POLYBIUS.
Cleanor's wish for the sleep from which there is no waking was only too
genuine. He felt almost heart-broken at the treatment which he had
received. He had thrown himself into the cause of Carthage with a
single-minded energy which had never been permitted to flag, and these
wounds were his reward!
True, he had a pretty clear notion of the quarter from which this
treacherous enmity had proceeded. He felt sure that Hasdrubal had never
forgiven him. That his vanity had been humbled and his cruelty baffled
were offences that would be sure to rankle in the mind of such a man.
But what could be said for a people which was content to be ruled by a
Hasdrubal? The young Greek felt that he had lost his country, so to
speak, a second time. His native town had perished, and now the city of
his adoption, Carthage, which he had been eager to serve with life and
death, had cruelly repudiated him.
The first result of these thoughts was an absolute loss of all interest
in life. He did not wish to recover, and for a time it seemed most
likely that what he did not wish would not be. The physician found that
all the ground which had been gained was lost, and for some days he
despaired of his patient's life. There was no active disease; that would
have given his art something definite to combat. But there was a total
indifference to everything, which offered an inert, and, as it seemed,
unconquerable resistance to all his efforts.
Still, at twenty there is an almost physical desire for life which
triumphs over the deepest sorrows and the most acute disappointments.
Had Cleanor been master of his own actions he might have committed
suicide. As it was, lying helpless in the hands of his physician and his
friends, he had to submit to being kept alive. His appetite returned by
degrees, though he was almost ashamed of being hungry. As his strength
grew, and the blood began to course more briskly through his veins, he
found interests revive which he had thought to be extinguished,
interests to which he seemed to have bidden farewell. And so the process
of recovery went on.
The young Scipio did his best to help it forward. He had often
reproached himself with haste and want of discretion in prematurely
revealing to his friend and preserver the revolting truth of the
treachery of which he had been the object. He now exerted himself to
repair the mischief. His attendance by the sick-bed was unceasing. He
was always ready to talk, to read aloud, or to play a game of draughts
or soldiers, as the strength of the patient permitted.
And all was done with so genuine an affection that it could not fail to
win its way to the heart of the patient. More than once the young man's
great kinsman, the Commander himself, spared an hour from his
innumerable occupations to pay a visit to the sick man's tent. Cleanor
felt again, in even increased force, what had impressed him at his first
meeting, the inexplicable charm of Scipio's personality.
Under these circumstances Cleanor's health improved, at first almost in
spite of himself, for he could hardly be said to have had any wish for
life, and then with greater rapidity, as time weakened the painful
impressions of the past and strengthened new interests and hopes. In the
early days of his illness his host, for he occupied the private tent of
the younger Scipio, had been granted a furlough from his military
duties, for the express purpose of attending on his guest. Though
renewed more than once, this had to come to an end.
But Cleanor never lacked company, and that of the most interesting kind.
It will be remembered that on the occasion of his visiting the Roman
camp in the capacity of interpreter to the officer negotiating an
exchange of prisoners, he had made the acquaintance of the historian
Polybius. This acquaintance he was now able to improve. Polybius, as a
non-combatant, had plenty of time to bestow on the invalid, in whom he
found an intelligent listener and even critic. It became his constant
custom to bring what he had written on the previous day, read it aloud
to the invalid, and invite his criticism on it.
"I want above all things," Polybius said, "to be both candid and clear.
Tell me if I seem to write like a partisan, or if I am obscure. What you
do not readily understand will certainly be unintelligible to nine
readers out of ten."
The reading was commonly followed by a conversation, in which a great
variety of subjects were touched upon, and in which Cleanor found a
quite inexhaustible interest. Polybius, who was now past middle age,[41]
had seen about as much of men and manners as any man of his time. He had
held high military office in his native country, commanding the cavalry
of the Achæan League, the last effort of Greece to hold her place in the
world of politics. He had never seen, it so happened, any active
service of importance, but in the knowledge of the theory of war he was
unsurpassed by any man of his time. He had indeed made a very important
contribution to the military art by greatly improving the practice of
signalling. If there was anything that raised the old soldier's vanity
it was this. He could not boast of any victories, and he belonged to a
nation which had ceased to be a factor of importance in the politics of
the world, but the credit of this invention gave him, he believed, a
rank among the great soldiers of history. It was, he told Cleanor, the
proudest moment of his life when he saw his system used, and used with
success, by the great Scipio himself.[42]
But nothing in Polybius' conversation was more interesting than what he
had to say about his experiences during his seventeen years of exile in
Italy. Along with many hundreds of his countrymen--with all, it might
almost be said, who were in any way distinguished or able--he had been
deported to Italy. But he had been more fortunate than most of his
companions. While they were distributed among the towns of Northern
Italy, where they dragged out a miserable existence, without books or
society, and often with but the scantiest means, he had been permitted
to live in Rome. He had won the friendship of Æmilius Paullus, the great
conqueror of Macedonia, and he and his two sons interested themselves in
him. The society into which he was thus introduced was the most
brilliant which Rome possessed, and Polybius was never weary of talking
about it. Cleanor, who, like his countrymen in general, had been
accustomed to regard the Romans as little better than barbarians, was
astonished at his enthusiasm.
