
and Cicero, though with some inevitable mixture of corruption,
was so universally adopted in Africa, Spain, Gaul Britain, and
Pannonia, that the faint traces of the Punic or Celtic idioms
were preserved only in the mountains, or among the peasants.
Education and study insensibly inspired the natives of those
countries with the sentiments of Romans; and Italy gave fashions,
as well as laws, to her Latin provincials. They solicited with
more ardor, and obtained with more facility, the freedom and
honors of the state; supported the national dignity in letters
and in arms; and at length, in the person of Trajan, produced an
emperor whom the Scipios would not have disowned for their
countryman. The situation of the Greeks was very different from
that of the barbarians. The former had been long since civilized
and corrupted. They had too much taste to relinquish their
language, and too much vanity to adopt any foreign institutions.
Still preserving the prejudices, after they had lost the virtues,
of their ancestors, they affected to despise the unpolished
manners of the Roman conquerors, whilst they were compelled to
respect their superior wisdom and power. Nor was the influence of
the Grecian language and sentiments confined to the narrow limits
of that once celebrated country. Their empire, by the progress of
colonies and conquest, had been diffused from the Adriatic to the
Euphrates and the Nile. Asia was covered with Greek cities, and
the long reign of the Macedonian kings had introduced a silent
revolution into Syria and Egypt. In their pompous courts, those
princes united the elegance of Athens with the luxury of the
East, and the example of the court was imitated, at an humble
distance, by the higher ranks of their subjects. Such was the
general division of the Roman empire into the Latin and Greek
languages. To these we may add a third distinction for the body
of the natives in Syria, and especially in Egypt, the use of
their ancient dialects, by secluding them from the commerce of
mankind, checked the improvements of those barbarians. The
slothful effeminacy of the former exposed them to the contempt,
the sullen ferociousness of the latter excited the aversion, of
the conquerors. Those nations had submitted to the Roman power,
but they seldom desired or deserved the freedom of the city: and
it was remarked, that more than two hundred and thirty years
elapsed after the ruin of the Ptolemies, before an Egyptian was
admitted into the senate of Rome.
It is a just though trite observation, that victorious Rome
was herself subdued by the arts of Greece. Those immortal writers
who still command the admiration of modern Europe, soon became
the favorite object of study and imitation in Italy and the
western provinces. But the elegant amusements of the Romans were
not suffered to interfere with their sound maxims of policy.
Whilst they acknowledged the charms of the Greek, they asserted
the dignity of the Latin tongue, and the exclusive use of the
latter was inflexibly maintained in the administration of civil
as well as military government. The two languages exercised at
the same time their separate jurisdiction throughout the empire:
the former, as the natural idiom of science; the latter, as the
legal dialect of public transactions. Those who united letters
with business were equally conversant with both; and it was
almost impossible, in any province, to find a Roman subject, of a
liberal education, who was at once a stranger to the Greek and to
the Latin language.
It was by such institutions that the nations of the empire
insensibly melted away into the Roman name and people. But there
still remained, in the centre of every province and of every
family, an unhappy condition of men who endured the weight,
without sharing the benefits, of society. In the free states of
antiquity, the domestic slaves were exposed to the wanton rigor
of despotism. The perfect settlement of the Roman empire was
preceded by ages of violence and rapine. The slaves consisted,
for the most part, of barbarian captives, * taken in thousands by
the chance of war, purchased at a vile price, accustomed to a
life of independence, and impatient to break and to revenge their
fetters. Against such internal enemies, whose desperate
insurrections had more than once reduced the republic to the
brink of destruction, the most severe regulations, and the most
cruel treatment, seemed almost justified by the great law of
self-preservation. But when the principal nations of Europe,
Asia, and Africa were united under the laws of one sovereign, the
source of foreign supplies flowed with much less abundance, and
the Romans were reduced to the milder but more tedious method of
propagation. * In their numerous families, and particularly in
their country estates, they encouraged the marriage of their
slaves. The sentiments of nature, the habits of education, and
the possession of a dependent species of property, contributed to
alleviate the hardships of servitude. The existence of a slave
became an object of greater value, and though his happiness still
depended on the temper and circumstances of the master, the
humanity of the latter, instead of being restrained by fear, was
encouraged by the sense of his own interest. The progress of
manners was accelerated by the virtue or policy of the emperors;
and by the edicts of Hadrian and the Antonines, the protection of
the laws was extended to the most abject part of mankind. The
jurisdiction of life and death over the slaves, a power long
exercised and often abused, was taken out of private hands, and
reserved to the magistrates alone. The subterraneous prisons were
abolished; and, upon a just complaint of intolerable treatment,
the injured slave obtained either his deliverance, or a less
cruel master.
Hope, the best comfort of our imperfect condition, was not
denied to the Roman slave; and if he had any opportunity of
rendering himself either useful or agreeable, he might very
naturally expect that the diligence and fidelity of a few years
would be rewarded with the inestimable gift of freedom. The
benevolence of the master was so frequently prompted by the
meaner suggestions of vanity and avarice, that the laws found it
more necessary to restrain than to encourage a profuse and
undistinguishing liberality, which might degenerate into a very
dangerous abuse. It was a maxim of ancient jurisprudence, that a
slave had not any country of his own; he acquired with his
liberty an admission into the political society of which his
patron was a member. The consequences of this maxim would have
prostituted the privileges of the Roman city to a mean and
promiscuous multitude. Some seasonable exceptions were therefore
provided; and the honorable distinction was confined to such
slaves only as, for just causes, and with the approbation of the
magistrate, should receive a solemn and legal manumission. Even
these chosen freedmen obtained no more than the private rights of
citizens, and were rigorously excluded from civil or military
honors. Whatever might be the merit or fortune of their sons,
they likewise were esteemed unworthy of a seat in the
senate; nor were the traces of a servile origin allowed to be
completely obliterated till the third or fourth generation.
Without destroying the distinction of ranks, a distant prospect
of freedom and honors was presented, even to those whom pride and
prejudice almost disdained to number among the human species.
It was once proposed to discriminate the slaves by a peculiar
habit; but it was justly apprehended that there might be some
danger in acquainting them with their own numbers. Without
interpreting, in their utmost strictness, the liberal
appellations of legions and myriads, we may venture to pronounce,
that the proportion of slaves, who were valued as property, was
more considerable than that of servants, who can be computed only
as an expense. The youths of a promising genius were instructed
in the arts and sciences, and their price was ascertained by the
degree of their skill and talents. Almost every profession,
either liberal or mechanical, might be found in the household of
an opulent senator. The ministers of pomp and sensuality were
multiplied beyond the conception of modern luxury. It was more
for the interest of the merchant or manufacturer to purchase,
than to hire his workmen; and in the country, slaves were
employed as the cheapest and most laborious instruments of
agriculture. To confirm the general observation, and to display
the multitude of slaves, we might allege a variety of particular
instances. It was discovered, on a very melancholy occasion, that
four hundred slaves were maintained in a single palace of Rome.
The same number of four hundred belonged to an estate which an
African widow, of a very private condition, resigned to her son,
whilst she reserved for herself a much larger share of her
property. A freedman, under the name of Augustus, though his
fortune had suffered great losses in the civil wars, left behind
him three thousand six hundred yoke of oxen, two hundred and
fifty thousand head of smaller cattle, and what was almost
included in the description of cattle, four thousand one hundred
and sixteen slaves.
The number of subjects who acknowledged the laws of Rome, of
citizens, of provincials, and of slaves, cannot now be fixed with
such a degree of accuracy, as the importance of the object would
deserve. We are informed, that when the Emperor Claudius
exercised the office of censor, he took an account of six
millions nine hundred and forty-five thousand Roman citizens,
who, with the proportion of women and children, must have
amounted to about twenty millions of souls. The multitude of
subjects of an inferior rank was uncertain and fluctuating. But,
after weighing with attention every circumstance which could
influence the balance, it seems probable that there existed, in
the time of Claudius, about twice as many provincials as there
were citizens, of either sex, and of every age; and that the
slaves were at least equal in number to the free inhabitants of
the Roman world. * The total amount of this imperfect calculation
would rise to about one hundred and twenty millions of persons; a
degree of population which possibly exceeds that of modern
Europe, and forms the most numerous society that has ever been
united under the same system of government.
Domestic peace and union were the natural consequences of the
moderate and comprehensive policy embraced by the Romans. If we
turn our eyes towards the monarchies of Asia, we shall behold
despotism in the centre, and weakness in the extremities; the
collection of the revenue, or the administration of justice,
enforced by the presence of an army; hostile barbarians
established in the heart of the country, hereditary satraps
usurping the dominion of the provinces, and subjects inclined to
rebellion, though incapable of freedom. But the obedience of the
Roman world was uniform, voluntary, and permanent. The vanquished
nations, blended into one great people, resigned the hope, nay,
even the wish, of resuming their independence, and scarcely
considered their own existence as distinct from the existence of
Rome. The established authority of the emperors pervaded without
an effort the wide extent of their dominions, and was exercised
with the same facility on the banks of the Thames, or of the
Nile, as on those of the Tyber. The legions were destined to
serve against the public enemy, and the civil magistrate seldom
required the aid of a military force. In this state of general
security, the leisure, as well as opulence, both of the prince
and people, were devoted to improve and to adorn the Roman
empire.
Among the innumerable monuments of architecture constructed by
the Romans, how many have escaped the notice of history, how few
have resisted the ravages of time and barbarism! And yet, even
the majestic ruins that are still scattered over Italy and the
provinces, would be sufficient to prove that those countries were
once the seat of a polite and powerful empire. Their greatness
alone, or their beauty, might deserve our attention: but they are
rendered more interesting, by two important circumstances, which
connect the agreeable history of the arts with the more useful
history of human manners. Many of those works were erected at
private expense, and almost all were intended for public
benefit.
It is natural to suppose that the greatest number, as well as
the most considerable of the Roman edifices, were raised by the
emperors, who possessed so unbounded a command both of men and
money. Augustus was accustomed to boast that he had found his
capital of brick, and that he had left it of marble. The strict
economy of Vespasian was the source of his magnificence. The
works of Trajan bear the stamp of his genius. The public
monuments with which Hadrian adorned every province of the
empire, were executed not only by his orders, but under his
immediate inspection. He was himself an artist; and he loved the
arts, as they conduced to the glory of the monarch. They were
encouraged by the Antonines, as they contributed to the happiness
of the people. But if the emperors were the first, they were not
the only architects of their dominions. Their example was
universally imitated by their principal subjects, who were not
afraid of declaring to the world that they had spirit to
conceive, and wealth to accomplish, the noblest undertakings.
Scarcely had the proud structure of the Coliseum been dedicated
at Rome, before the edifices, of a smaller scale indeed, but of
the same design and materials, were erected for the use, and at
the expense, of the cities of Capua and Verona. The inscription
of the stupendous bridge of Alcantara attests that it was thrown
over the Tagus by the contribution of a few Lusitanian
communities. When Pliny was intrusted with the government of
Bithynia and Pontus, provinces by no means the richest or most
considerable of the empire, he found the cities within his
jurisdiction striving with each other in every useful and
ornamental work, that might deserve the curiosity of strangers,
or the gratitude of their citizens. It was the duty of the
proconsul to supply their deficiencies, to direct their taste,
and sometimes to moderate their emulation. The opulent senators
of Rome and the provinces esteemed it an honor, and almost an
obligation, to adorn the splendor of their age and country; and
the influence of fashion very frequently supplied the want of
taste or generosity. Among a crowd of these private benefactors,
we may select Herodes Atticus, an Athenian citizen, who lived in
the age of the Antonines. Whatever might be the motive of his
conduct, his magnificence would have been worthy of the greatest
kings.
[See Theatre Of Marcellus: Augustus built in Rome the theatre
of Marcellus.]
The family of Herod, at least after it had been favored by
fortune, was lineally descended from Cimon and Miltiades, Theseus
and Cecrops, Æacus and Jupiter. But the posterity of so
many gods and heroes was fallen into the most abject state. His
grandfather had suffered by the hands of justice, and Julius
Atticus, his father, must have ended his life in poverty and
contempt, had he not discovered an immense treasure buried under
an old house, the last remains of his patrimony. According to the
rigor of the law, the emperor might have asserted his claim, and
the prudent Atticus prevented, by a frank confession, the
officiousness of informers. But the equitable Nerva, who then
filled the throne, refused to accept any part of it, and
commanded him to use, without scruple, the present of fortune.
The cautious Athenian still insisted, that the treasure was too
considerable for a subject, and that he knew not how to use
it. Abuse it then, replied the monarch, with a
good-natured peevishness; for it is your own. Many will be of
opinion, that Atticus literally obeyed the emperor's last
instructions; since he expended the greatest part of his fortune,
which was much increased by an advantageous marriage, in the
service of the public. He had obtained for his son Herod the
prefecture of the free cities of Asia; and the young magistrate,
observing that the town of Troas was indifferently supplied with
water, obtained from the munificence of Hadrian three hundred
myriads of drachms, (about a hundred thousand pounds,) for the
construction of a new aqueduct. But in the execution of the work,
the charge amounted to more than double the estimate, and the
officers of the revenue began to murmur, till the generous
Atticus silenced their complaints, by requesting that he might be
permitted to take upon himself the whole additional expense.
The ablest preceptors of Greece and Asia had been invited by
liberal rewards to direct the education of young Herod. Their
pupil soon became a celebrated orator, according to the useless
rhetoric of that age, which, confining itself to the schools,
disdained to visit either the Forum or the Senate. He was honored
with the consulship at Rome: but the greatest part of his life
was spent in a philosophic retirement at Athens, and his adjacent
villas; perpetually surrounded by sophists, who acknowledged,
without reluctance, the superiority of a rich and generous rival.
The monuments of his genius have perished; some considerable
ruins still preserve the fame of his taste and munificence:
modern travellers have measured the remains of the stadium which
he constructed at Athens. It was six hundred feet in length,
built entirely of white marble, capable of admitting the whole
body of the people, and finished in four years, whilst Herod was
president of the Athenian games. To the memory of his wife
Regilla he dedicated a theatre, scarcely to be paralleled in the
empire: no wood except cedar, very curiously carved, was employed
in any part of the building. The Odeum, * designed by Pericles
for musical performances, and the rehearsal of new tragedies, had
been a trophy of the victory of the arts over barbaric greatness;
as the timbers employed in the construction consisted chiefly of
the masts of the Persian vessels. Notwithstanding the repairs
bestowed on that ancient edifice by a king of Cappadocia, it was
again fallen to decay. Herod restored its ancient beauty and
magnificence. Nor was the liberality of that illustrious citizen
confined to the walls of Athens. The most splendid ornaments
bestowed on the temple of Neptune in the Isthmus, a theatre at
Corinth, a stadium at Delphi, a bath at Thermopylæ, and an
aqueduct at Canusium in Italy, were insufficient to exhaust his
treasures. The people of Epirus, Thessaly, Euboea, Boeotia, and
Peloponnesus, experienced his favors; and many inscriptions of
the cities of Greece and Asia gratefully style Herodes Atticus
their patron and benefactor.
In the commonwealths of Athens and Rome, the modest simplicity
of private houses announced the equal condition of freedom;
whilst the sovereignty of the people was represented in the
majestic edifices designed to the public use; nor was this
republican spirit totally extinguished by the introduction of
wealth and monarchy. It was in works of national honor and
benefit, that the most virtuous of the emperors affected to
display their magnificence. The golden palace of Nero excited a
just indignation, but the vast extent of ground which had been
usurped by his selfish luxury was more nobly filled under the
succeeding reigns by the Coliseum, the baths of Titus, the
Claudian portico, and the temples dedicated to the goddess of
Peace, and to the genius of Rome. These monuments of
architecture, the property of the Roman people, were adorned with
the most beautiful productions of Grecian painting and sculpture;
and in the temple of Peace, a very curious library was open to
the curiosity of the learned. * At a small distance from thence
was situated the Forum of Trajan. It was surrounded by a lofty
portico, in the form of a quadrangle, into which four triumphal
arches opened a noble and spacious entrance: in the centre arose
a column of marble, whose height, of one hundred and ten feet,
denoted the elevation of the hill that had been cut away. This
column, which still subsists in its ancient beauty, exhibited an
exact representation of the Dacian victories of its founder. The
veteran soldier contemplated the story of his own campaigns, and
by an easy illusion of national vanity, the peaceful citizen
associated himself to the honors of the triumph. All the other
quarters of the capital, and all the provinces of the empire,
were embellished by the same liberal spirit of public
magnificence, and were filled with amphi theatres, theatres,
temples, porticoes, triumphal arches, baths and aqueducts, all
variously conducive to the health, the devotion, and the
pleasures of the meanest citizen. The last mentioned of those
edifices deserve our peculiar attention. The boldness of the
enterprise, the solidity of the execution, and the uses to which
they were subservient, rank the aqueducts among the noblest
monuments of Roman genius and power. The aqueducts of the capital
claim a just preeminence; but the curious traveller, who, without
the light of history, should examine those of Spoleto, of Metz,
or of Segovia, would very naturally conclude that those
provincial towns had formerly been the residence of some potent
monarch. The solitudes of Asia and Africa were once covered with
flourishing cities, whose populousness, and even whose existence,
was derived from such artificial supplies of a perennial stream
of fresh water.
We have computed the inhabitants, and contemplated the public
works, of the Roman empire. The observation of the number and
greatness of its cities will serve to confirm the former, and to
multiply the latter. It may not be unpleasing to collect a few
scattered instances relative to that subject without forgetting,
however, that from the vanity of nations and the poverty of
language, the vague appellation of city has been indifferently
bestowed on Rome and upon Laurentum.
I. Ancient Italy is said to have contained eleven
hundred and ninety-seven cities; and for whatsoever æra of
antiquity the expression might be intended, there is not any
reason to believe the country less populous in the age of the
Antonines, than in that of Romulus. The petty states of Latium
were contained within the metropolis of the empire, by whose
superior influence they had been attracted. * Those parts of
Italy which have so long languished under the lazy tyranny of
priests and viceroys, had been afflicted only by the more
tolerable calamities of war; and the first symptoms of decay
which they experienced, were amply compensated by the rapid
improvements of the Cisalpine Gaul. The splendor of Verona may be
traced in its remains: yet Verona was less celebrated than
Aquileia or Padua, Milan or Ravenna. II. The spirit of
improvement had passed the Alps, and been felt even in the woods
of Britain, which were gradually cleared away to open a free
space for convenient and elegant habitations. York was the seat
of government; London was already enriched by commerce; and Bath
was celebrated for the salutary effects of its medicinal waters.
Gaul could boast of her twelve hundred cities; and though, in the
northern parts, many of them, without excepting Paris itself,
were little more than the rude and imperfect townships of a
rising people, the southern provinces imitated the wealth and
elegance of Italy. Many were the cities of Gaul, Marseilles,
Arles, Nismes, Narbonne, Thoulouse, Bourdeaux, Autun, Vienna,
Lyons, Langres, and Treves, whose ancient condition might sustain
an equal, and perhaps advantageous comparison with their present
state. With regard to Spain, that country flourished as a
province, and has declined as a kingdom. Exhausted by the abuse
of her strength, by America, and by superstition, her pride might
possibly be confounded, if we required such a list of three
hundred and sixty cities, as Pliny has exhibited under the reign
of Vespasian. III. Three hundred African cities had once
acknowledged the authority of Carthage, nor is it likely that
their numbers diminished under the administration of the
emperors: Carthage itself rose with new splendor from its ashes;
and that capital, as well as Capua and Corinth, soon recovered
all the advantages which can be separated from independent
sovereignty. IV. The provinces of the East present the contrast
of Roman magnificence with Turkish barbarism. The ruins of
antiquity scattered over uncultivated fields, and ascribed, by
ignorance to the power of magic, scarcely afford a shelter to the
oppressed peasant or wandering Arab. Under the reign of the
Cæsars, the proper Asia alone contained five hundred
populous cities, enriched with all the gifts of nature, and
adorned with all the refinements of art. Eleven cities of Asia
had once disputed the honor of dedicating a temple of Tiberius,
and their respective merits were examined by the senate. Four of
them were immediately rejected as unequal to the burden; and
among these was Laodicea, whose splendor is still displayed in
its ruins. Laodicea collected a very considerable revenue from
its flocks of sheep, celebrated for the fineness of their wool,
and had received, a little before the contest, a legacy of above
four hundred thousand pounds by the testament of a generous
citizen. If such was the poverty of Laodicea, what must have been
the wealth of those cities, whose claim appeared preferable, and
particularly of Pergamus, of Smyrna, and of Ephesus, who so long
disputed with each other the titular primacy of Asia? The
capitals of Syria and Egypt held a still superior rank in the
empire; Antioch and Alexandria looked down with disdain on a
crowd of dependent cities, and yielded, with reluctance, to the
majesty of Rome itself.
All these cities were connected with each other, and with the
capital, by the public highways, which, issuing from the Forum of
Rome, traversed Italy, pervaded the provinces, and were
terminated only by the frontiers of the empire. If we carefully
trace the distance from the wall of Antoninus to Rome, and from
thence to Jerusalem, it will be found that the great chain of
communication, from the north-west to the south-east point of the
empire, was drawn out to the length if four thousand and eighty
Roman miles. The public roads were accurately divided by
mile-stones, and ran in a direct line from one city to another,
with very little respect for the obstacles either of nature or
private property. Mountains were perforated, and bold arches
thrown over the broadest and most rapid streams. The middle part
of the road was raised into a terrace which commanded the
adjacent country, consisted of several strata of sand, gravel,
and cement, and was paved with large stones, or, in some places
near the capital, with granite. Such was the solid construction
of the Roman highways, whose firmness has not entirely yielded to
the effort of fifteen centuries. They united the subjects of the
most distant provinces by an easy and familiar intercourse; out
their primary object had been to facilitate the marches of the
legions; nor was any country considered as completely subdued,
till it had been rendered, in all its parts, pervious to the arms
and authority of the conqueror. The advantage of receiving the
earliest intelligence, and of conveying their orders with
celerity, induced the emperors to establish, throughout their
extensive dominions, the regular institution of posts. Houses
were every where erected at the distance only of five or six
miles; each of them was constantly provided with forty horses,
and by the help of these relays, it was easy to travel a hundred
miles in a day along the Roman roads. * The use of posts was
allowed to those who claimed it by an Imperial mandate; but
though originally intended for the public service, it was
sometimes indulged to the business or conveniency of private
citizens. Nor was the communication of the Roman empire less free
and open by sea than it was by land. The provinces surrounded and
enclosed the Mediterranean: and Italy, in the shape of an immense
promontory, advanced into the midst of that great lake. The
coasts of Italy are, in general, destitute of safe harbors; but
human industry had corrected the deficiencies of nature; and the
artificial port of Ostia, in particular, situate at the mouth of
the Tyber, and formed by the emperor Claudius, was a useful
monument of Roman greatness. From this port, which was only
sixteen miles from the capital, a favorable breeze frequently
carried vessels in seven days to the columns of Hercules, and in
nine or ten, to Alexandria in Egypt.
[See Remains Of Claudian Aquaduct]
Whatever evils either reason or declamation have imputed to
extensive empire, the power of Rome was attended with some
beneficial consequences to mankind; and the same freedom of
intercourse which extended the vices, diffused likewise the
improvements, of social life. In the more remote ages of
antiquity, the world was unequally divided. The East was in the
immemorial possession of arts and luxury; whilst the West was
inhabited by rude and warlike barbarians, who either disdained
agriculture, or to whom it was totally unknown. Under the
protection of an established government, the productions of
happier climates, and the industry of more civilized nations,
were gradually introduced into the western countries of Europe;
and the natives were encouraged, by an open and profitable
commerce, to multiply the former, as well as to improve the
latter. It would be almost impossible to enumerate all the
articles, either of the animal or the vegetable reign, which were
successively imported into Europe from Asia and Egypt: but it
will not be unworthy of the dignity, and much less of the
utility, of an historical work, slightly to touch on a few of the
principal heads. 1. Almost all the flowers, the herbs, and the
fruits, that grow in our European gardens, are of foreign
extraction, which, in many cases, is betrayed even by their
names: the apple was a native of Italy, and when the Romans had
tasted the richer flavor of the apricot, the peach, the
pomegranate, the citron, and the orange, they contented
themselves with applying to all these new fruits the common
denomination of apple, discriminating them from each other by the
additional epithet of their country. 2. In the time of Homer, the
vine grew wild in the island of Sicily, and most probably in the
adjacent continent; but it was not improved by the skill, nor did
it afford a liquor grateful to the taste, of the savage
inhabitants. A thousand years afterwards, Italy could boast, that
of the fourscore most generous and celebrated wines, more than
two thirds were produced from her soil. The blessing was soon
communicated to the Narbonnese province of Gaul; but so intense
was the cold to the north of the Cevennes, that, in the time of
Strabo, it was thought impossible to ripen the grapes in those
parts of Gaul. This difficulty, however, was gradually
vanquished; and there is some reason to believe, that the
vineyards of Burgundy are as old as the age of the Antonines. 3.
The olive, in the western world, followed the progress of peace,
of which it was considered as the symbol. Two centuries after the
foundation of Rome, both Italy and Africa were strangers to that
useful plant: it was naturalized in those countries; and at
length carried into the heart of Spain and Gaul. The timid errors
of the ancients, that it required a certain degree of heat, and
could only flourish in the neighborhood of the sea, were
insensibly exploded by industry and experience. 4. The
cultivation of flax was transported from Egypt to Gaul, and
enriched the whole country, however it might impoverish the
particular lands on which it was sown. 5. The use of artificial
grasses became familiar to the farmers both of Italy and the
provinces, particularly the Lucerne, which derived its name and
origin from Media. The assured supply of wholesome and plentiful
food for the cattle during winter, multiplied the number of the
docks and herds, which in their turn contributed to the fertility
of the soil. To all these improvements may be added an assiduous
attention to mines and fisheries, which, by employing a multitude
of laborious hands, serve to increase the pleasures of the rich
and the subsistence of the poor. The elegant treatise of
Columella describes the advanced state of the Spanish husbandry
under the reign of Tiberius; and it may be observed, that those
famines, which so frequently afflicted the infant republic, were
seldom or never experienced by the extensive empire of Rome. The
accidental scarcity, in any single province, was immediately
relieved by the plenty of its more fortunate neighbors.
Agriculture is the foundation of manufactures; since the
productions of nature are the materials of art. Under the Roman
empire, the labor of an industrious and ingenious people was
variously, but incessantly, employed in the service of the rich.
In their dress, their table, their houses, and their furniture,
the favorites of fortune united every refinement of conveniency,
of elegance, and of splendor, whatever could soothe their pride
or gratify their sensuality. Such refinements, under the odious
name of luxury, have been severely arraigned by the moralists of
every age; and it might perhaps be more conducive to the virtue,
as well as happiness, of mankind, if all possessed the
necessaries, and none the superfluities, of life. But in the
present imperfect condition of society, luxury, though it may
proceed from vice or folly, seems to be the only means that can
correct the unequal distribution of property. The diligent
mechanic, and the skilful artist, who have obtained no share in
the division of the earth, receive a voluntary tax from the
possessors of land; and the latter are prompted, by a sense of
interest, to improve those estates, with whose produce they may
purchase additional pleasures. This operation, the particular
effects of which are felt in every society, acted with much more
diffusive energy in the Roman world. The provinces would soon
have been exhausted of their wealth, if the manufactures and
commerce of luxury had not insensibly restored to the industrious
subjects the sums which were exacted from them by the arms and
authority of Rome. As long as the circulation was confined within
the bounds of the empire, it impressed the political machine with
a new degree of activity, and its consequences, sometimes
beneficial, could never become pernicious.
But it is no easy task to confine luxury within the limits of
an empire. The most remote countries of the ancient world were
ransacked to supply the pomp and delicacy of Rome. The forests of
Scythia afforded some valuable furs. Amber was brought over land
from the shores of the Baltic to the Danube; and the barbarians
were astonished at the price which they received in exchange for
so useless a commodity. There was a considerable demand for
Babylonian carpets, and other manufactures of the East; but the
most important and unpopular branch of foreign trade was carried
on with Arabia and India. Every year, about the time of the
summer solstice, a fleet of a hundred and twenty vessels sailed
from Myos-hormos, a port of Egypt, on the Red Sea. By the
periodical assistance of the monsoons, they traversed the ocean
in about forty days. The coast of Malabar, or the island of
Ceylon, was the usual term of their navigation, and it was in
those markets that the merchants from the more remote countries
of Asia expected their arrival. The return of the fleet of Egypt
was fixed to the months of December or January; and as soon as
their rich cargo had been transported on the backs of camels,
from the Red Sea to the Nile, and had descended that river as far
as Alexandria, it was poured, without delay, into the capital of
the empire. The objects of oriental traffic were splendid and
trifling; silk, a pound of which was esteemed not inferior in
value to a pound of gold; precious stones, among which the pearl
claimed the first rank after the diamond; and a variety of
aromatics, that were consumed in religious worship and the pomp
of funerals. The labor and risk of the voyage was rewarded with
almost incredible profit; but the profit was made upon Roman
subjects, and a few individuals were enriched at the expense of
the public. As the natives of Arabia and India were contented
with the productions and manufactures of their own country,
silver, on the side of the Romans, was the principal, if not the
only * instrument of commerce. It was a complaint worthy of the
gravity of the senate, that, in the purchase of female ornaments,
the wealth of the state was irrecoverably given away to foreign
and hostile nations. The annual loss is computed, by a writer of
an inquisitive but censorious temper, at upwards of eight hundred
thousand pounds sterling. Such was the style of discontent,
brooding over the dark prospect of approaching poverty. And yet,
if we compare the proportion between gold and silver, as it stood
in the time of Pliny, and as it was fixed in the reign of
Constantine, we shall discover within that period a very
considerable increase. There is not the least reason to suppose
that gold was become more scarce; it is therefore evident that
silver was grown more common; that whatever might be the amount
of the Indian and Arabian exports, they were far from exhausting
the wealth of the Roman world; and that the produce of the mines
abundantly supplied the demands of commerce.
Notwithstanding the propensity of mankind to exalt the past,
and to depreciate the present, the tranquil and prosperous state
of the empire was warmly felt, and honestly confessed, by the
provincials as well as Romans. "They acknowledged that the true
principles of social life, laws, agriculture, and science, which
had been first invented by the wisdom of Athens, were now firmly
established by the power of Rome, under whose auspicious
influence the fiercest barbarians were united by an equal
government and common language. They affirm, that with the
improvement of arts, the human species were visibly multiplied.
They celebrate the increasing splendor of the cities, the
beautiful face of the country, cultivated and adorned like an
immense garden; and the long festival of peace which was enjoyed
by so many nations, forgetful of the ancient animosities, and
delivered from the apprehension of future danger." Whatever
suspicions may be suggested by the air of rhetoric and
declamation, which seems to prevail in these passages, the
substance of them is perfectly agreeable to historic truth.
It was scarcely possible that the eyes of contemporaries
should discover in the public felicity the latent causes of decay
and corruption. This long peace, and the uniform government of
the Romans, introduced a slow and secret poison into the vitals
of the empire. The minds of men were gradually reduced to the
same level, the fire of genius was extinguished, and even the
military spirit evaporated. The natives of Europe were brave and
robust. Spain, Gaul, Britain, and Illyricum supplied the legions
with excellent soldiers, and constituted the real strength of the
monarchy. Their personal valor remained, but they no longer
possessed that public courage which is nourished by the love of
independence, the sense of national honor, the presence of
danger, and the habit of command. They received laws and
governors from the will of their sovereign, and trusted for their
defence to a mercenary army. The posterity of their boldest
leaders was contented with the rank of citizens and subjects. The
most aspiring spirits resorted to the court or standard of the
emperors; and the deserted provinces, deprived of political
strength or union, insensibly sunk into the languid indifference
of private life.
The love of letters, almost inseparable from peace and
refinement, was fashionable among the subjects of Hadrian and the
Antonines, who were themselves men of learning and curiosity. It
was diffused over the whole extent of their empire; the most
northern tribes of Britons had acquired a taste for rhetoric;
Homer as well as Virgil were transcribed and studied on the banks
of the Rhine and Danube; and the most liberal rewards sought out
the faintest glimmerings of literary merit. The sciences of
physic and astronomy were successfully cultivated by the Greeks;
the observations of Ptolemy and the writings of Galen are studied
by those who have improved their discoveries and corrected their
errors; but if we except the inimitable Lucian, this age of
indolence passed away without having produced a single writer of
original genius, or who excelled in the arts of elegant
composition. ^! The authority of Plato and Aristotle, of Zeno and
Epicurus, still reigned in the schools; and their systems,
transmitted with blind deference from one generation of disciples
to another, precluded every generous attempt to exercise the
powers, or enlarge the limits, of the human mind. The beauties of
the poets and orators, instead of kindling a fire like their own,
inspired only cold and servile mitations: or if any ventured to
deviate from those models, they deviated at the same time from
good sense and propriety. On the revival of letters, the youthful
vigor of the imagination, after a long repose, national
emulation, a new religion, new languages, and a new world, called
forth the genius of Europe. But the provincials of Rome, trained
by a uniform artificial foreign education, were engaged in a very
unequal competition with those bold ancients, who, by expressing
their genuine feelings in their native tongue, had already
occupied every place of honor. The name of Poet was almost
forgotten; that of Orator was usurped by the sophists. A cloud of
critics, of compilers, of commentators, darkened the face of
learning, and the decline of genius was soon followed by the
corruption of taste.
The sublime Longinus, who, in somewhat a later period, and in
the court of a Syrian queen, preserved the spirit of ancient
Athens, observes and laments this degeneracy of his
contemporaries, which debased their sentiments, enervated their
courage, and depressed their talents. "In the same manner," says
he, "as some children always remain pygmies, whose infant limbs
have been too closely confined, thus our tender minds, fettered
by the prejudices and habits of a just servitude, are unable to
expand themselves, or to attain that well-proportioned greatness
which we admire in the ancients; who, living under a popular
government, wrote with the same freedom as they acted." This
diminutive stature of mankind, if we pursue the metaphor, was
daily sinking below the old standard, and the Roman world was
indeed peopled by a race of pygmies; when the fierce giants of
the north broke in, and mended the puny breed. They restored a
manly spirit of freedom; and after the revolution of ten
centuries, freedom became the happy parent of taste and
science.
Of The Constitution Of The Roman Empire, In The Age Of The Antonines.
The obvious definition of a monarchy seems to be that of a
state, in which a single person, by whatsoever name he may be
distinguished, is intrusted with the execution of the laws, the
management of the revenue, and the command of the army. But,
unless public liberty is protected by intrepid and vigilant
guardians, the authority of so formidable a magistrate will soon
degenerate into despotism. The influence of the clergy, in an age
of superstition, might be usefully employed to assert the rights
of mankind; but so intimate is the connection between the throne
and the altar, that the banner of the church has very seldom been
seen on the side of the people. * A martial nobility and stubborn
commons, possessed of arms, tenacious of property, and collected
into constitutional assemblies, form the only balance capable of
preserving a free constitution against enterprises of an aspiring
prince.
Every barrier of the Roman constitution had been levelled by
the vast ambition of the dictator; every fence had been
extirpated by the cruel hand of the triumvir. After the victory
of Actium, the fate of the Roman world depended on the will of
Octavianus, surnamed Cæsar, by his uncle's adoption, and
afterwards Augustus, by the flattery of the senate. The conqueror
was at the head of forty-four veteran legions, conscious of their
own strength, and of the weakness of the constitution,
habituated, during twenty years' civil war, to every act of blood
and violence, and passionately devoted to the house of
Cæsar, from whence alone they had received, and expected
the most lavish rewards. The provinces, long oppressed by the
ministers of the republic, sighed for the government of a single
person, who would be the master, not the accomplice, of those
petty tyrants. The people of Rome, viewing, with a secret
pleasure, the humiliation of the aristocracy, demanded only bread
and public shows; and were supplied with both by the liberal hand
of Augustus. The rich and polite Italians, who had almost
universally embraced the philosophy of Epicurus, enjoyed the
present blessings of ease and tranquillity, and suffered not the
pleasing dream to be interrupted by the memory of their old
tumultuous freedom. With its power, the senate had lost its
dignity; many of the most noble families were extinct. The
republicans of spirit and ability had perished in the field of
battle, or in the proscription . The door of the assembly had
been designedly left open, for a mixed multitude of more than a
thousand persons, who reflected disgrace upon their rank, instead
of deriving honor from it.
The reformation of the senate was one of the first steps in
which Augustus laid aside the tyrant, and professed himself the
father of his country. He was elected censor; and, in concert
with his faithful Agrippa, he examined the list of the senators,
expelled a few members, * whose vices or whose obstinacy required
a public example, persuaded near two hundred to prevent the shame
of an expulsion by a voluntary retreat, raised the qualification
of a senator to about ten thousand pounds, created a sufficient
number of patrician families, and accepted for himself the
honorable title of Prince of the Senate, which had always been
bestowed, by the censors, on the citizen the most eminent for his
honors and services. But whilst he thus restored the dignity, he
destroyed the independence, of the senate. The principles of a
free constitution are irrecoverably lost, when the legislative
power is nominated by the executive.
Before an assembly thus modelled and prepared, Augustus
pronounced a studied oration, which displayed his patriotism, and
disguised his ambition. "He lamented, yet excused, his past
conduct. Filial piety had required at his hands the revenge of
his father's murder; the humanity of his own nature had sometimes
given way to the stern laws of necessity, and to a forced
connection with two unworthy colleagues: as long as Antony lived,
the republic forbade him to abandon her to a degenerate Roman,
and a barbarian queen. He was now at liberty to satisfy his duty
and his inclination. He solemnly restored the senate and people
to all their ancient rights; and wished only to mingle with the
crowd of his fellow-citizens, and to share the blessings which he
had obtained for his country."
