The Caesars

T >> Thomas de Quincey >> The Caesars

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The situation indeed of the world--that is to say, of that great centre of
civilization, which, running round the Mediterranean in one continuous
belt of great breadth, still composed the Roman Empire, was at this time
most profoundly interesting. The crisis had arrived. In the East, a new
dynasty (the Sassanides) had remoulded ancient elements into a new form,
and breathed a new life into an empire, which else was gradually becoming
crazy from age, and which, at any rate, by losing its unity, must have
lost its vigor as an offensive power. Parthia was languishing and drooping
as an anti-Roman state, when the last of the Arsacidae expired. A perfect
_Palingenesis_ was wrought by the restorer of the Persian empire, which
pretty nearly re-occupied (and gloried in re-occupying) the very area that
had once composed the empire of Cyrus. Even this _Palingenesis_ might have
terminated in a divided empire: vigor might have been restored, but in the
shape of a polyarchy, (such as the Saxons established in England,) rather
than a monarchy; and in reality, at one moment that appeared to be a
probable event. Now, had this been the course of the revolution, an
alliance with one of these kingdoms would have tended to balance the
hostility of another (as was in fact the case when Alexander Severus saved
himself from the Persian power by a momentary alliance with Armenia.) But
all the elements of disorder had in that quarter re-combined themselves
into severe unity: and thus was Rome, upon her eastern frontier, laid open
to a new power of juvenile activity and vigor, just at the period when the
languor of the decaying Parthian had allowed the Roman discipline to fall
into a corresponding declension. Such was the condition of Rome upon her
oriental frontier. [Footnote: And it is a striking illustration of the
extent to which the revolution had gone, that, previously to the Persian
expedition of the last Gordian, Antioch, the Roman capital of Syria, had
been occupied by the enemy.] On the northern, it was much worse. Precisely
at the crisis of a great revolution in Asia, which demanded in that
quarter more than the total strength of the empire, and threatened to
demand it for ages to come, did the Goths, under their earliest
denomination of _Getae_ with many other associate tribes, begin to push
with their horns against the northern gates of the empire: the whole line
of the Danube, and, pretty nearly about the same time, of the Rhine, (upon
which the tribes from Swabia, Bavaria, and Franconia, were beginning to
descend,) now became insecure; and these two rivers ceased in effect to be
the barriers of Rome. Taking a middle point of time between the Parthian
revolution and the fatal overthrow of Forum Terebronii, we may fix upon
the reign of Philip the Arab, [who naturalized himself in Rome by the
appellation of Marcus Julius,] as the epoch from which the Roman empire,
already sapped and undermined by changes from within, began to give way,
and to dilapidate from without. And this reign dates itself in the series
by those ever-memorable secular or jubilee games, which celebrated the
completion of the thousandth year from the foundation of Rome. [Footnote:
This Arab emperor reigned about five years; and the jubilee celebration
occurred in his second year. Another circumstance gives importance to the
Arabian, that, according to one tradition, he was the first Christian
emperor. If so, it is singular that one of the bitterest persecutors of
Christianity should have been his immediate successor--Decius.]

Resuming our sketch of the Imperial history, we may remark the natural
embarrassment which must have possessed the senate, when two candidates
for the purple were equally earnest in appealing to them, and their
deliberate choice, as the best foundation for a valid election. Scarcely
had the ground been cleared for AEmilianus, by the murder of Gallus and his
son, when Valerian, a Roman senator, of such eminent merit, and
confessedly so much the foremost noble in all the qualities essential to
the very delicate and comprehensive functions of a Censor, [Footnote: It
has proved a most difficult problem, in the hands of all speculators upon
the imperial history, to fathom the purposes, or throw any light upon the
purposes, of the Emperor Decius, in attempting the revival of the ancient
but necessarily obsolete office of a public censorship. Either it was an
act of pure verbal pedantry, or a mere titular decoration of honor, (as if
a modern prince should create a person Arch-Grand-Elector, with no objects
assigned to his electing faculty,) or else, if it really meant to revive
the old duties of the censorship, and to assign the very same field for
the exercise of those duties, it must be viewed as the very grossest
practical anachronism that has ever been committed. We mean by an
anachronism, in common usage, that sort of blunder when a man ascribes to
one age the habits, customs, or generally the characteristics of another.
