him before the close of his long and useful life to impress himself
upon his contemporaries as very few even of the greatest have done.
Our late beloved sovereign, Tiberius, perhaps the keenest judge of
men in the whole Empire, is said to have remarked one evening in the
smoking-room to his guests, when Herod had but recently left the
apartment: "Gentlemen, that man is the corner-stone of my Eastern
policy," and the tone in which His Majesty expressed this opinion was,
we may be sure, that not only of considered judgment, but of equally
considered reverence and praise.
It is a striking testimony to Mr. Herod's character that while he was
still quite unknown (save, of course, as the heir of his father) he
mastered the Greek and Latin tongues, and we find in his diary the
shrewd remark that as the first was necessary to culture, so was the
second to statesmanship.
It would have been impossible to choose a more difficult moment
than that in which the then unknown Oriental lad was entrusted by
the Imperial Government with the task which he has so triumphantly
accomplished. The Levant, as our readers know, presents problems of
peculiar difficulty, and though we can hardly doubt that the free and
democratic genius of our country would at last have solved them, we owe
it to the memory of this remarkable personality that the solution of
them should have been so triumphantly successful.
We will not here recapitulate the obscure and often petty intrigues
which have combined to give the politics of Judæa and its neighbourhood
a character of anarchy. It is enough to point out that when Mr.
Herod was first entrusted with his mission the gravest doubts were
entertained as to whether the cause of order could prevail. The
finances of the province were in chaos, and that detestable masquerade
of enthusiasm to which the Levantines are so deplorably addicted,
especially on their "religious" side, had baffled every attempt to
re-establish order.
Mr. Herod's father (to whom it will be remembered the Empire had
entrusted the beginnings of this difficult business), though
undoubtedly a great man, had incurred the hatred of all the worst and
too powerful forces of disorder in the district. His stern sense of
justice and his unflinching resolution in one of the last affairs of
his life, when he had promulgated his epoch-making edict to regulate
the infantile death-rate--a scientific measure grossly misunderstood
and unfortunately resented by the populace--had left a peculiarly
difficult inheritance to the son. The women of the lower classes (as
is nearly always the case in these social reforms) proved the chief
obstacle, and legends of the most fantastic character were--and still
are--current in the slums of Tiberias with regard to Mr. Herod Senior.
When, some years later, he was struggling with a painful disease which
it needed all his magnificent strength of character to master, no
sympathy was shown him by the provincials of the Tetrarchy, and, to
their shame be it said, the professional and landed classes treasonably
lent the weight of their influence to the disloyal side.
It was therefore under difficulties of no common order that Mr. A.
Herod, the son, took over the administration of that far border
province which, we fear, will cause more trouble before its unruly
inhabitants are absorbed in the mass of our beneficent and tolerant
imperial system.
As though his public functions were not burden enough for such young
shoulders to bear, the statesman's private life was assailed in the
meanest and most despicable fashion. His marriage with Mrs. Herodias
Philip--to whose lifelong devotion and support Mr. Herod bore such
beautiful witness in his dedication of _Stray Leaves from Galilee_--was
dragged into the glare of publicity by the less reputable demagogues
of the region, causing infinite pain and doing irreparable injury to
a most united and sensitive family circle. The hand of the law fell
heavily upon more than one of the slanderers, but the evil was done,
and Mr. Herod's authority, in the remote country districts, especially,
was grievously affected for some years.
Through all these manifold obstacles Mr. Herod found or drove a way,
and finally achieved the position we all look back to with such
gratitude and pride in the really dangerous crisis which will be
fresh in our readers' memory. It required no ordinary skill to pilot
the policy of the Empire through those stormy three days in Jerusalem,
but Mr. Herod was equal to the task, and emerged from it permanently
established in the respect and affection of the Roman people. It is a
sufficient testimony to his tact and firmness on this occasion that he
earned in that moment of danger the lasting friendship and regard of
Sir Pontius Pilate, whose firmness of vision and judgment of men were
inferior only to that of his lamented sovereign.