It would require the pen of Tacitus (if Tacitus had assisted
at this assembly) to describe the various emotions of the senate,
those that were suppressed, and those that were affected. It was
dangerous to trust the sincerity of Augustus; to seem to distrust
it was still more dangerous. The respective advantages of
monarchy and a republic have often divided speculative inquirers;
the present greatness of the Roman state, the corruption of
manners, and the license of the soldiers, supplied new arguments
to the advocates of monarchy; and these general views of
government were again warped by the hopes and fears of each
individual. Amidst this confusion of sentiments, the answer of
the senate was unanimous and decisive. They refused to accept the
resignation of Augustus; they conjured him not to desert the
republic, which he had saved. After a decent resistance, the
crafty tyrant submitted to the orders of the senate; and
consented to receive the government of the provinces, and the
general command of the Roman armies, under the well-known names
of Proconsul and Imperator. But he would receive them only for
ten years. Even before the expiration of that period, he hope
that the wounds of civil discord would be completely healed, and
that the republic, restored to its pristine health and vigor,
would no longer require the dangerous interposition of so
extraordinary a magistrate. The memory of this comedy, repeated
several times during the life of Augustus, was preserved to the
last ages of the empire, by the peculiar pomp with which the
perpetual monarchs of Rome always solemnized the tenth years of
their reign.
Without any violation of the principles of the constitution,
the general of the Roman armies might receive and exercise an
authority almost despotic over the soldiers, the enemies, and the
subjects of the republic. With regard to the soldiers, the
jealousy of freedom had, even from the earliest ages of Rome,
given way to the hopes of conquest, and a just sense of military
discipline. The dictator, or consul, had a right to command the
service of the Roman youth; and to punish an obstinate or
cowardly disobedience by the most severe and ignominious
penalties, by striking the offender out of the list of citizens,
by confiscating his property, and by selling his person into
slavery. The most sacred rights of freedom, confirmed by the
Porcian and Sempronian laws, were suspended by the military
engagement. In his camp the general exercise an absolute power of
life and death; his jurisdiction was not confined by any forms of
trial, or rules of proceeding, and the execution of the sentence
was immediate and without appeal. The choice of the enemies of
Rome was regularly decided by the legislative authority. The most
important resolutions of peace and war were seriously debated in
the senate, and solemnly ratified by the people. But when the
arms of the legions were carried to a great distance from Italy,
the general assumed the liberty of directing them against
whatever people, and in whatever manner, they judged most
advantageous for the public service. It was from the success, not
from the justice, of their enterprises, that they expected the
honors of a triumph. In the use of victory, especially after they
were no longer controlled by the commissioners of the senate,
they exercised the most unbounded despotism. When Pompey
commanded in the East, he rewarded his soldiers and allies,
dethroned princes, divided kingdoms, founded colonies, and
distributed the treasures of Mithridates. On his return to Rome,
he obtained, by a single act of the senate and people, the
universal ratification of all his proceedings. Such was the power
over the soldiers, and over the enemies of Rome, which was either
granted to, or assumed by, the generals of the republic. They
were, at the same time, the governors, or rather monarchs, of the
conquered provinces, united the civil with the military
character, administered justice as well as the finances, and
exercised both the executive and legislative power of the
state.
From what has already been observed in the first chapter of
this work, some notion may be formed of the armies and provinces
thus intrusted to the ruling hand of Augustus. But as it was
impossible that he could personally command the regions of so
many distant frontiers, he was indulged by the senate, as Pompey
had already been, in the permission of devolving the execution of
his great office on a sufficient number of lieutenants. In rank
and authority these officers seemed not inferior to the ancient
proconsuls; but their station was dependent and precarious. They
received and held their commissions at the will of a superior, to
whose auspicious influence the merit of their action was
legally attributed. They were the representatives of the emperor.
The emperor alone was the general of the republic, and his
jurisdiction, civil as well as military, extended over all the
conquests of Rome. It was some satisfaction, however, to the
senate, that he always delegated his power to the members of
their body. The imperial lieutenants were of consular or
prætorian dignity; the legions were commanded by senators,
and the præfecture of Egypt was the only important trust
committed to a Roman knight.
Within six days after Augustus had been compelled to accept so
very liberal a grant, he resolved to gratify the pride of the
senate by an easy sacrifice. He represented to them, that they
had enlarged his powers, even beyond that degree which might be
required by the melancholy condition of the times. They had not
permitted him to refuse the laborious command of the armies and
the frontiers; but he must insist on being allowed to restore the
more peaceful and secure provinces to the mild administration of
the civil magistrate. In the division of the provinces, Augustus
provided for his own power and for the dignity of the republic.
The proconsuls of the senate, particularly those of Asia, Greece,
and Africa, enjoyed a more honorable character than the
lieutenants of the emperor, who commanded in Gaul or Syria. The
former were attended by lictors, the latter by soldiers. * A law
was passed, that wherever the emperor was present, his
extraordinary commission should supersede the ordinary
jurisdiction of the governor; a custom was introduced, that the
new conquests belonged to the imperial portion; and it was soon
discovered that the authority of the Prince, the
favorite epithet of Augustus, was the same in every part of the
empire.
In return for this imaginary concession, Augustus obtained an
important privilege, which rendered him master of Rome and Italy.
By a dangerous exception to the ancient maxims, he was authorized
to preserve his military command, supported by a numerous body of
guards, even in time of peace, and in the heart of the capital.
His command, indeed, was confined to those citizens who were
engaged in the service by the military oath; but such was the
propensity of the Romans to servitude, that the oath was
voluntarily taken by the magistrates, the senators, and the
equestrian order, till the homage of flattery was insensibly
converted into an annual and solemn protestation of fidelity.
Although Augustus considered a military force as the firmest
foundation, he wisely rejected it, as a very odious instrument of
government. It was more agreeable to his temper, as well as to
his policy, to reign under the venerable names of ancient
magistracy, and artfully to collect, in his own person, all the
scattered rays of civil jurisdiction. With this view, he
permitted the senate to confer upon him, for his life, the powers
of the consular and tribunitian offices, which were, in the same
manner, continued to all his successors. The consuls had
succeeded to the kings of Rome, and represented the dignity of
the state. They superintended the ceremonies of religion, levied
and commanded the legions, gave audience to foreign ambassadors,
and presided in the assemblies both of the senate and people. The
general control of the finances was intrusted to their care; and
though they seldom had leisure to administer justice in person,
they were considered as the supreme guardians of law, equity, and
the public peace. Such was their ordinary jurisdiction; but
whenever the senate empowered the first magistrate to consult the
safety of the commonwealth, he was raised by that decree above
the laws, and exercised, in the defence of liberty, a temporary
despotism. The character of the tribunes was, in every respect,
different from that of the consuls. The appearance of the former
was modest and humble; but their persons were sacred and
inviolable. Their force was suited rather for opposition than for
action. They were instituted to defend the oppressed, to pardon
offences, to arraign the enemies of the people, and, when they
judged it necessary, to stop, by a single word, the whole machine
of government. As long as the republic subsisted, the dangerous
influence, which either the consul or the tribune might derive
from their respective jurisdiction, was diminished by several
important restrictions. Their authority expired with the year in
which they were elected; the former office was divided between
two, the latter among ten persons; and, as both in their private
and public interest they were averse to each other, their mutual
conflicts contributed, for the most part, to strengthen rather
than to destroy the balance of the constitution. * But when the
consular and tribunitian powers were united, when they were
vested for life in a single person, when the general of the army
was, at the same time, the minister of the senate and the
representative of the Roman people, it was impossible to resist
the exercise, nor was it easy to define the limits, of his
imperial prerogative.
To these accumulated honors, the policy of Augustus soon added
the splendid as well as important dignities of supreme pontiff,
and of censor. By the former he acquired the management of the
religion, and by the latter a legal inspection over the manners
and fortunes, of the Roman people. If so many distinct and
independent powers did not exactly unite with each other, the
complaisance of the senate was prepared to supply every
deficiency by the most ample and extraordinary concessions. The
emperors, as the first ministers of the republic, were exempted
from the obligation and penalty of many inconvenient laws: they
were authorized to convoke the senate, to make several motions in
the same day, to recommend candidates for the honors of the
state, to enlarge the bounds of the city, to employ the revenue
at their discretion, to declare peace and war, to ratify
treaties; and by a most comprehensive clause, they were empowered
to execute whatsoever they should judge advantageous to the
empire, and agreeable to the majesty of things private or public,
human of divine.
When all the various powers of executive government were
committed to the Imperial magistrate, the ordinary
magistrates of the commonwealth languished in obscurity, without
vigor, and almost without business. The names and forms of the
ancient administration were preserved by Augustus with the most
anxious care. The usual number of consuls, prætors, and
tribunes, were annually invested with their respective ensigns of
office, and continued to discharge some of their least important
functions. Those honors still attracted the vain ambition of the
Romans; and the emperors themselves, though invested for life
with the powers of the consul ship, frequently aspired to the
title of that annual dignity, which they condescended to share
with the most illustrious of their fellow-citizens. In the
election of these magistrates, the people, during the reign of
Augustus, were permitted to expose all the inconveniences of a
wild democracy. That artful prince, instead of discovering the
least symptom of impatience, humbly solicited their suffrages for
himself or his friends, and scrupulously practised all the duties
of an ordinary candidate. But we may venture to ascribe to his
councils the first measure of the succeeding reign, by which the
elections were transferred to the senate. The assemblies of the
people were forever abolished, and the emperors were delivered
from a dangerous multitude, who, without restoring liberty, might
have disturbed, and perhaps endangered, the established
government.
By declaring themselves the protectors of the people, Marius
and Cæsar had subverted the constitution of their country.
But as soon as the senate had been humbled and disarmed, such an
assembly, consisting of five or six hundred persons, was found a
much more tractable and useful instrument of dominion. It was on
the dignity of the senate that Augustus and his successors
founded their new empire; and they affected, on every occasion,
to adopt the language and principles of Patricians. In the
administration of their own powers, they frequently consulted the
great national council, and seemed to refer to its
decision the most important concerns of peace and war. Rome,
Italy, and the internal provinces, were subject to the immediate
jurisdiction of the senate. With regard to civil objects, it was
the supreme court of appeal; with regard to criminal matters, a
tribunal, constituted for the trial of all offences that were
committed by men in any public station, or that affected the
peace and majesty of the Roman people. The exercise of the
judicial power became the most frequent and serious occupation of
the senate; and the important causes that were pleaded before
them afforded a last refuge to the spirit of ancient eloquence.
As a council of state, and as a court of justice, the senate
possessed very considerable prerogatives; but in its legislative
capacity, in which it was supposed virtually to represent the
people, the rights of sovereignty were acknowledged to reside in
that assembly. Every power was derived from their authority,
every law was ratified by their sanction. Their regular meetings
were held on three stated days in every month, the Calends, the
Nones, and the Ides. The debates were conducted with decent
freedom; and the emperors themselves, who gloried in the name of
senators, sat, voted, and divided with their equals.
To resume, in a few words, the system of the Imperial
government; as it was instituted by Augustus, and maintained by
those princes who understood their own interest and that of the
people, it may be defined an absolute monarchy disguised by the
forms of a commonwealth. The masters of the Roman world
surrounded their throne with darkness, concealed their
irresistible strength, and humbly professed themselves the
accountable ministers of the senate, whose supreme decrees they
dictated and obeyed.
The face of the court corresponded with the forms of the
administration. The emperors, if we except those tyrants whose
capricious folly violated every law of nature and decency,
disdained that pomp and ceremony which might offend their
countrymen, but could add nothing to their real power. In all the
offices of life, they affected to confound themselves with their
subjects, and maintained with them an equal intercourse of visits
and entertainments. Their habit, their palace, their table, were
suited only to the rank of an opulent senator. Their family,
however numerous or splendid, was composed entirely of their
domestic slaves and freedmen. Augustus or Trajan would have
blushed at employing the meanest of the Romans in those menial
offices, which, in the household and bedchamber of a limited
monarch, are so eagerly solicited by the proudest nobles of
Britain.
The deification of the emperors is the only instance in which
they departed from their accustomed prudence and modesty. The
Asiatic Greeks were the first inventors, the successors of
Alexander the first objects, of this servile and impious mode of
adulation. * It was easily transferred from the kings to the
governors of Asia; and the Roman magistrates very frequently were
adored as provincial deities, with the pomp of altars and
temples, of festivals and sacrifices. It was natural that the
emperors should not refuse what the proconsuls had accepted; and
the divine honors which both the one and the other received from
the provinces, attested rather the despotism than the servitude
of Rome. But the conquerors soon imitated the vanquished nations
in the arts of flattery; and the imperious spirit of the first
Cæsar too easily consented to assume, during his lifetime,
a place among the tutelar deities of Rome. The milder temper of
his successor declined so dangerous an ambition, which was never
afterwards revived, except by the madness of Caligula and
Domitian. Augustus permitted indeed some of the provincial cities
to erect temples to his honor, on condition that they should
associate the worship of Rome with that of the sovereign; he
tolerated private superstition, of which he might be the object;
but he contented himself with being revered by the senate and the
people in his human character, and wisely left to his successor
the care of his public deification. A regular custom was
introduced, that on the decease of every emperor who had neither
lived nor died like a tyrant, the senate by a solemn decree
should place him in the number of the gods: and the ceremonies of
his apotheosis were blended with those of his funeral. This
legal, and, as it should seem, injudicious profanation, so
abhorrent to our stricter principles, was received with a very
faint murmur, by the easy nature of Polytheism; but it was
received as an institution, not of religion, but of policy. We
should disgrace the virtues of the Antonines by comparing them
with the vices of Hercules or Jupiter. Even the characters of
Cæsar or Augustus were far superior to those of the popular
deities. But it was the misfortune of the former to live in an
enlightened age, and their actions were too faithfully recorded
to admit of such a mixture of fable and mystery, as the devotion
of the vulgar requires. As soon as their divinity was established
by law, it sunk into oblivion, without contributing either to
their own fame, or to the dignity of succeeding princes.
In the consideration of the Imperial government, we have
frequently mentioned the artful founder, under his well-known
title of Augustus, which was not, however, conferred upon him
till the edifice was almost completed. The obscure name of
Octavianus he derived from a mean family, in the little town of
Aricia. It was stained with the blood of the proscription; and he
was desirous, had it been possible, to erase all memory of his
former life. The illustrious surname of Cæsar he had
assumed, as the adopted son of the dictator: but he had too much
good sense, either to hope to be confounded, or to wish to be
compared with that extraordinary man. It was proposed in the
senate to dignify their minister with a new appellation; and
after a serious discussion, that of Augustus was chosen, among
several others, as being the most expressive of the character of
peace and sanctity, which he uniformly affected.
Augustus was therefore a personal, Cæsar
a family distinction. The former should naturally have expired
with the prince on whom it was bestowed; and however the latter
was diffused by adoption and female alliance, Nero was the last
prince who could allege any hereditary claim to the honors of the
Julian line. But, at the time of his death, the practice of a
century had inseparably connected those appellations with the
Imperial dignity, and they have been preserved by a long
succession of emperors, Romans, Greeks, Franks, and Germans, from
the fall of the republic to the present time. A distinction was,
however, soon introduced. The sacred title of Augustus was always
reserved for the monarch, whilst the name of Cæsar was more
freely communicated to his relations; and, from the reign of
Hadrian, at least, was appropriated to the second person in the
state, who was considered as the presumptive heir of the empire.
*
The tender respect of Augustus for a free constitution which
he had destroyed, can only be explained by an attentive
consideration of the character of that subtle tyrant. A cool
head, an unfeeling heart, and a cowardly disposition, prompted
him at the age of nineteen to assume the mask of hypocrisy, which
he never afterwards laid aside. With the same hand, and probably
with the same temper, he signed the proscription of Cicero, and
the pardon of Cinna. His virtues, and even his vices, were
artificial; and according to the various dictates of his
interest, he was at first the enemy, and at last the father, of
the Roman world. When he framed the artful system of the Imperial
authority, his moderation was inspired by his fears. He wished to
deceive the people by an image of civil liberty, and the armies
by an image of civil government.
I. The death of Cæsar was ever before his eyes. He had
lavished wealth and honors on his adherents; but the most favored
friends of his uncle were in the number of the conspirators. The
fidelity of the legions might defend his authority against open
rebellion; but their vigilance could not secure his person from
the dagger of a determined republican; and the Romans, who
revered the memory of Brutus, would applaud the imitation of his
virtue. Cæsar had provoked his fate, as much as by the
ostentation of his power, as by his power itself. The consul or
the tribune might have reigned in peace. The title of king had
armed the Romans against his life. Augustus was sensible that
mankind is governed by names; nor was he deceived in his
expectation, that the senate and people would submit to slavery,
provided they were respectfully assured that they still enjoyed
their ancient freedom. A feeble senate and enervated people
cheerfully acquiesced in the pleasing illusion, as long as it was
supported by the virtue, or even by the prudence, of the
successors of Augustus. It was a motive of self-preservation, not
a principle of liberty, that animated the conspirators against
Caligula, Nero, and Domitian. They attacked the person of the
tyrant, without aiming their blow at the authority of the
emperor.
There appears, indeed, one memorable occasion, in
which the senate, after seventy years of patience, made an
ineffectual attempt to re-assume its long-forgotten rights. When
the throne was vacant by the murder of Caligula, the consuls
convoked that assembly in the Capitol, condemned the memory of
the Cæsars, gave the watchword liberty to the few
cohorts who faintly adhered to their standard, and during
eight-and-forty hours acted as the independent chiefs of a free
commonwealth. But while they deliberated, the prætorian
guards had resolved. The stupid Claudius, brother of Germanicus,
was already in their camp, invested with the Imperial purple, and
prepared to support his election by arms. The dream of liberty
was at an end; and the senate awoke to all the horrors of
inevitable servitude. Deserted by the people, and threatened by a
military force, that feeble assembly was compelled to ratify the
choice of the prætorians, and to embrace the benefit of an
amnesty, which Claudius had the prudence to offer, and the
generosity to observe.
[See The Capitol: When the throne was vacant by the murder of
Caligula, the consuls convoked that assembly in the Capitol.]
II. The insolence of the armies inspired Augustus with fears
of a still more alarming nature. The despair of the citizens
could only attempt, what the power of the soldiers was, at any
time, able to execute. How precarious was his own authority over
men whom he had taught to violate every social duty! He had heard
their seditious clamors; he dreaded their calmer moments of
reflection. One revolution had been purchased by immense rewards;
but a second revolution might double those rewards. The troops
professed the fondest attachment to the house of Cæsar; but
the attachments of the multitude are capricious and inconstant.
Augustus summoned to his aid whatever remained in those fierce
minds of Roman prejudices; enforced the rigor of discipline by
the sanction of law; and, interposing the majesty of the senate
between the emperor and the army, boldly claimed their
allegiance, as the first magistrate of the republic.
During a long period of two hundred and twenty years from the
establishment of this artful system to the death of Commodus, the
dangers inherent to a military government were, in a great
measure, suspended. The soldiers were seldom roused to that fatal
sense of their own strength, and of the weakness of the civil
authority, which was, before and afterwards, productive of such
dreadful calamities. Caligula and Domitian were assassinated in
their palace by their own domestics: * the convulsions which
agitated Rome on the death of the former, were confined to the
walls of the city. But Nero involved the whole empire in his
ruin. In the space of eighteen months, four princes perished by
the sword; and the Roman world was shaken by the fury of the
contending armies. Excepting only this short, though violent
eruption of military license, the two centuries from Augustus to
Commodus passed away unstained with civil blood, and undisturbed
by revolutions. The emperor was elected by the authority of
the senate, and the consent of the soldiers. The legions
respected their oath of fidelity; and it requires a minute
inspection of the Roman annals to discover three inconsiderable
rebellions, which were all suppressed in a few months, and
without even the hazard of a battle.
In elective monarchies, the vacancy of the throne is a moment
big with danger and mischief. The Roman emperors, desirous to
spare the legions that interval of suspense, and the temptation
of an irregular choice, invested their designed successor with so
large a share of present power, as should enable him, after their
decease, to assume the remainder, without suffering the empire to
perceive the change of masters. Thus Augustus, after all his
fairer prospects had been snatched from him by untimely deaths,
rested his last hopes on Tiberius, obtained for his adopted son
the censorial and tribunitian powers, and dictated a law, by
which the future prince was invested with an authority equal to
his own, over the provinces and the armies. Thus Vespasian
subdued the generous mind of his eldest son. Titus was adored by
the eastern legions, which, under his command, had recently
achieved the conquest of Judæa. His power was dreaded, and,
as his virtues were clouded by the intemperance of youth, his
designs were suspected. Instead of listening to such unworthy
suspicions, the prudent monarch associated Titus to the full
powers of the Imperial dignity; and the grateful son ever
approved himself the humble and faithful minister of so indulgent
a father.
The good sense of Vespasian engaged him indeed to embrace
every measure that might confirm his recent and precarious
elevation. The military oath, and the fidelity of the troops, had
been consecrated, by the habits of a hundred years, to the name
and family of the Cæsars; and although that family had been
continued only by the fictitious rite of adoption, the Romans
still revered, in the person of Nero, the grandson of Germanicus,
and the lineal successor of Augustus. It was not without
reluctance and remorse, that the prætorian guards had been
persuaded to abandon the cause of the tyrant. The rapid downfall
of Galba, Otho, and Vitellus, taught the armies to consider the
emperors as the creatures of their will, and the
instruments of their license. The birth of Vespasian was
mean: his grandfather had been a private soldier, his father a
petty officer of the revenue; his own merit had raised him, in an
advanced age, to the empire; but his merit was rather useful than
shining, and his virtues were disgraced by a strict and even
sordid parsimony. Such a prince consulted his true interest by
the association of a son, whose more splendid and amiable
character might turn the public attention from the obscure
origin, to the future glories, of the Flavian house. Under the
mild administration of Titus, the Roman world enjoyed a transient
felicity, and his beloved memory served to protect, above fifteen
years, the vices of his brother Domitian.
Nerva had scarcely accepted the purple from the assassins of
Domitian, before he discovered that his feeble age was unable to
stem the torrent of public disorders, which had multiplied under
the long tyranny of his predecessor. His mild disposition was
respected by the good; but the degenerate Romans required a more
vigorous character, whose justice should strike terror into the
guilty. Though he had several relations, he fixed his choice on a
stranger. He adopted Trajan, then about forty years of age, and
who commanded a powerful army in the Lower Germany; and
immediately, by a decree of the senate, declared him his
colleague and successor in the empire. It is sincerely to be
lamented, that whilst we are fatigued with the disgustful
relation of Nero's crimes and follies, we are reduced to collect
the actions of Trajan from the glimmerings of an abridgment, or
the doubtful light of a panegyric. There remains, however, one
panegyric far removed beyond the suspicion of flattery. Above two
hundred and fifty years after the death of Trajan, the senate, in
pouring out the customary acclamations on the accession of a new
emperor, wished that he might surpass the felicity of Augustus,
and the virtue of Trajan.
We may readily believe, that the father of his country
hesitated whether he ought to intrust the various and doubtful
character of his kinsman Hadrian with sovereign power. In his
last moments the arts of the empress Plotina either fixed the
irresolution of Trajan, or boldly supposed a fictitious adoption;
the truth of which could not be safely disputed, and Hadrian was
peaceably acknowledged as his lawful successor. Under his reign,
as has been already mentioned, the empire flourished in peace and
prosperity. He encouraged the arts, reformed the laws, asserted
military discipline, and visited all his provinces in person. His
vast and active genius was equally suited to the most enlarged
views, and the minute details of civil policy. But the ruling
passions of his soul were curiosity and vanity. As they
prevailed, and as they were attracted by different objects,
Hadrian was, by turns, an excellent prince, a ridiculous sophist,
and a jealous tyrant. The general tenor of his conduct deserved
praise for its equity and moderation. Yet in the first days of
his reign, he put to death four consular senators, his personal
enemies, and men who had been judged worthy of empire; and the
tediousness of a painful illness rendered him, at last, peevish
and cruel. The senate doubted whether they should pronounce him a
god or a tyrant; and the honors decreed to his memory were
granted to the prayers of the pious Antoninus.
The caprice of Hadrian influenced his choice of a successor.
After revolving in his mind several men of distinguished merit,
whom he esteemed and hated, he adopted Ælius Verus a gay
and voluptuous nobleman, recommended by uncommon beauty to the
lover of Antinous. But whilst Hadrian was delighting himself with
his own applause, and the acclamations of the soldiers, whose
consent had been secured by an immense donative, the new
Cæsar was ravished from his embraces by an untimely death.
He left only one son. Hadrian commended the boy to the gratitude
of the Antonines. He was adopted by Pius; and, on the accession
of Marcus, was invested with an equal share of sovereign power.
Among the many vices of this younger Verus, he possessed one
virtue; a dutiful reverence for his wiser colleague, to whom he
willingly abandoned the ruder cares of empire. The philosophic
emperor dissembled his follies, lamented his early death, and
cast a decent veil over his memory.
As soon as Hadrian's passion was either gratified or
disappointed, he resolved to deserve the thanks of posterity, by
placing the most exalted merit on the Roman throne. His
discerning eye easily discovered a senator about fifty years of
age, blameless in all the offices of life; and a youth of about
seventeen, whose riper years opened a fair prospect of every
virtue: the elder of these was declared the son and successor of
Hadrian, on condition, however, that he himself should
immediately adopt the younger. The two Antonines (for it is of
them that we are now peaking,) governed the Roman world forty-two
years, with the same invariable spirit of wisdom and virtue.
Although Pius had two sons, he preferred the welfare of Rome to
the interest of his family, gave his daughter Faustina, in
marriage to young Marcus, obtained from the senate the
tribunitian and proconsular powers, and, with a noble disdain, or
rather ignorance of jealousy, associated him to all the labors of
government. Marcus, on the other hand, revered the character of
his benefactor, loved him as a parent, obeyed him as his
sovereign, and, after he was no more, regulated his own
administration by the example and maxims of his predecessor.
Their united reigns are possibly the only period of history in
which the happiness of a great people was the sole object of
government.
Titus Antoninus Pius has been justly denominated a second
Numa. The same love of religion, justice, and peace, was the
distinguishing characteristic of both princes. But the situation
of the latter opened a much larger field for the exercise of
those virtues. Numa could only prevent a few neighboring villages
from plundering each other's harvests. Antoninus diffused order
and tranquillity over the greatest part of the earth. His reign
is marked by the rare advantage of furnishing very few materials
for history; which is, indeed, little more than the register of
the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind. In private life,
he was an amiable, as well as a good man. The native simplicity
of his virtue was a stranger to vanity or affectation. He enjoyed
with moderation the conveniences of his fortune, and the innocent
pleasures of society; and the benevolence of his soul displayed
itself in a cheerful serenity of temper.
The virtue of Marcus Aurelius Antoninus was of severer and
more laborious kind. It was the well-earned harvest of many a
learned conference, of many a patient lecture, and many a
midnight lucubration. At the age of twelve years he embraced the
rigid system of the Stoics, which taught him to submit his body
to his mind, his passions to his reason; to consider virtue as
the only good, vice as the only evil, all things external as
things indifferent. His meditations, composed in the tumult of
the camp, are still extant; and he even condescended to give
lessons of philosophy, in a more public manner than was perhaps
consistent with the modesty of sage, or the dignity of an
emperor. But his life was the noblest commentary on the precepts
of Zeno. He was severe to himself, indulgent to the imperfections
of others, just and beneficent to all mankind. He regretted that
Avidius Cassius, who excited a rebellion in Syria, had
disappointed him, by a voluntary death, * of the pleasure of
converting an enemy into a friend;; and he justified the
sincerity of that sentiment, by moderating the zeal of the senate
against the adherents of the traitor. War he detested, as the
disgrace and calamity of human nature; but when the necessity of
a just defence called upon him to take up arms, he readily
exposed his person to eight winter campaigns, on the frozen banks
of the Danube, the severity of which was at last fatal to the
weakness of his constitution. His memory was revered by a
grateful posterity, and above a century after his death, many
persons preserved the image of Marcus Antoninus among those of
their household gods.
If a man were called to fix the period in the history of the
world, during which the condition of the human race was most
happy and prosperous, he would, without hesitation, name that
which elapsed from the death of Domitian to the accession of
Commodus. The vast extent of the Roman empire was governed by
absolute power, under the guidance of virtue and wisdom. The
armies were restrained by the firm but gentle hand of four
successive emperors, whose characters and authority commanded
involuntary respect. The forms of the civil administration were
carefully preserved by Nerva, Trajan, Hadrian, and the Antonines,
who delighted in the image of liberty, and were pleased with
considering themselves as the accountable ministers of the laws.
Such princes deserved the honor of restoring the republic, had
the Romans of their days been capable of enjoying a rational
freedom.
The labors of these monarchs were overpaid by the immense
reward that inseparably waited on their success; by the honest
pride of virtue, and by the exquisite delight of beholding the
general happiness of which they were the authors. A just but
melancholy reflection imbittered, however, the noblest of human
enjoyments. They must often have recollected the instability of a
happiness which depended on the character of single man. The
fatal moment was perhaps approaching, when some licentious youth,
or some jealous tyrant, would abuse, to the destruction, that
absolute power, which they had exerted for the benefit of their
people. The ideal restraints of the senate and the laws might
serve to display the virtues, but could never correct the vices,
of the emperor. The military force was a blind and irresistible
instrument of oppression; and the corruption of Roman manners
would always supply flatterers eager to applaud, and ministers
prepared to serve, the fear or the avarice, the lust or the
cruelty, of their master.
These gloomy apprehensions had been already justified by the
experience of the Romans. The annals of the emperors exhibit a
strong and various picture of human nature, which we should
vainly seek among the mixed and doubtful characters of modern
history. In the conduct of those monarchs we may trace the utmost
lines of vice and virtue; the most exalted perfection, and the
meanest degeneracy of our own species. The golden age of Trajan
and the Antonines had been preceded by an age of iron. It is
almost superfluous to enumerate the unworthy successors of
Augustus. Their unparalleled vices, and the splendid theatre on
which they were acted, have saved them from oblivion. The dark,
unrelenting Tiberius, the furious Caligula, the feeble Claudius,
the profligate and cruel Nero, the beastly Vitellius, and the
timid, inhuman Domitian, are condemned to everlasting infamy.
During fourscore years (excepting only the short and doubtful
respite of Vespasian's reign) Rome groaned beneath an unremitting
tyranny, which exterminated the ancient families of the republic,
and was fatal to almost every virtue and every talent that arose
in that unhappy period.
Under the reign of these monsters, the slavery of the Romans
was accompanied with two peculiar circumstances, the one
occasioned by their former liberty, the other by their extensive
conquests, which rendered their condition more completely
wretched than that of the victims of tyranny in any other age or
country. From these causes were derived, 1. The exquisite
sensibility of the sufferers; and, 2. The impossibility of
escaping from the hand of the oppressor.
I. When Persia was governed by the descendants of Sefi, a race
of princes whose wanton cruelty often stained their divan, their
table, and their bed, with the blood of their favorites, there is
a saying recorded of a young nobleman, that he never departed
from the sultan's presence, without satisfying himself whether
his head was still on his shoulders. The experience of every day
might almost justify the scepticism of Rustan. Yet the fatal
sword, suspended above him by a single thread, seems not to have
disturbed the slumbers, or interrupted the tranquillity, of the
Persian. The monarch's frown, he well knew, could level him with
the dust; but the stroke of lightning or apoplexy might be
equally fatal; and it was the part of a wise man to forget the
inevitable calamities of human life in the enjoyment of the
fleeting hour. He was dignified with the appellation of the
king's slave; had, perhaps, been purchased from obscure parents,
in a country which he had never known; and was trained up from
his infancy in the severe discipline of the seraglio. His name,
his wealth, his honors, were the gift of a master, who might,
without injustice, resume what he had bestowed. Rustan's
knowledge, if he possessed any, could only serve to confirm his
habits by prejudices. His language afforded not words for any
form of government, except absolute monarchy. The history of the
East informed him, that such had ever been the condition of
mankind. The Koran, and the interpreters of that divine book,
inculcated to him, that the sultan was the descendant of the
prophet, and the vicegerent of heaven; that patience was the
first virtue of a Mussulman, and unlimited obedience the great
duty of a subject.
The minds of the Romans were very differently prepared for
slavery. Oppressed beneath the weight of their own corruption and
of military violence, they for a long while preserved the
sentiments, or at least the ideas, of their free-born ancestors.
The education of Helvidius and Thrasea, of Tacitus and Pliny, was
the same as that of Cato and Cicero. From Grecian philosophy,
they had imbibed the justest and most liberal notions of the
dignity of human nature, and the origin of civil society. The
history of their own country had taught them to revere a free, a
virtuous, and a victorious commonwealth; to abhor the successful
crimes of Cæsar and Augustus; and inwardly to despise those
tyrants whom they adored with the most abject flattery. As
magistrates and senators they were admitted into the great
council, which had once dictated laws to the earth, whose
authority was so often prostituted to the vilest purposes of
tyranny. Tiberius, and those emperors who adopted his maxims,
attempted to disguise their murders by the formalities of
justice, and perhaps enjoyed a secret pleasure in rendering the
senate their accomplice as well as their victim. By this
assembly, the last of the Romans were condemned for imaginary
crimes and real virtues. Their infamous accusers assumed the
language of independent patriots, who arraigned a dangerous
citizen before the tribunal of his country; and the public
service was rewarded by riches and honors. The servile judges
professed to assert the majesty of the commonwealth, violated in
the person of its first magistrate, whose clemency they most
applauded when they trembled the most at his inexorable and
impending cruelty. The tyrant beheld their baseness with just
contempt, and encountered their secret sentiments of detestation
with sincere and avowed hatred for the whole body of the
senate.
II. The division of Europe into a number of independent
states, connected, however, with each other by the general
resemblance of religion, language, and manners, is productive of
the most beneficial consequences to the liberty of mankind. A
modern tyrant, who should find no resistance either in his own
breast, or in his people, would soon experience a gentle restrain
form the example of his equals, the dread of present censure, the
advice of his allies, and the apprehension of his enemies. The
object of his displeasure, escaping from the narrow limits of his
dominions, would easily obtain, in a happier climate, a secure
refuge, a new fortune adequate to his merit, the freedom of
complaint, and perhaps the means of revenge. But the empire of
the Romans filled the world, and when the empire fell into the
hands of a single person, the world became a safe and dreary
prison for his enemies. The slave of Imperial despotism, whether
he was condemned to drags his gilded chain in Rome and the
senate, or to were out a life of exile on the barren rock of
Seriphus, or the frozen bank of the Danube, expected his fate in
silent despair. To resist was fatal, and it was impossible to
fly. On every side he was encompassed with a vast extent of sea
and land, which he could never hope to traverse without being
discovered, seized, and restored to his irritated master. Beyond
the frontiers, his anxious view could discover nothing, except
the ocean, inhospitable deserts, hostile tribes of barbarians, of
fierce manners and unknown language, or dependent kings, who
would gladly purchase the emperor's protection by the sacrifice
of an obnoxious fugitive. "Wherever you are," said Cicero to the
exiled Marcellus, "remember that you are equally within the power
of the conqueror."
The Cruelty, Follies, And Murder Of Commodus. Election Of
Pertinax—His Attempts To Reform The State—His Assassination
By The Prætorian Guards.
The mildness of Marcus, which the rigid discipline of the
Stoics was unable to eradicate, formed, at the same time, the
most amiable, and the only defective part of his character. His
excellent understanding was often deceived by the unsuspecting
goodness of his heart. Artful men, who study the passions of
princes, and conceal their own, approached his person in the
disguise of philosophic sanctity, and acquired riches and honors
by affecting to despise them. His excessive indulgence to his
brother, * his wife, and his son, exceeded the bounds of private
virtue, and became a public injury, by the example and
consequences of their vices.
Faustina, the daughter of Pius and the wife of Marcus, has
been as much celebrated for her gallantries as for her beauty.
The grave simplicity of the philosopher was ill calculated to
engage her wanton levity, or to fix that unbounded passion for
variety, which often discovered personal merit in the meanest of
mankind. The Cupid of the ancients was, in general, a very
sensual deity; and the amours of an empress, as they exact on her
side the plainest advances, are seldom susceptible of much
sentimental delicacy. Marcus was the only man in the empire who
seemed ignorant or insensible of the irregularities of Faustina;
which, according to the prejudices of every age, reflected some
disgrace on the injured husband. He promoted several of her
lovers to posts of honor and profit, and during a connection of
thirty years, invariably gave her proofs of the most tender
confidence, and of a respect which ended not with her life. In
his Meditations, he thanks the gods, who had bestowed on him a
wife so faithful, so gentle, and of such a wonderful simplicity
of manners. The obsequious senate, at his earnest request,
declared her a goddess. She was represented in her temples, with
the attributes of Juno, Venus, and Ceres; and it was decreed,
that, on the day of their nuptials, the youth of either sex
should pay their vows before the altar of their chaste
patroness.
The monstrous vices of the son have cast a shade on the purity
of the father's virtues. It has been objected to Marcus, that he
sacrificed the happiness of millions to a fond partiality for a
worthless boy; and that he chose a successor in his own family,
rather than in the republic. Nothing however, was neglected by
the anxious father, and by the men of virtue and learning whom he
summoned to his assistance, to expand the narrow mind of young
Commodus, to correct his growing vices, and to render him worthy
of the throne for which he was designed. But the power of
instruction is seldom of much efficacy, except in those happy
dispositions where it is almost superfluous. The distasteful
lesson of a grave philosopher was, in a moment, obliterated by
the whisper of a profligate favorite; and Marcus himself blasted
the fruits of this labored education, by admitting his son, at
the age of fourteen or fifteen, to a full participation of the
Imperial power. He lived but four years afterwards: but he lived
long enough to repent a rash measure, which raised the impetuous
youth above the restraint of reason and authority.