This, however, may be a mere lapse of memory, as to a matter of fact, and
implying nothing at all discreditable to the understanding, but only that
a man has shifted the boundaries of chronology a little this way or that;
as if, for example, a writer should speak of printed books as existing at
the day of Agincourt, or of artillery as existing in the first Crusade,
here would be an error, but a venial one. A far worse kind of anachronism,
though rarely noticed as such, is where a writer ascribes sentiments and
modes of thought incapable of co-existing with the sort or the degree of
civilization then attained, or otherwise incompatible with the structure
of society in the age or the country assigned. For instance, in Southey's
Don Roderick there is a cast of sentiment in the Gothic king's remorse and
contrition of heart, which has struck many readers as utterly unsuitable
to the social and moral development of that age, and redolent of modern
methodism. This, however, we mention only as an illustration, without
wishing to hazard an opinion upon the justice of that criticism. But even
such an anachronism is less startling and extravagant when it is confined
to an ideal representation of things, than where it is practically
embodied and brought into play amongst the realities of life. What would
be thought of a man who should attempt, in 1833, to revive the ancient
office of _Fool_, as it existed down to the reign, suppose, of our
Henry VIII. in England? Yet the error of the Emperor Decius was far
greater, if he did in sincerity and good faith believe that the Rome of
his times was amenable to that license of unlimited correction, and of
interference with private affairs, which republican freedom and simplicity
had once conceded to the censor. In reality, the ancient censor, in some
parts of his office, was neither more nor less than a compendious
legislator. Acts of attainder, divorce bills, &c., illustrate the case in
England; they are cases of law, modified to meet the case of an
individual; and the censor, having a sort of equity jurisdiction, was
intrusted with discretionary powers for reviewing, revising, and amending,
_pro re nata_, whatever in the private life of a Roman citizen seemed, to
his experienced eye, alien to the simplicity of an austere republic;
whatever seemed vicious or capable of becoming vicious, according to their
rude notions of political economy; and, generally, whatever touched the
interests of the commonwealth, though not falling within the general
province of legislation, either because it might appear undignified in its
circumstances, or too narrow in its range of operation for a public
anxiety, or because considerations of delicacy and prudence might render
it unfit for a public scrutiny. Take one case, drawn from actual
experience, as an illustration: A Roman nobleman, under one of the early
emperors, had thought fit, by way of increasing his income, to retire into
rural lodgings, or into some small villa, whilst his splendid mansion in
Rome was let to a rich tenant. That a man, who wore the _laticlave_,
(which in practical effect of splendor we may consider equal to the ribbon
and star of a modern order,) should descend to such a degrading method of
raising money, was felt as a scandal to the whole nobility. [Footnote:
This feeling still exists in France. "One winter," says the author of _The
English Army in France_, vol. ii. p. 106-7, "our commanding officer's wife
formed the project of hiring the chateau during the absence of the owner;
but a more profound insult could not have been offered to a Chevalier de
St. Louis. Hire his house! What could these people take him for? A sordid
wretch who would stoop to make money by such means? They ought to be
ashamed of themselves. He could never respect an Englishman again." "And
yet," adds the writer, "this gentleman (had an officer been billeted
there) would have _sold_ him a bottle of wine out of his cellar, or a
billet of wood from his stack, or an egg from his hen-house, at a profit
of fifty per cent., not only without scruple, but upon no other terms. It
was as common as ordering wine at a tavern, to call the servant of any
man's establishment where we happened to be quartered, and demand an
account of the cellar, as well as the price of the wine we selected!" This
feeling existed, and perhaps to the same extent, two centuries ago, in
England. Not only did the aristocracy think it a degradation to act the
part of landlord with respect to their own houses, but also, except in
select cases, to act that of tenant. Thus, the first Lord Brooke, (the
famous Fulke Greville,) writing to inform his next neighbor, a woman of
rank, that the house she occupied had been purchased by a London citizen,
confesses his fears that he shall in consequence lose so valuable a
neighbor; for, doubtless, he adds, your ladyship will not remain as tenant
to "such a fellow." And yet the man had notoriously held the office of
Lord Mayor, which made him, for the time, _Right Honorable_. The Italians
of this day make no scruple to let off the whole, or even part, of their
fine mansions to strangers.]

