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Plutarch
Lives of the Noble Grecians and Romans
Translated by John Dryden
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Demetrius
Antony
Dion
Marcus Brutus
Aratus
Artaxerxes
Galba
Otho
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Demetrius
Ingenious men have long observed a resemblance between the arts
and the bodily senses. And they were first led to do so, I think, by
noticing the way in which, both in the arts and with our senses, we
examine opposites. Judgment once obtained, the use to which we put it
differs in the two cases. Our senses are not meant to pick out black
rather than white, to prefer sweet to bitter, or soft and yielding to
hard and resisting objects; all they have to do is to receive
impressions as they occur, and report to the understanding the
impressions as received. The arts, on the other hand, which reason
institutes expressly to choose and obtain some suitable, and to refuse
and get rid of some unsuitable object, have their proper concern in the
consideration of the former; though, in a casual and contingent way,
they must also, for the very rejection of them, pay attention to the
latter. Medicine, to produce health, has to examine disease, and music,
to create harmony, must investigate discord; and the supreme arts, of
temperance, of justice, and of wisdom, as they are acts of judgment and
selection, exercised not on good and just and expedient only, but also
on wicked, unjust, and inexpedient objects, do not give their
commendations to the mere innocence whose boast is its inexperience of
evil, and whose truer name is, by their award, suppleness and ignorance
of what all men who live aright should know. The ancient Spartans, at
their festivals, used to force their Helots to swallow large quantities
of raw wine, and then to expose them at the public tables, to let the
young men see what it is to be drunk. And, though I do not think it
consistent with humanity or with civil justice to correct one man’s
morals by corrupting those of another, yet we may, I think, avail
ourselves of the cases of those who have fallen into indiscretions, and
have, in high stations, made themselves conspicuous for misconduct; and
I shall not do ill to introduce a pair or two of such examples among
these biographies, not, assuredly, to amuse and divert my readers, or
give variety to my theme, but, as Ismenias, the Theban, used to show his
scholars good and bad performers on the flute, and to tell them, “You
should play like this man,” and “You should not play like that,” and as
Antigenidas used to say, Young people would take greater pleasure in
hearing good playing, if first they were set to hear bad, so, and in the
same manner, it seems to me likely enough that we shall be all the more
zealous and more emulous to read, observe, and imitate the better lives,
if we are not left in ignorance of the blameworthy and the bad.
For this reason, the following book contains the lives of Demetrius
Poliorcetes, and Antonius the Triumvir; two persons who have abundantly
justified the words of Plato, that great natures produce great vices as
well as virtues. Both alike were amorous and intemperate, warlike and
munificent, sumptuous in their way of living, and overbearing in their
manners. And the likeness of their fortunes carried out the resemblance
in their characters. Not only were their lives each a series of great
successes and great disasters, mighty acquisitions and tremendous losses
of power, sudden overthrows, followed by unexpected recoveries, but they
died, also, Demetrius in actual captivity to his enemies, and Antony on
the verge of it.
Antigonus had by his wife, Stratonice, the daughter of Corrhaeus, two
sons; the one of whom, after the name of his uncle, he called Demetrius,
the other had that of his grandfather Philip, and died young. This is
the most general account, although some have related, that Demetrius was
not the son of Antigonus, but of his brother; and that his own father
dying young, and his mother being afterwards married to Antigonus, he
was accounted to be his son.
Demetrius had not the height of his father Antigonus, though he was a
tall man. But his countenance was one of such singular beauty and
expression, that no painter or sculptor ever produced a good likeness of
him. It combined grace and strength, dignity with boyish bloom, and, in
the midst of youthful heat and passion, what was hardest of all to
represent was a certain heroic look and air of kingly greatness. Nor did
his character belie his looks, as no one was better able to render
himself both loved and feared. For as he was the most easy and agreeable
of companions, and the most luxurious and delicate of princes in his
drinking and banqueting and daily pleasures, so in action there was
never anyone that showed a more vehement persistence, or a more
passionate energy. Bacchus, skilled in the conduct of war, and after war
in giving peace its pleasures and joys, seems to have been his pattern
among the gods.
He was wonderfully fond of his father Antigonus; and the tenderness
he had for his mother led him, for her sake, to redouble attentions,
which it was evident were not so much owing to fear or duty as to the
more powerful motives of inclination. It is reported, that, returning
one day from hunting, he went immediately into the apartment of
Antigonus, who was conversing with some ambassadors, and after stepping
up and kissing his father, he sat down by him, just as he was, still
holding in his hand the javelins which he had brought with him.
Whereupon Antigonus, who had just dismissed the ambassadors with their
answer, called out in a loud voice to them, as they were going,
“Mention, also, that this is the way in which we two live together;” as
if to imply to them that it was no slender mark of the power and
security of his government that there was so perfect a good
understanding between himself and his son. Such an unsociable, solitary
thing is power, and so much of jealousy and distrust in it, that the
first and greatest of the successors of Alexander could make it a thing
to glory in that he was not so afraid of his son as to forbid his
standing beside him with a weapon in his hand. And, in fact, among all
the successors of Alexander, that of Antigonus was the only house which,
for many descents, was exempted from crime of this kind; or, to state it
exactly, Philip was the only one of this family who was guilty of a
son’s death. All the other families, we may fairly say, afforded
frequent examples of fathers who brought their children, husbands their
wives, children their mothers, to untimely ends; and that brothers
should put brothers to death was assumed, like the postulates of
mathematicians, as the common and recognized royal first principle of
safety.
Let us here record an example in the early life of Demetrius, showing
his natural humane and kindly disposition. It was an adventure which
passed betwixt him and Mithridates, the son of Ariobarzanes, who was
about the same age with Demetrius, and lived with him, in attendance on
Antigonus; and although nothing was said or could be said to his
reproach, he fell under suspicion, in consequence of a dream which
Antigonus had. Antigonus thought himself in a fair and spacious field,
where he sowed golden seed, and saw presently a golden crop come up; of
which, however, looking presently again, he saw nothing remain but the
stubble, without the ears. And as he stood by in anger and vexation, he
heard some voices saying, Mithridates had cut the golden harvest and
carried it off into Pontus. Antigonus, much discomposed with his dream,
first bound his son by an oath not to speak, and then related it to him,
adding, that he had resolved, in consequence, to lose no time in ridding
himself of Mithridates, and making away with him. Demetrius was
extremely distressed; and when the young man came, as usual, to pass his
time with him, to keep his oath he forbore from saying a word, but,
drawing him aside little by little from the company, as soon as they
were by themselves, without opening his lips, with the point of his
javelin he traced before him the words, “Fly, Mithridates.” Mithridates
took the hint, and fled by night into Cappadocia, where Antigonus’s
dream about him was quickly brought to its due fulfillment; for he got
possession of a large and fertile territory; and from him descended the
line of the kings of Pontus, which, in the eighth generation, was
reduced by the Romans. This may serve for a specimen of the early
goodness and love of justice that was part of Demetrius’s natural
character.
But as in the elements of the world, Empedocles tells us, out of
liking and dislike, there spring up contention and warfare, and all the
more, the closer the contact, or the nearer the approach of the objects,
even so the perpetual hostilities among the successors of Alexander were
aggravated and inflamed, in particular cases, by juxtaposition of
interests and of territories; as, for example, in the case of Antigonus
and Ptolemy. News came to Antigonus that Ptolemy had crossed from Cyprus
and invaded Syria, and was ravaging the country and reducing the cities.