Unlike most non-Italians and natives generally, Mr. Herod was an
excellent judge of horseflesh, and his stables upon Mount Carmel often
carried to victory the colours--_rose tendre_--of "Sir Caius Gracchus,"
the _nom-de-guerre_ by which the statesman preferred to be known on the
Turf.
Mr. Herod's æsthetic side was more highly developed than is commonly
discovered in level-headed men of action. He personally supervised the
architectural work in the rebuilding of Tiberias, and, of the lighter
arts, was a judge of dramatic or "expressional" dancing.
During the earlier years of this eventful career Mr. Herod's life
was greatly cheered and brightened by the companionship of his
stepdaughter, Miss Salome Philip (now Lady Caiaphas), whose brilliant
_salon_ so long adorned the Quirinal, and who--we are exceedingly glad
to hear--has been entrusted with that labour of love, the editing of
her stepfather's life, letters, and verses; for Mr. Herod was no mean
poet, and we may look forward with pleasurable expectation to his
hitherto unpublished elegiacs on the beautiful scenery of his native
land.
By the provisions of Mr. Herod's will he is to be cremated, and the
ceremony will take place on a pyre of cedar-wood in the Place Bellecour
at Lyons.
XXXVIII
THE "MERRY ROME" COLUMN
A weekly feature of the _Carthaginian Messenger_, quoted from its
issue of March 15, 220 B. C.
It is quite a pleasure to be in dear old Rome again after a week spent
upon an important mission which your readers are already acquainted
with, in the Tuscan country. All that drive through Etruria was very
delightful and the investigation will undoubtedly prove of the greatest
use. But what a difference it is to be back in the sparkle and gaiety
of the Via Sacra. Every day one feels more and more how _real_ the
entente is. Probably no nations have become faster friends than those
who have learnt to respect each other in war, and though the Romans
were compelled to accept our terms, and to undertake the difficult
administration of Sicily with money furnished by the Carthaginian
Government, all that was more than twenty years ago and the memory
of it does not rankle now. Indeed, I think I may say that the Roman
character is a peculiarly generous one in this regard. They know what a
good fight is, and they enjoy it--none better--but when it is over no
one is readier to shake hands and to make friends again than a Roman.
I was talking it over with dear little Lucia Balba the other day and I
thought she put it very prettily. She said:
Est autem amicitia nihil aliud, nisi omnium divinarum huminarumque
rerum cockalorumque Romanorum et jejorum concinnatio!
Was it not charming?
Of course there is a little jealousy--no more than a pout!--about
Hasdrubal's magnificent work in Spain, but every one recognises what
a great man he is, and it was only yesterday that M. Catulus (the
son of our fine old enemy Lutatius) said to me with a sigh: "The
reason we Romans cannot do that kind of thing is because we cannot
stick together. We are for ever fighting among ourselves. Just look
at our history!" On the other hand, I can't think that our mixture
of democracy and common sense would suit the Latin temperament,
with its _verve_ and _nescio quid_, which make it at the same time
so incalculable and so fascinating. Every nation must have its own
advantages and drawbacks. We are a little too stolid, perhaps, and
a little too businesslike, but our stolidity and our businesslike
capacity have founded Colonies over the whole world and established a
magnificent Empire. The Romans are a little too fond of "glory" and
give way to sudden emotion in a fashion which seems to us perilously
like weakness, but no one can deny that they have established a
wonderfully methodical and orderly system of roads all over Italy, and
that their capital is still the intellectual centre of the world.
Talking of that I ought to pay a tribute to the Roman home and to Roman
thrift. We hear too much in our country of the Roman amphitheatre and
all the rest of it. What many Carthaginians do not yet know is that
the stay-at-home sober Roman is the backbone of the whole place.
He hates war as heartily as we do, and though his forms of justice
are very different from ours he is a sincere lover of right-dealing
according to his lights. It is due to such men that Rome is, after
ourselves, the chief financial power in the world.