Yet what could be done? To have interfered with his conduct by an express
law, would be to infringe the sacred rights of property, and to say, in
effect, that a man should not do what he would with his own. This would
have been a remedy far worse than the evil to which it was applied; nor
could it have been possible so to shape the principle of a law, as not to
make it far more comprehensive than was desired. The senator's trespass
was in a matter of decorum; but the law would have trespassed on the first
principles of justice. Here, then, was a case within the proper
jurisdiction of the censor; he took notice, in his public report, of the
senator's error; or probably, before coming to that extremity, he
admonished him privately on the subject. Just as, in England, had there
been such an officer, he would have reproved those men of rank who mounted
the coach-box, who extended a public patronage to the "fancy," or who rode
their own horses at a race. Such a reproof, however, unless it were made
practically operative, and were powerfully supported by the whole body of
the aristocracy, would recoil upon its author as a piece of impertinence,
and would soon be resented as an unwarrantable liberty taken with private
rights; the censor would be kicked, or challenged to private combat,
according to the taste of the parties aggrieved. The office is clearly in
this dilemma: if the censor is supported by the state, then he combines in
his own person both legislative and executive functions, and possesses a
power which is frightfully irresponsible; if, on the other hand, he is
left to such support as he can find in the prevailing spirit of manners,
and the old traditionary veneration for his sacred character, he stands
very much in the situation of a priesthood, which has great power or none
at all, according to the condition of a country in moral and religious
feeling, coupled with the more or less primitive state of manners. How,
then, with any rational prospect of success, could Decius attempt the
revival of an office depending so entirely on moral supports, in an age
when all those supports were withdrawn? The prevailing spirit of manners
was hardly fitted to sustain even a toleration of such an office; and as
to the traditionary veneration for the sacred character, from long disuse
of its practical functions, that probably was altogether extinct. If these
considerations are plain and intelligible even to us, by the men of that
day they must have been felt with a degree of force that could leave no
room for doubt or speculation on the matter. How was it, then, that the
emperor only should have been blind to such general light?

In the absence of all other, even plausible, solutions of this difficulty,
we shall state our own theory of the matter. Decius, as is evident from
his fierce persecution of the Christians, was not disposed to treat
Christianity with indifference, under any form which it might assume, or
however masked. Yet there were quarters in which it lurked not liable to
the ordinary modes of attack. Christianity was creeping up with inaudible
steps into high places,--nay, into the very highest. The immediate
predecessor of Decius upon the throne, Philip the Arab, was known to be a
disciple of the new faith; and amongst the nobles of Rome, through the
females and the slaves, that faith had spread its roots in every
direction. Some secrecy, however, attached to the profession of a religion
so often proscribed. Who should presume to tear away the mask which
prudence or timidity had taken up? A _delator_, or professional informer,
was an infamous character. To deal with the noble and illustrious, the
descendants of the Marcelli and the Gracchi, there must be nothing less
than a great state officer, supported by the censor and the senate, having
an unlimited privilege of scrutiny and censure, authorized to inflict the
brand of infamy for offences not challenged by express law, and yet
emanating from an elder institution, familiar to the days of reputed
liberty. Such an officer was the censor; and such were the antichristian
purposes of Decius in his revival.] that Decius had revived that office
expressly in his behalf, entered Italy at the head of the army from Gaul.
He had been summoned to his aid by the late emperor, Gallus; but, arriving
too late for his support, he determined to avenge him. Both AEmilianus and
Valerian recognised the authority of the senate, and professed to act
under that sanction; but it was the soldiery who cut the knot, as usual,
by the sword. AEmilianus was encamped at Spoleto; but as the enemy drew
near, his soldiers, shrinking no doubt from a contest with veteran troops,
made their peace by murdering the new emperor, and Valerian was elected in
his stead. This prince was already an old man at the time of his election;
but he lived long enough to look back upon the day of his inauguration as
the blackest in his life. Memorable were the calamities which fell upon
himself, and upon the empire, during his reign. He began by associating to
himself his son Gallienus; partly, perhaps, for his own relief, partly to
indulge the senate in their steady plan of dividing the imperial
authority. The two emperors undertook the military defence of the empire,
Gallienus proceeding to the German frontier, Valerian to the eastern.
