he would not forbear his jests. For when, amongst other prodigies,
the mausoleum of the Cæsars flew open on a sudden, and a blazing star
appeared in the heavens, one of the prodigies, he said, concerned Julia
Calvina, who was of the family of Augustus; and the other, the king of
the Parthians, who wore his hair long. And when his distemper first
seized him,“I suppose,” said he, “I am going to be a god.”
TITUS (T. FLAVIUS SABINUS VESPASIANUS II) 79-81 A.D.
[Sidenote: [79-81 A.D.]]
Titus, who had the same cognomen with his father, was [says Suetonius]
the darling and delight of mankind, (so much did he possess of happy
endowments, to conciliate the favour of all; and what is extremely
difficult indeed, after he came to be emperor; for before that period,
even during the reign of his father, he lay under the displeasure and
censure of the public). He was born upon the third of the calends of
January, in the year remarkable for the death of Caligula, near the
Septizonium, in a mean house, and a small dark chamber.
He was educated at court with Britannicus, instructed in the same parts
of literature, and under the same masters with him. During this time,
they say, that a physiognomist, being brought by Narcissus, the freedman
of Claudius, to inspect Britannicus, positively affirmed that he would
never come to be emperor, but that Titus, who stood by, would. They were
so familiar, that Titus being next him at table, is thought to have
tasted of the fatal potion which put an end to Britannicus’ life, and to
have contracted from it a distemper which remained with him a long time.
The remembrance of all these circumstances being fresh in his mind, he
erected a golden statue of him in the palace, dedicated to him another on
horseback, of ivory, and attended it in the Circensian procession.
He was, when a boy, remarkable for fine accomplishments both of body and
mind; and as he advanced in years, they became still more conspicuous.
He had a graceful person, combining an equal mixture of majesty and
sweetness; was very strong, though not tall, and somewhat big-bellied. He
was endowed with an excellent memory, and a capacity for all the arts of
peace and war; was a perfect master in the use of arms, and in riding the
great horse; very ready in the Latin and Greek tongues, as well in verse
as prose; and such was the facility he possessed in both, that he would
harangue and versify extempore. Nor was he unacquainted with music, but
would both sing and play upon the harp very finely, and with judgment.
I have likewise been informed by many, that he was remarkably quick in
the writing of shorthand, would in merriment and jest engage with his
secretaries in the imitation of any hands he saw, and often say, “that he
was admirably qualified for forgery.”
Upon the expiration of his quæstorship, he was made commander of a
legion, and took the two strong cities of Tarichea and Gamala in Judea;
and in a battle having his horse slain under him, he mounted another,
whose rider he was engaged with, and killed.
Soon after, when Galba came to be emperor, he was despatched away to
congratulate him upon the occasion, and turned the eyes of all people
upon him, wherever he came, it being the general opinion amongst them,
that the emperor had sent for him with a design to adopt him for his
son. But finding all things again in confusion, he turned back upon
the road; and going to consult the oracle of Venus at Paphos about his
voyage, he received assurances of obtaining the empire for himself. In
this prediction he was soon after confirmed; and being left to finish the
reduction of Judea, in the last assault upon Jerusalem, he slew seven
of the men that defended it, with just so many arrows, and took it upon
his daughter’s birthday. Upon this occasion, the soldiers expressed so
much joy and fondness for him, that, in their congratulation of him, they
unanimously saluted him by the title of emperor; and, upon his quitting
the province soon after, would needs have detained him, earnestly begging
of him, and that not without threats, “either to stay, or to take them
all with him.” This incident gave rise to a suspicion of his being
engaged in a design to rebel against his father, and claim for himself
the government of the East; and the suspicion increased, when, on his way
to Alexandria, he wore a diadem at the consecration of the ox Apis at
Memphis; which though he did only in compliance with an ancient religious
usage of the country, yet there were some who put a bad construction upon
it. Making therefore what haste he could into Italy, he arrived first at
Rhegium, and sailing thence in a merchant ship to Puteoli, went to Rome
with all possible expedition. Presenting himself unexpectedly to his
father, he said, by way of reflection upon the rashness of the reports
raised against him, “I am come, father, I am come.”
[Illustration: TITUS
(From a bust in the Vatican)]
From that time he constantly acted as partner with his father in the
government, and indeed as guardian of it. He triumphed with his father,
bore jointly with him the office of censor; and was, besides, his
colleague not only in the tribunitian authority, but seven consulships.
Taking upon himself the care and inspection of all offices, he dictated
letters, wrote proclamations in his father’s name, and pronounced his
speeches in the senate, in room of the quæstor. He likewise took upon
him the command of the guard, which before that time had never been
held by any but a Roman knight, and behaved with great haughtiness and
violence, taking off without scruple or delay all those of whom he was
most jealous, after he had secretly engaged people to disperse themselves
in the theatres and camp, and demand them as it were by general consent
to be delivered up to punishment. Amongst these he invited to supper A.
Cæcina, a man of consular rank, whom he ordered to be stabbed at his
departure, immediately after he had got out of the room. To this act he
was provoked by an imminent danger; for he had discovered a writing under
the hand of Cæcina, containing an account of a plot carried on amongst
the soldiery. By this means, though he provided indeed for the future
security of his family, yet for the present he so much incurred the
hatred of the people, that scarcely ever anyone came to the empire with a
more odious character, or was more universally disliked.
Besides his cruelty, he lay under the suspicion of luxury, because he
would continue his revels until midnight with the most riotous of his
acquaintance. Nor was he less suspected of excessive lewdness, because
of the swarms of favourites and eunuchs about him, and his well-known
intrigue with Queen Berenice, to whom he was likewise reported to have
promised marriage. He was supposed, besides, to be of a rapacious
disposition; for it is certain, that, in causes which came before his
father, he used to offer his interest to sale, and take bribes. In short,
people openly declared an unfavourable opinion of him, and said he would
prove another Nero. This prejudice however turned out in the end to his
advantage, and enhanced his praises not a little, because he was found
to possess no vicious propensities, but on the contrary the noblest
virtues. His entertainments were pleasant rather than extravagant; and
he chose such a set of friends, as the following princes acquiesced in
as necessary for them and the government. He sent away Berenice from
the city immediately, much against both their inclinations. Some of
his old favourites, though such adepts in dancing that they bore an
uncontrollable sway upon the stage, he was so far from treating with
any extraordinary kindness, that he would not so much as see them in
any public assembly of the people. He violated no private property; and
if ever man refrained from injustice, he did; nay he would not accept
of the allowable and customary contributions. Yet he was inferior to
none of the princes before him, in point of generosity. Having opened
his amphitheatre, and built some warm baths close by it with great
expedition, he entertained the people with a most magnificent public
diversion. He likewise exhibited a naval fight in the old naumachia,
besides a combat of gladiators; and in one day brought into the theatre
five thousand wild beasts of all kinds.
He was by nature extremely benevolent. For whereas the emperors after
Tiberius, according to the example he had set them, would not admit
the grants made by former princes to be valid, unless they received
their own sanction, he confirmed them all by one general proclamation,
without waiting until he should be addressed upon the subject. Of all who
expressed a desire of any favour, it was his constant practice to send
none away without hopes. And when his ministers insinuated to him, as if
he promised more than he could perform, he replied, “Nobody ought to go
away sad from an audience of his prince.” Once at supper, reflecting that
he had done nothing for any that day, he broke out into that memorable
and justly admired saying, “Friends, I have lost a day.”
