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the cry is Astur : And lo ! the ranks divide ;
And the great Lord of Luna Comes with his stately stride.
Upon his ample shoulders
Clangs loud the fourfold shield,
And in his hand he shakes the brand Which none but he can wield.
HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
xxm.
He smiled on those bold Romans A smile serene and high ;
He eyed the flinching Tuscans, And scorn was in his eye.
Quoth he, " The she-wolf's litter Stand savagely at bay :
But will ye dare to follow, If Astur clears the way? "
XXIV.
Then, whirling up his broadsword With both hands to the height,
He rushed against Horatius, And smote with all his might. With shield and blade Horatius
Right deftly turned the blow.
The blow, though turned, came yet too nigh ; It missed his helm, but gashed his thigh : The Tuscans raised a joyful cry
To see the red blood flow.
XLV.
He reeled, and on Herminius
He leaned one breathing space ;
Then, like a wild cat mad with wounds, Sprang right at Astur's face.
Through teeth, and skull, and helmet So fierce a thrust he sped,
The good sword stood a handbreadth out Behind the Tuscan's head.
XL VI.
And the gTeat Lord of Luna Fell at that deadly stroke, As falls on Mount Alvernus
A thunder-smitten oak. Far o'er the crashing forest
The giant arms lie spread ;
And the pale augurs, muttering low,
Gaze on the blasted head.
XLVH.
On Astur's throat Horatius Right firmly pressed his heel,
HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
And thrice and four times tugged amain, Ere he wrenched out the steel.
"And see," he cried, "the welcome, Fair guests, that waits you here !
What noble Lucumo comes next To taste our Roman cheer ? "
XXVIII.
But at his haughty challenge A sullen murmur ran,
Mingled of wrath, and shame, and dread, Along that glittering van.
There lacked not men of prowess, Nor men of lordly race ;
For all Etruria's noblest
Were round the fatal place.
XLIX.
But all Etruria's noblest
Felt their hearts sink to see
On the earth the bloody corpses,
In the path the dauntless Three :
And, from the ghastly entrance Where those bold Romans stood, All shrank, like boys who unaware,
Ranging the woods to start a hare, Gome to the mouth of the dark lair Where, growling low, a fierce old bear
Lies amidst bones and blood.
L.
Was none who would be foremost To lead such dire attack :
But those behind cried "Forward! " And those before cried " Back ! "
And backward now and forward Wavers the deep array ;
And on the tossing sea of steel, To and fro the standards reel ; And the victorious trumpet peal
Dies fitfully away.
LI.
Yet one man for one moment Stood out before the crowd ;
HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
Well known was he to all the Three, " And they gave him greeting loud. Now welcome, welcome, Sextus !
Now welcome to thy home !
Why dost thou stay, and turn away ?
Here lies the road to Borne. " LII.
Thrice looked he at the city ; Thrice looked he at the dead ;
And thrice came on in fury,
And thrice turned back in dread :
And, white with fear and hatred, Scowled at the narrow way
Where, wallowing in a pool of blood, The bravest Tuscans lay.
un.
But meanwhile ax and lever Have manfully been plied ;
And now the bridge hangs tottering " Above the boiling tide. "
Come back, come back, Horatius ! Loud cried the Fathers all.
"Back, Lartius! back, Herminius! Back, ere the ruin fall ! "
LIV.
Back darted Spurius Lartius ; Herminius darted back :
And, as they passed, beneath their feet They felt the timbers crack.
But when they turned their faces, And on the farther shore
Saw brave Horatius stand alone,
They would have crossed once more
LV.
But with a crash like thunder Fell every loosened beam,
And, like a dam, the mighty wreck Lay right athwart the stream :
And a long shout of triumph Rose from the walls of Rome,
As to the highest turret tops
Was splashed the yellow foam.
IIORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
LVI.
And, like a horse unbroken When first he feels the rein,
The furious river struggled hard, And tossed his tawny mane,
And burst the curb, and bounded, Rejoicing to be free,
And whirling down, in fierce career, Battlement, and plank, and pier,
Rushed headlong to the sea.
LVII.
Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind ;
Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind.
"Down with him ! " cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face.
"Now yield thee," cried Lars Porsena, " Now yield thee to our grace. "
LVIII.
Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see ;
Naught spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus naught spake he }
But he saw on Palatinus
The white porch of his home ;
And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome.
MX.
"Oh, Tiber! father Tiber!
To whom the Romans pray,
A Roman's life, a Roman's arms," Take thou in charge this day !
So he spake, and speaking sheathed
The good sword by his side, And with his harness on his back,
Plunged headlong in the tide.
LX.
No sound of joy or sorrow
Was heard from either bank ;
But friends and foes in dumb surprise,
HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank ;
And when above the surges They saw his crest appear,
All Rome sent forth a rapturous cry, And even the ranks of Tuscany
Could scarce forbear to cheer.
IiXL
But fiercely ran the current, Swollen high by months of rain :
And fast his blood was flowing ; And he was sore in pain,
And heavy with his armor,
And spent with changing blows : And oft they thought him sinking,
But still again he rose.
LXII.
Never, I ween, did swimmer, In such an evil case,
Struggle through such a raging flood Safe to the landing place :
But his limbs were borne up bravely By the brave heart within,
And our good father Tiber Bore bravely up his chin.
"am
"Curse on him ! quoth false Sextus; "Will not the villain drown ?
But for this stay, ere close of day " We should have sacked the town !
" Heaven help him ! " quoth Lars Porsena, " And bring him safe to shore ;
For such a gallant feat of arms Was never seen before. "
LXIV.
And now he feels the bottom ; Now on dry earth he stands ;
Now round him throng the Fathers To press his gory hands ;
And now, with shouts and clapping, And noise of weeping loud,
IIORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE.
He enters through the Kiver Gate, Borne by the joyous crowd.
LXV.
They gave him of the corn land, That was of public right,
As much as two strong oxen
Could plow from morn till night ;
And they made a molten image, And set it up on high,
And there it stands unto this day To witness if I lie.
lxvi.
It stands in the Comitium Plain for all folk to see ;
Horatius in his harness, Halting upon one knee : And underneath is written,
In letters all of gold,
How valiantly he kept the bridge
In the brave days of old.
LXVII.
And still his name sounds stirring Unto the men of Rome,
As the trumpet blast that cries to them To charge the Volscian home ;
And wives still pray to Juno For boys with hearts as bold
As his who kept the bridge so well In the brave days of old.
IiXVTII.
And in the nights of winter,
When the cold north winds blow, And the long howling of the wolves
Is heard amidst the snow ; When round the lonely cottage Roars loud the tempest's din,
And the good logs of Algidus Boar louder yet within ;
THE POET'S FUNCTION.
LXIX.
When the oldest cask is opened, And the largest lamp is lit ;
When the chestnuts glow in the embers, And the kid turns on the spit ;
When young and old in circle Around the firebrands close ;
When the girls are weaving baskets, And the lads are shaping bows ;
LXX.