Remaining, therefore, himself in Phrygia, he sent Demetrius, now
twenty-two years old, to make his first essay as sole commander in an
important charge. He, whose youthful heat outran his experience,
advancing against an adversary trained in Alexander’s school, and
practiced in many encounters, incurred a great defeat near the town of
Gaza, in which eight thousand of his men were taken, and five thousand
killed. His own tent, also, his money, and all his private effects and
furniture, were captured. These, however, Ptolemy sent back, together
with his friends, accompanying them with the humane and courteous
message, that they were not fighting for anything else but honor and
dominion. Demetrius accepted the gift, praying only to the gods not to
leave him long in Ptolemy’s debt, but to let him have an early chance of
doing the like to him. He took his disaster, also, with the temper not
of a boy defeated in his attempt, but of an old and long-tried general,
familiar with reverse of fortune; he busied himself in collecting his
men, replenishing his magazines, watching the allegiance of the cities,
and drilling his new recruits.
Antigonus received the news of the battle with the remark, that
Ptolemy had beaten boys, and would now have to fight with men. But not
to humble the spirit of his son, he acceded to his request, and left him
to command on the next occasion.
Not long after, Cilles, Ptolemy’s lieutenant, with a powerful army,
took the field, and, looking upon Demetrius as already defeated by the
previous battle, he had in his imagination driven him out of Syria
before he saw him. But he quickly found himself deceived; for Demetrius
came so unexpectedly upon him that he surprised both the general and his
army, making him and seven thousand of the soldiers prisoners of war,
and possessing himself of a large amount of treasure. But his joy in the
victory was not so much for the prizes he should keep, as for those he
could restore; and his thankfulness was less for the wealth and glory
than for the means it gave him of requiting his enemy’s former
generosity. He did not, however, take it into his own hands, but wrote
to his father. And on receiving leave to do as he liked, he sent back to
Ptolemy Cilles and his friends, loaded with presents. This defeat drove
Ptolemy out of Syria, and brought Antigonus from Celaenae, to enjoy the
victory, and the sight of the son who had gained it.
Soon after, Demetrius was sent to bring the Nabathaean Arabs into
obedience. And here he got into a district without water, and incurred
considerable danger, but by his resolute and composed demeanor he
overawed the barbarians, and returned after receiving from them a large
amount of booty, and seven hundred camels. Not long after, Seleucus,
whom Antigonus had formerly chased out of Babylon, but who had
afterwards recovered his dominion by his own efforts and maintained
himself in it, went with large forces on an expedition to reduce the
tribes on the confines of India and the provinces near Mount Caucasus.
And Demetrius, conjecturing that he had left Mesopotamia but slenderly
guarded in his absence, suddenly passed the Euphrates with his army, and
made his way into Babylonia unexpectedly; where he succeeded in
capturing one of the two citadels, out of which he expelled the garrison
of Seleucus, and placed in it seven thousand men of his own. And after
allowing his soldiers to enrich themselves with all the spoil they could
carry with them out of the country, he retired to the sea, leaving
Seleucus more securely master of his dominions than before, as he seemed
by this conduct to abandon every claim to a country which he treated
like an enemy’s. However, by a rapid advance, he rescued Halicarnassus
from Ptolemy, who was besieging it. The glory which this act obtained
them inspired both the father and son with a wonderful desire for
freeing Greece, which Cassander and Ptolemy had everywhere reduced to
slavery. No nobler or juster war was undertaken by any of the kings; the
wealth they had gained while humbling, with Greek assistance, the
barbarians being thus employed, for honor’s sake and good repute, in
helping the Greeks. When the resolution was taken to begin their attempt
with Athens, one of his friends told Antigonus, if they captured Athens,
they must keep it safe in their own hands, as by this gangway they might
step out from their ships into Greece when they pleased. But Antigonus
would not hear of it; he did not want a better or a steadier gangway
than people’s good-will; and from Athens, the beacon of the world, the
news of their conduct would soon be handed on to all the world’s
inhabitants. So Demetrius, with a sum of five thousand talents, and a
fleet of two hundred and fifty ships, set sail for Athens, where
Demetrius the Phalerian was governing the city for Cassander, with a
garrison lodged in the port of Munychia. By good fortune and skillful
management he appeared before Piraeus, on the twenty-sixth of
Thargelion, before anything had been heard of him. Indeed, when his
ships were seen, they were taken for Ptolemy’s, and preparations were
commenced for receiving them; till at last, the generals discovering
their mistake, hurried down, and all was alarm and confusion, and
attempts to push forward preparations to oppose the landing of this
hostile force. For Demetrius, having found the entrances of the port
undefended, stood in directly, and was by this time safely inside,
before the eyes of everybody, and made signals from his ship, requesting
a peaceable hearing. And on leave being given, he caused a herald with a
loud voice to make proclamation that he was come thither by the command
of his father, with no other design than what he prayed the gods to
prosper with success, to give the Athenians their liberty, to expel the
garrison, and to restore the ancient laws and constitution of the
country.
The people, hearing this, at once threw down their shields, and,
clapping their hands, with loud acclamations entreated Demetrius to
land, calling him their deliverer and benefactor. And the Phalerian and
his party, who saw that there was nothing for it but to receive the
conqueror, whether he should perform his promises or not, sent, however,
messengers to beg for his protection; to whom Demetrius gave a kind
reception, and sent back with them Aristodemus of Miletus, one of his
father’s friends. The Phalerian, under the change of government, was
more afraid of his fellow-citizens than of the enemy; but Demetrius took
precautions for him, and, out of respect for his reputation and
character, sent him with a safe conduct to Thebes, whither he desired to
go. For himself, he declared he would not, in spite of all his
curiosity, put his foot in the city, till he had completed its
deliverance by driving out the garrison. So, blockading Munychia with a
palisade and trench, he sailed off to attack Megara, where also there
was one of Cassander’s garrisons. But, hearing that Cratesipolis, the
wife of Alexander son of Polysperchon, who was famous for her beauty,
was well disposed to see him, he left his troops near Megara, and set
out with a few light-armed attendants for Patrae, where she was now
staying. And, quitting these also, he pitched his tent apart from
everybody, that the woman might pay her visit without being seen. This
some of the enemy perceived, and suddenly attacked him; and, in his
alarm, he was obliged to disguise himself in a shabby cloak, and run for
it, narrowly escaping the shame of being made a prisoner, in reward for
his foolish passion. And as it was, his tent and money were taken.
Megara, however, surrendered, and would have been pillaged by the
soldiers, but for the urgent intercession of the Athenians. The garrison
was driven out, and the city restored to independence. While he was
occupied in this, he remembered that Stilpo, the philosopher, famous for
his choice of a life of tranquillity, was residing here. He, therefore,
sent for him, and begged to know whether anything belonging to him had
been taken. “No,” replied Stilpo, “I have not met with anyone to take
away knowledge.” Pretty nearly all the servants in the city had been
stolen away; and so, when Demetrius, renewing his courtesies to Stilpo,
on taking leave of him, said, “I leave your city, Stilpo, a city of
freemen,” “certainly,” replied Stilpo, “there is not one serving man
left among us all.”
