No More Learning

Nor am I ignorant indeed of another thing, which will no doubt be urged, that in passing our judgment upon the works of an author, we always muster his imperfections, so that the remembrance of his faults sticks indelibly fast in the mind, whereas that of his excellencies is quickly worn out. For my part, I have taken notice of no inconsiderable number of faults in Homer, and some other of the greatest authors, and cannot by any means be blind or partial to them ; however, I judge them not to be voluntary faults, so much as accidental slips incurred through inadvertence ; such as, when the mind is intent upon things of a higher nature, will creep insensibly into
compositions.
And for this reason I give it as my real opinion,
180 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
that the great and noble flights, though they cannot everywhere boast an equality of perfection, yet ought to carry off the prize, by the sole merit of their own intrinsic grandeur.
Apollonius, author of the "Argonautics," was a writer with out blemish ; and no one ever succeeded better in Pastoral than Theocritus, excepting some pieces where he has quitted his own province. But yet, would you choose to be Apollonius or Theocritus rather than Homer? Is the poet Eratosthenes, whose " Erigone " is a complete and delicate performance, and not chargeable with one fault, to be esteemed a superior poet to Archilochus, who flies off into many and brave irregularities, a godlike spirit bearing him forward in the noblest career, such spirit as will not bend to rule, or easily brook control ? In " Lyrics," would you sooner be Bacchylides than Pindar, or Io the Chian than the great Sophocles ? Bacchylides and Io have written smoothly, delicately, and correctly, they have left nothing without the nicest decoration ; but in Pindar and Sophocles, who carry fire along with them through the violence of their motion, that very fire is many times unseasonably quenched, and then they drop most unfortunately down. But yet no one, I am certain, who has the least discernment, will scruple to prefer the single " CEdipus " of Sophocles before all that Io ever composed.
If the beauties of writers are to be estimated by their number, and not by their quality or grandeur, then Hyperides will prove far superior to Demosthenes. He has more harmony and a finer cadence, he has a greater number of beauties, and those in a degree almost next to excellent. He resembles a champion who, professing himself master of the five exercises, in each of them severally must yield the superiority to others, but in all together stands alone and unrivaled. For Hyperides has in every point, except the structure of his words, imitated all the virtues of Demosthenes, and has abundantly added the graces and beauties of Lysias. When his subject demands simplicity, his style is exquisitely smooth ; nor does he utter everything with one emphatical air of vehemence, like Demos thenes. His thoughts are always just and proper, tempered with most delicious sweetness and the softest harmony of words. His turns of wit are inexpressibly fine. He raises a laugh with the greatest art, and is prodigiously dexterous at irony or sneer. His strokes of raillery are far from ungenteel ; by no means
THE AKT OF COMPOSITION. 181
far-fetched, like those of the depraved imitators of Attic neatness, but apposite and proper. How skillful at evading an argument ! With what humor does he ridicule, and with what dexterity does he sting in the midst of a smile ! In a word, there are inimitable graces in all he says. Never did any one more artfully excite compassion ; never was any one more diffuse in narration ; never any more dexterous at quit ting and resuming his subject with such easy address, and such pliant activity. This plainly appears in his little poetical fables of " Latona " ; and besides, he has composed a funeral oration with such pomp and ornament as I believe never will or can be equaled.
Demosthenes, on the other side, has been unsuccessful in representing the humors and characters of men ; he was a stranger to diffusive eloquence ; awkward in his address ; void of all pomp and show in his language ; and, in a word, for the most part deficient in all the qualities ascribed to Hyperides. Where his subject compels him to be merry or facetious, he makes people laugh, but it is at himself. And the more he en deavors at raillery, the more distant he is from it. Had he ever attempted an oration for a Phryne or an Athenogenes, he would in such attempts have only served as a foil to Hyperides.
Yet, after all, in my opinion, the numerous beauties of Hyperides are far from having any inherent greatness. They show the sedateness and sobriety of the author's genius, but have not force enough to enliven or to warm an audience. No one that reads him is ever sensible of extraordinary emotion. Whereas Demosthenes, adding to a continued vein of grandeur and to magnificence of diction (the greatest qualifications requi site in an orator), such lively strokes of passion, such copious ness of words, such address, and such rapidity of speech ; and, what is his masterpiece, such force and vehemence, as the greatest writers besides durst never aspire to : being, I say, abundantly furnished with all these divine (it would be sin to call them human) abilities, he excels all before him in the beauties which are really his own ; and, to atone for deficiencies in those he has not, overthrows all opponents with the irresist ible force and the glittering blaze of his lightning. For it is much easier to behold with steadfast and undazzled eyes the flashing lightning, than those ardent strokes of the Pathetic, which come so thick, one upon another, in his orations.
182 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
The parallel between Plato and his opponents must be drawn in a different light. For Lysias not only falls short of him in the excellence, but in the number of his beauties. And what is more, he not only falls short of him in the number of his beauties, but exceeds him vastly in the number of his faults.
What, then, can we suppose that those godlike writers had in view, who labored so much in raising their compositions to the highest pitch of the Sublime, and looked down with con tempt upon accuracy and correctness? Amongst others, let this reason be accepted. Nature never designed man to be a groveling and ungenerous animal, but brought him into life, and placed him in the world, as in a crowded theater, not to be an idle spectator, but, spurred on by an eager thirst of excel ling, ardently to contend in the pursuit of glory. For this purpose she implanted in his soul an invincible love of grandeur, and a constant emulation of whatever seems to approach nearer to divinity than himself. Hence it is that the whole universe is not sufficient for the extensive reach and piercing specula tion of the human understanding. It passes the bounds of the material world, and launches forth at pleasure into endless space. Let any one take an exact survey of a life which, in its every scene, is conspicuous on account of excellence, grandeur, and beauty, and he will soon discern for what noble ends we were born. Thus the impulse of nature inclines us to admire, not a little, clear, transparent rivulet that ministers to our necessities, but the Nile, the Ister, the Rhine, or still much more, the Ocean. We are never surprised at the sight of a small fire that burns clear and blazes out on our own private hearth, but view with amaze the celestial fires, though they are often obscured by vapors and eclipses. Nor do we reckon any thing in nature more wonderful than the boiling furnaces of . /Etna, which cast up stones, and sometimes whole rocks, from their laboring abyss, and pour out whole rivers of liquid and unmingled flame. And from hence we may infer that what ever is useful and necessary to man lies level to his abilities, and is easily acquired ; but whatever exceeds the common size is always great and always amazing.