When the goodman mends his armor, And trims his helmet's plume ;
When the goodwife's shuttle merrily Goes flashing through the loom ;
With weeping and with laughter Still is the story told,
How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old.
THE POET'S FUNCTION. x.
By ARTHUR O'SHAUGHNESSY.
We are the music makers,
And we are the dreamers of dreams,
Wandering by lone sea breakers, — And sitting by desolate streams :
World losers and world forsakers, On whom the pale moon gleams ; Yet we are the makers and shakers
Of the world forever, it seems.
With wonderful, deathless ditties We build up the world's great cities,
And out of a fabulous story
We fashion an empire's glory : One man with a dream, at pleasure,
Shall go forth and conquer a crown ; And three with a new song's measure
Can trample a kingdom down.
THE POET'S FUNCTION.
We, in the ages lying
In the buried past of the earth,
Built Nineveh with our sighing, And Babel itself with our mirth ;
And o'erthrow them with prophesying
To the Old of the New World's worth:
For each age is a dream that is dying, Or one that is coming to birth.
it
By ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH.
Come, poet, come !
A thousand laborers ply their task,
And what it tends to, scarcely ask.
And trembling thinkers on the brink Shiver, and know not what to think.
To tell the purport of their pain,
And what our silly joys contain ;
In lasting lineaments portray
The substance of the shadowy day 5
Our real and inner deeds rehearse,
And make our meaning clear in verse — Come, poet, come ! for but in vain
We do the work or feel the pain,
And gather up the evening gain,
Unless before the end thou come
To take, ere they are lost, their sum.
Come, poet, come !
To give an utterance to the dumb,
And make vain babblers silent, come :
A thousand dupes point here and there, Bewildered by the show and glare j
And wise men half have learned to doubt Whether we are not best without.
Come, Poet ! both but wait to see
Their error proved to them in thee.
Come, poet, come !
In vain I seem to call. And yet Think not the living times forget. Ages of heroes fought and fell That Homer in the end might tell 5 O'er groveling generations past Upstood the Doric fane at last j
48
CORIOLANUS.
And countless hearts on countless years Had wasted thoughts, and hopes, and fears, Rude laughter and unmeaning tears,
Ere England Shakespeare saw, or Rome The pure perfection of her dome.
Others, I doubt not, if not we,
The issue of our toils shall see ;
Young children gather as their own
The harvest that the dead had sown —
The dead forgotten and unknown.
CORIOLANUS.
By PLUTARCH. (Translated by Sir Thomas North. )
[Pltjtahch : A Greek writer of biographies and miscellaneous works ; born about a. d. 60. He came of a wealthy and distinguished family and received a careful philosophical training at Athens under the Peripatetic philosopher Ammonius. After this he made several journeys, and stayed a considerable time in Rome, where he enjoyed friendly intercourse with persons of distinction, and conducted the education of the future Emperor Hadrian. He died about a. d. 120 in his native town, in which he held the office of archon and priest of the Pythian Apollo. His fame as an author is founded upon the celebrated " Parallel Lives," consisting of the biographies of forty-six Greeks and Romans, divided into pairs. Each pair contains the life of a Greek and a Roman, and generally ends with a comparison of the two. Plutarch's other writings, more than sixty short treatises on a great variety of subjects, are grouped under the title of "Morals,"]
Caius Martius, whose life we intend now to write, being left an Orphan by his Father, was brought up under his Mother, a Widow, who taught us by experience that Orphanage bring- eth many discommodities to a Childe, but doth not hinder him to become an honest man, and to excell in vertue above the common sort : as they that are dearly borne, wrongfully do com- plaine, that it is the occasion of their casting away, for that no man in their youth taketh any care of them to see them well brought up, and taught that were meete. This man also is a good proofe to confirme some mens opinions : That a rare and excellent wit untaught, doth bring forth many good and evill things together ; as a fat soyle that lieth unmanured bringeth forth both herbes and weedes. For this Martius naturall wit and great heart did marvellously stirre up his courage to do
Coriolanus
Photogravure from the painting in the Boydell Gallery
CORIOLANUS. 49
and attempt notable acts. But on the other side for lack of education, he was so cholericke and impatient, that he would yeeld to no living creature ; which made him churlish, uncivill, and altogether unfit for any mans conversation. Yet men marvelling much at his constancy, that he was never overcome with pleasure, nor money, and how he would endure easily all manner of paines and travels : thereupon they well liked and commended his stoutness and temperancy. But for all that, they could not be acquainted with him, as one Citizen useth to be with another in the City ; his behavior was so unpleasant to them by reason of a certaine insolent and sterne manner he had, which because he was too Lordly, was disliked. And to say truly, the greatest benefit that Learning bringeth unto men, is this : that it teacheth men that be rude and rough of nature, by compasse and rule of reason, to be civill and courte ous, and to like better the meane state, than the higher. . . .
Now he being growne to great credit and authority in Rome for his valiantnesse, it fortuned there grew sedition in the City, because the Senate did favour the rich against the People, who did complaine of the sore oppression of Usurers, of whom they borrowed money. For those that had little were yet spoiled of that little they had by their Creditors, for lacke of ability to pay the usury: who offered their goods to be sold to them that would give most. And such as had nothing left, their bodies were laid hold on, and they were made their Bondmen, notwith standing all the wounds and cuts they shewed, which they had received in many Battels, fighting for defence of their Countrey and Commonwealth : of the which the last Warre they made was against the Sabynes, wherein they fought upon the prom ise the rich men had made them, that from thenceforth they would intreat them more gently, and also upon the word of Marcus Valerius Chiefe of the Senate, who by Authority of the Councell, and in behalfe of the rich, said they should performe that they had promised. But after that tbey had faithfully served in this last Battell of all, where they overcame their Enemies, seeing they were never a whit the better ; nor more gently intreated, and that the Senate would give no care to them, but made as though they had forgotten their former promise, and suffered them to be made Slaves and Bond-men to their Creditors ; and besides, to be turned out of all that ever they had : they fell then even to flat rebellion and mutiny, and to stir up dangerous tumults within the City.
VOL. III. —4
60 CORIOLANUS.
The Romans Enemies hearing of this rebellion, did straight enter the Territories of Rome with a marvellous great Power, spoiling and burning all as they came. Whereupon the Senate immediately made open Proclamation by sound of Trumpet, That all those that were of lawf ull age to carry Weapon, should come and enter their names into the Muster-masters Booke, to go to the Warres : but no man obeyed their commandment. Whereupon their chiefe Magistrates, and many of the Senate, began to be of divers opinions among themselves. For some thought it was reason, they should somewhat yeeld to the poore Peoples request, and that they should a little qualifie the severity of the Law. Other held hard against that opinion, and that was Martius for one. For he alleged, that the Cred itors losing their Money they had lent, was not the worst thing that was herein : but that the lenity that was favoured, was a beginning of disobedience, and that the proud attempt of Com monalty, was to abolish Law, and to bring all to confusion. Therefore he said, if the Senate were wise, they should betimes prevent and quench this ill favoured and worse meant begin ning. The Senate met many daies in consultation about it: but in the end they concluded nothing.
