XVII. You ought, therefore, to fix your eyes upon all the persons

whom I have just mentioned, who have either been deified or were

nearly related to those who have been deified, and when Fortune

lays her hands upon you to bear it calmly, seeing that she does not

even respect those by whose names we swear. It is your duty to

imitate their constancy in enduring and triumphing over suffering,

as far as it is permitted to a mere man to follow in the footsteps

of the immortals. Albeit in all other matters rank and birth make

great distinctions between men, yet virtue is open to all; she

despises no one provided he thinks himself {376} worthy to possess

her. Surely you cannot do better than follow the example of those

who, though they might have been angry at not being exempt from

this evil, nevertheless have decided to regard this, the only thing

which brings them down to the level of other men, not as a wrong

done to themselves, but as the law of our mortal nature, and to

bear what befals them without undue bitterness and wrath, and yet

in no base or cowardly spirit: for it is not human not to feel our

sorrows, while it is unmanly not to bear them. When I glance through

the roll of all the Caesars whom fate has bereaved of sisters or

brothers, I cannot pass over that one who is unworthy to figure on

the list of Caesars, whom Nature produced to be the ruin and the

shame of the human race, who utterly wrecked and destroyed the state

which is now recovering under the gentle rule of the most benign

of princes. On losing his sister Drusilla, Gaius Caesar, a man who

could neither mourn nor rejoice as becomes a prince, shrank from

seeing and speaking to his countrymen, was not present at his

sister’s funeral, did not pay her the conventional tribute of

respect, but tried to forget the sorrows caused by this most

distressing death by playing at dice in his Alban villa, and by

sitting on the judgment-seat, and the like customary engagements.

What a disgrace to the Empire! a Roman emperor solaced himself by

gambling for his grief at the loss of his sister! This same Gaius,

with frantic levity, at one time let his beard and hair grow long,

at another wandered aimlessly along the coast of Italy and Sicily.

He never clearly made up his mind whether he wished his sister to

be mourned for or to be worshipped, and during all the time that

he was raising temples and shrines[11] in her honour he punished

those who did not manifest sufficient {377} sorrow with the most

cruel tortures:[12] for his mind was so ill-balanced, that he was

as much cast down by adversity as he was unbecomingly elated and

puffed up by success. Far be it from every Roman to follow such an

example, either to divert his mind from his grief by unreasonable

amusements, to stimulate it by unseemly squalor and neglect, or to

be so inhuman as to console himself by taking pleasure in the

sufferings of others.

XVIII. You, however, need change none of your ordinary habits, since

you have taught yourself to love those studies which, while they

are pre-eminently fitted for perfecting our happiness, at the same

time teach us how we may bear misfortune most lightly, and which

are at the same time a man’s greatest honour and greatest comfort.

Now, therefore, immerse yourself even more deeply in your studies,

now surround your mind with them like fortifications, so that grief

may not find any place at which it can gain entrance. At the same

time, prolong the remembrance of your brother by inserting some

memoir of him among your other writings: for that is the only sort

of monument that can be erected by man which no storm can injure,

no time destroy. The others, which consist of piles of stone, masses

of marble, or huge mounds of earth heaped on high, cannot preserve

his memory for long, because they themselves perish; but the memorials

which genius raises are everlasting. Lavish these upon your brother,

embalm him in these: you will do better to immortalise him by an

everlasting work of genius than to mourn over him with useless

grief. As for Fortune herself, although I cannot just now {378}

plead her cause before you, because all that she has given us is

now hateful to you, because she has taken something away from you,

yet I will plead her cause as soon as time shall have rendered you

a more impartial judge of her action: indeed she has bestowed much

upon you to make amends for the injury which she has done you, and

she will give more hereafter by way of atonement for it: and, after

all, it was she herself who gave you this brother whom she has taken

away. Forbear, then, to display your abilities against your own

self, or to take part with your grief against yourself: your

eloquence, can, no doubt, make trifles appear great, and, conversely,

can disparage and depreciate great things until they seem the merest

trifles; but let it reserve those powers and use them on some other

subject, and at the present time devote its entire strength to the

task of consoling you. Yet see whether even this task be not

unnecessary. Nature demands from us a certain amount of grief, our

imagination adds some more to it; but I will never forbid you to

mourn at all. I know, indeed, that there are some men, whose wisdom

is of a harsh rather than a brave character, who say that the wise

man never would mourn. It seems to me that they never can have been

in the position of mourners, for otherwise their misfortune would

have shaken all their haughty philosophy out of them, and, however

much against their will, would have forced them to confess their

sorrow. Reason will have done enough if she does but cut off from

our grief all that is superfluous and useless: as for her not

allowing us to grieve at all, that we ought neither to expect nor

to wish for. Let her rather restrain us within the bounds of a

chastened grief, which partakes neither of indifference nor of

madness, and let her keep our minds in that attitude which becomes

affection without excitement: let your tears flow, but let them

some day cease to flow: groan as deeply as you will, but let your

{379} groans cease some day: regulate your conduct so that both

philosophers and brothers may approve of it. Make yourself feel

pleasure in often thinking about your brother, talk constantly about

him, and keep him ever present in your memory; which you cannot

succeed in doing unless you make the remembrance of him pleasant

rather than sad: for it is but natural that the mind should shrink

from a subject which it cannot contemplate without sadness. Think

of his retiring disposition, of his abilities for business, his

diligence in carrying it out, his loyalty to his word. Tell other

men of all his sayings and doings, and remind your own self of them:

think how good he was and how great you hoped he might become: for

what success is there which you might not safely have wagered that

such a brother would win?

I have thrown together these reflexions in the best way that I

could, for my mind is dimmed and stupefied with the tedium of my

long exile: if, therefore, you should find them unworthy of the

consideration of a person of your intelligence, or unable to console

you in your grief, remember how impossible it is for one who is

full of his own sorrows to find time to minister to those of others,

and how hard it is to express oneself in the Latin language, when

all around one hears nothing but a rude foreign jargon, which even

barbarians of the more civilised sort regard with disgust.

[1] “The Latins had four versions of Homer (Fabric, tom. i. 1. ii.

ch. 3, p. 297), yet, in spite of the phraises of Seneca, Consol,

ch. 26 (viii.), they appear to have been more successful in imitating

than in translating the Greek poets.”—Gibbon’s “Decline and Fall,”

ch. 41, ad init., note. Polybius had made a prose translation of

Homer, and a prose paraphrase of Virgil.

[2] See note _ante_, ch. viii.

[3] “Fortune hath parted stakes with thee, in taking away thy

brother, and leaving thee all the rest in securitie and safetie.”—Lodge.

[4] See “On Benefits,” v. 16.

[5] Scipio Africanus minor, the son of Paulus Aemilius.

[6] Marcellus. See “Virgil’s well-known lines, Aen. VI., 869, _sqq_.,

and “Consolatio ad Marciam,” 2.

[7] G. Caesar, d. at Limyra, a.d. 4.

[8] Lucius Caesar, d. at Marseilles, A.D. 2.

[9] Drusus died by a fall from his horse, B.C. 9. “A monument was

erected in his honour at Moguntiacum (Mayence), and games and

military spectacles were exhibited there on the anniversary of his

death. An altar had already been raised in his honour on the banks

of the Lippe.” Tac. Ann. ii. 7. “The soldiers began now to regard

themselves as a distinct people, with rites and heroes of their

own. Augustus required them to surrender the body of their beloved

chief as a matter of discipline.” Merivale, ch. 36.

[10] _Pulvinaria_. See note, ch. xvii.

[11] _Pulvinaria_. This word properly means “a couch made of cushions,

and spread over with a splendid covering, for the gods or persons

who received divine honours.”

[12] Merivale, following Suetonius and Dion Cassius, says: “He

declared that if any man dared to mourn for his sister’s death, he

should be punished, for she had become a goddess: if any one ventured

to rejoice at her deification, he should be punished also, for she

was dead.” The passage in the text, he remarks, gives a less

extravagant turn to the story.

{380}

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO

NERO CAESAR.

ON CLEMENCY.

I. I have determined to write a book upon clemency, Nero Caesar,

in order that I may as it were serve as a mirror to you, and let

you see yourself arriving at the greatest of all pleasures. For

although the true enjoyment of good deeds consists in the performance

of them, and virtues have no adequate reward beyond themselves,

still it is worth your while to consider and investigate a good

conscience from every point of view, and afterwards to cast your

eyes upon this enormous mass of mankind— quarrelsome, factious, and

passionate as they are; likely, if they could throw off the yoke

of your government, to take pleasure alike in the ruin of themselves

and of one another —and thus to commune with yourself:—“Have I of

all mankind been chosen and thought fit to perform the office of a

god upon earth? I am the arbiter of life and death to mankind: it

rests with me to decide what lot and position in life each man

possesses: fortune makes use of my mouth to announce what she bestows

on each man: cities and nations are moved to joy by my words: no

region {381} anywhere can flourish without my favour and good will:

all these thousands of swords now restrained by my authority, would

be drawn at a sign from me: it rests with me to decide which tribes

shall be utterly exterminated, which shall be moved into other

lands, which shall receive and which shall be deprived of liberty,

what kings shall be reduced to slavery and whose heads shall be

crowned, what cities shall be destroyed and what new ones shall be

founded. In this position of enormous power I am not tempted to

punish men unjustly by anger, by youthful impulse, by the recklessness

and insolence of men, which often overcomes the patience even of

the best regulated minds, not even that terrible vanity, so common

among great sovereigns, of displaying my power by inspiring terror.

My sword is sheathed, nay, fixed in its sheath: I am sparing of the

blood even of the lowest of my subjects: a man who has nothing else

to recommend him, will nevertheless find favour in my eyes because

he is a man. I keep harshness concealed, but I have clemency always

at hand: I watch myself as carefully as though I had to give an

account of my actions to those laws which I have brought out of

darkness and neglect into the light of day. I have been moved to

compassion by the youth of one culprit, and the age of another: I

have spared one man because of his great place, another on account

of his insignificance: when I could find no reason for showing

mercy, I have had mercy upon myself. I am prepared this day, should

the gods demand it, to render to them an account of the human race.”