He treated in particular the whole body of the people upon all occasions
with so much complaisance, that, upon promising them an entertainment
of gladiators, he declared, “He should manage it, not according to his
own fancy, but that of the spectators,” and did accordingly. He denied
them nothing, and very frankly encouraged them to ask what they pleased.
Being a favourer of the gladiators called Thraces, he would, as such,
frequently indulge a freedom with the people both in his words and
gestures, but always with the least violation either of his imperial
dignity or justice. To omit no occasion of acquiring popularity, he
would let the common people be admitted into his bath, even when he made
use of it himself. There happened in his reign some dreadful accidents,
as an eruption of Mount Vesuvius in Campania, and a fire in Rome which
continued during three days and three nights, besides a plague, such as
was scarcely ever known before. Amidst these dismal calamities, he not
only discovered all the concern that might be expected from a prince,
but a paternal affection for his people; one while comforting them by
his proclamations, and another while assisting them as much as was
in his power. He chose by lot, from amongst the men of consular rank,
commissioners for the relief of Campania.
The estates of those who had perished by the eruption of Vesuvius,
and who had left no heirs, he applied to the repair of such cities as
had been damaged by that accident. In respect of the public buildings
destroyed in the fire of the city, he declared that nobody should be a
loser by them but himself. Accordingly, he applied all the ornaments
of his palaces to the decoration of the temples, and purposes of
public utility, and appointed several men of the equestrian order to
superintend the work. For the relief of the people during the plague,
he employed, in the way of sacrifice and medicine, all means both human
and divine. Amongst the calamities of the times, were informers, and
those who employed them; a tribe of miscreants who had grown up under
the license of former reigns. These he frequently ordered to be lashed
or well cudgeled in the Forum, and then, after he had obliged them to
pass through the amphitheatre as a public spectacle, commanded them to
be sold for slaves, or else banished them into some rocky islands. And
to discourage the like practices for the future, amongst other things,
he forbade anyone to be proceeded against upon several laws for the same
fact, and that the condition of persons deceased should, after a certain
number of years, be exempt from all inquiry.
Having avowed that he accepted the office of high priest for the purpose
of preserving his hands undefiled, he faithfully adhered to his promise.
For after that time he was neither directly nor indirectly concerned in
the death of any person, though he sometimes was sufficiently provoked.
He swore that he “would perish himself, rather than prove the destruction
of any man.” Two men of patrician quality being convicted of aspiring to
the empire, he only advised them to desist, saying, that sovereign power
was disposed of by fate, and promised them, that, if they had anything
else to desire of him, he would gratify them. Upon this incident, he
immediately sent messengers to the mother of one of them, that was at
a great distance, and concerned about her son, to satisfy her that he
was safe. Nay he not only invited them to sup with him, but next day,
at a show of gladiators, purposely placed them close by him; and when
the arms of the combatants were presented to him, he handed them to the
two associates. It is said likewise, that upon being informed of their
nativities, he assured them, that some great calamity would sometime
befall them, but from another hand, not his. Though his brother was
perpetually plotting against him, almost openly spiriting up the armies
to rebellion, and contriving to leave the court with the view of putting
himself at their head, yet he could not endure to put him to death. So
far was he from entertaining such a sentiment, that he would not so much
as banish him the court, nor treat him with less respect than before.
But from his first accession to the empire, he constantly declared him
his partner in it, and that he should be his successor; begging of
him sometimes in private with tears, to make him a return of the like
affection.[c]
THE DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII AND HERCULANEUM
[Sidenote: [79 A.D.]]
The reign of this excellent prince was marked by a series of public
calamities. He had reigned only two months when a tremendous volcanic
eruption, the first on record, from Mount Vesuvius spread dismay through
Italy. This mountain had hitherto formed the most beautiful feature in
the landscape of Campania, being clad with vines and other agreeable
trees and plants. Earthquakes had of late years been of frequent
occurrence; but on the 24th of August the summit of the mountain sent
forth a volume of flame, stones, and ashes which spread devastation far
and wide. The sky to the extent of many leagues was enveloped in the
gloom of night; the fine dust, it was asserted, was wafted even to Egypt
and Syria; and at Rome it rendered the sun invisible for many days. Men
and beasts, birds and fishes perished alike. The adjoining towns of
Pompeii and Herculaneum were overwhelmed by the earthquake which attended
the eruption, and their inhabitants destroyed. Among those who lost their
lives on this occasion was Pliny, the great naturalist. He commanded the
fleet at Misenum, and his curiosity leading him to proceed to Stabiæ to
view this convulsion of nature more closely, he was suffocated by the
pestilential air.[e]
Dion Cassius has left us a vivid picture of the memorable eruption
of Vesuvius: “The events which occurred in Campania,” he says, “were
calculated to arouse both fear and wonder; there, just as autumn was
approaching, a great fire suddenly broke out. Mount Vesuvius is near the
sea of Naples and contains a vast reservoir of fire. In former times the
whole mountain was of the same height and the fire came from its very
centre; for this is the only spot which is in combustion; the whole of
the outside is, even to this day, exempt from fire. For this reason,
since these portions still remain intact while those of the centre
crumbled away and fell into dust, the surrounding peaks preserve their
former elevation; while on another side the whole of the part ignited,
having been worn away by time, has fallen in, leaving a cavity which,
to compare small things with great, gives to the mountain the general
appearance of an amphitheatre. On the top are trees and vines in great
number, whilst the crater is the prey of fire and exhales smoke by day
and flame by night, so that it might be supposed perfumes of every kind
were being constantly burned within. This phenomenon is manifested
sometimes with more, sometimes with less intensity; at times even cinders
are thrown out when some great mass has fallen in and stones fly about,
driven by the violence of the wind. Noises and rumblings proceed from the
mountain, and it must be observed that the apertures of the crater, which
are some distance apart, are narrow and hidden.
“Such is Vesuvius, and these manifestations are repeated nearly every
year. But the prodigies which occurred in earlier days, though to those
who gave them continued attention they appeared more than ordinary, may,
even if we take them all together, be regarded as trivial in comparison
with the occurrences of this period. This is what actually happened. Men,
numerous and huge, of a height exceeding that of any human being and
such as the giants are depicted, were seen to wander day and night, now
on the mountain, now in the surrounding district and in the towns, and
sometimes even walking in the air. Then suddenly there came winds and
violent tremblings of the ground, so that the whole plain shuddered and
the crests of the mountains leaped. At the same time noises arose, some
subterranean, resembling thunder, others, coming from the ground, were
like bellowings; the sea roared, and the sky, in echo, answered to its
roarings. After this a fearful crash, like mountains hurtling against one
another, suddenly made itself heard; then first stones were thrown out
with such force that they reached the summit of the mountain; then huge
flames and thick smoke which darkened the air and entirely hid the sun as
in an eclipse.