The poore common People seeing no redresse, gathered themselves one day together, and one encouraging another, they all forsooke the City, and encamped themselves upon a hill, called at that day the holy hill along the River of Tiber, offering no creature any hurt or violence, or making any shew of actuall rebellion, saving that they cried as they went up and downe, that the rich men had driven them out of the City, and that throughout all Italy they might finde aire, water, and ground to bury them in. Moreover they said, to dwell at Rome was nothing else but to be slaine, or hurt with continuall Warres, and fighting for defence of the rich mens Goods. The Senate being afraid of their departure, did send unto them cer tain of the pleasantest old men, and the most acceptable to the People among them. Of those Menenius Agrippa was he, who was sent for chiefe man of the Message from the Senate. He after many good perswasions and gentle requests made to the People, on the behalfe of the Senate, knit up his Oration in the end, with a notable tale in this manner.
That on a time all the Members of mans body did rebell against the belly, complaining of it, that it onely remained in the midst of the body, without doing anything, neither did
CORIOLANUS. 51
beare any labour to the maintenance of the rest : whereas all other parts and Members did labour painfully, and were very carefull to satisfy the appetites and desires of the body. And so the belly, all this notwithstanding, laughed at their folly, and said : It is true, I first receive all meates, that nourish mans body : but afterwards I send it againe to the nourishment of other parts of the same. Even so (quoth he) O you, my Masters, and Citizens of Rome, the reason is alike betweene the Senate and you. For matters being well digested, and their counsels thoroughly examined, touching the benefit of the Common-wealth, the Senators are cause of the common com modity that cometh unto every one of you.
The Perswasions pacified the People, conditionally, that the Senate would grant there should be yearly chosen five Magis trates, which they now call Tribuni plebis, whose Office should be to defend the poore People from violence and oppression. So Junius Brutus, and Sicinius Veletus, were the first Tribunes of the People that were chosen, who had onely beene the causers and procurers of this sedition. Hereupon the City being growne againe to good quiet and unity, the People immediately went to the Warres, shewing that they had a good will to do better than ever they did, and to be very willing to obey the Magistrates in that they would command, concerning the Warres. Martius also, though it liked him nothing to see the greatnesse of the People thus increased, considering it was to the prejudice and imbasing of the Nobility, and also saw that other noble Patricians were troubled as well as himselfe : he did perswade the Patricians, to shew themselves no less for ward and willing to fight for their countrey, then the common People were : and to let them know by their deeds and acts, that they did not so much passe the People in power and riches, as they did exceed them in true Nobility and valiantnesse. . . .
Shortly after this, Martius stoode for the Consulship ; and the common People favored his sute, thinking it would be a shame to them to deny and refuse the chiefest Nobleman of bloud, and most worthy person of Rome, and specially him that had done so great service and good to the Common-wealth. For the custome of Rome was at that time, that such as did sue for any Office, should for certaine dayes before be in the Market place, onely with a poore Gowne on their backs, and without any coate underneath, to pray the Citizens to remember them at the day of election ; which was thus devised, either to move
52 CORIOLANUS.
the People the more, by requesting them in such meane Appar- ell, or else because they might shew them their wounds they had gotten in the Warres in the service of the Common-wealth, as manifest markes and testimonies for their valiantnesse. Now Martius following this custome, shewed many wounds and cuts upon his body, which he had received in seventeene years ser vice at the Warres, and in many sundry Battels, being ever the foremost man that did set out feete to fight. So that there was not a man among the People, but was ashamed of himselfe, to refuse so valiant a man ; and one of them said to another, we must needs choose him Consul, there is no remedy. But when the day of election was come, and that Martius came to the Market-place with great pompe, accompanied with all the Senate and the whole Nobility of the City about him, who sought to make him Consull, with the greatest instance and intreaty they could, or ever attempted for any man or matter : then the love and good will of the common People turned straight to an hate and envie toward him, fearing to put this Office of Soveraigne Authority into his hands, being a man somewhat partiall towards the Nobility, and of great credit and Authority among the Patricians, and as one they might doubt would take away altogether the liberty from the People. Whereupon for these considerations, they refused Martius in the end, and made two other that were Suters, Consuls.
The Senate being marvellously offended with the People, did account the shame of this refusall, rather to redound to them selves then to Martius : but Martius tooke it in far worse part then the Senate, and was out of all patience. For he was a man too full of passion and choler, and too much given over to selfe-will and opinion, as one of a high minde and great courage, that lacked the gravity and affability that is gotten with judge ment of Learning and reason, which onely is to be looked for in a Governor of State : and that remembered not how wilf ul- nesse is the thing of the World, which a Governor of a Com mon-Wealth for pleasing should shunne, being that which Plato called solitarinesse. As in the end, all men that are wilfully given to a selfe-opinion and obstinate minde, and who will never yeeld to others reason, but to their owne, remaine with out company and forsaken of all men. For a man that will live in the world, must needs have patience, which lusty blouds make but a mocke at. So Martius being a stout man of nature, that never yeelded in any respect, as one thinking that to over
CORIOLANUS. 53
come alwaies, and to have the upper hand in all matters, was a token of magnanimity, and of no base and faint courage, which spitteth out anger from the most weake and passioned part of the heart, much like the matter of an imposthume : went home to his house, full fraighted with spite and malice against the People, being accompanied with all the lustieth young Gentle men, whose mindes were nobly bent, as those that came of noble race, and commonly used for to follow and honor him. But then specially they flockt about him, and kept him company to his much harme, for they did but kindle and inflame his choler more and more, being sorry with him for the injury the People offered him, because he was their Captaine and Leader to the
Warres, that taught them all Martial Discipline, and stirred up in them a noble emulation of honor and valiantnesse, and yet without envie, praising them that deserved best.
