SUPPLEMENTARY MATTER CONCERNING THE YEARS 221-222
_Antonine’s Government from 221 to 222 A.D._
The events of the years 221 and until March 222 are mainly a record of
internecine fights and struggles; the Emperor was trying to retain his
position in the state, the women leaving no stone unturned to possess
themselves of power in Alexander’s name. We have traced the events which
led to the adoption of Alexander, and noticed the small amount of power
which his position as heir to the Empire actually put into the hands
of Maesa and Mamaea. We have seen further how the repudiation of the
adoption by Antonine lessened even this modicum of power, and how the
successful attempt to make Alexander Consul gained for their puppet the
official position from which the terms of his adoption had excluded him.
Once that position was secured, we have watched the successful plot
against the Emperor’s life, which placed Maesa and Mamaea in actual
command of the state under the merely nominal headship of Alexander. It
only remains for us to follow the governmental acts of these last months
of Antonine’s life, as far as the authorities will allow.
The first recorded action after the adoption of Alexander was one of
religion. The ostensible object of the ceremony on 10th July, or rather
earlier, had been to free the chief priest of Elagabal from his secular
duties, in order that he might further the worship of the Great God.
To this end, Antonine instituted a magnificent religious procession
through the city, taking his God from the temple on the Palatine to that
in the suburbs. Herodian, with his usual inaccuracy, announces that
this ceremony took place each year at midsummer. Now, the temple on the
Palatine was not finished by midsummer of the year 220, judging from
the coins which celebrate the expansion of the cult, and that near the
Porta Praenestina was even later in its completion. The inference is,
therefore, that the procession could not possibly have taken place in the
year 220 at midsummer. Further evidence is, however, forthcoming; Cohen
mentions certain Roman coins struck in honour of the procession; they
show the God on a car, and date from the latter part of the year 221, by
which time the suburban temple was finished and the procession certainly
took place.
[Illustration: Jovi Ultiori. The Eliogabalium as reconsecrated to
Jupiter, A.D. 224. (From a woodcut.)
Coin struck to commemorate the Procession of Elagabal, A.D. 221 (British
Museum).
Coin of A.D. 221 representing the Eliogabalium. (From a photogravure.)
_Face page 174._]
Before midsummer in the year 222, according to Dion, Antonine was dead.
He did not therefore conduct the Elagabal procession, and as the authors
inform us that Alexander sent the God back to Emesa with considerable
expedition, after reconsecrating the temple to Jupiter, it is very
unlikely that Alexander continued the public parade of an unpopular
worship, even though the God was still in Rome at the time mentioned.
Despite Herodian’s statement that Alexander, as well as Antonine, was
a priest of the Sun, it is fairly certain that the former was never
actually associated with his cousin in that priesthood, and was not in
the least likely to begin the worship after Antonine’s death. The obvious
inference is that, as usual, Herodian was speaking without his book;
_each_ year meant that there was one procession, and one only, namely at
midsummer in the year 221.
The correct interpretation of this function belongs to specialists in
Semitic mythology. There are points about it, however, which incline
one to the idea that its institution in Rome was due to the marriage
of Elagabal and Juno Coelestis. Its real significance lies in the
fact that it took place at midsummer. Ramsay tells us of many such
processions in the East, notably those held during the month Tammuz,
which (owing to the variations of the local Syrian calendars) fell in
various places at different times between June and September. Now, these
processions celebrated the nuptials of the divine pair Ishtar-Tammuz or
Aphrodite-Adonis. The worship of this pair centred at Bylus, not 100
miles from Emesa, and from this shrine, in all probability, Antonine
got his idea of the great procession, made memorable by the coins
struck during the year 221, and also by the inscription to Hercules,
erected either in the latter part of the year 221 or early in 222
(Domaszewski) by the Centurion Masculinus Valens, the standard-bearer
Aurelius Fabianus, and the adjutant Valerius Ferminus, all of the Tenth
Antonine Cohort of the Praetorian Guard. This inscription records their
having taken part in the sacred procession, which seems to have been
of a military as well as of a religious character. The magnificence
was extraordinary. The chariot on which the God was transported was
richly covered with gold and precious stones; great umbrellas were at
each corner. It was drawn by six white horses (the coins give them all
abreast), and the reins were so arranged as to make it appear that the
God himself was driving, while the horses were actually guided by the
Emperor, running backwards, and supported on either side by guards lest
anything untoward should happen. Statues of the Gods, costly offerings,
and the insignia of imperial power were carried, while the Equestrian
order and the Praetorian Guards followed.