Under Gallienus, the Franks began first to make themselves heard of.
Breaking into Gaul they passed through that country and Spain; captured
Tarragona in their route; crossed over to Africa, and conquered
Mauritania. At the same time, the Alemanni, who had been in motion since
the time of Caracalla, broke into Lombardy, across the Rhaetian Alps. The
senate, left without aid from either emperor, were obliged to make
preparations for the common defence against this host of barbarians.
Luckily, the very magnitude of the enemy's success, by overloading him
with booty, made it his interest to retire without fighting; and the
degraded senate, hanging upon the traces of their retiring footsteps,
without fighting, or daring to fight, claimed the honors of a victory.
Even then, however, they did more than was agreeable to the jealousies of
Gallienus, who, by an edict, publicly rebuked their presumption, and
forbade them in future to appear amongst the legions, or to exercise any
military functions. He himself, meanwhile, could devise no better way of
providing for the public security, than by marrying the daughter of his
chief enemy, the king of the Marcomanni. On this side of Europe, the
barbarians were thus quieted for the present; but the Goths of the
Ukraine, in three marauding expeditions of unprecedented violence, ravaged
the wealthy regions of Asia Minor, as well as the islands of the
Archipelago; and at length, under the guidance of deserters, landed in the
port of the Pyraeus. Advancing from this point, after sacking Athens and
the chief cities of Greece, they marched upon Epirus, and began to
threaten Italy. But the defection at this crisis of a conspicuous
chieftain, and the burden of their booty, made these wild marauders
anxious to provide for a safe retreat; the imperial commanders in Moesia
listened eagerly to their offers: and it set the seal to the dishonors of
the state, that, after having traversed so vast a range of territory
almost without resistance, these blood-stained brigands were now suffered
to retire under the very guardianship of those whom they had just visited
with military execution.

Such were the terms upon which the Emperor Gallienus purchased a brief
respite from his haughty enemies. For the moment, however, he _did_
enjoy security. Far otherwise was the destiny of his unhappy father. Sapor
now ruled in Persia; the throne of Armenia had vainly striven to maintain
its independency against his armies, and the daggers of his hired
assassins. This revolution, which so much enfeebled the Roman means of
war, exactly in that proportion increased the necessity for it. War, and
that instantly, seemed to offer the only chance for maintaining the Roman
name or existence in Asia, Carrhae and Nisibis, the two potent fortresses
in Mesopotamia, had fallen; and the Persian arms were now triumphant on
both banks of the Euphrates. Valerian was not of a character to look with
indifference upon such a scene, terminated by such a prospect; prudence
and temerity, fear and confidence, all spoke a common language in this
great emergency; and Valerian marched towards the Euphrates with a fixed
purpose of driving the enemy beyond that river. By whose mismanagement the
records of history do not enable us to say, some think of Macrianus, the
praetorian prefect, some of Valerian himself, but doubtless by the
treachery of guides co-operating with errors in the general, the Roman
army was entangled in marshy grounds; partial actions followed, and
skirmishes of cavalry, in which the Romans became direfully aware of their
situation; retreat was cut off, to advance was impossible; and to fight
was now found to be without hope. In these circumstances they offered to
capitulate. But the haughty Sapor would hear of nothing but unconditional
surrender; and to that course the unhappy emperor submitted. Various
traditions [Footnote: Some of these traditions have been preserved, which
represent Sapor as using his imperial captive for his stepping-stone, or
_anabathrum_, in mounting his horse. Others go farther, and pretend
that Sapor actually flayed his unhappy prisoner whilst yet alive. The
temptation to these stories was perhaps found in the craving for the
marvellous, and in the desire to make the contrast more striking between
the two extremes in Valerian's life.] have been preserved by history
concerning the fate of Valerian: all agree that he died in misery and
captivity; but some have circumstantiated this general statement by
features of excessive misery and degradation, which possibly were added
afterwards by scenical romancers, in order to heighten the interest of the
tale, or by ethical writers, in order to point and strengthen the moral.
Gallienus now ruled alone, except as regarded the restless efforts of
insurgents, thirty of whom are said to have arisen in his single reign.