You, Caesar, can boldly say that everything which has come into

your charge has been kept safe, and that the state has neither

openly nor secretly suffered any loss at your hands. You have coveted

a glory which is most rare, and which has been obtained by no emperor

before you, that of innocence. Your remarkable goodness is not

thrown away, nor is it ungratefully or spitefully undervalued. Men

feel {382} gratitude towards you: no one person ever was so dear

to another as you are to the people of Rome, whose great and enduring

benefit you are. You have, however, taken upon yourself a mighty

burden: no one any longer speaks of the good times of the late

Emperor Augustus, or the first years of the reign of Tiberius, or

proposes for your imitation any model outside yourself: yours is a

pattern reign. This would have been difficult had your goodness of

heart not been innate, but merely adopted for a time; for no one

can wear a mask for long, and fictitious qualities soon give place

to true ones. Those which are founded upon truth, and which, so to

speak, grow out of a solid basis, only become greater and better

as time goes on. The Roman people were in a state of great hazard

as long as it was uncertain how your generous[1] disposition would

turn out; now, however, the prayers of the community are sure of

an answer, for there is no fear that you should suddenly forget

your own character. Indeed, excess of happiness makes men greedy,

and our desires are never so moderate as to be bounded by what they

have obtained: great successes become the stepping-stones to greater

ones, and those who have obtained more than they hoped, entertain

even more extravagant hopes than before; yet by all your countrymen

we hear it admitted that they are now happy, and moreover, that

nothing can be added to the blessings that they enjoy, except that

they should be eternal. Many circumstances force this admission

from them, although it is the one which men are least willing to

make: we enjoy a profound and prosperous peace, the power of the

law has been openly asserted in the sight of all men, and raised

beyond the reach of any violent interference: the form of our

government is so happy, as to contain all the essentials of liberty

except the power of destroying itself. It is {383} nevertheless

your clemency which is most especially admired by the high and low

alike: every man enjoys or hopes to enjoy the other blessings of

your rule according to the measure of his own personal good fortune,

whereas from your clemency all hope alike: no one has so much

confidence in his own innocence, as not to feel glad that in your

presence stands a clemency which is ready to make allowance for

human errors.

II. I know, however, that there are some who imagine that clemency

only saves the life of every villain, because clemency is useless

except after conviction, and alone of all the virtues has no function

among the innocent. But in the first place, although a physician

is only useful to the sick, yet he is held in honour among the

healthy also; and so clemency, though she be invoked by those who

deserve punishment, is respected by innocent people as well. Next,

she can exist also in the person of the innocent, because sometimes

misfortune takes the place of crime; indeed, clemency not only

succours the innocent, but often the virtuous, since in the course

of time it happens that men are punished for actions which deserve

praise. Besides this, there is a large part of mankind which might

return to virtue if the hope of pardon were not denied them. Yet

it is not right to pardon indiscriminately; for when no distinction

is made between good and bad men, disorder follows, and all vices

break forth; we must therefore take care to distinguish those

characters which admit of reform from those which are hopelessly

depraved. Neither ought we to show an indiscriminate and general,

nor yet an exclusive clemency; for to pardon every one is as great

cruelty as to pardon none; we must take a middle course; but as it

is difficult to find the true mean, let us be careful, if we depart

from it, to do so upon the side of humanity.

III. But these matters will be treated of better in their own place.

I will now divide this whole subject into {384} three parts. The

first will be of gentleness of temper:[2] the second will be that

which explains the nature and disposition of clemency; for since

there are certain vices which have the semblance of virtue, they

cannot be separated unless you stamp upon them the marks which

distinguish them from one another: in the third place we shall

inquire how the mind may be led to practise this virtue, how it may

strengthen it, and by habit make it its own.

That clemency, which is the most humane of virtues, is that which

best befits a man, is necessarily an axiom, not only among our own

sect, which regards man as a social animal, born for the good of

the whole community, but even among those philosophers who give him

up entirely to pleasure, and whose words and actions have no other

aim than their own personal advantage. If man, as they argue, seeks

for quiet and repose, what virtue is there which is more agreeable

to his nature than clemency, which loves peace and restrains him

from violence? Now clemency becomes no one more than a king or a

prince; for great power is glorious and admirable only when it is

beneficent; since to be powerful only for mischief is the power of

a pestilence. That man’s greatness alone rests upon a secure

foundation, whom all men know to be as much on their side as he is

above them, of whose watchful care for the safety of each and all

of them they receive daily proofs, at whose approach they do not

fly in terror, as though some evil and dangerous animal had sprung

out from its den, but flock to him as they would to the bright and

health-giving sunshine. They are perfectly ready to fling themselves

upon the swords of conspirators in his defence, to offer their

bodies if his only path to safety must be formed of corpses: they

protect his sleep by nightly watches, they {385} surround him and

defend him on every side, and expose themselves to the dangers which

menace him. It is not without good reason that nations and cities

thus agree in sacrificing their lives and property for the defence

and the love of their king whenever their leader’s safety demands

it; men do not hold themselves cheap, nor are they insane when so

many thousands are put to the sword for the sake of one man, and

when by so many deaths they save the life of one man alone, who not

unfrequently is old and feeble. Just as the entire body is commanded

by the mind, and although the body be so much larger and more

beautiful while the mind is impalpable and hidden, and we are not

certain as to where it is concealed, yet the hands, feet, and eyes

work for it, the skin protects it; at its bidding we either lie

still or move restlessly about; when it gives the word, if it be

an avaricious master, we scour the sea in search of gain, or if it

be ambitious we straightway place our right hand in the flames like

Mucius, or leap into the pit like Curtius, so likewise this enormous

multitude which surrounds one man is directed by his will, is guided

by his intellect, and would break and hurl itself into ruin by its

own strength, if it were not upheld by his wisdom.

IV. Men therefore love their own safety, when they draw up vast

legions in battle on behalf of one man, when they rush to the front,

and expose their breasts to wounds, for fear that their leader’s

standards should be driven back. He is the bond which fastens the

commonwealth together, he is the breath of life to all those

thousands, who by themselves would become merely an encumbrance and

a source of plunder if that directing mind were withdrawn:—

Bees have but one mind, till their king doth die, But when he

dies, disorderly they fly.

Such a misfortune will be the end of the peace of Rome, it will

wreck the prosperity of this great people; the nation {386} will

be free from this danger as long as it knows how to endure the

reins: should it ever break them, or refuse to have them replaced

if they were to fall off by accident, then this mighty whole, this

complex fabric of government will fly asunder into many fragments,

and the last day of Rome’s empire will be that upon which it forgets

how to obey. For this reason we need not wonder that princes, kings,

and all other protectors of a state, whatever their titles may be,

should be loved beyond the circle of their immediate relatives; for

since right-thinking men prefer the interests of the state to their

own, it follows that he who bears the burden of state affairs must

be dearer to them than their own friends. Indeed, the emperor long

ago identified himself so thoroughly with the state, that neither

of them could be separated without injury to both, because the one

requires power, while the other requires a head.

V. My argument seems to have wandered somewhat far from the subject,

but, by Hercules, it really is very much to the point. For if, as

we may infer from what has been said, you are the soul of the state,

and the state is your body, you will perceive, I imagine, how

necessary clemency is; for when you appear to spare another, you

are really sparing yourself. You ought therefore to spare even

blameworthy citizens, just as you spare weakly limbs; and when

blood-letting becomes necessary, you must hold your hand, lest you

should cut deeper than you need. Clemency therefore, as I said

before, naturally befits all mankind, but more especially rulers,

because in their case there is more for it to save, and it is

displayed upon a greater scale. Cruelty in a private man can do but

very little harm; but the ferocity of princes is war. Although there

is a harmony between all the virtues, and no one is better or more

honourable than another, yet some virtues befit some persons better

than {387} others. Magnanimity befits all mortal men, even the

humblest of all; for what can be greater or braver than to resist

ill fortune? Yet this virtue of magnanimity occupies a wider room

in prosperity, and shows to greater advantage on the judgment seat

than on the floor of the court. On the other hand, clemency renders

every house into which it is admitted happy and peaceful; but though

it is more rare, it is on that account even more admirable in a

palace. What can be more remarkable than that he whose anger might

be indulged without fear of the consequences, whose decision, even

though a harsh one, would be approved even by those who were to

suffer by it, whom no one can interrupt, and of whom indeed, should

he become violently enraged, no one would dare to beg for mercy,

should apply a check to himself and use his power in a better and

calmer spirit, reflecting: “Any one may break the law to kill a

man, no one but I can break it to save him”? A great position

requires a great mind, for unless the mind raises itself to and

even above the level of its station, it will degrade its station

and draw it down to the earth; now it is the property of a great

mind to be calm and tranquil and to look down upon outrages and

insults with contempt. It is a womanish thing to rage with passion;

it is the part of wild beasts, and that, too, not of the most noble

ones, to bite and worry the fallen. Elephants and lions pass by

those whom they have struck down; inveteracy is the quality of

ignoble animals. Fierce and implacable rage does not befit a king,

because he does not preserve his superiority over the man to whose

level he descends by indulging in rage; but if he grants their lives

and honours to those who are in jeopardy and who deserve to lose

them, he does what can only be done by an absolute ruler; for life

may be torn away even from those who are above us in station, but

can never be granted save to those who are below us. To save men’s

lives {388} is the privilege of the loftiest station, which never

deserves admiration so much as when it is able to act like the gods,

by whose kindness good and bad men alike are brought into the world.

Thus a prince, imitating the mind of a god, ought to look with

pleasure on some of his countrymen because they are useful and good

men, while he ought to allow others to remain to fill up the roll;

he ought to be pleased with the existence of the former, and to

endure that of the latter.

VI. Look at this city of Rome, in which the widest streets become

choked whenever anything stops the crowds which unceasingly pour

through them like raging torrents, in which the people streaming

to three theatres demand the roads at the same time, in which the

produce of the entire world is consumed, and reflect what a desolate

waste it would become if only those were left in it whom a strict

judge would acquit. How few magistrates are there who ought not to

be condemned by the very same laws which they administer? How few

prosecutors are themselves faultless? I imagine, also, that few men

are less willing to grant pardon, than those who have often had to

beg it for themselves. We have all of us sinned, some more deeply

than others, some of set purpose, some either by chance impulse or

led away by the wickedness of others; some of us have not stood

bravely enough by our good resolutions, and have lost our innocence,

although unwillingly and after a struggle; nor have we only sinned,

but to the very end of our lives we shall continue to sin. Even if

there be any one who has so thoroughly cleansed his mind that nothing

can hereafter throw him into disorder or deceive him, yet even he

has reached this state of innocence through sin.

VII. Since I have made mention of the gods, I shall state the best

model on which a prince may mould his life to be, that he deal with

his countrymen as he would that {389} the gods may deal with himself.

Is it then desirable that the gods should show no mercy upon sins

and mistakes, and that they should harshly pursue us to our ruin?

In that case what king will be safe? Whose limbs will not be torn

asunder and collected by the soothsayers? If, on the other hand,

the gods are placable and kind, and do not at once avenge the crimes

of the powerful with thunderbolts, is it not far more just that a

man set in authority over other men should exercise his power in a

spirit of clemency and should consider whether the condition of the

world is more beauteous and pleasant to the eyes on a fine calm

day, or when everything is shaken with frequent thunder-claps and

when lightning flashes on all sides! Yet the appearance of a peaceful

and constitutional reign is the same as that of the calm and brilliant

sky. A cruel reign is disordered and hidden in darkness, and while

all shake with terror at the sudden explosions, not even he who

caused all this disturbance escapes unharmed. It is easier to find

excuses for private men who obstinately claim their rights; possibly

they may have been injured, and their rage may spring from their

wrongs; besides this, they fear to be despised, and not to return

the injuries which they have received looks like weakness rather

than clemency; but one who can easily avenge himself, if he neglects

to do so, is certain to gain praise for goodness of heart. Those

who are born in a humble station may with greater freedom exercise

violence, go to law, engage in quarrels, and indulge their angry

passions; even blows count for little between two equals; but in

the case of a king, even loud clamour and unmeasured talk are

unbecoming.