Most of the crimes which disturb the internal peace of
society, are produced by the restraints which the necessary but
unequal laws of property have imposed on the appetites of
mankind, by confining to a few the possession of those objects
that are coveted by many. Of all our passions and appetites, the
love of power is of the most imperious and unsociable nature,
since the pride of one man requires the submission of the
multitude. In the tumult of civil discord, the laws of society
lose their force, and their place is seldom supplied by those of
humanity. The ardor of contention, the pride of victory, the
despair of success, the memory of past injuries, and the fear of
future dangers, all contribute to inflame the mind, and to
silence the voice of pity. From such motives almost every page of
history has been stained with civil blood; but these motives will
not account for the unprovoked cruelties of Commodus, who had
nothing to wish and every thing to enjoy. The beloved son of
Marcus succeeded to his father, amidst the acclamations of the
senate and armies; and when he ascended the throne, the happy
youth saw round him neither competitor to remove, nor enemies to
punish. In this calm, elevated station, it was surely natural
that he should prefer the love of mankind to their detestation,
the mild glories of his five predecessors to the ignominious fate
of Nero and Domitian.
Yet Commodus was not, as he has been represented, a tiger born
with an insatiate thirst of human blood, and capable, from his
infancy, of the most inhuman actions. Nature had formed him of a
weak rather than a wicked disposition. His simplicity and
timidity rendered him the slave of his attendants, who gradually
corrupted his mind. His cruelty, which at first obeyed the
dictates of others, degenerated into habit, and at length became
the ruling passion of his soul.
Upon the death of his father, Commodus found himself
embarrassed with the command of a great army, and the conduct of
a difficult war against the Quadi and Marcomanni. The servile and
profligate youths whom Marcus had banished, soon regained their
station and influence about the new emperor. They exaggerated the
hardships and dangers of a campaign in the wild countries beyond
the Danube; and they assured the indolent prince that the terror
of his name, and the arms of his lieutenants, would be sufficient
to complete the conquest of the dismayed barbarians, or to impose
such conditions as were more advantageous than any conquest. By a
dexterous application to his sensual appetites, they compared the
tranquillity, the splendor, the refined pleasures of Rome, with
the tumult of a Pannonian camp, which afforded neither leisure
nor materials for luxury. Commodus listened to the pleasing
advice; but whilst he hesitated between his own inclination and
the awe which he still retained for his father's counsellors, the
summer insensibly elapsed, and his triumphal entry into the
capital was deferred till the autumn. His graceful person,
popular address, and imagined virtues, attracted the public
favor; the honorable peace which he had recently granted to the
barbarians, diffused a universal joy; his impatience to revisit
Rome was fondly ascribed to the love of his country; and his
dissolute course of amusements was faintly condemned in a prince
of nineteen years of age.
During the three first years of his reign, the forms, and even
the spirit, of the old administration, were maintained by those
faithful counsellors, to whom Marcus had recommended his son, and
for whose wisdom and integrity Commodus still entertained a
reluctant esteem. The young prince and his profligate favorites
revelled in all the license of sovereign power; but his hands
were yet unstained with blood; and he had even displayed a
generosity of sentiment, which might perhaps have ripened into
solid virtue. A fatal incident decided his fluctuating
character.
One evening, as the emperor was returning to the palace,
through a dark and narrow portico in the amphitheatre, an
assassin, who waited his passage, rushed upon him with a drawn
sword, loudly exclaiming, "The senate sends you this."
The menace prevented the deed; the assassin was seized by the
guards, and immediately revealed the authors of the conspiracy.
It had been formed, not in the state, but within the walls of the
palace. Lucilla, the emperor's sister, and widow of Lucius Verus,
impatient of the second rank, and jealous of the reigning
empress, had armed the murderer against her brother's life. She
had not ventured to communicate the black design to her second
husband, Claudius Pompeiarus, a senator of distinguished merit
and unshaken loyalty; but among the crowd of her lovers (for she
imitated the manners of Faustina) she found men of desperate
fortunes and wild ambition, who were prepared to serve her more
violent, as well as her tender passions. The conspirators
experienced the rigor of justice, and the abandoned princess was
punished, first with exile, and afterwards with death.
But the words of the assassin sunk deep into the mind of
Commodus, and left an indelible impression of fear and hatred
against the whole body of the senate. * Those whom he had dreaded
as importunate ministers, he now suspected as secret enemies. The
Delators, a race of men discouraged, and almost extinguished,
under the former reigns, again became formidable, as soon as they
discovered that the emperor was desirous of finding disaffection
and treason in the senate. That assembly, whom Marcus had ever
considered as the great council of the nation, was composed of
the most distinguished of the Romans; and distinction of every
kind soon became criminal. The possession of wealth stimulated
the diligence of the informers; rigid virtue implied a tacit
censure of the irregularities of Commodus; important services
implied a dangerous superiority of merit; and the friendship of
the father always insured the aversion of the son. Suspicion was
equivalent to proof; trial to condemnation. The execution of a
considerable senator was attended with the death of all who might
lament or revenge his fate; and when Commodus had once tasted
human blood, he became incapable of pity or remorse.
Of these innocent victims of tyranny, none died more lamented
than the two brothers of the Quintilian family, Maximus and
Condianus; whose fraternal love has saved their names from
oblivion, and endeared their memory to posterity. Their studies
and their occupations, their pursuits and their pleasures, were
still the same. In the enjoyment of a great estate, they never
admitted the idea of a separate interest: some fragments are now
extant of a treatise which they composed in common; and in every
action of life it was observed that their two bodies were
animated by one soul. The Antonines, who valued their virtues,
and delighted in their union, raised them, in the same year, to
the consulship; and Marcus afterwards intrusted to their joint
care the civil administration of Greece, and a great military
command, in which they obtained a signal victory over the
Germans. The kind cruelty of Commodus united them in death.
The tyrant's rage, after having shed the noblest blood of the
senate, at length recoiled on the principal instrument of his
cruelty. Whilst Commodus was immersed in blood and luxury, he
devolved the detail of the public business on Perennis, a servile
and ambitious minister, who had obtained his post by the murder
of his predecessor, but who possessed a considerable share of
vigor and ability. By acts of extortion, and the forfeited
estates of the nobles sacrificed to his avarice, he had
accumulated an immense treasure. The Prætorian guards were
under his immediate command; and his son, who already discovered
a military genius, was at the head of the Illyrian legions.
Perennis aspired to the empire; or what, in the eyes of Commodus,
amounted to the same crime, he was capable of aspiring to it, had
he not been prevented, surprised, and put to death. The fall of a
minister is a very trifling incident in the general history of
the empire; but it was hastened by an extraordinary circumstance,
which proved how much the nerves of discipline were already
relaxed. The legions of Britain, discontented with the
administration of Perennis, formed a deputation of fifteen
hundred select men, with instructions to march to Rome, and lay
their complaints before the emperor. These military petitioners,
by their own determined behaviour, by inflaming the divisions of
the guards, by exaggerating the strength of the British army, and
by alarming the fears of Commodus, exacted and obtained the
minister's death, as the only redress of their grievances. This
presumption of a distant army, and their discovery of the
weakness of government, was a sure presage of the most dreadful
convulsions.
The negligence of the public administration was betrayed, soon
afterwards, by a new disorder, which arose from the smallest
beginnings. A spirit of desertion began to prevail among the
troops: and the deserters, instead of seeking their safety in
flight or concealment, infested the highways. Maternus, a private
soldier, of a daring boldness above his station, collected these
bands of robbers into a little army, set open the prisons,
invited the slaves to assert their freedom, and plundered with
impunity the rich and defenceless cities of Gaul and Spain. The
governors of the provinces, who had long been the spectators, and
perhaps the partners, of his depredations, were, at length,
roused from their supine indolence by the threatening commands of
the emperor. Maternus found that he was encompassed, and foresaw
that he must be overpowered. A great effort of despair was his
last resource. He ordered his followers to disperse, to pass the
Alps in small parties and various disguises, and to assemble at
Rome, during the licentious tumult of the festival of Cybele. To
murder Commodus, and to ascend the vacant throne, was the
ambition of no vulgar robber. His measures were so ably concerted
that his concealed troops already filled the streets of Rome. The
envy of an accomplice discovered and ruined this singular
enterprise, in a moment when it was ripe for execution.
Suspicious princes often promote the last of mankind, from a
vain persuasion, that those who have no dependence, except on
their favor, will have no attachment, except to the person of
their benefactor. Cleander, the successor of Perennis, was a
Phrygian by birth; of a nation over whose stubborn, but servile
temper, blows only could prevail. He had been sent from his
native country to Rome, in the capacity of a slave. As a slave he
entered the Imperial palace, rendered himself useful to his
master's passions, and rapidly ascended to the most exalted
station which a subject could enjoy. His influence over the mind
of Commodus was much greater than that of his predecessor; for
Cleander was devoid of any ability or virtue which could inspire
the emperor with envy or distrust. Avarice was the reigning
passion of his soul, and the great principle of his
administration. The rank of Consul, of Patrician, of Senator, was
exposed to public sale; and it would have been considered as
disaffection, if any one had refused to purchase these empty and
disgraceful honors with the greatest part of his fortune. In the
lucrative provincial employments, the minister shared with the
governor the spoils of the people. The execution of the laws was
penal and arbitrary. A wealthy criminal might obtain, not only
the reversal of the sentence by which he was justly condemned,
but might likewise inflict whatever punishment he pleased on the
accuser, the witnesses, and the judge.
By these means, Cleander, in the space of three years, had
accumulated more wealth than had ever yet been possessed by any
freedman. Commodus was perfectly satisfied with the magnificent
presents which the artful courtier laid at his feet in the most
seasonable moments. To divert the public envy, Cleander, under
the emperor's name, erected baths, porticos, and places of
exercise, for the use of the people. He flattered himself that
the Romans, dazzled and amused by this apparent liberality, would
be less affected by the bloody scenes which were daily exhibited;
that they would forget the death of Byrrhus, a senator to whose
superior merit the late emperor had granted one of his daughters;
and that they would forgive the execution of Arrius Antoninus,
the last representative of the name and virtues of the Antonines.
The former, with more integrity than prudence, had attempted to
disclose, to his brother-in-law, the true character of Cleander.
An equitable sentence pronounced by the latter, when proconsul of
Asia, against a worthless creature of the favorite, proved fatal
to him. After the fall of Perennis, the terrors of Commodus had,
for a short time, assumed the appearance of a return to virtue.
He repealed the most odious of his acts; loaded his memory with
the public execration, and ascribed to the pernicious counsels of
that wicked minister all the errors of his inexperienced youth.
But his repentance lasted only thirty days; and, under Cleander's
tyranny, the administration of Perennis was often regretted.
Pestilence and famine contributed to fill up the measure of
the calamities of Rome. The first could be only imputed to the
just indignation of the gods; but a monopoly of corn, supported
by the riches and power of the minister, was considered as the
immediate cause of the second. The popular discontent, after it
had long circulated in whispers, broke out in the assembled
circus. The people quitted their favorite amusements for the more
delicious pleasure of revenge, rushed in crowds towards a palace
in the suburbs, one of the emperor's retirements, and demanded,
with angry clamors, the head of the public enemy. Cleander, who
commanded the Prætorian guards, ordered a body of cavalry
to sally forth, and disperse the seditious multitude. The
multitude fled with precipitation towards the city; several were
slain, and many more were trampled to death; but when the cavalry
entered the streets, their pursuit was checked by a shower of
stones and darts from the roofs and windows of the houses. The
foot guards, who had been long jealous of the prerogatives and
insolence of the Prætorian cavalry, embraced the party of
the people. The tumult became a regular engagement, and
threatened a general massacre. The Prætorians, at length,
gave way, oppressed with numbers; and the tide of popular fury
returned with redoubled violence against the gates of the palace,
where Commodus lay, dissolved in luxury, and alone unconscious of
the civil war. It was death to approach his person with the
unwelcome news. He would have perished in this supine security,
had not two women, his eldest sister Fadilla, and Marcia, the
most favored of his concubines, ventured to break into his
presence. Bathed in tears, and with dishevelled hair, they threw
themselves at his feet; and with all the pressing eloquence of
fear, discovered to the affrighted emperor the crimes of the
minister, the rage of the people, and the impending ruin, which,
in a few minutes, would burst over his palace and person.
Commodus started from his dream of pleasure, and commanded that
the head of Cleander should be thrown out to the people. The
desired spectacle instantly appeased the tumult; and the son of
Marcus might even yet have regained the affection and confidence
of his subjects.
But every sentiment of virtue and humanity was extinct in the
mind of Commodus. Whilst he thus abandoned the reins of empire to
these unworthy favorites, he valued nothing in sovereign power,
except the unbounded license of indulging his sensual appetites.
His hours were spent in a seraglio of three hundred beautiful
women, and as many boys, of every rank, and of every province;
and, wherever the arts of seduction proved ineffectual, the
brutal lover had recourse to violence. The ancient historians
have expatiated on these abandoned scenes of prostitution, which
scorned every restraint of nature or modesty; but it would not be
easy to translate their too faithful descriptions into the
decency of modern language. The intervals of lust were filled up
with the basest amusements. The influence of a polite age, and
the labor of an attentive education, had never been able to
infuse into his rude and brutish mind the least tincture of
learning; and he was the first of the Roman emperors totally
devoid of taste for the pleasures of the understanding. Nero
himself excelled, or affected to excel, in the elegant arts of
music and poetry: nor should we despise his pursuits, had he not
converted the pleasing relaxation of a leisure hour into the
serious business and ambition of his life. But Commodus, from his
earliest infancy, discovered an aversion to whatever was rational
or liberal, and a fond attachment to the amusements of the
populace; the sports of the circus and amphitheatre, the combats
of gladiators, and the hunting of wild beasts. The masters in
every branch of learning, whom Marcus provided for his son, were
heard with inattention and disgust; whilst the Moors and
Parthians, who taught him to dart the javelin and to shoot with
the bow, found a disciple who delighted in his application, and
soon equalled the most skilful of his instructors in the
steadiness of the eye and the dexterity of the hand.
The servile crowd, whose fortune depended on their master's
vices, applauded these ignoble pursuits. The perfidious voice of
flattery reminded him, that by exploits of the same nature, by
the defeat of the Nemæan lion, and the slaughter of the
wild boar of Erymanthus, the Grecian Hercules had acquired a
place among the gods, and an immortal memory among men. They only
forgot to observe, that, in the first ages of society, when the
fiercer animals often dispute with man the possession of an
unsettled country, a successful war against those savages is one
of the most innocent and beneficial labors of heroism. In the
civilized state of the Roman empire, the wild beasts had long
since retired from the face of man, and the neighborhood of
populous cities. To surprise them in their solitary haunts, and
to transport them to Rome, that they might be slain in pomp by
the hand of an emperor, was an enterprise equally ridiculous for
the prince and oppressive for the people. Ignorant of these
distinctions, Commodus eagerly embraced the glorious resemblance,
and styled himself (as we still read on his medals ) the
Roman Hercules. * The club and the lion's hide
were placed by the side of the throne, amongst the ensigns of
sovereignty; and statues were erected, in which Commodus was
represented in the character, and with the attributes, of the
god, whose valor and dexterity he endeavored to emulate in the
daily course of his ferocious amusements.
Elated with these praises, which gradually extinguished the
innate sense of shame, Commodus resolved to exhibit before the
eyes of the Roman people those exercises, which till then he had
decently confined within the walls of his palace, and to the
presence of a few favorites. On the appointed day, the various
motives of flattery, fear, and curiosity, attracted to the
amphitheatre an innumerable multitude of spectators; and some
degree of applause was deservedly bestowed on the uncommon skill
of the Imperial performer. Whether he aimed at the head or heart
of the animal, the wound was alike certain and mortal. With
arrows whose point was shaped into the form of crescent, Commodus
often intercepted the rapid career, and cut asunder the long,
bony neck of the ostrich. A panther was let loose; and the archer
waited till he had leaped upon a trembling malefactor. In the
same instant the shaft flew, the beast dropped dead, and the man
remained unhurt. The dens of the amphitheatre disgorged at once a
hundred lions: a hundred darts from the unerring hand of Commodus
laid them dead as they run raging round the Arena.
Neither the huge bulk of the elephant, nor the scaly hide of the
rhinoceros, could defend them from his stroke. Æthiopia and
India yielded their most extraordinary productions; and several
animals were slain in the amphitheatre, which had been seen only
in the representations of art, or perhaps of fancy. In all these
exhibitions, the securest precautions were used to protect the
person of the Roman Hercules from the desperate spring of any
savage, who might possibly disregard the dignity of the emperor
and the sanctity of the god. ^
But the meanest of the populace were affected with shame and
indignation when they beheld their sovereign enter the lists as a
gladiator, and glory in a profession which the laws and manners
of the Romans had branded with the justest note of infamy. He
chose the habit and arms of the Secutor, whose combat
with the Retiarius formed one of the most lively scenes
in the bloody sports of the amphitheatre. The Secutor
was armed with a helmet, sword, and buckler; his naked antagonist
had only a large net and a trident; with the one he endeavored to
entangle, with the other to despatch his enemy. If he missed the
first throw, he was obliged to fly from the pursuit of the
Secutor, till he had prepared his net for a second cast.
The emperor fought in this character seven hundred and
thirty-five several times. These glorious achievements were
carefully recorded in the public acts of the empire; and that he
might omit no circumstance of infamy, he received from the common
fund of gladiators a stipend so exorbitant that it became a new
and most ignominious tax upon the Roman people. It may be easily
supposed, that in these engagements the master of the world was
always successful; in the amphitheatre, his victories were not
often sanguinary; but when he exercised his skill in the school
of gladiators, or his own palace, his wretched antagonists were
frequently honored with a mortal wound from the hand of Commodus,
and obliged to seal their flattery with their blood. He now
disdained the appellation of Hercules. The name of Paulus, a
celebrated Secutor, was the only one which delighted his ear. It
was inscribed on his colossal statues, and repeated in the
redoubled acclamations of the mournful and applauding senate.
Claudius Pompeianus, the virtuous husband of Lucilla, was the
only senator who asserted the honor of his rank. As a father, he
permitted his sons to consult their safety by attending the
amphitheatre. As a Roman, he declared, that his own life was in
the emperor's hands, but that he would never behold the son of
Marcus prostituting his person and dignity. Notwithstanding his
manly resolution Pompeianus escaped the resentment of the tyrant,
and, with his honor, had the good fortune to preserve his
life.
Commodus had now attained the summit of vice and infamy.
Amidst the acclamations of a flattering court, he was unable to
disguise from himself, that he had deserved the contempt and
hatred of every man of sense and virtue in his empire. His
ferocious spirit was irritated by the consciousness of that
hatred, by the envy of every kind of merit, by the just
apprehension of danger, and by the habit of slaughter, which he
contracted in his daily amusements. History has preserved a long
list of consular senators sacrificed to his wanton suspicion,
which sought out, with peculiar anxiety, those unfortunate
persons connected, however remotely, with the family of the
Antonines, without sparing even the ministers of his crimes or
pleasures. His cruelty proved at last fatal to himself. He had
shed with impunity the noblest blood of Rome: he perished as soon
as he was dreaded by his own domestics. Marcia, his favorite
concubine, Eclectus, his chamberlain, and Lætus, his
Prætorian præfect, alarmed by the fate of their
companions and predecessors, resolved to prevent the destruction
which every hour hung over their heads, either from the mad
caprice of the tyrant, * or the sudden indignation of the people.
Marcia seized the occasion of presenting a draught of wine to her
lover, after he had fatigued himself with hunting some wild
beasts. Commodus retired to sleep; but whilst he was laboring
with the effects of poison and drunkenness, a robust youth, by
profession a wrestler, entered his chamber, and strangled him
without resistance. The body was secretly conveyed out of the
palace, before the least suspicion was entertained in the city,
or even in the court, of the emperor's death. Such was the fate
of the son of Marcus, and so easy was it to destroy a hated
tyrant, who, by the artificial powers of government, had
oppressed, during thirteen years, so many millions of subjects,
each of whom was equal to their master in personal strength and
personal abilities.
The measures of he conspirators were conducted with the
deliberate coolness and celerity which the greatness of the
occasion required. They resolved instantly to fill the vacant
throne with an emperor whose character would justify and maintain
the action that had been committed. They fixed on Pertinax,
præfect of the city, an ancient senator of consular rank,
whose conspicuous merit had broke through the obscurity of his
birth, and raised him to the first honors of the state. He had
successively governed most of the provinces of the empire; and in
all his great employments, military as well as civil, he had
uniformly distinguished himself by the firmness, the prudence,
and the integrity of his conduct. He now remained almost alone of
the friends and ministers of Marcus; and when, at a late hour of
the night, he was awakened with the news, that the chamberlain
and the præfect were at his door, he received them with
intrepid resignation, and desired they would execute their
master's orders. Instead of death, they offered him the throne of
the Roman world. During some moments he distrusted their
intentions and assurances. Convinced at length of the death of
Commodus, he accepted the purple with a sincere reluctance, the
natural effect of his knowledge both of the duties and of the
dangers of the supreme rank.
Lætus conducted without delay his new emperor to the
camp of the Prætorians, diffusing at the same time through
the city a seasonable report that Commodus died suddenly of an
apoplexy; and that the virtuous Pertinax had already succeeded to
the throne. The guards were rather surprised than pleased with
the suspicious death of a prince, whose indulgence and liberality
they alone had experienced; but the emergency of the occasion,
the authority of their præfect, the reputation of Pertinax,
and the clamors of the people, obliged them to stifle their
secret discontents, to accept the donative promised by the new
emperor, to swear allegiance to him, and with joyful acclamations
and laurels in their hands to conduct him to the senate house,
that the military consent might be ratified by the civil
authority.
This important night was now far spent; with the dawn of day,
and the commencement of the new year, the senators expected a
summons to attend an ignominious ceremony. * In spite of all
remonstrances, even of those of his creatures who yet preserved
any regard for prudence or decency, Commodus had resolved to pass
the night in the gladiators' school, and from thence to take
possession of the consulship, in the habit and with the
attendance of that infamous crew. On a sudden, before the break
of day, the senate was called together in the temple of Concord,
to meet the guards, and to ratify the election of a new emperor.
For a few minutes they sat in silent suspense, doubtful of their
unexpected deliverance, and suspicious of the cruel artifices of
Commodus: but when at length they were assured that the tyrant
was no more, they resigned themselves to all the transports of
joy and indignation. Pertinax, who modestly represented the
meanness of his extraction, and pointed out several noble
senators more deserving than himself of the empire, was
constrained by their dutiful violence to ascend the throne, and
received all the titles of Imperial power, confirmed by the most
sincere vows of fidelity. The memory of Commodus was branded with
eternal infamy. The names of tyrant, of gladiator, of public
enemy resounded in every corner of the house. They decreed in
tumultuous votes, that his honors should be reversed, his titles
erased from the public monuments, his statues thrown down, his
body dragged with a hook into the stripping room of the
gladiators, to satiate the public fury; and they expressed some
indignation against those officious servants who had already
presumed to screen his remains from the justice of the senate.
But Pertinax could not refuse those last rites to the memory of
Marcus, and the tears of his first protector Claudius Pompeianus,
who lamented the cruel fate of his brother-in-law, and lamented
still more that he had deserved it.
These effusions of impotent rage against a dead emperor, whom
the senate had flattered when alive with the most abject
servility, betrayed a just but ungenerous spirit of revenge. The
legality of these decrees was, however, supported by the
principles of the Imperial constitution. To censure, to depose,
or to punish with death, the first magistrate of the republic,
who had abused his delegated trust, was the ancient and undoubted
prerogative of the Roman senate; but the feeble assembly was
obliged to content itself with inflicting on a fallen tyrant that
public justice, from which, during his life and reign, he had
been shielded by the strong arm of military despotism. *
Pertinax found a nobler way of condemning his predecessor's
memory; by the contrast of his own virtues with the vices of
Commodus. On the day of his accession, he resigned over to his
wife and son his whole private fortune; that they might have no
pretence to solicit favors at the expense of the state. He
refused to flatter the vanity of the former with the title of
Augusta; or to corrupt the inexperienced youth of the latter by
the rank of Cæsar. Accurately distinguishing between the
duties of a parent and those of a sovereign, he educated his son
with a severe simplicity, which, while it gave him no assured
prospect of the throne, might in time have rendered him worthy of
it. In public, the behavior of Pertinax was grave and affable. He
lived with the virtuous part of the senate, (and, in a private
station, he had been acquainted with the true character of each
individual,) without either pride or jealousy; considered them as
friends and companions, with whom he had shared the danger of the
tyranny, and with whom he wished to enjoy the security of the
present time. He very frequently invited them to familiar
entertainments, the frugality of which was ridiculed by those who
remembered and regretted the luxurious prodigality of
Commodus.
To heal, as far as I was possible, the wounds inflicted by the
hand of tyranny, was the pleasing, but melancholy, task of
Pertinax. The innocent victims, who yet survived, were recalled
from exile, released from prison, and restored to the full
possession of their honors and fortunes. The unburied bodies of
murdered senators (for the cruelty of Commodus endeavored to
extend itself beyond death) were deposited in the sepulchres of
their ancestors; their memory was justified and every consolation
was bestowed on their ruined and afflicted families. Among these
consolations, one of the most grateful was the punishment of the
Delators; the common enemies of their master, of virtue, and of
their country. Yet even in the inquisition of these legal
assassins, Pertinax proceeded with a steady temper, which gave
every thing to justice, and nothing to popular prejudice and
resentment.
The finances of the state demanded the most vigilant care of
the emperor. Though every measure of injustice and extortion had
been adopted, which could collect the property of the subject
into the coffers of the prince, the rapaciousness of Commodus had
been so very inadequate to his extravagance, that, upon his
death, no more than eight thousand pounds were found in the
exhausted treasury, to defray the current expenses of government,
and to discharge the pressing demand of a liberal donative, which
the new emperor had been obliged to promise to the
Prætorian guards. Yet under these distressed circumstances,
Pertinax had the generous firmness to remit all the oppressive
taxes invented by Commodus, and to cancel all the unjust claims
of the treasury; declaring, in a decree of the senate, "that he
was better satisfied to administer a poor republic with
innocence, than to acquire riches by the ways of tyranny and
dishonor. "Economy and industry he considered as the pure and
genuine sources of wealth; and from them he soon derived a
copious supply for the public necessities. The expense of the
household was immediately reduced to one half. All the
instruments of luxury Pertinax exposed to public auction, gold
and silver plate, chariots of a singular construction, a
superfluous wardrobe of silk and embroidery, and a great number
of beautiful slaves of both sexes; excepting only, with attentive
humanity, those who were born in a state of freedom, and had been
ravished from the arms of their weeping parents. At the same time
that he obliged the worthless favorites of the tyrant to resign a
part of their ill-gotten wealth, he satisfied the just creditors
of the state, and unexpectedly discharged the long arrears of
honest services. He removed the oppressive restrictions which had
been laid upon commerce, and granted all the uncultivated lands
in Italy and the provinces to those who would improve them; with
an exemption from tribute during the term of ten years.
Such a uniform conduct had already secured to Pertinax the
noblest reward of a sovereign, the love and esteem of his people.
Those who remembered the virtues of Marcus were happy to
contemplate in their new emperor the features of that bright
original; and flattered themselves, that they should long enjoy
the benign influence of his administration. A hasty zeal to
reform the corrupted state, accompanied with less prudence than
might have been expected from the years and experience of
Pertinax, proved fatal to himself and to his country. His honest
indiscretion united against him the servile crowd, who found
their private benefit in the public disorders, and who preferred
the favor of a tyrant to the inexorable equality of the laws.
Amidst the general joy, the sullen and angry countenance of
the Prætorian guards betrayed their inward dissatisfaction.
They had reluctantly submitted to Pertinax; they dreaded the
strictness of the ancient discipline, which he was preparing to
restore; and they regretted the license of the former reign.
Their discontents were secretly fomented by Lætus, their
præfect, who found, when it was too late, that his new
emperor would reward a servant, but would not be ruled by a
favorite. On the third day of his reign, the soldiers seized on a
noble senator, with a design to carry him to the camp, and to
invest him with the Imperial purple. Instead of being dazzled by
the dangerous honor, the affrighted victim escaped from their
violence, and took refuge at the feet of Pertinax. A short time
afterwards, Sosius Falco, one of the consuls of the year, a rash
youth, but of an ancient and opulent family, listened to the
voice of ambition; and a conspiracy was formed during a short
absence of Pertinax, which was crushed by his sudden return to
Rome, and his resolute behavior. Falco was on the point of being
justly condemned to death as a public enemy had he not been saved
by the earnest and sincere entreaties of the injured emperor, who
conjured the senate, that the purity of his reign might not be
stained by the blood even of a guilty senator.
These disappointments served only to irritate the rage of the
Prætorian guards. On the twenty-eighth of March, eighty-six
days only after the death of Commodus, a general sedition broke
out in the camp, which the officers wanted either power or
inclination to suppress. Two or three hundred of the most
desperate soldiers marched at noonday, with arms in their hands
and fury in their looks, towards the Imperial palace. The gates
were thrown open by their companions upon guard, and by the
domestics of the old court, who had already formed a secret
conspiracy against the life of the too virtuous emperor. On the
news of their approach, Pertinax, disdaining either flight or
concealment, advanced to meet his assassins; and recalled to
their minds his own innocence, and the sanctity of their recent
oath. For a few moments they stood in silent suspense, ashamed of
their atrocious design, and awed by the venerable aspect and
majestic firmness of their sovereign, till at length, the despair
of pardon reviving their fury, a barbarian of the country of
Tongress levelled the first blow against Pertinax, who was
instantly despatched with a multitude of wounds. His head,
separated from his body, and placed on a lance, was carried in
triumph to the Prætorian camp, in the sight of a mournful
and indignant people, who lamented the unworthy fate of that
excellent prince, and the transient blessings of a reign, the
memory of which could serve only to aggravate their approaching
misfortunes.
Public Sale Of The Empire To Didius Julianus By The Prætorian Guards—Clodius Albinus In Britain, Pescennius Niger In Syria, And Septimius Severus In Pannonia, Declare Against The Murderers Of Pertinax—Civil Wars And Victory Of Severus Over His Three Rivals—Relaxation Of Discipline—New Maxims Of Government.
The power of the sword is more sensibly felt in an extensive
monarchy, than in a small community. It has been calculated by
the ablest politicians, that no state, without being soon
exhausted, can maintain above the hundredth part of its members
in arms and idleness. But although this relative proportion may
be uniform, the influence of the army over the rest of the
society will vary according to the degree of its positive
strength. The advantages of military science and discipline
cannot be exerted, unless a proper number of soldiers are united
into one body, and actuated by one soul. With a handful of men,
such a union would be ineffectual; with an unwieldy host, it
would be impracticable; and the powers of the machine would be
alike destroyed by the extreme minuteness or the excessive weight
of its springs. To illustrate this observation, we need only
reflect, that there is no superiority of natural strength,
artificial weapons, or acquired skill, which could enable one man
to keep in constant subjection one hundred of his
fellow-creatures: the tyrant of a single town, or a small
district, would soon discover that a hundred armed followers were
a weak defence against ten thousand peasants or citizens; but a
hundred thousand well-disciplined soldiers will command, with
despotic sway, ten millions of subjects; and a body of ten or
fifteen thousand guards will strike terror into the most numerous
populace that ever crowded the streets of an immense capital.
The Prætorian bands, whose licentious fury was the first
symptom and cause of the decline of the Roman empire, scarcely
amounted to the last-mentioned number They derived their
institution from Augustus. That crafty tyrant, sensible that laws
might color, but that arms alone could maintain, his usurped
dominion, had gradually formed this powerful body of guards, in
constant readiness to protect his person, to awe the senate, and
either to prevent or to crush the first motions of rebellion. He
distinguished these favored troops by a double pay and superior
privileges; but, as their formidable aspect would at once have
alarmed and irritated the Roman people, three cohorts only were
stationed in the capital, whilst the remainder was dispersed in
the adjacent towns of Italy. But after fifty years of peace and
servitude, Tiberius ventured on a decisive measure, which forever
rivetted the fetters of his country. Under the fair pretences of
relieving Italy from the heavy burden of military quarters, and
of introducing a stricter discipline among the guards, he
assembled them at Rome, in a permanent camp, which was fortified
with skilful care, and placed on a commanding situation.
Such formidable servants are always necessary, but often fatal
to the throne of despotism. By thus introducing the
Prætorian guards as it were into the palace and the senate,
the emperors taught them to perceive their own strength, and the
weakness of the civil government; to view the vices of their
masters with familiar contempt, and to lay aside that reverential
awe, which distance only, and mystery, can preserve towards an
imaginary power. In the luxurious idleness of an opulent city,
their pride was nourished by the sense of their irresistible
weight; nor was it possible to conceal from them, that the person
of the sovereign, the authority of the senate, the public
treasure, and the seat of empire, were all in their hands. To
divert the Prætorian bands from these dangerous
reflections, the firmest and best established princes were
obliged to mix blandishments with commands, rewards with
punishments, to flatter their pride, indulge their pleasures,
connive at their irregularities, and to purchase their precarious
faith by a liberal donative; which, since the elevation of
Claudius, was enacted as a legal claim, on the accession of every
new emperor.
The advocate of the guards endeavored to justify by arguments
the power which they asserted by arms; and to maintain that,
according to the purest principles of the constitution,
their consent was essentially necessary in the
appointment of an emperor. The election of consuls, of generals,
and of magistrates, however it had been recently usurped by the
senate, was the ancient and undoubted right of the Roman people.
But where was the Roman people to be found? Not surely amongst
the mixed multitude of slaves and strangers that filled the
streets of Rome; a servile populace, as devoid of spirit as
destitute of property. The defenders of the state, selected from
the flower of the Italian youth, and trained in the exercise of
arms and virtue, were the genuine representatives of the people,
and the best entitled to elect the military chief of the
republic. These assertions, however defective in reason, became
unanswerable when the fierce Prætorians increased their
weight, by throwing, like the barbarian conqueror of Rome, their
swords into the scale.
The Prætorians had violated the sanctity of the throne
by the atrocious murder of Pertinax; they dishonored the majesty
of it by their subsequent conduct. The camp was without a leader,
for even the præfect Lætus, who had excited the
tempest, prudently declined the public indignation. Amidst the
wild disorder, Sulpicianus, the emperor's father-in-law, and
governor of the city, who had been sent to the camp on the first
alarm of mutiny, was endeavoring to calm the fury of the
multitude, when he was silenced by the clamorous return of the
murderers, bearing on a lance the head of Pertinax. Though
history has accustomed us to observe every principle and every
passion yielding to the imperious dictates of ambition, it is
scarcely credible that, in these moments of horror, Sulpicianus
should have aspired to ascend a throne polluted with the recent
blood of so near a relation and so excellent a prince. He had
already begun to use the only effectual argument, and to treat
for the Imperial dignity; but the more prudent of the
Prætorians, apprehensive that, in this private contract,
they should not obtain a just price for so valuable a commodity,
ran out upon the ramparts; and, with a loud voice, proclaimed
that the Roman world was to be disposed of to the best bidder by
public auction.
This infamous offer, the most insolent excess of military
license, diffused a universal grief, shame, and indignation
throughout the city. It reached at length the ears of Didius
Julianus, a wealthy senator, who, regardless of the public
calamities, was indulging himself in the luxury of the table. His
wife and his daughter, his freedmen and his parasites, easily
convinced him that he deserved the throne, and earnestly conjured
him to embrace so fortunate an opportunity. The vain old man
hastened to the Prætorian camp, where Sulpicianus was still
in treaty with the guards, and began to bid against him from the
foot of the rampart. The unworthy negotiation was transacted by
faithful emissaries, who passed alternately from one candidate to
the other, and acquainted each of them with the offers of his
rival. Sulpicianus had already promised a donative of five
thousand drachms (above one hundred and sixty pounds) to each
soldier; when Julian, eager for the prize, rose at once to the
sum of six thousand two hundred and fifty drachms, or upwards of
two hundred pounds sterling. The gates of the camp were instantly
thrown open to the purchaser; he was declared emperor, and
received an oath of allegiance from the soldiers, who retained
humanity enough to stipulate that he should pardon and forget the
competition of Sulpicianus. *
It was now incumbent on the Prætorians to fulfil the
conditions of the sale. They placed their new sovereign, whom
they served and despised, in the centre of their ranks,
surrounded him on every side with their shields, and conducted
him in close order of battle through the deserted streets of the
city. The senate was commanded to assemble; and those who had
been the distinguished friends of Pertinax, or the personal
enemies of Julian, found it necessary to affect a more than
common share of satisfaction at this happy revolution. After
Julian had filled the senate house with armed soldiers, he
expatiated on the freedom of his election, his own eminent
virtues, and his full assurance of the affections of the senate.
The obsequious assembly congratulated their own and the public
felicity; engaged their allegiance, and conferred on him all the
several branches of the Imperial power. From the senate Julian
was conducted, by the same military procession, to take
possession of the palace. The first objects that struck his eyes,
were the abandoned trunk of Pertinax, and the frugal
entertainment prepared for his supper. The one he viewed with
indifference, the other with contempt. A magnificent feast was
prepared by his order, and he amused himself, till a very late
hour, with dice, and the performances of Pylades, a celebrated
dancer. Yet it was observed, that after the crowd of flatterers
dispersed, and left him to darkness, solitude, and terrible
reflection, he passed a sleepless night; revolving most probably
in his mind his own rash folly, the fate of his virtuous
predecessor, and the doubtful and dangerous tenure of an empire
which had not been acquired by merit, but purchased by money.