Returning from Megara, he sat down before the citadel of Munychia,
which in a few days he took by assault, and caused the fortifications to
be demolished; and thus having accomplished his design, upon the request
and invitation of the Athenians he made his entrance into the upper
city, where, causing the people to be summoned, he publicly announced to
them that their ancient constitution was restored, and that they should
receive from his father, Antigonus, a present of one hundred and fifty
thousand measures of wheat, and such a supply of timber as would enable
them to build a hundred galleys. In this manner did the Athenians
recover their popular institutions, after the space of fifteen years
from the time of the war of Lamia and the battle before Cranon, during
which interval of time the government had been administered nominally as
an oligarchy, but really by a single man, Demetrius the Phalerian being
so powerful. But the excessive honors which the Athenians bestowed, for
these noble and generous acts, upon Demetrius, created offense and
disgust. The Athenians were the first who gave Antigonus and Demetrius
the title of kings, which hitherto they had made it a point of piety to
decline, as the one remaining royal honor still reserved for the lineal
descendants of Philip and Alexander, in which none but they could
venture to participate. Another name which they received from no people
but the Athenians was that of the Tutelar Deities and Deliverers. And to
enhance this flattery, by a common vote it was decreed to change the
style of the city, and not to have the years named any longer from the
annual archon; a priest of the two Tutelary Divinities, who was to be
yearly chosen, was to have this honor, and all public acts and
instruments were to bear their date by his name. They decreed, also,
that the figures of Antigonus and Demetrius should be woven, with those
of the gods, into the pattern of the great robe. They consecrated the
spot where Demetrius first alighted from his chariot, and built an altar
there, with the name of the Altar of the Descent of Demetrius. They
created two new tribes, calling them after the names of these princes,
the Antigonid and the Demetriad; and to the Council, which consisted of
five hundred persons, fifty being chosen out of every tribe, they added
one hundred more to represent these new tribes. But the wildest proposal
was one made by Stratocles, the great inventor of all these ingenious
and exquisite compliments, enacting that the members of any deputation
that the city should send to Demetrius or Antigonus should have the same
title as those sent to Delphi or Olympia for the performance of the
national sacrifices in behalf of the state, at the great Greek
festivals. This Stratocles was, in all respects, an audacious and
abandoned character, and seemed to have made it his object to copy, by
his buffoonery and impertinence, Cleon’s old familiarity with the
people. His mistress, Phylacion, one day bringing him a dish of brains
and neckbones for his dinner, “Oh,” said he, “I am to dine upon the
things which we statesmen play at ball with.” At another time, when the
Athenians received their naval defeat near Amorgos, he hastened home
before the news could reach the city, and, having a chaplet on his head,
came riding through the Ceramicus, announcing that they had won a
victory, and moved a vote for thanksgivings to the gods, and a
distribution of meat among the people in their tribes. Presently after
came those who brought home the wrecks from the battle; and when the
people exclaimed at what he had done, he came boldly to face the outcry,
and asked what harm there had been in giving them two days’ pleasure.
Such was Stratocles. And, “adding flame to fire,” as Aristophanes
says, there was one who, to outdo Stratocles, proposed, that it should
be decreed, that whensoever Demetrius should honor their city with his
presence, they should treat him with the same show of hospitable
entertainment, with which Ceres and Bacchus are received; and the
citizen who exceeded the rest in the splendor and costliness of his
reception should have a sum of money granted him from the public purse
to make a sacred offering. Finally, they changed the name of the month
of Munychion, and called it Demetrion; they gave the name of the
Demetrian to the odd day between the end of the old and the beginning of
the new month; and turned the feast of Bacchus, the Dionysia, into the
Demetria, or feast of Demetrius. Most of these changes were marked by
the divine displeasure. The sacred robe, in which, according to their
decree, the figures of Demetrius and Antigonus had been woven with those
of Jupiter and Minerva, was caught by a violent gust of wind, while the
procession was conveying it through the Ceramicus, and was torn from the
top to the bottom. A crop of hemlock, a plant which scarcely grew
anywhere, even in the country thereabout, sprang up in abundance round
the altars which they had erected to these new divinities. They had to
omit the solemn procession at the feast of Bacchus, as upon the very day
of its celebration there was such a severe and rigorous frost, coming
quite out of its time, that not only the vines and fig-trees were
killed, but almost all the wheat was destroyed in the blade.
Accordingly, Philippides, an enemy to Stratocles, attacked him in a
comedy, in the following verses: —
He for whom frosts that nipped your vines were sent,
And for whose sins the holy robe was rent,
Who grants to men the gods’ own honors, he,
Not the poor stage, is now the people’s enemy.
Philippides was a great favorite with king Lysimachus, from whom the
Athenians received, for his sake, a variety of kindnesses. Lysimachus
went so far as to think it a happy omen to meet or see Philippides at
the outset of any enterprise or expedition. And, in general, he was well
thought of for his own character, as a plain, uninterfering person, with
none of the officious, self-important habits of a court. Once, when
Lysimachus was solicitous to show him kindness, and asked what he had
that he could make him a present of, “Anything,” replied Philippides,
“but your state secrets.” The stage-player, we thought, deserved a place
in our narrative quite as well as the public speaker.
But that which exceeded all the former follies and flatteries, was
the proposal of Dromoclides of Sphettus; who, when there was a debate
about sending to the Delphic Oracle to inquire the proper course for the
consecration of certain bucklers, moved in the assembly that they should
rather send to receive an oracle from Demetrius. I will transcribe the
very words of the order, which was in these terms: “May it be happy and
propitious. The people of Athens have decreed, that a fit person shall
be chosen among the Athenian citizens, who shall be deputed to be sent
to the Deliverer; and after he hath duly performed the sacrifices, shall
inquire of the Deliverer, in what most religious and decent manner he
will please to direct, at the earliest possible time, the consecration
of the bucklers; and according to the answer the people shall act.” With
this befooling they completed the perversion of a mind which even before
was not so strong or sound as it should have been.
During his present leisure in Athens, he took to wife Eurydice, a
descendant of the ancient Miltiades, who had been married to Opheltas,
the ruler of Cyrene, and after his death had come back to Athens. The
Athenians took the marriage as a compliment and favor to the city. But
Demetrius was very free in these matters, and was the husband of several
wives at once; the highest place and honor among all being retained by
Phila, who was Antipater’s daughter, and had been the wife of Craterus,
the one of all the successors of Alexander who left behind him the
strongest feelings of attachment among the Macedonians. And for these
reasons Antigonus had obliged him to marry her, notwithstanding the
disparity of their years, Demetrius being quite a youth, and she much
older; and when upon that account he made some difficulty in complying,
Antigonus whispered in his ear the maxim from Euripides, broadly
substituting a new word for the original, serve, —
Natural or not,
A man must wed where profit will be got.
Any respect, however, which he showed either to Phila or to his other
wives did not go so far as to prevent him from consorting with any
number of mistresses, and bearing, in this respect, the worst character
of all the princes of his time.
A summons now arrived from his father, ordering him to go and fight
with Ptolemy in Cyprus, which he was obliged to obey, sorry as he was to
abandon Greece. And in quitting this nobler and more glorious
enterprise, he sent to Cleonides, Ptolemy’s general, who was holding
garrisons in Sicyon and Corinth, offering him money to let the cities be
independent. But on his refusal, he set sail hastily, taking additional
forces with him, and made for Cyprus; where, immediately upon his
arrival, he fell upon Menelaus, the brother of Ptolemy, and gave him a
defeat. But when Ptolemy himself came in person, with large forces both
on land and sea, for some little time nothing took place beyond an
interchange of menaces and lofty talk. Ptolemy bade Demetrius sail off
before the whole armament came up, if he did not wish to be trampled
under foot; and Demetrius offered to let him retire, on condition of his
withdrawing his garrisons from Sicyon and Corinth. And not they alone,
but all the other potentates and princes of the time, were in anxiety
for the uncertain impending issue of the conflict; as it seemed evident,
that the conqueror’s prize would be, not Cyprus or Syria, but the
absolute supremacy.
Ptolemy had brought a hundred and fifty galleys with him, and gave
orders to Menelaus to sally, in the heat of the battle, out of the
harbor of Salamis, and attack with sixty ships the rear of Demetrius.