This, however, is probably an exaggeration. Nineteen such rebels are
mentioned by name; of whom the chief were Calpurnius Piso, a Roman
senator; Tetricus, a man of rank who claimed a descent from Pompey,
Crassus, and even from Numa Pompilius, and maintained himself some time in
Gaul and Spain; Trebellianus, who founded a republic of robbers in Isauria
which survived himself by centuries; and Odenathus, the Syrian. Others
were mere _Terra filii,_ or adventurers, who flourished and decayed
in a few days or weeks, of whom the most remarkable was a working armorer
named Marius. Not one of the whole number eventually prospered, except
Odenathus; and he, though originally a rebel, yet, in consideration of
services performed against Persia, was suffered to retain his power, and
to transmit his kingdom of Palmyra to his widow Zenobia. He was even
complimented with the title of Augustus. All the rest perished. Their
rise, however, and local prosperity at so many different points of the
empire, showed the distracted condition of the state, and its internal
weakness. That again proclaimed its external peril. No other cause had
called forth this diffusive spirit of insurrection than the general
consciousness, so fatally warranted, of the debility which had emasculated
the government, and its incompetency to deal vigorously with the public
enemies. [Footnote: And this incompetency was _permanently_ increased
by rebellions that were brief and fugitive: for each insurgent almost
necessarily maintained himself for the moment by spoliations and robberies
which left lasting effects behind them; and too often he was tempted to
ally himself with some foreign enemy amongst the barbarians, and perhaps
to introduce him into the heart of the empire.] The very granaries of
Rome, Sicily and Egypt, were the seats of continued distractions; in
Alexandria, the second city of the empire, there was even a civil war
which lasted for twelve years. Weakness, dissension, and misery were
spread like a cloud over the whole face of the empire.

The last of the rebels who directed his rebellion personally against
Gallienus was Aureolus. Passing the Rhaetian Alps, this leader sought out
and defied the emperor. He was defeated, and retreated upon Milan; but
Gallienus, in pursuing him, was lured into an ambuscade, and perished from
the wound inflicted by an archer. With his dying breath he is said to have
recommended Claudius to the favor of the senate; and at all events
Claudius it was who succeeded. Scarcely was the new emperor installed,
before he was summoned to a trial not only arduous in itself, but terrific
by the very name of the enemy. The Goths of the Ukraine, in a new armament
of six thousand vessels, had again descended by the Bosphorus into the
south, and had sat down before Thessalonica, the capitol of Macedonia.
Claudius marched against them with the determination to vindicate the
Roman name and honor: "Know," said he, writing to the senate, "that
320,000 Goths have set foot upon the Roman soil. Should I conquer them,
your gratitude will be my reward. Should I fall, do not forget who it is
that I have succeeded; and that the republic is exhausted." No sooner did
the Goths hear of his approach, than, with transports of ferocious joy,
they gave up the siege, and hurried to annihilate the last pillar of the
empire. The mighty battle which ensued, neither party seeking to evade it,
took place at Naissus. At one time the legions were giving way, when
suddenly, by some happy manoeuvre of the emperor, a Roman corps found its
way to the rear of the enemy. The Goths gave way, and their defeat was
total. According to most accounts they left 50,000 dead upon the field.
The campaign still lingered, however, at other points, until at last the
emperor succeeded in driving back the relics of the Gothic host into the
fastnesses of the Balkan; and there the greater part of them died of
hunger and pestilence. These great services performed, within two years
from his accession to the throne, by the rarest of fates the Emperor
Claudius died in his bed at Sirmium, the capitol of Pannonia. His brother
Quintilius who had a great command at Aquileia, immediately assumed the
purple; but his usurpation lasted only seventeen days, for the last
emperor, with a single eye to the public good, had recommended Aurelian as
his successor, guided by his personal knowledge of that general's
strategic qualities. The army of the Danube confirmed the appointment; and
Quintilius committed suicide. Aurelian was of the same harsh and
forbidding character as the Emperor Severus: he had, however, the
qualities demanded by the times; energetic and not amiable princes were
required by the exigences of the state. The hydra-headed Goths were again
in the field on the Illyrian quarter: Italy itself was invaded by the
Alemanni; and Tetricus, the rebel, still survived as a monument of the
weakness of Gallienus. All these enemies were speedily repressed, or
vanquished, by Aurelian. But it marks the real declension of the empire, a
declension which no personal vigor in the emperor was now sufficient to
disguise, that, even in the midst of victory, Aurelian found it necessary
to make a formal surrender, by treaty, of that Dacia which Trajan had
united with so much ostentation to the empire. Europe was now again in
repose; and Aurelian found himself at liberty to apply his powers as a
reorganizer and restorer to the East. In that quarter of the world a
marvellous revolution had occurred. The little oasis of Palmyra, from a
Roman colony, had grown into the leading province of a great empire. This
island of the desert, together with Syria and Egypt, formed an independent
monarchy under the sceptre of Zenobia. [Footnote: Zenobia is complimented
by all historians for her magnanimity; but with no foundation in truth.