[Illustration: COLUMNS OF THE TEMPLE OF JUPITER, ROME]
“Night succeeded to day and darkness to light; some fancied that the
giants were reawakening to life, for many phantoms in their likeness were
seen in the smoke and moreover a noise of trumpets was heard; others
thought that the whole world was about to be swallowed up in chaos or
in fire. Therefore some fled from their houses into the streets; others
from the streets into their houses, from the sea to the land and from the
land to the sea, devoured by fear and feeling that anything at a distance
was safer than their present condition. At the same time a prodigious
quantity of cinders was thrown up and filled the earth, the sea, and the
air; other scourges also descended indiscriminately upon mankind, on
the country and on the herds, destroyed the fishes and the birds, and
moreover engulfed two whole cities, Herculaneum and Pompeii, with all
the people who chanced to be seated in the theatre. Finally there was so
much dust that some of it penetrated as far as Africa, Syria, Egypt, and
even Rome itself; darkening the air above that city and covering the sun.
There it gave rise to a great panic which lasted several days, for none
knew what had happened and none could guess what it was; men fancied that
everything had been reversed, that the sun was about to disappear into
the earth and the earth to be shot up into the sky.
[Sidenote: [79-80 A.D.]]
“For the moment these ashes did no great harm to the Romans (it was
later on that they engendered a terrible contagious sickness), but the
year following, another fire, starting above ground, devoured a great
part of Rome while Titus was absent visiting the scene of the disasters
in Campania. The temples of Serapis and Isis, the Septa, the temple
of Neptune, the baths of Agrippa, the Pantheon, the Diribitorium, the
theatre of Balbus, the scena of Pompey’s theatre, the Porticus Octaviæ,
with the library, the temple of Jupiter Capitolinus, with the adjacent
temples, were the prey of the flames. True is it that this misfortune
was due less to men than to the gods; for from what I have said all may
judge of the other losses. Titus sent two consulars into Campania to
establish colonies there and gave the inhabitants, besides other sums,
those which fell in from citizens dying without heirs; but he received
none either from individuals, or towns, or kings, in spite of many gifts
and promises on the part of many of them; however this did not prevent
his re-establishing everything from his own resources.”[f]
It will be observed that Dion writes from the standpoint of a Roman, and
with only incidental reference to the loss of Pompeii and Herculaneum,
which cities evidently had no very great contemporary importance. Yet,
as has been pointed out, the burial of these cities resulted in the
preservation of a mass of documents which, brought to light some eighteen
centuries later, furnishes such testimony to the manners and customs of
the time as is presented by no other evidence extant.
PLINY’S ACCOUNT OF THE ERUPTION
[Sidenote: [79 A.D.]]
Further details of the disaster at Pompeii are given by Pliny the
Younger[g] in two letters written to Tacitus, with the intention of
furnishing that historian with correct materials relative to the
event.[a] He says:
It appears that many and frequent shocks of earthquake had been felt for
some days previously; but as these were phenomena by no means uncommon
in Campania, extraordinary alarm was not excited by that circumstance,
until, about one o’clock in the afternoon of the 24th of August, a vast
and singular cloud was seen to elevate itself in the atmosphere. From
what mountain it proceeded was not readily discernible at Misenum, where
Pliny the elder (at that time) held the command of the Roman fleet. This
cloud continued arising in an uniform column of smoke, which varied in
brightness, and was dark and spotted, as it was more or less impregnated
with earth and cinders. Having attained an immense elevation, expanding
itself, it spread out horizontally, in form like the branches of the
pine, and precipitated the burning materials with which it was charged
upon the many beautiful but ill-fated towns which stood thick upon
this delightful coast. The extraordinary phenomenon now excited the
curiosity of Pliny, who ordered a vessel to be prepared for the purpose
of proceeding to a nearer inspection; but meeting some of the fugitives,
and learning its destructive effects, his curiosity was changed to
commiseration for the distressed, to whose succour he immediately
hastened.
On approaching Retina, the cinders falling hotter as well as in greater
quantity, mixed with pumice-stone, with black and broken pieces of
burning rock; the retreat and agitation of the sea driven backwards
by the convulsive motion of the earth, together with the disrupted
fragments hurled from the mountain on the shore, threatened destruction
to anything which attempted to advance. Pliny therefore ordered the ship
to be steered towards Stabiæ, where he found the alarm so great, that
his friend Pomponianus had already conveyed his more portable property
on board a vessel. The historian, less apprehensive, after partaking
of a meal with his friend, went to bed; but was, however, soon obliged
to remove, as, had he remained much longer, it was feared the falling
cinders would have prevented the possibility of forcing a way out of the
room. Still the town had not yet been materially affected, nor had the
ravages of this great operation of nature reached Misenum; but suddenly
broad refulgent expanses of fire burst from every part of Vesuvius,
and, shining with redoubled splendour through the gloom of night which
had come on, glared over a scene, now accompanied by the increased
horrors of a continued earthquake, which shaking the edifices from
their foundations, and precipitating their roofs upon the heads of the
affrighted beings who had thought to find shelter in them, threatened
universal desolation.
Driven from their homes, which no longer afforded security, the
unfortunate inhabitants sought refuge in the fields and open places,
covering their heads with pillows, to protect themselves from the
increasing fall of stones and volcanic matter, which accumulated in such
quantity, as to render it difficult to withdraw the feet from the mass,
after remaining still some minutes; but the continuance of internal
convulsion still persecuted them; their chariots agitated to and fro,
even propped with stones, were not to be kept steady; while, although now
day elsewhere, yet here most intense darkness was rendered more appalling
by the fitful gleams of torches, at intervals obscured by the transient
blaze of lightning.
Multitudes now crowded towards the beach, as the sea, it was imagined,
would afford certain means of retreat; but the boisterous agitation of
that element, alternately rolling on the shore, and thrown back by the
convulsive motion of the earth, leaving the marine animals upon the land
it retreated from, precluded every possibility of escape.
At length, preceded by a strong sulphurous stench, a black and dreadful
cloud, skirted on every side by forked lightning, burst into a train
of fire and igneous vapour, descended over the surface of the ocean,
and covered the whole bay of the crater, from the island of Capreæ
to the promontory of Misenum with its noxious exhalations; while the
thick smoke, accompanied by a slighter shower of ashes, rolled like a
torrent among the miserable and affrighted fugitives, who, in the utmost
consternation, increased their danger by pressing forward in crowds,
without an object, amidst darkness and desolation; now were heard the
shrieks of women, screams of children, clamours of men, all accusing
their fate, and imploring death, the deliverance they feared, with
outstretched hands to the gods, whom many thought about to be involved,
together with themselves, in the last eternal night.
Three days and nights were thus endured in all the anguish of suspense
and uncertainty; many were doubtless stifled by the mephitic vapour;
others spent with the toil of forcing their way through deep and almost
impassable roads, sank down to rise no more; while those who escaped,
spread the alarm, with all the circumstances of aggravation and horror
which their imaginations, under the influence of fear, suggested. At
length a gleam of light appeared, not of day, but fire; which, passing,
was succeeded by an intense darkness, with so heavy a shower of ashes,
that it became necessary to keep the feet in motion to avoid being fixed
and buried by the accumulation. On the fourth day the darkness by degrees
began to clear away, the real day appeared, the sun shining forth sickly
as in an eclipse; but all nature, to the weakened eyes, seemed changed;
for towns and fields had disappeared under one expanse of white ashes, or
were doubtfully marked, like the more prominent objects, after an alpine
fall of snow.
If such be the description of this most tremendous visitation, as it
affected Stabiæ and Misenum, comparatively distant from the source of
the calamity, what must have been the situation of the unfortunate
inhabitants of Pompeii, so near, of Herculaneum, within its focus? Must
we not conclude that, at the latter place at least, most of those not
overwhelmed by the torrents of stony mud which preceded others of flaming
lava, burying their city sixty feet under the new surface, were overtaken
by the showers of volcanic matter in the field, or drowned in attempting
to escape by sea, their last but hopeless resource, since it appears to
have received them to scarcely less certain destruction?