But you will ask me for more interesting news than this sermon. Well!
Well! I have plenty to give you. The Debates in the Senate are as
brilliant and, I am afraid, as theatrical as usual. Certainly the
Romans beat us at oratory. To hear Flaccus deliver a really great
speech about the introduction of Greek manners is a thing one can never
forget! Of course, it will seem to you in Carthage very unpractical
and very "Roman," and it is true that that kind of thing doesn't make
a nation great in the way we have become great, but it is wonderful
stuff to hear all the same--and such a young man too! The Senate has,
however, none of our ideas of order, and the marvel is how they get
through their work at all. There are no Suffetes, and sometimes you
will hear five or six men all talking at once and gesticulating in that
laughable Italian fashion which our caricaturists find so valuable!
Those of my readers who run over to Rome two or three times a year for
the Games will be interested to hear that the great Aurelian house near
the New Temple of Saturn (the rogues with their "Temples!" But still
there is a good deal of real religion left in Rome) is being pulled
down and a splendid one is being put in its place upon the designs of
a really remarkable young architect, Pneius Caius Agricola. He is the
nephew, by the way, of Sopher Masher Baal, whom we all know so well at
Carthage, and who is, I think, technically, a Carthaginian citizen.
Possibly I am wrong, for I remember a delightful dinner with him years
ago among our cousins overseas, and he may very possibly be Tyrian. If
so, and if these humble lines meet his eye, I tender him my apologies.
But anyhow, his nephew is a very remarkable and original artist whom
all Rome is eager to applaud. When the new Aurelian House is finished
it will have a façade in five orders, Doric, Ionic, Corinthian, heavy
Egyptian on the fourth story, and Assyrian on the top, the whole
terminating in a vast pyramid, which is to have the appearance of
stone, but which will really be a light erection in thin plaster slabs.
Last Wednesday we had the review of the troops. You may imagine how
the Roman populace delighted in _that_! There is a good deal that is
old-fashioned to our ideas in the accouterments, and it was certainly
comic to see an "admiral" leading his "sailors" past the saluting
post like so many marines! But it is always a pleasant spectacle for
a warmhearted man to see the humbler classes of Rome picnicking in
true Roman fashion upon the Campus Martius and cheering their sons and
brothers. The army is very popular in Rome, although the men are paid
hardly anything--a mere nominal sum. The Romans do not come up to our
standard of physique, and I am afraid the Golden Legion would laugh at
them. But they are sturdy little fellows, and not to be despised when
it comes to marching, or turning their hands to the thousand domestic
details of the camp; moreover, they are invariably good-humoured, and
that is a great charm.
It is unfortunately impossible to officer all the troops with
gentlemen, and that is a drawback of which thoughtful Romans are
acutely conscious. It is on this account that there is none of that
cordial relation between officer and man which we take for granted in
our service. An intelligent and travelled Roman said to me the other
day: "How I envy you your Carthaginian officers! Always in training!
Always ready! Always urbane!" But we must remember that our service is
not so numerous as theirs.
I must not ramble on further, for the post is going, and you know what
the Roman post _is_. It starts when it feels inclined, and the delivery
is _tantum quantum_, as we say in Italy. I have to be a good hour
before the official time or risk being told by some shabbily uniformed
person that my letter missed _through my own fault_! Next week I hope
to give you an interesting account of Sapphira Moshetim's début. She
is a Roman of the Romans, and I was quite carried away! Such subtlety!
Such declamation! I hope to be her herald, for she is to come to
Carthage next season, and I am sure she will bear out all I say.
XXXIX
OPEN LETTER TO A YOUNG PARASITE
_My dear Boy:_
As you know, I was your father's closest friend for many years, and I
have watched with interest, but I confess not without anxiety, your
first attempts in a career of which he was in my young days the most
brilliant exemplar.
You will not take it ill in a man of my years and in one as devoted to
your family as I am and have proved myself to be, if I tender you a
word of advice.