Demetrius, however, opposing to these sixty ten of his galleys, which
were a sufficient number to block up the narrow entrance of the harbor,
and drawing out his land forces along all the headlands running out into
the sea, went into action with a hundred and eighty galleys, and,
attacking with the utmost boldness and impetuosity, utterly routed
Ptolemy, who fled with eight ships, the sole remnant of his fleet,
seventy having been taken with all their men, and the rest destroyed in
the battle; while the whole multitude of attendants, friends, and women,
that had followed in the ships of burden, all the arms, treasure, and
military engines fell, without exception, into the hands of Demetrius,
and were by him collected and brought into the camp. Among the prisoners
was the celebrated Lamia, famed at one time for her skill on the flute,
and afterwards renowned as a mistress. And although now upon the wane of
her youthful beauty, and though Demetrius was much her junior, she
exercised over him so great a charm, that all other women seemed to be
amorous of Demetrius, but Demetrius amorous only of Lamia. After this
signal victory, Demetrius came before Salamis; and Menelaus, unable to
make any resistance, surrendered himself and all his fleet, twelve
hundred horse, and twelve thousand foot, together with the place. But
that which added more than all to the glory and splendor of the success
was the humane and generous conduct of Demetrius to the vanquished. For,
after he had given honorable funerals to the dead, he bestowed liberty
upon the living; and that he might not forget the Athenians, he sent
them, as a present, complete arms for twelve hundred men.
To carry this happy news, Aristodemus of Miletus, the most perfect
flatterer belonging to the court, was dispatched to Antigonus; and he,
to enhance the welcome message, was resolved, it would appear, to make
his most successful effort. When he crossed from Cyprus, he bade the
galley which conveyed him come to anchor off the land; and, having
ordered all the ship’s crew to remain aboard, he took the boat, and was
set ashore alone. Thus he proceeded to Antigonus, who, one may well
imagine, was in suspense enough about the issue, and suffered all the
anxieties natural to men engaged in so perilous a struggle. And when he
heard that Aristodemus was coming alone, it put him into yet greater
trouble; he could scarcely forbear from going out to meet him himself;
he sent messenger on messenger, and friend after friend, to inquire what
news. But Aristodemus, walking gravely and with a settled countenance,
without making any answer, still proceeded quietly onward; until
Antigonus, quite alarmed and no longer able to refrain, got up and met
him at the gate, whither he came with a crowd of anxious followers now
collected and running after him. As soon as he saw Antigonus within
hearing, stretching out his hands, he accosted him with the loud
exclamation, “Hail, king Antigonus! we have defeated Ptolemy by sea, and
have taken Cyprus and sixteen thousand eight hundred prisoners.”
“Welcome, Aristodemus,” replied Antigonus, “but, as you chose to torture
us so long for your good news, you may wait awhile for the reward of
it.”
Upon this the people around gave Antigonus and Demetrius, for the
first time, the title of kings. His friends at once set a diadem on the
head of Antigonus; and he sent one presently to his son, with a letter
addressed to him as King Demetrius. And when this news was told in
Egypt, that they might not seem to be dejected with the late defeat,
Ptolemy’s followers also took occasion to bestow the style of king upon
him; and the rest of the successors of Alexander were quick to follow
the example. Lysimachus began to wear the diadem; and Seleucus, who had
before received the name in all addresses from the barbarians, now also
took it upon him in all business with the Greeks. Cassander still
retained his usual superscription in his letters, but others, both in
writing and speaking, gave him the royal title. Nor was this the mere
accession of a name, or introduction of a new fashion. The men’s own
sentiments about themselves were disturbed, and their feelings elevated;
a spirit of pomp and arrogance passed into their habits of life and
conversation, as a tragic actor on the stage modifies, with a change of
dress, his step, his voice, his motions in sitting down, his manner in
addressing another. The punishments they inflicted were more violent
after they had thus laid aside that modest style under which they
formerly dissembled their power, and the influence of which had often
made them gentler and less exacting to their subjects. A single
pattering voice effected a revolution in the world.
Antigonus, extremely elevated with the success of his arms in Cyprus
under the conduct of Demetrius, resolved to push on his good fortune,
and to lead his forces in person against Ptolemy by land, whilst
Demetrius should coast with a great fleet along the shore, to assist him
by sea. The issue of the contest was intimated in a dream which Medius,
a friend to Antigonus, had at this time in his sleep. He thought he saw
Antigonus and his whole army running, as if it had been a race; that, in
the first part of the course, he went off showing great strength and
speed; gradually, however, his pace slackened; and at the end he saw him
come lagging up, tired and almost breathless and quite spent. Antigonus
himself met with many difficulties by land; and Demetrius, encountering
a great storm at sea, was driven, with the loss of many or his ships,
upon a dangerous coast without a harbor. So the expedition returned
without effecting anything. Antigonus, now nearly eighty years old, was
no longer well able to go through the fatigues of a marching campaign,
though rather on account of his great size and corpulence than from loss
of strength; and for this reason he left things to his son, whose
fortune and experience appeared sufficient for all undertakings, and
whose luxury and expense and revelry gave him no concern. For though in
peace he vented himself in his pleasures, and, when there was nothing to
do, ran headlong into any excesses, in war he was as sober and
abstemious as the most temperate character. The story is told, that
once, after Lamia had gained open supremacy over him, the old man, when
Demetrius coming home from abroad began to kiss him with unusual warmth,
asked him if he took him for Lamia. At another time, Demetrius, after
spending several days in a debauch, excused himself for his absence, by
saying he had had a violent flux. “So I heard,” replied Antigonus; “was
it of Thasian wine, or Chian?” Once he was told his son was ill, and
went to see him. At the door he met some young beauty. Going in, he sat
down by the bed and took his pulse. “The fever,” said Demetrius, “has
just left me.” “O yes,” replied the father, “I met it going out at the
door.” Demetrius’s great actions made Antigonus treat him thus easily.
The Scythians in their drinking-bouts twang their bows, to keep their
courage awake amidst the dreams of indulgence; but he would resign his
whole being, now, to pleasure, and now to action; and though he never
let thoughts of the one intrude upon the pursuit of the other, yet, when
the time came for preparing for war, he showed as much capacity as any
man.
And indeed his ability displayed itself even more in preparing for,
than in conducting a war. He thought he could never be too well supplied
for every possible occasion, and took a pleasure, not to be satiated, in
great improvements in ship-building and machines. He did not waste his
natural genius and power of mechanical research on toys and idle
fancies, turning, painting, and playing on the flute, like some kings,
Aeropus, for example, king of Macedon, who spent his days in making
small lamps and tables; or Attalus Philometor, whose amusement was to
cultivate poisons, henbane and hellebore, and even hemlock, aconite, and
dorycnium, which he used to sow himself in the royal gardens, and made
it his business to gather the fruits and collect the juices in their
season. The Parthian kings took a pride in whetting and sharpening with
their own hands the points of their arrows and javelins. But when
Demetrius played the workman, it was like a king, and there was
magnificence in his handicraft. The articles he produced bore marks upon
the face of them not of ingenuity only, but of a great mind and a lofty
purpose. They were such as a king might not only design and pay for, but
use his own hands to make; and while friends might be terrified with
their greatness, enemies could be charmed with their beauty; a phrase
which is not so pretty to the ear as it is true to the fact. The very
people against whom they were to be employed could not forbear running
to gaze with admiration upon his galleys of five and six ranges of oars,
as they passed along their coasts; and the inhabitants of besieged
cities came on their walls to see the spectacle of his famous
City-takers. Even Lysimachus, of all the kings of his time the greatest
enemy of Demetrius, coming to raise the siege of Soli in Cilicia, sent
first to desire permission to see his galleys and engines, and, having
had his curiosity gratified by a view of them, expressed his admiration
and quitted the place. The Rhodians, also, whom he long besieged, begged
him, when they concluded a peace, to let them have some of his engines,
which they might preserve as a memorial at once of his power and of
their own brave resistance.