The streets were strewn thick with yellow sand, powdered with gold
dust, and the whole route was lined by the populace, carrying torches
and strewing flowers in the path of God. Precisely the same thing may
be seen to-day following the same route and at the same time of the
year. The procession of the Corpus Domini is still a popular function
even in modern Rome, though its termination is no longer the occasion
for temporal blessings such as Antonine’s liberality provided. Herodian
mentions this liberality, and condemns it as a sort of diabolical plot
for the extermination of the citizens. He says that when the festival
was over, Antonine used to mount on towers especially constructed for
the purpose, and distribute to the crowd vases of gold and silver,
clothes and stuffs of all sorts, fat oxen and other animals, clean and
unclean, except pigs, which were forbidden to him by his Phoenician (not
Jewish) custom. Presumably the distribution was by tickets, exchangeable
for these gifts, of which he says each was at liberty to take what he
could seize. In the scramble, many citizens perished either by crushing
one another, or by throwing themselves, in their eagerness, on the
lances of the soldiers. The consequence was that the festival became a
misfortune to many families. But surely to make Antonine responsible for
the greediness of the crowd is as absurd as to record the fiction that
he smothered people with flowers, or took luncheon in the circus when he
was interested in the games, and then evince such harmless amusements as
proofs of cruelty.
As we recorded in the last chapter, it was certainly not long before
Antonine discovered that he had made a vital mistake in adopting his
cousin. We are led to infer that the boys had not seen much of one
another for some time previously, as Mamaea had kept them apart, fearing
her son’s contamination. Now that Alexander was actually in the palace
and in daily contact with the Emperor, incompatibility of temper was the
natural result, though in several places we are informed that Antonine
loved his cousin at least up to 1st January, which interesting fact may
be doubted on psychological as well as on the historical grounds already
recorded. His second mistake had been in marrying his grandmother’s
elderly friend Annia Faustina.
By the autumn of 221 the Emperor had resolved (as we have already
pointed out) to rid himself of both encumbrances at once. For Antonine,
divorces, like marriages, were made in heaven, an opinion which he had
no desire to hide from men. He therefore divorced Annia Faustina without
intending to live a single life, even for a time, because he had grown
weary, was tired of this struggle with his relations. Moreover, he
wanted friends; the _coup d’état_ by which he had freed himself from
the irksomeness of Alexander’s sonship, or had at least tried to do so,
and by which he had at the same time got rid of his third wife, had
naturally caused a break with his family; after which the Emperor seems
to have considered himself at perfect liberty to make any appointments
he chose, and to mismanage the state much as a Claudius or a Macrinus
might have done. It was a period, according to Lampridius, when Antonine
was specially drawn to members of the theatrical profession. Now such
persons are admirable in their proper place, but are not much sought
after in governmental positions. Unfortunately, the Emperor did not
know this fact, and, considering himself emancipated, did as Nero,
Titus, Domitian, or Caracalla would have done: he appointed his friends
everywhere. The biographers, of course, assume that the men appointed
were of loose character, as well as of base origin, without supplying a
tittle of evidence either as to who the men were or what they did when
in responsible positions. The supposition is that they were appointed on
account of abnormalities; the result, as chronicled, is that the state
did not suffer from their mismanagement.
We can quite see the point of view of a boy feverishly anxious to regain
the power and authority which he had lost, and imagining that the one
way to do this was to put his own friends into office, whether they were
barbers, runners, cooks, or locksmiths. Lampridius tells us that men
from each of these trades were appointed as procurators of the 20th,
though how many such appointments Antonine made it is impossible to
discover. In the autumn of this year (221) the soldiers asked for the
dismissal of four such favourites, of whom the Chariot-Driver Gordius,
Praefect of the Night Watch, was one; Claudius Censor, Praefect of the
Sustenances, another. In the same passage Lampridius reiterates the old
lie about Eutychianus Comazon, who had been reappointed Praefect of the
Praetorian Guard about January 222. He again calls Eutychianus an actor,
who changed his offices as quickly as he would have changed his parts
on the stage, and records that it was the height of folly to put him in
command of the guards. In all probability it was annoying to Mamaea,
as she might not be able to bribe the guards as freely as heretofore.
Now, we have already seen that Eutychianus Comazon was a soldier as far
back as the year 182; that he had held this same office (Praefect of the
Praetorium) in 218; that he had been Praefect of the City in 219, Consul
in 220; again Praefect of the City in 221, and that, when in the murders
and proscriptions which followed that of Antonine, the then Praefect of
Rome Fulvius Diogenianus had met his end, Comazon was reappointed to the
city praefecture for the third time, and now by Maesa and Mamaea. It is,
therefore, pure stupidity to condemn Antonine for appointing this actor
(!) to a post in 222 which he had already held with honour, and which he
was to hold again with renown. If none of Antonine’s appointments were
worse than this of Eutychianus Comazon, it is small wonder that the state
suffered in no wise from the mismanagement. A further charge brought
against the administration is, that the Emperor appointed freedmen to the
posts of Governors of Provinces, Ambassadors, Proconsuls, and military
leaders, thus debasing all these offices by conferring them upon the
ignoble and dissolute.