VIII. You think it a serious matter to take away from kings the

right of free speech which the humblest enjoy. “This,” you say, “is

to be a subject, not a king.” What, do you not find that we have

the command, you the subjection? {390} Your position is quite

different to that of those who lie hid in the crowd which they never

leave, whose very virtues cannot be manifested without a long

struggle, and whose vices are shrouded in obscurity; rumour catches

up your acts and sayings, and therefore no persons ought to be more

careful of their reputation than those who are certain to have a

great one, whatsoever one they may have deserved. How many things

there are that you may not do which, thanks to you, we may do! I

am able to walk alone without fear in any part of Rome whatever,

although no companion accompanies me, though there is no guard at

my house no sword by my side. You must live armed in the peace which

you maintain.[3] You cannot stray away from your position; it besets

you, and follows you with mighty pomp wherever you go. This slavery

of not being able to sink one’s rank belongs to the highest position

of all; yet it is a burden which you share with the gods. They too

are held fast in heaven, and it is no more possible for them to

come down than it is safe[4] for you; you are chained to your lofty

pinnacle. Of our movements few persons are aware; we can go forth

and return home and change our dress without its being publicly

known; but you are no more able to hide yourself than the sun. A

strong light is all around you, the eyes of all are turned towards

it. Do you think you are leaving your house? nay, you are dawning

upon the world. You cannot speak without all nations everywhere

hearing your voice; you cannot be angry, without making everything

tremble, because you can strike no one without shaking all around

him. Just as thunderbolts when they fall endanger few men but terrify

all, so the chastisement inflicted by great potentates terrify more

widely than they injure, and that for good reasons; for in the case

of one whose power is absolute, men do not think of what he has

done, so much as of what he may do. Add to this that {391} private

men endure wrongs more tamely, because they have already endured

others; the safety of kings on the other hand is more surely founded

on kindness, because frequent punishment may crush the hatred of a

few, but excites that of all. A king ought to wish to pardon while

he has still grounds for being severe; if he acts otherwise, just

as lopped trees sprout forth again with numberless boughs, and many

kinds of crops are cut down in order that they may grow more thickly,

so a cruel king increases the number of his enemies by destroying

them; for the parents and children of those who are put to death,

and their relatives and friends, step into the place of each victim.

IX. I wish to prove the truth of this by an example drawn from your

own family. The late Emperor Augustus was a mild prince, if in

estimating his character one reckons from the era of his reign; yet

he appealed to arms while the state was shared among the triumvirate.

When he was just of your age, at the end of his twenty-second year,

he had already hidden daggers under the clothes of his friends, he

had already conspired to assassinate Marcus Antonius, the consul,

he had already taken part in the proscription. But when he had

passed his sixtieth[5] year, and was staying in {392} Gaul,

intelligence was brought to him that Lucius Cinna, a dull man, was

plotting against him: the plot was betrayed by one of the conspirators,

who told him where, when, and in what manner Cinna meant to attack

him. Augustus determined to consult his own safety against this

man, and ordered a council of his own friends to be summoned. He

passed a disturbed night, reflecting that he would be obliged to

condemn to death a youth of noble birth, who was guilty of no crime

save this one, and who was the grandson of Gnaeus Pompeius. He, who

had sat at dinner and heard M. Antonius[6] read aloud his edict for

the proscription, could not now bear to put one single man to death.

With groans he kept at intervals making various inconsistent

exclamations:—“What! shall I allow my assassin to walk about at his

ease while I am racked by fears? Shall the man not be punished who

has plotted not merely to slay but actually to sacrifice at the

altar” (for the conspirators intended to attack him when he was

sacrificing), “now when there is peace by land and sea, that life

which so many civil wars have sought in vain, which has passed

unharmed through so many battles of fleets and armies?”

Then, after an interval of silence, he would say to himself in a

far louder, angrier tone than he had used to Cinna, “Why do you

live, if it be to so many men’s advantage that you should die? Is

there no end to these executions? to this bloodshed? I am a figure

set up for nobly-born youths to sharpen their swords on. Is life

worth having, if so many must perish to prevent my losing it?” At

last his wife Livia interrupted him, saying: “Will you take a woman’s

{393} advice? Do as the physicians do, who, when the usual remedies

fail, try their opposites. Hitherto you have gained nothing by harsh

measures: Salvidienus has been followed by Lepidus, Lepidus by

Muraena, Muraena by Caepio, and Caepio by Egnatius, not to mention

others of whom one feels ashamed of their having dared to attempt

so great a deed. Now try what effect clemency will have: pardon

Lucius Cinna. He has been detected, he cannot now do you any harm,

and he can do your reputation much good.” Delighted at finding some

one to support his own view of the case, he thanked his wife,

straightway ordered his friends, whose counsel he had asked for,

to be told that he did not require their advice, and summoned Cinna

alone. After ordering a second seat to be placed for Cinna, he sent

every one else out of the room, and said:—“The first request which

I have to make of you is, that you will not interrupt me while I

am speaking to you: that you will not cry out in the middle of my

address to you: you shall be allowed time to speak freely in answer

to me. Cinna, when I found you in the enemy’s camp, you who had not

become but were actually born my enemy, I saved your life, and

restored to you the whole of your father’s estate. You are now so

prosperous and so rich, that many of the victorious party envy you,

the vanquished one: when you were a candidate for the priesthood I

passed over many others whose parents had served with me in the

wars, and gave it to you: and now, after I have deserved so well

of you, you have made up your mind to kill me.” When at this word

the man exclaimed that he was far from being so insane, Augustus

replied, “You do not keep your promise, Cinna; it was agreed upon

between us that you should not interrupt me. I repeat, you are

preparing to kill me.” He then proceeded to tell him of the place,

the names of his accomplices, the day, the way in which they had

arranged to do the deed, and which of them was to give the fatal

stab. {394} When he saw Cinna’s eyes fixed upon the ground, and

that he was silent, no longer because of the agreement, but from

consciousness of his guilt, he said, “What is your intention in

doing this? is it that you yourself may be emperor? The Roman people

must indeed be in a bad way if nothing but my life prevents your

ruling over them. You cannot even maintain the dignity of your own

house: you have recently been defeated in a legal encounter by the

superior influence of a freedman: and so you can find no easier

task than to call your friends to rally round you against Caesar.

Come, now, if you think that I alone stand in the way of your

ambition; will Paulus and Fabius Maximus, will the Cossi and the

Servilii and all that band of nobles, whose names are no empty

pretence, but whose ancestry really renders them illustrious—will

they endure that you should rule over them?” Not to fill up the

greater part of this book by repeating the whole of his speech—for

he is known to have spoken for more than two hours, lengthening out

this punishment, which was the only one which he intended to

inflict—he said at last: “Cinna, I grant you your life for the

second time: when I gave it you before you were an open enemy, you

are now a secret plotter and parricide.[7] From this day forth let

us be friends: let us try which of us is the more sincere, I in

giving you your life, or you in owing your life to me.” After this

he of his own accord bestowed the consulship upon him, complaining

of his not venturing to offer himself as a candidate for that office,

and found him ever afterwards his most grateful and loyal adherent.

Cinna made the emperor his sole heir, and no one ever again formed

any plot against him.

X. Your great-great-grandfather spared the vanquished: for whom

could he have ruled over, had he not spared them? He recruited

Sallustius, the Cocoeii, the Deillii, and the whole {395} inner

circle of his court from the camp of his opponents. Soon afterwards

his clemency gave him a Domitius, a Messala, an Asinius, a Cicero,

and all the flower of the state. For what a long time he waited for

Lepidus to die: for years he allowed him to retain all the insignia

of royalty, and did not allow the office of pontifex maximus to be

conferred upon himself until after Lepidus’s death; for he wished

it to be called a honourable office rather than a spoil stripped

from a vanquished foe. It was this clemency which made him end his

days in safety and security: this it was which rendered him popular

and beloved, although he had laid his hands on the neck of the

Romans when they were still unused to bearing the yoke: this gives

him even at the present day a reputation such as hardly any prince

has enjoyed during his own lifetime. We believe him to be a god,

and not merely because we are bidden to do so. We declare that

Augustus was a good emperor, and that he was well worthy to bear

his parent’s name, for no other reason than because he did not even

show cruelty in avenging personal insults, which most princes feel

more keenly than actual injuries; because he smiled at scandalous

jests against himself, because it was evident that he himself

suffered when he punished others, because he was so far from putting

to death even those whom he had convicted of intriguing with his

daughter, that when they were banished he gave them passports to

enable them to travel more safely. When you know that there will

be many who will take your quarrel upon themselves, and will try

to gain your favour by the murder of your enemies, you do indeed

pardon them if you not only grant them their lives but ensure that

they shall not lose them.

XI. Such was Augustus when an old man, or when growing old: in his

youth he was hasty and passionate, and did many things upon which

he looked back with regret. No one will venture to compare the rule

of the {396} blessed Augustus to the mildness of your own, even if

your youth be compared with his more than ripe old age: he was

gentle and placable, but it was after he had dyed the sea at Actium

with Roman blood; after he had wrecked both the enemy’s fleet and

his own at Sicily; after the holocaust of Perusia and the proscriptions.