The quarrel between him and the Rhodians was on account of their
being allies to Ptolemy, and in the siege the greatest of all the
engines was planted against their walls. The base of it was exactly
square, each side containing twenty-four cubits; it rose to a height of
thirty-three cubits, growing narrower from the base to the top. Within
were several apartments or chambers, which were to be filled with armed
men, and in every story the front towards the enemy had windows for
discharging missiles of all sorts, the whole being filled with soldiers
for every description of fighting. And what was most wonderful was that,
notwithstanding its size, when it was moved it never tottered or
inclined to one side, but went forward on its base in perfect
equilibrium, with a loud noise and great impetus, astounding the minds,
and yet at the same time charming the eyes of all the beholders.
Whilst Demetrius was at this same siege, there were brought to him
two iron cuirasses from Cyprus, weighing each of them no more than forty
pounds, and Zoilus, who had forged them, to show the excellence of their
temper, desired that one of them might be tried with a catapult missile,
shot out of one of the engines at no greater distance than six and
twenty paces; and, upon the experiment, it was found, that though the
dart exactly hit the cuirass, yet it made no greater impression than
such a slight scratch as might be made with the point of a style or
graver. Demetrius took this for his own wearing, and gave the other to
Alcimus the Epirot, the best soldier and strongest man of all his
captains, the only one who used to wear armor to the weight of two
talents, one talent being the weight which others thought sufficient. He
fell during this siege in a battle near the theater.
The Rhodians made a brave defense, insomuch that Demetrius saw he was
making but little progress, and only persisted out of obstinacy and
passion; and the rather because the Rhodians, having captured a ship in
which some clothes and furniture, with letters from herself; were coming
to him from Phila his wife, had sent on everything to Ptolemy, and had
not copied the honorable example of the Athenians, who, having surprised
an express sent from king Philip, their enemy, opened all the letters he
was charged with, excepting only those directed to queen Olympias, which
they returned with the seal unbroken. Yet, although greatly provoked,
Demetrius, into whose power it shortly after came to repay the affront,
would not suffer himself to retaliate. Protogenes the Caunian had been
making them a painting of the story of Ialysus, which was all but
completed, when it was taken by Demetrius in one of the suburbs. The
Rhodians sent a herald begging him to be pleased to spare the work and
not let it be destroyed; Demetrius’s answer to which was that he would
rather burn the pictures of his father than a piece of art which had
cost so much labor. It is said to have taken Protogenes seven years to
paint, and they tell us that Apelles, when he first saw it, was struck
dumb with wonder, and called it, on recovering his speech, “a great
labor and a wonderful success,” adding, however, that it had not the
graces which carried his own paintings as it were up to the heavens.
This picture, which came with the rest in the general mass to Rome,
there perished by fire.
While the Rhodians were thus defending their city to the uttermost,
Demetrius, who was not sorry for an excuse to retire, found one in the
arrival of ambassadors from Athens, by whose mediation terms were made
that the Rhodians should bind themselves to aid Antigonus and Demetrius
against all enemies, Ptolemy excepted.
The Athenians entreated his help against Cassander, who was besieging
the city. So he went thither with a fleet of three hundred and thirty
ships, and many soldiers; and not only drove Cassander out of Attica,
but pursued him as far as Thermopylae, routed him, and became master of
Heraclea, which came over to him voluntarily, and of a body of six
thousand Macedonians, which also joined him. Returning hence, he gave
their liberty to all the Greeks on this side Thermopylae, and made
alliance with the Boeotians, took Cenchreae, and reducing the fortresses
of Phyle and Panactum, in which were garrisons of Cassander, restored
them to the Athenians. They, in requital, though they had before been so
profuse in bestowing honors upon him, that one would have thought they
had exhausted all the capacities of invention, showed they had still new
refinements of adulation to devise for him. They gave him, as his
lodging, the back temple in the Parthenon, and here he lived, under the
immediate roof, as they meant it to imply, of his hostess, Minerva; no
reputable or well-conducted guest to be quartered upon a maiden goddess.
When his brother Philip was once put into a house where three young
women were living, Antigonus saying nothing to him, sent for his
quartermaster, and told him, in the young man’s presence, to find some
less crowded lodgings for him.
Demetrius, however, who should, to say the least, have paid the
goddess the respect due to an elder sister, for that was the purport of
the city’s compliment, filled the temple with such pollutions that the
place seemed least profaned when his license confined itself to common
women like Chrysis, Lamia, Demo, and Anticyra.
The fair name of the city forbids any further plain particulars; let
us only record the severe virtue of the young Damocles, surnamed, and by
that surname pointed out to Demetrius, the beautiful; who, to escape
importunities, avoided every place of resort, and when at last followed
into a private bathing room by Demetrius, seeing none at hand to help or
deliver, seized the lid from the cauldron, and, plunging into the
boiling water, sought a death untimely and unmerited, but worthy of the
country and of the beauty that occasioned it. Not so Cleaenetus, the son
of Cleomedon, who, to obtain from Demetrius a letter of intercession to
the people in behalf of his father, lately condemned in a fine of fifty
talents, disgraced himself, and got the city into trouble. In deference
to the letter, they remitted the fine, yet they made an edict
prohibiting any citizen for the future to bring letters from Demetrius.
But being informed that Demetrius resented this as a great indignity,
they not only rescinded in alarm the former order, but put some of the
proposers and advisers of it to death and banished others, and
furthermore enacted and decreed, that whatsoever king Demetrius should
in time to come ordain, should be accounted right towards the gods and
just towards men; and when one of the better class of citizens said
Stratocles must be mad to use such words, Demochares of Leuconoe
observed, he would be a fool not to be mad. For Stratocles was well
rewarded for his flatteries; and the saying was remembered against
Demochares, who was soon after sent into banishment. So fared the
Athenians, after being relieved of the foreign garrison, and recovering
what was called their liberty.
After this Demetrius marched with his forces into Peloponnesus, where
he met with none to oppose him, his enemies flying before him, and
allowing the cities to join him. He received into friendship all Acte,
as it is called, and all Arcadia except Mantinea. He bought the liberty
of Argos, Corinth, and Sicyon, by paying a hundred talents to their
garrisons to evacuate them. At Argos, during the feast of Juno, which
happened at the time, he presided at the games, and, joining in the
festivities with the multitude of the Greeks assembled there, he
celebrated his marriage with Deidamia, daughter of Aeacides, king of the
Molossians, and sister of Pyrrhus. At Sicyon he told the people they had
put the city just outside of the city, and, persuading them to remove to
where they now live, gave their town not only a new site but a new name,
Demetrias, after himself. A general assembly met on the Isthmus, where
he was proclaimed, by a great concourse of people, the Commander of
Greece, like Philip and Alexander of old; whose superior he, in the
present height of his prosperity and power, was willing enough to
consider himself; and, certainly, in one respect he outdid Alexander,
who never refused their title to other kings, or took on himself the
style of king of kings, though many kings received both their title and
their authority as such from him; whereas Demetrius used to ridicule
those who gave the name of king to any except himself and his father;
and in his entertainments was well pleased when his followers, after
drinking to him and his father as kings, went on to drink the health of
Seleucus, with the title of Master of the Elephants; of Ptolemy, by the
name of High Admiral; of Lysimachus, with the addition of Treasurer; and
of Agathocles, with the style of Governor of the Island of Sicily. The
other kings merely laughed when they were told of this vanity;
Lysimachus alone expressed some indignation at being considered a
eunuch; such being usually then selected for the office of treasurer.
And, in general, there was a more bitter enmity between him and
Lysimachus than with any of the others. Once, as a scoff at his passion
for Lamia, Lysimachus said he had never before seen a courtesan act a
queen’s part; to which Demetrius rejoined that his mistress was quite as
honest us Lysimachus’s own Penelope.