Here is another wilful bit of misrepresentation. A short perusal of
Petronius on the position of freedmen will disabuse any one’s mind of the
idea that they were either ignoble or essentially dissolute. Patricians
they were not, though they aped the manners and extravagances of that
class, much as the plutocracy of to-day ape the aristocracy of yesterday,
both in their wealth and their exclusiveness. Money in Old Rome carried
much the same kudos as it carries in England to-day. The democracy could
and did rise when they had acquired wealth; they were then just as
vulgar, just as ostentatious, just as snobbish as their successors the
plutocrats of this latter-day world; they had the privileges that wealth
confers and none of the responsibilities which aristocracy involves, and
were, equally with the modern plutocrats, without traditions or heredity
to guide them. But this was their misfortune, not their fault. On the
other hand, there was, as a general rule, plenty of ability amongst the
men who had risen. They were clear-headed, far-sighted politicians;
men who, being free from traditions, were best able to cut away the
overgrowth of centuries, because their respect for archaeological
institutions had not degenerated them into mere fossilized curiosities of
an antediluvian age. Certainly they were not all ignoble, if they were
plebeian in origin, and it is mere supposition to say that they were all
dissolute; so indecent a suggestion could only emanate from those who
hoped to gain in comparison.
There was one obvious reason why Maesa and her party should object to
any and every appointment made by Antonine. Men thus appointed would not
be her nominees, and she could not therefore demand the fees payable on
such occasions. This mention of fees brings one to the second part of the
charge against the Emperor, namely, that he sold offices either himself
or through his favourites. It would certainly be more satisfactory if
we knew something as to what he sold, to whom he sold it, or for how
much he sold it. Lampridius is careful not to mention such trivial and
minor details, he just brings the accusation, without either proof or
real likelihood to support it. The main contention seems to be that
the practice is immoral; if so, immorality is as rife to-day as in
third-century Rome. Sovereigns, ministers, cabinets, universities,
churches, in fact every species of authority confers its own offices,
decorations, titles, and sinecures, for all of which fees are still
chargeable, even exacted. This practice of royalties may account for the
charge, as it is unlikely, psychologically speaking, that Antonine would
ever have sought to profit pecuniarily from his friends, and certainly he
would not have appointed enemies, even for money’s sake; he had learnt
too much about the ways of such people in the bosom of his own family.
We have remarked in other places on Antonine’s penchant for giving, and
can well believe that the boy bestowed favours broadcast; that he sought
to fill offices as they fell vacant, by the appointment of friends,
especially with men who had endeared themselves to him, men from whom he
expected loyalty in return for his devotion and generosity. Poor child,
he had yet to learn that sycophants are ever to be bought by the highest
bidder. Lampridius relates the trouble and increase of difficulty which,
by their disloyalty, venality, and unbridled gossip, these men brought
upon their benefactor in return for his trust. Fortunately for all
parties concerned, they met their deaths (doubtless unwilling victims)
along with the master whom they had betrayed. They thought they had
secured themselves, but found they would have done better to secure him,
which is not an unusual position with traitors.
Amongst the number of appointments made for his own pleasure during this
period we must include the return of Aquilia Severa to the position
of wife and Empress. Dion relates that, between the divorce of Annia
Faustina and the return of the nun to connubial felicity, Antonine took
two women to wife; but adds sapiently that even he does not know who they
were, or when the marriages took place. Now, as the time between the
divorce of Annia and the Emperor’s death cannot greatly have exceeded
three months, and as he was obviously desirous of returning to Aquilia
Severa from the first, the story of the two odd wives may be dismissed
as not proven, another of those terminological inexactitudes which seem
to be inseparable from the political amenities of every age; added to
which we must remember that Antonine was still so passionately devoted to
Hierocles that he would willingly have died rather than be parted from
him.
The return of the nun was the crowning point in Antonine’s folly.
Undoubtedly he was getting more and more worried, was feverishly anxious
to repair the damage to his shattered power, was ready to catch at any
straw that would give him encouragement and help. In his extremity he
turned to the one woman for whom he had ever cared,—if we except his
mother, who, poor woman, was of an artfulness so bovine that her support
was a much more useful asset in his enemies’ game than to his own
position. For Antonine, unfortunately, Aquilia Severa was also worse than
useless; she may have cared for him, but her return spelt his ruin and
destruction.
Not that Antonine was by any means at the end of his resources as yet. If
he hesitated, no one knew it. Like Caligula, he must have spent nearly
£400,000,000 of our money, and was radiant because he had achieved the
impossible. But he was worried, and, again like Caligula, in the nick
of time he remembered the sure and certain way to glory. As an Antonine
at the head of a conquering army he would again advance against the
Marcomanni, the men inhabiting Bavaria and Bohemia, whom Commodus had
reduced.