But I do not call it clemency to be wearied of cruelty; true clemency,

Caesar, is that which you display, which has not begun from remorse

at its past ferocity, on which there is no stain, which has never

shed the blood of your countrymen: this, when combined with unlimited

power, shows the truest self-control and all-embracing love of the

human race as of one’s self, not corrupted by any low desires, any

extravagant ideas, or any of the bad examples of former emperors

into trying, by actual experiment, how great a tyranny you would

be allowed to exercise over his countrymen, but inclining rather

to blunting your sword of empire. You, Caesar, have granted us the

boon of keeping our state free from bloodshed, and that of which

you boast, that you have not caused one single drop of blood to

flow in any part of the world, is all the more magnanimous and

marvellous because no one ever had the power of the sword placed

in his hands at an earlier age. Clemency, then, makes princes safer

as well as more respected, and is a glory to empires besides being

their most trustworthy means of preservation. Why have legitimate

sovereigns grown old on the throne, and bequeathed their power to

their children and grandchildren, while the sway of despotic usurpers

is both hateful and shortlived l? What is the difference between

the tyrant and the king—for their outward symbols of authority and

their powers are the same—except it be that tyrants take delight

in cruelty, whereas kings are only cruel for good reasons and because

they cannot help it.[8]

{397}

XII. “What, then,” say you, “do not kings also put men to death?”

They do, but only when that measure is recommended by the public

advantage: tyrants enjoy cruelty. A tyrant differs from a king in

deeds, not in title: for the elder Dionysius deserves to be preferred

before many kings, and what can prevent our styling Lucius Sulla a

tyrant, since he only left off slaying because he had no more enemies

to slay? Although he laid down his dictatorship and resumed the

garb of a private citizen, yet what tyrant ever drank human blood

as greedily as he, who ordered seven thousand Roman citizens to be

butchered, and who, on hearing the shrieks of so many thousands

being put to the sword as he sat in the temple of Bellona, said to

the terror-stricken Senate, “Let us attend to our business, Conscript

Fathers; it is only a few disturbers of the public peace who are

being put to death by my orders.” In saying this he did not lie:

they really seemed few to Sulla. But we shall speak of Sulla

presently, when we consider how we ought to feel anger against our

enemies, at any rate when our own countrymen, members of the same

community as ourselves, have been torn away from it and assumed the

name of enemies: in the meanwhile, as I was saying, clemency is

what makes the great distinction between kings and tyrants. Though

each of them may be equally fenced around by armed soldiers,

nevertheless the one uses his troops to safeguard the peace of his

kingdom, the other uses them to quell great hatred by great terror:

and yet he does not look with any confidence upon those to whose

hands he entrusts himself. He is driven in opposite directions by

conflicting passions: for since he is hated because he is feared,

he wishes to be feared because he is {398} hated: and he acts up

to the spirit of that odious verse, which has cast so many headlong

from their thrones—

“Why, let them hate me, if they fear me too!”—

not knowing how frantic men become when their hatred becomes

excessive: for a moderate amount of fear restrains men, but a

constant and keen apprehension of the worst tortures rouses up even

the most grovelling spirits to deeds of reckless courage, and causes

them to hesitate at nothing. Just so a string stuck full of feathers[9]

will prevent wild beasts escaping: but should a horseman begin to

shoot at them from another quarter, they will attempt to escape

over the very thing that scared them, and will trample the cause

of their alarm underfoot. No courage is so great as that which is

born of utter desperation. In order to keep people down by terror,

you must grant them a certain amount of security, and let them see

that they have far more to hope for than to fear: for otherwise,

if a man is in equal peril whether he sits still or takes action,

he will feel actual pleasure in risking his life, and will fling

it away as lightly as though it were not his own.

XIII. A calm and peaceful king trusts his guards, because he makes

use of them to ensure the common safety of all his subjects, and

his soldiers, who see that the security of the state depends upon

their labours, cheerfully undergo the severest toil and glory in

being the protectors of the father of their country: whereas your

harsh and murderous tyrant must needs be disliked even by his own

janissaries. No man can expect willing and loyal service from those

whom he uses like the rack and the axe, as instruments of torture

and death, to whom he casts men as he would cast them to wild beasts.

No prisoner at the bar is so full of agony and anxiety as a tyrant;

for while he dreads both gods and men because they have witnessed,

{399} and will avenge his crimes, he has at the same time so far

committed himself to this course of action that he is not able to

alter it. This is perhaps the very worst quality of cruelty: a man

must go on exercising it, and it is impossible for him to retrace

his steps and start in a better path; for crimes must be safeguarded

by fresh crimes. Yet who can be more unhappy than he who is actually

compelled to be a villain? How greatly he ought to be pitied: I

mean, by himself, for it would be impious for others to pity a man

who has made use of his power to murder and ravage, who has rendered

himself mistrusted by every one at home and abroad, who fears the

very soldiers to whom he flees for safety, who dare not rely upon

the loyalty of his friends or the affection of his children: who,

whenever he considers what he has done, and what he is about to do,

and calls to mind all the crimes and torturings with which his

conscience is burdened, must often fear death, and yet must often

wish for it, for he must be even more hateful to himself than he

is to his subjects. On the other hand, he who takes an interest in

the entire state, who watches over every department of it with more

or less care, who attends to all the business of the state as well

as if it were his own, who is naturally inclined to mild measures,

and shows, even when it is to his advantage to punish, how unwilling

he is to make use of harsh remedies; who has no angry or savage

feelings, but wields his authority calmly and beneficially, being

anxious that even his subordinate officers shall be popular with

his countrymen, who thinks his happiness complete if he can make

the nation share his prosperity, who is courteous in language, whose

presence is easy of access, who looks obligingly upon his subjects,

who is disposed to grant all their reasonable wishes, and does not

treat their unreasonable wishes with harshness—such a prince is

loved, protected, and worshipped by his whole empire. Men talk of

such a one in private in the same {400} words which they use in

public: they are eager to bring up families under his reign, and

they put an end to the childlessness which public misery had

previously rendered general: every one feels that he will indeed

deserve that his children should be grateful to him for having

brought them into so happy an age. Such a prince is rendered safe

by his own beneficence; he has no need of guards, their arms serve

him merely as decorations.

XIV. What, then, is his duty? It is that of good parents, who

sometimes scold their children goodnaturedly, sometimes threaten

them, and sometimes even flog them. No man in his senses disinherits

his son for his first offence: he does not pass this extreme sentence

upon him unless his patience has been worn out by many grievous

wrongs, unless he fears that his son will do something worse than

that which he punishes him for having done; before doing this he

makes many attempts to lead his son’s mind into the right way while

it is still hesitating between good and evil and has only taken its

first steps in depravity; it is only when its case is hopeless that

he adopts this extreme measure. No one demands that people should

be executed until after he has failed to reform them. This which

is the duty of a parent, is also that of the prince whom with no

unmeaning flattery we call “The Father of our Country.” Other names

are given as titles of honour: we have styled some men “The Great,”

“The Fortunate,” or “The August,” and have thus satisfied their

passion for grandeur by bestowing upon them all the dignity that

we could: but when we style a man “The Father of his Country” we

give him to understand that we have entrusted him with a father’s

power over us, which is of the mildest character, for a father takes

thought for his children and subordinates his own interests to

theirs. It is long before a father will cut off a member of his own

body: even after he has cut it off he longs to replace it, and in

cutting it off he laments {401} and hesitates much and long: for

he who condemns quickly is not far from being willing to condemn;

and he who inflicts too great punishment comes very near to punishing

unjustly.

XV. Within my own recollection the people stabbed in the forum with

their writing-styles a Roman knight named Tricho, because he had

flogged his son to death: even the authority of Augustus Caesar

could hardly save him from the angry clutches of both fathers and

sons: but every one admired Tarius, who, on discovering that his

son meditated parricide, tried him, convicted him, and was then

satisfied with punishing him by exile, and that, too, to that

pleasant place of exile, Marseilles, where he made him the same

yearly allowance which he had done while he was innocent: the result

of this generosity was that even in a city where every villain finds

some one to defend him, no one doubted that he was justly condemned,

since even the father who was unable to hate him, nevertheless had

condemned him. In this very same instance I will give you an example

of a good prince, which you may compare with a good father. Tarius,

when about to sit in judgement on his son, invited Augustus Caesar

to assist in trying him: Augustus came into his private house, sat

beside the father, took part in another man’s family council, and

did not say, “Nay, let him rather come to my house,” because if he

had done so, the trial would have been conducted by Caesar and not

by the father. When the cause had been heard, after all that the

young man pleaded in his own defence and all that was alleged against

him had been thoroughly discussed, the emperor begged that each man

would write his sentence (instead of pronouncing it aloud), in order

that they might not all follow Caesar in giving sentence: then,

before the tablets were opened, he declared that if Tarius, who was

a rich man, made him his heir, he would not accept the bequest. One

might say “It showed a paltry mind in him {402} to fear that people

would think that he condemned the son in order to enable himself

to inherit the estate.” I am of a contrary opinion—any one of us

ought to have sufficient trust in the consciousness of his own

integrity to defend him against calumny, but princes must take great

pains to avoid even the appearance of evil. He swore that he would

not accept the property. On that day Tarius lost two heirs to his

estate, but Caesar gained the liberty of forming an unbiassed

judgement: and when he had proved that his severity was disinterested,

a point of which a prince should never lose sight, he gave sentence

that the son should be banished to whatever place the father might

choose. He did not sentence him to the sack and the snakes, or to

prison, because he thought, not of who it was upon whom he was

passing sentence, but of who it was with whom he was sitting in

judgement: he said that a father ought to be satisfied with the

mildest form of punishment for his stripling son, who had been

seduced into a crime which he had attempted so faintheartedly as

to be almost innocent of it, and that he ought to be removed from

Rome and out of his father’s sight.

XVI. How worthy was he to be invited by fathers to join their family

councils: how worthy to be made co-heir with innocent children!

This is the sort of clemency which befits a prince; wherever he

goes, let him make every one more charitable. In the king’s sight,

no one ought to be so despicable that he should not notice whether

he lives or dies: be his character what it may, he is a part of the

empire. Let us take examples for great kingdoms from smaller ones.

There are many forms of royalty: a prince reigns over his subjects,

a father over his children, a teacher over his scholars, a tribune

or centurion over his soldiers. Would not he, who constantly punished

his children by beating them for the most trifling faults, be thought

the worst of fathers? Which is worthier to impart {403} a liberal

education: he who flays his scholars alive if their memory be weak,

or if their eyes do not run quickly along the lines as they read,

or he who prefers to improve and instruct them by kindly warnings

and moral influence? If a tribune or a centurion is harsh, he will

make men deserters, and one cannot blame them for desertion. It is

never right to rule a human being more harshly and cruelly than we

rule dumb animals; yet a skilled horse-breaker will not scare a

horse by frequent blows, because he will become timid and vicious

if you do not soothe him with pats and caresses. So also a huntsman,

both when he is teaching puppies to follow the tracks of wild

animals, and when he uses dogs already trained to drive them from

their lairs and hunt them, does not often threaten to beat them,

for, if he does, he will break their spirit, and make them stupid

and currish with fear; though, on the other hand, he will not allow

them to roam and range about unrestrained. The same is the case

with those who drive the slower draught cattle, which, though brutal

treatment and wretchedness is their lot from their birth, still,

by excessive cruelty may be made to refuse to draw.