He had reason to tremble. On the throne of the world he found
himself without a friend, and even without an adherent. The
guards themselves were ashamed of the prince whom their avarice
had persuaded them to accept; nor was there a citizen who did not
consider his elevation with horror, as the last insult on the
Roman name. The nobility, whose conspicuous station, and ample
possessions, exacted the strictest caution, dissembled their
sentiments, and met the affected civility of the emperor with
smiles of complacency and professions of duty. But the people,
secure in their numbers and obscurity, gave a free vent to their
passions. The streets and public places of Rome resounded with
clamors and imprecations. The enraged multitude affronted the
person of Julian, rejected his liberality, and, conscious of the
impotence of their own resentment, they called aloud on the
legions of the frontiers to assert the violated majesty of the
Roman empire.
The public discontent was soon diffused from the centre to the
frontiers of the empire. The armies of Britain, of Syria, and of
Illyricum, lamented the death of Pertinax, in whose company, or
under whose command, they had so often fought and conquered. They
received with surprise, with indignation, and perhaps with envy,
the extraordinary intelligence, that the Prætorians had
disposed of the empire by public auction; and they sternly
refused to ratify the ignominious bargain. Their immediate and
unanimous revolt was fatal to Julian, but it was fatal at the
same time to the public peace, as the generals of the respective
armies, Clodius Albinus, Pescennius Niger, and Septimius Severus,
were still more anxious to succeed than to revenge the murdered
Pertinax. Their forces were exactly balanced. Each of them was at
the head of three legions, with a numerous train of auxiliaries;
and however different in their characters, they were all soldiers
of experience and capacity.
Clodius Albinus, governor of Britain, surpassed both his
competitors in the nobility of his extraction, which he derived
from some of the most illustrious names of the old republic. But
the branch from which he claimed his descent was sunk into mean
circumstances, and transplanted into a remote province. It is
difficult to form a just idea of his true character. Under the
philosophic cloak of austerity, he stands accused of concealing
most of the vices which degrade human nature. But his accusers
are those venal writers who adored the fortune of Severus, and
trampled on the ashes of an unsuccessful rival. Virtue, or the
appearances of virtue, recommended Albinus to the confidence and
good opinion of Marcus; and his preserving with the son the same
interest which he had acquired with the father, is a proof at
least that he was possessed of a very flexible disposition. The
favor of a tyrant does not always suppose a want of merit in the
object of it; he may, without intending it, reward a man of worth
and ability, or he may find such a man useful to his own service.
It does not appear that Albinus served the son of Marcus, either
as the minister of his cruelties, or even as the associate of his
pleasures. He was employed in a distant honorable command, when
he received a confidential letter from the emperor, acquainting
him of the treasonable designs of some discontented generals, and
authorizing him to declare himself the guardian and successor of
the throne, by assuming the title and ensigns of Cæsar. The
governor of Britain wisely declined the dangerous honor, which
would have marked him for the jealousy, or involved him in the
approaching ruin, of Commodus. He courted power by nobler, or, at
least, by more specious arts. On a premature report of the death
of the emperor, he assembled his troops; and, in an eloquent
discourse, deplored the inevitable mischiefs of despotism,
described the happiness and glory which their ancestors had
enjoyed under the consular government, and declared his firm
resolution to reinstate the senate and people in their legal
authority. This popular harangue was answered by the loud
acclamations of the British legions, and received at Rome with a
secret murmur of applause. Safe in the possession of his little
world, and in the command of an army less distinguished indeed
for discipline than for numbers and valor, Albinus braved the
menaces of Commodus, maintained towards Pertinax a stately
ambiguous reserve, and instantly declared against the usurpation
of Julian. The convulsions of the capital added new weight to his
sentiments, or rather to his professions of patriotism. A regard
to decency induced him to decline the lofty titles of Augustus
and Emperor; and he imitated perhaps the example of Galba, who,
on a similar occasion, had styled himself the Lieutenant of the
senate and people.
Personal merit alone had raised Pescennius Niger, from an
obscure birth and station, to the government of Syria; a
lucrative and important command, which in times of civil
confusion gave him a near prospect of the throne. Yet his parts
seem to have been better suited to the second than to the first
rank; he was an unequal rival, though he might have approved
himself an excellent lieutenant, to Severus, who afterwards
displayed the greatness of his mind by adopting several useful
institutions from a vanquished enemy. In his government Niger
acquired the esteem of the soldiers and the love of the
provincials. His rigid discipline foritfied the valor and
confirmed the obedience of the former, whilst the voluptuous
Syrians were less delighted with the mild firmness of his
administration, than with the affability of his manners, and the
apparent pleasure with which he attended their frequent and
pompous festivals. As soon as the intelligence of the atrocious
murder of Pertinax had reached Antioch, the wishes of Asia
invited Niger to assume the Imperial purple and revenge his
death. The legions of the eastern frontier embraced his cause;
the opulent but unarmed provinces, from the frontiers of
Æthiopia to the Hadriatic, cheerfully submitted to his
power; and the kings beyond the Tigris and the Euphrates
congratulated his election, and offered him their homage and
services. The mind of Niger was not capable of receiving this
sudden tide of fortune: he flattered himself that his accession
would be undisturbed by competition and unstained by civil blood;
and whilst he enjoyed the vain pomp of triumph, he neglected to
secure the means of victory. Instead of entering into an
effectual negotiation with the powerful armies of the West, whose
resolution might decide, or at least must balance, the mighty
contest; instead of advancing without delay towards Rome and
Italy, where his presence was impatiently expected, Niger trifled
away in the luxury of Antioch those irretrievable moments which
were diligently improved by the decisive activity of Severus.
The country of Pannonia and Dalmatia, which occupied the space
between the Danube and the Hadriatic, was one of the last and
most difficult conquests of the Romans. In the defence of
national freedom, two hundred thousand of these barbarians had
once appeared in the field, alarmed the declining age of
Augustus, and exercised the vigilant prudence of Tiberius at the
head of the collected force of the empire. The Pannonians yielded
at length to the arms and institutions of Rome. Their recent
subjection, however, the neighborhood, and even the mixture, of
the unconquered tribes, and perhaps the climate, adapted, as it
has been observed, to the production of great bodies and slow
minds, all contributed to preserve some remains of their original
ferocity, and under the tame and uniform countenance of Roman
provincials, the hardy features of the natives were still to be
discerned. Their warlike youth afforded an inexhaustible supply
of recruits to the legions stationed on the banks of the Danube,
and which, from a perpetual warfare against the Germans and
Sarmazans, were deservedly esteemed the best troops in the
service.
The Pannonian army was at this time commanded by Septimius
Severus, a native of Africa, who, in the gradual ascent of
private honors, had concealed his daring ambition, which was
never diverted from its steady course by the allurements of
pleasure, the apprehension of danger, or the feelings of
humanity. On the first news of the murder of Pertinax, he
assembled his troops, painted in the most lively colors the
crime, the insolence, and the weakness of the Prætorian
guards, and animated the legions to arms and to revenge. He
concluded (and the peroration was thought extremely eloquent)
with promising every soldier about four hundred pounds; an
honorable donative, double in value to the infamous bribe with
which Julian had purchased the empire. The acclamations of the
army immediately saluted Severus with the names of Augustus,
Pertinax, and Emperor; and he thus attained the lofty station to
which he was invited, by conscious merit and a long train of
dreams and omens, the fruitful offsprings either of his
superstition or policy.
The new candidate for empire saw and improved the peculiar
advantage of his situation. His province extended to the Julian
Alps, which gave an easy access into Italy; and he remembered the
saying of Augustus, That a Pannonian army might in ten days
appear in sight of Rome. By a celerity proportioned to the
greatness of the occasion, he might reasonably hope to revenge
Pertinax, punish Julian, and receive the homage of the senate and
people, as their lawful emperor, before his competitors,
separated from Italy by an immense tract of sea and land, were
apprised of his success, or even of his election. During the
whole expedition, he scarcely allowed himself any moments for
sleep or food; marching on foot, and in complete armor, at the
head of his columns, he insinuated himself into the confidence
and affection of his troops, pressed their diligence, revived
their spirits, animated their hopes, and was well satisfied to
share the hardships of the meanest soldier, whilst he kept in
view the infinite superiority of his reward.
The wretched Julian had expected, and thought himself
prepared, to dispute the empire with the governor of Syria; but
in the invincible and rapid approach of the Pannonian legions, he
saw his inevitable ruin. The hasty arrival of every messenger
increased his just apprehensions. He was successively informed,
that Severus had passed the Alps; that the Italian cities,
unwilling or unable to oppose his progress, had received him with
the warmest professions of joy and duty; that the important place
of Ravenna had surrendered without resistance, and that the
Hadriatic fleet was in the hands of the conqueror. The enemy was
now within two hundred and fifty miles of Rome; and every moment
diminished the narrow span of life and empire allotted to
Julian.
He attempted, however, to prevent, or at least to protract,
his ruin. He implored the venal faith of the Prætorians,
filled the city with unavailing preparations for war, drew lines
round the suburbs, and even strengthened the fortifications of
the palace; as if those last intrenchments could be defended,
without hope of relief, against a victorious invader. Fear and
shame prevented the guards from deserting his standard; but they
trembled at the name of the Pannonian legions, commanded by an
experienced general, and accustomed to vanquish the barbarians on
the frozen Danube. They quitted, with a sigh, the pleasures of
the baths and theatres, to put on arms, whose use they had almost
forgotten, and beneath the weight of which they were oppressed.
The unpractised elephants, whose uncouth appearance, it was
hoped, would strike terror into the army of the north, threw
their unskilful riders; and the awkward evolutions of the
marines, drawn from the fleet of Misenum, were an object of
ridicule to the populace; whilst the senate enjoyed, with secret
pleasure, the distress and weakness of the usurper.
Every motion of Julian betrayed his trembling perplexity. He
insisted that Severus should be declared a public enemy by the
senate. He entreated that the Pannonian general might be
associated to the empire. He sent public ambassadors of consular
rank to negotiate with his rival; he despatched private assassins
to take away his life. He designed that the Vestal virgins, and
all the colleges of priests, in their sacerdotal habits, and
bearing before them the sacred pledges of the Roman religion,
should advance in solemn procession to meet the Pannonian
legions; and, at the same time, he vainly tried to interrogate,
or to appease, the fates, by magic ceremonies and unlawful
sacrifices.
Severus, who dreaded neither his arms nor his enchantments,
guarded himself from the only danger of secret conspiracy, by the
faithful attendance of six hundred chosen men, who never quitted
his person or their cuirasses, either by night or by day, during
the whole march. Advancing with a steady and rapid course, he
passed, without difficulty, the defiles of the Apennine, received
into his party the troops and ambassadors sent to retard his
progress, and made a short halt at Interamnia, about seventy
miles from Rome. His victory was already secure, but the despair
of the Prætorians might have rendered it bloody; and
Severus had the laudable ambition of ascending the throne without
drawing the sword. His emissaries, dispersed in the capital,
assured the guards, that provided they would abandon their
worthless prince, and the perpetrators of the murder of Pertinax,
to the justice of the conqueror, he would no longer consider that
melancholy event as the act of the whole body. The faithless
Prætorians, whose resistance was supported only by sullen
obstinacy, gladly complied with the easy conditions, seized the
greatest part of the assassins, and signified to the senate, that
they no longer defended the cause of Julian. That assembly,
convoked by the consul, unanimously acknowledged Severus as
lawful emperor, decreed divine honors to Pertinax, and pronounced
a sentence of deposition and death against his unfortunate
successor. Julian was conducted into a private apartment of the
baths of the palace, and beheaded as a common criminal, after
having purchased, with an immense treasure, an anxious and
precarious reign of only sixty-six days. The almost incredible
expedition of Severus, who, in so short a space of time,
conducted a numerous army from the banks of the Danube to those
of the Tyber, proves at once the plenty of provisions produced by
agriculture and commerce, the goodness of the roads, the
discipline of the legions, and the indolent, subdued temper of
the provinces.
The first cares of Severus were bestowed on two measures the
one dictated by policy, the other by decency; the revenge, and
the honors, due to the memory of Pertinax. Before the new emperor
entered Rome, he issued his commands to the Prætorian
guards, directing them to wait his arrival on a large plain near
the city, without arms, but in the habits of ceremony, in which
they were accustomed to attend their sovereign. He was obeyed by
those haughty troops, whose contrition was the effect of their
just terrors. A chosen part of the Illyrian army encompassed them
with levelled spears. Incapable of flight or resistance, they
expected their fate in silent consternation. Severus mounted the
tribunal, sternly reproached them with perfidy and cowardice,
dismissed them with ignominy from the trust which they had
betrayed, despoiled them of their splendid ornaments, and
banished them, on pain of death, to the distance of a hundred
miles from the capital. During the transaction, another
detachment had been sent to seize their arms, occupy their camp,
and prevent the hasty consequences of their despair.
The funeral and consecration of Pertinax was next solemnized
with every circumstance of sad magnificence. The senate, with a
melancholy pleasure, performed the last rites to that excellent
prince, whom they had loved, and still regretted. The concern of
his successor was probably less sincere; he esteemed the virtues
of Pertinax, but those virtues would forever have confined his
ambition to a private station. Severus pronounced his funeral
oration with studied eloquence, inward satisfaction, and
well-acted sorrow; and by this pious regard to his memory,
convinced the credulous multitude, that he alone was worthy to
supply his place. Sensible, however, that arms, not ceremonies,
must assert his claim to the empire, he left Rome at the end of
thirty days, and without suffering himself to be elated by this
easy victory, prepared to encounter his more formidable
rivals.
The uncommon abilities and fortune of Severus have induced an
elegant historian to compare him with the first and greatest of
the Cæsars. The parallel is, at least, imperfect. Where
shall we find, in the character of Severus, the commanding
superiority of soul, the generous clemency, and the various
genius, which could reconcile and unite the love of pleasure, the
thirst of knowledge, and the fire of ambition? In one instance
only, they may be compared, with some degree of propriety, in the
celerity of their motions, and their civil victories. In less
than four years, Severus subdued the riches of the East, and the
valor of the West. He vanquished two competitors of reputation
and ability, and defeated numerous armies, provided with weapons
and discipline equal to his own. In that age, the art of
fortification, and the principles of tactics, were well
understood by all the Roman generals; and the constant
superiority of Severus was that of an artist, who uses the same
instruments with more skill and industry than his rivals. I shall
not, however, enter into a minute narrative of these military
operations; but as the two civil wars against Niger and against
Albinus were almost the same in their conduct, event, and
consequences, I shall collect into one point of view the most
striking circumstances, tending to develop the character of the
conqueror and the state of the empire.
Falsehood and insincerity, unsuitable as they seem to the
dignity of public transactions, offend us with a less degrading
idea of meanness, than when they are found in the intercourse of
private life. In the latter, they discover a want of courage; in
the other, only a defect of power: and, as it is impossible for
the most able statesmen to subdue millions of followers and
enemies by their own personal strength, the world, under the name
of policy, seems to have granted them a very liberal indulgence
of craft and dissimulation. Yet the arts of Severus cannot be
justified by the most ample privileges of state reason. He
promised only to betray, he flattered only to ruin; and however
he might occasionally bind himself by oaths and treaties, his
conscience, obsequious to his interest, always released him from
the inconvenient obligation.
If his two competitors, reconciled by their common danger, had
advanced upon him without delay, perhaps Severus would have sunk
under their united effort. Had they even attacked him, at the
same time, with separate views and separate armies, the contest
might have been long and doubtful. But they fell, singly and
successively, an easy prey to the arts as well as arms of their
subtle enemy, lulled into security by the moderation of his
professions, and overwhelmed by the rapidity of his action. He
first marched against Niger, whose reputation and power he the
most dreaded: but he declined any hostile declarations,
suppressed the name of his antagonist, and only signified to the
senate and people his intention of regulating the eastern
provinces. In private, he spoke of Niger, his old friend and
intended successor, with the most affectionate regard, and highly
applauded his generous design of revenging the murder of
Pertinax. To punish the vile usurper of the throne, was the duty
of every Roman general. To persevere in arms, and to resist a
lawful emperor, acknowledged by the senate, would alone render
him criminal. The sons of Niger had fallen into his hands among
the children of the provincial governors, detained at Rome as
pledges for the loyalty of their parents. As long as the power of
Niger inspired terror, or even respect, they were educated with
the most tender care, with the children of Severus himself; but
they were soon involved in their father's ruin, and removed first
by exile, and afterwards by death, from the eye of public
compassion.
Whilst Severus was engaged in his eastern war, he had reason
to apprehend that the governor of Britain might pass the sea and
the Alps, occupy the vacant seat of empire, and oppose his return
with the authority of the senate and the forces of the West. The
ambiguous conduct of Albinus, in not assuming the Imperial title,
left room for negotiation. Forgetting, at once, his professions
of patriotism, and the jealousy of sovereign power, he accepted
the precarious rank of Cæsar, as a reward for his fatal
neutrality. Till the first contest was decided, Severus treated
the man, whom he had doomed to destruction, with every mark of
esteem and regard. Even in the letter, in which he announced his
victory over Niger, he styles Albinus the brother of his soul and
empire, sends him the affectionate salutations of his wife Julia,
and his young family, and entreats him to preserve the armies and
the republic faithful to their common interest. The messengers
charged with this letter were instructed to accost the
Cæsar with respect, to desire a private audience, and to
plunge their daggers into his heart. The conspiracy was
discovered, and the too credulous Albinus, at length, passed over
to the continent, and prepared for an unequal contest with his
rival, who rushed upon him at the head of a veteran and
victorious army.
The military labors of Severus seem inadequate to the
importance of his conquests. Two engagements, * the one near the
Hellespont, the other in the narrow defiles of Cilicia, decided
the fate of his Syrian competitor; and the troops of Europe
asserted their usual ascendant over the effeminate natives of
Asia. The battle of Lyons, where one hundred and fifty thousand
Romans were engaged, was equally fatal to Albinus. The valor of
the British army maintained, indeed, a sharp and doubtful
contest, with the hardy discipline of the Illyrian legions. The
fame and person of Severus appeared, during a few moments,
irrecoverably lost, till that warlike prince rallied his fainting
troops, and led them on to a decisive victory. The war was
finished by that memorable day.
The civil wars of modern Europe have been distinguished, not
only by the fierce animosity, but likewise by the obstinate
perseverance, of the contending factions. They have generally
been justified by some principle, or, at least, colored by some
pretext, of religion, freedom, or loyalty. The leaders were
nobles of independent property and hereditary influence. The
troops fought like men interested in the decision of the quarrel;
and as military spirit and party zeal were strongly diffused
throughout the whole community, a vanquished chief was
immediately supplied with new adherents, eager to shed their
blood in the same cause. But the Romans, after the fall of the
republic, combated only for the choice of masters. Under the
standard of a popular candidate for empire, a few enlisted from
affection, some from fear, many from interest, none from
principle. The legions, uninflamed by party zeal, were allured
into civil war by liberal donatives, and still more liberal
promises. A defeat, by disabling the chief from the performance
of his engagements, dissolved the mercenary allegiance of his
followers, and left them to consult their own safety by a timely
desertion of an unsuccessful cause. It was of little moment to
the provinces, under whose name they were oppressed or governed;
they were driven by the impulsion of the present power, and as
soon as that power yielded to a superior force, they hastened to
implore the clemency of the conqueror, who, as he had an immense
debt to discharge, was obliged to sacrifice the most guilty
countries to the avarice of his soldiers. In the vast extent of
the Roman empire, there were few fortified cities capable of
protecting a routed army; nor was there any person, or family, or
order of men, whose natural interest, unsupported by the powers
of government, was capable of restoring the cause of a sinking
party.
Yet, in the contest between Niger and Severus, a single city
deserves an honorable exception. As Byzantium was one of the
greatest passages from Europe into Asia, it had been provided
with a strong garrison, and a fleet of five hundred vessels was
anchored in the harbor. The impetuosity of Severus disappointed
this prudent scheme of defence; he left to his generals the siege
of Byzantium, forced the less guarded passage of the Hellespont,
and, impatient of a meaner enemy, pressed forward to encounter
his rival. Byzantium, attacked by a numerous and increasing army,
and afterwards by the whole naval power of the empire, sustained
a siege of three years, and remained faithful to the name and
memory of Niger. The citizens and soldiers (we know not from what
cause) were animated with equal fury; several of the principal
officers of Niger, who despaired of, or who disdained, a pardon,
had thrown themselves into this last refuge: the fortifications
were esteemed impregnable, and, in the defence of the place, a
celebrated engineer displayed all the mechanic powers known to
the ancients. Byzantium, at length, surrendered to famine. The
magistrates and soldiers were put to the sword, the walls
demolished, the privileges suppressed, and the destined capital
of the East subsisted only as an open village, subject to the
insulting jurisdiction of Perinthus. The historian Dion, who had
admired the flourishing, and lamented the desolate, state of
Byzantium, accused the revenge of Severus, for depriving the
Roman people of the strongest bulwark against the barbarians of
Pontus and Asia The truth of this observation was but too well
justified in the succeeding age, when the Gothic fleets covered
the Euxine, and passed through the undefined Bosphorus into the
centre of the Mediterranean.
Both Niger and Albinus were discovered and put to death in
their flight from the field of battle. Their fate excited neither
surprise nor compassion. They had staked their lives against the
chance of empire, and suffered what they would have inflicted;
nor did Severus claim the arrogant superiority of suffering his
rivals to live in a private station. But his unforgiving temper,
stimulated by avarice, indulged a spirit of revenge, where there
was no room for apprehension. The most considerable of the
provincials, who, without any dislike to the fortunate candidate,
had obeyed the governor under whose authority they were
accidentally placed, were punished by death, exile, and
especially by the confiscation of their estates. Many cities of
the East were stripped of their ancient honors, and obliged to
pay, into the treasury of Severus, four times the amount of the
sums contributed by them for the service of Niger.
Till the final decision of the war, the cruelty of Severus
was, in some measure, restrained by the uncertainty of the event,
and his pretended reverence for the senate. The head of Albinus,
accompanied with a menacing letter, announced to the Romans that
he was resolved to spare none of the adherents of his unfortunate
competitors. He was irritated by the just suspicion that he had
never possessed the affections of the senate, and he concealed
his old malevolence under the recent discovery of some
treasonable correspondences. Thirty-five senators, however,
accused of having favored the party of Albinus, he freely
pardoned, and, by his subsequent behavior, endeavored to convince
them, that he had forgotten, as well as forgiven, their supposed
offences. But, at the same time, he condemned forty-one other
senators, whose names history has recorded; their wives,
children, and clients attended them in death, * and the noblest
provincials of Spain and Gaul were involved in the same ruin.
Such rigid justice—for so he termed it—was, in the opinion
of Severus, the only conduct capable of insuring peace to the
people or stability to the prince; and he condescended slightly
to lament, that to be mild, it was necessary that he should first
be cruel.
The true interest of an absolute monarch generally coincides
with that of his people. Their numbers, their wealth, their
order, and their security, are the best and only foundations of
his real greatness; and were he totally devoid of virtue,
prudence might supply its place, and would dictate the same rule
of conduct. Severus considered the Roman empire as his property,
and had no sooner secured the possession, than he bestowed his
care on the cultivation and improvement of so valuable an
acquisition. Salutary laws, executed with inflexible firmness,
soon corrected most of the abuses with which, since the death of
Marcus, every part of the government had been infected. In the
administration of justice, the judgments of the emperor were
characterized by attention, discernment, and impartiality; and
whenever he deviated from the strict line of equity, it was
generally in favor of the poor and oppressed; not so much indeed
from any sense of humanity, as from the natural propensity of a
despot to humble the pride of greatness, and to sink all his
subjects to the same common level of absolute dependence. His
expensive taste for building, magnificent shows, and above all a
constant and liberal distribution of corn and provisions, were
the surest means of captivating the affection of the Roman
people. The misfortunes of civil discord were obliterated. The
clam of peace and prosperity was once more experienced in the
provinces; and many cities, restored by the munificence of
Severus, assumed the title of his colonies, and attested by
public monuments their gratitude and felicity. The fame of the
Roman arms was revived by that warlike and successful emperor,
and he boasted, with a just pride, that, having received the
empire oppressed with foreign and domestic wars, he left it
established in profound, universal, and honorable peace.
Although the wounds of civil war appeared completely healed,
its mortal poison still lurked in the vitals of the constitution.
Severus possessed a considerable share of vigor and ability; but
the daring soul of the first Cæsar, or the deep policy of
Augustus, were scarcely equal to the task of curbing the
insolence of the victorious legions. By gratitude, by misguided
policy, by seeming necessity, Severus was reduced to relax the
nerves of discipline. The vanity of his soldiers was flattered
with the honor of wearing gold rings their ease was indulged in
the permission of living with their wives in the idleness of
quarters. He increased their pay beyond the example of former
times, and taught them to expect, and soon to claim,
extraordinary donatives on every public occasion of danger or
festivity. Elated by success, enervated by luxury, and raised
above the level of subjects by their dangerous privileges, they
soon became incapable of military fatigue, oppressive to the
country, and impatient of a just subordination. Their officers
asserted the superiority of rank by a more profuse and elegant
luxury. There is still extant a letter of Severus, lamenting the
licentious stage of the army, * and exhorting one of his generals
to begin the necessary reformation from the tribunes themselves;
since, as he justly observes, the officer who has forfeited the
esteem, will never command the obedience, of his soldiers. Had
the emperor pursued the train of reflection, he would have
discovered, that the primary cause of this general corruption
might be ascribed, not indeed to the example, but to the
pernicious indulgence, however, of the commander-in-chief.
The Prætorians, who murdered their emperor and sold the
empire, had received the just punishment of their treason; but
the necessary, though dangerous, institution of guards was soon
restored on a new model by Severus, and increased to four times
the ancient number. Formerly these troops had been recruited in
Italy; and as the adjacent provinces gradually imbibed the softer
manners of Rome, the levies were extended to Macedonia, Noricum,
and Spain. In the room of these elegant troops, better adapted to
the pomp of courts than to the uses of war, it was established by
Severus, that from all the legions of the frontiers, the soldiers
most distinguished for strength, valor, and fidelity, should be
occasionally draughted; and promoted, as an honor and reward,
into the more eligible service of the guards. By this new
institution, the Italian youth were diverted from the exercise of
arms, and the capital was terrified by the strange aspect and
manners of a multitude of barbarians. But Severus flattered
himself, that the legions would consider these chosen
Prætorians as the representatives of the whole military
order; and that the present aid of fifty thousand men, superior
in arms and appointments to any force that could be brought into
the field against them, would forever crush the hopes of
rebellion, and secure the empire to himself and his
posterity.
The command of these favored and formidable troops soon became
the first office of the empire. As the government degenerated
into military despotism, the Prætorian Præfect, who
in his origin had been a simple captain of the guards, * was
placed not only at the head of the army, but of the finances, and
even of the law. In every department of administration, he
represented the person, and exercised the authority, of the
emperor. The first præfect who enjoyed and abused this
immense power was Plautianus, the favorite minister of Severus.
His reign lasted above then years, till the marriage of his
daughter with the eldest son of the emperor, which seemed to
assure his fortune, proved the occasion of his ruin. The
animosities of the palace, by irritating the ambition and
alarming the fears of Plautianus, threatened to produce a
revolution, and obliged the emperor, who still loved him, to
consent with reluctance to his death. After the fall of
Plautianus, an eminent lawyer, the celebrated Papinian, was
appointed to execute the motley office of Prætorian
Præfect.
Till the reign of Severus, the virtue and even the good sense
of the emperors had been distinguished by their zeal or affected
reverence for the senate, and by a tender regard to the nice
frame of civil policy instituted by Augustus. But the youth of
Severus had been trained in the implicit obedience of camps, and
his riper years spent in the despotism of military command. His
haughty and inflexible spirit could' not discover, or would not
acknowledge, the advantage of preserving an intermediate power,
however imaginary, between the emperor and the army. He disdained
to profess himself the servant of an assembly that detested his
person and trembled at his frown; he issued his commands, where
his requests would have proved as effectual; assumed the conduct
and style of a sovereign and a conqueror, and exercised, without
disguise, the whole legislative, as well as the executive
power.
The victory over the senate was easy and inglorious. Every eye
and every passion were directed to the supreme magistrate, who
possessed the arms and treasure of the state; whilst the senate,
neither elected by the people, nor guarded by military force, nor
animated by public spirit, rested its declining authority on the
frail and crumbling basis of ancient opinion. The fine theory of
a republic insensibly vanished, and made way for the more natural
and substantial feelings of monarchy. As the freedom and honors
of Rome were successively communicated to the provinces, in which
the old government had been either unknown, or was remembered
with abhorrence, the tradition of republican maxims was gradually
obliterated. The Greek historians of the age of the Antonines
observe, with a malicious pleasure, that although the sovereign
of Rome, in compliance with an obsolete prejudice, abstained from
the name of king, he possessed the full measure of regal power.
In the reign of Severus, the senate was filled with polished and
eloquent slaves from the eastern provinces, who justified
personal flattery by speculative principles of servitude. These
new advocates of prerogative were heard with pleasure by the
court, and with patience by the people, when they inculcated the
duty of passive obedience, and descanted on the inevitable
mischiefs of freedom. The lawyers and historians concurred in
teaching, that the Imperial authority was held, not by the
delegated commission, but by the irrevocable resignation of the
senate; that the emperor was freed from the restraint of civil
laws, could command by his arbitrary will the lives and fortunes
of his subjects, and might dispose of the empire as of his
private patrimony. The most eminent of the civil lawyers, and
particularly Papinian, Paulus, and Ulpian, flourished under the
house of Severus; and the Roman jurisprudence, having closely
united itself with the system of monarchy, was supposed to have
attained its full majority and perfection.
The contemporaries of Severus in the enjoyment of the peace
and glory of his reign, forgave the cruelties by which it had
been introduced. Posterity, who experienced the fatal effects of
his maxims and example, justly considered him as the principal
author of the decline of the Roman empire.
The Death Of Severus.—Tyranny Of Caracalla.—Usurpation Of Macrinus.—Follies Of Elagabalus.—Virtues Of Alexander Severus.—Licentiousness Of The Army.—General State Of The Roman Finances.
The ascent to greatness, however steep and dangerous, may
entertain an active spirit with the consciousness and exercise of
its own powers: but the possession of a throne could never yet
afford a lasting satisfaction to an ambitious mind. This
melancholy truth was felt and acknowledged by Severus. Fortune
and merit had, from an humble station, elevated him to the first
place among mankind. "He had been all things," as he said
himself, "and all was of little value" Distracted with the care,
not of acquiring, but of preserving an empire, oppressed with age
and infirmities, careless of fame, and satiated with power, all
his prospects of life were closed. The desire of perpetuating the
greatness of his family was the only remaining wish of his
ambition and paternal tenderness.
Like most of the Africans, Severus was passionately addicted
to the vain studies of magic and divination, deeply versed in the
interpretation of dreams and omens, and perfectly acquainted with
the science of judicial astrology; which, in almost every age
except the present, has maintained its dominion over the mind of
man. He had lost his first wife, while he was governor of the
Lionnese Gaul. In the choice of a second, he sought only to
connect himself with some favorite of fortune; and as soon as he
had discovered that the young lady of Emesa in Syria had a royal
nativity, he solicited and obtained her hand. Julia Domna (for
that was her name) deserved all that the stars could promise her.
She possessed, even in advanced age, the attractions of beauty,
and united to a lively imagination a firmness of mind, and
strength of judgment, seldom bestowed on her sex. Her amiable
qualities never made any deep impression on the dark and jealous
temper of her husband; but in her son's reign, she administered
the principal affairs of the empire, with a prudence that
supported his authority, and with a moderation that sometimes
corrected his wild extravagancies. Julia applied herself to
letters and philosophy, with some success, and with the most
splendid reputation. She was the patroness of every art, and the
friend of every man of genius. The grateful flattery of the
learned has celebrated her virtues; but, if we may credit the
scandal of ancient history, chastity was very far from being the
most conspicuous virtue of the empress Julia.
Two sons, Caracalla and Geta, were the fruit of this marriage,
and the destined heirs of the empire. The fond hopes of the
father, and of the Roman world, were soon disappointed by these
vain youths, who displayed the indolent security of hereditary
princes; and a presumption that fortune would supply the place of
merit and application. Without any emulation of virtue or
talents, they discovered, almost from their infancy, a fixed and
implacable antipathy for each other.
Their aversion, confirmed by years, and fomented by the arts
of their interested favorites, broke out in childish, and
gradually in more serious competitions; and, at length, divided
the theatre, the circus, and the court, into two factions,
actuated by the hopes and fears of their respective leaders. The
prudent emperor endeavored, by every expedient of advice and
authority, to allay this growing animosity. The unhappy discord
of his sons clouded all his prospects, and threatened to overturn
a throne raised with so much labor, cemented with so much blood,
and guarded with every defence of arms and treasure. With an
impartial hand he maintained between them an exact balance of
favor, conferred on both the rank of Augustus, with the revered
name of Antoninus; and for the first time the Roman world beheld
three emperors. Yet even this equal conduct served only to
inflame the contest, whilst the fierce Caracalla asserted the
right of primogeniture, and the milder Geta courted the
affections of the people and the soldiers. In the anguish of a
disappointed father, Severus foretold that the weaker of his sons
would fall a sacrifice to the stronger; who, in his turn, would
be ruined by his own vices.
In these circumstances the intelligence of a war in Britain,
and of an invasion of the province by the barbarians of the
North, was received with pleasure by Severus. Though the
vigilance of his lieutenants might have been sufficient to repel
the distant enemy, he resolved to embrace the honorable pretext
of withdrawing his sons from the luxury of Rome, which enervated
their minds and irritated their passions; and of inuring their
youth to the toils of war and government. Notwithstanding his
advanced age, (for he was above threescore,) and his gout, which
obliged him to be carried in a litter, he transported himself in
person into that remote island, attended by his two sons, his
whole court, and a formidable army. He immediately passed the
walls of Hadrian and Antoninus, and entered the enemy's country,
with a design of completing the long attempted conquest of
Britain. He penetrated to the northern extremity of the island,
without meeting an enemy. But the concealed ambuscades of the
Caledonians, who hung unseen on the rear and flanks of his army,
the coldness of the climate and the severity of a winter march
across the hills and morasses of Scotland, are reported to have
cost the Romans above fifty thousand men. The Caledonians at
length yielded to the powerful and obstinate attack, sued for
peace, and surrendered a part of their arms, and a large tract of
territory. But their apparent submission lasted no longer than
the present terror. As soon as the Roman legions had retired,
they resumed their hostile independence. Their restless spirit
provoked Severus to send a new army into Caledonia, with the most
bloody orders, not to subdue, but to extirpate the natives. They
were saved by the death of their haughty enemy.
This Caledonian war, neither marked by decisive events, nor
attended with any important consequences, would ill deserve our
attention; but it is supposed, not without a considerable degree
of probability, that the invasion of Severus is connected with
the most shining period of the British history or fable. Fingal,
whose fame, with that of his heroes and bards, has been revived
in our language by a recent publication, is said to have
commanded the Caledonians in that memorable juncture, to have
eluded the power of Severus, and to have obtained a signal
victory on the banks of the Carun, in which the son of the
King of the World, Caracul, fled from his arms along the
fields of his pride. Something of a doubtful mist still hangs
over these Highland traditions; nor can it be entirely dispelled
by the most ingenious researches of modern criticism; but if we
could, with safety, indulge the pleasing supposition, that Fingal
lived, and that Ossian sung, the striking contrast of the
situation and manners of the contending nations might amuse a
philosophic mind. The parallel would be little to the advantage
of the more civilized people, if we compared the unrelenting
revenge of Severus with the generous clemency of Fingal; the
timid and brutal cruelty of Caracalla with the bravery, the
tenderness, the elegant genius of Ossian; the mercenary chiefs,
who, from motives of fear or interest, served under the imperial
standard, with the free-born warriors who started to arms at the
voice of the king of Morven; if, in a word, we contemplated the
untutored Caledonians, glowing with the warm virtues of nature,
and the degenerate Romans, polluted with the mean vices of wealth
and slavery.
The declining health and last illness of Severus inflamed the
wild ambition and black passions of Caracalla's soul. Impatient
of any delay or division of empire, he attempted, more than once,
to shorten the small remainder of his father's days, and
endeavored, but without success, to excite a mutiny among the
troops. The old emperor had often censured the misguided lenity
of Marcus, who, by a single act of justice, might have saved the
Romans from the tyranny of his worthless son. Placed in the same
situation, he experienced how easily the rigor of a judge
dissolves away in the tenderness of a parent. He deliberated, he
threatened, but he could not punish; and this last and only
instance of mercy was more fatal to the empire than a long series
of cruelty. The disorder of his mind irritated the pains of his
body; he wished impatiently for death, and hastened the instant
of it by his impatience. He expired at York in the sixty-fifth
year of his life, and in the eighteenth of a glorious and
successful reign. In his last moments he recommended concord to
his sons, and his sons to the army. The salutary advice never
reached the heart, or even the understanding, of the impetuous
youths; but the more obedient troops, mindful of their oath of
allegiance, and of the authority of their deceased master,
resisted the solicitations of Caracalla, and proclaimed both
brothers emperors of Rome. The new princes soon left the
Caledonians in peace, returned to the capital, celebrated their
father's funeral with divine honors, and were cheerfully
acknowledged as lawful sovereigns, by the senate, the people, and
the provinces. Some preeminence of rank seems to have been
allowed to the elder brother; but they both administered the
empire with equal and independent power.