But to proceed. Demetrius being about to return to Athens, signified
by letter to the city that he desired immediate admission to the rites
of initiation into the Mysteries, and wished to go through all the
stages of the ceremony, from first to last, without delay. This was
absolutely contrary to the rules, and a thing which had never been
allowed before; for the lesser mysteries were celebrated in the month of
Anthesterion, and the great solemnity in Boedromion, and none of the
novices were finally admitted till they had completed a year after this
latter. Yet all this notwithstanding, when in the public assembly these
letters of Demetrius were produced and read, there was not one single
person who had the courage to oppose them, except Pythodorus, the
torch-bearer. But it signified nothing, for Stratocles at once proposed
that the month of Munychion, then current, should by edict be reputed to
be the month of Anthesterion; which being voted and done, and Demetrius
thereby admitted to the lesser ceremonies, by another vote they turned
the same month of Munychion into the other month of Boedromion; the
celebration of the greater mysteries ensued, and Demetrius was fully
admitted. These proceedings gave the comedian, Philippides, a new
occasion to exercise his wit upon Stratocles,
whose flattering fear
Into one month hath crowded all the year.
And on the vote that Demetrius should lodge in the Parthenon,
Who turns the temple to a common inn,
And makes the Virgin’s house a house of sin.
Of all the disreputable and flagitious acts of which he was guilty in
this visit, one that particularly hurt the feelings of the Athenians was
that, having given comment that they should forthwith raise for his
service two hundred and fifty talents, and they to comply with his
demands being forced to levy it upon the people with the utmost rigor
and severity, when they presented him with the money, which they had
with such difficulty raised, as if it were a trifling sum, he ordered it
to be given to Lamia and the rest of his women, to buy soap. The loss,
which was bad enough, was less galling than the shame, and the words
more intolerable than the act which they accompanied. Though, indeed,
the story is variously reported; and some say it was the Thessalians,
and not the Athenians, who were thus treated. Lamia, however, exacted
contributions herself to pay for an entertainment she gave to the king,
and her banquet was so renowned for its sumptuosity, that a description
of it was drawn up by the Samian writer, Lynceus. Upon this occasion,
one of the comic writers gave Lamia the name of the real Helepolis; and
Demochares of Soli called Demetrius Mythus, because the fable always has
its Lamia, and so had he.
And, in truth, his passion for this woman and the prosperity in which
she lived were such as to draw upon him not only the envy and jealousy
of all his wives, but the animosity even of his friends. For example, on
Lysimachus’s showing to some ambassadors from Demetrius the scars of the
wounds which he had received upon his thighs and arms by the paws of the
lion with which Alexander had shut him up, after hearing his account of
the combat, they smiled and answered, that their king, also, was not
without his scars, but could show upon his neck the marks of a Lamia, a
no less dangerous beast. It was also matter of wonder that, though he
had objected so much to Phila on account of her age, he was yet such a
slave to Lamia, who was so long past her prime. One evening at supper,
when she played the flute, Demetrius asked Demo, whom the men called
Madness, what she thought of her. Demo answered she thought her an old
woman. And when a quantity of sweetmeats were brought in, and the king
said again, “See what presents I get from Lamia!” “My old mother,”
answered Demo, “will send you more, if you will make her your mistress.”
Another story is told of a criticism passed by Lamia or the famous
judgment of Bocchoris. A young Egyptian had long made suit to Thonis,
the courtesan, offering a sum of gold for her favor. But before it came
to pass, he dreamed one night that he had obtained it, and, satisfied
with the shadow, felt no more desire for the substance. Thonis upon this
brought an action for the sum. Bocchoris, the judge, on hearing the
case, ordered the defendant to bring into court the full amount in a
vessel, which he was to move to and fro in his hand, and the shadow of
it was to be adjudged to Thonis. The fairness of this sentence Lamia
contested, saying the young man’s desire might have been satisfied with
the dream, but Thonis’s desire for the money could not be relieved by
the shadow. Thus much for Lamia.
And now the story passes from the comic to the tragic stage in
pursuit of the acts and fortunes of its subject. A general league of the
kings, who were now gathering and combining their forces to attack
Antigonus, recalled Demetrius from Greece. He was encouraged by finding
his father full of a spirit and resolution for the combat that belied
his years. Yet it would seem to be true, that if Antigonus could only
have borne to make some trifling concessions, and if he had shown any
moderation in his passion for empire, he might have maintained for
himself till his death, and left to his son behind him, the first place
among the kings. But he was of a violent and haughty spirit; and the
insulting words as well as actions in which he allowed himself could not
be borne by young and powerful princes, and provoked them into combining
against him. Though now when he was told of the confederacy, he could
not forbear from saying that this flock of birds would soon be scattered
by one stone and a single shout. He took the field at the head of more
than seventy thousand foot, and of ten thousand horse, and seventy-five
elephants. His enemies had sixty-four thousand foot, five hundred more
horse than he, elephants to the number of four hundred, and a hundred
and twenty chariots. On their near approach to each other, an alteration
began to be observable, not in the purposes, but in the presentiments of
Antigonus. For whereas in all former campaigns he had ever shown himself
lofty and confident, loud in voice and scornful in speech, often by some
joke or mockery on the eve of battle expressing his contempt and
displaying his composure, he was now remarked to be thoughtful, silent,
and retired. He presented Demetrius to the army, and declared him his
successor; and what everyone thought stranger than all was that he now
conferred alone in his tent with Demetrius, whereas in former time he
had never entered into any secret consultations even with him; but had
always followed his own advice, made his resolutions, and then given out
his commands. Once when Demetrius was a boy and asked him how soon the
army would move, he is said to have answered him sharply, “Are you
afraid lest you, of all the army, should not hear the trumpet?”
There were now, however, inauspicious signs, which affected his
spirits. Demetrius, in a dream, had seen Alexander, completely armed,
appear and demand of him what word they intended to give in the time of
the battle; and Demetrius answering that he intended the word should be
“Jupiter and Victory.” “Then,” said Alexander, “I will go to your
adversaries and find my welcome with them.” And on the morning of the
combat, as the armies were drawing up, Antigonus, going out of the door
of his tent, by some accident or other, stumbled and fell flat upon the
ground, hurting himself a good deal. And on recovering his feet, lifting
up his hands to heaven, he prayed the gods to grant him “either victory,
or death without knowledge of defeat.” When the armies engaged,
Demetrius, who commanded the greatest and best part of the cavalry, made
a charge on Antiochus, the son of Seleucus, and, gloriously routing the
enemy, followed the pursuit, in the pride and exultation of success, so
eagerly, and so unwisely far, that it fatally lost him the day, for
when, perceiving his error, he would have come in to the assistance of
his own infantry, he was not able, the enemy with their elephants having
cut off his retreat. And on the other hand, Seleucus, observing the main
battle of Antigonus left naked of their horse, did not charge, but made
a show of charging; and keeping them in alarm and wheeling about and
still threatening an attack, he gave opportunity for those who wished it
to separate and come over to him; which a large body of them did, the
rest taking to flight. But the old king Antigonus still kept his post,
and when a strong body of the enemies drew up to charge him, and one of
those about him cried out to him, “Sir, they are coming upon you,” he
only replied, “What else should they do? but Demetrius will come to my
rescue.” And in this hope he persisted to the last, looking out on every
side for his son’s approach, until he was borne down by a whole
multitude of darts, and fell. His other followers and friends fled, and
Thorax of Larissa remained alone by the body.