With regard, therefore, to those sublime writers whose flight, however exalted, never fails of its use and advantage, we must add another consideration. Those other inferior beauties show their authors to be men, but the Sublime makes
THE ART OF COMPOSITION. 183
near approaches to the height of God. What is correct and faultless comes off barely without censure, but the grand and lofty command admiration. What can I add further? One exalted and sublime sentiment in those noble authors makes ample amends for all their defects. And what is more re markable, were the errors of Homer, Demosthenes, Plato, and the rest of the most celebrated authors to be culled carefully out and thrown together, they would not bear the least pro portion to those infinite, those inimitable excellencies which are so conspicuous in these heroes of antiquity. And for this reason has every age and every generation, unmoved by partiality and unbiased by envy, awarded the laurels to these great masters, which flourish still green and unfading on their brows, and will flourish,
As long as streams in silver marges rove,
Or Spring with annual green renews the grove.
(— Fenton. )
A certain writer objects here that an ill-wrought Colossus cannot be set upon the level with a little faultless statue ; for instance, the little soldier of Polyclitus ; but the answer to this is very obvious. In the works of art we have regard to exact proportion ; in those of nature to grandeur and mag nificence. Now speech is a gift bestowed upon us by nature. As, therefore, resemblance and proportion to the originals is required in statues, so in the noble faculty of discourse there should be something extraordinary, something more than humanly great. . . .
. . . [The beginning of this section on Hyperbole is lost. ] As this Hyperbole, for instance, is exceedingly bad, " If you carry not your brains in the soles of your feet and tread upon them. " One consideration, therefore, must always be attended to, " How far the thought can properly be carried. " For over shooting the mark often spoils an Hyperbole ; and whatever is overstretched loses its tone and immediately relaxes; nay, sometimes produces an effect contrary to that for which it was intended. Thus Isocrates, childishly desirous of saying nothing without enlargement, has fallen into a shameful puerility. The end and design of his " Panegyric " is to prove that the Athenians had done greater service to the united body of Greece than the Lacedaemonians ; and this is his beginning : " The virtue and
184 THE ART OF COMPOSITION.
efficacy of eloquence is so great as to be able to render great things contemptible, to dress up trifling subjects in pomp and show, to clothe what is old and obsolete in a new dress, and put off new occurrences in an air of antiquity. " And will it not be immediately demanded, Is this what you are going to practice with regard to the affairs of the Athenians and Lace daemonians? For this ill-timed encomium of eloquence is an inadvertent admonition to the audience not to listen or give credit to what he says.
Those Hyperboles, in short, are the best (as I have before observed of Figures) which have neither the appearance nor air of Hyperboles. And this never fails to be the state of those which in the heat of a passion flow out in the midst of some grand circumstance. Thus Thucydides has dexterously applied one to his countrymen that perished in Sicily. "The Syra- cusans," says he, " came down upon them and made a slaughter chiefly of those who were in the river. The water was im mediately discolored with blood. But the stream polluted with mud and gore deterred them not from drinking it greedily, nor many of them from fighting desperately for a draught of it. " A circumstance so uncommon and affecting gives those expres sions of drinking mud and gore and fighting desperately for it an air of probability.
Hyperboles literally are impossibilities, and therefore can only then be reasonable or productive of sublimity where the circumstances may be stretched beyond their proper size, that they may appear without fail important and great.
Herodotus has used a like Hyperbole concerning those war riors who fell at Thermopylae : " In this place they defended themselves with the weapons that were left, and with their hands and teeth, till they were buried under the arrows of bar barians. " Is it possible, you will say, for men to defend them selves with their teeth against the fury and violence of armed assailants? Is it possible that men could be buried under arrows? Notwithstanding all this, there is a seeming prob ability in it. For the circumstance does not appear to have been fitted to the Hyperbole, but the Hyperbole seems to be the necessary production of the circumstance. For applying these strong Figures only where the heat of action or impetuosity of passion demands them (a point I shall never cease to insist upon) very much softens and mitigates the boldness of too daring expressions. So in comedy circumstances wholly absurd
THE VIGIL OF VENDS. 185
and incredible pass off very well, because they answer their end and raise a laugh. As in this passage : " He was owner of a piece of ground not so large as a Lacedaemonian letter. " For laughter is a passion arising from some inward pleasure.
But Hyperboles equally serve two purposes ; they enlarge and they lessen. Stretching anything beyond its natural size is the property of both. And the Diasyrm (the other species of the Hyperbole) increases the lowness of anything, or renders trifles more trifling.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS. (Translated by Thomas Stanley. )
[Author unknown ; date perhaps about third or fourth century a. d. ]
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The spring appears, in which the earth Receives a new harmonious birth ; When all things mutual love unites ; When birds perform their nuptial rites ; And fruitful by her watery lover,
Each grove its tresses doth recover.
Love's Queen to-morrow, in the shade, Which by these verdant trees is made, Their sprouting tops in wreaths shall bind, And myrtles into arbors wind ;
To-morrow, raised on a high throne, Dione shall her laws make known.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Then the round ocean's foaming flood Immingled with celestial blood, THongst the blue purple of the main, And horses whom two feet sustain, Rising Dione did beget
With fruitful waters dropping wet.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
With flowery jewels everywhere
She paints the purple-colored year ;
She, when the rising bud receives
Favonius' breath, thrusts forth the leaves, The naked roof with these t' adorn ;
She the transparent dew o' th' morn, Which the thick air of night still uses
To leave behind, in rain diffuses ;
These tears with orient brightness shine, Whilst they with trembling weight decline, Whose every drop, into a small
Clear orb distilled, sustain its fall.
Pregnant with these the bashful rose
Her purple blushes doth disclose.
The drops of falling dew that are
Shed in calm nights by every star,
She in her humid mantle holds,
And then her virgin leaves unfolds.
I' th' morn, by her command, each maid With dewy roses is arrayed ;
Which from Cythera's crimson blood,
From the soft kisses Love bestowed,
From jewels, from the radiant flame,
And the sun's purple luster, came.
She to her spouse shall married be To-morrow ; not ashamed that he
Should with a single knot untie
Her fiery garment's purple dye.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The goddess bade the nymphs remove Unto the shady myrtle grove ;
The boy goes with the maids, yet none Will trust, or think Love tame is grown, Ifthey perceive that anywhere
He arrows doth about him bear.
Go fearless, nymphs, for Love hath laid Aside his arms, and tame is made.
His weapons by command resigned, Naked to go he is enjoined,
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
Lest he hurt any by his craft,
Either with flame, or bow, or shaft.
But yet take heed, young nymphs, beware You trust him not, for Cupid's fair,
Lest by his beauty you be harmed ;
Love naked is completely armed.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Fair Venus virgins sends to thee,
Indued with equal modesty :
One only thing we thee desire,
Chaste Delia, for a while retire ;
That the wide forest, that the wood,
May be unstained with savage blood.
She would with prayers herself attend thee, But that she knew she could not bend thee ; She would thyself to come have prayed,
Did these delights beseem a maid.
Now might'st thou see with solemn rites The Chorus celebrate three nights ;
'Mongst troops whom equal pleasure crowns, To play and sport upon thy downs ;
'Mongst garlands made of various flowers, 'Mongst ever verdant myrtle bowers.
Ceres nor Bacchus absent be,
Nor yet the poet's deity.