[Sidenote: [79-80 A.D.]]
The emperor Titus, whose great and good qualities here found every
opportunity for their display, immediately hastened to this scene of
affliction; appointed curatores, persons of consular dignity, to set
up the ruined buildings, and take charge of the effects of those who
perished without heirs, for the benefit of the surviving sufferers;
to whom he remitted all taxes, and afforded that relief the nature of
their circumstances required; personally encouraging the desponding, and
alleviating the miseries of the sufferers, until a calamity of an equally
melancholy description recalled him to the capital, where [as we have
just been told by Dion Cassius] a most destructive fire laying waste
nearly half the city, and raging three days without intermission, was
succeeded by a pestilence, which for some time is said to have carried
off ten thousand persons daily.[h]
[Illustration: THE RUINS OF POMPEII]
AGRICOLA IN BRITAIN
[Sidenote: [79 A.D.]]
It was in the time of Vespasian and Titus that the famous Agricola
campaigned in Britain. In his first summer there (78), he led his forces
into the country of the Ordovices, in whose mountain passes the war of
independence still lingered, drove the Britons across the Menai straits,
and pursued them into Anglesea, as Suetonius had done before him, by
boldly crossing the boiling current in the face of the enemy. The summer
of 79 saw him advance northward into the territory of the Brigantes, and
complete the organisation of the district, lately reduced, between the
Humber and Tyne. Struck perhaps with the natural defences of the line
from the Tyne to the Solway, where the island seems to have been broken,
as it were, in the middle and soldered unevenly together, he drew a
chain of forts from sea to sea, to protect the reclaimed subjects of the
southern valleys from the untamed barbarians who roamed the Cheviots and
the Pentlands.
To penetrate the stormy wilds of Caledonia, and track to their fastnesses
the hordes of savages, the Ottadini, Horesti, and Mæatæ, who flitted
among them, was an enterprise which promised no plunder and little glory.
The legions of Rome, with their expensive equipments, could not hope even
to support themselves on the bleak mountain sides, unclaimed by men and
abandoned by nature. His camps on the Tyne and Irthing were the magazines
from which Agricola’s supplies must wholly be drawn; the ordinary term
of a provincial prefecture was inadequate to a long, a distant, and
an aimless adventure. But Vespasian had yielded to the ardour of his
favourite lieutenant; ample means were furnished, and ample time was
allowed. In the third year of his command (80) Agricola pushed forward
along the eastern coast, and making good with roads and fortresses every
inch of his progress, reached, perhaps, the Firth of Forth. He had here
reached the point where the two seas are divided by an isthmus less than
forty miles in breadth. Here he repeated the operations of the preceding
winter, planting his camps and stations from hill to hill, and securing
a new belt of territory, ninety miles across, for Roman occupation.
The natives, scared at his presence and fleeing before him, were thus
thrust, in the language of Tacitus, as it were into another island. For
a moment the empire seemed to have found its northern limit. Agricola
rested through the next summer, occupied in the organisation of his
conquests, and employed his fifth year (82) also in strengthening his
position between the two isthmuses, and reducing the furthest corners
of the province, whence the existence of a new realm was betrayed to
him. The grassy plains of teeming Hibernia offered a fairer prey than
the gray mountains which frowned upon his fresh entrenchments, and all
their wealth, he was assured, might be secured by the valour of a single
legion. But other counsels prevailed; Agricola turned from the Mull of
Galloway, and Ireland was left to her fogs and feuds for eleven more
centuries.[k]
THE DEATH OF TITUS
[Sidenote: [79-81 A.D.]]
Meanwhile [says Suetonius], Titus was taken off by an untimely death,
more to the loss of mankind than himself. At the close of the public
diversions with which he entertained the people, he wept bitterly before
them all, and then went away for the country of the Sabines, very
melancholy, because a victim, when about to be sacrificed, had made
its escape, and loud thunder had been heard during a serene state of
the atmosphere. At the first stage on the road, he was seized with a
fever, and being carried thence in a sedan, they say that he put by the
curtains, and looked up to heaven, complaining heavily, that his life was
taken from him, though he had done nothing to deserve it; for there was
no action of his that he had occasion to repent of, but one. What that
was, he neither intimated himself, nor is it easy for any to conjecture.
Some imagine that he alluded to the unlawful familiarity which he had
formerly had with his brother’s wife. But Domitia solemnly denied it with
an oath; which she would never have done, had there been any truth in the
report; nay, she would certainly have boasted of it, as she was forward
enough to do in regard to all her shameful intrigues.
[Illustration: ARCH OF TITUS, ROME]
He died in the same villa where his father had done before him, upon the
ides of September; two years, two months, and twenty days after he had
succeeded his father; and in the one and fortieth year of his age. As
soon as the news of his death was published, all people mourned for him,
as for the loss of some near relation. The senate, before they could be
summoned by proclamation, drew together, and locking the doors of their
house at first, but afterwards opening them, gave him such thanks, and
heaped upon him such praises now he was dead, as they never had done
whilst he was alive and present amongst them.[c]
The reigns of Vespasian and Titus were marked by two important
circumstances. The monarchical form of government, for the first time
since the reign of Augustus, showed itself conducive to the culture,
morals, outward well-being, and comforts of life. Besides this, the great
unity of the Roman Empire, as one state, had its beginning under these
emperors, or in other words, from that time forward, little by little,
the provinces ceased to be subordinate parts of the body politic, in
which until now, with the exception of a few towns and individuals, only
the inhabitants of Italy had been citizens, and all others subjects.
The latter change was not only maintained after the death of Titus, but
spread itself later over all the empire. On the other hand, the benefits
conferred on the empire by the personal character of Vespasian and Titus
were only temporary; for the prevalent weakness, and instability of
opinion, and the lack of a definite and firmly established constitution,
made every bad ruler exercise a great personal influence, and his example
had a stronger effect on the life and morals of the people than his
administration. It would have been impossible even for the best ruler to
introduce a better organisation among a people, the great majority of
whom had already sunk too low, and who flattered and served every tyrant
and every vice, in order to enjoy themselves undisturbed. This was shown
immediately after the death of Titus, under the reign of his brother
Domitian.[d]
DOMITIAN (TITUS FLAVIUS DOMITIANUS), 81-96 A.D.
[Sidenote: [81-96 A.D.]]
Ere Titus had breathed his last, Domitian caused every one to abandon
him, and mounting his horse rode to the prætorian camp, and caused
himself to be saluted emperor by the soldiers. Like most bad emperors,
Domitian commenced his reign with popular actions, and a portion of
his good qualities adhered to him for some time.[23] Such were his
liberality (for no man was freer from avarice) and the strictness with
which he looked after the administration of justice, both at Rome and
in the provinces. His passion for building was extreme; not content
with restoring the Capitol, the Pantheon, and other edifices injured
or destroyed by the late conflagration, he built or repaired several
others; and on all, old and new alike, he inscribed his own name, without
noticing the original founder.