Her first salutation to Aurelian was a specimen of abject flattery; and
her last _public_ words were evidences of the basest treachery in
giving up her generals, and her chief counsellor Longinus, to the
vengeance of the ungenerous enemy.] After two battles lost in Syria,
Zenobia retreated to Palmyra. With great difficulty Aurelian pursued her;
and with still greater difficulty he pressed the siege of Palmyra. Zenobia
looked for relief from Persia; but at that moment Sapor died, and the
Queen of Palmyra fled upon a dromedary, but was pursued and captured.
Palmyra surrendered and was spared; but unfortunately, with a folly which
marks the haughty spirit of the place unfitted to brook submission,
scarcely had the conquering army retired when a tumult arose, and the
Roman garrison was slaughtered. Little knowledge could those have had of
Aurelian's character, who tempted him to acts but too welcome to his cruel
nature by such an outrage as this. The news overtook the emperor on the
Hellespont. Instantly, without pause, "like Ate hot from hell," Aurelian
retraced his steps--reached the guilty city--and consigned it, with all
its population, to that utter destruction from which it has never since
arisen. The energetic administration of Aurelian had now restored the
empire--not to its lost vigor, that was impossible--but to a condition of
repose. That was a condition more agreeable to the empire than to the
emperor. Peace was hateful to Aurelian; and he sought for war, where it
could seldom be sought in vain, upon the Persian frontier. But he was not
destined to reach the Euphrates; and it is worthy of notice, as a
providential ordinance, that his own unmerciful nature was the ultimate
cause of his fate. Anticipating the emperor's severity in punishing some
errors of his own, Mucassor, a general officer in whom Aurelian placed
especial confidence, assassinated him between Byzantium and Heraclea. An
interregnum of eight months succeeded, during which there occurred a
contest of a memorable nature. Some historians have described it as
strange and surprising. To us, on the contrary, it seems that no contest
could be more natural. Heretofore the great strife had been in what way to
secure the reversion or possession of that great dignity; whereas now the
rivalship lay in declining it. But surely such a competition had in it,
under the circumstances of the empire, little that can justly surprise us.
Always a post of danger, and so regularly closed by assassination, that in
a course of two centuries there are hardly to be found three or four cases
of exception, the imperatorial dignity had now become burdened with a
public responsibility which exacted great military talents, and imposed a
perpetual and personal activity. Formerly, if the emperor knew himself to
be surrounded with assassins, he might at least make his throne, so long
as he enjoyed it, the couch of a voluptuary. The "_ave imperator!_" was
then the summons, if to the supremacy in passive danger, so also to the
supremacy in power, and honor, and enjoyment. But now it was a summons to
never-ending tumults and alarms; an injunction to that sort of vigilance
without intermission, which, even from the poor sentinel, is exacted only
when on duty. Not Rome, but the frontier; not the _aurea domus,_ but a
camp, was the imperial residence. Power and rank, whilst in that
residence, could be had in no larger measure by Caesar _as_ Caesar, than by
the same individual as a military commander-in-chief; and, as to
enjoyment, _that_ for the Roman imperator was now extinct. Rest there
could be none for him. Battle was the tenure by which he held his office;
and beyond the range of his trumpet's blare, his sceptre was a broken
reed. The office of Caesar at this time resembled the situation (as it is
sometimes described in romances) of a knight who has achieved the favor of
some capricious lady, with the present possession of her castle and ample
domains, but which he holds under the known and accepted condition of
meeting all challenges whatsoever offered at the gate by wandering
strangers, and also of jousting at any moment with each and all amongst
the inmates of the castle, as often as a wish may arise to benefit by the
chances in disputing his supremacy.

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