All night we wholly must employ
In vigils, and in songs of joy ;
None but Dione must bear sway
Amongst the woods ; Delia, give way.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
She the tribunal did command
Decked with Hyblaean flowers should stand; She will in judgment sit ; the Graces
On either side shall have their places ; Hybla, thy flowers pour forth, whate'er
Was brought thee by the welcome year; Hybla, thy flowery garment spread,
Wide as is Enna's fruitful mead;
Maids of the country here will be ;
Maids of the mountain come to see ;
THE VIGIL OF VEMJS.
Hither resort all such as dwell
Either in grove, or wood, or well.
The wing'd boy's mother every one Commands in order to sit down ; Charging the virgins that they must In nothing Love, though naked, trust.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
Let the fresh covert of a shade
Be by these early flowers displayed, To-morrow (which with sports and play
We keep) was . /Ether's wedding day ;
When first the father of the spring
Did out of clouds the young year bring.
The husband Shower then courts his spouse, And in her sacred bosom flows,
That all which that vast body bred
By this defluxion may be fed :
Produced within, she all there sways
By a hid spirit, which by ways
Unknown diffused through soul and veins, All things both governs and sustains. Piercing through the unsounded sea,
And earth, and highest heaven, she
All places with her power doth fill,
Which through each part she doth distill ; And to the world the mystic ways
Of all production open lays.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
She to the Latins did transfer
The Trojan nephews ; and by her Was the Laurentian virgin won,
And joined in marriage to her son. By her assistance did Mars gain
A votaress from Vesta's fane.
To marriage Romulus betrayed
The Sabine women, by her aid,
(Of Romans the widespreading stem,) And in the long descent of them
In whom that offspring was dilated, Caesar her nephew she created.
THE VIGIL OF VENUS.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
The fields are fruitful made by pleasure ; The fields are rich in Venus' treasure ; And Love, Dione's son, fame yields
For truth, his birth had in the fields ;
As soon as born the field relieved him, Into its bosom first received him,
She bred him from his infant hours With the sweet kisses of the flowers.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
See how the bulls their sides distend,
And broomstalks with the burthen bend ; Now every one doth safely lie
Confined within his marriage tie ;
See, with their husbands here are laid
The bleating flocks beneath the shade.
The warbling birds on every tree
The goddess wills not silent be.
The vocal swans on every lake,
With their hoarse voice a harsh sound make And Tereus' hapless maid beneath
The poplar's shade her song doth breathe ; Such as might well persuade thee, love, Doth in those trembling accents move ;
Not that the sister in those strains
Of the inhuman spouse complains.
We silent are whilst she doth sing,
How long in coming is my spring ?
When will the time arrive, that I
May swallow-like my voice untie ?
My muse for being silent flies me,
And Phoebus will no longer prize me:
So did Amiclae once, whilst all
Silence observed, through silence fall.
Love he to-morrow, who loved never ; To-morrow, who hath loved, persever.
190 EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND. By AUSONIUS.
[Decimfs Magnus Ausomus, a Roman man of letters, now remembered only as a poet ; was born at Burdigala (Bordeaux) about 310, son of a noted physician, was a classical scholar of distinction, practised law, taught grammar, became professor of rhetoric, and attained such reputation that Valentinian appointed him tutor to his son Gratian, besides making him quaestor. Gratian after his accession made him prefect of Latium, Libya, and Gaul, and consul. He was converted to Christianity, and probably died about 394. His fame rests chiefly on a collection of miscellaneous poems called " Silvae. "]
(Translated by Thomas Dale. )
Four letters now, my friend, thou hast, Each more complaining than the last,
And though I lack new phrase to tell
How long I've loved thee, and how well,— And thus, so gently, jog thy sloth,
Still to reply, I find thee loath,
As if thou had'st no time to spend Upon the letter of a friend.
Have I deserved, Paulinus, say, This thankless and unkind delay, Or dust thou curb thy wishes in, Remorseful for some secret sin, Determined to continue dumb,
As penance, for a year to come ?
This between friends ? — Why, even foes Are civil till they get to blows,
And, often ere they come to fight,
Will say "good morning," or "good night"; For why should Mars unfurl his banners Against well-breeding and good manners ? Nay e'en the very stocks and stones, Paulinus, have respondent tones,
And if you bid a cave " good by,"
A civil echo makes reply.
As for the groves, they are what folk call, Who like find words, "exceeding vocal " ; Your seashore rocks, too, are great gabblers, And streamlets are notorious babblers.
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
I've heard a buzzing hold, for hours,
With busy-body bees and flowers,
And Midas, that half-witted Vandal, Found reeds a good deal prone to scandal ; As for the wind and pines, they'll sing And quaver, too, like anything.
Ay' ! puzzle some that have reliance
Both on their voices and their science.
— Take this, in short, Paulinus, from me,
" Nature throughout, abhors a dummy. " Beasts, birds, and bats, are proofs of this,
The very serpent has his hiss ;
The proverb goes, that fish are mute,
But wise philosophers dispute,
And tell you, with a knowing wink,
"Not so mute, maybe, as you think. "
The hoarse tragedian, if he fears
His bawling may not split your ears,
Stamps when he thinks his voice is wanting, And gets the boards to help his ranting.
I pass your cymbals and your trumpet,
And drum that grumbles when you thump it ; And, quite as garrulous, I pass
Your timbrels of the noisy brass,
That at Dodona still cry clang,
Nor take, in peace, one single bang.
Paulinus, you have grown so dumb,
That those who know not whence you come Will all agree to think it likely
You are a burgher of Amyclae !
If, like Sigalion, Egypt's god,
You'll only wink, or sign, or nod,
And give a sinecure to tongue,
Can folks but wonder why 'twas hung ?
Come, come, — I know you're sorry ; — shame At once both feels and causes blame;
The more your sluggishness you see
The longer it is like to be, —
But can't you send a word or two
Just barely to say, "how d' ye do ? "— They shall pass freely for a letter, a "Health to my friend," and "yours, etc. "; I ask you not to fill the sheet,
Talk, like love cyphers, short and sweet
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
It never was my way, God knows,
To like a friend because he'd prose,
Nor did I think it less a curse
Because my friend can prose in verse. Write for the prize in pithy brevity,
And, ten to one, but we shall give it you ; E'en try to rival the gruff Spartans
Who played so dextrously their part once, And capped a tedious king's long scrawl With but one letter — that was all,
Strive like Pythagoras to teach,
Who never wasted time in speech,
But sent all syllogisms to pot,
With "this is so," and " this is not ";
A golden rule to disentangle
An argument that's grown a wrangle.
A way for all it may not suit
To get the worst in a dispute.
His affability is small
Who never says a word at all,
But he who cuts his speeches short,
We like him all the better for 't ;
And take my word, Paulinus, would ye, To be a genial fav'rite, study,
I do believe the secret lies
Midway, between two contraries,
And that the keystone of the matter,
Is neither to be dumb nor chatter.