Domitian was of a moody, melancholy temper, and he loved to indulge in
solitude. His chief occupation when thus alone, we are told, was to catch
flies, and pierce them with a sharp writing-style; hence Vibius Crispus,
being asked one day if there was any one within with Cæsar, replied,
“No, not so much as a fly.” Among the better actions of the early years
of this prince, may be noticed the following. He strictly forbade the
abominable practice of making eunuchs, for which he deserves praise;
though it was said that his motive was not so much a love of justice as a
desire to depreciate the memory of his brother, who had a partiality for
these wretched beings. Domitian also at this time punished three vestals
who had broken their vows of chastity; but instead of burying them alive,
he allowed them to choose their mode of death.
In the hope of acquiring military glory, he undertook (83) an expedition
to Germany, under the pretence of chastising the Chatti. But he merely
crossed the Rhine, pillaged the friendly tribes and returned to celebrate
the triumph which the senate had decreed him. While, however, he was thus
triumphing for imaginary conquests, real ones continued to be achieved
in Britain by Cn. Julius Agricola, to whom, as we have seen, Vespasian
and Titus had committed the affairs of that island (78). He had conquered
the country as far as the firths of Clyde and Forth, and (83) defeated
the Caledonians in a great battle at the foot of the Grampians. Domitian,
though inwardly grieved, affected great joy at the success of Agricola;
he caused triumphal honours, a statue, and so forth to be decreed him
by the senate, and gave out that he intended appointing him to the
government of Syria; but when Agricola returned to Rome, after having
fully established the Roman power in Britain, Domitian received him with
coldness, and never employed him again.
The country on the left bank of the lower Danube, the modern
Transylvania, Wallachia, Moldavia was at this time inhabited by a portion
of the Sarmatian or Slavonian race named the Dacians, and remarkable for
their valour. The extension of the Roman frontier to the Danube in the
time of Augustus, had caused occasional collisions with this martial
race; but no war of any magnitude occurred till the present reign. The
prince of the Dacians at this time, named Decebalus, was one of those
energetic characters often to be found among barbarous tribes, to whom
nature has given all the elements of greatness, but fortune has assigned
a narrow and inglorious stage for their exhibition. It was probably the
desire of military glory and of plunder, rather than fear of the avarice
of Domitian, the only cause assigned, that made Decebalus at this time
(86) set at nought the treaties subsisting with the Romans, and lead
his martial hordes over the Danube. The troops that opposed them were
routed and cut to pieces; the garrisons and castles were taken, and
apprehensions were entertained for the winter quarters of the legions.
The danger seemed so imminent, that the general wish was manifested for
the conduct of the war being committed to Agricola; and the imperial
freedmen, some from good, others from evil motives, urged their master to
compliance. But his jealousy of that illustrious man was invincible, and
he resolved to superintend the war in person.
Domitian proceeded to Illyricum, where he was met by Dacian deputies
with proposals of peace, on condition of a capitation tax of two oboles
a head being paid to Decebalus. The emperor forthwith ordered Cornelius
Fuscus, the governor of Illyricum, to lead his army over the Danube, and
chastise the insolent barbarians. Fuscus passed the river by a bridge of
boats; he gained some advantages over the enemy, but his army was finally
defeated and himself slain. Domitian, who had returned to Rome, hastened
back to the seat of war; but instead of heading his troops, he stopped in
a town of Mœsia, where he gave himself up to his usual pleasures, leaving
the conduct of the war to his generals, who, though they met with some
reverses, were in general successful; and Decebalus was reduced to the
necessity of suing for peace. Domitian refused to grant it; but shortly
after, having sustained a defeat from the Marcomans whom he wished to
punish for not having assisted him against the Dacians, he sent to offer
peace to Decebalus. The Dacian was not in a condition to refuse it, but
he would seem to have dictated the terms; and in effect an annual tribute
was henceforth paid to him by the Roman emperor. Domitian, however,
triumphed for the Dacians and Marcomans, though he paid tribute to the
former, and had been defeated by the latter.
During the Dacian War (88), L. Antonius, who commanded in Upper Germany,
having been grossly insulted by the emperor, formed an alliance with the
Alamanni, and caused himself to be proclaimed emperor. But L. Maximus
marched against him, and the Alamanni, having been prevented from coming
to his aid by the rising of the Rhine, he was defeated and slain.
Maximus wisely and humanely burned all his papers, but that did not
prevent the tyrant from putting many persons to death as concerned in the
revolt.
A war against the Sarmatians, who had cut to pieces a Roman legion, is
placed by the chronologists in the year 93. Domitian conducted it in
person, after his usual manner; but instead of triumphing, he contented
himself with suspending a laurel crown in the Capitol. This is the last
foreign transaction of his reign.[e]
Domitian’s principal faults were an immoderate pride, boundless
prodigality, and a childish desire to distinguish himself. His
appearance, his voice, and, in short, his whole bearing betrayed a proud
and despotic nature. By his unrestrained prodigalities he was drawn into
avarice and rapacity, and his fear of intrigues made him cruel. Spoilt
by indulgences in early youth, as emperor he gave way to an unbridled
taste for public amusements, cruel sports, gladiatorial games, chariot
races, and a foolish passion for building. These extravagances entailed
a continual lack of money, which drove him to oppression and cruelty. At
the last, he hated and avoided mankind as Tiberius had done and became
insane like Caligula. He was not wanting in intellectual abilities; as
a young man he had made very good verses, had composed a poem on the
conquest of Jerusalem, and had written a better translation of the
poem of Aratus on the stars, than Cicero and Germanicus. As soon as he
succeeded to the throne, he considered it beneath his dignity to occupy
himself with intellectual things; from thenceforth he only studied
the records and journals of Tiberius, and left the composition of his
letters, ordinances, and speeches almost entirely to others.
The first part of his reign was better than might have been expected from
his character. In its early years he showed no avarice, but was inclined
to be generous and magnanimous. He issued some excellent ordinances,
checked the malpractices of complainants and calumniators, as well as the
publication of lampoons, punished partisan judges with great severity,
and kept the officials in order with such energy, that none of them
dared to neglect their duties either in Rome or the provinces; and as
the historian Suetonius puts it, somewhat too strongly, the magistrates
were never more just or incorruptible than in his reign. For this
reason, Domitian was from the beginning hated by the senate, which was
composed for the most part of high public officials, especially as he
showed himself in every respect far less favourably disposed towards the
aristocracy than Vespasian and Titus.
When Domitian observed how few friends he had in the senate and upper
classes, he tried to win the populace by rich donations, public
entertainments, and brilliant revels, and granted the soldiers such
a considerable rise in their pay, that he himself soon saw the
impossibility of meeting the great expense so incurred. He increased the
pay by one-fourth, and, since the finances of the state could not suffice
for such an expenditure, he tried to have recourse to a diminution of
the number of the troops; but had to give up the idea, for fear of
disturbances, mutinies in the army, and the exposure of the frontier to
the attacks of the barbarians. Domitian had not much to fear from the
hatred of the senate; for though Vespasian had cast out its unworthy
members and replaced them by men from the most distinguished families
of the whole empire, it was no better under Domitian than it had been
before.[24]
The great corruption of the Roman Empire of that time is manifest
from the fact that the changes instituted in the highest government
departments by the best among the emperors, were only of service so long
as a good and powerful ruler was at the head of the government. The very
senate, which Vespasian had tried to purify, submitted under Domitian to
every whim of the tyrant. It is impossible to say which was the greater,
the effrontery of the emperor or the baseness of the highest court of the
empire. Under two worthy successors of Domitian, the same senators again
proved themselves reasonable and dignified, not because the spirit of the
times had changed or that they themselves had become better, but because
the man who was at the head of the state powerfully influenced the senate
by his character, and so infused a better spirit into it.