Now, the oracles had predicted that an Antonine should finish this war,
a circumstance which commended itself to the Emperor from more points of
view than one. Like every religious person in the Empire Antonine was
superstitious. Zonaras recounts that the boy wore 600 amulets; but, as
he was not there to see, and the contemporary authors do not mention the
fact, we can dismiss this with similarly exaggerated stories. Not that
the use of these aids to piety or tickets to heaven is even now extinct;
the idea may still be found set forth, with both precision and logic, in
any manual of prayers under the heading “Brown Scapular,” or “St. Simon
Stock.” More ridiculous and more wicked were the figments of imagination,
by means of which men tried to dissuade Antonine from undertaking this
war. They told him that these Marcomanni had been conquered by means of
enchantments and magic ceremonies, the sole property of Chaldeans and
other soothsayers. Remove these enchantments, and those same enemies of
the Empire would break out into open rebellion once more. Antonine,
therefore, sought to know the enchantments and how to destroy them, so
that a pretext might be found for recommencing the war, which he, as an
Antonine, was eager to finish, lest that honour should fall to another.
Here even Lampridius is sympathetic; he says that a war would have
enabled the Emperor to merit the name of Antonine, which he, along with
nearly all the others, had sullied; but the opportunity was not given
him; death came too soon to enable him to make the preparations.
Lampridius now enters upon a few more pious reflections, and in the
course of his argument a few more terminological inexactitudes concerning
the Emperor’s name and family history. He states that Antonine had not
only usurped that august name, but had profaned it, until it became
a name of public ridicule; that he was called nothing but Varius and
Heliogabalus. These remarks are both unnecessary and untrue. The Emperor
was never called either Varius or Heliogabalus. The name of his God,
which he assumed at Nicomedia, was never in any sort of way an official
title; neither does Varius appear on any known coin, inscription, or
document. This Emperor is frequently cited as Priest of Elagabal, Priest
of the Most High God, which title was, by the way, often obliterated on
the monuments instead of the name Antonine, when Alexander defaced, or
partly defaced, these after his cousin’s death.
Like the name Jahwe, the El of the Hebrews, this name Elagabal, the El of
the Emesans, was in all probability considered too holy for common use,
at least during the Emperor’s lifetime. After his death, it was applied
to him as a sort of nickname, just as Caligula or Caracalla had been
applied to former Emperors, or even like the term “Romanist” was applied
more recently to the last Stuart King of this country.[58]
To this latter period of the reign we may ascribe a certain amount
of Antonine’s activity in building. Lampridius mentions at least two
monuments of importance, the first a gigantic column which he purposed to
erect, a staircase inside, round which should be engraved or chiselled,
not the history of the Emperor’s deeds, not even the history of the
family exploits, but a record of the miracles which God had wrought, and
for which men gave thanks. Antonine was murdered before the project could
be fulfilled, and Rome lost the finest of those most beautiful relics of
antiquity—the columns which still grace her forums and market-places. The
second was a high tower which he built in accordance with the prophecy
of certain Syrian priests, that his death as well as his life should be
violent. All traces of this tower and its location have disappeared; so
have the sheets of gold covered with jewels, with which he paved the
court below, in pursuance of his desire to perish magnificently. The idea
of this extravagance was that of a splendid suicide, to be accomplished
by throwing himself from the summit of the tower on to the sparkling
beauty beneath, thus finding sensuousness even in death. Antonine had
read Iambulus; he knew the history of the men in the Fortunate Isles,
who, when they were overtaken by the ennui of sheer happiness, lay on
perfumed grass which had the faculty of producing a voluptuous death.
His conception was not so easy, but what it lost in ease it gained in
splendour.
In addition to these works, mention must be made of the completion of the
Antonine baths, now known as those of Caracalla, the Thermae Varianae
on the Aventine, which are variously named by Pauly as Thermae Syrae or
Surae, and the hall built for the Senaculum on the Quirinal. These are
authentic works, and there are many other instances cited by Lampridius
of this Emperor’s passion for building. We hear of houses, baths, huge
salt-water lakes, built in the mountains and fastnesses of the country
districts. All these were erected, so the story goes, but for a moment,
as temporary shelters for the monarch when travelling, and were destroyed
when once he had reached his next habitation. Even Lampridius states that
such records are obviously false, the inventions of those who wished
to malign Antonine, once Alexander was possessed of the supreme power,
sycophants Lampridius calls them, who makes such a poor show himself when
occupying that unenviable position at Constantine’s bidding.