'Tis plain (you'll tell me) that I show Aroad Inever mean to go;—
How nearly the extremes will touch
Of saying nothing and too much.
You cannot into speech be wrung,
Nor I compelled to hold my tongue ; Yet these varieties, we see,
But serve to pester you and me.
Still, — let no snowy Pyrenees,
Paulinus, thus your kindness freeze,
Nor all the shades that round you lie Make you forget our friendly sky.
Would all the plagues e'er pestered Spain Might rise and pester her again ;
EPISTLE TO A FRIEND.
Depend on 't I'd feel no objection Should Carthage make a resurrection, And set once more, to rouse your fears, Old Hannibal about your ears — Believe me, I should think it glorious To hear that the old rogue Sertorius Again on earth his nose had thrust, Resolved upon another dust.
Your country's honor, and mine own, Prop of the Senate and the throne, Shall rocky Calagorris have —
Or Bilboa — your forgotten grave, — Shall parched Ilerda refuge give, Whose thirsty river scarce can live ? — Your country saw your early rise, And let her close your dying eyes, Nor the hot sands of distant Spain These honored bones, at last, contain. Oh ! may he, who could recommend Unsocial silence to my friend,
Ingrate, ne'er have it in his choice,
For any good to use his voice ;
Grant Heav'n he never may be found,
To share the joys that spring from sound. For him may poet raise no strain —
For him no nightingale complain —
No groves resound — no breezes sigh — No echoes liquidly reply —
Deserted — poor — may he be placed Upon some lonely, barren waste,
Or 'mid untrodden mountains, where No sound disturbs the savage air,
Sad, voiceless may he wander on,
As did, of old, Bellerophon. —
But I have done ; — and now, extend Indulgence to thy chyming friend ; — And oh ! Paulinus, he would fain
That his rough-hewn Boeotian strain Might have the fortune to recall
A real poet to us all.
VOL. VII. — 13
194 JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR.
JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR. By ammianus marcellinus.
[Ammianus Marcellinub, the most valuable of Roman historians after the time of Dion Cassius, was born in Antioch about 320-325, of a noble pagan fam ily, and served in the army till middle age, winning credit as a cavalryman on several expeditions during the reign of Constantius II.
, and accompanying the emperor Julian on his fatal Persian campaign (363). Retiring to Rome, he wrote — not in his natural Greek, but in unnatural Latin — a history of the empire from the accession of Nerva (96) to the death of Valens (378). Con trary to the frequent fate of such histories, the contemporary and most valuable part has survived, and is highly valued for its accuracy and impartiality. The date of his death is unknown. ]
Capture of Amida and Escape of Ammianus.
The enemy surrounded the city with a line of heavy-armed soldiers five deep ; and at the beginning of the third day the brilliant squadrons filled every spot as far as the eye could see in every direction, and the ranks, marching slowly, took up the positions appointed to each by lot.
When we saw these countless hosts thus deliberately col lected for the conflagration of the Roman world, and directed to our own immediate destruction, we despaired of safety, and sought only how to end our lives gloriously, as we all desired.
From the rising of the sun to its setting, the enemy's lines stood immovable, as if rooted to the ground, without changing a step or uttering a sound ; nor was even the neigh of a horse heard ; and the men having withdrawn in the same order as they had advanced, after refreshing themselves with food and sleep, even before the dawn, returned, led by the clang of brazen trumpets, to surround the city, as if fated to fall with their terrible ring.
And scarcely had Grumbates, like a Roman fecial, hurled at us a spear stained with blood, according to his native fashion, than the whole army, rattling their arms, mounted up to the walls, and instantly the tumult of war grew fierce, while all the squadrons hastened with speed and alacrity to the attack, and our men on their side opposed them with equal fierceness and resolution.
Soon many of the enemy fell, with their heads crushed by vast stones hurled from scorpions, some were pierced with arrows,
JULIAN, CONSTANTIUS, AND THE PERSIAN WAR.
195
others were transfixed with javelins, and strewed the ground with their bodies ; others, wounded, fled back in haste to their comrades.
Nor was there less grief or less slaughter in the city, where the cloud of arrows obscured the air, and the vast engines, of which the Persians had got possession when they took Singra, scattered wounds everywhere.
For the garrison, collecting all their forces, returning in constant reliefs to the combat in their eagerness to defend the city, fell wounded, to the hindrance of their comrades, or, being sadly torn as they fell, threw down those who stood near them, or if still alive, sought the aid of those skillful in extracting darts which had become fixed in their bodies.
So slaughter was met by slaughter, and lasted till the close of day, being scarcely stopped by the darkness of evening, so great was the obstinacy with which both sides fought.
And the watches of the night were passed under arms, and the hills resounded with the shouts raised on both sides, while our men extolled the valor of Constantius Caesar as lord of the empire and of the world, and the Persians styled Sapor Saansas and Pyroses, which appellation means king of kings, and con queror in wars.
The next morning, before daybreak, the trumpet gave the signal, and countless numbers from all sides flocked like birds to a contest of similar violence ; and in every direction, as far as the eye could reach, nothing could be seen in the plains and valleys but the glittering arms of these savage nations.
And presently a shout was raised, and as the enemy rushed forward all at once, they were met by a dense shower of mis siles from the walls ; and as may be conjectured, none were hurled in vain, falling as they did among so dense a crowd. For while so many evils surrounded us, we fought, as I have said before, with the hope, not of procuring safety, but of dying bravely. . . .
At the dawn of the next morning we saw from the citadel an innumerable multitude, which, after the capture of the fort called Ziata, was being led to the enemy's camp. For a pro miscuous multitude had taken refuge in Ziata on account of its size and strength ; it being a place ten furlongs in circumfer ence.
In those days many other fortresses also were stormed and burnt, and many thousands of men and women carried off from
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them into slavery ; among whom were many men and women enfeebled by age, who, fainting from different causes, broke down under the length of the journey, gave up all desire of life, and were hamstrung and left behind.
The Gallic soldiers beholding these wretched crowds, de manded by a natural but unseasonable impulse to be led against the forces of the enemy, threatening their tribunes and princi pal centurions with death if they refused them leave.
And as wild beasts kept in cages, being rendered more sav age by the smell of blood, dash themselves against their mov able bars in the hope of escaping, so these men smote the gates, which we have already spoken of as being blockaded, with their swords ; being very anxious not to be involved in the destruc tion of the city till they had done some gallant exploit ; or if they ultimately escaped from their dangers, not to be spoken of as having done nothing worth speaking of, or worthy of their Gallic courage. Although when they had sallied out before, as they had often done, and had inflicted some loss on the raisers of the mounds, they had always experienced equal loss themselves.
We, at a loss what to do, and not knowing what resistance to oppose to these furious men, at length, having with some difficulty won their consent thereto, decided, since the evil could be endured no longer, to allow them to attack the Per sian advanced guard, which was not much beyond bowshot ; and then, if they could force their line, they might push their advance farther. For it was plain that if they succeeded in this, they would cause a great slaughter of the enemy.