In the meane season, there came great plenty of Corne to Rome, that had beene bought, part in Italy, and part was sent out of Sicile, as given by Gelon the Tyrant of Syracusa : so that many stoode in great hope, that the dearth of Victuals being holpen, the civill dissention would also cease. The Sen ate sate in Councell upon it immediately, the common People stoode also about the Palace where the Councell was kept, gap ing what resolution would fall out : perswading themselves that the Corne they had bought should be sold good cheape, and that which was given should be divided by the poll, with out paying any penny, and the rather, because certaine of the Senators amongst them did so wish and perswade the same. " But Martius standing upon his feete, did somewhat sharply take up those who went about to gratifie the People therein : and called them People-pleasers, and Traytors to the Nobility. Moreover he said, they nourished against themselves, the naughty feede and cockle of insolvency and sedition, which had been sowed and scattered abroad amongst the People, which they should have cut off, if they had beene wise in their growth : and not (to their owne destruction) have suffered the People, to establish a Magistrate for themselves of so great Power and Authority, as that man had, to whom they had granted it. Who was also to be feared, because he obtained what he would, and did nothing but what he listed, neither passed for any obedience to the Consuls, but lived in all liberty, acknowledging no superior to command him, saving the onely heads and authors of their faction, whom he called his
54 CORIOLANUS.
Magistrates. Therefore, said he, they that gave counsell, and perswaded that the Come should be given out to the common People gratis, as they used to do in the Cities of Greece, where the People had more absolute Power, did but only nourish their disobedience, which would breake out in the end, to the utter ruine and overthrow of the whole State. For they will not think it is done in recompense of their service past, sithence they know well enough they have so oft refused to go to the Warres, when they were commanded : neither for their muti nies when they went with us, whereby they have rebelled and forsaken their countrey : neither for their accusations which their flatterers have preferred unto them, and they have received, and made good against the Senate : but they will rather judge, we give and grant them this, as abasing ourselves and standing in feare of them, and glad to flatter them every way. By this meanes their disobedience will still grow worse and worse : and they will never leave to practice new seditions and uprores. Therefore it was a great folly for us, methinks, to do it : yea, shall I say more ? we should if we were wise, take from them their Tribuneship, which most manifestly is the embasing of the Consulship, and the cause of the division of the City. The state whereof as it standeth, is not now as it was wont to be, but becometh dismembered in two factions, which maintaines alwaies civill dissention and discord betweene us, and will never suffer us againe to be united into one body. "
Martius dilating the matter with many such reasons, wonne all the young men, and almost all the rich men to his opinion : in somuch, as they rang it out, that he was the onely man, and alone in the City, who stood out against the People, and never flat tered them. There were onely a few old men that spake against him, fearing lest some mischiefe might fall out upon it, as indeed there followed no great good afterward. For the Tribunes of the People being present at this consultation of the Senate, when they saw that the opinion of Martius was confirmed with the more voyces, they left the Senate, and went downe to the People, crying out for helpe, and that they would assemble to save their Tribunes. Hereupon the People ranne on head in tumult together, before whom the words that Martius spake in the Senate were openly reported : which the People so stom- acked, that even in that fury they were ready to flie upon the whole Senate.
But the Tribunes laid all the fault and the burthen wholly upon Martius, and sent their Serjeants forth
CORIOLANUS.
55
with to arrest him, presently to appeare in person before the People, to answer the words he had spoken in the Senate. Martius stoutly withstood these Officers that came to arrest him. Then the Tribunes in their owne persons, accompanied with the Aediles, went to fetch him by force, and so laid vio lent hands upon him. Howbeit the noble Patricians gathering together about him, made the Tribunes give back, and laid sore upon the Aediles : so for that time, the night parted them, and the tumult appeased. . . .
Martius came and presented himselfe to answer the Accusa tions against him, and the People held their peace, and gave attentive eare, to heare what he would say. But where they thought to have heard very humble and lowly words come from him, he began not onely to use his wonted boldness of speaking
(which of itselfe was very rough and unpleasant, and did more aggravate his accusation, then purge his innocency) but also gave himselfe in these words to thunder, and looke therewithall so grimly, as though he made no reckoning of the matter. This stirred coalls among the People, who were in wonderfull fury at it, and their hate and malice grew so toward him, that they could hold no longer, beare, nor indure his bravery and care- lesse boldnesse. Whereupon Sicinius, the cruellest and stout est of the Tribunes, after he had whispered a little with his companions, did openly pronounce in the face of all the People, Martius as condemned by the Tribunes to die. Then presently he commanded the Aediles to apprehend him, and carry him straight to the Rock Tarpeian, and to cast him headlong downe the same. When the Aediles came to lay hands on Martius to do that they were commanded, divers of the People themselves thought it too cruell and violent a deede. The Noblemen being much troubled to see so much force and rigour used, began to crie aloud : Helpe Martius : so those that laid hands on him being rapulsed, they compassed him in round among themselves, and some of them holding up their hands to the People, besought them not to handle him thus cruelly.
But neither their words nor crying out could ought prevaile, the tumult and hurly burly was so great, untill such time as the Tribunes owne friends and kinsmen weighing with themselves the impossibility to convey Martius to execution, without great slaughter and murder of the Nobility : did perswade and advise not to proceede in so violent and extraordinary a sort, a to put such a man to death, without lawfull processe in Law, but
56 CORIOLANUS.
that they should referre the sentence of his death, to the free voyce of the People. Then Sicinius bethinking himselfe a little, did aske the Patricians for what cause they tooke Martius out of the Officers hands that went to do execution ? The Patri cians asked him againe, why they would of themselves so cruelly and wickedly put to death, so noble and valiant a Roman as Martius was, and that without Law and Justice ? Well, then, said Sicinius, if that be the matter, let there be no quarrell or dissention against the People : for they do grant your demand, that his Cause should be heard according to the Law. Therefore, said he to Martius, we do will and charge you to appeare before the People, the third day of our next sitting and assembly here, to make your purgation for such
Articles as shall be objected against you, that by free voyce the People may give sentence upon you as shall please them. The Noblemen were glad then of the adjournment, and were much pleased they had gotten Martius out of this danger.
After declaration of the Sentence, the People made such joy, as they never rejoiced more for any Battel they had wonne upon their Enemies, they were so brave and lively, and went home so jocondly from the Assembly, for triumph of this sentence. The Senate againe in contrary manner were as sadde and heavie, repenting themselves beyond measure, that they had not rather determined to have done and suffered any thing whatsoever, before the common People should so arro gantly and outragiously have abused their Authority. There needed no difference of Garments I warrant you, nor outward shewes to know a Plebeian from a Patrician, for they were easily discerned by their lookes. For he that was on the Peo ples side, looked cheerfully on the matter : but he that was sadde, and hung downe his head, he was sure of the Noblemens side. Saving Martius alone, who neither in his countenance nor in his gate, did ever shew himselfe abashed, or once let fall his great courage : but he onely of all other Gentlemen that were angry at his fortune, did outwardly shew no manner of passion, nor care at all of himselfe. Not that he did patiently beare and temper his evill happe, in respect of any reason he had, or by his quiet condition : but because he was so carried away with the vehemency of anger, and desire of revenge, that he had no sense nor feeling of the hard state he was in, which the common People judge not to be sorrow, although indeede it be the very same. For when sorrow (as you would say) is set on
CORIOLANTJS. 57
fire, then it is converted into spite and malice, and driveth away from that time all faintnesse of heart and naturall feare. . . . Now that Marthas was even in that taking, it appeared true soone after by his doings. For when he was come home to his house againe, and had taken his leave of his Mother and Wife, finding them weeping and shriking out for sorrow, and had also comforted and perswaded them to be content with his chance :
he went immediately to the Gate of the City, accompanied with a great number of Patricians, that brought him thither, from whence he went on his way with three or foure of his friends onely, taking nothing with him, nor requesting any thing of any man. So he remained a few daies in the Countrey at his houses, turmoyled with sundry sorts and kinds of thoughts, such as the fire of his choler did stir up. In the end seeing he could resolve no way, to take a profitable or honourable course, but onely was pricked forward still to be revenged of the Romans : he thought to raise up some great Warres against them, by their neerest neighbours. Whereupon he thought it his best way, first to stir up the Volsces against them. . . .