There is yet another point which must be examined in connection with
the murder of this Emperor, namely the so-called disaffection of the
soldiers. Time and again, throughout the history of the reign, we learn
from coins and inscriptions that Antonine was popular with all ranks
of the army. On the other hand, we have the repeated assurance of all
authors, both Greek and Latin, that the Emperor was continually losing
his popularity.
More reliance could be placed on the written testimony if the authors
agreed as to when this popularity was lost. As a matter of fact,
Lampridius ascribes the beginning, progress, and culmination of this
dislike to each separate year; on the later occasions, seemingly, because
he had forgotten that he had already stated definitely that the affection
for the Emperor was a thing of the past. Nevertheless, the story cannot
be entirely dismissed as a mere fable, since there were two military
risings or disturbances, in the second of which the Emperor lost his life.
The question must occur as to whether these are traceable to actual
disaffection or to some conspiracy. The side-lights which all authors
throw on the progress of events leave no doubt in our minds that the two
risings were definite conspiracies, worked up by interested persons,—such
wholly unsuccessful plots as those of Seius Carus and Pomponius Bassus
may be left out of consideration here, as they were at once discovered
and as easily frustrated. The fact remains, however, that Antonine
was killed, most probably in the Praetorian camp, and that his body,
having been dragged about the city, was thrown into the Tiber, near the
Aemilian Bridge, or else cast down a drain which ran into the river, in
order to show contempt for his sacred person. Again, there was no effort
made to punish the wrong-doers. The Praetorians themselves, when they
knew of the murder, made no outcry, which circumstances tend to show a
certain amount of acquiescence on the part of the soldiers and people.
How, then, had Antonine alienated in 222 the men who in 220 testified
such devotion to his person and rule?
A considerable amount of disaffection can be traced to the foolish
neglect which the Emperor showed towards his troops. He was their
nominee; to them he owed his throne. He had promised them the money,
privileges, and affection which had been his father’s special care. Once
in sure possession of the Empire, this policy was changed. The first
congiary in 218 was undoubtedly accompanied by a donative of satisfying
amplitude. At the second (on the occasion of his first marriage) we are
told that the Emperor gave more to the humblest citizen of Rome, more to
the wives of the Senators, than he bestowed on the men who had placed
him on the throne a year previously. There is no record of any other
liberality until the early part of the year 221, on the occasion of the
dual marriage, his own with Aquilia Severa and that of his God with
Vesta, the Madonna of Old Rome. On this occasion no mention is made of
any money distributed to the military forces. The same may be said for
the fourth liberality, given in July 221, to celebrate the adoption of
Alexander.
These official liberalities were by no means the only distributions
by which Antonine endeared himself to the civilian populace. On the
occasion of his taking the Consulate, he went out of his way to bestow
magnificent gifts on the populace. After the great summer procession in
221 he distributed a vast number of costly presents amongst the crowd. He
instituted two lotteries, one for the comedians, one for the citizens.
He gave to his friends and to the poor more than they could carry away,
but on all of these occasions we are expressly told that he limited his
generosity to the civil population.
Obviously Antonine was tired of the army. And, being Emperor, he decided
to give to whomsoever he pleased, to neglect whom he would. It was not
immoral, at least in our judgment, it was stupid, which is far worse,
and, as every one has discovered for himself, stupidity brings greater
penalties than immorality.
Of the fourth and fifth congiaries, concerning which Mediobarbus speaks,
we can say nothing, as in the opinion of competent numismatists (Cohen
and Eckhel) they do not belong to this reign at all; there certainly
are coins bearing the inscription “Marcus Aurelius Antoninus,” and on
the obverse “Liberalitas V. VI.”; but science and discrimination now
assign these to the reign of Caracalla, not to that of the Emperor under
discussion.
There is certainly one point of view from which this neglect of the
soldiers appeared immoral, namely, the military. Promises had been made
and, as is usual with promises, they had been broken. Mamaea took
advantage of this circumstance, and small wonder if, her secret, though
regular, distributions aiding, the lords of Rome felt that their position
was ignominious when they saw others, actors, sycophants, loafers,
procurers, strumpets, and the like, receiving what they felt was theirs
by right; small wonder if they listened to and profited by her promises
of the substantial gratitude which would follow the substitution of
Alexander for the ungrateful civilian who now held the purse-strings.
It must be confessed that Mamaea’s money and promises were of little
effect while Antonine lived. The Emperor was certainly well served.
Each plot was easily frustrated; never would sufficient men turn out
in rebellion. When he died, those whom she had paid most liberally
convinced the rest of their proper attitude, and the first liberality
of Alexander’s reign was a sufficient _pourboire_ to close most mouths.
Those who created disturbances followed their master to the grave, or
rather the cloaca.
The exact time of Antonine’s murder is, as we have said, most uncertain.