And while the preparations for this sally were being made, the walls were still gallantly defended with unmitigated labor and watching, and planting engines for shooting stones and darts in every direction.
In the meantime the Gallic troops, impatient of delay, armed with their axes and swords, went forth from the open postern gate, taking advantage of a dark and moonless night. And imploring the Deity to be propitious, and repressing even their breath when they got near the enemy, they advanced with quick step and in close order, slew some of the watch at the outposts, and the outer sentinels of the camp (who were asleep, fearing no such event), and entertained secret hopes of pene trating even to the king's tent if fortune assisted them.
But some noise, though slight, was made by them in their
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march, and the groans of the slain aroused many from sleep ; and while each separately raised the cry "to arms," our soldiers halted and stood firm, not venturing to move any farther for ward. For it would not have been prudent, now that those whom they sought to surprise were awakened, to hasten into open danger, while the bands of Persians were now heard to be flocking to battle from all quarters.
Nevertheless the Gallic troops, with undiminished strength and boldness, continued to hew down their foes with their swords, though some of their own men were also slain, pierced by the arrows which were flying from all quarters ; and they still stood firm, when they saw the whole danger collected into one point, and the bands of the enemy coming on with speed ; yet no one turned his back : and they withdrew, retiring slowly as if in time to music, and gradually fell behind the pales of the camp, being unable to sustain the weight of the battalions pressing close upon them, and being deafened by the clang of the Persian trumpets.
And while many trumpets in turn poured out their clang from the city, the gates were opened to receive our men, if they should be able to reach them : and the engines for missiles creaked, though no javelins were shot from them, in order that the captains of the advanced guard of the Persians, ignorant of the slaughter of their comrades, might be terrified by the noise into falling back, and so allowing our gallant troops to be admitted in safety.
And owing to this maneuver, the Gauls about daybreak entered the gate, although with diminished numbers ; many of them severely and others slightly wounded. They lost four hundred men this night, when if they had not been hindered by more formidable obstacles, they would have slain in his very tent not Rhesus nor Thracians sleeping before the walls of Troy, but the king of Persia, surrounded by 100,000 armed men.
When the next day showed the slaughter which had been made, nobles and satraps were found lying amongst the corpses, and all kinds of dissonant cries and tears indicated the changed posture of the Persian host : everywhere was heard wailing ; and great indignation was expressed by the princes, who thought that the Romans had forced their way through the sentries in front of the walls. A truce was made for three days by the common consent of both armies, and we gladly accepted a little respite in which to take breath. . . .
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And now, the necessary preparations having been completed by the universal alacrity, at the rising of the day-star all kinds of structures and iron towers were brought up to the walls ; on the lofty summits of which ballistic were fitted, which beat down the garrison who were placed on lower ground.
And when day broke the iron coverings of the bodies of the foe darkened the whole heaven, and the dense lines advanced without any skirmishers in front, and not in an irregular man ner as before, but to the regular and soft music of trumpets ; protected by the roofs of the engines, and holding before them wicker shields.
And when they came within reach of our missiles, the Per sian infantry, holding their shields in front of them, and even then having difficulty in avoiding the arrows which were shot from the engines on the walls, for scarcely any kind of weapon found an empty space, they broke their line a little ; and even the cuirassiers were checked and began to retreat, which raised the spirits of our men.
Still the ballistfe of the enemy, placed on their iron towers, and pouring down missiles with great power from their high ground on those in a lower position, spread a great deal of slaughter in our ranks. At last, when evening came on, both sides retired to rest, and the greater part of the night was spent by us in considering what device could be adopted to resist the formidable engines of the enemy.
At length, after we had considered many plans, we deter mined on one which the rapidity with which it could be executed made the safest — to oppose four scorpions to the four ballistae ; which were carefully moved (a very difficult operation) from the place in which they were ; but before this work was fin ished, day arrived, bringing us a mournful sight, inasmuch as it showed us the formidable battalions of the Persians, with their trains of elephants, the noise and size of which animals are such that nothing more terrible can be presented to the mind of man.
And while we were pressed on all sides with the vast masses of arms, and works, and beasts, still our scorpions were kept at work with their iron slings, hurling huge round stones from the battlements, by which the towers of the enemy were crushed and the ballistae and those who worked them were dashed to the ground, so that many were desperately injured, and many crushed by the weight of the falling structures.
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And the elephants were driven back with violence, and, sur rounded by the flames which we poured forth against them, the moment that they were wounded retired, and could not be restrained by their riders. The works were all burnt, but still there was no cessation from the conflict.
For the king of the Persians himself, who is never expected to mingle in the fight, being indignant at these disasters, adopt ing a new and unprecedented mode of action, sprang forth like a common soldier among his own dense columns ; and as the very number of his guards made him the more conspicuous to us who looked from afar on the scene, he was assailed by nu merous missiles, and was forced to retire after he had lost many of his escort, while his troops fell back by echelons ; and at the end of the day, though frightened neither by the sad sight of the slaughter nor of the wounds, he at length allowed a short period to be given to rest.
Night had put an end to the combat ; and when a slight rest had been procured from sleep, the moment that the dawn, looked for as the harbinger of better fortune, appeared, Sapor, full of rage and indignation, and perfectly reckless, called forth his people to attack us. And as his works were all burnt, as we have related, and the attack had to be conducted by means of their lofty mounds raised close to our walls, we also from mounds within the walls, as fast as we could raise them, struggled in spite of all our difficulties, with all our might, and with equal courage, against our assailants.
And long did the bloody conflict last, nor was any one of the garrison driven by fear of death from his resolution to defend the city. The conflict was prolonged, till at last, while the fortune of the two sides was still undecided, the structure raised by our men, having been long assailed and shaken, at last fell, as if by an earthquake.
And the whole space which was between the wall and the external mound being made level as if by a causeway or a bridge, opened a passage to the enemy, which was no longer embarrassed by any obstacles ; and numbers of our men, being crushed or enfeebled by their wounds, gave up the struggle. Still men flocked from all quarters to repel so imminent a danger, but from their eager haste they got in one another's way, while the boldness of the enemy increased with their success.
By the command of the king all his troops now hastened
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into action, and a hand-to-hand engagement ensued. Blood ran down from the vast slaughter on both sides ; the ditches were filled with corpses, and thus a wider path was opened for the besiegers. And the city, being now filled with the eager crowd which forced its way in, all hope of defense or of escape was cut off, and armed and unarmed without any distinction of age or sex were slaughtered like sheep.
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It was full evening when, though fortune had proved adverse, the bulk of our troops was still fighting in good order ; and I, having concealed myself with two companions in an obscure corner of the city, now under cover of darkness made my escape by a postern gate where there was no guard ; and aided by my own knowledge of the country and by the speed of my companions, I at last reached the tenth milestone from the city.