In this while, all went still to wracke at Rome. For to come into the field to fight with the Enemy, they could not abide to heare of it, they were one so much against another, and full of seditious words, the Nobility against the People, and the People against the Nobility. Untill they had intelli gence at the length, that the Enemies had laid siege to the City of Lavinium, in the which were all the Temples and Images of their gods their Protectors, and from whence came first their ancient Originall, for that Aeneas at his first arivall into Italy did build that City. Then fell there out a marvellous sudden change of minde among the People, and farre more strange and contrary in the Nobility. For the People thought it good to repeale the condemnation and exile of Martius. The Senate assembled upon it, would in no case yeeld to that : who either did it of a selfe-will to be contrary to the Peoples desire, or because Martius should not returne thorow the grace and favour of the People. Or else, because they were throughly
angry and offended with him, that he would set upon the whole, being offended but by a few, and in his doings would shew himselfe an open Enemy besides unto his Countrey : not withstanding the most part of them tooke the wrong they had done him, in marvellous ill part, and as if the injury had beene done unto themselves.
58 CORIOLANUS.
Report being made of the Senates resolution, the People found themselves in a straight : for they could authorize and confirme nothing by their voyces, unlesse it had beene first propounded and ordained by the Senate. But Martius hearing this stirre about him, was in a greater rage with them then before : insomuch as he raised his Siege incontinently befor the City of Lavinium, and going towards Rome, lodged his Campe within forty Furlong of the City, at the Ditches called Cluiliea. His incamping so neere Rome, did put all the whole City in a wonderfull feare ; howbeit for the present time it appeased the sedition and dissention betwixt the Nobility and the People. For there was no Consull, Senator, nor Magistrate, that durst once contrary the opinion of the People, for the calling home againe of Martius. When they saw the Women in a marvellous feare, running up and downe the City : the Temples of the gods full of old People, weeping bitterly in their Prayers to the gods : and finally, not a man either wise or hardy to provide for their safety : then they were all of opinion, that the People had reason to call home Martius againe, to reconcile themselves to him, and that the Senate on the con trary part, were in marvellous great fault, to be angry and in choler with him, when it stoode them upon, rather to have gone out and intreated him. So they all agreed together to send Ambassadours unto him, to let him understand how his coun- treymen did call him home againe, and restored him to all his Goods, and besought him to deliver them from this Warre.
The Ambassadours that were sent, were Martius familiar friends and acquaintance, who looked at the least for a cour teous welcome of him, as of their familiar friend and kinsman. Howbeit they found nothing lesse ; for at their coming they were brought through the Campe, to the place where he was set in his Chaire of State, with a marvellous and unspeakable Majesty, having the chiefest men of the Volsces about him : so he commanded them to declare openly the cause of their com ing. Which they delivered in the most humble and lowly words they possibly devis«, and with all modest countenance and behaviour agreeable to the same. When they had done their Message : for the injury they had done him, he answered them very hotly and in great choler : but as Generall of the Volsces, he willed them to restore unto the Volsces, all their Lands and Cities they had taken from them in former Warres :
and moreover, that they should give them the like honour and
CORIOLANUS. 59
freedom of Rome, as they had before given to the Latines. For otherwise they had no other meane to end this Warre, if they did not grant these honest and just Conditions of Peace. Thereupon he gave them thirty dayes respite to make him answer. So the Ambassadours returned straight to Rome, and Martius forthwith departed with his army out of the Territo ries of the Romanes.
Wherefore, the time of Peace expired, Martius being re turned into the Dominions of the Romanes againe with all his Army, they sent another Ambassade unto him, to pray Peace, and the remove of the Volsces out of their Countrey: that afterwards they might with better leisure fall to such Agree ments together, as should be thought most meete and necessary. For the Romanes were no men that would ever yeelde for feare. But if he thought the Volsces had any ground to demand rea sonable Articles and Conditions, all that they would reasonably aske should be granted unto by the Romanes, who of themselves would willingly yeeld to reason, conditionally, that they should lay downe Armes. Martius to that answered : that as Generall of the Volsces he would reply nothing unto it : but yet as a Romane Citizen, he counsell them to let fall their pride, and to be conformable to reason, if they were wise : and that they should returne againe within three dayes, delivering up the Articles agreed upon, which he had first delivered them. Otherwise, that he would no more give them assurance or safe conduct to returne againe into his Campe, with such vaine and frivolous messages.
Now the Romane Ladies and Gentlewomen did visit all the Temples and gods of the same, to make their Prayers unto them : but the greatest Ladies (and more part of them) were continually about the Altar of Jupiter Capitolin, among which Troupe by name, was Valeria, Publicolaes owne Sister. The selfe-same Publicola, who did such notable service to the Romanes, both in Peace and Warres, and was dead also cer- taine yeares before, as we have declared in his Life. His Sister Valeria was greatly honoured and reverenced among all the Romanes: and did so modestly and wisely behave herselfe, that she did not shame nor dishonour the House she came of. So she suddenly fell into such a fancy, as we have rehearsed
before, and had (by some gods as I thinke) taken hold of a noble device. Whereupon she rose, and the other Ladies with her, and they all together went straight to the House of Vo
60
CORIOLANUS.
lumnia, Martius mother : and coming in to her, found her, and Martius Wife her Daughter in Law, set together, and having her Husband Martius young Children in her lappe.