XVII. No creature is more self-willed, requires more careful

management, or ought to be treated with greater indulgence than

man. What, indeed, can be more foolish than that we should blush

to show anger against dogs or beasts of burden, and yet wish one

man to be most abominably ill-treated by another? We are not angry

with diseases, but apply remedies to them: but this also is a disease

of the mind, and requires soothing medicine and a physician who is

anything but angry with his patient. It is the part of a bad physician

to despair of effecting a cure: he, to whom the care of all men’s

well-being is entrusted, ought to act like a good physician, and

not be in a hurry to give up hope or to declare that the symptoms

are mortal: he should wrestle with vices, withstand them, reproach

{404} some with their distemper, and deceive others by a soothing

mode of treatment, because he will cure his patient more quickly

and more thoroughly if the medicines which he administers escape

his notice: a prince should take care not only of the recovery of

his people, but also that their scars should be honourable. Cruel

punishments do a king no honour: for who doubts that he is able to

inflict them? but, on the other hand, it does him great honour to

restrain his powers, to save many from the wrath of others, and

sacrifice no one to his own.

XVIII. It is creditable to a man to keep within reasonable bounds

in his treatment of his slaves. Even in the case of a human chattel

one ought to consider, not how much one can torture him with impunity,

but how far such treatment is permitted by natural goodness and

justice, which prompts us to act kindly towards even prisoners of

war and slaves bought for a price (how much more towards free-born,

respectable gentlemen?), and not to treat them with scornful brutality

as human chattels, but as persons somewhat below ourselves in

station, who have been placed under our protection rather than

assigned to us as servants. Slaves are allowed to run and take

sanctuary at the statue of a god, though the laws allows a slave

to be ill-treated to any extent, there are nevertheless some things

which the common laws of life forbid us to do to a human being. Who

does not hate Vedius Pollio[10] more even than his own slaves did,

because he used to fatten his lampreys with human blood, and ordered

those who had offended him in any way to be cast into his fish-pond,

or rather snake-pond? That {405} man deserved to die a thousand

deaths, both for throwing his slaves to be devoured by the lampreys

which he himself meant to eat, and for keeping lampreys that he

might feed them in such a fashion. Cruel masters are pointed at

with disgust in all parts of the city, and are hated and loathed;

the wrong-doings of kings are enacted on a wider theatre: their

shame and unpopularity endures for ages: yet how far better it would

have been never to have been born than to be numbered among those

who have been born to do their country harm!

XIX. Nothing can be imagined which is more becoming to a sovereign

than clemency, by whatever title and right he may be set over his

fellow citizens. The greater his power, the more beautiful and

admirable he will confess his clemency to be: for there is no reason

why power should do any harm, if only it be wielded in accordance

with the laws of nature. Nature herself has conceived the idea of

a king, as you may learn from various animals, and especially from

bees, among whom the king’s cell is the roomiest, and is placed in

the most central and safest part of the hive; moreover, he does no

work, but employs himself in keeping the others up to their work.

If the king be lost, the entire swarm disperses: they never endure

to have more than one king at a time, and find out which is the

better by making them fight with one another: moreover the king is

distinguished by his statelier appearance, being both larger and

more brilliantly coloured than the other bees. The most remarkable

distinction, however, is the following: bees are very fierce, and

for their size are the most pugnacious of creatures, and leave their

stings in the wounds which they make, but the king himself has no

sting: nature does not wish him to be savage or to seek revenge at

so dear a rate, and so has deprived him of his weapon and disarmed

his rage. She has offered him as a pattern to great sovereigns: for

she is wont to practise {406} herself in small matters, and to

scatter abroad tiny models of the hugest structures. We ought to

be ashamed of not learning a lesson in behaviour from these small

creatures, for a man, who has so much more power of doing harm than

they, ought to show a correspondingly greater amount of self-control.

Would that human beings were subject to the same law, and that their

anger destroyed itself together with its instrument, so that they

could only inflict a wound once, and would not make use of the

strength of others to carry out their hatreds: for their fury would

soon grow faint if it carried its own punishment with it, and could

only give rein to its violence at the risk of death. Even as it is,

however, no one can exercise it with safety, for he must needs feel

as much fear as he hopes to cause, he must watch every one’s

movements, and even when his enemies are not laying violent hands

upon him he must bear in mind that they are plotting to do so, and

he cannot have a single moment free from alarm. Would any one endure

to live such a life as this, when he might enjoy the privileges of

his high station to the general joy of all men, without injuring

any one, and for that very reason have no one to fear? for it is a

mistake to suppose that the king can be safe in a state where nothing

is safe from the king: he can only purchase a life without anxiety

for himself by guaranteeing the same for his subjects. He need not

pile up lofty citadels, escarp steep hills, cut away the sides of

mountains, and fence himself about with many lines of walls and

towers: clemency will render a king safe even upon an open plain.

The one fortification which cannot be stormed is the love of his

countrymen. What can be more glorious than a life which every one

spontaneously and without official pressure hopes may last long?

to excite men’s fears, not their hopes, if one’s health gives way

a little? to know that no one holds anything so dear that he would

not be glad to give it in exchange for the health of his sovereign?

“O, may {407} no evil befall him!” they would cry: “he must live

for his own sake, not only for ours: his constant proofs of goodness

have made him belong to the state instead of the state belonging

to him.” Who would dare to plot any danger to such a king? Who would

not rather, if he could, keep misfortune far from one under whom

justice, peace, decency, security and merit flourish, under whom

the state grows rich with an abundance of all good things, and looks

upon its ruler in the same spirit of adoration and respect with

which we should look upon the immortal gods, if they allowed us to

behold them as we behold him? Why! does not that man come very close

to the gods who acts in a god-like manner, and who is beneficent,

open-handed, and powerful for good? Your aim and your pride ought

to lie in being thought the best, as well as the greatest of mankind.

XX. A prince generally inflicts punishment for one of two reasons:

he wishes either to assert his own rights or those of another. I

will first discuss the case in which he is personally concerned,

for it is more difficult for him to act with moderation when he

acts under the impulse of actual pain than when he merely does so

for the sake of the example. It is unnecessary in this place to

remind him to be slow to believe what he hears, to ferret out the

truth, to show favour to innocence, and to bear in mind that to

prove it is as much the business of the judge as that of the prisoner;

for these considerations are connected with justice, not with

clemency: what we are now encouraging him to do is not to lose

control over his feelings when he receives an unmistakeable injury,

and to forego punishing it if he possibly can do so with safety,

if not, to moderate the severity of the punishment, and to show

himself far more unwilling to forgive wrongs done to others than

those done to himself: for, just as the truly generous man is not

he who gives away what belongs to others, but he who deprives himself

of what he gives to another, so also I should not call a prince

clement {408} who looked goodnaturedly upon a wrong done to someone

else, but one who is unmoved even by the sting of a personal injury,

who understands how magnanimous it is for one whose power is unlimited

to allow himself to be wronged, and that there is no more noble

spectacle than that of a sovereign who has received an injury without

avenging it.

XXI. Vengeance effects two purposes: it either affords compensation

to the person to whom the wrong was done, or it ensures him against

molestation for the future. A prince is too rich to need compensation,

and his power is too evident for him to require to gain a reputation

for power by causing any one to suffer. I mean, when he is attacked

and injured by his inferiors, for if he sees those who once were

his equals in a position of inferiority to himself he is sufficiently

avenged. A king may be killed by a slave, or a serpent, or an arrow:

but no one can be saved except by some one who is greater than him

whom he saves. He, therefore, who has the power of giving and of

taking away life ought to use such a great gift of heaven in a

spirited manner. Above all, if he once obtains this power over those

who he knows were once on a level with himself, he has completed

his revenge, and done all that he need to towards the punishment

of his adversary: for he who owes his life to another must have

lost it, and he who has been cast down from on high and lies at his

enemy’s feet with his kingdom and his life depending upon the

pleasure of another, adds to the glory of his preserver if he be

allowed to live, and increases his reputation much more by remaining

unhurt than if he were put out of the way. In the former case he

remains as an everlasting testimony to the valour of his conqueror;

whereas if led in the procession of a triumph he would have soon

passed out of sight.[11] If, however, his kingdom also may be safely

left in his hands {409} and he himself replaced upon the throne

from which he has fallen, such a measure confers an immense increase

of lustre on him who scorned to take anything from a conquered king

beyond the glory of having conquered him. To do this is to triumph

even over one’s own victory, and to declare that one has found

nothing among the vanquished which it was worth the victor’s while

to take. As for his countrymen, strangers, and persons of mean

condition, he ought to treat them with all the less severity because

it costs so much less to overcome them. Some you would be glad to

spare, against some you would disdain to assert your rights, and

would forbear to touch them as you would to touch little insects

which defile your hands when you crush them: but in the case of men

upon whom all eyes are fixed, whether they be spared or condemned,

you should seize the opportunity of making your clemency widely

known.

XXII. Let us now pass on to the consideration of wrongs done to

others, in avenging which the law has aimed at three ends, which

the prince will do well to aim at also: they are, either that it

may correct him whom it punishes, or that his punishment may render

other men better, or that, by bad men being put out of the way, the

rest may live without fear. You will more easily correct the men

themselves by a slight punishment, for he who has some part of his

fortune remaining untouched will behave less recklessly; on the

other hand, no one cares about respectability after he has lost it:

it is a species of impunity to have nothing left for punishment to

take away. It is conducive, however, to good morals in a state,

that punishment should seldom be inflicted: for where there is a

multitude of sinners men become familiar with sin, shame is less

felt when shared with a number of fellow-criminals, and severe

sentences, if frequently pronounced, lose the influence which

constitutes their chief power as remedial measures. A good king

establishes a good standard of morals for his {410} kingdom and

drives away vices if he is long-suffering with them, not that he

should seem to encourage them, but to be very unwilling and to

suffer much when he is forced to chastise them. Clemency in a

sovereign even makes men ashamed to do wrong: for punishment seems

far more grievous when inflicted by a merciful man.

XXIII. Besides this, you will find that sins which are frequently

punished are frequently committed. Your father sewed up more

parricides in sacks during five years, than we hear of in all

previous centuries. As long as the greatest of crimes remained

without any special law, children were much more timid about

committing it. Our wise ancestors, deeply skilled in human nature,

preferred to pass over this as being a wickedness too great for

belief, and beyond the audacity of the worst criminal, rather than

teach men that it might be done by appointing a penalty for doing

it: parricides, consequently, were unknown until a law was made

against them, and the penalty showed them the way to the crime.

Filial affection soon perished, for since that time we have seen

more men punished by the sack than by the cross. Where men are

seldom punished innocence becomes the rule, and is encouraged as a

public benefit. If a state thinks itself innocent, it will be

innocent: it will be all the more angry with those who corrupt the

general simplicity of manners if it sees that they are few in number.

Believe me, it is a dangerous thing to show a state how great a

majority of bad men it contains.

XXIV. A proposal was once made in the Senate to distinguish slaves

from free men by their dress: it was then discovered how dangerous

it would be for our slaves to be able to count our numbers. Be

assured that the same thing would be the case if no one’s offence

is pardoned: it will quickly be discovered how far the number of

bad men exceeds that of the good. Many executions are as disgraceful

to a sovereign as many funerals are to a physician: {411} one who

governs less strictly is better obeyed. The human mind is naturally

self-willed, kicks against the goad, and sets its face against

authority; it will follow more readily than it can be led. As

well-bred and high-spirited horses are best managed with a loose

rein, so mercy gives men’s minds a spontaneous bias towards innocence,

and the public think that it is worth observing. Mercy, therefore,

does more good than severity.