Here, having lightly refreshed ourselves, I tried to proceed, but found myself, as a noble unaccustomed to such toil, over come by fatigue of the march. I happened to fall in, however, with what, though a most unsightly object, was to me, com pletely tired out, a most seasonable relief.
A groom riding a runaway horse, barebacked and without a bridle, in order to prevent his falling had knotted the halter by which he was guiding him tightly to his left hand, and presently, being thrown, and unable to break the knot, he was torn to pieces as he was dragged over the rough ground and through the bushes, till at last the weight of his dead body stopped the tired beast ;
availed myself of his services at a most seasonable moment, and after much suffering arrived with my companions at some sulphurous springs of naturally hot water.
On account of the heat we had suffered greatly from thirst, and had been crawling about for some time in search of water; and now when we came to this well it was so deep that we could not descend into it, nor had we any ropes; but taught by extreme necessity, we tore up the linen clothes which we wore into long rags, which we made into one great rope, and fast ened to the end of it a cap which one of us wore beneath his helmet ; and letting that down by the rope, and drawing up water in it like a sponge, we easily quenched our thirst.
From hence we proceeded rapidly to the Euphrates, intend ing to cross to the other side in the boat which long custom had stationed in that quarter, to convey men and cattle across.
I caught him, and mounting him,
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When lo ! we see at a distance a Roman force with cavalry standards, scattered and pursued by a division of Persians, though we did not know from what quarter it had come so suddenly on them in their march.
This example showed us that what men call indigenous people are not sprung from the bowels of the earth, but merely appear unexpectedly by reason of the speed of their move ments : and because they were seen unexpectedly in various places, they got the name of Sparti, and were believed to have sprung from the ground, antiquity exaggerating their renown in a fabulous manner, as it does that of other things.
Roused by this sight, since our only hope of safety lay in our speed, we drew off through the thickets and woods to the high mountains ; and from thence we went to Melitina, a town of the Lesser Armenia, where we found our chief just on the point of setting off, in whose company we went on to Antioch.
How Julian was forced into Revolt.
Even while he was hastening to lead succors to the East, which, as the concurrent testimony of both spies and deserters assured him, was on the point of being invaded by the Persians, Constantius was greatly disturbed by the virtues of Julian, which were now becoming renowned among all nations, so highly did fame extol his great labors, achievements, and victories, in hav ing conquered several kingdoms of the Alemanni, and recov ered several towns in Gaul which had been plundered and destroyed by the barbarians, and having compelled the bar barians themselves to become subjects and tributaries of the empire.
Influenced by these considerations, and fearing lest Julian's influence should become greater, at the instigation, as it is said, of the prefect Florentius, he sent Decentius, the tribune and secretary, to bring away at once the auxiliary troops of the Heruli and Batavi, and the Celtae, and the legion called Petu- lantes, and three hundred picked men from the other forces ; enjoining him to make all speed on the plea that their presence was required with the army which it was intended to march at the beginning of spring against the Parthians.
Also, Lupicinus was directed to come as commander of these auxiliary troops with the three hundred picked men, and to lose no time, as it was not known that he had crossed over
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to Britain ; and Sintula, at that time the superintendent of Julian's stables, was ordered to select the best men of the Scutarii and Gentiles, and to bring them also to join the emperor.
Julian made no remonstrance, but obeyed these orders, yielding in all respects to the will of the emperor. But on one point he could not conceal his feelings nor keep silence ; but entreated that those men might be spared from this hardship who had left their homes on the other side of the Rhine, and had joined his army on condition of never being moved into any country beyond the Alps, urging that if this were known, it might be feared that other volunteers of the barbarian nations, who had often enlisted in our service on similar con ditions, would be prevented from doing so in future. But he argued in vain.
For the tribune, disregarding his complaints, carried out the commands of the emperor, and having chosen out a band suited for forced marches, of preeminent vigor and activity, set out with them full of hope of promotion.
And as Julian, being in doubt what to do about the rest of the troops whom he was ordered to send, and revolving all kinds of plans in his mind, considered that the matter ought to be managed with great care, as there was on one side the fierceness of the barbarians, and on the other the authority of the orders he had received (his perplexity being further in creased by the absence of the commander of the cavalry), he urged the prefect, who had gone some time before to Vienne under the pretence of procuring corn, but in reality to escape from military troubles, to return to him.
For the prefect bore in mind the substance of a report which he was suspected to have sent some time before, and which recommended the withdrawing from the defense of Gaul those troops so renowned for their valor, and already objects of dread to the barbarians.
The prefect, as soon as he had received Julian's letters, informing him of what had happened, and entreating him to come speedily to him to aid the republic with his counsels, positively refused, being alarmed because the letters expressly declared that in any crisis of danger the prefect ought never to be absent from the general. And it was added that if he declined to give his aid, Julian would, of his own accord, renounce the emblems of authority, thinking it better to die,
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if so it was fated, than to have the ruin of the provinces attributed to him. But the obstinacy of the prefect prevailed, and he resolutely refused to comply with the wishes thus reasonably expressed and enforced.
But during the delay which arose from the absence of Lupicinus and of any military movement on the part of the alarmed prefect, Julian, deprived of all assistance in the way of advice, and being greatly perplexed, thought it best to hasten the departure of all his troops from the stations in which they were passing the winter, and to let them begin their march.
When this was known, some one privily threw down a bitter libel near the standard of the Petulantes legion, which, among other things, contained these words : " We are being driven to the farthest parts of the earth like condemned crim inals, and our relations will become slaves to the Alemanni after we have delivered them from that first captivity by desperate battles. "
When this writing was taken to headquarters and read, Julian, considering the reasonableness of the complaint, ordered that their families should go to the East with them, and allowed them the use of the public wagons for the purpose of moving them. And as it was for some time doubted which road they should take, he decided, at the suggestion of the secretary Decentius, that they should go by Paris, where he himself still was, not having moved.
And so it was done, and when they arrived in the suburbs, the prince, according to his custom, met them, praising those whom he recognized, and reminding individuals of their gallant deeds, he congratulated them with courteous words, encouraging them to go cheerfully to join the emperor, as they would reap the most worthy rewards of their exertions where power was the greatest and most extensive.
And to do them the more honor, as they were going to a great distance, he invited their chiefs to a supper, when he bade them ask whatever they desired. And they, having been treated with such liberality, departed, anxious and sorrowful on two accounts, because cruel fortune was separating them at once from so kind a ruler and from their native land. And with this sorrowful feeling they retired to their camp.
But when night came on they broke out into open discon tent, and their minds being excited, as his own griefs pressed
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upon each individual, they had recourse to force, and took up arms, and with a great outcry thronged to the palace, and sur rounding it so as to prevent any one from escaping, they saluted Julian as emperor with loud vociferations, insisting vehemently on his coming forth to them ; and though they were compelled to wait till daylight, still, as they would not depart, at last he did come forth. And when he appeared, they saluted him emperor with redoubled and unanimous cheers.