[They pray her to intercede with Martius, and she consents, though with scant hopes. ]
She tooke her Daughter in Law and Martius Children with her, and being accompanied with all the other Romane Ladies, they went in troope together unto the Volsces Campe : whom when they saw, they of themselves did both pity and reverence her, and there was not a man among them that once durst say a word unto her. Now was Martius set then in his Chaire of State, with all the Honours of a Generall, and when he had spied the Women coming afar off, he marvelled what the mat ter meant : but afterwards knowing his Wife which came fore most, he determined at first to persist in his obstinate and inflexible rankor. But overcome in the end with naturall affec tion, and being altogether altered to see them, his heart would not serve him to tarry their coming to his Chaire, but coming downe in haste, he went to meete them, and first he kissed his Mother, and imbraced her a pretty while, then his Wife and little Children. And Nature so wrought with him, that the teares fell from his eyes, and he could not keepe himself from making much of them, but yeelded to the affection of his blood, as if he had beene violently carried with the fury of a most swift running streame. After he had thus lovingly received them, and perceiving that his Mother Volumnia would begin to speake to him, he called the chiefest of the Councell of the Volsces to heare what she would say. Then she spake in this
sort":Ifweheldourpeace(mySon)anddeterminednotto speake, the state of our poore Bodies, and present sight of our Rayment, would easily bewray to thee what life we have led at home, since thy exile and abode abroad, but thinke now with thy selfe, how much more unfortunate then all the Women living, we are come hither, considering that the fight which should be most pleasant to all other to behold, spightfull Fortune had made most fearfull to us, making my selfe to see my Sonne, and my Daughter here her Husband, besieging the Walls of his native Countrey : so as that which is the onely comfort to all other in their adversity and misery, to pray unto the gods, and to call to them for aide, is the onely thing which plungeth us into most deepe perplexity. For we cannot (alas) together
CORIOLANUS. 61
pray both for victory to our Countrey, and for safety of thy life also : but a world of grievous curses, yea more then any mortall Enemy can heape upon us, are forcibly wrapt up in our Prayers. For the bitter sop of most hard choice is offered thy Wife and Children, to forgo one of the two : either to lose the Person of thy selfe, or the Nurse of their native Countrey. For my selfe (my Sonne) I am determined not to tarry till For tune in my life time do make an end of this Warre. For if I cannot perswade thee, rather to do good unto both Parties, then to overthrow and destroy the one, preferring Love and Nature before the Malice and Calamity of Warres, thou shalt see, my Sonne, and trust unto it, thou shalt no sooner march forward to assault thy Countrey, but thy foote shall treade upon thy Mothers Wombe, that brought thee first into this World. And I may not defer to see the day, either that my Sonne be led Prisoner in triumph by his naturall Countreymen, or that he himselfe do triumph of them, and of his naturall Countrey. For if it were so, that my request tended to save thy Countrey, in destroying the Volsces, I must confess, thou wouldest hardly and doubtfully resolve on that. For as to destroy thy naturall Countrey, it is altogether unmeet and unlawfull, so were it not just, and lesse honourable, to betray those that put their trust in thee. But my onely demand consisteth, to make a Gaole-de- livery of all evils, which delivereth equall benefit and safety, both to the one and the other, but most honourable for the Volsces. For it shall appeare, that having victory in their hands, they have of speciall favour granted us singular graces, Peace and Amity, albeit themselves have no lesse part of both than we. Of which good, if so it came to passe, thy selfe is the onely Authour, and so hast thou the onely honour. But if it faile, and fall out contrary, thy selfe alone deservedly shall carry the shamefull reproach and burthen of either party. So, though the end of Warre be uncertaine, yet this notwithstand ing is most certaine, that if it be thy chance to conquer, this benefit shall thou reape of thy goodly Conquest, to be chronicled the plague and destroyer of thy Countrey. And if Fortune overthrow thee, then the World will say, that through desire to revenge thy private injuries, thou hast for ever undone thy good friends, who did most lovingly and courteously receive thee. "
Martius gave good eare unto his Mothers words, without interrupting her Speech at all, and after she had said what she
62 CORIOLANUS.
would, he held his peace a pretty while, and answered not a word. " Hereupon she began againe to speake unto him, and said : My Sonne, why doest thou not answer me ? doest thou think it good altogether to give place unto thy choler and desire for revenge, and thinkest thou it not honesty for thee to grant thy Mothers request, in so weighty a cause? dost thou take it honourable for a Nobleman, to remember the wrongs and injuries done him, and dost not in like case thinke it an honest Noblemans part, to be thankfull for the goodnesse that Parents do shew to their Children, acknowledging the duty and reverence they ought to beare unto them ? No man living is more bound to shew himselfe thankfull in all parts and respects then thyselfe : who so universally shewest all in gratitude. Moreover (my Sonne) thou hast sorely taken of thy Countrey, exacting grievous payments upon them, in revenge of the injuries offered thee ; besides, thou hast not hitherto shewed thy poore Mother any courtesie. And therefore it is not onely honest, but due unto me, that without compulsion I
should obtaine my so just and reasonable request of thee. But since by reason I can not perswade thee to it, to what purpose do I defer my last hope ? " And with these words, her selfe, his Wife and Children fell downe upon their knees before him : Martius seeing that, could refraine no longer, but went straight and lift her up, crying out, Oh Mother, what have you done to me? And holding her hard by the right hand, Oh Mother, said he, you have wonne a happy victory for your countrey, but mortall and unhappy for your Sonne : for I see my selfe vanquished by you alone.
These words being spoken openly, he spake a little apart with his Mother and Wife, and then let them returne againe to Rome, for so they did request him ; and so remaining in Campe that night, the next morning he dislodged, and marched homeward into the Volsces Countrey againe, who were not all of one minde, nor all alike contented. For some misliked him and that he had done : other being well pleased that Peace should be made, said : that neither the one nor the other, deserved blame nor reproach. Other though they misliked that was done, did not thinke him an ill man for that he did, but said, he was not to be blamed, though he yeelded to such a forcible extremity. Howbeit no man contraried his de parture, but all obeyed his commandment, more for respect for his worthinesse and valiancy than for feare of his Authority.
CARTHAGE AND THE PH(ENICIANS. 63
CARTHAGE AND THE PHOENICIANS. By E. BOSWOBTH SMITH.
It was well for the development and civilization of the ancient world that the Hebrew fugitives from Egypt were not able to drive at once from the whole coast of Syria its old in habitants ; for the accursed race of the Canaanites, whom, for their licentious worship and cruel rites, they were bidden to extirpate from Palestine itself, were no other than those enter prising mariners and those dauntless colonists who, sallying from their narrow roadsteads, committed their fragile barks to the mercy of unknown seas, and, under their Greek name of Phoenicians, explored island and promontory, creek and bay, from the coast of Malabar even to the lagunes of the Baltic. From Tyre and Sidon issued those busy merchants who carried, with their wares, to distant shores the rudiments of science and of many practical arts which they had obtained from the far East, and which, probably, they but half understood themselves. It was they who, at a period antecedent to all contemporary historical records, introduced written characters, the foundation of all high intellectual development, into that country which was destined to carry intellectual and artistic culture to the highest point which humanity has yet reached. It was they who learned to steer their ships by the sure help of the Polar Star, while the Greeks still depended on the Great Bear ; it was they who rounded the Cape of Storms, and earned the best right to call it the Cape of Good Hope, 2000 years before Vasco da Gama. Their ships returned to their native shores bringing with them sandalwood from Malabar, spices from Arabia, fine linen from Egypt, ostrich plumes from the Sahara. Cyprus gave them its copper, Elba its iron, the coast of the Black Sea its manufactured steel. Silver they brought from Spain, gold from the Niger, tin from the Scilly Isles, and amber from the Baltic.