XXV, Cruelty is far from being a human vice, and is unworthy of

man’s gentle mind: it is mere bestial madness to take pleasure in

blood and wounds, to cast off humanity and transform oneself into

a wild beast of the forest. Pray, Alexander, what is the difference

between your throwing Lysimachus into a lion’s den and tearing his

flesh with your own teeth? it is you that have the lion’s maw, and

the lion’s fierceness. How pleased you would be if you had claws

instead of nails, and jaws that were capable of devouring men! We

do not expect of you that your hand, the sure murderer of your best

friends, should restore health to any one; or that your proud spirit,

that inexhaustible source of evil to all nations, should be satisfied

with anything short of blood and slaughter: we rather call it mercy

that your friend should have a human being chosen to be his butcher.

The reason why cruelty is the most hateful of all vices is that it

goes first beyond the ordinary limits, and then beyond those of

humanity; that it devises new kinds of punishments, calls ingenuity

to aid it in inventing devices for varying and lengthening men’s

torture, and takes delight in their sufferings: this accursed disease

of the mind reaches its highest pitch of madness when cruelty itself

turns into pleasure, and the act of killing a man becomes enjoyment.

Such a ruler is soon cast down from his throne; his life is attempted

by poison one day and by the sword the next; he is exposed to as

many dangers as there are men to whom he is dangerous, and he {412}

is sometimes destroyed by the plots of individuals, and at others

by a general insurrection. Whole communities are not roused to

action by unimportant outrages on private persons; but cruelty which

takes a wider range, and from which no one is safe, becomes a mark

for all men’s weapons. Very small snakes escape our notice, and the

whole country does not combine to destroy them; but when one of

them exceeds the usual size and grows into a monster, when it poisons

fountains with its spittle, scorches herbage with its breath, and

spreads ruin wherever it crawls, we shoot at it with military

engines. Trifling evils may cheat us and elude our observation, but

we gird up our loins to attack great ones. One sick person does not

so much as disquiet the house in which he lies; but when frequent

deaths show that a plague is raging, there is a general outcry, men

take to flight and shake their fists angrily at the very gods

themselves. If a fire breaks out under one single roof, the family

and the neighbours pour water upon it; but a wide conflagration

which has consumed many houses must be smothered under the ruins

of a whole quarter of a city.

XXVI. The cruelty even of private men has sometimes been revenged

by their slaves in spite of the certainty that they will be crucified:

whole kingdoms and nations when oppressed by tyrants or threatened

by them, have attempted their destruction. Sometimes their own

guards have risen in revolt, and have used against their master all

the deceit, disloyalty, and ferocity which they have learned from

him. What, indeed, can he expect from those whom he has taught to

be wicked? A bad man will not long be obedient, and will not do

only as much evil as he is ordered. But even if the tyrant may be

cruel with safety, how miserable his kingdom must be: it must look

like a city taken by storm, like some frightful scene of general

panic. Everywhere sorrow, anxiety, disorder; men dread even their

own pleasures; they cannot even dine with one another in safety

{413} when they have to keep watch over their tongues even when in

their cups, nor can they safely attend the public shows when informers

are ready to find grounds for their impeachment in their behaviour

there. Although the spectacles be provided at an enormous expense,

with royal magnificence and with world-famous artists, yet who cares

for amusement when he is in prison? Ye gods! what a miserable life

it is to slaughter and to rage, to delight in the clanking of chains,

and to cut off one’s countrymen’s heads, to cause blood to flow

freely wherever one goes, to terrify people, and make them flee

away out of one’s sight! It is what would happen if bears or lions

were our masters, if serpents and all the most venomous creatures

were given power over us. Even these animals, devoid of reason as

they are, and accused by us of cruel ferocity, spare their own kind,

and wild beasts themselves respect their own likeness: but the fury

of tyrants does not even stop short at their own relations, and

they treat friends and strangers alike, only becoming more violent

the more they indulge their passions. By insensible degrees he

proceeds from the slaughter of individuals to the ruin of nations,

and thinks it a sign of power to set roofs on fire and to plough

up the sites of ancient cities: he considers it unworthy of an

emperor to order only one or two people to be put to death, and

thinks that his cruelty is unduly restrained if whole troops of

wretches are not sent to execution together. True happiness, on the

other hand; consists in saving many men’s lives, in calling them

back from the very gates of death, and in being so merciful as to

deserve a civic crown.[12] No decoration is more worthy or more

becoming to a prince’s rank than that crown “for saving the lives

of fellow-citizens”: not trophies torn from a vanquished enemy, not

{414} chariots wet with their savage owner’s blood, not spoils

captured in war. This power which saves men’s lives by crowds and

by nations, is godlike: the power of extensive and indiscrimate

massacre is the power of downfall and conflagration.

[1] _Nobilis_.

[2] The text is corrupt. I have followed Gertz’s conjectural

emendation, _mansuefactionis_, but I believe that Lipsius is right

in thinking that a great deal more than one word has been lost here.

[3] _Pace_.

[4] Tutum.

[5] Gertz reads _sexagesimum_, his sixtieth year, which he calls

“the not very audacious conjecture of Wesseling,” and adds that he

does so because of the words at the beginning of chap. xi. and the

authority of Dion Cassius. The ordinary reading is _quadragesimum_,

“his fortieth year,” and this is the date to which Cinna’s conspiracy

is referred to by Merivale, “History of the Romans under the Empire,”

vol. iv. ch, 37. “A plot,” he says, “was formed for his destruction,

at the head of which was Cornelius Cinna, described as a son of

Faustus Sulla by a daughter of the Great Pompeius.” The story of

Cinna’s conspiracy is told by Seneca, de Clem, i, 9, and Dion iv.

14, foll. They agree in the main fact; but Seneca is our authority

for the details of the interview between Augustus and his enemy,

while Dion has doubtless invented his long conversation between the

emperor and Livia. Seneca, however, calls the conspirator Lucius,

and places the event in the fortieth year of Augustus (A.D. 731),

the scene in Gaul: Dion, on the other, gives the names of Gnaeus,

and supposes the circumstances to have occured twenty-six years

later, and at Rome. It may be observed that a son of Faustus Sulla

must have been at least fifty at this latter date, nor do we know

why he should bear the name of Cinna, though an adoption is not

impossible.

[6] See Shakespeare’s “Julius Caesar,” Act IV, Sc. 1.

[7] In allusion to the title of “Father of his country,” bestowed

by the Senate upon Augustus. See Merivale, ch. 33.

[8] This whole comparison, which reads so meaninglessly both in

Latin and in English, is borrowed from the eternal declamations of

Plutarch and the Greek philosophers about βασιλεῖς and τύραννοι.

See Plutarch, Lives of Philopoemen and Aratus, Plato, Gorgias and

Politicus; Arnold, “Appendix to Thucydides,” vol. i., and “Dictionary

of Antiquities,” _s.v._

[9] De lra, ii. 11.

[10] Vedius Pollio had a villa on the mountain now called Punta di

Posilippo, which projects into the sea between Naples and Puteoli,

which he left to Augustus, and which was afterwards possessed by

the Emperor Trajan. He was a freedman by birth, and remarkable for

nothing except his riches and his cruelty. Cf. Dion Cassius, liv.

23; Pliny, H. N. ix. 23; and Seneca, “On Anger,” iii. 40, 2.

[11] The conquered princes who were led through Rome in triumphs

were as a rule put to death when the procession was over.

[12] The “civic” crown of oak-leaves was bestowed on him who had

saved the life of a fellow-citizen in war. It was bestowed upon

Augustus, and after him upon the other emperors, as preservers of

the state.

{415}

THE SECOND BOOK OF THE DIALOGUE OF L. ANNAEUS SENECA, ADDRESSED TO

NERO CAESAR.

ON CLEMENCY.

I. I have been especially led to write about clemency, Nero Caesar,

by a saying of yours, which I remember having heard with admiration

and which I afterwards told to others: a noble saying, showing a

great mind and great gentleness, which suddenly burst from you

without premeditation, and was not meant to reach any ears but your

own, and which displayed the conflict which was raging between your

natural goodness and your imperial duties. Your prefect Burrus, an

excellent man who was born to be the servant of such an emperor as

you are, was about to order two brigands to be executed, and was

pressing you to write their names and the grounds on which they

were to be put to death: this had often been put off, and he was

insisting that it should then be done. When he reluctantly produced

the document and put it into your equally reluctant hands, you

exclaimed: “Would that I had never learned my letters!” O what a

speech, how worthy to be heard by all nations, both those who dwell

within the Roman Empire, those who enjoy a debatable independence

upon its borders, and those who either in will or in deed fight

against it! It is a speech which ought to be spoken {416} before a

meeting of all mankind, whose words all kings and princes ought to

swear to obey: a speech worthy of the days of human innocence, and

worthy to bring back that golden age. Now in truth we ought all to

agree to love righteousness and goodness; covetousness, which is

the root of all evil, ought to be driven away, piety and virtue,

good faith and modesty ought to resume their interrupted reign, and

the vices which have so long and so shamefully ruled us ought at

last to give way to an age of happiness and purity.

II. To a great extent, Caesar, we may hope and expect that this

will come to pass. Let your own goodness of heart be gradually

spread and diffused throughout the whole body of the empire, and

all parts of it will mould themselves into your likeness. Good

health proceeds from the head into all the members of the body:

they are all either brisk and erect, or languid and drooping,

according as their guiding spirit blooms or withers. Both Romans

and allies will prove worthy of this goodness of yours, and good

morals will return to all the world: your hands will everywhere

find less to do. Allow me to dwell somewhat upon this saying of

yours, not because it is a pleasant subject for your ears (indeed,

this is not my way; I would rather offend by telling the truth than

curry favour by flattery). What, then, is my reason? Besides wishing

that you should be as familiar as possible with your own good deeds

and good words, in order that what is now untutored impulse may

grow into matured decision, I remember that many great but odious

sayings have become part of human life and are familiar in men’s

mouths, such as that celebrated “Let them hate me, provided that

they fear me,” which is like that Greek verse, έμοῦ θανόντος γαῖα

μιχθήτω πνρί, in which a man bids the earth perish in flame after

he is dead, and others of the like sort. I know not how it is, but

certainly human ingenuity seems to have found it {417} easier to

find emphatic and ardent expression for monstrous and cynical

sentiments: I have never hitherto heard any spirited saying from a

good and gentle person. What, then, is the upshot of all this? It

is that, albeit seldom and against your will, and after much

hesitation, you sometimes nevertheless must write that which made

you hate your letters, but that you ought to do so with great

hesitation and after many postponements, even as you now do.