The battle having been thus decided, the kings who had gained the
victory, carving up the whole vast empire that had belonged to Demetrius
and Antigonus, like a carcass, into so many portions, added these new
gains to their former possessions. As for Demetrius, with five thousand
foot and four thousand horse, he fled at his utmost speed to Ephesus,
where it was the common opinion he would seize the treasures of the
temple to relieve his wants; but he, on the contrary, fearing such an
attempt on the part of his soldiers, hastened away, and sailed for
Greece, his chief remaining hopes being placed in the fidelity of the
Athenians, with whom he had left part of his navy and of his treasure
and his wife Deidamia. And in their attachment he had not the least
doubt but he should in this his extremity find a safe resource.
Accordingly when, upon reaching the Cyclades, he was met by ambassadors
from Athens, requesting him not to proceed to the city, as the people
had passed a vote to admit no king whatever within their walls, and had
conveyed Deidamia with honorable attendance to Megara, his anger and
surprise overpowered him, and the constancy quite failed him which he
had hitherto shown in a wonderful degree under his reverses, nothing
humiliating or mean-spirited having as yet been seen in him under all
his misfortunes. But to be thus disappointed in the Athenians, and to
find the friendship he had trusted prove, upon trial, thus empty and
unreal, was a great pang to him. And, in truth, an excessive display of
outward honor would seem to be the most uncertain attestation of the
real affection of a people for any king or potentate. Such shows lose
their whole credit as tokens of affection (which has its virtue in the
feelings and moral choice), when we reflect that they may equally
proceed from fear. The same decrees are voted upon the latter motive as
upon the former. And therefore judicious men do not look so much to
statues, paintings, or divine honors that are paid them, as to their own
actions and conduct, judging hence whether they shall trust these as a
genuine, or discredit them as a forced homage. As in fact nothing is
less unusual than for a people, even while offering compliments, to be
disgusted with those who accept them greedily, or arrogantly, or without
respect to the freewill of the givers.
Demetrius, shamefully used as he thought himself, was in no condition
to revenge the affront. He returned a message of gentle expostulation,
saying, however, that he expected to have his galleys sent to him, among
which was that of thirteen banks of oars. And this being accorded him,
he sailed to the Isthmus, and, finding his affairs in very ill
condition, his garrisons expelled, and a general secession going on to
the enemy, he left Pyrrhus to attend to Greece, and took his course to
the Chersonesus, where he ravaged the territories of Lysimachus, and, by
the booty which he took, maintained and kept together his troops, which
were now once more beginning to recover and to show some considerable
front. Nor did any of the other princes care to meddle with him on that
side; for Lysimachus had quite as little claim to be loved, and was more
to be feared for his power. But, not long after, Seleucus sent to treat
with Demetrius for a marriage betwixt himself and Stratonice, daughter
of Demetrius by Phila. Seleucus, indeed, had already, by Apama the
Persian, a son named Antiochus, but he was possessed of territories that
might well satisfy more than one successor, and he was the rather
induced to this alliance with Demetrius, because Lysimachus had just
married himself to one daughter of king Ptolemy, and his son Agathocles
to another. Demetrius, who looked upon the offer as an unexpected piece
of good fortune, presently embarked with his daughter, and with his
whole fleet sailed for Syria. Having during his voyage to touch several
times on the coast, among other places he landed in part of Cilicia,
which, by the apportionment of the kings after the defeat of Antigonus,
was allotted to Plistarchus, the brother of Cassander. Plistarchus, who
took this descent of Demetrius upon his coasts as an infraction of his
rights, and was not sorry to have something to complain of hastened away
to expostulate in person with Seleucus for entering separately into
relations with Demetrius, the common enemy, without consulting the other
kings.
Demetrius, receiving information of this, seized the opportunity, and
fell upon the city of Quinda, which he surprised, and took in it twelve
hundred talents, still remaining of the treasure. With this prize, he
hastened back to his galleys, embarked, and set sail. At Rhosus, where
his wife Phila was now with him, he was met by Seleucus, and their
communications with each other at once were put on a frank,
unsuspecting, and kingly footing. First, Seleucus gave a banquet to
Demetrius in his tent in the camp; then Demetrius received him in the
ship of thirteen banks of oars. Meetings for amusements, conferences,
and long visits for general intercourse succeeded, all without
attendants or arms; until at length Seleucus took his leave, and in
great state conducted Stratonice to Antioch. Demetrius meantime
possessed himself of Cilicia, and sent Phila to her brother Cassander,
to answer the complaints of Plistarchus. And here his wife Deidamia came
by sea out of Greece to meet him, but not long after contracted an
illness, of which she died. After her death, Demetrius, by the mediation
of Seleucus, became reconciled to Ptolemy, and an agreement was made
that he should marry his daughter Ptolemais. Thus far all was handsomely
done on the part of Seleucus. But, shortly after, desiring to have the
province of Cilicia from Demetrius for a sum of money, and being refused
it, he then angrily demanded of him the cities of Tyre and Sidon, which
seemed a mere piece of arbitrary dealing, and, indeed, an outrageous
thing, that he, who was possessed of all the vast provinces between
India and the Syrian sea, should think himself so poorly off as for the
sake of two cities, which he coveted, to disturb the peace of his near
connection, already a sufferer under a severe reverse of fortune.
However, he did but justify the saying of Plato, that the only certain
way to be truly rich is not to have more property, but fewer desires.
For whoever is always grasping at more avows that he is still in want,
and must be poor in the midst of affluence.
But Demetrius, whose courage did not sink, resolutely sent him
answer, that, though he were to lose ten thousand battles like that of
Ipsus, he would pay no price for the good-will of such a son-in-law as
Seleucus. He reinforced these cities with sufficient garrisons to enable
them to make a defense against Seleucus; and, receiving information that
Lachares, taking the opportunity of their civil dissensions, had set up
himself as an usurper over the Athenians, he imagined that if he made a
sudden attempt upon the city, he might now without difficulty get
possession of it. He crossed the sea in safety, with a large fleet; but,
passing along the coast of Attica, was met by a violent storm, and lost
the greater number of his ships, and a very considerable body of men on
board of them. As for him, he escaped, and began to make war in a petty
manner with the Athenians, but finding himself unable to effect his
design, he sent back orders for raising another fleet, and, with the
troops which he had, marched into Peloponnesus, and laid siege to the
city of Messena. In attacking which place, he was in danger of death;
for a missile from an engine struck him in the face, and passed through
the cheek into his mouth. He recovered, however, and, as soon as he was
in a condition to take the field, won over divers cities which had
revolted from him, and made an incursion into Attica, where he took
Eleusis and Rhamnus and wasted the country thereabout. And that he might
straighten the Athenians by cutting off all manner of provision, a
vessel laden with corn bound thither falling into his hands, he ordered
the master and the supercargo to be immediately hanged, thereby to
strike a terror into others, that so they might not venture to supply
the city with provisions. By which means they were reduced to such
extremities, that a bushel of salt sold for forty drachmas, and a peck
of wheat for three hundred. Ptolemy had sent to their relief a hundred
and fifty galleys, which came so near as to be seen off Aegina; but this
brief hope was soon extinguished by the arrival of three hundred ships,
which came to reinforce Demetrius from Cyprus, Peloponnesus, and other
places; upon which Ptolemy’s fleet took to flight, and Lachares, the
tyrant, ran away, leaving the city to its fate.
And now the Athenians, who before had made it capital for any person
to propose a treaty or accommodation with Demetrius, immediately opened
the nearest gates to send ambassadors to him, not so much out of hopes
of obtaining any honorable conditions from his clemency as out of
necessity, to avoid death by famine. For among many frightful instances
of the distress they were reduced to, it is said that a father and son
were sitting in a room together, having abandoned every hope, when a
dead mouse fell from the ceiling; and for this prize they leaped up and
came to blows. In this famine, it is also related, the philosopher
Epicurus saved his own life, and the lives of his scholars, by a small
quantity of beans, which he distributed to them daily by number.