Where they sailed, there they planted factories which opened a caravan trade with the interior of vast continents hitherto regarded as inaccessible, and which became inaccessible for cen turies again when the Phoenicians disappeared from history. They were as famous for their artistic skill as for their enter prise and energy. Did the greatest of the Jewish kings desire to adorn the Temple which he had erected to the Most High in
64 CARTHAGE AND THE rH(EMCIANS.
the manner least unworthy of Him ? A Phoenician king must supply him with the well-hewn cedars of his stately Lebanon, and the cunning hand of a Phoenician artisan must shape the pillars and the lavers, the oxen and the lions of brass, which decorated the shrine. Did the King of Persia himself, in the intoxication of his pride, command miracles to be performed, boisterous straits to be bridged, or a peninsula to become an island ? It was Phoenician architects who lashed together the boats that were to connect Asia with Europe, and it was Phoe nician workmen who knew best how to economize their toil in digging the canal that was to transport the fleet of Xerxes through dry land, and save it from the winds and waves of Mount Athos. The merchants of Tyre were, in truth, the princes, and her traffickers the honorable men of the earth. Wherever a ship could penetrate, a factory be planted, a trade developed or created, there we find these ubiquitous, these irrepressible Phoenicians.
We know well what the tiny territory of Palestine has done for the religion of the world, and what the tiny Greece has done for its intellect and its art ; but we are apt to forget that what the Phoenicians did for the development and inter communication of the world was achieved by a state confined within narrower boundaries still. In the days of their greatest prosperity, when their ships were to be found on every known and on many unknown seas, the Phoenicians proper of the Syrian coast remained content with a narrow strip of fertile territory, squeezed in between the mountains and the sea, of the length of some thirty and of the average breadth of only a single mile ! And if the existence of a few settlements beyond these limits entitles us to extend the name of Phoenicia to some 120 miles of coast, with a plain behind it which some times broadened out into a sweep of a dozen miles, was it not sound policy, even in a community so enlarged, to keep for themselves the gold they had so hardly won, rather than lavish it on foreign mercenaries in the hope of extending their sway inland, or in the vain attempt to resist by force of arms the mighty monarchs of Egypt, of Assyria, or of Babylon ? Their strength was to sit still, to acknowledge the titular supremacy of any one who chose to claim it, and then, when the time came, to buy the intruder off.
The land-locked sea, the eastern extremity of which washes the shores of Phoenicia proper, connecting as it does three
CARTHAGE AND THE PH(ENICIANS. 65
continents, and abounding in deep gulfs, in fine harbors, and in fertile islands, seems to have been intended by Nature for the early development of commerce and colonization. By robbing the ocean of half its mystery and of more than half its terrors, it allured the timid mariner, even as the eagle does its young, from headland on to headland, or from islet to islet, till it be came the highway of the nations of the ancient world ; and the products of each of the countries whose shores it laves became the common property of all.
But in this general race of enterprise and commerce among the nations which bordered on the Mediterranean, it is to the Phoenicians that unquestionably belongs the foremost place. In the dimmest dawn of history, many centuries before the Greeks had set foot in Asia Minor or in Italy, before even they had settled down in secure possession of their own territories, we hear of Phoenician settlements in Asia Minor and in Greece itself, in Africa, in Macedon, and in Spain. There is hardly an island in the Mediterranean which has not preserved some traces of these early visitors : Cyprus, Rhodes, and Crete in the Levant ; Malta, Sicily, and the Balearic Isles in the middle passage ; Sardinia and Corsica in the Tyrrhenian Sea ; the Cyclades, as Thucydides tells us, in the mid-. 5£gean ; and even Samothrace and Thasos at its northern extremity, where He rodotus, to use his own forcible expression, himself saw a whole mountain " turned upside down " by their mining energy ; all have either yielded Phoenician coins and inscriptions, have re tained Phoenician proper names and legends, or possess mines, long perhaps disused, but which were worked as none but Phoe nicians ever worked them.
And among the Phoenician factories which dotted the whole southern shore of the Mediterranean, from the east end of the greater Syrtis even to the Pillars of Hercules, there was one which, from a concurrence of circumstances, was destined rapidly to outstrip all the others, to make herself their acknowledged head, to become the Queen of the Mediterranean, and, in some sense, of the Ocean beyond, and, for a space of over a hundred years, to maintain a deadly and not unequal contest with the future mistress of the world.
The rising African factory was known to its inhabitants by the name of Kirjath-Hadeschath, or New Town, to distinguish it from the much older settlement of Utica, of which it may
have been to some extent an offshoot. The Greeks, when they VOL. III. —5
66 CARTHAGE AND THE PH(ENICIANS.
came to know of its existence, called it Karchedon, and the Romans, Carthago. The date of its foundation is uncertain; but the current tradition refers it to a period about a hundred years before the founding of Rome. The fortress that was to protect the young settlement was built upon a peninsula pro jecting eastwards from the inner corner of what is now called the Gulf of Tunis, the largest and most beautiful roadstead of the North African coast. The suburbs and gardens of Car thage, with the city proper, covered an area twenty-three miles in circumference. Its population must have been fully pro portionate to its size. Just before the third Punic war, when its strength had been drained by the two long wars with Rome and by the incessant depredations of that chartered brigand Massinissa, it contained 700,000 inhabitants ; and towards the close of the final siege, the Byrsa [citadel] alone was able to give shelter to a motley multitude of 50,000 men, women, and children.
Facing the Hermaean promontory (Cape Bon), the north eastern horn of the Gulf of Tunis, at a distance of only ninety miles, was the Island of Sicily, which, as a glance at the map, and as the sunken ridge extending from one to the other, still clearly show, must have once actually united Europe to Africa. This fair island it was which, crowded even in those early days with Phoenician factories, seemed to beckon the chief of Phoeni cian cities onwards towards an easy and a natural field of for eign conquest. This it was which proved to be the apple of fierce discord for centuries between Carthage and the Greek colonies, which soon disputed its possession with her. This, in an ever checkered warfare, and at the cost of torrents of the blood of her mercenaries, and of untold treasures of her citizens, enriched Carthage with the most splendid trophies — stolen trophies though they were — of Greek art. This, finally, was the chief battlefield of the contending forces during the whole of the first Punic war — in the beginning, that is, of her fierce struggle for existence with all the power of Rome.