Such a divided form of government would have proved a source
of discord between the most affectionate brothers. It was
impossible that it could long subsist between two implacable
enemies, who neither desired nor could trust a reconciliation. It
was visible that one only could reign, and that the other must
fall; and each of them, judging of his rival's designs by his
own, guarded his life with the most jealous vigilance from the
repeated attacks of poison or the sword. Their rapid journey
through Gaul and Italy, during which they never ate at the same
table, or slept in the same house, displayed to the provinces the
odious spectacle of fraternal discord. On their arrival at Rome,
they immediately divided the vast extent of the imperial palace.
No communication was allowed between their apartments; the doors
and passages were diligently fortified, and guards posted and
relieved with the same strictness as in a besieged place. The
emperors met only in public, in the presence of their afflicted
mother; and each surrounded by a numerous train of armed
followers. Even on these occasions of ceremony, the dissimulation
of courts could ill disguise the rancor of their hearts.
This latent civil war already distracted the whole government,
when a scheme was suggested that seemed of mutual benefit to the
hostile brothers. It was proposed, that since it was impossible
to reconcile their minds, they should separate their interest,
and divide the empire between them. The conditions of the treaty
were already drawn with some accuracy. It was agreed that
Caracalla, as the elder brother should remain in possession of
Europe and the western Africa; and that he should relinquish the
sovereignty of Asia and Egypt to Geta, who might fix his
residence at Alexandria or Antioch, cities little inferior to
Rome itself in wealth and greatness; that numerous armies should
be constantly encamped on either side of the Thracian Bosphorus,
to guard the frontiers of the rival monarchies; and that the
senators of European extraction should acknowledge the sovereign
of Rome, whilst the natives of Asia followed the emperor of the
East. The tears of the empress Julia interrupted the negotiation,
the first idea of which had filled every Roman breast with
surprise and indignation. The mighty mass of conquest was so
intimately united by the hand of time and policy, that it
required the most forcible violence to rend it asunder. The
Romans had reason to dread, that the disjointed members would
soon be reduced by a civil war under the dominion of one master;
but if the separation was permanent, the division of the
provinces must terminate in the dissolution of an empire whose
unity had hitherto remained inviolate.
Had the treaty been carried into execution, the sovereign of
Europe might soon have been the conqueror of Asia; but Caracalla
obtained an easier, though a more guilty, victory. He artfully
listened to his mother's entreaties, and consented to meet his
brother in her apartment, on terms of peace and reconciliation.
In the midst of their conversation, some centurions, who had
contrived to conceal themselves, rushed with drawn swords upon
the unfortunate Geta. His distracted mother strove to protect him
in her arms; but, in the unavailing struggle, she was wounded in
the hand, and covered with the blood of her younger son, while
she saw the elder animating and assisting the fury of the
assassins. As soon as the deed was perpetrated, Caracalla, with
hasty steps, and horror in his countenance, ran towards the
Prætorian camp, as his only refuge, and threw himself on
the ground before the statues of the tutelar deities. The
soldiers attempted to raise and comfort him. In broken and
disordered words he informed them of his imminent danger, and
fortunate escape; insinuating that he had prevented the designs
of his enemy, and declared his resolution to live and die with
his faithful troops. Geta had been the favorite of the soldiers;
but complaint was useless, revenge was dangerous, and they still
reverenced the son of Severus. Their discontent died away in idle
murmurs, and Caracalla soon convinced them of the justice of his
cause, by distributing in one lavish donative the accumulated
treasures of his father's reign. The real sentiments of
the soldiers alone were of importance to his power or safety.
Their declaration in his favor commanded the dutiful
professions of the senate. The obsequious assembly was
always prepared to ratify the decision of fortune; * but as
Caracalla wished to assuage the first emotions of public
indignation, the name of Geta was mentioned with decency, and he
received the funeral honors of a Roman emperor. Posterity, in
pity to his misfortune, has cast a veil over his vices. We
consider that young prince as the innocent victim of his
brother's ambition, without recollecting that he himself wanted
power, rather than inclination, to consummate the same attempts
of revenge and murder.
The crime went not unpunished. Neither business, nor pleasure,
nor flattery, could defend Caracalla from the stings of a guilty
conscience; and he confessed, in the anguish of a tortured mind,
that his disordered fancy often beheld the angry forms of his
father and his brother rising into life, to threaten and upbraid
him. The consciousness of his crime should have induced him to
convince mankind, by the virtues of his reign, that the bloody
deed had been the involuntary effect of fatal necessity. But the
repentance of Caracalla only prompted him to remove from the
world whatever could remind him of his guilt, or recall the
memory of his murdered brother. On his return from the senate to
the palace, he found his mother in the company of several noble
matrons, weeping over the untimely fate of her younger son. The
jealous emperor threatened them with instant death; the sentence
was executed against Fadilla, the last remaining daughter of the
emperor Marcus; * and even the afflicted Julia was obliged to
silence her lamentations, to suppress her sighs, and to receive
the assassin with smiles of joy and approbation. It was computed
that, under the vague appellation of the friends of Geta, above
twenty thousand persons of both sexes suffered death. His guards
and freedmen, the ministers of his serious business, and the
companions of his looser hours, those who by his interest had
been promoted to any commands in the army or provinces, with the
long connected chain of their dependants, were included in the
proscription; which endeavored to reach every one who had
maintained the smallest correspondence with Geta, who lamented
his death, or who even mentioned his name. Helvius Pertinax, son
to the prince of that name, lost his life by an unseasonable
witticism. It was a sufficient crime of Thrasea Priscus to be
descended from a family in which the love of liberty seemed an
hereditary quality. The particular causes of calumny and
suspicion were at length exhausted; and when a senator was
accused of being a secret enemy to the government, the emperor
was satisfied with the general proof that he was a man of
property and virtue. From this well-grounded principle he
frequently drew the most bloody inferences.
The execution of so many innocent citizens was bewailed by the
secret tears of their friends and families. The death of
Papinian, the Prætorian Præfect, was lamented as a
public calamity. During the last seven years of Severus, he had
exercised the most important offices of the state, and, by his
salutary influence, guided the emperor's steps in the paths of
justice and moderation. In full assurance of his virtue and
abilities, Severus, on his death-bed, had conjured him to watch
over the prosperity and union of the Imperial family. The honest
labors of Papinian served only to inflame the hatred which
Caracalla had already conceived against his father's minister.
After the murder of Geta, the Præfect was commanded to
exert the powers of his skill and eloquence in a studied apology
for that atrocious deed. The philosophic Seneca had condescended
to compose a similar epistle to the senate, in the name of the
son and assassin of Agrippina. "That it was easier to commit than
to justify a parricide," was the glorious reply of Papinian; who
did not hesitate between the loss of life and that of honor. Such
intrepid virtue, which had escaped pure and unsullied from the
intrigues courts, the habits of business, and the arts of his
profession, reflects more lustre on the memory of Papinian, than
all his great employments, his numerous writings, and the
superior reputation as a lawyer, which he has preserved through
every age of the Roman jurisprudence.
It had hitherto been the peculiar felicity of the Romans, and
in the worst of times the consolation, that the virtue of the
emperors was active, and their vice indolent. Augustus, Trajan,
Hadrian, and Marcus visited their extensive dominions in person,
and their progress was marked by acts of wisdom and beneficence.
The tyranny of Tiberius, Nero, and Domitian, who resided almost
constantly at Rome, or in the adjacent was confined to the
senatorial and equestrian orders. But Caracalla was the common
enemy of mankind. He left capital (and he never returned to it)
about a year after the murder of Geta. The rest of his reign was
spent in the several provinces of the empire, particularly those
of the East, and province was by turns the scene of his rapine
and cruelty. The senators, compelled by fear to attend his
capricious motions, were obliged to provide daily entertainments
at an immense expense, which he abandoned with contempt to his
guards; and to erect, in every city, magnificent palaces and
theatres, which he either disdained to visit, or ordered
immediately thrown down. The most wealthy families ruined by
partial fines and confiscations, and the great body of his
subjects oppressed by ingenious and aggravated taxes. In the
midst of peace, and upon the slightest provocation, he issued his
commands, at Alexandria, in Egypt for a general massacre. From a
secure post in the temple of Serapis, he viewed and directed the
slaughter of many thousand citizens, as well as strangers,
without distinguishing the number or the crime of the sufferers;
since as he coolly informed the senate, allthe
Alexandrians, those who perished, and those who had escaped, were
alike guilty.
The wise instructions of Severus never made any lasting
impression on the mind of his son, who, although not destitute of
imagination and eloquence, was equally devoid of judgment and
humanity. One dangerous maxim, worthy of a tyrant, was remembered
and abused by Caracalla. "To secure the affections of the army,
and to esteem the rest of his subjects as of little moment." But
the liberality of the father had been restrained by prudence, and
his indulgence to the troops was tempered by firmness and
authority. The careless profusion of the son was the policy of
one reign, and the inevitable ruin both of the army and of the
empire. The vigor of the soldiers, instead of being confirmed by
the severe discipline of camps, melted away in the luxury of
cities. The excessive increase of their pay and donatives
exhausted the state to enrich the military order, whose modesty
in peace, and service in war, is best secured by an honorable
poverty. The demeanor of Caracalla was haughty and full of pride;
but with the troops he forgot even the proper dignity of his
rank, encouraged their insolent familiarity, and, neglecting the
essential duties of a general, affected to imitate the dress and
manners of a common soldier.
It was impossible that such a character, and such conduct as
that of Caracalla, could inspire either love or esteem; but as
long as his vices were beneficial to the armies, he was secure
from the danger of rebellion. A secret conspiracy, provoked by
his own jealousy, was fatal to the tyrant. The Prætorian
præfecture was divided between two ministers. The military
department was intrusted to Adventus, an experienced rather than
able soldier; and the civil affairs were transacted by Opilius
Macrinus, who, by his dexterity in business, had raised himself,
with a fair character, to that high office. But his favor varied
with the caprice of the emperor, and his life might depend on the
slightest suspicion, or the most casual circumstance. Malice or
fanaticism had suggested to an African, deeply skilled in the
knowledge of futurity, a very dangerous prediction, that Macrinus
and his son were destined to reign over the empire. The report
was soon diffused through the province; and when the man was sent
in chains to Rome, he still asserted, in the presence of the
præfect of the city, the faith of his prophecy. That
magistrate, who had received the most pressing instructions to
inform himself of the successors of Caracalla,
immediately communicated the examination of the African to the
Imperial court, which at that time resided in Syria. But,
notwithstanding the diligence of the public messengers, a friend
of Macrinus found means to apprise him of the approaching danger.
The emperor received the letters from Rome; and as he was then
engaged in the conduct of a chariot race, he delivered them
unopened to the Prætorian Præfect, directing him to
despatch the ordinary affairs, and to report the more important
business that might be contained in them. Macrinus read his fate,
and resolved to prevent it. He inflamed the discontents of some
inferior officers, and employed the hand of Martialis, a
desperate soldier, who had been refused the rank of centurion.
The devotion of Caracalla prompted him to make a pilgrimage from
Edessa to the celebrated temple of the Moon at Carrhæ. * He
was attended by a body of cavalry: but having stopped on the road
for some necessary occasion, his guards preserved a respectful
distance, and Martialis, approaching his person under a presence
of duty, stabbed him with a dagger. The bold assassin was
instantly killed by a Scythian archer of the Imperial guard. Such
was the end of a monster whose life disgraced human nature, and
whose reign accused the patience of the Romans. The grateful
soldiers forgot his vices, remembered only his partial
liberality, and obliged the senate to prostitute their own
dignity and that of religion, by granting him a place among the
gods. Whilst he was upon earth, Alexander the Great was the only
hero whom this god deemed worthy his admiration. He assumed the
name and ensigns of Alexander, formed a Macedonian phalanx of
guards, persecuted the disciples of Aristotle, and displayed,
with a puerile enthusiasm, the only sentiment by which he
discovered any regard for virtue or glory. We can easily
conceive, that after the battle of Narva, and the conquest of
Poland, Charles XII. (though he still wanted the more elegant
accomplishments of the son of Philip) might boast of having
rivalled his valor and magnanimity; but in no one action of his
life did Caracalla express the faintest resemblance of the
Macedonian hero, except in the murder of a great number of his
own and of his father's friends.
After the extinction of the house of Severus, the Roman world
remained three days without a master. The choice of the army (for
the authority of a distant and feeble senate was little regarded)
hung in anxious suspense, as no candidate presented himself whose
distinguished birth and merit could engage their attachment and
unite their suffrages. The decisive weight of the Prætorian
guards elevated the hopes of their præfects, and these
powerful ministers began to assert their legal claim to
fill the vacancy of the Imperial throne. Adventus, however, the
senior præfect, conscious of his age and infirmities, of
his small reputation, and his smaller abilities, resigned the
dangerous honor to the crafty ambition of his colleague Macrinus,
whose well-dissembled grief removed all suspicion of his being
accessary to his master's death. The troops neither loved nor
esteemed his character. They cast their eyes around in search of
a competitor, and at last yielded with reluctance to his promises
of unbounded liberality and indulgence. A short time after his
accession, he conferred on his son Diadumenianus, at the age of
only ten years, the Imperial title, and the popular name of
Antoninus. The beautiful figure of the youth, assisted by an
additional donative, for which the ceremony furnished a pretext,
might attract, it was hoped, the favor of the army, and secure
the doubtful throne of Macrinus.
The authority of the new sovereign had been ratified by the
cheerful submission of the senate and provinces. They exulted in
their unexpected deliverance from a hated tyrant, and it seemed
of little consequence to examine into the virtues of the
successor of Caracalla. But as soon as the first transports of
joy and surprise had subsided, they began to scrutinize the
merits of Macrinus with a critical severity, and to arraign the
nasty choice of the army. It had hitherto been considered as a
fundamental maxim of the constitution, that the emperor must be
always chosen in the senate, and the sovereign power, no longer
exercised by the whole body, was always delegated to one of its
members. But Macrinus was not a senator. The sudden elevation of
the Prætorian præfects betrayed the meanness of their
origin; and the equestrian order was still in possession of that
great office, which commanded with arbitrary sway the lives and
fortunes of the senate. A murmur of indignation was heard, that a
man, whose obscure extraction had never been illustrated by any
signal service, should dare to invest himself with the purple,
instead of bestowing it on some distinguished senator, equal in
birth and dignity to the splendor of the Imperial station. As
soon as the character of Macrinus was surveyed by the sharp eye
of discontent, some vices, and many defects, were easily
discovered. The choice of his ministers was in many instances
justly censured, and the dissatisfied people, with their usual
candor, accused at once his indolent tameness and his excessive
severity.
His rash ambition had climbed a height where it was difficult
to stand with firmness, and impossible to fall without instant
destruction. Trained in the arts of courts and the forms of civil
business, he trembled in the presence of the fierce and
undisciplined multitude, over whom he had assumed the command;
his military talents were despised, and his personal courage
suspected; a whisper that circulated in the camp, disclosed the
fatal secret of the conspiracy against the late emperor,
aggravated the guilt of murder by the baseness of hypocrisy, and
heightened contempt by detestation. To alienate the soldiers, and
to provoke inevitable ruin, the character of a reformer was only
wanting; and such was the peculiar hardship of his fate, that
Macrinus was compelled to exercise that invidious office. The
prodigality of Caracalla had left behind it a long train of ruin
and disorder; and if that worthless tyrant had been capable of
reflecting on the sure consequences of his own conduct, he would
perhaps have enjoyed the dark prospect of the distress and
calamities which he bequeathed to his successors.
In the management of this necessary reformation, Macrinus
proceeded with a cautious prudence, which would have restored
health and vigor to the Roman army in an easy and almost
imperceptible manner. To the soldiers already engaged in the
service, he was constrained to leave the dangerous privileges and
extravagant pay given by Caracalla; but the new recruits were
received on the more moderate though liberal establishment of
Severus, and gradually formed to modesty and obedience. One fatal
error destroyed the salutary effects of this judicious plan. The
numerous army, assembled in the East by the late emperor, instead
of being immediately dispersed by Macrinus through the several
provinces, was suffered to remain united in Syria, during the
winter that followed his elevation. In the luxurious idleness of
their quarters, the troops viewed their strength and numbers,
communicated their complaints, and revolved in their minds the
advantages of another revolution. The veterans, instead of being
flattered by the advantageous distinction, were alarmed by the
first steps of the emperor, which they considered as the presage
of his future intentions. The recruits, with sullen reluctance,
entered on a service, whose labors were increased while its
rewards were diminished by a covetous and unwarlike sovereign.
The murmurs of the army swelled with impunity into seditious
clamors; and the partial mutinies betrayed a spirit of discontent
and disaffection that waited only for the slightest occasion to
break out on every side into a general rebellion. To minds thus
disposed, the occasion soon presented itself.
The empress Julia had experienced all the vicissitudes of
fortune. From an humble station she had been raised to greatness,
only to taste the superior bitterness of an exalted rank. She was
doomed to weep over the death of one of her sons, and over the
life of the other. The cruel fate of Caracalla, though her good
sense must have long taught her to expect it, awakened the
feelings of a mother and of an empress. Notwithstanding the
respectful civility expressed by the usurper towards the widow of
Severus, she descended with a painful struggle into the condition
of a subject, and soon withdrew herself, by a voluntary death,
from the anxious and humiliating dependence. * Julia Mæsa,
her sister, was ordered to leave the court and Antioch. She
retired to Emesa with an immense fortune, the fruit of twenty
years' favor accompanied by her two daughters, Soæmias and
Mamæ, each of whom was a widow, and each had an only son.
Bassianus, for that was the name of the son of Soæmias, was
consecrated to the honorable ministry of high priest of the Sun;
and this holy vocation, embraced either from prudence or
superstition, contributed to raise the Syrian youth to the empire
of Rome. A numerous body of troops was stationed at Emesa; and as
the severe discipline of Macrinus had constrained them to pass
the winter encamped, they were eager to revenge the cruelty of
such unaccustomed hardships. The soldiers, who resorted in crowds
to the temple of the Sun, beheld with veneration and delight the
elegant dress and figure of the young pontiff; they recognized,
or they thought that they recognized, the features of Caracalla,
whose memory they now adored. The artful Mæsa saw and
cherished their rising partiality, and readily sacrificing her
daughter's reputation to the fortune of her grandson, she
insinuated that Bassianus was the natural son of their murdered
sovereign. The sums distributed by her emissaries with a lavish
hand silenced every objection, and the profusion sufficiently
proved the affinity, or at least the resemblance, of Bassianus
with the great original. The young Antoninus (for he had assumed
and polluted that respectable name) was declared emperor by the
troops of Emesa, asserted his hereditary right, and called aloud
on the armies to follow the standard of a young and liberal
prince, who had taken up arms to revenge his father's death and
the oppression of the military order.
Whilst a conspiracy of women and eunuchs was concerted with
prudence, and conducted with rapid vigor, Macrinus, who, by a
decisive motion, might have crushed his infant enemy, floated
between the opposite extremes of terror and security, which alike
fixed him inactive at Antioch. A spirit of rebellion diffused
itself through all the camps and garrisons of Syria, successive
detachments murdered their officers, and joined the party of the
rebels; and the tardy restitution of military pay and privileges
was imputed to the acknowledged weakness of Macrinus. At length
he marched out of Antioch, to meet the increasing and zealous
army of the young pretender. His own troops seemed to take the
field with faintness and reluctance; but, in the heat of the
battle, the Prætorian guards, almost by an involuntary
impulse, asserted the superiority of their valor and discipline.
The rebel ranks were broken; when the mother and grandmother of
the Syrian prince, who, according to their eastern custom, had
attended the army, threw themselves from their covered chariots,
and, by exciting the compassion of the soldiers, endeavored to
animate their drooping courage. Antoninus himself, who, in the
rest of his life, never acted like a man, in this important
crisis of his fate, approved himself a hero, mounted his horse,
and, at the head of his rallied troops, charged sword in hand
among the thickest of the enemy; whilst the eunuch Gannys, *
whose occupations had been confined to female cares and the soft
luxury of Asia, displayed the talents of an able and experienced
general. The battle still raged with doubtful violence, and
Macrinus might have obtained the victory, had he not betrayed his
own cause by a shameful and precipitate flight. His cowardice
served only to protract his life a few days, and to stamp
deserved ignominy on his misfortunes. It is scarcely necessary to
add, that his son Diadumenianus was involved in the same fate. As
soon as the stubborn Prætorians could be convinced that
they fought for a prince who had basely deserted them, they
surrendered to the conqueror: the contending parties of the Roman
army, mingling tears of joy and tenderness, united under the
banners of the imagined son of Caracalla, and the East
acknowledged with pleasure the first emperor of Asiatic
extraction.
The letters of Macrinus had condescended to inform the senate
of the slight disturbance occasioned by an impostor in Syria, and
a decree immediately passed, declaring the rebel and his family
public enemies; with a promise of pardon, however, to such of his
deluded adherents as should merit it by an immediate return to
their duty. During the twenty days that elapsed from the
declaration of the victory of Antoninus, (for in so short an
interval was the fate of the Roman world decided,) the capital
and the provinces, more especially those of the East, were
distracted with hopes and fears, agitated with tumult, and
stained with a useless effusion of civil blood, since whosoever
of the rivals prevailed in Syria must reign over the empire. The
specious letters in which the young conqueror announced his
victory to the obedient senate were filled with professions of
virtue and moderation; the shining examples of Marcus and
Augustus, he should ever consider as the great rule of his
administration; and he affected to dwell with pride on the
striking resemblance of his own age and fortunes with those of
Augustus, who in the earliest youth had revenged, by a successful
war, the murder of his father. By adopting the style of Marcus
Aurelius Antoninus, son of Antoninus and grandson of Severus, he
tacitly asserted his hereditary claim to the empire; but, by
assuming the tribunitian and proconsular powers before they had
been conferred on him by a decree of the senate, he offended the
delicacy of Roman prejudice. This new and injudicious violation
of the constitution was probably dictated either by the ignorance
of his Syrian courtiers, or the fierce disdain of his military
followers.
As the attention of the new emperor was diverted by the most
trifling amusements, he wasted many months in his luxurious
progress from Syria to Italy, passed at Nicomedia his first
winter after his victory, and deferred till the ensuing summer
his triumphal entry into the capital. A faithful picture,
however, which preceded his arrival, and was placed by his
immediate order over the altar of Victory in the senate house,
conveyed to the Romans the just but unworthy resemblance of his
person and manners. He was drawn in his sacerdotal robes of silk
and gold, after the loose flowing fashion of the Medes and
Phnicians; his head was covered with a lofty tiara, his numerous
collars and bracelets were adorned with gems of an inestimable
value. His eyebrows were tinged with black, and his cheeks
painted with an artificial red and white. The grave senators
confessed with a sigh, that, after having long experienced the
stern tyranny of their own countrymen, Rome was at length humbled
beneath the effeminate luxury of Oriental despotism.
The Sun was worshipped at Emesa, under the name of Elagabalus,
and under the form of a black conical stone, which, as it was
universally believed, had fallen from heaven on that sacred
place. To this protecting deity, Antoninus, not without some
reason, ascribed his elevation to the throne. The display of
superstitious gratitude was the only serious business of his
reign. The triumph of the god of Emesa over all the religions of
the earth, was the great object of his zeal and vanity; and the
appellation of Elagabalus (for he presumed as pontiff and
favorite to adopt that sacred name) was dearer to him than all
the titles of Imperial greatness. In a solemn procession through
the streets of Rome, the way was strewed with gold dust; the
black stone, set in precious gems, was placed on a chariot drawn
by six milk-white horses richly caparisoned. The pious emperor
held the reins, and, supported by his ministers, moved slowly
backwards, that he might perpetually enjoy the felicity of the
divine presence. In a magnificent temple raised on the Palatine
Mount, the sacrifices of the god Elagabalus were celebrated with
every circumstance of cost and solemnity. The richest wines, the
most extraordinary victims, and the rarest aromatics, were
profusely consumed on his altar. Around the altar, a chorus of
Syrian damsels performed their lascivious dances to the sound of
barbarian music, whilst the gravest personages of the state and
army, clothed in long Phnician tunics, officiated in the meanest
functions, with affected zeal and secret indignation.
To this temple, as to the common centre of religious worship,
the Imperial fanatic attempted to remove the Ancilia, the
Palladium, and all the sacred pledges of the faith of Numa. A
crowd of inferior deities attended in various stations the
majesty of the god of Emesa; but his court was still imperfect,
till a female of distinguished rank was admitted to his bed.
Pallas had been first chosen for his consort; but as it was
dreaded lest her warlike terrors might affright the soft delicacy
of a Syrian deity, the Moon, adorned by the Africans under the
name of Astarte, was deemed a more suitable companion for the
Sun. Her image, with the rich offerings of her temple as a
marriage portion, was transported with solemn pomp from Carthage
to Rome, and the day of these mystic nuptials was a general
festival in the capital and throughout the empire.
A rational voluptuary adheres with invariable respect to the
temperate dictates of nature, and improves the gratifications of
sense by social intercourse, endearing connections, and the soft
coloring of taste and the imagination. But Elagabalus, (I speak
of the emperor of that name,) corrupted by his youth, his
country, and his fortune, abandoned himself to the grossest
pleasures with ungoverned fury, and soon found disgust and
satiety in the midst of his enjoyments. The inflammatory powers
of art were summoned to his aid: the confused multitude of women,
of wines, and of dishes, and the studied variety of attitude and
sauces, served to revive his languid appetites. New terms and new
inventions in these sciences, the only ones cultivated and
patronized by the monarch, signalized his reign, and transmitted
his infamy to succeeding times. A capricious prodigality supplied
the want of taste and elegance; and whilst Elagabalus lavished
away the treasures of his people in the wildest extravagance, his
own voice and that of his flatterers applauded a spirit of
magnificence unknown to the tameness of his predecessors. To
confound the order of seasons and climates, to sport with the
passions and prejudices of his subjects, and to subvert every law
of nature and decency, were in the number of his most delicious
amusements. A long train of concubines, and a rapid succession of
wives, among whom was a vestal virgin, ravished by force from her
sacred asylum, were insufficient to satisfy the impotence of his
passions. The master of the Roman world affected to copy the
dress and manners of the female sex, preferred the distaff to the
sceptre, and dishonored the principal dignities of the empire by
distributing them among his numerous lovers; one of whom was
publicly invested with the title and authority of the emperor's,
or, as he more properly styled himself, of the empress's
husband.
It may seem probable, the vices and follies of Elagabalus have
been adorned by fancy, and blackened by prejudice. Yet, confining
ourselves to the public scenes displayed before the Roman people,
and attested by grave and contemporary historians, their
inexpressible infamy surpasses that of any other age or country.
The license of an eastern monarch is secluded from the eye of
curiosity by the inaccessible walls of his seraglio. The
sentiments of honor and gallantry have introduced a refinement of
pleasure, a regard for decency, and a respect for the public
opinion, into the modern courts of Europe; * but the corrupt and
opulent nobles of Rome gratified every vice that could be
collected from the mighty conflux of nations and manners. Secure
of impunity, careless of censure, they lived without restraint in
the patient and humble society of their slaves and parasites. The
emperor, in his turn, viewing every rank of his subjects with the
same contemptuous indifference, asserted without control his
sovereign privilege of lust and luxury.
The most worthless of mankind are not afraid to condemn in
others the same disorders which they allow in themselves; and can
readily discover some nice difference of age, character, or
station, to justify the partial distinction. The licentious
soldiers, who had raised to the throne the dissolute son of
Caracalla, blushed at their ignominious choice, and turned with
disgust from that monster, to contemplate with pleasure the
opening virtues of his cousin Alexander, the son of Mamæa.
The crafty Mæsa, sensible that her grandson Elagabalus must
inevitably destroy himself by his own vices, had provided another
and surer support of her family. Embracing a favorable moment of
fondness and devotion, she had persuaded the young emperor to
adopt Alexander, and to invest him with the title of Cæsar,
that his own divine occupations might be no longer interrupted by
the care of the earth. In the second rank that amiable prince
soon acquired the affections of the public, and excited the
tyrant's jealousy, who resolved to terminate the dangerous
competition, either by corrupting the manners, or by taking away
the life, of his rival. His arts proved unsuccessful; his vain
designs were constantly discovered by his own loquacious folly,
and disappointed by those virtuous and faithful servants whom the
prudence of Mamæa had placed about the person of her son.
In a hasty sally of passion, Elagabalus resolved to execute by
force what he had been unable to compass by fraud, and by a
despotic sentence degraded his cousin from the rank and honors of
Cæsar. The message was received in the senate with silence,
and in the camp with fury. The Prætorian guards swore to
protect Alexander, and to revenge the dishonored majesty of the
throne. The tears and promises of the trembling Elagabalus, who
only begged them to spare his life, and to leave him in the
possession of his beloved Hierocles, diverted their just
indignation; and they contented themselves with empowering their
præfects to watch over the safety of Alexander, and the
conduct of the emperor.
It was impossible that such a reconciliation should last, or
that even the mean soul of Elagabalus could hold an empire on
such humiliating terms of dependence. He soon attempted, by a
dangerous experiment, to try the temper of the soldiers. The
report of the death of Alexander, and the natural suspicion that
he had been murdered, inflamed their passions into fury, and the
tempest of the camp could only be appeased by the presence and
authority of the popular youth. Provoked at this new instance of
their affection for his cousin, and their contempt for his
person, the emperor ventured to punish some of the leaders of the
mutiny. His unseasonable severity proved instantly fatal to his
minions, his mother, and himself. Elagabalus was massacred by the
indignant Prætorians, his mutilated corpse dragged through
the streets of the city, and thrown into the Tiber. His memory
was branded with eternal infamy by the senate; the justice of
whose decree has been ratified by posterity.
[See Island In The Tiber: Elagabalus was thrown into the
Tiber]?
In the room of Elagabalus, his cousin Alexander was raised to
the throne by the Prætorian guards. His relation to the
family of Severus, whose name he assumed, was the same as that of
his predecessor; his virtue and his danger had already endeared
him to the Romans, and the eager liberality of the senate
conferred upon him, in one day, the various titles and powers of
the Imperial dignity. But as Alexander was a modest and dutiful
youth, of only seventeen years of age, the reins of government
were in the hands of two women, of his mother, Mamæa, and
of Mæsa, his grandmother. After the death of the latter,
who survived but a short time the elevation of Alexander,
Mamæa remained the sole regent of her son and of the
empire.
In every age and country, the wiser, or at least the stronger,
of the two sexes, has usurped the powers of the state, and
confined the other to the cares and pleasures of domestic life.
In hereditary monarchies, however, and especially in those of
modern Europe, the gallant spirit of chivalry, and the law of
succession, have accustomed us to allow a singular exception; and
a woman is often acknowledged the absolute sovereign of a great
kingdom, in which she would be deemed incapable of exercising the
smallest employment, civil or military. But as the Roman emperors
were still considered as the generals and magistrates of the
republic, their wives and mothers, although distinguished by the
name of Augusta were never associated to their personal honors;
and a female reign would have appeared an inexpiable prodigy in
the eyes of those primitive Romans, who married without love, or
loved without delicacy and respect. The haughty Agripina aspired,
indeed, to share the honors of the empire which she had conferred
on her son; but her mad ambition, detested by every citizen who
felt for the dignity of Rome, was disappointed by the artful
firmness of Seneca and Burrhus. The good sense, or the
indifference, of succeeding princes, restrained them from
offending the prejudices of their subjects; and it was reserved
for the profligate Elagabalus to discharge the acts of the senate
with the name of his mother Soæmias, who was placed by the
side of the consuls, and subscribed, as a regular member, the
decrees of the legislative assembly. Her more prudent sister,
Mamæa, declined the useless and odious prerogative, and a
solemn law was enacted, excluding women forever from the senate,
and devoting to the infernal gods the head of the wretch by whom
this sanction should be violated. The substance, not the
pageantry, of power. was the object of Mamæa's manly
ambition. She maintained an absolute and lasting empire over the
mind of her son, and in his affection the mother could not brook
a rival. Alexander, with her consent, married the daughter of a
patrician; but his respect for his father-in-law, and love for
the empress, were inconsistent with the tenderness of interest of
Mamæa. The patrician was executed on the ready accusation
of treason, and the wife of Alexander driven with ignominy from
the palace, and banished into Africa.
Notwithstanding this act of jealous cruelty, as well as some
instances of avarice, with which Mamæa is charged, the
general tenor of her administration was equally for the benefit
of her son and of the empire. With the approbation of the senate,
she chose sixteen of the wisest and most virtuous senators as a
perpetual council of state, before whom every public business of
moment was debated and determined. The celebrated Ulpian, equally
distinguished by his knowledge of, and his respect for, the laws
of Rome, was at their head; and the prudent firmness of this
aristocracy restored order and authority to the government. As
soon as they had purged the city from foreign superstition and
luxury, the remains of the capricious tyranny of Elagabalus, they
applied themselves to remove his worthless creatures from every
department of the public administration, and to supply their
places with men of virtue and ability. Learning, and the love of
justice, became the only recommendations for civil offices;
valor, and the love of discipline, the only qualifications for
military employments.
But the most important care of Mamæa and her wise
counsellors, was to form the character of the young emperor, on
whose personal qualities the happiness or misery of the Roman
world must ultimately depend. The fortunate soil assisted, and
even prevented, the hand of cultivation. An excellent
understanding soon convinced Alexander of the advantages of
virtue, the pleasure of knowledge, and the necessity of labor. A
natural mildness and moderation of temper preserved him from the
assaults of passion, and the allurements of vice. His unalterable
regard for his mother, and his esteem for the wise Ulpian,
guarded his unexperienced youth from the poison of flattery.
*
The simple journal of his ordinary occupations exhibits a
pleasing picture of an accomplished emperor, and, with some
allowance for the difference of manners, might well deserve the
imitation of modern princes. Alexander rose early: the first
moments of the day were consecrated to private devotion, and his
domestic chapel was filled with the images of those heroes, who,
by improving or reforming human life, had deserved the grateful
reverence of posterity. But as he deemed the service of mankind
the most acceptable worship of the gods, the greatest part of his
morning hours was employed in his council, where he discussed
public affairs, and determined private causes, with a patience
and discretion above his years. The dryness of business was
relieved by the charms of literature; and a portion of time was
always set apart for his favorite studies of poetry, history, and
philosophy. The works of Virgil and Horace, the republics of
Plato and Cicero, formed his taste, enlarged his understanding,
and gave him the noblest ideas of man and government. The
exercises of the body succeeded to those of the mind; and
Alexander, who was tall, active, and robust, surpassed most of
his equals in the gymnastic arts. Refreshed by the use of the
bath and a slight dinner, he resumed, with new vigor, the
business of the day; and, till the hour of supper, the principal
meal of the Romans, he was attended by his secretaries, with whom
he read and answered the multitude of letters, memorials, and
petitions, that must have been addressed to the master of the
greatest part of the world. His table was served with the most
frugal simplicity, and whenever he was at liberty to consult his
own inclination, the company consisted of a few select friends,
men of learning and virtue, amongst whom Ulpian was constantly
invited. Their conversation was familiar and instructive; and the
pauses were occasionally enlivened by the recital of some
pleasing composition, which supplied the place of the dancers,
comedians, and even gladiators, so frequently summoned to the
tables of the rich and luxurious Romans. The dress of Alexander
was plain and modest, his demeanor courteous and affable: at the
proper hours his palace was open to all his subjects, but the
voice of a crier was heard, as in the Eleusinian mysteries,
pronouncing the same salutary admonition: "Let none enter these
holy walls, unless he is conscious of a pure and innocent
mind."
Such a uniform tenor of life, which left not a moment for vice
or folly, is a better proof of the wisdom and justice of
Alexander's government, than all the trifling details preserved
in the compilation of Lampridius. Since the accession of
Commodus, the Roman world had experienced, during the term of
forty years, the successive and various vices of four tyrants.
From the death of Elagabalus, it enjoyed an auspicious calm of
thirteen years. * The provinces, relieved from the oppressive
taxes invented by Caracalla and his pretended son, flourished in
peace and prosperity, under the administration of magistrates,
who were convinced by experience that to deserve the love of the
subjects, was their best and only method of obtaining the favor
of their sovereign. While some gentle restraints were imposed on
the innocent luxury of the Roman people, the price of provisions
and the interest of money, were reduced by the paternal care of
Alexander, whose prudent liberality, without distressing the
industrious, supplied the wants and amusements of the populace.
The dignity, the freedom, the authority of the senate was
restored; and every virtuous senator might approach the person of
the emperor without a fear and without a blush.
The name of Antoninus, ennobled by the virtues of Pius and
Marcus, had been communicated by adoption to the dissolute Verus,
and by descent to the cruel Commodus. It became the honorable
appellation of the sons of Severus, was bestowed on young
Diadumenianus, and at length prostituted to the infamy of the
high priest of Emesa. Alexander, though pressed by the studied,
and, perhaps, sincere importunity of the senate, nobly refused
the borrowed lustre of a name; whilst in his whole conduct he
labored to restore the glories and felicity of the age of the
genuine Antonines.