The profession upon which you have engaged is one of the most difficult
in the world. It does not offer the great prizes which attend the best
forms of cheating, bullying, and blackmail, and at the same time it is
highly limited, and offers opportunities to only a handful of the finer
souls.
Nevertheless, I am not writing this to dissuade you for one moment from
its pursuit. There is something in the fine arts difficult to define,
but very deeply felt by every one, which makes them of themselves a
sort of compensation for their economic limitations. The artist, the
poet, and the actor expect to live, and hope to live well, but each one
knows how few are the prizes, and each in his heart expects something
more than a mere money compensation. So should it be in that great
profession which you have undertaken in the light of your father's
example.
In connection with that, I think it my duty to point out to you that
even the greatest success in this special calling is only modest
compared with successes obtained at the Bar, in commerce, or even in
politics. You will never become a wealthy man. I do not desire it
for you. It should be yours, if you succeed, to enjoy wealth without
its responsibility, and to consume the good things our civilisation
presents to the wealthy without avarice, without the memory of
preceding poverty, and, above all, without the torturing necessity of
considering the less fortunate of your kind.
You must not expect, my dear young man, to leave even a modest
competence; therefore you must not expect to marry and provide for
children. The parasite must be celibate. I have never known the rule
to fail, at least in our sex. You will tell me, perhaps, that in the
course of your career, continually inhabiting the houses of the rich,
studying their manners, and supplying their wants, you cannot fail to
meet some heiress; that you do not see why, this being the case, you
should not marry her, to your lasting advantage.
Let me beg you, with all the earnestness in my power, to put such
thoughts from you altogether. They are as fatal to a parasite's
success as early commercial bargaining to that of a painter. You
must in the first ten years of your exercises devote yourself wholly
to your great calling. By the time you have done that you will have
unlearned or forgotten all that goes with a wealthy marriage; its
heavy responsibilities will be odious to you, its sense of dependence
intolerable. Moreover (though you may think it a little cynical of me
to say so), I must assure you that no one, even a man with your exalted
ideal, can make a success of married life unless he enters it with
some considerable respect for his partner. Now, it is easy for the man
who lays himself out for a rich marriage (and that is a business quite
different from your own, and one, therefore, on which I will not enter)
to respect his wife. Such men are commonly possessed, or soon become
possessed, of a simple and profound religion, which is the worship of
money, and when they have found their inevitable choice, her substance,
or that of her father, surrounds her with a halo that does not fade.
You could hope for no such illusions. The very first year of your
vocation (if you pursue it industriously and honestly) will destroy in
you the possibility of any form of worship whatsoever. No, it will be
yours to take up with dignity, and I trust in some permanent fashion,
that position of parasite which is a proper and necessary adjunct in
every wealthy family, and which, when it is once well and industriously
occupied, I have never known to fail in promoting the happiness of its
incumbent.
Let me turn from all this and give you a few rough rules which should
guide you in the earlier part of your way. You will not, I am sure,
reject them lightly, coming as they do from a friend of my standing
and experience. Young men commonly regard the advice of their elders
as something too crude to be observed. It is a fatal error. What they
take for crudity is only the terseness and pressure of accumulated
experience.
The first main rule is to take note of that limit of insult and
contempt beyond which your master will revolt. Note carefully what I
say. No one, and least of all the prosperous, especially when their
prosperity is combined with culture, will long tolerate flattery.
A certain indifference, spiced with occasional contempt and not
infrequent insolence, is what those of jaded appetite look for in any
permanent companion. Without a full knowledge of this great truth,
hundreds of your compeers have fallen early upon the field, never to
rise again. For if it is true that the wealthy and the refined demand
much seasoning in their companionship, it is equally true that there
is a fairly sharp boundary beyond which they suddenly revolt. Henry
Bellarmine was thrust out of the Congletons' house for no other reason.
The same cause led to poor Ralph Pagberry's imprisonment, and I could
quote you hosts of others.