Dion ascribes to him a tenure of power lasting 3 years 9 months and 4
days from the day of the battle in which he gained supreme command—8th
June 218. This fixes the day of his death as 11th March 222. It is
a statement with which the editors of the _Prosopographia_, Groebe,
Salzer, and Rubensohn, all agree. The _Liber generationis_[59] gives
6 years 8 months and 28 days, and is supported by the _Chronicle_ of
354, which gives equally explicitly 6 years 8 months and 18 days. The
discrepancy is at first sight most disconcerting, especially as the two
latter statements are both—at least nominally—official. The coins limit
the reign to four years at the outside, in consequence of which some
explanation has to be found for the extraordinary addition of three
years in both the _Chronicle_ and the _Liber generationis_. Mommsen has
suggested that a deflection of the two first strokes of III in the number
of the years has created the error in both these documents. Later writers
have accounted for the difference between Dion’s VIIII months and the
VIII of the Latin sources, as due to the omission of one stroke in the
latter, the confusion in the number of days by the fact that an X has
been omitted in the _Chronicle_. Mommsen’s emendation seems perfectly
plausible, but the absurd quibbles used to bring into agreement what was
in all probability for some time a moot point can be passed over without
much mention.
Rubensohn has a much more reasonable conclusion, namely, that the times
given in the _Chronicle_ and _Liber generationis_ refer not to the date
of the battle at all, but to the date of the proclamation or to the
date of Julianus’ defeat, some time during the early days of May 218.
Lampridius, of course, chips in with another discordant note, namely,
that “A.D. pridie nonas Martias” the Senate received their new Emperor
Alexander with acclamations, but for present purposes he may be left
out of count, as we have no confirmation of this very late statement.
Eutropius’ statement of 2 years and 8 months refers only to the
residence in Rome, and Victor’s 30 months is utterly out of the question,
as is also Lampridius’ statement that this monster occupied the throne
for nearly three years. Still more disconcerting than the wild statements
of the biographers is the fact that right up to 8th December 222 certain
rescripts are dated with the names of both Antonine and Alexander,
“Conss.”; two only, one in March and one in October, appear with
Alexander as sole Consul, and this inscription occurs on a rescript dated
“III non. Febr.,” when, if any other evidence is to be accepted, Antonine
was still alive. It was on this count that Stobbe based his assertion
that Antonine was killed, or at least put out of the government, as
early as 5th or 6th January, and that Mamaea used her new power as soon
as ever Alexander was officially recognised as Consul. It is certainly
a theory for which something may be said, but would entirely dispose of
the circumstantial accounts which the historians have left of the boy’s
murder. If this supposition is true, then Mamaea possessed herself of
the Emperor’s person by means of a riot in the camp, immediately after
Alexander became Consul, deprived him of his friends and support, and
thus gradually accustomed the populace to his absence, before she killed
him. This would certainly account for the placidity with which Rome
received news of his death at some later period, but would not account
for the discrepancy of the coins and rescripts, the first of which make
Alexander sole Emperor by the early summer, the second, which call
Antonine Consul, presume that he was still alive as late as December in
the same year (222).
From a numismatic point of view there have been further difficulties
raised as to the length of the reign, on account of Antonine having
reached his fourth Consulate and fifth tribunician year, but these have
been raised by persons who have neglected Eckhel and have not always
verified their references. The regular coins tell us that Antonine
had reached his fourth Consulate and fifth year of tribunician power
when he died. Certain writers, notably Valsecchius and Pagi, have
postulated that the Emperors always renewed the tribunician powers on the
anniversary of their succession, others, such as Stobbe, that the date
of the tribunician power would always be put on each coin when that of
the Consulship was given. Neither of these contentions can be admitted
for an instant, as Eckhel has proved most conclusively, and as can be
further demonstrated from the very coins these writers cite as proofs of
their several contentions. Valsecchius’ theory was that Antonine thought
he began to reign on the murder of his father Caracalla, and dated his
tribunician year in consequence from 8th April 217. This would make him
in his second tribunician year by 8th June 218, and the coins should
appear as “T.P. II Cos.” Unfortunately for the theory, there is not a
single example of this aberration, as Turre pointed out some centuries
ago. Pagi, on the other hand, thought that Antonine dated his reign from
16th March 218, and renewed his tribunician powers every year on that
date; he accepted Dion’s date, 11th March, for Antonine’s decease,
and, in consequence, postulated that coins struck with the legend “T PV
Cos IIII” were struck in anticipation of the event of 16th March 222.
Against this Eckhel urges that the whole theory is utterly unnecessary,
because it throws all the rest of the coins out of date in order to make
a setting for nine, which are in reality perfectly regular.