It would be as wearisome for the historian as for the reader to enumerate
the prodigalities, eccentricities, and cruelties to which Domitian
abandoned himself more completely the longer he reigned. In his vanity he
declared himself a god like Caligula, caused sacrifices to be offered to
him, and introduced the custom of being styled “Our lord and god” in all
public ordinances and documents. He squandered immense sums on building,
instituted the most magnificent public games, and, like Tiberius and
Nero, was slave to all sorts of excesses. In order to obtain the money
he required, he caused many rich people to be robbed of their goods or
executed on every kind of pretext. Not avarice alone, but suspicion and
fear drove him to acts of despotism and cruelty.[d] Little by little
he gained, it was alleged, an actual taste for tormenting his victims.
It was said that he took delight in being present at the torture and
execution of prisoners, and that by a refinement of cruelty, he often
showed himself most friendly towards those persons whose death he
contemplated. But allowance must be made in all this for the exaggeration
of scandal-mongers. That he was severe in stamping out all opposition,
however, is not to be questioned.[a] His hatred of the senators was
inflamed by the discovery that many of them shared in the conspiracy of
Saturninus, a rebellious governor of northern Germany. From that time to
the end of his reign he was a terror to the nobility, as well as to the
stoics, whose teachings glorified conspiracy and “tyrannicide.”[m]
The citizens being defenceless, the senate without authority, the
soldiers as partial to Domitian as they had once been to Nero, and no one
except his confidants and servants daring to approach him, the tyrant
would probably never have been overthrown had he not, like Caligula,
made those around him fearful for their lives. His own wife, Domitia,
conspired with some of those persons who had to write down or execute his
cruel orders to destroy him. Chance once placed in the hands of Domitia
a list of the condemned on which the suspicious tyrant had written her
name. On the same list were the names of the two prefects of the guard,
Norbanus and Petronius, and of Parthenius, Domitian’s most trusted
chamberlain, and it was therefore easy for Domitia to bring about a
conspiracy against her husband. To carry it out was more difficult, for
Domitian possessed great bodily strength, and in his suspicion had taken
all sorts of precautions against such attempts. The tyrant was surprised
in his sleeping apartment, and slain after a desperate resistance. The
guards were so enraged at the murder of Domitian that his successor,
Nerva, could not protect the conspirators from their anger, and they were
cut to pieces by the soldiers after their execution had been in vain
demanded of the new emperor.
After Domitian’s death the senate gave full vent to its hatred of the
tyrant. The statue of the murdered emperor was immediately destroyed by
its orders, his triumphal arches overthrown, and his name effaced from
all public monuments. The government was handed over to the old senator
Cocceius Nerva, whom the conspirators had immediately proclaimed emperor
on Domitian’s death. It is most characteristic of those times that Nerva
was said to be raised to the throne, not so much on account of his
services to the state, but because, under Domitian, some astrologers
had said that the horoscope of this man pointed to his becoming emperor
at some future time.[25] It was universally believed that a celebrated
philosopher, Apollonius of Tyana, to whom supernatural powers were
ascribed, witnessed the murder of Domitian in the spirit at Ephesus
at the same time that it took place, and publicly announced it to the
people.[d]
Other superstitions concerning the death of Domitian, together with an
account of the personal characteristics and habits of living of the
emperor, and of the manner of his taking off, are given by Suetonius;
this biography being the concluding one in the famous work we have so
frequently quoted.[a]
SUETONIUS ON THE DEATH AND CHARACTER OF DOMITIAN
With respect to the contrivance and execution of Domitian’s death, [he
says] the common account is this. The conspirators being in some doubt
when and where they should attack him, whether while he was in the
bath, or at supper, Stephanus, a steward of Domitilla’s, then under a
prosecution for defrauding his mistress, offered them his advice and
assistance; and wrapping up his left arm, as if it was hurt, in wool
and bandages for some days, to prevent suspicion, at the very hour
appointed for the execution of the plot, he made use of this further
stratagem. He pretended to make a discovery of a plot, and being for
that reason admitted, he presented to the emperor a writing, which
whilst the latter was reading with the appearance of one astonished, he
stabbed him in the groin. But Domitian making resistance, Clodianus,
one of his chamberlains, Maximus a freedman of Parthenius’, Saturius a
superintendent of his bedchamber, with some gladiators, fell upon him,
and stabbed him in seven places. A boy that had the charge of the Lares
in his bedchamber, then in attendance as usual, when the transaction was
over, gave this further account of it; that he was ordered by Domitian,
upon receiving his first wound, to reach him a dagger which lay under
his bolster, and call in his servants; but that he found nothing at the
head of the bed, excepting the hilt of a poniard, and that all the doors
were secured; that the emperor in the meantime got hold of Stephanus, and
throwing him upon the ground, struggled a long time with him; one while
endeavouring to wrench his sword from him, another while, though his
fingers were miserably mangled, to pull out his eyes. He was slain upon
the 18th of the calends of September, in the forty-fifth year of his age,
and the fifteenth of his reign. His corpse was carried out upon a common
bier by the public bearers, and buried by his nurse Phyllis, on an estate
which had belonged to him by the Latin way, not far from Rome. But his
remains were afterwards privately conveyed into the temple of the Flavian
family, and mixed with the ashes of Julia, Titus’ daughter, whom the same
woman had likewise nursed.
He was of a tall stature, a modest countenance, and very ruddy; had
large eyes, but dim-sighted. His person was graceful, and in his youth
completely such, excepting only that his toes were bent somewhat inward.
He was at last disfigured by baldness, a fat belly, and the slenderness
of his legs, which were reduced by a long illness. He was so sensible how
much the modesty of his countenance recommended him, that he once made
this boast to the senate, “Thus far you have approved of my disposition
and countenance too.” He was so much concerned at his baldness, that he
took it as an affront upon himself, if any other person was upbraided
with it, either in jest or earnest.
He was so incapable of bearing fatigue, that he scarcely ever walked
about the city. In his expeditions and on a march, he seldom made use
of a horse, riding generally in a chair. He had no inclination for the
exercise of arms, but was fond of the bow. Many have seen him kill a
hundred wild beasts, of various kinds, at his seat near Alba, and strike
his arrows into their heads with such dexterity, that he would, at two
discharges of his bow, plant as it were a pair of horns upon them. He
would sometimes direct his arrows against the hand of a boy standing at a
distance, and expanded as a mark for him, with such exactness, that they
all passed betwixt his fingers without hurting him.
In the beginning of his reign, he laid aside the study of the liberal
sciences, though he took care to restore, at a vast expense, the
libraries which had been burned down, by collecting copies from all
parts, and sending scribes to Alexandria, either to copy or correct from
the repository of books at that place. Yet he never applied himself to
the reading of history or poetry, or to exercise his pen for his own
improvement. He read nothing but the commentaries and acts of Tiberius
Cæsar. His letters, speeches, and proclamations were all drawn up for him
by others, though he would talk speciously, and sometimes express himself
in sentiments worthy of notice. “I could wish,” said he once, “that I was
but as handsome as Mettius fancies himself to be.” And the head of one
whose hair was part yellow and part gray, he said “was snow sprinkled
with mead.”