My next rule is that you should never, under any temptation of weather,
or ill health, or fatigue, permit yourself really and thoroughly to
bore either your patron or any one of his guests, near relatives, or
advisers. As it is not easy for a young man to know when he is boring
the well-to-do, let me give you a few hints.
When the rich begin to talk one to the other in your presence without
noticing you, it is a sign. When they answer what you are saying to
them in a manner totally irrelevant, it is another. When they smile
very sympathetically, but at something else in the room, not your face,
it is a third. And when they give an interested exclamation, such as,
"No doubt. No doubt," or, "I can well believe it," such expressions
having no relation to what passed immediately before, it is a fourth.
Add to these criteria certain plain rules, such as never upon any
account to read aloud to the rich unless they constrain you to do so,
never to sing, never to be the last to leave the room or to go to bed,
and you will not sin upon this score.
Let me give you a further rule, which is, to agree with the women. It
is very difficult for one of our sex to remember this, because our sex
loves argument and is with difficulty persuaded that contradiction and
even controversy are intolerable to ladies. Mould your conversation
with them in such a fashion that they may hear from you either a
brilliant account at second hand of themselves or a very odious one
of their friends; but do not be so foolish as to touch upon abstract
matters, and if these by any chance fall into the conversation, simply
discover your companion's real or supposed position, and agree with it.
I have little more to add. Be courteous to all chance guests in the
house. You will tell me, justly enough, that the great majority of them
will be unimportant or poor or both. But the point is that you can
never tell when one of them may turn out to be, either then or in the
future, important or rich or both. The rule is simple and absolute.
Cultivate courtesy, avoid affection; use the first upon all occasions,
and forget so much as the meaning of the second.
Lastly, drink wine, but drink it in moderation. I have known admirably
successful parasites who were total abstainers, but only in the houses
of fanatics with whom this peculiar habit was a creed. The moment these
successful men passed to other employers, I was interested to note
that they at once abandoned the foolish trick. But if it is important
not to fall into the Mohammedan foible of total abstinence from wine,
it is, if anything, even more important never upon any occasion
whatsoever to exceed in it. Excess in wine is dangerous in a degree
to the burglar, the thief, the money-lender, the poisoner, and many
professions other than your own, but in that which you have chosen it
is not _dangerous_, but _fatal_. Let such excess be apparent once in
the career of a young parasite, and that career is as good as done for.
I urge this truth upon you most solemnly, my dear lad, by way of ending.
I wish you the best of luck, and I am your poor father's devoted friend
and your own.
XL
ON DROPPING ANCHOR
The best noise in all the world is the rattle of the anchor chain when
one comes into harbour at last, and lets it go over the bows.
You may say that one does nothing of the sort, that one picks up
moorings, and that letting go so heavy a thing as an anchor is no
business for you and me. If you say that you are wrong. Men go from
inhabited place to inhabited place, and for pleasure from station to
station, then pick up moorings as best they can, usually craning over
the side and grabbing as they pass, and cursing the man astern for
leaving such way on her and for passing so wide. Yes, I know that.
You are not the only man who has picked up moorings. Not by many many
thousands. Many moorings have I picked up in many places, none without
some sort of misfortune; therefore do I still prefer the rattle of the
anchor chain.
Once--to be accurate, seventeen years ago--I had been out all night by
myself in a boat called the _Silver Star_. She was a very small boat.
She had only one sail; she was black inside and out, and I think about
one hundred years old. I had hired her of a poor man, and she was his
only possession.
It was a rough night in the late summer when the rich are compelled in
their detestable grind to go to the Solent. When I say it was night
I mean it was the early morning, just late enough for the rich to be
asleep aboard their boats, and the dawn was silent upon the sea. There
was a strong tide running up the Medina. I was tired to death. I had
passed the Royal Yacht Squadron grounds, and the first thing I saw was
a very fine and noble buoy--new-painted, gay, lordly--moorings worthy
of a man!