The truth obviously lies in Eckhel’s theory, which has been rejected by
Stobbe because it is so simple and obvious, namely, that Antonine renewed
both consular and tribunician powers on the same day, 1st January, a
contention which the Fasti Romani amply corroborate. Naturally, as we
know from Dion, the first year began on 8th June, when Antonine’s name
was substituted for that of Macrinus. On 1st January 219 Antonine took
his second Consulship and second tribunician powers. On 1st January 220
the Emperor became Consul for the third time, Tribune of the People third
time. On 1st January 221 Gratus and Seleucus were Consuls, Antonine
Tribune of the People fourth time; 1st January 222 Antonine and Alexander
Coss. IIII and I, Antonine Tribune of the People fifth time. All is duly
set out on the coins in regular order.
The basis for other theories was found by fertile brains when Cohen
listed a few irregularities in the dating, notably three coins dated
T.P. Cos. II, which just inverted Valsecchius’ theory, and, said Stobbe,
showed that the Emperor had renewed his Consulate on 1st January, and had
not yet renewed his powers as Tribune of the People. It was undoubtedly
plausible, but Stobbe omitted to notice another coin whose date is T.P.
Cos. IIII, which, on his own theory of the number invariably affixed to
T.P. as well as to Cos., would signify that the Emperor had never renewed
his tribunician powers at all, or else had renewed his consular powers
four times in one year, both of which ideas are demonstrably absurd.
Along with his supposition that the number would always be affixed to
T.P. whenever it also followed Cos., Stobbe formulated another theory
partly based on the idea which had been enunciated by Pagi concerning the
date of the coins marked T.P. V Cos. IIII, and supported his contention
from an example listed by Cohen as T.P. IIII, Cos. IIII. It was to the
effect that as the Emperors Septimius Severus, Caracalla, Geta, and
Alexander Severus had renewed their tribunician powers about the middle
of January, Antonine had done the same, and that the paucity of the coins
marked T.P. V Cos. IIII is due to the fact that he was murdered very
shortly after, if not before the issue was completed, and the tribunicial
renewal had taken place. Stobbe’s proof lay in the fact that Cohen had
listed these three coins as above (T.P. IIII Cos. IIII), which, this
critic affirmed, were issued after January 1st and before the tribunicial
renewal,—about the middle of the month.
[Illustration: Coin of A.D. 220, misread by Cohen as T.P. III Cos. IIII
(British Museum).
Coin of A.D. 221, misread by Cohen as T.P. IIII Cos. IIII (British
Museum).
Coin of A.D. 222 (British Museum).
_Face page 196._]
But it was mere theory on both counts. As Egbert showed later, the
tribunicial renewal in the case of Septimius, Caracalla, and Geta was
not early in January at all; it was on the 10th of December. Macrinus’
renewal was early in January, so was Alexander’s, but this was not
conclusive evidence that Antonine renewed his powers on the same date.
There certainly are coins, three of them, listed by Cohen, two in France
at the Bib. Nat., and one in the British Museum marked T.P. IIII Cos.
IIII. This was clear proof, said Stobbe, that the tribunician powers were
renewed after the consular powers, and that T.P. V Cos. IIII were later
in the same year (222) than T.P. IIII Cos. IIII. The French coins I have
not seen, but I have had the privilege of examining that in the British
Museum (Cohen, vol. iv. p. 342, No. 197), and find that Cohen has misread
the number affixed to the Cos.; it is listed as T.P. IIII Cos. IIII, but
is in reality T.P. IIII Cos. III P.P. (_i.e._ the year 221). The first P
has been read into the number,—which same inscription is most probably
on the French coins as well as on that in the British Museum, since it
appears gratuitous to impute a mistake to contemporaries by way of making
copy for later critics. I have noted yet another mistake, namely, two
coins listed by Cohen as irregularities; they are dated, T.P. III Cos.
IIII (p. 344, Nos. 210, 211). On these another admirable theory has been
based, namely, that Antonine was going to take the Consulate, had his
coins struck, and then backed out at the beginning of 221, thus before
he had renewed his powers as tribune. Again very pretty, but the British
Museum has the coins, and they are not dated T.P. III Cos. IIII at all;
they are quite ordinary—T.P. III Cos. III, or of the year 220, and there
is no need to transpose the numbers, which is an alternative theory to
that stated above.
The evidence from the coins is quite conclusive. The Emperor renewed his
dual powers either on the same day, 1st January, or on a day immediately
succeeding. As Eckhel pointed out in 1792 there is no coin which, if the
date be correctly read, gives any countenance to any other theory, while
all such are unnecessary and at variance with known facts.
Lampridius gives us a certain amount of evidence that the Emperor
took an interest in the affairs of state all through his life, both
by his account of Antonine’s sagacity as a judge, and his desire to
appoint fourteen praefects of the city, under the headship of the
Imperial Praefectus Urbis or Urbi. Naturally, the desire is attributed
to base motives, namely, in order to benefit unworthy persons. The
scheme, Lampridius tells us, was actually carried into operation during
Alexander’s reign, and is then applauded as useful and necessary, an
obvious bit of special pleading on one side or the other.