III. But lest the plausible word “mercy” should sometimes deceive

us and lead us into the opposite extreme, let us consider what mercy

is, what its qualities are, and within what limits it is confined.

Mercy is “a restraining of the mind from vengeance when it is in

its power to avenge itself,” or it is “gentleness shown by a powerful

man in fixing the punishment of a weaker one.” It is safer to have

more than one definition, since one may not include the whole

subject, and may, so to speak, lose its cause: mercy, therefore,

may likewise be termed a tendency towards mildness in inflicting

punishment. It is possible to discover certain inconsistencies in

the definition which comes nearer the truth than all the rest, which

is to call mercy “self-restraint, which remits some part of a fine

which it deserves to receive and which is due to it.” To this it

will be objected that no virtue ever gives any man less than his

due. However, all men understand mercy to consist in coming short

of the penalty which might with justice be inflicted.

IV. The unlearned think that its opposite is strictness: but no

virtue is the opposite of another virtue. What, then, is the opposite

of mercy? Cruelty: which is nothing more than obstinacy in exacting

punishments. “But,” say you, “some men do not exact punishments,

and nevertheless are cruel, such as those who kill the strangers

whom they meet, not in order to rob them, but for killing’s sake,

and men who are not satisfied with killing, but kill {418} with

savage tortures, like the famous Busiris,[1] and Procrustes, and

pirates who flog their captives and burn them alive.” This appears

to be cruelty: but as it is not the result of vengeance (for it has

received no wrong), and is not excited by any offence (for no crime

has preceded it), it does not come within our definition, which was

limited to “extravagance in exacting the penalties of wrongdoing.”

We may say that this is not cruelty, but ferocity, which finds

pleasure in savagery: or we may call it madness; for madness is of

various kinds, and there is no truer madness than that which takes

to slaughtering and mutilating human beings. I shall, therefore,

call those persons cruel who have a reason for punishing but who

punish without moderation, like Phalaris, who is not said to have

tortured innocent men, but to have tortured criminals with inhuman

and incredible barbarity. We may avoid hairsplitting by defining

cruelty to be “a tendency of the mind towards harsh measures.” Mercy

repels cruelty and bids it be far from her: with strictness she is

on terms of amity.

At this point it is useful to inquire into what pity is; for many

praise it as a virtue, and say that a good man is full of pity.

This also is a disease of the mind. Both of these stand close to

mercy and to strictness, and both ought to be avoided, lest under

the name of strictness we be led into cruelty, and under the name

of mercy into pity. It is less dangerous to make the latter mistake,

but both lead us equally far away from the truth.

V. Just as the gods are worshipped by religion, but are dishonoured

by superstition, so all good men will show mercy and mildness, but

will avoid pity, which is a vice incident to weak minds which cannot

endure the sight of another’s sufferings. It is, therefore, most

commonly {419} found in the worst people; there are old women and

girls[2] who are affected by the tears of the greatest criminals,

and who, if they could, would let them out of prison. Pity considers

a man’s misfortunes and does not consider to what they are due:

mercy is combined with reason. I know that the doctrine of the

Stoics is unpopular among the ignorant as being excessively severe

and not at all likely to give kings and princes good advice; it is

blamed because it declares that the wise man knows not how to feel

pity or to grant pardon. These doctrines, if taken separately, are

indeed odious, for they appear to give men no hope of repairing

their mistakes but exact a penalty for every slip. If this were

true, how can it be true wisdom to bid us put off human feeling,

and to exclude us from mutual help, that surest haven of refuge

against the attacks of Fortune? But no school of philosophy is more

gentle and benignant, none is more full of love towards man or more

anxious to promote the happiness of all, seeing that its maxims

are, to be of service and assistance to others, and to consult the

interests of each and all, not of itself alone. Pity is a disorder

of the mind caused by the sight of other men’s miseries, or it is

a sadness caused by the evils with which it believes others to be

undeservedly afflicted: but the wise man cannot be affected by any

disorder: his mind is calm, and nothing can possibly happen to

ruffle it. Moreover, nothing becomes a man more than magnanimity:

but magnanimity cannot coexist with sorrow. Sorrow overwhelms men’s

minds, casts them down, contracts them: now this cannot happen to

the wise man even in his greatest misfortunes, but he will beat

back the rage of Fortune and triumph over it: he will {420} always

retain the same calm, undisturbed expression of countenance, which

he never could do were he accessible to sorrow.

VI. Add to this, that the wise man provides for the future and

always has a distinct plan of action ready: yet nothing clear and

true can flow from a disturbed source. Sorrow is awkward at reviewing

the position of affairs, at devising useful expedients, avoiding

dangerous courses, and weighing the merits of fair and just ones:

therefore the wise man will not feel pity, because this cannot

happen to a man unless his mind is disturbed. He will do willingly

and highmindedly all that those who feel pity are wont to do; he

will dry the tears of others, but will not mingle his own with them;

he will stretch out his hand to the shipwrecked mariner, will offer

hospitality to the exile, and alms to the needy—not in the offensive

way in which most of those who wish to be thought tender-hearted

fling their bounty to those whom they assist and shrink from their

touch, but as one man would give another something out of the common

stock—he will restore children to their weeping mothers, will loose

the chains of the captive, release the gladiator from his bondage,

and even bury the carcase of the criminal, but he will perform all

this with a calm mind and unaltered expression of countenance. Thus

the wise man will not pity men, but will help them and be of service

to them, seeing that he is born to be a help to all men and a public

benefit, of which he will bestow a share upon every one. He will

even grant a proportional part of his bounty to those sufferers who

deserve blame and correction; but he will much more willingly help

those whose troubles and adversities are caused by misfortune.

Whenever he is able he will interpose between Fortune and her

victims: for what better employment can he find for his wealth or

his strength than in setting up again what chance has overthrown?

He will not show or feel any {421} disgust at a man’s having withered

legs, or a flabby wrinkled skin, or supporting his aged body upon

a staff; but he will do good to those who deserve it, and will,

like a god, look benignantly upon all who are in trouble. Pity

borders upon misery: it is partly composed of it and partly derived

from it. You know that eyes must be weak, if they fill with rheum

at the sight of another’s blearedness, just as it is not real

merriment but hysteria which makes people laugh because others

laugh, and yawn whenever others open their jaws: pity is a defect

in the mind of people who are extraordinarily affected by suffering,

and he who requires a wise man to exhibit it is not far from requiring

him to lament and groan when strangers are buried.

VII. But why should he not pardon?[3] Let us decide by exact

definition this other slippery matter, the true nature of pardon,

and we shall then perceive that the wise man ought not to grant it.

Pardon is the remitting of a deserved punishment. The reasons why

the wise man ought not to grant this remission are given at length

by those of whom this question is specially asked: I will briefly

say, as though it were no concern of mine to decide this point, “A

man grants pardon to one whom he ought to punish: now the wise man

does nothing which he ought not to do, and omits to [do] nothing

which he ought to do: he does not, therefore, remit any punishment

which he ought to exact. But the wise man will bestow upon you in

a more honourable way that which you wish to obtain by pardon, for

he will make allowances for you, will consult your interests, and

will correct your bad habits: he will act just as though he were

pardoning you, but nevertheless he will not pardon you, because he

who pardons admits that in so doing he has neglected a part of {422}

his duty. He will only punish some people by reprimanding them, and

will inflict no further penalty if he considers that they are of

an age which admits of reformation: some people who are undeniably

implicated in an odious charge he will acquit, because they were

deceived into committing, or were not sober when they committed the

offence with which they are charged: he will let his enemies depart

unharmed, sometimes even with words of commendation, if they have

taken up arms to defend their honour, their covenants with others,

their freedom, or on any other honourable ground. All these doings

come under the head of mercy, not of pardon. Mercy is free to come

to what decision it pleases: she gives her decision, not under any

statute, but according to equity and goodness: she may acquit the

defendant, or impose what damages she pleases. She does not do any

of these things as though she were doing less than justice requires,

but as though the justest possible course were that which she adopts.

On the other hand, to pardon is not to punish a man whom you have

decided ought to be punished; pardon is the remission of a punishment

which ought to be inflicted. The first advantage which mercy has

over it is that she does not tell those whom she lets off that they

ought to have suffered: she is more complete, more honourable than

pardon.”

In my opinion, this is a mere dispute about words, and we are agreed

about the thing itself. The wise man will remit many penalties, and

will save many who are wicked, but whose wickedness is not incurable.

He will act like good husbandmen, who do not cultivate only straight

and tall trees, but also apply props to straighten those which have

been rendered crooked by various causes; they trim some, lest the

luxuriance of their boughs should hinder their upward growth, they

nurse those which have been {423} weakened by being planted in an

unsuitable position, and they give air to those which are overshadowed

by the foliage of others. The wise man will see the several treatments

suitable to several dispositions, and how what is crooked may be

straightened. . . .

[1] A king of Egypt, who sacrificed strangers, and was himself slain

by Hercules.

[2] “Three or four wenches where I stood, cried ‘Alas, good soul!—’

and forgave him with all their hearts: but there’s no heed to be

taken of them; if Caesar had stabbed their mothers, they would have

done no less.”—“Julius Caesar,” act i. sc. 2.

[3] See above, chap. v.

THE END.

{425}

INDEX.

A

Alexander the Great, 78, 98, 135, 141, 411.

Alexandria, Library of, 270.

Anger, 48; signs of, 49; results of, 50; definitions of, 50_n_;

animals not subject to, 52; not natural, 54; should be resisted at

the beginning, 57; examples of its results, 60; not necessary against

enemies, 60; nor useful, 63; not necessary for punishment, 68;

contrasted with reason, 69; creates vain-glory, but not magnanimity,

73; cannot act without the approval of the mind, 77; contrasted

with ferocity, 80; the wise man will never be angry, 81; anger and

fear, 87; anger ought to be done away with, 88; must never become

a habit, 90; remedies for, 93; some men more prone to, than others,

93; influence of education, 95; and of prosperity, 96; cause of,

97; effect of trifles, 99; delay the best remedy, 104; anger caused

by ignorance or arrogance, 106; or by desire for revenge, 108; its

hideousness and danger, 111; its power, 114; contrasted with other

vices and passions, 116; how to avoid it, 120; examples of anger

indulged in, Cambyses, 131, 139; Astyages, 133; Darius, 135; Xerxes,

135; Alexander, 135; Lysimachus, 136; Caligula, 137, 139; Rhinocolura,

138; Cyrus, 139; examples of anger controlled, Antigonus, 140;

Philip, 141; Augustus, 142; how injuries ought to be bourne, 144;

better to heal than to avenge them, 146; the evils of anger, 147;

its trifling beginnings, 149; money, 151; other causes, 152; value

of self-examination, 154; how to soothe the anger of others, 156;

Augustus and Vedius, 158; anger should be got rid of altogether,

159.