In the civil administration of Alexander, wisdom was enforced
by power, and the people, sensible of the public felicity, repaid
their benefactor with their love and gratitude. There still
remained a greater, a more necessary, but a more difficult
enterprise; the reformation of the military order, whose interest
and temper, confirmed by long impunity, rendered them impatient
of the restraints of discipline, and careless of the blessings of
public tranquillity. In the execution of his design, the emperor
affected to display his love, and to conceal his fear of the
army. The most rigid economy in every other branch of the
administration supplied a fund of gold and silver for the
ordinary pay and the extraordinary rewards of the troops. In
their marches he relaxed the severe obligation of carrying
seventeen days' provision on their shoulders. Ample magazines
were formed along the public roads, and as soon as they entered
the enemy's country, a numerous train of mules and camels waited
on their haughty laziness. As Alexander despaired of correcting
the luxury of his soldiers, he attempted, at least, to direct it
to objects of martial pomp and ornament, fine horses, splendid
armor, and shields enriched with silver and gold. He shared
whatever fatigues he was obliged to impose, visited, in person,
the sick and wounded, preserved an exact register of their
services and his own gratitude, and expressed on every occasion,
the warmest regard for a body of men, whose welfare, as he
affected to declare, was so closely connected with that of the
state. By the most gentle arts he labored to inspire the fierce
multitude with a sense of duty, and to restore at least a faint
image of that discipline to which the Romans owed their empire
over so many other nations, as warlike and more powerful than
themselves. But his prudence was vain, his courage fatal, and the
attempt towards a reformation served only to inflame the ills it
was meant to cure.
The Prætorian guards were attached to the youth of
Alexander. They loved him as a tender pupil, whom they had saved
from a tyrant's fury, and placed on the Imperial throne. That
amiable prince was sensible of the obligation; but as his
gratitude was restrained within the limits of reason and justice,
they soon were more dissatisfied with the virtues of Alexander,
than they had ever been with the vices of Elagabalus. Their
præfect, the wise Ulpian, was the friend of the laws and of
the people; he was considered as the enemy of the soldiers, and
to his pernicious counsels every scheme of reformation was
imputed. Some trifling accident blew up their discontent into a
furious mutiny; and the civil war raged, during three days, in
Rome, whilst the life of that excellent minister was defended by
the grateful people. Terrified, at length, by the sight of some
houses in flames, and by the threats of a general conflagration,
the people yielded with a sigh, and left the virtuous but
unfortunate Ulpian to his fate. He was pursued into the Imperial
palace, and massacred at the feet of his master, who vainly
strove to cover him with the purple, and to obtain his pardon
from the inexorable soldiers. * Such was the deplorable weakness
of government, that the emperor was unable to revenge his
murdered friend and his insulted dignity, without stooping to the
arts of patience and dissimulation. Epagathus, the principal
leader of the mutiny, was removed from Rome, by the honorable
employment of præfect of Egypt: from that high rank he was
gently degraded to the government of Crete; and when at length,
his popularity among the guards was effaced by time and absence,
Alexander ventured to inflict the tardy but deserved punishment
of his crimes. Under the reign of a just and virtuous prince, the
tyranny of the army threatened with instant death his most
faithful ministers, who were suspected of an intention to correct
their intolerable disorders. The historian Dion Cassius had
commanded the Pannonian legions with the spirit of ancient
discipline. Their brethren of Rome, embracing the common cause of
military license, demanded the head of the reformer. Alexander,
however, instead of yielding to their seditious clamors, showed a
just sense of his merit and services, by appointing him his
colleague in the consulship, and defraying from his own treasury
the expense of that vain dignity: but as was justly apprehended,
that if the soldiers beheld him with the ensigns of his office,
they would revenge the insult in his blood, the nominal first
magistrate of the state retired, by the emperor's advice, from
the city, and spent the greatest part of his consulship at his
villas in Campania.
The lenity of the emperor confirmed the insolence of the
troops; the legions imitated the example of the guards, and
defended their prerogative of licentiousness with the same
furious obstinacy. The administration of Alexander was an
unavailing struggle against the corruption of his age. In
llyricum, in Mauritania, in Armenia, in Mesopotamia, in Germany,
fresh mutinies perpetually broke out; his officers were murdered,
his authority was insulted, and his life at last sacrificed to
the fierce discontents of the army. One particular fact well
deserves to be recorded, as it illustrates the manners of the
troops, and exhibits a singular instance of their return to a
sense of duty and obedience. Whilst the emperor lay at Antioch,
in his Persian expedition, the particulars of which we shall
hereafter relate, the punishment of some soldiers, who had been
discovered in the baths of women, excited a sedition in the
legion to which they belonged. Alexander ascended his tribunal,
and with a modest firmness represented to the armed multitude the
absolute necessity, as well as his inflexible resolution, of
correcting the vices introduced by his impure predecessor, and of
maintaining the discipline, which could not be relaxed without
the ruin of the Roman name and empire. Their clamors interrupted
his mild expostulation. "Reserve your shout," said the undaunted
emperor, "till you take the field against the Persians, the
Germans, and the Sarmatians. Be silent in the presence of your
sovereign and benefactor, who bestows upon you the corn, the
clothing, and the money of the provinces. Be silent, or I shall
no longer style you solders, but citizens, if those
indeed who disclaim the laws of Rome deserve to be ranked among
the meanest of the people." His menaces inflamed the fury of the
legion, and their brandished arms already threatened his person.
"Your courage," resumed the intrepid Alexander, "would be more
nobly displayed in the field of battle; me you may
destroy, you cannot intimidate; and the severe justice of the
republic would punish your crime and revenge my death." The
legion still persisted in clamorous sedition, when the emperor
pronounced, with a cud voice, the decisive sentence,
"Citizens! lay down your arms, and depart in peace to
your respective habitations." The tempest was instantly appeased:
the soldiers, filled with grief and shame, silently confessed the
justice of their punishment, and the power of discipline, yielded
up their arms and military ensigns, and retired in confusion, not
to their camp, but to the several inns of the city. Alexander
enjoyed, during thirty days, the edifying spectacle of their
repentance; nor did he restore them to their former rank in the
army, till he had punished with death those tribunes whose
connivance had occasioned the mutiny. The grateful legion served
the emperor whilst living, and revenged him when dead.
The resolutions of the multitude generally depend on a moment;
and the caprice of passion might equally determine the seditious
legion to lay down their arms at the emperor's feet, or to plunge
them into his breast. Perhaps, if this singular transaction had
been investigated by the penetration of a philosopher, we should
discover the secret causes which on that occasion authorized the
boldness of the prince, and commanded the obedience of the
troops; and perhaps, if it had been related by a judicious
historian, we should find this action, worthy of Cæsar
himself, reduced nearer to the level of probability and the
common standard of the character of Alexander Severus. The
abilities of that amiable prince seem to have been inadequate to
the difficulties of his situation, the firmness of his conduct
inferior to the purity of his intentions. His virtues, as well as
the vices of Elagabalus, contracted a tincture of weakness and
effeminacy from the soft climate of Syria, of which he was a
native; though he blushed at his foreign origin, and listened
with a vain complacency to the flattering genealogists, who
derived his race from the ancient stock of Roman nobility. The
pride and avarice of his mother cast a shade on the glories of
his reign; an by exacting from his riper years the same dutiful
obedience which she had justly claimed from his unexperienced
youth, Mamæa exposed to public ridicule both her son's
character and her own. The fatigues of the Persian war irritated
the military discontent; the unsuccessful event * degraded the
reputation of the emperor as a general, and even as a soldier.
Every cause prepared, and every circumstance hastened, a
revolution, which distracted the Roman empire with a long series
of intestine calamities.
The dissolute tyranny of Commodus, the civil wars occasioned
by his death, and the new maxims of policy introduced by the
house of Severus, had all contributed to increase the dangerous
power of the army, and to obliterate the faint image of laws and
liberty that was still impressed on the minds of the Romans. The
internal change, which undermined the foundations of the empire,
we have endeavored to explain with some degree of order and
perspicuity. The personal characters of the emperors, their
victories, laws, follies, and fortunes, can interest us no
farther than as they are connected with the general history of
the Decline and Fall of the monarchy. Our constant attention to
that great object will not suffer us to overlook a most important
edict of Antoninus Caracalla, which communicated to all the free
inhabitants of the empire the name and privileges of Roman
citizens. His unbounded liberality flowed not, however, from the
sentiments of a generous mind; it was the sordid result of
avarice, and will naturally be illustrated by some observations
on the finances of that state, from the victorious ages of the
commonwealth to the reign of Alexander Severus.
The siege of Veii in Tuscany, the first considerable
enterprise of the Romans, was protracted to the tenth year, much
less by the strength of the place than by the unskillfulness of
the besiegers. The unaccustomed hardships of so many winter
campaigns, at the distance of near twenty miles from home,
required more than common encouragements; and the senate wisely
prevented the clamors of the people, by the institution of a
regular pay for the soldiers, which was levied by a general
tribute, assessed according to an equitable proportion on the
property of the citizens. During more than two hundred years
after the conquest of Veii, the victories of the republic added
less to the wealth than to the power of Rome. The states of Italy
paid their tribute in military service only, and the vast force,
both by sea and land, which was exerted in the Punic wars, was
maintained at the expense of the Romans themselves. That
high-spirited people (such is often the generous enthusiasm of
freedom) cheerfully submitted to the most excessive but voluntary
burdens, in the just confidence that they should speedily enjoy
the rich harvest of their labors. Their expectations were not
disappointed. In the course of a few years, the riches of
Syracuse, of Carthage, of Macedonia, and of Asia, were brought in
triumph to Rome. The treasures of Perseus alone amounted to near
two millions sterling, and the Roman people, the sovereign of so
many nations, was forever delivered from the weight of taxes. The
increasing revenue of the provinces was found sufficient to
defray the ordinary establishment of war and government, and the
superfluous mass of gold and silver was deposited in the temple
of Saturn, and reserved for any unforeseen emergency of the
state.
History has never, perhaps, suffered a greater or more
irreparable injury than in the loss of the curious register *
bequeathed by Augustus to the senate, in which that experienced
prince so accurately balanced the revenues and expenses of the
Roman empire. Deprived of this clear and comprehensive estimate,
we are reduced to collect a few imperfect hints from such of the
ancients as have accidentally turned aside from the splendid to
the more useful parts of history. We are informed that, by the
conquests of Pompey, the tributes of Asia were raised from fifty
to one hundred and thirty-five millions of drachms; or about four
millions and a half sterling. Under the last and most indolent of
the Ptolemies, the revenue of Egypt is said to have amounted to
twelve thousand five hundred talents; a sum equivalent to more
than two millions and a half of our money, but which was
afterwards considerably improved by the more exact economy of the
Romans, and the increase of the trade of Æthiopia and
India. Gaul was enriched by rapine, as Egypt was by commerce, and
the tributes of those two great provinces have been compared as
nearly equal to each other in value. The ten thousand Euboic or
Phnician talents, about four millions sterling, which vanquished
Carthage was condemned to pay within the term of fifty years,
were a slight acknowledgment of the superiority of Rome, and
cannot bear the least proportion with the taxes afterwards raised
both on the lands and on the persons of the inhabitants, when the
fertile coast of Africa was reduced into a province.
Spain, by a very singular fatality, was the Peru and Mexico of
the old world. The discovery of the rich western continent by the
Phnicians, and the oppression of the simple natives, who were
compelled to labor in their own mines for the benefit of
strangers, form an exact type of the more recent history of
Spanish America. The Phnicians were acquainted only with the
sea-coast of Spain; avarice, as well as ambition, carried the
arms of Rome and Carthage into the heart of the country, and
almost every part of the soil was found pregnant with copper,
silver, and gold. * Mention is made of a mine near Carthagena
which yielded every day twenty-five thousand drachmns of silver,
or about three hundred thousand pounds a year. Twenty thousand
pound weight of gold was annually received from the provinces of
Asturia, Gallicia, and Lusitania.
We want both leisure and materials to pursue this curious
inquiry through the many potent states that were annihilated in
the Roman empire. Some notion, however, may be formed of the
revenue of the provinces where considerable wealth had been
deposited by nature, or collected by man, if we observe the
severe attention that was directed to the abodes of solitude and
sterility. Augustus once received a petition from the inhabitants
of Gyarus, humbly praying that they might be relieved from one
third of their excessive impositions. Their whole tax amounted
indeed to no more than one hundred and fifty drachms, or about
five pounds: but Gyarus was a little island, or rather a rock, of
the Ægean Sea, destitute of fresh water and every necessary
of life, and inhabited only by a few wretched fishermen.
From the faint glimmerings of such doubtful and scattered
lights, we should be inclined to believe, 1st, That (with every
fair allowance for the differences of times and circumstances)
the general income of the Roman provinces could seldom amount to
less than fifteen or twenty millions of our money; and, 2dly,
That so ample a revenue must have been fully adequate to all the
expenses of the moderate government instituted by Augustus, whose
court was the modest family of a private senator, and whose
military establishment was calculated for the defence of the
frontiers, without any aspiring views of conquest, or any serious
apprehension of a foreign invasion.
Notwithstanding the seeming probability of both these
conclusions, the latter of them at least is positively disowned
by the language and conduct of Augustus. It is not easy to
determine whether, on this occasion, he acted as the common
father of the Roman world, or as the oppressor of liberty;
whether he wished to relieve the provinces, or to impoverish the
senate and the equestrian order. But no sooner had he assumed the
reins of government, than he frequently intimated the
insufficiency of the tributes, and the necessity of throwing an
equitable proportion of the public burden upon Rome and Italy. In
the prosecution of this unpopular design, he advanced, however,
by cautious and well-weighed steps. The introduction of customs
was followed by the establishment of an excise, and the scheme of
taxation was completed by an artful assessment on the real and
personal property of the Roman citizens, who had been exempted
from any kind of contribution above a century and a half.
I. In a great empire like that of Rome, a natural balance of
money must have gradually established itself. It has been already
observed, that as the wealth of the provinces was attracted to
the capital by the strong hand of conquest and power, so a
considerable part of it was restored to the industrious provinces
by the gentle influence of commerce and arts. In the reign of
Augustus and his successors, duties were imposed on every kind of
merchandise, which through a thousand channels flowed to the
great centre of opulence and luxury; and in whatsoever manner the
law was expressed, it was the Roman purchaser, and not the
provincial merchant, who paid the tax. The rate of the customs
varied from the eighth to the fortieth part of the value of the
commodity; and we have a right to suppose that the variation was
directed by the unalterable maxims of policy; that a higher duty
was fixed on the articles of luxury than on those of necessity,
and that the productions raised or manufactured by the labor of
the subjects of the empire were treated with more indulgence than
was shown to the pernicious, or at least the unpopular commerce
of Arabia and India. There is still extant a long but imperfect
catalogue of eastern commodities, which about the time of
Alexander Severus were subject to the payment of duties;
cinnamon, myrrh, pepper, ginger, and the whole tribe of aromatics
a great variety of precious stones, among which the diamond was
the most remarkable for its price, and the emerald for its
beauty; Parthian and Babylonian leather, cottons, silks, both raw
and manufactured, ebony ivory, and eunuchs. We may observe that
the use and value of those effeminate slaves gradually rose with
the decline of the empire.
II. The excise, introduced by Augustus after the civil wars,
was extremely moderate, but it was general. It seldom exceeded
one per cent.; but it comprehended whatever was sold in the
markets or by public auction, from the most considerable
purchases of lands and houses, to those minute objects which can
only derive a value from their infinite multitude and daily
consumption. Such a tax, as it affects the body of the people,
has ever been the occasion of clamor and discontent. An emperor
well acquainted with the wants and resources of the state was
obliged to declare, by a public edict, that the support of the
army depended in a great measure on the produce of the excise.
1
III. When Augustus resolved to establish a permanent military
force for the defence of his government against foreign and
domestic enemies, he instituted a peculiar treasury for the pay
of the soldiers, the rewards of the veterans, and the
extra-ordinary expenses of war. The ample revenue of the excise,
though peculiarly appropriated to those uses, was found
inadequate. To supply the deficiency, the emperor suggested a new
tax of five per cent. on all legacies and inheritances. But the
nobles of Rome were more tenacious of property than of freedom.
Their indignant murmurs were received by Augustus with his usual
temper. He candidly referred the whole business to the senate,
and exhorted them to provide for the public service by some other
expedient of a less odious nature. They were divided and
perplexed. He insinuated to them, that their obstinacy would
oblige him to propose a general land tax and capitation. They
acquiesced in silence. . The new imposition on legacies and
inheritances was, however, mitigated by some restrictions. It did
not take place unless the object was of a certain value, most
probably of fifty or a hundred pieces of gold; nor could it be
exacted from the nearest of kin on the father's side. When the
rights of nature and poverty were thus secured, it seemed
reasonable, that a stranger, or a distant relation, who acquired
an unexpected accession of fortune, should cheerfully resign a
twentieth part of it, for the benefit of the state.
Such a tax, plentiful as it must prove in every wealthy
community, was most happily suited to the situation of the
Romans, who could frame their arbitrary wills, according to the
dictates of reason or caprice, without any restraint from the
modern fetters of entails and settlements. From various causes,
the partiality of paternal affection often lost its influence
over the stern patriots of the commonwealth, and the dissolute
nobles of the empire; and if the father bequeathed to his son the
fourth part of his estate, he removed all ground of legal
complaint. But a rich childish old man was a domestic tyrant, and
his power increased with his years and infirmities. A servile
crowd, in which he frequently reckoned prætors and consuls,
courted his smiles, pampered his avarice, applauded his follies,
served his passions, and waited with impatience for his death.
The arts of attendance and flattery were formed into a most
lucrative science; those who professed it acquired a peculiar
appellation; and the whole city, according to the lively
descriptions of satire, was divided between two parties, the
hunters and their game. Yet, while so many unjust and extravagant
wills were every day dictated by cunning and subscribed by folly,
a few were the result of rational esteem and virtuous gratitude.
Cicero, who had so often defended the lives and fortunes of his
fellow-citizens, was rewarded with legacies to the amount of a
hundred and seventy thousand pounds; nor do the friends of the
younger Pliny seem to have been less generous to that amiable
orator. Whatever was the motive of the testator, the treasury
claimed, without distinction, the twentieth part of his estate:
and in the course of two or three generations, the whole property
of the subject must have gradually passed through the coffers of
the state.
In the first and golden years of the reign of Nero, that
prince, from a desire of popularity, and perhaps from a blind
impulse of benevolence, conceived a wish of abolishing the
oppression of the customs and excise. The wisest senators
applauded his magnanimity: but they diverted him from the
execution of a design which would have dissolved the strength and
resources of the republic. Had it indeed been possible to realize
this dream of fancy, such princes as Trajan and the Antonines
would surely have embraced with ardor the glorious opportunity of
conferring so signal an obligation on mankind. Satisfied,
however, with alleviating the public burden, they attempted not
to remove it. The mildness and precision of their laws
ascertained the rule and measure of taxation, and protected the
subject of every rank against arbitrary interpretations,
antiquated claims, and the insolent vexation of the farmers of
the revenue. For it is somewhat singular, that, in every age, the
best and wisest of the Roman governors persevered in this
pernicious method of collecting the principal branches at least
of the excise and customs.
The sentiments, and, indeed, the situation, of Caracalla were
very different from those of the Antonines. Inattentive, or
rather averse, to the welfare of his people, he found himself
under the necessity of gratifying the insatiate avarice which he
had excited in the army. Of the several impositions introduced by
Augustus, the twentieth on inheritances and legacies was the most
fruitful, as well as the most comprehensive. As its influence was
not confined to Rome or Italy, the produce continually increased
with the gradual extension of the Roman City. The new citizens,
though charged, on equal terms, with the payment of new taxes,
which had not affected them as subjects, derived an ample
compensation from the rank they obtained, the privileges they
acquired, and the fair prospect of honors and fortune that was
thrown open to their ambition. But the favor which implied a
distinction was lost in the prodigality of Caracalla, and the
reluctant provincials were compelled to assume the vain title,
and the real obligations, of Roman citizens. * Nor was the
rapacious son of Severus contented with such a measure of
taxation as had appeared sufficient to his moderate predecessors.
Instead of a twentieth, he exacted a tenth of all legacies and
inheritances; and during his reign (for the ancient proportion
was restored after his death) he crushed alike every part of the
empire under the weight of his iron sceptre.
When all the provincials became liable to the peculiar
impositions of Roman citizens, they seemed to acquire a legal
exemption from the tributes which they had paid in their former
condition of subjects. Such were not the maxims of government
adopted by Caracalla and his pretended son. The old as well as
the new taxes were, at the same time, levied in the provinces. It
was reserved for the virtue of Alexander to relieve them in a
great measure from this intolerable grievance, by reducing the
tributes to a thirteenth part of the sum exacted at the time of
his accession. It is impossible to conjecture the motive that
engaged him to spare so trifling a remnant of the public evil;
but the noxious weed, which had not been totally eradicated,
again sprang up with the most luxuriant growth, and in the
succeeding age darkened the Roman world with its deadly shade. In
the course of this history, we shall be too often summoned to
explain the land tax, the capitation, and the heavy contributions
of corn, wine, oil, and meat, which were exacted from the
provinces for the use of the court, the army, and the
capital.
As long as Rome and Italy were respected as the centre of
government, a national spirit was preserved by the ancient, and
insensibly imbibed by the adopted, citizens. The principal
commands of the army were filled by men who had received a
liberal education, were well instructed in the advantages of laws
and letters, and who had risen, by equal steps, through the
regular succession of civil and military honors. To their
influence and example we may partly ascribe the modest obedience
of the legions during the two first centuries of the Imperial
history.
But when the last enclosure of the Roman constitution was
trampled down by Caracalla, the separation of professions
gradually succeeded to the distinction of ranks. The more
polished citizens of the internal provinces were alone qualified
to act as lawyers and magistrates. The rougher trade of arms was
abandoned to the peasants and barbarians of the frontiers, who
knew no country but their camp, no science but that of war no
civil laws, and scarcely those of military discipline. With
bloody hands, savage manners, and desperate resolutions, they
sometimes guarded, but much oftener subverted, the throne of the
emperors.
The Elevation And Tyranny Of Maximin.—Rebellion In Africa And Italy, Under The Authority Of The Senate.—Civil Wars And Seditions.—Violent Deaths Of Maximin And His Son, Of Maximus And Balbinus, And Of The Three Gordians.—Usurpation And Secular Games Of Philip.
Of the various forms of government which have prevailed in the
world, an hereditary monarchy seems to present the fairest scope
for ridicule. Is it possible to relate without an indignant
smile, that, on the father's decease, the property of a nation,
like that of a drove of oxen, descends to his infant son, as yet
unknown to mankind and to himself; and that the bravest warriors
and the wisest statesmen, relinquishing their natural right to
empire, approach the royal cradle with bended knees and
protestations of inviolable fidelity? Satire and declamation may
paint these obvious topics in the most dazzling colors, but our
more serious thoughts will respect a useful prejudice, that
establishes a rule of succession, independent of the passions of
mankind; and we shall cheerfully acquiesce in any expedient which
deprives the multitude of the dangerous, and indeed the ideal,
power of giving themselves a master.
In the cool shade of retirement, we may easily devise
imaginary forms of government, in which the sceptre shall be
constantly bestowed on the most worthy, by the free and incorrupt
suffrage of the whole community. Experience overturns these airy
fabrics, and teaches us, that in a large society, the election of
a monarch can never devolve to the wisest, or to the most
numerous part of the people. The army is the only order of men
sufficiently united to concur in the same sentiments, and
powerful enough to impose them on the rest of their
fellow-citizens; but the temper of soldiers, habituated at once
to violence and to slavery, renders them very unfit guardians of
a legal, or even a civil constitution. Justice, humanity, or
political wisdom, are qualities they are too little acquainted
with in themselves, to appreciate them in others. Valor will
acquire their esteem, and liberality will purchase their
suffrage; but the first of these merits is often lodged in the
most savage breasts; the latter can only exert itself at the
expense of the public; and both may be turned against the
possessor of the throne, by the ambition of a daring rival.
The superior prerogative of birth, when it has obtained the
sanction of time and popular opinion, is the plainest and least
invidious of all distinctions among mankind. The acknowledged
right extinguishes the hopes of faction, and the conscious
security disarms the cruelty of the monarch. To the firm
establishment of this idea we owe the peaceful succession and
mild administration of European monarchies. To the defect of it
we must attribute the frequent civil wars, through which an
Asiatic despot is obliged to cut his way to the throne of his
fathers. Yet, even in the East, the sphere of contention is
usually limited to the princes of the reigning house, and as soon
as the more fortunate competitor has removed his brethren by the
sword and the bowstring, he no longer entertains any jealousy of
his meaner subjects. But the Roman empire, after the authority of
the senate had sunk into contempt, was a vast scene of confusion.
The royal, and even noble, families of the provinces had long
since been led in triumph before the car of the haughty
republicans. The ancient families of Rome had successively fallen
beneath the tyranny of the Cæsars; and whilst those princes
were shackled by the forms of a commonwealth, and disappointed by
the repeated failure of their posterity, it was impossible that
any idea of hereditary succession should have taken root in the
minds of their subjects. The right to the throne, which none
could claim from birth, every one assumed from merit. The daring
hopes of ambition were set loose from the salutary restraints of
law and prejudice; and the meanest of mankind might, without
folly, entertain a hope of being raised by valor and fortune to a
rank in the army, in which a single crime would enable him to
wrest the sceptre of the world from his feeble and unpopular
master. After the murder of Alexander Severus, and the elevation
of Maximin, no emperor could think himself safe upon the throne,
and every barbarian peasant of the frontier might aspire to that
august, but dangerous station.
About thirty-two years before that event, the emperor Severus,
returning from an eastern expedition, halted in Thrace, to
celebrate, with military games, the birthday of his younger son,
Geta. The country flocked in crowds to behold their sovereign,
and a young barbarian of gigantic stature earnestly solicited, in
his rude dialect, that he might be allowed to contend for the
prize of wrestling. As the pride of discipline would have been
disgraced in the overthrow of a Roman soldier by a Thracian
peasant, he was matched with the stoutest followers of the camp,
sixteen of whom he successively laid on the ground. His victory
was rewarded by some trifling gifts, and a permission to enlist
in the troops. The next day, the happy barbarian was
distinguished above a crowd of recruits, dancing and exulting
after the fashion of his country. As soon as he perceived that he
had attracted the emperor's notice, he instantly ran up to his
horse, and followed him on foot, without the least appearance of
fatigue, in a long and rapid career. "Thracian," said Severus
with astonishment, "art thou disposed to wrestle after thy race?"
"Most willingly, sir," replied the unwearied youth; and, almost
in a breath, overthrew seven of the strongest soldiers in the
army. A gold collar was the prize of his matchless vigor and
activity, and he was immediately appointed to serve in the
horseguards who always attended on the person of the
sovereign.
Maximin, for that was his name, though born on the territories
of the empire, descended from a mixed race of barbarians. His
father was a Goth, and his mother of the nation of the Alani. He
displayed on every occasion a valor equal to his strength; and
his native fierceness was soon tempered or disguised by the
knowledge of the world. Under the reign of Severus and his son,
he obtained the rank of centurion, with the favor and esteem of
both those princes, the former of whom was an excellent judge of
merit. Gratitude forbade Maximin to serve under the assassin of
Caracalla. Honor taught him to decline the effeminate insults of
Elagabalus. On the accession of Alexander he returned to court,
and was placed by that prince in a station useful to the service,
and honorable to himself. The fourth legion, to which he was
appointed tribune, soon became, under his care, the best
disciplined of the whole army. With the general applause of the
soldiers, who bestowed on their favorite hero the names of Ajax
and Hercules, he was successively promoted to the first military
command; and had not he still retained too much of his savage
origin, the emperor might perhaps have given his own sister in
marriage to the son of Maximin.
Instead of securing his fidelity, these favors served only to
inflame the ambition of the Thracian peasant, who deemed his
fortune inadequate to his merit, as long as he was constrained to
acknowledge a superior. Though a stranger to real wisdom, he was
not devoid of a selfish cunning, which showed him that the
emperor had lost the affection of the army, and taught him to
improve their discontent to his own advantage. It is easy for
faction and calumny to shed their poison on the administration of
the best of princes, and to accuse even their virtues by artfully
confounding them with those vices to which they bear the nearest
affinity. The troops listened with pleasure to the emissaries of
Maximin. They blushed at their own ignominious patience, which,
during thirteen years, had supported the vexatious discipline
imposed by an effeminate Syrian, the timid slave of his mother
and of the senate. It was time, they cried, to cast away that
useless phantom of the civil power, and to elect for their prince
and general a real soldier, educated in camps, exercised in war,
who would assert the glory, and distribute among his companions
the treasures, of the empire. A great army was at that time
assembled on the banks of the Rhine, under the command of the
emperor himself, who, almost immediately after his return from
the Persian war, had been obliged to march against the barbarians
of Germany. The important care of training and reviewing the new
levies was intrusted to Maximin. One day, as he entered the field
of exercise, the troops either from a sudden impulse, or a formed
conspiracy, saluted him emperor, silenced by their loud
acclamations his obstinate refusal, and hastened to consummate
their rebellion by the murder of Alexander Severus.
The circumstances of his death are variously related. The
writers, who suppose that he died in ignorance of the ingratitude
and ambition of Maximin, affirm, that, after taking a frugal
repast in the sight of the army, he retired to sleep, and that,
about the seventh hour of the day, a part of his own guards broke
into the imperial tent, and, with many wounds, assassinated their
virtuous and unsuspecting prince. If we credit another, and
indeed a more probable account, Maximin was invested with the
purple by a numerous detachment, at the distance of several miles
from the head-quarters; and he trusted for success rather to the
secret wishes than to the public declarations of the great army.
Alexander had sufficient time to awaken a faint sense of loyalty
among the troops; but their reluctant professions of fidelity
quickly vanished on the appearance of Maximin, who declared
himself the friend and advocate of the military order, and was
unanimously acknowledged emperor of the Romans by the applauding
legions. The son of Mamæa, betrayed and deserted, withdrew
into his tent, desirous at least to conceal his approaching fate
from the insults of the multitude. He was soon followed by a
tribune and some centurions, the ministers of death; but instead
of receiving with manly resolution the inevitable stroke, his
unavailing cries and entreaties disgraced the last moments of his
life, and converted into contempt some portion of the just pity
which his innocence and misfortunes must inspire. His mother,
Mamæa, whose pride and avarice he loudly accused as the
cause of his ruin, perished with her son. The most faithful of
his friends were sacrificed to the first fury of the soldiers.
Others were reserved for the more deliberate cruelty of the
usurper; and those who experienced the mildest treatment, were
stripped of their employments, and ignominiously driven from the
court and army.
The former tyrants, Caligula and Nero, Commodus, and
Caracalla, were all dissolute and unexperienced youths, educated
in the purple, and corrupted by the pride of empire, the luxury
of Rome, and the perfidious voice of flattery. The cruelty of
Maximin was derived from a different source, the fear of
contempt. Though he depended on the attachment of the soldiers,
who loved him for virtues like their own, he was conscious that
his mean and barbarian origin, his savage appearance, and his
total ignorance of the arts and institutions of civil life,
formed a very unfavorable contrast with the amiable manners of
the unhappy Alexander. He remembered, that, in his humbler
fortune, he had often waited before the door of the haughty
nobles of Rome, and had been denied admittance by the insolence
of their slaves. He recollected too the friendship of a few who
had relieved his poverty, and assisted his rising hopes. But
those who had spurned, and those who had protected, the Thracian,
were guilty of the same crime, the knowledge of his original
obscurity. For this crime many were put to death; and by the
execution of several of his benefactors, Maximin published, in
characters of blood, the indelible history of his baseness and
ingratitude.
The dark and sanguinary soul of the tyrant was open to every
suspicion against those among his subjects who were the most
distinguished by their birth or merit. Whenever he was alarmed
with the sound of treason, his cruelty was unbounded and
unrelenting. A conspiracy against his life was either discovered
or imagined, and Magnus, a consular senator, was named as the
principal author of it. Without a witness, without a trial, and
without an opportunity of defence, Magnus, with four thousand of
his supposed accomplices, was put to death. Italy and the whole
empire were infested with innumerable spies and informers. On the
slightest accusation, the first of the Roman nobles, who had
governed provinces, commanded armies, and been adorned with the
consular and triumphal ornaments, were chained on the public
carriages, and hurried away to the emperor's presence.
Confiscation, exile, or simple death, were esteemed uncommon
instances of his lenity. Some of the unfortunate sufferers he
ordered to be sewed up in the hides of slaughtered animals,
others to be exposed to wild beasts, others again to be beaten to
death with clubs. During the three years of his reign, he
disdained to visit either Rome or Italy. His camp, occasionally
removed from the banks of the Rhine to those of the Danube, was
the seat of his stern despotism, which trampled on every
principle of law and justice, and was supported by the avowed
power of the sword. No man of noble birth, elegant
accomplishments, or knowledge of civil business, was suffered
near his person; and the court of a Roman emperor revived the
idea of those ancient chiefs of slaves and gladiators, whose
savage power had left a deep impression of terror and
detestation.
As long as the cruelty of Maximin was confined to the
illustrious senators, or even to the bold adventurers, who in the
court or army expose themselves to the caprice of fortune, the
body of the people viewed their sufferings with indifference, or
perhaps with pleasure. But the tyrant's avarice, stimulated by
the insatiate desires of the soldiers, at length attacked the
public property. Every city of the empire was possessed of an
independent revenue, destined to purchase corn for the multitude,
and to supply the expenses of the games and entertainments. By a
single act of authority, the whole mass of wealth was at once
confiscated for the use of the Imperial treasury. The temples
were stripped of their most valuable offerings of gold and
silver, and the statues of gods, heroes, and emperors, were
melted down and coined into money. These impious orders could not
be executed without tumults and massacres, as in many places the
people chose rather to die in the defence of their altars, than
to behold in the midst of peace their cities exposed to the
rapine and cruelty of war. The soldiers themselves, among whom
this sacrilegious plunder was distributed, received it with a
blush; and hardened as they were in acts of violence, they
dreaded the just reproaches of their friends and relations.
Throughout the Roman world a general cry of indignation was
heard, imploring vengeance on the common enemy of human kind; and
at length, by an act of private oppression, a peaceful and
unarmed province was driven into rebellion against him.
The procurator of Africa was a servant worthy of such a
master, who considered the fines and confiscations of the rich as
one of the most fruitful branches of the Imperial revenue. An
iniquitous sentence had been pronounced against some opulent
youths of that country, the execution of which would have
stripped them of far the greater part of their patrimony. In this
extremity, a resolution that must either complete or prevent
their ruin, was dictated by despair. A respite of three days,
obtained with difficulty from the rapacious treasurer, was
employed in collecting from their estates a great number of
slaves and peasants blindly devoted to the commands of their
lords, and armed with the rustic weapons of clubs and axes. The
leaders of the conspiracy, as they were admitted to the audience
of the procurator, stabbed him with the daggers concealed under
their garments, and, by the assistance of their tumultuary train,
seized on the little town of Thysdrus, and erected the standard
of rebellion against the sovereign of the Roman empire. They
rested their hopes on the hatred of mankind against Maximin, and
they judiciously resolved to oppose to that detested tyrant an
emperor whose mild virtues had already acquired the love and
esteem of the Romans, and whose authority over the province would
give weight and stability to the enterprise. Gordianus, their
proconsul, and the object of their choice, refused, with
unfeigned reluctance, the dangerous honor, and begged with tears,
that they would suffer him to terminate in peace a long and
innocent life, without staining his feeble age with civil blood.
Their menaces compelled him to accept the Imperial purple, his
only refuge, indeed, against the jealous cruelty of Maximin;
since, according to the reasoning of tyrants, those who have been
esteemed worthy of the throne deserve death, and those who
deliberate have already rebelled.
The family of Gordianus was one of the most illustrious of the
Roman senate. On the father's side he was descended from the
Gracchi; on his mother's, from the emperor Trajan. A great estate
enabled him to support the dignity of his birth, and in the
enjoyment of it, he displayed an elegant taste and beneficent
disposition. The palace in Rome, formerly inhabited by the great
Pompey, had been, during several generations, in the possession
of Gordian's family. It was distinguished by ancient trophies of
naval victories, and decorated with the works of modern painting.
His villa on the road to Præneste was celebrated for baths
of singular beauty and extent, for three stately rooms of a
hundred feet in length, and for a magnificent portico, supported
by two hundred columns of the four most curious and costly sorts
of marble. The public shows exhibited at his expense, and in
which the people were entertained with many hundreds of wild
beasts and gladiators, seem to surpass the fortune of a subject;
and whilst the liberality of other magistrates was confined to a
few solemn festivals at Rome, the magnificence of Gordian was
repeated, when he was ædile, every month in the year, and
extended, during his consulship, to the principal cities of
Italy. He was twice elevated to the last-mentioned dignity, by
Caracalla and by Alexander; for he possessed the uncommon talent
of acquiring the esteem of virtuous princes, without alarming the
jealousy of tyrants. His long life was innocently spent in the
study of letters and the peaceful honors of Rome; and, till he
was named proconsul of Africa by the voice of the senate and the
approbation of Alexander, he appears prudently to have declined
the command of armies and the government of provinces. * As long
as that emperor lived, Africa was happy under the administration
of his worthy representative: after the barbarous Maximin had
usurped the throne, Gordianus alleviated the miseries which he
was unable to prevent. When he reluctantly accepted the purple,
he was above fourscore years old; a last and valuable remains of
the happy age of the Antonines, whose virtues he revived in his
own conduct, and celebrated in an elegant poem of thirty books.
With the venerable proconsul, his son, who had accompanied him
into Africa as his lieutenant, was likewise declared emperor. His
manners were less pure, but his character was equally amiable
with that of his father. Twenty-two acknowledged concubines, and
a library of sixty-two thousand volumes, attested the variety of
his inclinations; and from the productions which he left behind
him, it appears that the former as well as the latter were
designed for use rather than for ostentation. The Roman people
acknowledged in the features of the younger Gordian the
resemblance of Scipio Africanus, recollected with pleasure that
his mother was the granddaughter of Antoninus Pius, and rested
the public hope on those latent virtues which had hitherto, as
they fondly imagined, lain concealed in the luxurious indolence
of private life.