It is with a singularly unanimous voice that the authors announce the
general execration against the memory of Antonine, and the joy shown by
the populace in dragging his dead body about the city. All are certain
that the Senate made a general order to deface the name of Antonine
on all monuments and documents through the Empire, as soon as that
dishonoured Emperor was safely out of the way.
The unanimity is wonderful; all the more wonderful because so utterly
unusual. Unfortunately, it is in no way borne out by the inscriptions.
We have mentioned the rescripts which for the most part bear Antonine’s
name throughout the whole year 222. This circumstance is hardly in
consonance with the senatorial action in ordering all mention of the
dishonoured Emperor to be expunged (_i.e._ while they themselves continue
to use his name publicly and officially). Again, there is an inscription
C.I.L. VI. 3015, set up in July 222, which commemorates both Consuls as
though alive; and another, though probably a forgery of Ligorius, No.
570, in which the two names appear on 13th April of the same year. Surely
this would have been impossible if Antonine were dead and the Senate had
ordered his name to be erased everywhere. This order, however, cannot be
taken literally; an examination of the existing inscriptions gives quite
other results.
The name of Antonine is erased, but only in 40 known cases, while in
certain places the name Alexander is substituted for that of Antonine,
which, if usual, is rather a cheap way of getting the honour and renown
belonging to another. A few African inscriptions blot out the Emperor’s
claim to be grandson of Severus, and a few in different parts of the
Empire blot out the title Priest of Elagabal, witness the inscription at
Walwick Chesters. In 52 cases the names, styles, and titles of Antonine
are left intact, which makes it improbable that there was any great
campaign against his memory, such as Lampridius would have us believe
that every one in the Empire was only too anxious to institute.
Dion and Lampridius both tell us that Antonine was called Tiberinus
and Tractitius after his death, in reference to the shameful treatment
which his body was supposed to have met with after his murder, and the
final act of throwing it into the river in order that it should never be
buried. Sardanapalus is another epithet applied to him by Dion and his
copier Zonaras, who also call him Pseudo-Antonine, in reference to his
grandmother’s statement made “through hatred” in 221, that not he but
Alexander was the only legitimate bastard; such and the like were the
taunting adjectives by means of which the biographers sought to defame
the boy’s memory.
Here, for all practical purposes, Lampridius’ account of the Emperor’s
life ceases. There are still seventeen chapters of mere biographical
scandal, some of it illuminating, some hypocritically obscene.
Nevertheless, it has been possible to abstract from these sections a
certain amount of information descriptive of the boy’s extravagances and
their setting, his psychology and its result, his religious ambitions,
and with them the reasons for his downfall.
These are all obvious traits in Antonine’s character, and can be
discerned despite the mass of exaggerations and hostility with which the
pages abound. To criticise these statements in any sort of detail is,
however, obviously impossible on the information at present available,
and furthermore, we are scarcely competent to judge the period from our
modern standpoint of prejudice.
There is no period of history which fully corresponds to these last
years of imperial greatness; few men who embody the spirit which breathed
life into all that splendour, and even fewer in the modern world who
understand the revived paganism of the Renaissance. Here too there was a
difference. In old Rome it has been said that a sin was a prayer; under
Leo X. it was, rather, a taxable luxury. Sinning is still a luxury, but
no longer taxable; the Reformation has set us free from such extortion
and restraint, and supplied us with hypocrisy and cant to take its place.
From Suetonius we gather that the Roman world sinned and sparkled;
we still sin, but are perforce to yawn in the process. The world of
Suetonius was the world _où on s’en fichait_. Our world is the world _où
on s’ennuie_. Hence our inability to grasp the spirit of philosophical
paganism, a spirit whose morality does not consist in improper thoughts
about other people, but in a mind set free from terror of the Gods, not
very much caring what other people do so long as they do not interfere
with us.
It is thus that we must view Elagabalus. To look at him through any
other spectacles is to examine the restless, frivolous, perhaps debased
dragon-fly as though he were a vampire, and then, imagination aiding,
describe him as a stampeding unicorn with a taste for _marrons glacés_.
It is absurd, purely grotesque, this caricature we have of Antonine;
perhaps that is why the world has left him alone, that they may gaze the
longer on a mask that allures. If these criticisms have done anything to
remove part of the accretions with which the world has daubed his figure
at the bidding of his relations, the trouble is amply repaid. Naturally,
this monograph is not the last word; it is, on the other hand, the first,
put forward in the hope that it may at least commend itself as a point of
view. Neither is it a compromise with the proprieties, which are, after
all, in the modern world, little else save a compromise with either our
neighbours or the police; what one expects from them, certainly not how
much they may expect from oneself, or even from Elagabalus.