Animals, anger in, 49, 52.

Antigonus (monophthalmus), 141.

Antisthenes, 45.

Antonius, M., 374, 391.

Aristides, 341.

Aristotle, 51_n_, 52, 58, 68, 118, 135, 287, 288.

Apicius, the glutton, 217, 336.

Asinius Pollio, 142, 285.

Astyages, King of Persia, 133.

Augustus. _See_ Caesar.

{426}

Avarice, conquered by anger, 114.

Athenodorus, quoted, 259, 265.

B

Bees, 405.

Bibulus, L., 181.

Bion, quoted, 267, 282.

Books, should be bought to read, not for show, 270.

Brutus, L. Junius, 183.

Brutus, M. Junius, 330.

Burrus, prefect of Nero, 415.

C

Caelius (Antipater), 125.

Caesar, Augustus, 142, 158, 165, 182, 293, 372, 391, 393, 401.

Caesar, Claudius, 360, 369, 370.

Caesar, Gaius (Caligula), 44, 74, 109, 137, 140, 276, 280, 316,

334, 376.

Caesar, Gaius, grandson of Augustus, 373.

Caesar, Gaius Julius, 98, 149, 181, 333.

Caesar, Germanicus, brother of Claudius, 374.

Caesar, Lucius, grandson of Augustus, 373.

Caesar, Nero, 382, 396, 415.

Caesar, Tiberius, 11, 182, 373.

Caligula. _See_ Caesar, Gaius.

Calmness, a sign of wisdom, 27.

Cambyses, 131, 139.

Cato, M., 5, 7, 10, 23, 31, 40, 108, 156, 192, 196, 228, 285, 286,

341.

Chaerea, 44.

Chrysippus, 242, 247, 248, 252.

Cicero, 192, 274, 295.

Cimber, Tillius, 149.

Cinna, L., 392.

Claudius Caudex, 307,

Cleanthes, 247, 252.

Clemency, 380; becomes no one more than a king, 384, 386; clemency

of Augustus, 391; and of Nero, 396; distinguishes between kings and

tyrants, 397; makes a king beloved, 399; Tarius, 401; clemency

towards slaves, 404; the king-bee, 405; clemency in inflicting

punishment, 407; makes men ashamed to do wrong, 410; clemency of

Nero, 415; definitions of Mercy, 417; of cruelty, 417; of pity,

418; of pardon, 421.

Clitus, killed by Alexander, 135.

Cloelia, 183.

Comfort, excess of, 13.

Consolation, 162, 320, 353.

Contempt, 36.

Cordus, A. Cremutius, 162, 196, 197.

Cornelia, wife of L. Drusus, 183.

Cornelia, mother of the Gracchi, 183, 345.

Corvinus, M. Valerius, 307.

Cotta, C. Aurelius, 345.

Courage, aims high, 18; born of desperation, 398.

Cruelty, caused by anger, 80; cannot be left off, if once begun,

399; inhumanity of, 411; shown in kings, 411; and in private men,

412; the opposite of mercy, 417.

Cyrus (the elder), 139.

D

Darius, 135.

Death, quickness of, 21; not an evil, 23; a release from pain, 190.

191.

{427}

Delay, a remedy for anger, 104, 115, 129; and for grief, 172.

Demetrius the Cynic, quoted, 7, 16.

Demetrius Poliorcetes, 28.

Demochares (Parrhesiastes), 141 142.

Democritus, 18, 85, 122, 255, 278.

Dentatus, Curius, 264, 307.

Desperation, breeds courage, 398.

Diodorus, the Epicurean, 255.

Diogenes, the Cynic, 225, 267, 268,

Diogenes, the Stoic, 156,

Dionysius, of Syracuse, 186, 397,

Drusilla, 376.

Drusus, Livius, 183, 295.

Drusus, N. Claudius, senior, 373.

Drusus, N. Claudius, 166, 169.

Duillius, C. 307.

E

Education, should be carefully regulated, 95.

Epicurus, and Epicureans, 41, 42, 218, 219, 242, 248.

Exile, 325.

F

Fabianus (Papirius), quoted, 302, 309.

Fabius (Cunctator), 61, 106.

Fabricius, 7, 8.

Fear, felt by those who inspire it, 87; in moderation restrains

men, 398.

Ferocity, contrasted with anger, 80; and with cruelty, 418.

Firmness, the, of a wise man, 22, _sqq_.

Friendship, 265.

G

Good, the highest, definition of, 208. 212, 215, 221, 244.

Gracchi, the, 183, 345.

Grief, examples of, 165; extreme grief unnatural, 171; cured by

time, 172; counterfeited, 282; should be countered by reason, 346;

its unprofitableness, 357; cannot co-exist with magnanimity, 419.

H

Hannibal, 61, 78, 80.

Happiness, 204; how to gain it, 206; definitions of, 208; in connexion

with pleasure, 211; consists in virtue, 222; excess makes men greedy,

382.

Harpagus, 133.

Heraclitus, 85.

Hieronymus, quoted, 71.

Hippias, 98.

I

Injury, cannot touch a wise man, 25, 32, 41, 42; distinguished from

insult, 27, 35; can be endured, 144.

Insult, distinguished from injury, 27, 35; how received by Diogenes

and Cato, 156.

Irascibility, contrasted with anger, 53, 71.

J

Julia Augusta (title of Livia), 168.

K

Kanus, Julius, 280, 281.

{428}

L

Laberius, quoted, 87.

Lacedaemonians, the, 13.

Leisure, advantages of, 240, _sqq_.

Life, shortness of, 160, 161, 175, 193, 288; its misery, 175; three

kinds of, 248; divided into three parts, 302.

Livia, wife of Augustus (afterwards Julia Augusta), 165, 168, 392.

Livius, T., quoted, 74, 270.

Love, conquered by anger, 114.

Lucretia. 183.

Lucretius, quoted, 258.

Luxury, 218, 306.

Lysimachus, 136, 411.

M

Maecenas, 9.

Magnanimity, repels insult, 36; not caused by anger, 73, 122; does

not feel blows, 144; befits all men, 387; cannot co-exist with

sorrow, 419.

Marcellus, M. Claudius, 332.

Marcellus, M. Claudius, son of Octavia, 165, 373.

Mercy, inclines men to innocence, 411; definitions of, 417;

distinguished from pardon, 422.

Metellus, L. Caecilius, 309.

Mindyrides, the Sybarite, 99.

Misfortunes, how regarded by the wise man, 3; are to the advantage

of those to whom they happen, 6; are the test of brave men, 11, 12,

17; generally come unexpectedly, 173; attack all alike, 178;

alleviated by habit, 271, 322.

Money, evils of, 151. _See_ Riches.

Mucius, 7.

N

Nero. _See_ Caesar.

Nomentanus, 217.

O

Octavia, sister of Augustus, 165, 372.

Oeobazus, 135.

Ovid, quoted, 18, 52, 84, 228.

P

Pardon, definition of, 421.

Pastor, 109.

Paulus, L. Aemilius, 180.

Peace of mind, definition of, 122, 255; how to attain it, etc.,

255, _sqq_.

Peripatetics, the, 50_n_.

Phaethon, 18.

Phalaris, 418.

Philip, of Macedon, 141, 142.

Philip, physician of Alexander, 98

Pisistratus, 128.

Piso, Gnaeus, 70.

Pity, definition of, 418, 419; borders on misery, 421.

Plato, 55, 72, 95, 97, 129, 198 286.

Pleasure, has no connexion with virtue, 211, 212; belongs to good

and bad alike, 213; not the aim of virtue, 214; pleasures of bad

men, 216; and of the wise, 217; the Epicurean doctrine, 218; all

pleasure is short-lived, 365.

Pollio, Asinius, 142, 285.

Pollio, Vedius, 158, 402.

Pompeius, 78_n_, 98, 150, 181, 192, 276, 308.

Pompeius, Sextus, 372.

Posidonius, his definition of anger, 50_n_.

{429}

Poverty, 333; no inconvenience to an exile, 337.

Praexaspes, 131.

Predestination, 194.

Property, 267. _See_ Riches.

Prosperity, 4, 10; fosters anger, 96.

Providence, 1, _sqq_.

Publilius, quoted, 275.

Pulvillus, 179.

Punishment, why inflicted, 407; should not be frequent, 410.

Pythagoras, 126.

Pythias, 135.

R

Rage, does not befit kings, 317.

Reason, only strong apart from the passions, 56; its power, 69;

contrasted with anger, 70; cannot overcome some habits, 80.

Regulus, 7, 9, 339.

Relaxation, necessity for, 285.

Revenge, a cause of anger, 108, 146; has two effects, 408.

Rhinocolura, why so called, 138.

Riches, how regarded by the wise man, 229; and by the fool, 235;

better never to possess, than to lose, 267.

Rutilia, mother of C. Cotta, 345.

Rutilius, 7, 8, 196.

S

Scipio Africanus, 61, 371.

Scipio Africanus Minor, 61, 180, 285, 339, 372.

Sejanus, 162, 182, 196, 197, 276.

Self-examination, value of, 154, 206, 264.

Self-love, 106.

Sextius, Q., a Stoic, 113, 154.

Socrates, 7, 9, 31, 45, 65, 128, 130, 196, 234, 236, 238, 262, 285,

341.

Sorrow. _See_ Grief.

Stilbo, 28.

Stoics and Stoicism, 22, 23, 41, 42, 50_n_, 94, 207, 218, 241, 242,

248, 419.

Sulkiness, a form of irascibility, 53.

Sulla, L., 8, 73, 78, 110, 179, 309, 397.

Suspicion, a cause of anger, 99.

T

Tarius, 401.

Telesphorus, the Rhodian, 136.

Theodorus, (Cyrenaicus), 279.

Theophrastus, quoted, 62, 64.

Thrift, advantage of, 269.

Tillius Cimber, 149.

Timagenes, 142.

Trifles, anger caused by, 99, 100, 106, 149, 152.

Triumphus, 11.

Turannius, 318.

Tyrant, compared with king, 396, 397.

V

Valerius, Asiaticus, 44.

Valour, greedy of danger, 11.

Varro, M. Terentius, 330.

Vatinius, 43.

Vedius Pollio, 158, 402.

Vengeance, 408. _See_ Revenge.

Virgil, quoted, 112, 185, 241.

Virtue, not given by fortune, 28; its natural function to rejoice,

81; is infectious, 124; has no connexion with pleasure, 211, 212;

and does not aim at it, 214, 215; is a sure guide, 219; brings true

happiness, 222; should be reverenced, {430} 237; cannot be hidden,

260, 262.

Volesus, cruelty of, 81.

W

Weakness of mind, a cause of anger, 62.

Wine, 286.

X

Xanthippe, wife of Socrates, 45.

Xerxes, 26, 135, 313.

Z

Zeno, 68, 242, 247, 252, 279.