He said “the condition of princes was very miserable, who were never
credited in the discovery of a plot, until they were murdered.” When
he had no business, he diverted himself at play, even upon days that
were not festivals, and in the morning. He entered the bath by noon,
and made a plentiful dinner, insomuch that he seldom ate more at supper
than a Matian apple, to which he added a small draught of wine, out
of a round-bellied jug which he used. He gave frequent and splendid
entertainments, but commonly in a hurry, for he never protracted them
beyond sunset and had no drinking repast after. For, until bed-time, he
did nothing else but walk by himself in private.
The people bore his death with much unconcern, but the soldiery with
great indignation, and immediately endeavoured to have him ranked amongst
the gods. Though ready to revenge his death, however, they wanted some
person to head them; but this they effected soon after, by resolutely
demanding the punishment of all those that had been concerned in his
assassination. On the other hand, the senate was so overjoyed, that they
assembled in all haste, and in a full house reviled his memory in the
most bitter terms; ordering ladders to be brought in, and his shields and
images to be pulled down before their eyes, and dashed in pieces upon the
spot against the ground; passing at the same time a decree to obliterate
his titles everywhere, and abolish all memory of him forever. A few
months before he was slain, a crow spoke in the Capitol these words, “All
things will be well.” Upon this prodigy, some person put the following
construction:
“Nuper Tarpeio quæ sedit culmine cornix,
‘Est bene,’ non potuit dicere; dixit, ‘Erit.’”
“The crow, which late on Tarpey one might see,
Could not say, all was well, but said, ’twill be.”
They say likewise that Domitian dreamed he had a golden hump grow out of
the back of his neck, which he considered as a certain sign of happy days
for the empire after him. Such an auspicious change [concludes Suetonius]
shortly after happened, by the justice and moderation of the following
emperors.[c]
A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE OVER THE GOVERNMENT OF THE FIRST CENTURY OF EMPIRE
[Sidenote: [30 B.C.-96 A.D.]]
In more senses than one the fall of the last of the Flavians marks
the termination of an epoch. As Suetonius intimates, the empire was
about to enter upon a period of better days. The century and a quarter
through which it had just passed had been one of stress and disaster. Of
the eleven emperors whose lives compassed the period, eight met with
violent deaths. Under these conditions there must have been a feeling
of uncertainty, of the instability of human affairs and human life,
permeating the very air. It was pre-eminently a time when might made
right, and except for the relatively brief periods when the good emperors
Vespasian and Titus were in power, there was scarcely a time when any day
might not logically enough be expected to bring forth a revolution. It
required but a dagger thrust or the administration of a poisoned morsel
of food to close a reign or a dynasty. And whether Nemesis came a few
years earlier or a few years later was largely a matter of chance, and in
most cases a matter of no great moment; since the new ruler was almost
certain to be as bad as the last.
As we consider this story of despotic reigns and tragic endings, the
first thought that comes to the mind is, Why was such a state of things
tolerated? Having put down such a man as Tiberius, why did the Romans
submit, even for a moment, to the rule of a Caligula? When such a
character as Claudius had been removed from the scene, why should the
stage be reset for a Nero? The answer is not hard to find. It is inherent
in the anomalous political condition of the empire and the still more
anomalous position of its ruler. The real fact is that the empire was
no empire at all in the modern sense; from which it follows that the
emperors had no such nominal position as the name of the title which we
give them conveys to modern ears.
True our modern word “emperor” is the lineal descendant of the word
“imperator”; just as “kaiser” and “czar” are the lineal descendants of
the word “cæsar.” But modern usage has greatly modified the significance
of these words; and in dealing with the history of the early Roman Empire
it must constantly be borne in mind that Cæsar was originally only the
family name of the great dictator and the first five imperators, having
at first no greater significance than any other patronymic; and that the
word “imperator” meant and originally implied nothing more than general
or commander-in-chief of the army.
It will be recalled that Augustus--shrewd, practical politician that
he was--ardently deprecated the use of any word implying “lord” or
“master” in connection with his name. He was the imperator of the army,
the princeps or leader of the senate, and the high pontiff (pontifex
maximus) of church and state. The practical powers which were either
previously associated with these offices or were gradually clustered
about them by the genius of Augustus, gave that astute leader all the
power in fact that any modern emperor possesses. But while exercising
such truly imperial functions, Augustus remained in theory an ordinary
citizen, all his offices subject to the mandate of the people. He lived
unostentatiously; conducted himself with the utmost deference towards
his fellow-citizens; kept his actions for the most part strictly within
the letter of the law--albeit himself promulgating the laws; and went
through, even for the fifth time, the form of being appointed to his high
office for a period of ten years.
He gained a hold on the affections of the people, as well as a dominating
influence over their affairs. They rejoiced to do him honour, conferring
on him not only the titles and dignities already mentioned, but the
specific title of Augustus, in addition. Yet it must not be for a moment
forgotten that no one of these titles conveyed to the mind of the Roman
people the impression that would have been conveyed by the word “king.”
Had Augustus even in his very heyday of power dared to assume that title,
it may well be doubted whether he would not have met the fate of his
illustrious uncle.
And if this was true of Augustus, it was equally true of his successors
in the first century. To be sure, they succeeded to power much as one
king succeeds another. Augustus chose Tiberius as his successor, and
Tiberius assumed the reins of power quite unopposed. But it must be
noted that in several cases, as in that of Tiberius and again when Nero
succeeded Claudius, the artful machinations employed to keep secret the
death of the imperator until his chosen successor could take steps to
fortify himself with army and senate, implied in themselves the somewhat
doubtful character of the title to succession.
In point of fact, there was no legal title to succession whatever.
Until the form of a choice by the senate had been gone through with,
the new imperator had no official status. There was no question of the
divine right of succession. Indeed, how little the majesty that doth
hedge a king availed to sanctify the persons of the early imperators, is
sufficiently evidenced in the record of their tragic endings. Regicide is
not unknown, to be sure, even in the most stable monarchies; but where
eight rulers out of eleven successive ones meet violent deaths, it is
evident that the alleged royal power has hardly the semblance of sanctity.
Meanwhile, the nominal form of government of the Roman people remained
the same as under the commonwealth. Ostensibly, the senate was still
supreme. Consuls were elected year by year, as before; and how widely the
imperial office differed from its modern counterpart is well evidenced by
the fact that the emperor was from time to time chosen consul, sharing
the dignity then with a fellow-citizen, who, theoretically, was his
official equal.
If such was the nominal position of the emperor, what then was the real
secret of his actual power? It rested, not on the tradition of kingship,
but on the simple basis of military leadership. “Imperator,” as has been
said, implied “commander of the legions”; and he who controlled the
legions, controlled the Roman Empire. That was the whole secret. There
is nothing occult or mysterious in it all. Rome’s position as mistress
of the world depended solely upon her army; therefore, the man who
controlled that army was master of the world. Hence it followed that when
the army chose an imperator,[26] be it a youthful Otho or a senescent
Galba, the senate had no option but to ratify that choice with its
approving ballot. If, as happened after Nero’s death, the army chanced
not to be a unit in its choice, different legions bringing forward each
a candidate, the senate must indeed make a decision, as for example,
between Vitellius and Vespasian, but it was the arbitrament of arms that
ratified the selection. That the senate preferred Vespasian to Vitellius
would have signified little in the final result, had not the army of the
Flavians proved the stronger.