As soon as the Gordians had appeased the first tumult of a
popular election, they removed their court to Carthage. They were
received with the acclamations of the Africans, who honored their
virtues, and who, since the visit of Hadrian, had never beheld
the majesty of a Roman emperor. But these vain acclamations
neither strengthened nor confirmed the title of the Gordians.
They were induced by principle, as well as interest, to solicit
the approbation of the senate; and a deputation of the noblest
provincials was sent, without delay, to Rome, to relate and
justify the conduct of their countrymen, who, having long
suffered with patience, were at length resolved to act with
vigor. The letters of the new princes were modest and respectful,
excusing the necessity which had obliged them to accept the
Imperial title; but submitting their election and their fate to
the supreme judgment of the senate.
The inclinations of the senate were neither doubtful nor
divided. The birth and noble alliances of the Gordians had
intimately connected them with the most illustrious houses of
Rome. Their fortune had created many dependants in that assembly,
their merit had acquired many friends. Their mild administration
opened the flattering prospect of the restoration, not only of
the civil but even of the republican government. The terror of
military violence, which had first obliged the senate to forget
the murder of Alexander, and to ratify the election of a
barbarian peasant, now produced a contrary effect, and provoked
them to assert the injured rights of freedom and humanity. The
hatred of Maximin towards the senate was declared and implacable;
the tamest submission had not appeased his fury, the most
cautious innocence would not remove his suspicions; and even the
care of their own safety urged them to share the fortune of an
enterprise, of which (if unsuccessful) they were sure to be the
first victims. These considerations, and perhaps others of a more
private nature, were debated in a previous conference of the
consuls and the magistrates. As soon as their resolution was
decided, they convoked in the temple of Castor the whole body of
the senate, according to an ancient form of secrecy, calculated
to awaken their attention, and to conceal their decrees.
"Conscript fathers," said the consul Syllanus, "the two Gordians,
both of consular dignity, the one your proconsul, the other your
lieutenant, have been declared emperors by the general consent of
Africa. Let us return thanks," he boldly continued, "to the youth
of Thysdrus; let us return thanks to the faithful people of
Carthage, our generous deliverers from a horrid monster—Why do
you hear me thus coolly, thus timidly? Why do you cast those
anxious looks on each other? Why hesitate? Maximin is a public
enemy! may his enmity soon expire with him, and may we long enjoy
the prudence and felicity of Gordian the father, the valor and
constancy of Gordian the son!" The noble ardor of the consul
revived the languid spirit of the senate. By a unanimous decree,
the election of the Gordians was ratified, Maximin, his son, and
his adherents, were pronounced enemies of their country, and
liberal rewards were offered to whomsoever had the courage and
good fortune to destroy them.
[See Temple Of Castor and Pollux]
During the emperor's absence, a detachment of the
Prætorian guards remained at Rome, to protect, or rather to
command, the capital. The præfect Vitalianus had signalized
his fidelity to Maximin, by the alacrity with which he had
obeyed, and even prevented the cruel mandates of the tyrant. His
death alone could rescue the authority of the senate, and the
lives of the senators from a state of danger and suspense. Before
their resolves had transpired, a quæstor and some tribunes
were commissioned to take his devoted life. They executed the
order with equal boldness and success; and, with their bloody
daggers in their hands, ran through the streets, proclaiming to
the people and the soldiers the news of the happy revolution. The
enthusiasm of liberty was seconded by the promise of a large
donative, in lands and money; the statues of Maximin were thrown
down; the capital of the empire acknowledged, with transport, the
authority of the two Gordians and the senate; and the example of
Rome was followed by the rest of Italy.
A new spirit had arisen in that assembly, whose long patience
had been insulted by wanton despotism and military license. The
senate assumed the reins of government, and, with a calm
intrepidity, prepared to vindicate by arms the cause of freedom.
Among the consular senators recommended by their merit and
services to the favor of the emperor Alexander, it was easy to
select twenty, not unequal to the command of an army, and the
conduct of a war. To these was the defence of Italy intrusted.
Each was appointed to act in his respective department,
authorized to enroll and discipline the Italian youth; and
instructed to fortify the ports and highways, against the
impending invasion of Maximin. A number of deputies, chosen from
the most illustrious of the senatorian and equestrian orders,
were despatched at the same time to the governors of the several
provinces, earnestly conjuring them to fly to the assistance of
their country, and to remind the nations of their ancient ties of
friendship with the Roman senate and people. The general respect
with which these deputies were received, and the zeal of Italy
and the provinces in favor of the senate, sufficiently prove that
the subjects of Maximin were reduced to that uncommon distress,
in which the body of the people has more to fear from oppression
than from resistance. The consciousness of that melancholy truth,
inspires a degree of persevering fury, seldom to be found in
those civil wars which are artificially supported for the benefit
of a few factious and designing leaders.
For while the cause of the Gordians was embraced with such
diffusive ardor, the Gordians themselves were no more. The feeble
court of Carthage was alarmed by the rapid approach of
Capelianus, governor of Mauritania, who, with a small band of
veterans, and a fierce host of barbarians, attacked a faithful,
but unwarlike province. The younger Gordian sallied out to meet
the enemy at the head of a few guards, and a numerous
undisciplined multitude, educated in the peaceful luxury of
Carthage. His useless valor served only to procure him an
honorable death on the field of battle. His aged father, whose
reign had not exceeded thirty-six days, put an end to his life on
the first news of the defeat. Carthage, destitute of defence,
opened her gates to the conqueror, and Africa was exposed to the
rapacious cruelty of a slave, obliged to satisfy his unrelenting
master with a large account of blood and treasure.
The fate of the Gordians filled Rome with just but unexpected
terror. The senate, convoked in the temple of Concord, affected
to transact the common business of the day; and seemed to
decline, with trembling anxiety, the consideration of their own
and the public danger. A silent consternation prevailed in the
assembly, till a senator, of the name and family of Trajan,
awakened his brethren from their fatal lethargy. He represented
to them that the choice of cautious, dilatory measures had been
long since out of their power; that Maximin, implacable by
nature, and exasperated by injuries, was advancing towards Italy,
at the head of the military force of the empire; and that their
only remaining alternative was either to meet him bravely in the
field, or tamely to expect the tortures and ignominious death
reserved for unsuccessful rebellion. "We have lost," continued
he, "two excellent princes; but unless we desert ourselves, the
hopes of the republic have not perished with the Gordians. Many
are the senators whose virtues have deserved, and whose abilities
would sustain, the Imperial dignity. Let us elect two emperors,
one of whom may conduct the war against the public enemy, whilst
his colleague remains at Rome to direct the civil administration.
I cheerfully expose myself to the danger and envy of the
nomination, and give my vote in favor of Maximus and Balbinus.
Ratify my choice, conscript fathers, or appoint in their place,
others more worthy of the empire." The general apprehension
silenced the whispers of jealousy; the merit of the candidates
was universally acknowledged; and the house resounded with the
sincere acclamations of "Long life and victory to the emperors
Maximus and Balbinus. You are happy in the judgment of the
senate; may the republic be happy under your administration!"
The virtues and the reputation of the new emperors justified
the most sanguine hopes of the Romans. The various nature of
their talents seemed to appropriate to each his peculiar
department of peace and war, without leaving room for jealous
emulation. Balbinus was an admired orator, a poet of
distinguished fame, and a wise magistrate, who had exercised with
innocence and applause the civil jurisdiction in almost all the
interior provinces of the empire. His birth was noble, his
fortune affluent, his manners liberal and affable. In him the
love of pleasure was corrected by a sense of dignity, nor had the
habits of ease deprived him of a capacity for business. The mind
of Maximus was formed in a rougher mould. By his valor and
abilities he had raised himself from the meanest origin to the
first employments of the state and army. His victories over the
Sarmatians and the Germans, the austerity of his life, and the
rigid impartiality of his justice, while he was a Præfect
of the city, commanded the esteem of a people whose affections
were engaged in favor of the more amiable Balbinus. The two
colleagues had both been consuls, (Balbinus had twice enjoyed
that honorable office,) both had been named among the twenty
lieutenants of the senate; and since the one was sixty and the
other seventy-four years old, they had both attained the full
maturity of age and experience.
After the senate had conferred on Maximus and Balbinus an
equal portion of the consular and tribunitian powers, the title
of Fathers of their country, and the joint office of Supreme
Pontiff, they ascended to the Capitol to return thanks to the
gods, protectors of Rome. The solemn rites of sacrifice were
disturbed by a sedition of the people. The licentious multitude
neither loved the rigid Maximus, nor did they sufficiently fear
the mild and humane Balbinus. Their increasing numbers surrounded
the temple of Jupiter; with obstinate clamors they asserted their
inherent right of consenting to the election of their sovereign;
and demanded, with an apparent moderation, that, besides the two
emperors, chosen by the senate, a third should be added of the
family of the Gordians, as a just return of gratitude to those
princes who had sacrificed their lives for the republic. At the
head of the city-guards, and the youth of the equestrian order,
Maximus and Balbinus attempted to cut their way through the
seditious multitude. The multitude, armed with sticks and stones,
drove them back into the Capitol. It is prudent to yield when the
contest, whatever may be the issue of it, must be fatal to both
parties. A boy, only thirteen years of age, the grandson of the
elder, and nephew * of the younger Gordian, was produced to the
people, invested with the ornaments and title of Cæsar. The
tumult was appeased by this easy condescension; and the two
emperors, as soon as they had been peaceably acknowledged in
Rome, prepared to defend Italy against the common enemy.
Whilst in Rome and Africa, revolutions succeeded each other
with such amazing rapidity, that the mind of Maximin was agitated
by the most furious passions. He is said to have received the
news of the rebellion of the Gordians, and of the decree of the
senate against him, not with the temper of a man, but the rage of
a wild beast; which, as it could not discharge itself on the
distant senate, threatened the life of his son, of his friends,
and of all who ventured to approach his person. The grateful
intelligence of the death of the Gordians was quickly followed by
the assurance that the senate, laying aside all hopes of pardon
or accommodation, had substituted in their room two emperors,
with whose merit he could not be unacquainted. Revenge was the
only consolation left to Maximin, and revenge could only be
obtained by arms. The strength of the legions had been assembled
by Alexander from all parts of the empire. Three successful
campaigns against the Germans and the Sarmatians, had raised
their fame, confirmed their discipline, and even increased their
numbers, by filling the ranks with the flower of the barbarian
youth. The life of Maximin had been spent in war, and the candid
severity of history cannot refuse him the valor of a soldier, or
even the abilities of an experienced general. It might naturally
be expected, that a prince of such a character, instead of
suffering the rebellion to gain stability by delay, should
immediately have marched from the banks of the Danube to those of
the Tyber, and that his victorious army, instigated by contempt
for the senate, and eager to gather the spoils of Italy, should
have burned with impatience to finish the easy and lucrative
conquest. Yet as far as we can trust to the obscure chronology of
that period, it appears that the operations of some foreign war
deferred the Italian expedition till the ensuing spring. From the
prudent conduct of Maximin, we may learn that the savage features
of his character have been exaggerated by the pencil of party,
that his passions, however impetuous, submitted to the force of
reason, and that the barbarian possessed something of the
generous spirit of Sylla, who subdued the enemies of Rome before
he suffered himself to revenge his private injuries.
When the troops of Maximin, advancing in excellent order,
arrived at the foot of the Julian Alps, they were terrified by
the silence and desolation that reigned on the frontiers of
Italy. The villages and open towns had been abandoned on their
approach by the inhabitants, the cattle was driven away, the
provisions removed or destroyed, the bridges broken down, nor was
any thing left which could afford either shelter or subsistence
to an invader. Such had been the wise orders of the generals of
the senate: whose design was to protract the war, to ruin the
army of Maximin by the slow operation of famine, and to consume
his strength in the sieges of the principal cities of Italy,
which they had plentifully stored with men and provisions from
the deserted country. Aquileia received and withstood the first
shock of the invasion. The streams that issue from the head of
the Hadriatic Gulf, swelled by the melting of the winter snows,
opposed an unexpected obstacle to the arms of Maximin. At length,
on a singular bridge, constructed with art and difficulty, of
large hogsheads, he transported his army to the opposite bank,
rooted up the beautiful vineyards in the neighborhood of
Aquileia, demolished the suburbs, and employed the timber of the
buildings in the engines and towers, with which on every side he
attacked the city. The walls, fallen to decay during the security
of a long peace, had been hastily repaired on this sudden
emergency: but the firmest defence of Aquileia consisted in the
constancy of the citizens; all ranks of whom, instead of being
dismayed, were animated by the extreme danger, and their
knowledge of the tyrant's unrelenting temper. Their courage was
supported and directed by Crispinus and Menophilus, two of the
twenty lieutenants of the senate, who, with a small body of
regular troops, had thrown themselves into the besieged place.
The army of Maximin was repulsed in repeated attacks, his
machines destroyed by showers of artificial fire; and the
generous enthusiasm of the Aquileians was exalted into a
confidence of success, by the opinion that Belenus, their tutelar
deity, combated in person in the defence of his distressed
worshippers.
The emperor Maximus, who had advanced as far as Ravenna, to
secure that important place, and to hasten the military
preparations, beheld the event of the war in the more faithful
mirror of reason and policy. He was too sensible, that a single
town could not resist the persevering efforts of a great army;
and he dreaded, lest the enemy, tired with the obstinate
resistance of Aquileia, should on a sudden relinquish the
fruitless siege, and march directly towards Rome. The fate of the
empire and the cause of freedom must then be committed to the
chance of a battle; and what arms could he oppose to the veteran
legions of the Rhine and Danube? Some troops newly levied among
the generous but enervated youth of Italy; and a body of German
auxiliaries, on whose firmness, in the hour of trial, it was
dangerous to depend. In the midst of these just alarms, the
stroke of domestic conspiracy punished the crimes of Maximin, and
delivered Rome and the senate from the calamities that would
surely have attended the victory of an enraged barbarian.
The people of Aquileia had scarcely experienced any of the
common miseries of a siege; their magazines were plentifully
supplied, and several fountains within the walls assured them of
an inexhaustible resource of fresh water. The soldiers of Maximin
were, on the contrary, exposed to the inclemency of the season,
the contagion of disease, and the horrors of famine. The open
country was ruined, the rivers filled with the slain, and
polluted with blood. A spirit of despair and disaffection began
to diffuse itself among the troops; and as they were cut off from
all intelligence, they easily believed that the whole empire had
embraced the cause of the senate, and that they were left as
devoted victims to perish under the impregnable walls of
Aquileia. The fierce temper of the tyrant was exasperated by
disappointments, which he imputed to the cowardice of his army;
and his wanton and ill-timed cruelty, instead of striking terror,
inspired hatred, and a just desire of revenge. A party of
Prætorian guards, who trembled for their wives and children
in the camp of Alba, near Rome, executed the sentence of the
senate. Maximin, abandoned by his guards, was slain in his tent,
with his son, (whom he had associated to the honors of the
purple,) Anulinus the præfect, and the principal ministers
of his tyranny. The sight of their heads, borne on the point of
spears, convinced the citizens of Aquileia that the siege was at
an end; the gates of the city were thrown open, a liberal market
was provided for the hungry troops of Maximin, and the whole army
joined in solemn protestations of fidelity to the senate and the
people of Rome, and to their lawful emperors Maximus and
Balbinus. Such was the deserved fate of a brutal savage,
destitute, as he has generally been represented, of every
sentiment that distinguishes a civilized, or even a human being.
The body was suited to the soul. The stature of Maximin exceeded
the measure of eight feet, and circumstances almost incredible
are related of his matchless strength and appetite. Had he lived
in a less enlightened age, tradition and poetry might well have
described him as one of those monstrous giants, whose
supernatural power was constantly exerted for the destruction of
mankind.
It is easier to conceive than to describe the universal joy of
the Roman world on the fall of the tyrant, the news of which is
said to have been carried in four days from Aquileia to Rome. The
return of Maximus was a triumphal procession; his colleague and
young Gordian went out to meet him, and the three princes made
their entry into the capital, attended by the ambassadors of
almost all the cities of Italy, saluted with the splendid
offerings of gratitude and superstition, and received with the
unfeigned acclamations of the senate and people, who persuaded
themselves that a golden age would succeed to an age of iron. The
conduct of the two emperors corresponded with these expectations.
They administered justice in person; and the rigor of the one was
tempered by the other's clemency. The oppressive taxes with which
Maximin had loaded the rights of inheritance and succession, were
repealed, or at least moderated. Discipline was revived, and with
the advice of the senate many wise laws were enacted by their
imperial ministers, who endeavored to restore a civil
constitution on the ruins of military tyranny. "What reward may
we expect for delivering Rome from a monster?" was the question
asked by Maximus, in a moment of freedom and confidence. Balbinus
answered it without hesitation—"The love of the senate, of the
people, and of all mankind." "Alas!" replied his more penetrating
colleague—"alas! I dread the hatred of the soldiers, and the
fatal effects of their resentment." His apprehensions were but
too well justified by the event.
Whilst Maximus was preparing to defend Italy against the
common foe, Balbinus, who remained at Rome, had been engaged in
scenes of blood and intestine discord. Distrust and jealousy
reigned in the senate; and even in the temples where they
assembled, every senator carried either open or concealed arms.
In the midst of their deliberations, two veterans of the guards,
actuated either by curiosity or a sinister motive, audaciously
thrust themselves into the house, and advanced by degrees beyond
the altar of Victory. Gallicanus, a consular, and Mæcenas,
a Prætorian senator, viewed with indignation their insolent
intrusion: drawing their daggers, they laid the spies (for such
they deemed them) dead at the foot of the altar, and then,
advancing to the door of the senate, imprudently exhorted the
multitude to massacre the Prætorians, as the secret
adherents of the tyrant. Those who escaped the first fury of the
tumult took refuge in the camp, which they defended with superior
advantage against the reiterated attacks of the people, assisted
by the numerous bands of gladiators, the property of opulent
nobles. The civil war lasted many days, with infinite loss and
confusion on both sides. When the pipes were broken that supplied
the camp with water, the Prætorians were reduced to
intolerable distress; but in their turn they made desperate
sallies into the city, set fire to a great number of houses, and
filled the streets with the blood of the inhabitants. The emperor
Balbinus attempted, by ineffectual edicts and precarious truces,
to reconcile the factions at Rome. But their animosity, though
smothered for a while, burnt with redoubled violence. The
soldiers, detesting the senate and the people, despised the
weakness of a prince, who wanted either the spirit or the power
to command the obedience of his subjects.
After the tyrant's death, his formidable army had
acknowledged, from necessity rather than from choice, the
authority of Maximus, who transported himself without delay to
the camp before Aquileia. As soon as he had received their oath
of fidelity, he addressed them in terms full of mildness and
moderation; lamented, rather than arraigned the wild disorders of
the times, and assured the soldiers, that of all their past
conduct the senate would remember only their generous desertion
of the tyrant, and their voluntary return to their duty. Maximus
enforced his exhortations by a liberal donative, purified the
camp by a solemn sacrifice of expiation, and then dismissed the
legions to their several provinces, impressed, as he hoped, with
a lively sense of gratitude and obedience. But nothing could
reconcile the haughty spirit of the Prætorians. They
attended the emperors on the memorable day of their public entry
into Rome; but amidst the general acclamations, the sullen,
dejected countenance of the guards sufficiently declared that
they considered themselves as the object, rather than the
partners, of the triumph. When the whole body was united in their
camp, those who had served under Maximin, and those who had
remained at Rome, insensibly communicated to each other their
complaints and apprehensions. The emperors chosen by the army had
perished with ignominy; those elected by the senate were seated
on the throne. The long discord between the civil and military
powers was decided by a war, in which the former had obtained a
complete victory. The soldiers must now learn a new doctrine of
submission to the senate; and whatever clemency was affected by
that politic assembly, they dreaded a slow revenge, colored by
the name of discipline, and justified by fair pretences of the
public good. But their fate was still in their own hands; and if
they had courage to despise the vain terrors of an impotent
republic, it was easy to convince the world, that those who were
masters of the arms, were masters of the authority, of the
state.
When the senate elected two princes, it is probable that,
besides the declared reason of providing for the various
emergencies of peace and war, they were actuated by the secret
desire of weakening by division the despotism of the supreme
magistrate. Their policy was effectual, but it proved fatal both
to their emperors and to themselves. The jealousy of power was
soon exasperated by the difference of character. Maximus despised
Balbinus as a luxurious noble, and was in his turn disdained by
his colleague as an obscure soldier. Their silent discord was
understood rather than seen; but the mutual consciousness
prevented them from uniting in any vigorous measures of defence
against their common enemies of the Prætorian camp. The
whole city was employed in the Capitoline games, and the emperors
were left almost alone in the palace. On a sudden, they were
alarmed by the approach of a troop of desperate assassins.
Ignorant of each other's situation or designs, (for they already
occupied very distant apartments,) afraid to give or to receive
assistance, they wasted the important moments in idle debates and
fruitless recriminations. The arrival of the guards put an end to
the vain strife. They seized on these emperors of the senate, for
such they called them with malicious contempt, stripped them of
their garments, and dragged them in insolent triumph through the
streets of Rome, with the design of inflicting a slow and cruel
death on these unfortunate princes. The fear of a rescue from the
faithful Germans of the Imperial guards, shortened their
tortures; and their bodies, mangled with a thousand wounds, were
left exposed to the insults or to the pity of the populace.
In the space of a few months, six princes had been cut off by
the sword. Gordian, who had already received the title of
Cæsar, was the only person that occurred to the soldiers as
proper to fill the vacant throne. They carried him to the camp,
and unanimously saluted him Augustus and Emperor. His name was
dear to the senate and people; his tender age promised a long
impunity of military license; and the submission of Rome and the
provinces to the choice of the Prætorian guards, saved the
republic, at the expense indeed of its freedom and dignity, from
the horrors of a new civil war in the heart of the capital.
As the third Gordian was only nineteen years of age at the
time of his death, the history of his life, were it known to us
with greater accuracy than it really is, would contain little
more than the account of his education, and the conduct of the
ministers, who by turns abused or guided the simplicity of his
unexperienced youth. Immediately after his accession, he fell
into the hands of his mother's eunuchs, that pernicious vermin of
the East, who, since the days of Elagabalus, had infested the
Roman palace. By the artful conspiracy of these wretches, an
impenetrable veil was drawn between an innocent prince and his
oppressed subjects, the virtuous disposition of Gordian was
deceived, and the honors of the empire sold without his
knowledge, though in a very public manner, to the most worthless
of mankind. We are ignorant by what fortunate accident the
emperor escaped from this ignominious slavery, and devolved his
confidence on a minister, whose wise counsels had no object
except the glory of his sovereign and the happiness of the
people. It should seem that love and learning introduced
Misitheus to the favor of Gordian. The young prince married the
daughter of his master of rhetoric, and promoted his
father-in-law to the first offices of the empire. Two admirable
letters that passed between them are still extant. The minister,
with the conscious dignity of virtue, congratulates Gordian that
he is delivered from the tyranny of the eunuchs, and still more
that he is sensible of his deliverance. The emperor acknowledges,
with an amiable confusion, the errors of his past conduct; and
laments, with singular propriety, the misfortune of a monarch,
from whom a venal tribe of courtiers perpetually labor to conceal
the truth.
The life of Misitheus had been spent in the profession of
letters, not of arms; yet such was the versatile genius of that
great man, that, when he was appointed Prætorian
Præfect, he discharged the military duties of his place
with vigor and ability. The Persians had invaded Mesopotamia, and
threatened Antioch. By the persuasion of his father-in-law, the
young emperor quitted the luxury of Rome, opened, for the last
time recorded in history, the temple of Janus, and marched in
person into the East. On his approach, with a great army, the
Persians withdrew their garrisons from the cities which they had
already taken, and retired from the Euphrates to the Tigris.
Gordian enjoyed the pleasure of announcing to the senate the
first success of his arms, which he ascribed, with a becoming
modesty and gratitude, to the wisdom of his father and
Præfect. During the whole expedition, Misitheus watched
over the safety and discipline of the army; whilst he prevented
their dangerous murmurs by maintaining a regular plenty in the
camp, and by establishing ample magazines of vinegar, bacon,
straw, barley, and wheat in all the cities of the frontier. But
the prosperity of Gordian expired with Misitheus, who died of a
flux, not with out very strong suspicions of poison. Philip, his
successor in the præfecture, was an Arab by birth, and
consequently, in the earlier part of his life, a robber by
profession. His rise from so obscure a station to the first
dignities of the empire, seems to prove that he was a bold and
able leader. But his boldness prompted him to aspire to the
throne, and his abilities were employed to supplant, not to
serve, his indulgent master. The minds of the soldiers were
irritated by an artificial scarcity, created by his contrivance
in the camp; and the distress of the army was attributed to the
youth and incapacity of the prince. It is not in our power to
trace the successive steps of the secret conspiracy and open
sedition, which were at length fatal to Gordian. A sepulchral
monument was erected to his memory on the spot where he was
killed, near the conflux of the Euphrates with the little river
Aboras. The fortunate Philip, raised to the empire by the votes
of the soldiers, found a ready obedience from the senate and the
provinces.
We cannot forbear transcribing the ingenious, though somewhat
fanciful description, which a celebrated writer of our own times
has traced of the military government of the Roman empire. "What
in that age was called the Roman empire, was only an irregular
republic, not unlike the aristocracy of Algiers, where the
militia, possessed of the sovereignty, creates and deposes a
magistrate, who is styled a Dey. Perhaps, indeed, it may be laid
down as a general rule, that a military government is, in some
respects, more republican than monarchical. Nor can it be said
that the soldiers only partook of the government by their
disobedience and rebellions. The speeches made to them by the
emperors, were they not at length of the same nature as those
formerly pronounced to the people by the consuls and the
tribunes? And although the armies had no regular place or forms
of assembly; though their debates were short, their action
sudden, and their resolves seldom the result of cool reflection,
did they not dispose, with absolute sway, of the public fortune?
What was the emperor, except the minister of a violent
government, elected for the private benefit of the soldiers?
"When the army had elected Philip, who was Prætorian
præfect to the third Gordian, the latter demanded that he
might remain sole emperor; he was unable to obtain it. He
requested that the power might be equally divided between them;
the army would not listen to his speech. He consented to be
degraded to the rank of Cæsar; the favor was refused him.
He desired, at least, he might be appointed Prætorian
præfect; his prayer was rejected. Finally, he pleaded for
his life. The army, in these several judgments, exercised the
supreme magistracy." According to the historian, whose doubtful
narrative the President De Montesquieu has adopted, Philip, who,
during the whole transaction, had preserved a sullen silence, was
inclined to spare the innocent life of his benefactor; till,
recollecting that his innocence might excite a dangerous
compassion in the Roman world, he commanded, without regard to
his suppliant cries, that he should be seized, stripped, and led
away to instant death. After a moment's pause, the inhuman
sentence was executed.
On his return from the East to Rome, Philip, desirous of
obliterating the memory of his crimes, and of captivating the
affections of the people, solemnized the secular games with
infinite pomp and magnificence. Since their institution or
revival by Augustus, they had been celebrated by Claudius, by
Domitian, and by Severus, and were now renewed the fifth time, on
the accomplishment of the full period of a thousand years from
the foundation of Rome. Every circumstance of the secular games
was skillfully adapted to inspire the superstitious mind with
deep and solemn reverence. The long interval between them
exceeded the term of human life; and as none of the spectators
had already seen them, none could flatter themselves with the
expectation of beholding them a second time. The mystic
sacrifices were performed, during three nights, on the banks of
the Tyber; and the Campus Martius resounded with music and
dances, and was illuminated with innumerable lamps and torches.
Slaves and strangers were excluded from any participation in
these national ceremonies. A chorus of twenty-seven youths, and
as many virgins, of noble families, and whose parents were both
alive, implored the propitious gods in favor of the present, and
for the hope of the rising generation; requesting, in religious
hymns, that according to the faith of their ancient oracles, they
would still maintain the virtue, the felicity, and the empire of
the Roman people. The magnificence of Philip's shows and
entertainments dazzled the eyes of the multitude. The devout were
employed in the rites of superstition, whilst the reflecting few
revolved in their anxious minds the past history and the future
fate of the empire.
Since Romulus, with a small band of shepherds and outlaws,
fortified himself on the hills near the Tyber, ten centuries had
already elapsed. During the four first ages, the Romans, in the
laborious school of poverty, had acquired the virtues of war and
government: by the vigorous exertion of those virtues, and by the
assistance of fortune, they had obtained, in the course of the
three succeeding centuries, an absolute empire over many
countries of Europe, Asia, and Africa. The last three hundred
years had been consumed in apparent prosperity and internal
decline. The nation of soldiers, magistrates, and legislators,
who composed the thirty-five tribes of the Roman people, were
dissolved into the common mass of mankind, and confounded with
the millions of servile provincials, who had received the name,
without adopting the spirit, of Romans. A mercenary army, levied
among the subjects and barbarians of the frontier, was the only
order of men who preserved and abused their independence. By
their tumultuary election, a Syrian, a Goth, or an Arab, was
exalted to the throne of Rome, and invested with despotic power
over the conquests and over the country of the Scipios.
The limits of the Roman empire still extended from the Western
Ocean to the Tigris, and from Mount Atlas to the Rhine and the
Danube. To the undiscerning eye of the vulgar, Philip appeared a
monarch no less powerful than Hadrian or Augustus had formerly
been. The form was still the same, but the animating health and
vigor were fled. The industry of the people was discouraged and
exhausted by a long series of oppression. The discipline of the
legions, which alone, after the extinction of every other virtue,
had propped the greatness of the state, was corrupted by the
ambition, or relaxed by the weakness, of the emperors. The
strength of the frontiers, which had always consisted in arms
rather than in fortifications, was insensibly undermined; and the
fairest provinces were left exposed to the rapaciousness or
ambition of the barbarians, who soon discovered the decline of
the Roman empire.
Of The State Of Persia After The Restoration Of The Monarchy By Artaxerxes.
Whenever Tacitus indulges himself in those beautiful episodes,
in which he relates some domestic transaction of the Germans or
of the Parthians, his principal object is to relieve the
attention of the reader from a uniform scene of vice and misery.
From the reign of Augustus to the time of Alexander Severus, the
enemies of Rome were in her bosom—the tyrants and the
soldiers; and her prosperity had a very distant and feeble
interest in the revolutions that might happen beyond the Rhine
and the Euphrates. But when the military order had levelled, in
wild anarchy, the power of the prince, the laws of the senate,
and even the discipline of the camp, the barbarians of the North
and of the East, who had long hovered on the frontier, boldly
attacked the provinces of a declining monarchy. Their vexatious
inroads were changed into formidable irruptions, and, after a
long vicissitude of mutual calamities, many tribes of the
victorious invaders established themselves in the provinces of
the Roman Empire. To obtain a clearer knowledge of these great
events, we shall endeavor to form a previous idea of the
character, forces, and designs of those nations who avenged the
cause of Hannibal and Mithridates.
In the more early ages of the world, whilst the forest that
covered Europe afforded a retreat to a few wandering savages, the
inhabitants of Asia were already collected into populous cities,
and reduced under extensive empires, the seat of the arts, of
luxury, and of despotism. The Assyrians reigned over the East,
till the sceptre of Ninus and Semiramis dropped from the hands of
their enervated successors. The Medes and the Babylonians divided
their power, and were themselves swallowed up in the monarchy of
the Persians, whose arms could not be confined within the narrow
limits of Asia. Followed, as it is said, by two millions of men,
Xerxes, the descendant of Cyrus, invaded Greece. Thirty thousand
soldiers, under the command of Alexander, the son of Philip, who
was intrusted by the Greeks with their glory and revenge, were
sufficient to subdue Persia. The princes of the house of Seleucus
usurped and lost the Macedonian command over the East. About the
same time, that, by an ignominious treaty, they resigned to the
Romans the country on this side Mount Tarus, they were driven by
the Parthians, * an obscure horde of Scythian origin, from all
the provinces of Upper Asia. The formidable power of the
Parthians, which spread from India to the frontiers of Syria, was
in its turn subverted by Ardshir, or Artaxerxes; the founder of a
new dynasty, which, under the name of Sassanides, governed Persia
till the invasion of the Arabs. This great revolution, whose
fatal influence was soon experienced by the Romans, happened in
the fourth year of Alexander Severus, two hundred and twenty-six
years after the Christian era.
Artaxerxes had served with great reputation in the armies of
Artaban, the last king of the Parthians, and it appears that he
was driven into exile and rebellion by royal ingratitude, the
customary reward for superior merit. His birth was obscure, and
the obscurity equally gave room to the aspersions of his enemies,
and the flattery of his adherents. If we credit the scandal of
the former, Artaxerxes sprang from the illegitimate commerce of a
tanner's wife with a common soldier. The latter represent him as
descended from a branch of the ancient kings of Persian, though
time and misfortune had gradually reduced his ancestors to the
humble station of private citizens. As the lineal heir of the
monarchy, he asserted his right to the throne, and challenged the
noble task of delivering the Persians from the oppression under
which they groaned above five centuries since the death of
Darius. The Parthians were defeated in three great battles. * In
the last of these their king Artaban was slain, and the spirit of
the nation was forever broken. The authority of Artaxerxes was
solemnly acknowledged in a great assembly held at Balch in
Khorasan. Two younger branches of the royal house of Arsaces were
confounded among the prostrate satraps. A third, more mindful of
ancient grandeur than of present necessity, attempted to retire,
with a numerous train of vessels, towards their kinsman, the king
of Armenia; but this little army of deserters was intercepted,
and cut off, by the vigilance of the conqueror, who boldly
assumed the double diadem, and the title of King of Kings, which
had been enjoyed by his predecessor. But these pompous titles,
instead of gratifying the vanity of the Persian, served only to
admonish him of his duty, and to inflame in his soul and should
the ambition of restoring in their full splendor, the religion
and empire of Cyrus.
I. During the long servitude of Persia under the Macedonian
and the Parthian yoke, the nations of Europe and Asia had
mutually adopted and corrupted each other's superstitions. The
Arsacides, indeed, practised the worship of the Magi; but they
disgraced and polluted it with a various mixture of foreign
idolatry. * The memory of Zoroaster, the ancient prophet and
philosopher of the Persians, was still revered in the East; but
the obsolete and mysterious language, in which the Zendavesta was
composed, opened a field of dispute to seventy sects, who
variously explained the fundamental doctrines of their religion,
and were all indifferently derided by a crowd of infidels, who
rejected the divine mission and miracles of the prophet. To
suppress the idolaters, reunite the schismatics, and confute the
unbelievers, by the infallible decision of a general council, the
pious Artaxerxes summoned the Magi from all parts of his
dominions. These priests, who had so long sighed in contempt and
obscurity obeyed the welcome summons; and, on the appointed day,
appeared, to the number of about eighty thousand. But as the
debates of so tumultuous an assembly could not have been directed
by the authority of reason, or influenced by the art of policy,
the Persian synod was reduced, by successive operations, to forty
thousand, to four thousand, to four hundred, to forty, and at
last to seven Magi, the most respected for their learning and
piety. One of these, Erdaviraph, a young but holy prelate,
received from the hands of his brethren three cups of
soporiferous wine. He drank them off, and instantly fell into a
long and profound sleep. As soon as he waked, he related to the
king and to the believing multitude, his journey to heaven, and
his intimate conferences with the Deity. Every doubt was silenced
by this supernatural evidence; and the articles of the faith of
Zoroaster were fixed with equal authority and precision. A short
delineation of that celebrated system will be found useful, not
only to display the character of the Persian nation, but to
illustrate many of their most important transactions, both in
peace and war, with the Roman empire.
The great and fundamental article of the system, was the
celebrated doctrine of the two principles; a bold and injudicious
attempt of Eastern philosophy to reconcile the existence of moral
and physical evil with the attributes of a beneficent Creator and
Governor of the world. The first and original Being, in whom, or
by whom, the universe exists, is denominated in the writings of
Zoroaster, Time without bounds; but it must be
confessed, that this infinite substance seems rather a
metaphysical, abstraction of the mind, than a real object endowed
with self-consciousness, or possessed of moral perfections. From
either the blind or the intelligent operation of this infinite
Time, which bears but too near an affinity with the chaos of the
Greeks, the two secondary but active principles of the universe,
were from all eternity produced, Ormusd and Ahriman, each of them
possessed of the powers of creation, but each disposed, by his
invariable nature, to exercise them with different designs. * The
principle of good is eternally absorbed in light; the principle
of evil eternally buried in darkness. The wise benevolence of
Ormusd formed man capable of virtue, and abundantly provided his
fair habitation with the materials of happiness. By his vigilant
providence, the motion of the planets, the order of the seasons,
and the temperate mixture of the elements, are preserved. But the
malice of Ahriman has long since pierced Ormusd's egg;
or, in other words, has violated the harmony of his works. Since
that fatal eruption, the most minute articles of good and evil
are intimately intermingled and agitated together; the rankest
poisons spring up amidst the most salutary plants; deluges,
earthquakes, and conflagrations attest the conflict of Nature,
and the little world of man is perpetually shaken by vice and
misfortune. Whilst the rest of human kind are led away captives
in the chains of their infernal enemy, the faithful Persian alone
reserves his religious adoration for his friend and protector
Ormusd, and fights under his banner of light, in the full
confidence that he shall, in the last day, share the glory of his
triumph. At that decisive period, the enlightened wisdom of
goodness will render the power of Ormusd superior to the furious
malice of his rival. Ahriman and his followers, disarmed and
subdued, will sink into their native darkness; and virtue will
maintain the eternal peace and harmony of the universe.