What were the causes of the rapid rise of Carthage; what was the extent of her African and her foreign dominions, and the nature of her hold upon them; what were the peculiar ex cellences and defects of her internal constitution and what the principles on which she traded and colonized, conquered and ruled; —to these and other questions some answer must be given: but how are we to give it? No native poet, whose
CARTHAGE AND THE PH(ENICIANS. 67
writings have come down to us, has sung of the origin of Carthage, or of her romantic voyages; no native orator has described, in glowing periods which we can still read, the splendor of her buildings and the opulence of her merchant princes; no native annalist has preserved the story of her long rivalry with Greeks and Etruscans, and no African philosopher has moralized upon the stability of her institutions or the causes of her fall. All have perished. The text of three treaties with Rome, made in the days of her prosperity; the log-book of an adventurous Carthaginian admiral, dedicated on his return from the Senegal or the Niger as a votive offering in the temple of Baal; some fragments of the practical precepts of a Cartha ginian agriculturist, translated by the order of the utilitarian Roman Senate; a speech or two of a vagabond Carthaginian in the Paenulus of Plautus, which has been grievously mutilated in the process of transcribing it into Roman letters; a few Punic inscriptions buried twenty feet below the surface of the ground, entombed and preserved by successive Roman, and Vandal, and Arab devastations, and now at length revealed and deciphered by the efforts of French and English archaeolo gists; the massive substructions of ancient temples; the enor mous reservoirs of water; and the majestic procession of stately aqueducts which no barbarism has been able to destroy — these are the only native or semi-native sources from which we can draw the outlines of our picture: and we must eke out our narrative of Carthage in the days of her prosperity, as best we may, from a few chapters of reflections by the greatest of the Greek philosophers, from the late Roman annalists who saw everything with Roman eyes, and from a few but precious anti quarian remarks in the narrative of the great Greek historian, Polybius, who, with all his love of truth and love of justice, saw Carthage only at the moment of her fall, and was the bosom friend of her destroyer.
In her origin, at least, Carthage seems to have been like other Phoenician settlements — a mere commercial factory. Her inhabitants cultivated friendly relations with the natives, looked upon themselves as tenants at will rather than as owners of the soil, and as such, cheerfully paid a rent to the African Berbers for the ground covered by their dwellings. It was the instinct of self-preservation alone which dictated a change of policy, and transformed this peace-loving mercantile community into the warlike and conquering state, of which the whole of the West
68 CARTHAGE AND THE PHOENICIANS.
ern Mediterranean was so soon to feel the power. The result of this change of policy was that the western half of the Medi terranean became — what at one time the whole of it had bidden fair to be — a Phoenician lake, in which no foreign merchant men dared to show themselves. It was a vast preserve, to be caught trespassing upon which, so Strabo tells us, on the author ity of Eratosthenes, insured the punishment of instant death by drowning. No promontory was so barren, no islet so insignifi cant, as to escape the jealous and ever-watchful eye of the Car thaginians. In Corsica, if they could not get any firm or extensive foothold themselves, they at least prevented any other state from doing the like. Into their hands fell, in spite of the ambitious dreams of Persian kings and the aspirations of patriot Greeks, that " greatest of all islands," the island of Sardinia ; theirs were the iEgatian and the Liparaean, the Bale aric and the Pityusian Isles; theirs the tiny Elba, with its inexhaustible supply of metals ; theirs, too, Malta still remained, an outpost pushed far into the domain of their advancing ene mies, a memorial of what once had been, and, perhaps, to the sanguine Carthaginian temperament, an earnest of what might be again hereafter. Above all, the Phoenician settlements in Spain, at the innermost corner of the great preserve, with the adjacent silver mines which gave to these settlements their peculiar value, were now trebly safe from all intruders.
Elated, as it would seem, by their naval successes, which were hardly of their own seeking, the Carthaginians thought that they might now at last become the owners of the small strip of African territory which they had hitherto seemed to occupy on sufferance only ; and they refused the ground rent which, up till now, they had paid to the adjoining tribes. Step by step they enlarged their territories at the expense of the natives, till the whole of the rich territory watered by the Bagradas became theirs. The nomadic tribes were beaten back beyond the river Triton into the country named, from the roving habits of its inhabitants, Numidia, or into the desert of Tripolis. The ag ricultural tribes were forced to pay tribute to the conquerors for the right of cultivating their own soil, or to shed their blood on the field of battle in the prosecution of further conquests from the tribes beyond. Nor did the kindred Phoenician set tlements in the adjoining parts of Africa escape unscathed. Utica alone, owing probably to her antiquity and to the semi- parental relation in which she stood to Carthage, was allowed
CARTHAGE AND THE PH(ENICIANS. 69
to retain her walls and full equality of rights with the rising power ; but Hippo Zarytus, and Adrumetum, the greater and the lesser Leptis, were compelled to pull down their walls and acknowledge the supremacy of the Carthaginian city.
All along the northern coast of Africa the original Phoeni cian settlers, and probably to some extent the Carthaginians themselves, had intermarried with the natives. The product of these marriages was that numerous class of Liby-Phoenicians which proved to be so important in the history of Carthaginian colonization and conquest ; a class which, equidistant from the Berbers on the one hand and from the Carthaginians proper on the other, and composed of those who were neither wholly cit izens nor yet wholly aliens, experienced the lot of most half castes, and were alternately trusted and feared, pampered and oppressed, loved and hated, by the ruling state.
One enterprise which was undertaken by the Carthaginians, in obedience to the fiat of the king of Persia, to the lasting good of humanity failed of its object. Xerxes (B. C. 480), ad vancing with his millions of barbarians upon Athens from the east, bade, so it is said, Hamilcar advance with his 300,000 mercenaries upon Syracuse from the west. The torch of Greek learning and civilization was to be extinguished at the most opposite ends of the Greek world at one and the same moment; but happily for mankind at large, both attempts were foiled. The efforts of Xerxes ended in the destruction of the Persian fleet at Salamis, and the disgraceful flight of the king to Asia ; the efforts of Hamilcar ended in his defeat and death at Himera, and in the destruction of 150,000 of his army ; and by a dramatic propriety which is not common in history, what ever it may be in fiction, this double victory of Greek civiliza tion is said to have taken place in the same year and on the very same day.
The constitution of Carthage was not the work of a single legislator, as that of Sparta is said to have been, nor of a series of legislators like that of Athens ; it was rather, like that of England, the growth of circumstances and of centuries. It obtained the praise of Aristotle for its judicious admixture of the monarchical, the oligarchical, and the democratical elements. The original monarchical constitution — doubtless inherited from Tyre — was represented by two supreme magistrates called by the Romans Suffetes. Their name is the same as the Hebrew Shofetim, mistranslated in our Bible, Judges. The
70 CARTHAGE AND THE PH(ENICIANS.
Hamilcars and Hannos of Carthage were, like their prototypes, the Gideons and the Samsons of the Book of Judges, not so much the judges as the protectors and the rulers of their re spective states. They are compared by Greek writers to the two kings of Sparta, and by the Romans to their own consuls. Beneath these kings came, in the older constitution, a council, called by the Greeks the Gerusia, or Council of Ancients, con sisting of twenty-eight members, over which the Suffetes pre sided. This council declared war, ordered levies of troops, appointed generals, sent out colonies. If the council and Suf fetes agreed, their decision was final ; if they disagreed, the matter was referred to the people at large. In this and in other ways each element of the body politic had its share in the administration of the State.
But the Carthaginian constitution described and praised by Aristotle is not the same as that of the Punic wars. In the interval which separates the two epochs, short as it is, a great change which must have been long preparing, had been com pleted. The Suffetes had gradually become little more than an honorary magistracy.