In a word then, this Roman Empire of the first century, whatever its
nominal status, is a veritable military despotism: it is not merely the
imperator who is dependent upon the legions; the very nation itself is
no less dependent. The bounds of the empire extend from the Euphrates
to the westernmost promontory of Spain and from Egypt to Britain. About
this territory, embracing the major part of the civilised world, is drawn
an impregnable cordon of soldiers. Twenty-five legions make up this
_chevaux-de-frise_ of steel in the day of Tiberius. Eight legions are
stationed along the Rhine; three legions in Pannonia and two in Mœsia
along the Danube; four legions are marshalled in Syria, two in Egypt,
and one along the Mediterranean coast of Africa. Of the remaining five,
two are in Dalmatia and three in Spain. Almost four hundred thousand
men make up these legions. Under the successors of Augustus, Britain is
invaded, and made, like all the other frontiers, a camping-ground for
armies. A glance at the map will show how this great barrier of soldiers
circles the mighty empire. Remove that barrier and the empire of Rome
would shrink in a day from its world-wide boundaries to the little
peninsula of Italy, perhaps even to the narrow confines of the city of
Rome itself.
And why should it not be removed? What boots it to the citizen of Rome
that his name should be a word of terror to the uttermost nations of
the ancient world? What matters it more than in name that Spain and
Gaul and Pannonia and Syria and Egypt acknowledge the sway of the
city on the Tiber? The reply is that it matters everything; for these
outlying provinces supply the life-blood of the empire. From these wide
dominions all roads, as the saying has it, lead to Rome; and every road
is worn deep with the weight of tribute. The legions that we have seen
distributed all about the wide frontier were not placed there primarily
to fight, but to exact tribute as the price of peace. Fight they did, to
be sure; in one region or another they were always fighting. But this
warfare was kept up primarily by the enemies of the state; Rome herself
would seldom have taken the aggressive, had the people along her frontier
chosen to submit to her exactions. She demanded only money or its
equivalent; granted that, she was the friend and protector of all peoples
within her domain.[27]
And sooner or later most of these peoples found that it was better to
pay tribute peacefully than to fight and be plundered. Here and there
an obstinate people like the Jews held out for a time, but the almost
uniform result was that ultimately the might of the legions prevailed;
and then there followed indiscriminate pillage of everything worth
taking, to glorify the inevitable triumph of the Roman leader. The
description of the treasures that delighted the eyes of the people
of Rome when Titus and Vespasian triumphed after the destruction of
Jerusalem, is but a sample of what occurred again and again in evidence
of the prowess of Roman arms.
In the end, then, the provinces came to submit to the inevitable, however
sullenly, and they poured their wealth into the hands of Rome’s censors
to be passed on to the imperator, who deposited such portion as he chose
into the official coffers of the city. In the time of Augustus it is
estimated that the yearly tribute from the provinces amounted to from
fifteen to twenty millions of pounds (seventy-five to one hundred million
dollars). This was tribute proper, the literal price of peace. Nor was
this all. Rome was the centre of trade for all these provinces--the world
emporium where the merchant of Spain might barter with the merchant of
Syria, and where the produce of Gaul and Pannonia might be exchanged for
the produce of Egypt. All articles from whatever quarter were subject to
import duty; and all transactions of the market had to pay a percentage
for excise.
When all this is borne in mind it will appear how the imperator--at once
the commander of the legions and the keeper of the public purse--was
able to dictate the laws, controlling not merely the property, but the
lives of his fellow-citizens; for the power of gold was no less--perhaps
no greater--in antiquity than in our own day. We have seen what
practical use the imperator made of this trenchant weapon. We have seen
how the masses were pauperised; some hundreds of thousands of Roman
citizens receiving bread without price. The largesses of Augustus are
only comprehensible when one has fully grasped the position of the
imperator as mulctor of nations. So long as all the productive nations
of the world poured their earnings without equivalent into the imperial
treasury, so long the citizen of Rome might live in idle luxury, taking
no thought for a morrow, the needs of which were sure to be supplied by
a paternal government. Not merely sustenance but amusement is supplied.
Augustus sacrifices five thousand beasts in a single series of games;
a band of elephants competes with an army of gladiators. Even a naval
combat is arranged on an artificial lake near the city. And in the
later day this phase of practical politics is developed to even larger
proportions. Vespasian and Titus construct an amphitheatre--the famous
Colosseum--which seats eighty-five thousand spectators; and on a single
occasion Titus rejoices the people with a series of combats lasting
through a hundred days.
It is good to live in Imperial Rome--place of inexhaustible bounty, of
unceasing entertainment. There is no need to work, for slaves by tens
of thousands conduct all menial affairs. Indeed, there is no business
for the free man but pleasure--the bath, the banquet, the theatre, and
the gladiatorial games. Rome is a glorious city in this day. With her
renovated Forum, her new Capitol, her triumphal arches, her stupendous
Colosseum, she is a city of marvels. To her contemporary citizens it
seems that she is on a pinnacle of power and glory from which time itself
cannot shake her. Looking back from the standpoint of later knowledge it
is easy to moralise, easy to understand that decay was eating out the
heart of the nation, easy to realise that all this mock civilisation
rested above the crater of a volcano. But we may well believe that very
few contemporary citizens had the prevision to match our modern thought.
And, indeed, it must in fairness be admitted that the shield has another
side. However unstable the form of government, there is something in
material prosperity which up to a certain stage, makes for intellectual
eminence as well. And so in this first century of the Roman Empire there
was no dearth of great men. The golden age of literature was the time
of Augustus; the silver age was the time of his immediate successors.
The poets and philosophers have left us such names as Valerius Maximus,
Asinius Pollio, Seneca, Lucan, Valerius Flaccus, Martial, Quintilian, and
Statius. History and science were never more fully represented than in
the day of Paterculus, Mela, Quintus Curtius, Florus, Pliny, Josephus,
Suetonius, and Tacitus. A time which produced such men as these was not
wholly bad. Unfortunately no future century of Roman history will be able
to show us such another list.[a]
FOOTNOTES
[19] Dion relates this incident with a little variation. According to
him, the German soldier said, “I will give you the best assistance in my
power;” and thereupon he stabbed Vitellius, and despatched himself. Dio,
lib. LXV.
[20] [See Volume II, Ch. 14.]
[21] Vespasian and his two sons, Titus and Domitian.
[22] [All the gossip about the avarice of Vespasian seems to have
resulted (1) from his increased taxation, and (2) from his economy. Such
examples of humour as those here given were distorted into proofs of
avarice.]
[23] [Domitian is called “bad” partly because he opposed the senate.]
[24] [Or rather the improvement, though actual, was not at once manifest.]
[25] [The real reasons were probably (1) that he was a senator, and (2)
that his advanced age gave the ambitious an opportunity to intrigue for
the throne.]
[26] [Importance attached primarily to the suffrage of the prætorian
guards, who were stationed at or near Rome. The Roman populace itself had
also to be considered. The legions stationed at a distance might support
the prætorians, or might, on the other hand, bring forward their own
candidates, as we have seen.]
[27] [A most efficient protector, securing peace and good government. But
the submissive peoples lost all national and military spirit, so that
they were indisposed to protect themselves after the protection of the
empire was withdrawn.]
[Illustration]