But he steadily resisted them individually and collectively, at one time showing himself indignant, at another holding out his hands and entreating and beseeching them not to sully their numerous victories with anything unbecoming and not to let unseasonable rashness and precipitation awaken materials for discord. At last he appeased them, and having addressed them mildly, he added : —
" I beseech you let your anger depart for a while : without any dissension or attempt at revolution what you wish will easily be obtained. Since you are so strongly bound by love of your country, and fear strange lands to which you are unaccustomed, return now to your homes, certain that you shall not cross the Alps, since you dislike it. And I will explain the matter to the full satisfaction of the emperor, who is a man of great wisdom, and will listen to reason. "
Nevertheless, after his speech was ended, the cries were repeated with as much vigor and unanimity as ever ; and so vehement was the uproar and zeal, which did not even spare reproaches and threats, that Julian was compelled to consent. And being lifted up on the shield of an infantry soldier, and raised up in sight of all, he was saluted as Augustus with one universal acclamation, and was ordered to produce a diadem. And when he said that he had never had one, his wife's coronet or necklace was demanded.
And when he protested that it was not fitting for him at his first accession to be adorned with female ornaments, the frontlet of a horse was sought for, so that being crowned there with, he might have some badge, however obscure, of supreme power. But when he insisted that that also would be unbe coming, a man named Maurus, afterwards a count, the same who was defeated in the defile of the Succi, but who was then only one of the front-rank men of the Petulantes, tore a chain off his own neck, which he wore in his quality of standard bearer,
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and placed it boldly on Julian's head, who, being thus brought under extreme compulsion, and seeing that he could not escape the most imminent danger to his life if he persisted in his resistance, consented to their wishes, and promised a largess of five pieces of gold and a pound of silver to every man.
After this Julian felt more anxiety than ever ; and, keenly alive to the future consequences, neither wore his diadem or appeared in public, nor would he even transact the serious business which pressed upon his attention, but sought retire ment, being full of consternation at the strangeness of the recent events. This continued till one of the decurions of the palace (which is an office of dignity) came in great haste to the standards of the Petulantes and of the Celtic legion, and in a violent manner exclaimed that it was a monstrous thing that he who had the day before been by their will declared emperor should have been privily assassinated.
When this was heard, the soldiers, as readily excited by what they did not know as by what they did, began to brandish their javelins, and draw their swords, and (as is usual at times of sudden tumult) to flock from every quarter in haste and dis order to the palace. The sentinels were alarmed at the uproar, as were the tribunes and the captain of the guard, and suspect ing some treachery from the fickle soldiery, they fled, fearing sudden death to themselves.
When all before them seemed tranquil, the soldiers stood quietly awhile; and on being asked what was the cause of their sudden and precipitate movement, they at first hesitated, and then avowing their alarm for the safety of the emperor, declared they would not retire till they had been admitted into the council chamber and had seen him safe in his imperial robes. . . .
Julian, considering to what great internal divisions his con duct had given rise, and that nothing is so advantageous for the success of sudden enterprise as celerity of action, saw with his usual sagacity that if he openly avowed his revolt from the emperor, he should be safer ; and feeling uncertain of the fidel ity of the soldiers, having offered secret propitiatory sacrifices to Bellona, he summoned the army by sound of trumpet to an assembly, and standing on a tribune built of stone, with every appearance of confidence in his manner, he spoke thus : . . .
The emperor's speech was approved as though it had been the voice of an oracle, and the whole assembly was greatly
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excited, and being eager for a change, they all with one con sent raised a tremendous shout, and beat their shields with a violent crash, calling him a great and noble general, and, as had been proved, a fortunate conqueror and king.
And being all ordered solemnly to swear fidelity to him, they put their swords to their throats with terrible curses, and took the oath in the prescribed form, that for him they would undergo every kind of suffering, and even death itself, if necessity should require it; and their officers and all the friends of the prince gave a similar pledge with the same forms.
Nebridius the prefect alone, boldly and unshakenly refused, declaring that he could not possibly bind himself by an oath hostile to Constantius, from whom he had received many and great obligations.
When these words of his were heard, the soldiers who were nearest to him were greatly enraged, and wished to kill him ; but he threw himself at the feet of Julian, who shielded him with his cloak. Presently, when he returned to the palace, Nebridius appeared before him, threw himself at his feet as a suppliant, and entreated him to relieve his fears by giving him his right hand. Julian replied, " Will there be any conspicu ous favor reserved for my own friends if you are allowed to touch my hand? However, depart in peace as you will. " On receiving this answer, Nebridius retired in safety to his own house in Tuscany.
By these preliminary measures, Julian having learnt, as the importance of the affair required, what great influence prompt ness and being beforehand has in a tumultuous state of affairs, gave the signal to march towards Pannonia, and advancing his standard and his camp, boldly committed himself to fickle fortune.
Death and Character of Constantius.
Constantius having hastened to Antioch, according to his wont, at the first movement of a civil war which he was eager to encounter, as soon as he had made all his preparations, was in amazing haste to march, though many of his court were so unwilling as even to proceed to murmurs. For no one dared openly to remonstrate or object to his plan.
He set forth towards the end of autumn ; and when he reached the suburb called Hippocephalus, which is about three miles from the town, as soon as it was daylight he saw on his
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right the corpse of a man who had been murdered, lying with his head torn off from the body, stretched out towards the west — and though alarmed at the omen, which seemed as if the Fates were preparing his end, he went on more resolutely, and came to Tarsus, where he caught a slight fever ; and thinking that the motion of his journey would remove the distemper, he went on by bad roads ; directing his course by Mopsucrenae, the farthest station in Cilicia for those who travel from hence, at the foot of Mount Taurus.
But when he attempted to proceed the next day he was prevented by the increasing violence of his disorder, and the fever began gradually to inflame his veins, so that his body felt like a little fire, and could scarcely be touched ; and as all remedies failed, he began in the last extremity to bewail his death ; and while his mental faculties were still entire, he is said to have indicated Julian as the successor to his power. Presently the last struggle of death came on, and he lost the power of speech. And after long and painful agony he died on the fifth of October, having lived and reigned forty years and a few months.
In accurately distinguishing the virtues and vices of Con- stantius, it will be well to take the virtues first. Always pre serving the dignity of the imperial authority, he proudly and magnanimously disdained popularity. In conferring the higher dignities he was very sparing, and allowed very few changes to be made in the administration of the finances. Nor did he ever encourage the arrogance of the soldiers.
Nor under him was any general promoted to the title of most illustrious. For there was also, as we have already men tioned, the title of most perfect. Nor had the governor of a province occasion to court a commander of cavalry ; as Con- stantius never allowed those officers to meddle with civil affairs. But all officers, both military and civil, were, accord ing to the respectful usages of old, inferior to that of the pre fect of the praetorium, which was the most honorable of all.