"We haven't any society in Greece," Polybius would say, "that can be
fairly matched with them. They are on a larger scale, more strongly
built, so to speak. They are not so acute, perhaps, as some of our
people, but far more solid and strong."
"But they have no literature, I am told," interrupted Cleanor.
"That is hardly so," replied Polybius, "they have the beginnings of what
will be, I am sure, a great literature. At present they do little more
than translate from us. But their translations are better than any
originals we can now produce. I used to be present at the first readings
of the comedies of their great writer, Terence. They were taken, it is
true, from Menander and Diphilus and other Greeks, but the taking was
done with the greatest art, and the language was admirable. You may take
it for granted that with a language so finished as Latin now is, a real
literature is sure to come before long. And it was curious, too, to see
what admirable judges of style these young nobles were. It wasn't true,
though it was commonly reported, that Scipio and his friend Lælius wrote
Terence's plays for him, but I can bear witness of my own knowledge that
they helped him greatly with them. You see, he was not a Roman born,
and it is not everyone that can write Roman Latin, any more than
everyone can write Attic Greek. And there is another thing which we
cannot match: the culture of the women in the best families. Among us it
is very seldom that a respectable woman can do more than read and write;
very often she cannot do as much as that. It is very different in
Rome--not, of course, everywhere, for there are some who stick
obstinately to the old ways, but in the circle of which I am talking.
Lælius--he, you know, is Scipio's great friend--whose acquaintance you
will soon make, has a daughter whose learning would put many of our
students to shame. She was a girl not far into her teens when I used to
see her--they do not shut up their women in our fashion--and she could
speak Greek with the very finest accent, and they said just the same of
her Latin; of that, of course, I could hardly judge so well."
"Did you ever see the old man Cato?" asked Cleanor. "I have often heard
talk of him. He must have been a worthy of a very different stamp."
"Yes, yes, I knew him well," replied Polybius, "and have excellent
reasons for remembering him. As you say, he was of a very different
stamp, and belonged to quite another age. He was of a time when
scarcely a Roman had ever set his foot outside Italy, or even imagined
that anything good could come from beyond the seas. Yet it was strange
how the new spirit had succeeded in touching even him in his old age. Do
you know that I had the honour of having him for a pupil? He must have
been close upon eighty years of age when he found that it put him at a
disadvantage not to know what other men knew, and he actually took to
learning Greek. He had long been able to speak it in a way, but he took
to reading it, and I had the pleasure of being his teacher. I used to
stay at his country house, for it was only there that he had leisure for
his lessons. It was a curious experience. He used to entertain his
neighbours, the country-side folk, farmers and the like, in the
friendliest fashion. They were fine, sturdy folk, and I soon understood,
when I saw them, how Rome seems likely to conquer the world. And what
heads they had! The wine-cup didn't halt in its rounds, I can tell you,
and if I hadn't missed my turn as often as I could, the end would have
been disaster. As for the old man, he never shirked.[43] But there was a
very harsh side to his character. Nothing could be harder than his
dealings with his slaves. They were mere beasts of burden to him, not
one whit of more account than his horses and oxen,--not indeed of so
much, seeing that they gave more trouble. He gave them just as much food
as would keep them alive, not a morsel more. When they grew too old for
work, he turned them out of doors to starve. However, he behaved very
well to me, and if I gave him any help, he repaid me many fold. He was
won over somehow to take the part of the exiles. Of course Scipio and
his friends had a great deal to do with it, but I always thought that he
had also a kindness for me. I was in the senate-house when the question
came on--should the Greek exiles be allowed to go home? There was a hot
debate, and a close division was expected. The old man rose to speak
quite at the end of the sitting. I must say that what he said was not
flattering, but it was certainly effective. 'Are we going to waste any
more time about these trumpery Greeks? If we don't settle the matter
to-day we shall have the whole discussion over again.' Then he sat down.