The theology of Zoroaster was darkly comprehended by
foreigners, and even by the far greater number of his disciples;
but the most careless observers were struck with the philosophic
simplicity of the Persian worship. "That people," said Herodotus,
"rejects the use of temples, of altars, and of statues, and
smiles at the folly of those nations who imagine that the gods
are sprung from, or bear any affinity with, the human nature. The
tops of the highest mountains are the places chosen for
sacrifices. Hymns and prayers are the principal worship; the
Supreme God, who fills the wide circle of heaven, is the object
to whom they are addressed." Yet, at the same time, in the true
spirit of a polytheist, he accuseth them of adoring Earth, Water,
Fire, the Winds, and the Sun and Moon. But the Persians of every
age have denied the charge, and explained the equivocal conduct,
which might appear to give a color to it. The elements, and more
particularly Fire, Light, and the Sun, whom they called Mithra,
were the objects of their religious reverence, because they
considered them as the purest symbols, the noblest productions,
and the most powerful agents of the Divine Power and Nature.
Every mode of religion, to make a deep and lasting impression
on the human mind, must exercise our obedience, by enjoining
practices of devotion, for which we can assign no reason; and
must acquire our esteem, by inculcating moral duties analogous to
the dictates of our own hearts. The religion of Zoroaster was
abundantly provided with the former and possessed a sufficient
portion of the latter. At the age of puberty, the faithful
Persian was invested with a mysterious girdle, the badge of the
divine protection; and from that moment all the actions of his
life, even the most indifferent, or the most necessary, were
sanctified by their peculiar prayers, ejaculations, or
genuflections; the omission of which, under any circumstances,
was a grievous sin, not inferior in guilt to the violation of the
moral duties. The moral duties, however, of justice, mercy,
liberality, &c., were in their turn required of the disciple
of Zoroaster, who wished to escape the persecution of Ahriman,
and to live with Ormusd in a blissful eternity, where the degree
of felicity will be exactly proportioned to the degree of virtue
and piety.
But there are some remarkable instances in which Zoroaster
lays aside the prophet, assumes the legislator, and discovers a
liberal concern for private and public happiness, seldom to be
found among the grovelling or visionary schemes of superstition.
Fasting and celibacy, the common means of purchasing the divine
favor, he condemns with abhorrence, as a criminal rejection of
the best gifts of Providence. The saint, in the Magian religion,
is obliged to beget children, to plant useful trees, to destroy
noxious animals, to convey water to the dry lands of Persia, and
to work out his salvation by pursuing all the labors of
agriculture. * We may quote from the Zendavesta a wise and
benevolent maxim, which compensates for many an absurdity. "He
who sows the ground with care and diligence acquires a greater
stock of religious merit than he could gain by the repetition of
ten thousand prayers." In the spring of every year a festival was
celebrated, destined to represent the primitive equality, and the
present connection, of mankind. The stately kings of Persia,
exchanging their vain pomp for more genuine greatness, freely
mingled with the humblest but most useful of their subjects. On
that day the husbandmen were admitted, without distinction, to
the table of the king and his satraps. The monarch accepted their
petitions, inquired into their grievances, and conversed with
them on the most equal terms. "From your labors," was he
accustomed to say, (and to say with truth, if not with
sincerity,) "from your labors we receive our subsistence; you
derive your tranquillity from our vigilance: since, therefore, we
are mutually necessary to each other, let us live together like
brothers in concord and love." Such a festival must indeed have
degenerated, in a wealthy and despotic empire, into a theatrical
representation; but it was at least a comedy well worthy of a
royal audience, and which might sometimes imprint a salutary
lesson on the mind of a young prince.
Had Zoroaster, in all his institutions, invariably supported
this exalted character, his name would deserve a place with those
of Numa and Confucius, and his system would be justly entitled to
all the applause, which it has pleased some of our divines, and
even some of our philosophers, to bestow on it. But in that
motley composition, dictated by reason and passion, by enthusiasm
and by selfish motives, some useful and sublime truths were
disgraced by a mixture of the most abject and dangerous
superstition. The Magi, or sacerdotal order, were extremely
numerous, since, as we have already seen, fourscore thousand of
them were convened in a general council. Their forces were
multiplied by discipline. A regular hierarchy was diffused
through all the provinces of Persia; and the Archimagus, who
resided at Balch, was respected as the visible head of the
church, and the lawful successor of Zoroaster. The property of
the Magi was very considerable. Besides the less invidious
possession of a large tract of the most fertile lands of Media,
they levied a general tax on the fortunes and the industry of the
Persians. "Though your good works," says the interested prophet,
"exceed in number the leaves of the trees, the drops of rain, the
stars in the heaven, or the sands on the sea-shore, they will all
be unprofitable to you, unless they are accepted by the
destour, or priest. To obtain the acceptation of this
guide to salvation, you must faithfully pay him tithes
of all you possess, of your goods, of your lands, and of your
money. If the destour be satisfied, your soul will escape hell
tortures; you will secure praise in this world and happiness in
the next. For the destours are the teachers of religion; they
know all things, and they deliver all men." *
These convenient maxims of reverence and implicit were
doubtless imprinted with care on the tender minds of youth; since
the Magi were the masters of education in Persia, and to their
hands the children even of the royal family were intrusted. The
Persian priests, who were of a speculative genius, preserved and
investigated the secrets of Oriental philosophy; and acquired,
either by superior knowledge, or superior art, the reputation of
being well versed in some occult sciences, which have derived
their appellation from the Magi. Those of more active
dispositions mixed with the world in courts and cities; and it is
observed, that the administration of Artaxerxes was in a great
measure directed by the counsels of the sacerdotal order, whose
dignity, either from policy or devotion, that prince restored to
its ancient splendor.
The first counsel of the Magi was agreeable to the unsociable
genius of their faith, to the practice of ancient kings, and even
to the example of their legislator, who had a victim to a
religious war, excited by his own intolerant zeal. By an edict of
Artaxerxes, the exercise of every worship, except that of
Zoroaster, was severely prohibited. The temples of the Parthians,
and the statues of their deified monarchs, were thrown down with
ignominy. The sword of Aristotle (such was the name given by the
Orientals to the polytheism and philosophy of the Greeks) was
easily broken; the flames of persecution soon reached the more
stubborn Jews and Christians; nor did they spare the heretics of
their own nation and religion. The majesty of Ormusd, who was
jealous of a rival, was seconded by the despotism of Artaxerxes,
who could not suffer a rebel; and the schismatics within his vast
empire were soon reduced to the inconsiderable number of eighty
thousand. * This spirit of persecution reflects dishonor on the
religion of Zoroaster; but as it was not productive of any civil
commotion, it served to strengthen the new monarchy, by uniting
all the various inhabitants of Persia in the bands of religious
zeal.
II. Artaxerxes, by his valor and conduct, had wrested the
sceptre of the East from the ancient royal family of Parthia.
There still remained the more difficult task of establishing,
throughout the vast extent of Persia, a uniform and vigorous
administration. The weak indulgence of the Arsacides had resigned
to their sons and brothers the principal provinces, and the
greatest offices of the kingdom in the nature of hereditary
possessions. The vitax, or eighteen most powerful satraps, were
permitted to assume the regal title; and the vain pride of the
monarch was delighted with a nominal dominion over so many vassal
kings. Even tribes of barbarians in their mountains, and the
Greek cities of Upper Asia, within their walls, scarcely
acknowledged, or seldom obeyed. any superior; and the Parthian
empire exhibited, under other names, a lively image of the feudal
system which has since prevailed in Europe. But the active
victor, at the head of a numerous and disciplined army, visited
in person every province of Persia. The defeat of the boldest
rebels, and the reduction of the strongest fortifications,
diffused the terror of his arms, and prepared the way for the
peaceful reception of his authority. An obstinate resistance was
fatal to the chiefs; but their followers were treated with
lenity. A cheerful submission was rewarded with honors and
riches, but the prudent Artaxerxes suffering no person except
himself to assume the title of king, abolished every intermediate
power between the throne and the people. His kingdom, nearly
equal in extent to modern Persia, was, on every side, bounded by
the sea, or by great rivers; by the Euphrates, the Tigris, the
Araxes, the Oxus, and the Indus, by the Caspian Sea, and the Gulf
of Persia. That country was computed to contain, in the last
century, five hundred and fifty-four cities, sixty thousand
villages, and about forty millions of souls. If we compare the
administration of the house of Sassan with that of the house of
Sefi, the political influence of the Magian with that of the
Mahometan religion, we shall probably infer, that the kingdom of
Artaxerxes contained at least as great a number of cities,
villages, and inhabitants. But it must likewise be confessed,
that in every age the want of harbors on the sea-coast, and the
scarcity of fresh water in the inland provinces, have been very
unfavorable to the commerce and agriculture of the Persians; who,
in the calculation of their numbers, seem to have indulged one of
the nearest, though most common, artifices of national
vanity.
As soon as the ambitious mind of Artaxerxes had triumphed ever
the resistance of his vassals, he began to threaten the
neighboring states, who, during the long slumber of his
predecessors, had insulted Persia with impunity. He obtained some
easy victories over the wild Scythians and the effeminate
Indians; but the Romans were an enemy, who, by their past
injuries and present power, deserved the utmost efforts of his
arms. A forty years' tranquillity, the fruit of valor and
moderation, had succeeded the victories of Trajan. During the
period that elapsed from the accession of Marcus to the reign of
Alexander, the Roman and the Parthian empires were twice engaged
in war; and although the whole strength of the Arsacides
contended with a part only of the forces of Rome, the event was
most commonly in favor of the latter. Macrinus, indeed, prompted
by his precarious situation and pusillanimous temper, purchased a
peace at the expense of near two millions of our money; but the
generals of Marcus, the emperor Severus, and his son, erected
many trophies in Armenia, Mesopotamia, and Assyria. Among their
exploits, the imperfect relation of which would have unseasonably
interrupted the more important series of domestic revolutions, we
shall only mention the repeated calamities of the two great
cities of Seleucia and Ctesiphon.
Seleucia, on the western bank of the Tigris, about forty-five
miles to the north of ancient Babylon, was the capital of the
Macedonian conquests in Upper Asia. Many ages after the fall of
their empire, Seleucia retained the genuine characters of a
Grecian colony, arts, military virtue, and the love of freedom.
The independent republic was governed by a senate of three
hundred nobles; the people consisted of six hundred thousand
citizens; the walls were strong, and as long as concord prevailed
among the several orders of the state, they viewed with contempt
the power of the Parthian: but the madness of faction was
sometimes provoked to implore the dangerous aid of the common
enemy, who was posted almost at the gates of the colony. The
Parthian monarchs, like the Mogul sovereigns of Hindostan,
delighted in the pastoral life of their Scythian ancestors; and
the Imperial camp was frequently pitched in the plain of
Ctesiphon, on the eastern bank of the Tigris, at the distance of
only three miles from Seleucia. The innumerable attendants on
luxury and despotism resorted to the court, and the little
village of Ctesiphon insensibly swelled into a great city. Under
the reign of Marcus, the Roman generals penetrated as far as
Ctesiphon and Seleucia. They were received as friends by the
Greek colony; they attacked as enemies the seat of the Parthian
kings; yet both cities experienced the same treatment. The sack
and conflagration of Seleucia, with the massacre of three hundred
thousand of the inhabitants, tarnished the glory of the Roman
triumph. Seleucia, already exhausted by the neighborhood of a too
powerful rival, sunk under the fatal blow; but Ctesiphon, in
about thirty-three years, had sufficiently recovered its strength
to maintain an obstinate siege against the emperor Severus. The
city was, however, taken by assault; the king, who defended it in
person, escaped with precipitation; a hundred thousand captives,
and a rich booty, rewarded the fatigues of the Roman soldiers.
Notwithstanding these misfortunes, Ctesiphon succeeded to Babylon
and to Seleucia, as one of the great capitals of the East. In
summer, the monarch of Persia enjoyed at Ecbatana the cool
breezes of the mountains of Media; but the mildness of the
climate engaged him to prefer Ctesiphon for his winter
residence.
From these successful inroads the Romans derived no real or
lasting benefit; nor did they attempt to preserve such distant
conquests, separated from the provinces of the empire by a large
tract of intermediate desert. The reduction of the kingdom of
Osrhoene was an acquisition of less splendor indeed, but of a far
more solid advantage. That little state occupied the northern and
most fertile part of Mesopotamia, between the Euphrates and the
Tigris. Edessa, its capital, was situated about twenty miles
beyond the former of those rivers; and the inhabitants, since the
time of Alexander, were a mixed race of Greeks, Arabs, Syrians,
and Armenians. The feeble sovereigns of Osrhoene, placed on the
dangerous verge of two contending empires, were attached from
inclination to the Parthian cause; but the superior power of Rome
exacted from them a reluctant homage, which is still attested by
their medals. After the conclusion of the Parthian war under
Marcus, it was judged prudent to secure some substantia, pledges
of their doubtful fidelity. Forts were constructed in several
parts of the country, and a Roman garrison was fixed in the
strong town of Nisibis. During the troubles that followed the
death of Commodus, the princes of Osrhoene attempted to shake off
the yoke; but the stern policy of Severus confirmed their
dependence, and the perfidy of Caracalla completed the easy
conquest. Abgarus, the last king of Edessa, was sent in chains to
Rome, his dominions reduced into a province, and his capital
dignified with the rank of colony; and thus the Romans, about ten
years before the fall of the Parthian monarchy, obtained a firm
and permanent establishment beyond the Euphrates.
Prudence as well as glory might have justified a war on the
side of Artaxerxes, had his views been confined to the defence or
acquisition of a useful frontier. but the ambitious Persian
openly avowed a far more extensive design of conquest; and he
thought himself able to support his lofty pretensions by the arms
of reason as well as by those of power. Cyrus, he alleged, had
first subdued, and his successors had for a long time possessed,
the whole extent of Asia, as far as the Propontis and the
Ægean Sea; the provinces of Caria and Ionia, under their
empire, had been governed by Persian satraps, and all Egypt, to
the confines of Æthiopia, had acknowledged their
sovereignty. Their rights had been suspended, but not destroyed,
by a long usurpation; and as soon as he received the Persian
diadem, which birth and successful valor had placed upon his
head, the first great duty of his station called upon him to
restore the ancient limits and splendor of the monarchy. The
Great King, therefore, (such was the haughty style of his
embassies to the emperor Alexander,) commanded the Romans
instantly to depart from all the provinces of his ancestors, and,
yielding to the Persians the empire of Asia, to content
themselves with the undisturbed possession of Europe. This
haughty mandate was delivered by four hundred of the tallest and
most beautiful of the Persians; who, by their fine horses,
splendid arms, and rich apparel, displayed the pride and
greatness of their master. Such an embassy was much less an offer
of negotiation than a declaration of war. Both Alexander Severus
and Artaxerxes, collecting the military force of the Roman and
Persian monarchies, resolved in this important contest to lead
their armies in person.
If we credit what should seem the most authentic of all
records, an oration, still extant, and delivered by the emperor
himself to the senate, we must allow that the victory of
Alexander Severus was not inferior to any of those formerly
obtained over the Persians by the son of Philip. The army of the
Great King consisted of one hundred and twenty thousand horse,
clothed in complete armor of steel; of seven hundred elephants,
with towers filled with archers on their backs, and of eighteen
hundred chariots armed with scythes. This formidable host, the
like of which is not to be found in eastern history, and has
scarcely been imagined in eastern romance, was discomfited in a
great battle, in which the Roman Alexander proved himself an
intrepid soldier and a skilful general. The Great King fled
before his valor; an immense booty, and the conquest of
Mesopotamia, were the immediate fruits of this signal victory.
Such are the circumstances of this ostentatious and improbable
relation, dictated, as it too plainly appears, by the vanity of
the monarch, adorned by the unblushing servility of his
flatterers, and received without contradiction by a distant and
obsequious senate. Far from being inclined to believe that the
arms of Alexander obtained any memorable advantage over the
Persians, we are induced to suspect that all this blaze of
imaginary glory was designed to conceal some real disgrace.
Our suspicious are confirmed by the authority of a
contemporary historian, who mentions the virtues of Alexander
with respect, and his faults with candor. He describes the
judicious plan which had been formed for the conduct of the war.
Three Roman armies were destined to invade Persia at the same
time, and by different roads. But the operations of the campaign,
though wisely concerted, were not executed either with ability or
success. The first of these armies, as soon as it had entered the
marshy plains of Babylon, towards the artificial conflux of the
Euphrates and the Tigris, was encompassed by the superior
numbers, and destroyed by the arrows of the enemy. The alliance
of Chosroes, king of Armenia, and the long tract of mountainous
country, in which the Persian cavalry was of little service,
opened a secure entrance into the heart of Media, to the second
of the Roman armies. These brave troops laid waste the adjacent
provinces, and by several successful actions against Artaxerxes,
gave a faint color to the emperor's vanity. But the retreat of
this victorious army was imprudent, or at least unfortunate. In
repassing the mountains, great numbers of soldiers perished by
the badness of the roads, and the severity of the winter season.
It had been resolved, that whilst these two great detachments
penetrated into the opposite extremes of the Persian dominions,
the main body, under the command of Alexander himself, should
support their attack, by invading the centre of the kingdom. But
the unexperienced youth, influenced by his mother's counsels, and
perhaps by his own fears, deserted the bravest troops, and the
fairest prospect of victory; and after consuming in Mesopotamia
an inactive and inglorious summer, he led back to Antioch an army
diminished by sickness, and provoked by disappointment. The
behavior of Artaxerxes had been very different. Flying with
rapidity from the hills of Media to the marshes of the Euphrates,
he had everywhere opposed the invaders in person; and in either
fortune had united with the ablest conduct the most undaunted
resolution. But in several obstinate engagements against the
veteran legions of Rome, the Persian monarch had lost the flower
of his troops. Even his victories had weakened his power. The
favorable opportunities of the absence of Alexander, and of the
confusions that followed that emperor's death, presented
themselves in vain to his ambition. Instead of expelling the
Romans, as he pretended, from the continent of Asia, he found
himself unable to wrest from their hands the little province of
Mesopotamia.
The reign of Artaxerxes, which, from the last defeat of the
Parthians, lasted only fourteen years, forms a memorable
æra in the history of the East, and even in that of Rome.
His character seems to have been marked by those bold and
commanding features, that generally distinguish the princes who
conquer, from those who inherit an empire. Till the last period
of the Persian monarchy, his code of laws was respected as the
groundwork of their civil and religious policy. Several of his
sayings are preserved. One of them in particular discovers a deep
insight into the constitution of government. "The authority of
the prince," said Artaxerxes, "must be defended by a military
force; that force can only be maintained by taxes; all taxes
must, at last, fall upon agriculture; and agriculture can never
flourish except under the protection of justice and moderation."
Artaxerxes bequeathed his new empire, and his ambitious designs
against the Romans, to Sapor, a son not unworthy of his great
father; but those designs were too extensive for the power of
Persia, and served only to involve both nations in a long series
of destructive wars and reciprocal calamities.
The Persians, long since civilized and corrupted, were very
far from possessing the martial independence, and the intrepid
hardiness, both of mind and body, which have rendered the
northern barbarians masters of the world. The science of war,
that constituted the more rational force of Greece and Rome, as
it now does of Europe, never made any considerable progress in
the East. Those disciplined evolutions which harmonize and
animate a confused multitude, were unknown to the Persians. They
were equally unskilled in the arts of constructing, besieging, or
defending regular fortifications. They trusted more to their
numbers than to their courage; more to their courage than to
their discipline. The infantry was a half-armed, spiritless crowd
of peasants, levied in haste by the allurements of plunder, and
as easily dispersed by a victory as by a defeat. The monarch and
his nobles transported into the camp the pride and luxury of the
seraglio. Their military operations were impeded by a useless
train of women, eunuchs, horses, and camels; and in the midst of
a successful campaign, the Persian host was often separated or
destroyed by an unexpected famine.
But the nobles of Persia, in the bosom of luxury and
despotism, preserved a strong sense of personal gallantry and
national honor. From the age of seven years they were taught to
speak truth, to shoot with the bow, and to ride; and it was
universally confessed, that in the two last of these arts, they
had made a more than common proficiency. The most distinguished
youth were educated under the monarch's eye, practised their
exercises in the gate of his palace, and were severely trained up
to the habits of temperance and obedience, in their long and
laborious parties of hunting. In every province, the satrap
maintained a like school of military virtue. The Persian nobles
(so natural is the idea of feudal tenures) received from the
king's bounty lands and houses, on the condition of their service
in war. They were ready on the first summons to mount on
horseback, with a martial and splendid train of followers, and to
join the numerous bodies of guards, who were carefully selected
from among the most robust slaves, and the bravest adventures of
Asia. These armies, both of light and of heavy cavalry, equally
formidable by the impetuosity of their charge and the rapidity of
their motions, threatened, as an impending cloud, the eastern
provinces of the declining empire of Rome.
The State Of Germany Till The Invasion Of The Barbarians In The Time Of The Emperor Decius.
The government and religion of Persia have deserved some
notice, from their connection with the decline and fall of the
Roman empire. We shall occasionally mention the Scythian or
Sarmatian tribes, * which, with their arms and horses, their
flocks and herds, their wives and families, wandered over the
immense plains which spread themselves from the Caspian Sea to
the Vistula, from the confines of Persia to those of Germany. But
the warlike Germans, who first resisted, then invaded, and at
length overturned the Western monarchy of Rome, will occupy a
much more important place in this history, and possess a
stronger, and, if we may use the expression, a more domestic,
claim to our attention and regard. The most civilized nations of
modern Europe issued from the woods of Germany; and in the rude
institutions of those barbarians we may still distinguish the
original principles of our present laws and manners. In their
primitive state of simplicity and independence, the Germans were
surveyed by the discerning eye, and delineated by the masterly
pencil, of Tacitus, the first of historians who applied the
science of philosophy to the study of facts. The expressive
conciseness of his descriptions has served to exercise the
diligence of innumerable antiquarians, and to excite the genius
and penetration of the philosophic historians of our own times.
The subject, however various and important, has already been so
frequently, so ably, and so successfully discussed, that it is
now grown familiar to the reader, and difficult to the writer. We
shall therefore content ourselves with observing, and indeed with
repeating, some of the most important circumstances of climate,
of manners, and of institutions, which rendered the wild
barbarians of Germany such formidable enemies to the Roman
power.
Ancient Germany, excluding from its independent limits the
province westward of the Rhine, which had submitted to the Roman
yoke, extended itself over a third part of Europe. Almost the
whole of modern Germany, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Finland,
Livonia, Prussia, and the greater part of Poland, were peopled by
the various tribes of one great nation, whose complexion,
manners, and language denoted a common origin, and preserved a
striking resemblance. On the west, ancient Germany was divided by
the Rhine from the Gallic, and on the south, by the Danube, from
the Illyrian, provinces of the empire. A ridge of hills, rising
from the Danube, and called the Carpathian Mountains, covered
Germany on the side of Dacia or Hungary. The eastern frontier was
faintly marked by the mutual fears of the Germans and the
Sarmatians, and was often confounded by the mixture of warring
and confederating tribes of the two nations. In the remote
darkness of the north, the ancients imperfectly descried a frozen
ocean that lay beyond the Baltic Sea, and beyond the Peninsula,
or islands of Scandinavia.
Some ingenious writers have suspected that Europe was much
colder formerly than it is at present; and the most ancient
descriptions of the climate of Germany tend exceedingly to
confirm their theory. The general complaints of intense frost and
eternal winter, are perhaps little to be regarded, since we have
no method of reducing to the accurate standard of the
thermometer, the feelings, or the expressions, of an orator born
in the happier regions of Greece or Asia. But I shall select two
remarkable circumstances of a less equivocal nature. 1. The great
rivers which covered the Roman provinces, the Rhine and the
Danube, were frequently frozen over, and capable of supporting
the most enormous weights. The barbarians, who often chose that
severe season for their inroads, transported, without
apprehension or danger, their numerous armies, their cavalry, and
their heavy wagons, over a vast and solid bridge of ice. Modern
ages have not presented an instance of a like phenomenon. 2. The
reindeer, that useful animal, from whom the savage of the North
derives the best comforts of his dreary life, is of a
constitution that supports, and even requires, the most intense
cold. He is found on the rock of Spitzberg, within ten degrees of
the Pole; he seems to delight in the snows of Lapland and
Siberia: but at present he cannot subsist, much less multiply, in
any country to the south of the Baltic. In the time of
Cæsar the reindeer, as well as the elk and the wild bull,
was a native of the Hercynian forest, which then overshadowed a
great part of Germany and Poland. The modern improvements
sufficiently explain the causes of the diminution of the cold.
These immense woods have been gradually cleared, which
intercepted from the earth the rays of the sun. The morasses have
been drained, and, in proportion as the soil has been cultivated,
the air has become more temperate. Canada, at this day, is an
exact picture of ancient Germany. Although situated in the same
parallel with the finest provinces of France and England, that
country experiences the most rigorous cold. The reindeer are very
numerous, the ground is covered with deep and lasting snow, and
the great river of St. Lawrence is regularly frozen, in a season
when the waters of the Seine and the Thames are usually free from
ice.
It is difficult to ascertain, and easy to exaggerate, the
influence of the climate of ancient Germany over the minds and
bodies of the natives. Many writers have supposed, and most have
allowed, though, as it should seem, without any adequate proof,
that the rigorous cold of the North was favorable to long life
and generative vigor, that the women were more fruitful, and the
human species more prolific, than in warmer or more temperate
climates. We may assert, with greater confidence, that the keen
air of Germany formed the large and masculine limbs of the
natives, who were, in general, of a more lofty stature than the
people of the South, gave them a kind of strength better adapted
to violent exertions than to patient labor, and inspired them
with constitutional bravery, which is the result of nerves and
spirits. The severity of a winter campaign, that chilled the
courage of the Roman troops, was scarcely felt by these hardy
children of the North, who, in their turn, were unable to resist
the summer heats, and dissolved away in languor and sickness
under the beams of an Italian sun.
There is not any where upon the globe a large tract of
country, which we have discovered destitute of inhabitants, or
whose first population can be fixed with any degree of historical
certainty. And yet, as the most philosophic minds can seldom
refrain from investigating the infancy of great nations, our
curiosity consumes itself in toilsome and disappointed efforts.
When Tacitus considered the purity of the German blood, and the
forbidding aspect of the country, he was disposed to pronounce
those barbarians Indigen, or natives of the soil. We may
allow with safety, and perhaps with truth, that ancient Germany
was not originally peopled by any foreign colonies already formed
into a political society; but that the name and nation received
their existence from the gradual union of some wandering savages
of the Hercynian woods. To assert those savages to have been the
spontaneous production of the earth which they inhabited would be
a rash inference, condemned by religion, and unwarranted by
reason.
Such rational doubt is but ill suited with the genius of
popular vanity. Among the nations who have adopted the Mosaic
history of the world, the ark of Noah has been of the same use,
as was formerly to the Greeks and Romans the siege of Troy. On a
narrow basis of acknowledged truth, an immense but rude
superstructure of fable has been erected; and the wild Irishman,
as well as the wild Tartar, could point out the individual son of
Japhet, from whose loins his ancestors were lineally descended.
The last century abounded with antiquarians of profound learning
and easy faith, who, by the dim light of legends and traditions,
of conjectures and etymologies, conducted the great grandchildren
of Noah from the Tower of Babel to the extremities of the globe.
Of these judicious critics, one of the most entertaining was Oaus
Rudbeck, professor in the university of Upsal. Whatever is
celebrated either in history or fable, this zealous patriot
ascribes to his country. From Sweden (which formed so
considerable a part of ancient Germany) the Greeks themselves
derived their alphabetical characters, their astronomy, and their
religion. Of that delightful region (for such it appeared to the
eyes of a native) the Atlantis of Plato, the country of the
Hyperboreans, the gardens of the Hesperides, the Fortunate
Islands, and even the Elysian Fields, were all but faint and
imperfect transcripts. A clime so profusely favored by Nature
could not long remain desert after the flood. The learned Rudbeck
allows the family of Noah a few years to multiply from eight to
about twenty thousand persons. He then disperses them into small
colonies to replenish the earth, and to propagate the human
species. The German or Swedish detachment (which marched, if I am
not mistaken, under the command of Askenaz, the son of Gomer, the
son of Japhet) distinguished itself by a more than common
diligence in the prosecution of this great work. The northern
hive cast its swarms over the greatest part of Europe, Africa,
and Asia; and (to use the author's metaphor) the blood circulated
from the extremities to the heart.
But all this well-labored system of German antiquities is
annihilated by a single fact, too well attested to admit of any
doubt, and of too decisive a nature to leave room for any reply.
The Germans, in the age of Tacitus, were unacquainted with the
use of letters; and the use of letters is the principal
circumstance that distinguishes a civilized people from a herd of
savages incapable of knowledge or reflection. Without that
artificial help, the human memory soon dissipates or corrupts the
ideas intrusted to her charge; and the nobler faculties of the
mind, no longer supplied with models or with materials, gradually
forget their powers; the judgment becomes feeble and lethargic,
the imagination languid or irregular. Fully to apprehend this
important truth, let us attempt, in an improved society, to
calculate the immense distance between the man of learning and
the illiterate peasant. The former, by reading and
reflection, multiplies his own experience, and lives in distant
ages and remote countries; whilst the latter, rooted to a single
spot, and confined to a few years of existence, surpasses but
very little his fellow-laborer, the ox, in the exercise of his
mental faculties. The same, and even a greater, difference will
be found between nations than between individuals; and we may
safely pronounce, that without some species of writing, no people
has ever preserved the faithful annals of their history, ever
made any considerable progress in the abstract sciences, or ever
possessed, in any tolerable degree of perfection, the useful and
agreeable arts of life.
Of these arts, the ancient Germans were wretchedly destitute.
They passed their lives in a state of ignorance and poverty,
which it has pleased some declaimers to dignify with the
appellation of virtuous simplicity. * Modern Germany is said to
contain about two thousand three hundred walled towns. In a much
wider extent of country, the geographer Ptolemy could discover no
more than ninety places which he decorates with the name of
cities; though, according to our ideas, they would but ill
deserve that splendid title. We can only suppose them to have
been rude fortifications, constructed in the centre of the woods,
and designed to secure the women, children, and cattle, whilst
the warriors of the tribe marched out to repel a sudden invasion.
But Tacitus asserts, as a well-known fact, that the Germans, in
his time, had no cities; and that they affected to
despise the works of Roman industry, as places of confinement
rather than of security. Their edifices were not even contiguous,
or formed into regular villas; each barbarian fixed his
independent dwelling on the spot to which a plain, a wood, or a
stream of fresh water, had induced him to give the preference.
Neither stone, nor brick, nor tiles, were employed in these
slight habitations. They were indeed no more than low huts, of a
circular figure, built of rough timber, thatched with straw, and
pierced at the top to leave a free passage for the smoke. In the
most inclement winter, the hardy German was satisfied with a
scanty garment made of the skin of some animal. The nations who
dwelt towards the North clothed themselves in furs; and the women
manufactured for their own use a coarse kind of linen. The game
of various sorts, with which the forests of Germany were
plentifully stocked, supplied its inhabitants with food and
exercise. Their monstrous herds of cattle, less remarkable indeed
for their beauty than for their utility, formed the principal
object of their wealth. A small quantity of corn was the only
produce exacted from the earth; the use of orchards or artificial
meadows was unknown to the Germans; nor can we expect any
improvements in agriculture from a people, whose prosperity every
year experienced a general change by a new division of the arable
lands, and who, in that strange operation, avoided disputes, by
suffering a great part of their territory to lie waste and
without tillage.
Gold, silver, and iron, were extremely scarce in Germany. Its
barbarous inhabitants wanted both skill and patience to
investigate those rich veins of silver, which have so liberally
rewarded the attention of the princes of Brunswick and Saxony.
Sweden, which now supplies Europe with iron, was equally ignorant
of its own riches; and the appearance of the arms of the Germans
furnished a sufficient proof how little iron they were able to
bestow on what they must have deemed the noblest use of that
metal. The various transactions of peace and war had introduced
some Roman coins (chiefly silver) among the borderers of the
Rhine and Danube; but the more distant tribes were absolutely
unacquainted with the use of money, carried on their confined
traffic by the exchange of commodities, and prized their rude
earthen vessels as of equal value with the silver vases, the
presents of Rome to their princes and ambassadors. To a mind
capable of reflection, such leading facts convey more
instruction, than a tedious detail of subordinate circumstances.
The value of money has been settled by general consent to express
our wants and our property, as letters were invented to express
our ideas; and both these institutions, by giving a more active
energy to the powers and passions of human nature, have
contributed to multiply the objects they were designed to
represent. The use of gold and silver is in a great measure
factitious; but it would be impossible to enumerate the important
and various services which agriculture, and all the arts, have
received from iron, when tempered and fashioned by the operation
of fire, and the dexterous hand of man. Money, in a word, is the
most universal incitement, iron the most powerful instrument, of
human industry; and it is very difficult to conceive by what
means a people, neither actuated by the one, nor seconded by the
other, could emerge from the grossest barbarism.
If we contemplate a savage nation in any part of the globe, a
supine indolence and a carelessness of futurity will be found to
constitute their general character. In a civilized state, every
faculty of man is expanded and exercised; and the great chain of
mutual dependence connects and embraces the several members of
society. The most numerous portion of it is employed in constant
and useful labor. The select few, placed by fortune above that
necessity, can, however, fill up their time by the pursuits of
interest or glory, by the improvement of their estate or of their
understanding, by the duties, the pleasures, and even the follies
of social life. The Germans were not possessed of these varied
resources. The care of the house and family, the management of
the land and cattle, were delegated to the old and the infirm, to
women and slaves. The lazy warrior, destitute of every art that
might employ his leisure hours, consumed his days and nights in
the animal gratifications of sleep and food. And yet, by a
wonderful diversity of nature, (according to the remark of a
writer who had pierced into its darkest recesses,) the same
barbarians are by turns the most indolent and the most restless
of mankind. They delight in sloth, they detest tranquility. The
languid soul, oppressed with its own weight, anxiously required
some new and powerful sensation; and war and danger were the only
amusements adequate to its fierce temper. The sound that summoned
the German to arms was grateful to his ear. It roused him from
his uncomfortable lethargy, gave him an active pursuit, and, by
strong exercise of the body, and violent emotions of the mind,
restored him to a more lively sense of his existence. In the dull
intervals of peace, these barbarians were immoderately addicted
to deep gaming and excessive drinking; both of which, by
different means, the one by inflaming their passions, the other
by extinguishing their reason, alike relieved them from the pain
of thinking. They gloried in passing whole days and nights at
table; and the blood of friends and relations often stained their
numerous and drunken assemblies. Their debts of honor (for in
that light they have transmitted to us those of play) they
discharged with the most romantic fidelity. The desperate
gamester, who had staked his person and liberty on a last throw
of the dice, patiently submitted to the decision of fortune, and
suffered himself to be bound, chastised, and sold into remote
slavery, by his weaker but more lucky antagonist.
Strong beer, a liquor extracted with very little art from
wheat or barley, and corrupted (as it is strongly
expressed by Tacitus) into a certain semblance of wine, was
sufficient for the gross purposes of German debauchery. But those
who had tasted the rich wines of Italy, and afterwards of Gaul,
sighed for that more delicious species of intoxication. They
attempted not, however, (as has since been executed with so much
success,) to naturalize the vine on the banks of the Rhine and
Danube; nor did they endeavor to procure by industry the
materials of an advantageous commerce. To solicit by labor what
might be ravished by arms, was esteemed unworthy of the German
spirit. The intemperate thirst of strong liquors often urged the
barbarians to invade the provinces on which art or nature had
bestowed those much envied presents. The Tuscan who betrayed his
country to the Celtic nations, attracted them into Italy by the
prospect of the rich fruits and delicious wines, the productions
of a happier climate. And in the same manner the German
auxiliaries, invited into France during the civil wars of the
sixteenth century, were allured by the promise of plenteous
quarters in the provinces of Champaigne and Burgundy.
Drunkenness, the most illiberal, but not the most dangerous of
our vices, was sometimes capable, in a less civilized
state of mankind, of occasioning a battle, a war, or a
revolution.
The climate of ancient Germany has been modified, and the soil
fertilized, by the labor of ten centuries from the time of
Charlemagne. The same extent of ground which at present
maintains, in ease and plenty, a million of husbandmen and
artificers, was unable to supply a hundred thousand lazy warriors
with the simple necessaries of life. The Germans abandoned their
immense forests to the exercise of hunting, employed in pasturage
the most considerable part of their lands, bestowed on the small
remainder a rude and careless cultivation, and then accused the
scantiness and sterility of a country that refused to maintain
the multitude of its inhabitants. When the return of famine
severely admonished them of the importance of the arts, the
national distress was sometimes alleviated by the emigration of a
third, perhaps, or a fourth part of their youth. The possession
and the enjoyment of property are the pledges which bind a
civilized people to an improved country. But the Germans, who
carried with them what they most valued, their arms, their
cattle, and their women, cheerfully abandoned the vast silence of
their woods for the unbounded hopes of plunder and conquest. The
innumerable swarms that issued, or seemed to issue, from the
great storehouse of nations, were multiplied by the fears of the
vanquished, and by the credulity of succeeding ages. And from
facts thus exaggerated, an opinion was gradually established, and
has been supported by writers of distinguished reputation, that,
in the age of Cæsar and Tacitus, the inhabitants of the
North were far more numerous than they are in our days. A more
serious inquiry into the causes of population seems to have
convinced modern philosophers of the falsehood, and indeed the
impossibility, of the supposition. To the names of Mariana and of
Machiavel, we can oppose the equal names of Robertson and
Hume.
A warlike nation like the Germans, without either cities, letters, arts, or money, found some compensation for this savage state in the enjoyment of liberty. Their poverty secured their freedom, since our desires and our possessions are the stron