In taking care of the soldiers he was very cautious, an examiner into their merits, sometimes over scrupulous, giving dignities about the palace as if with scales. Under him no one who was not well known to him, or who was favored merely by some sudden impulse, ever received any high appointment in the palace. But only such as had served ten years in some capacity or other could look for such appointments as master
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of the ceremonies or treasurer. The successful candidates could always be known beforehand ; and it very seldom hap pened that any military officer was transferred to a civil office; while on the other hand none but veteran soldiers were appointed to command troops.
He was a diligent cultivator of learning, but, as his blunted talent was not suited to rhetoric, he devoted himself to ver sification; in which, however, he did nothing worth speak ing of.
In his way of life he was economical and temperate, and by moderation in eating and drinking he preserved such robust health that he was rarely ill, though when ill dangerously so. For repeated experience and proof has shown that this is the case with persons who avoid licentiousness and luxury.
He was contented with very little sleep, which he took when time and season allowed ; and throughout his long life he was so extremely chaste that no suspicion was ever cast on him in this respect, though it is a charge which, even when it can find no ground, malignity is apt to fasten on princes.
In riding and throwing the javelin, in shooting with the bow, and in all the accomplishments of military exercises, he was admirably skillful. That he never blew his nose in public, never spat, never was seen to change countenance, and that he never in all his life ate any fruit I pass over, as what has been often related before.
Having now briefly enumerated his good qualities with which we have been able to become acquainted, let us now pro ceed to speak of his vices. In other respects he was equal to average princes, but if he had the slightest reason (even if founded on wholly false information) for suspecting any one of aiming at supreme power, he would at once institute the most rigorous inquiry, trampling down right and wrong alike, and outdo the cruelty of Caligula, Domitian, or Commodus, whose barbarity he rivaled at the very beginning of his reign, when he shamefully put to death his own connections and relations.
And his cruelty and morose suspicions, which were directed against everything of the kind, were a cruel addition to the sufferings of the unhappy persons who were accused of sedition or treason.
And if anything of the kind got wind, he instituted investi gations of a more terrible nature than the law sanctioned, ap
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pointing men of known cruelty as judges in such cases ; and in punishing offenders he endeavored to protract their deaths as long as nature would allow, being in such cases more savage than even Gallienus. For he, though assailed by incessant and real plots of rebels, such as Aureolus, Posthumus, Inge- nuus, and Valens who was surnamed the Thessalonian, and many others, often mitigated the penalty of crimes liable to sentence of death ; while Constantius caused facts which were really unquestionable to be looked upon as doubtful by the excessive inhumanity of his tortures.
In such cases he had a mortal hatred of justice, even though his great object was to be accounted just and merciful : and as sparks flying from a dry wood, by a mere breath of wind are sometimes carried on with unrestrained course to the danger of the country villages around, so he also from the most trivial causes kindled heaps of evils, being very unlike that wise em peror Marcus Aurelius, who, when Cassius in Syria aspired to the supreme power, and when a bundle of letters which he had written to his accomplices was taken with their bearer, and brought to him, ordered them at once to be burned, while he was still in Illyricum, in order that he might not know who had plotted against him, and so against his will be obliged to consider some persons as his enemies.
And, as some right thinking people are of opinion, it was rather an indication of great virtue in Constantius to have quelled the empire without shedding more blood, than to have revenged himself with such cruelty.
As Cicero also teaches us, when in one of his letters to Ne- pos he accuses Caesar of cruelty, " For," says he, " felicity is nothing else but success in what is honorable ; or to define it in another way, Felicity is fortune assisting good counsels, and he who is not guided by such cannot be happy. Therefore in wicked and impious designs such as those of Caesar there could be no felicity ; and in my judgment Camillus when in exile was happier than Manlius at the same time, even if Man- lius had been able to make himself king, as he wished. "
The same is the language of Heraclitus of Ephesus, when he remarks that men of eminent capacity and virtue, through the caprice of fortune, have often been overcome by men des titute of either talent or energy. But that glory is the best when power, existing with high rank, forces, as it were, its in clinations to be angry and cruel and oppressive under the yoke,
VOL. VII. —14
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and so erects a glorious trophy in the citadel of its victorious mind.
But as in his foreign wars this emperor was unsuccessful and unfortunate, on the other hand in his civil contests he was successful; and in all those domestic calamities he covered himself with the horrid blood of the enemies of the republic and of himself ; and yielding to his elation at these triumphs in a way neither right nor usual, he erected at a vast expense triumphal arches in Gaul and the two Pannonias, to record his triumphs over his own provinces ; engraving on them the titles
as long as they should last, to those who
He was preposterously addicted to listening to his wives, and to the thin voices of his eunuchs, and some of his courtiers, who applauded all his words, and watched everything he said, whether in approval or disapproval, in order to agree with it.
The misery of these times was further increased by the insatiable covetousness of his tax-collectors, who brought him more odium than money ; and to many persons this seemed the more intolerable, because he never listened to any excuse, never took any measures for relief of the provinces when op pressed by the multiplicity of taxes and imposts ; and in addi tion to all this he was very apt to take back any exemptions which he had granted.
He confused the Christian religion, which is plain and sim ple, with old women's superstitions ; in investigating which he preferred perplexing himself to settling its questions with dignity, so that he excited much dissension ; which he further encouraged by diffuse wordy explanations : he ruined the establishment of public conveyances by devoting them to the service of crowds of priests, who went to and fro to different synods, as they call the meetings at which they endeavor to settle everything according to their own fancy.
As to his personal appearance and stature, he was of a dark complexion with prominent eyes ; of keen sight, soft hair, with his cheeks carefully shaved, and bright looking. From his waist to his neck he was rather long, his legs were very short and crooked, which made him a good leaper and runner.
. . . read the inscriptions.
of his exploits
THE C^SARS. 211
THE CAESARS.
By THE EMPEROR JULIAN.
[Flavius Claudius Jumasub, Roman emperor, nephew of Constantine the Great, was born a. d. 331. He and his half-brother Gallus were the only sur vivors of the family massacre wrought by his cousin Constantius II. , son of Con stantine, who had him educated as a Christian ; but that faith being repugnant to his intellect, and detestable as being that of the assassin, he only accepted it from compulsion and repudiated it as soon as he had the power. The schools of phi losophy at Athens taught him a symbolism in mythology which enchanted him, and determined him to reintroduce the old worship which Constantine had abandoned. In 355 Constantius made him Caesar, married him to his own daughter Helena, and gave him the government of Gaul, Spain, and Britain, with headquarters at Paris ; he was very successful against the barbarians, and the troops, who hated the gloomy tyrant Constantius, revolted, and gave him the choice of empire or death. Ho marched on Constantinople ; Constantius died while advancing to meet him, and he was left emperor without dispute, a. d. 361. He at once proclaimed his renunciation of Christianity, and an edict of universal toleration. In 363 he began a campaign against Persia to revive the glories of Trajan, and was killed while conducting a retreat.