The senators laughed; and the motion was carried easily. I went to thank
him the next day. He was very friendly, and I took courage to say that
if we were allowed to go back, we might also be restored to our rank and
honours. He smiled very grimly. 'Friend,' he said, 'when a man is lucky
enough to get out of the Cyclops' cave, I take it that he would be a
fool to go back after his hat or his cloak.' I took the hint, and was
off before two days had passed. But before I went, he sent a message
that he wanted to see me. He was then at his country house, and he was
busy making some alterations in a book that he had written about
agriculture. He was dictating, and a slave, a wretched Greek, who
looked, as he probably was, half-starved, was writing down. 'I bought
him at Magnesia[44],' he said, 'for £20, and an excellent bargain it
was, but he is getting past his work now.' I saw the poor fellow flush
up, but Cato cared no more for his feelings than if he had been a dog.
'But now for what I wanted to say to you. I don't suppose that I shall
see the end of Carthage, though it will not be for want of urging my
countrymen to bring it about.[45] But you probably will, for it can
hardly be postponed for another ten years. Well, there is one thing in
Carthage that I have always wished to see, and that is, Mago's work on
agriculture. I have never been able to get anything like a complete copy
of it. Only two or three of the books--there are twenty-eight in
all--have come into my hands, and I have found them quite admirable, and
have made all the use of them that I could for my own treatise. What I
wanted to say to you was to bear this matter in mind if you should
chance to be at hand when the end comes. Books often fare very badly at
such times. What, indeed, does the common soldier know about their
value? But, depend upon it, this one will be worth a whole ship-load of
gold and silver. Keep your eyes open, then, and warn all whom you know
to be on the look-out for Mago's book.' That was the last time I saw
him. He lived two years longer, and died happy, I suppose, because war
had been declared against Carthage."
FOOTNOTES:
41: He was probably born about the year 204 B.C., and so would
now (147 B.C.) be in his fifty-eighth year.
42: I have not ventured to interrupt my narrative with an
account of the invention as it was described by Polybius in more
than one conversation, but I will give it here for the benefit
of such readers as may be interested in the subject. The plan
which Polybius seems to have found in use was a very curious
one, and, it is evident, far from being effective. The two
bodies of men which would have to communicate by signal were
provided with two vessels of exactly the same diameter and
depth, and with outlets for the water of exactly the same size.
Divisions were marked on them, and each division was
appropriated to some common contingency in military affairs, as
for instance, "Cavalry has arrived", "Cavalry is wanted", "Food
is short", &c. The party desirous to communicate showed a torch.
The other replied in the same way to indicate that they were
attending. Another torch was shown by the first party. This
meant that the water had been set flowing. The other replied in
the same way, and set the water flowing in their vessel. When
the desired point had been reached a third signal was shown. As
soon as this signal was seen, the other side observed how far
the water in their vessel had sunk. The defect was that only a
few out of the innumerable contingencies of war could be thus
communicated. The system perfected by Polybius was much more
effective. The alphabet was divided into five groups of five
letters each. The party wishing to communicate, which I will in
future speak of as No. 1, called the attention of the other (No.
2) by raising two torches, and this signal was acknowledged in
the same way. No. 1 then showed one, two, three, four, or five
torches on the left to indicate which group he was about to use,
and then one, two, three, four, or five on the right to indicate
the letter in the group. An observing-glass with two tubes was
necessary for No. 2 to enable him to distinguish between right
and left. I will give an example, taking it, for convenience,
from our own alphabet. "Cavalry wanted" is the message which No.
1 desires to send. The groups of letters would be--
1. _a b c d e._
2. _f g h i j._
3. _k l m n o._
4. _p q r s t._
5. _u v w x y._
_z_ might be neglected, as practically of no use. (In the Greek
alphabet of 24 letters the fifth group would be one letter
short. This, of course, would not matter.)
_C_ is shown by 1 left and 3 on right; _a_ by 1 and 1; _v_ by 5
and 2; _l_ by 3 and 2; _r_ by 4 and 3; _y_ by 5 and 5.
And similarly with "wanted".
43: So Horace in his Ode, "Ad Amphoram" (To the Wine Jar):
"Cato's virtue, as we know,
Caught from thee a warmer glow".
44: The great victory of the Romans over Antiochus the Great at
Magnesia was in 190 B.C. Polybius is speaking of the year 151.
45: Cato was accustomed, whatever the business before the Senate
might be, to add to his opinion on the matter in hand, "I also
think that Carthage ought to be destroyed". One of the Scipios,
who favoured a more liberal policy, or perhaps thought that Rome
would be better if she had a not too powerful rival, used to add
in the same way, "I think that Carthage ought still to exist".