In this condition was the city when Demetrius made his entrance and
issued a proclamation that all the inhabitants should assemble in the
theater; which being done, he drew up his soldiers at the back of the
stage, occupied the stage itself with his guards, and, presently coming
in himself by the actor’s passages, when the people’s consternation had
risen to its height, with his first words he put an end to it. Without
any harshness of tone or bitterness of words, he reprehended them in a
gentle and friendly way, and declared himself reconciled, adding a
present of a hundred thousand bushels of wheat, and appointing as
magistrates persons acceptable to the people. So Dromoclides the orator,
seeing the people at a loss how to express their gratitude by any words
or acclamations, and ready for anything that would outdo the verbal
encomiums of the public speakers, came forward, and moved a decree for
delivering Piraeus and Munychia into the hands of king Demetrius. This
was passed accordingly, and Demetrius, of his own motion, added a third
garrison, which he placed in the Museum, as a precaution against any new
restiveness on the part of the people, which might give him the trouble
of quitting his other enterprises.
He had not long been master of Athens before he had formed designs
against Lacedaemon; of which Archidamus, the king, being advertised,
came out and met him, but he was overthrown in a battle near Mantinea;
after which Demetrius entered Laconia, and, in a second battle near
Sparta itself, defeated him again with the loss of two hundred
Lacedaemonians slain, and five hundred taken prisoners. And now it was
almost impossible for the city, which hitherto had never been captured,
to escape his arms. But certainly there never was any king upon whom
fortune made such short turns, nor any other life or story so filled
with her swift and surprising changes, over and over again, from small
things to great, from splendor back to humiliation, and from utter
weakness once more to power and might. They say in his sadder
vicissitudes he used sometimes to apostrophize fortune in the words of
Aeschylus —
Thou liftest up, to cast us down again.
And so at this moment, when all things seemed to conspire together to
give him his heart’s desire of dominion and power, news arrived that
Lysimachus had taken all his cities in Asia, that Ptolemy had reduced
all Cyprus with the exception of Salamis, and that in Salamis his mother
and children were shut up and close besieged: and yet like the woman in
Archilochus,
Water in one deceitful hand she shows,
While burning fire within her other glows.
The same fortune that drew him off with these disastrous tidings from
Sparta, in a moment after opened upon him a new and wonderful prospect,
of the following kind. Cassander, king of Macedon, dying, and his eldest
son, Philip, who succeeded him, not long surviving his father, the two
younger brothers fell at variance concerning the succession. And
Antipater having murdered his mother Thessalonica, Alexander, the
younger brother, called in to his assistance Pyrrhus out of Epirus, and
Demetrius out of the Peloponnese. Pyrrhus arrived first, and, taking in
recompense for his succor a large slice of Macedonia, had made Alexander
begin to be aware that he had brought upon himself a dangerous neighbor.
And, that he might not run a yet worse hazard from Demetrius, whose
power and reputation were so great, the young man hurried away to meet
him at Dium, whither he, who on receiving his letter had set out on his
march, was now come. And, offering his greetings and grateful
acknowledgments, he at the same time informed him that his affairs no
longer required the presence of his ally, and thereupon he invited him
to supper. There were not wanting some feelings of suspicion on either
side already; and when Demetrius was now on his way to the banquet,
someone came and told him that in the midst of the drinking he would be
killed. Demetrius showed little concern, but, making only a little less
haste, he sent to the principal officers of his army, commanding them to
draw out the soldiers, and make them stand to their arms, and ordered
his retinue (more numerous a good deal than that of Alexander) to attend
him into the very room of the entertainment, and not to stir from thence
till they saw him rise from the table. Thus Alexander’s servants,
finding themselves overpowered, had not courage to attempt anything.
And, indeed, Demetrius gave them no opportunity, for he made a very
short visit, and, pretending to Alexander that he was not at present in
health for drinking wine, left early. And the next day he occupied
himself in preparations for departing, telling Alexander he had received
intelligence that obliged him to leave, and begging him to excuse so
sudden a parting; he would hope to see him further when his affairs
allowed him leisure. Alexander was only too glad, not only that he was
going, but that he was doing so of his own motion, without any offense,
and proposed to accompany him into Thessaly. But when they came to
Larissa, new invitations passed between them, new professions of
good-will, covering new conspiracies; by which Alexander put himself
into the power of Demetrius. For as he did not like to use precautions
on his own part, for fear Demetrius should take the hint to use them on
his, the very thing he meant to do was first done to him. He accepted an
invitation, and came to Demetrius’s quarters; and when Demetrius, while
they were still supping, rose from the table and went forth, the young
man rose also, and followed him to the door, where Demetrius, as he
passed through, only said to the guards, “Kill him that follows me,” and
went on; and Alexander was at once dispatched by them, together with
such of his friends as endeavored to come to his rescue, one of whom,
before he died, said, “You have been one day too quick for us.”
The night following was one, as may be supposed, of disorder and
confusion. And with the morning, the Macedonians, still in alarm, and
fearful of the forces of Demetrius, on finding no violence offered, but
only a message sent from Demetrius desiring an interview and opportunity
for explanation of his actions, at last began to feel pretty confident
again, and prepared to receive him favorably. And when he came, there
was no need of much being said; their hatred of Antipater for his murder
of his mother, and the absence of anyone better to govern them, soon
decided them to proclaim Demetrius king of Macedon. And into Macedonia
they at once started and took him. And the Macedonians at home, who had
not forgotten or forgiven the wicked deeds committed by Cassander on the
family of Alexander, were far from sorry at the change. Any kind
recollections that still might subsist, of the plain and simple rule of
the first Antipater, went also to the benefit of Demetrius, whose wife
was Phila, his daughter, and his son by her, a boy already old enough to
be serving in the army with his father, was the natural successor to the
government.
To add to this unexpected good fortune, news arrived that Ptolemy had
dismissed his mother and children, bestowing upon them presents and
honors; and also that his daughter Stratonice, whom he had married to
Seleucus, was remarried to Antiochus, the son of Seleucus, and
proclaimed queen of Upper Asia.
For Antiochus, it appears, had fallen passionately in love with
Stratonice, the young queen, who had already made Seleucus the father of
a son. He struggled very hard with the beginnings of this passion, and
at last, resolving with himself that his desires were wholly unlawful,
his malady past all cure, and his powers of reason too feeble to act, he
determined on death, and thought to bring his life slowly to extinction
by neglecting his person and refusing nourishment, under the pretense of
being ill. Erasistratus, the physician who attended him, quickly
perceived that love was his distemper, but the difficulty was to
discover the object. He therefore waited continually in his chamber, and
when any of the beauties of the court made their visits to the sick
prince, he observed the emotions and alterations in the countenance of
Antiochus, and watched for the changes which he knew to be indicative of
the inward passions and inclinations of the soul. He took notice that
the presence of other women produced no effect upon him; but when
Stratonice came, as she often did, alone, or in company with Seleucus,
to see him, he observed in him all Sappho’s famous symptoms, his voice
faltered, his face flushed up, his eyes glanced stealthily, a sudden
sweat broke out on his skin, the beatings of his heart were irregular
and violent, and, unable to support the excess of his passion, he would
sink into a state of faintness, prostration, and pallor.
Erasistratus, reasoning upon these symptoms, and, upon the
probability of things, considering that the king’s son would hardly, if
the object of his passion had been any other, have persisted to death
rather than reveal it, felt, however, the difficulty of making a
discovery of this nature to Seleucus. But, trusting to the tenderness of
Seleucus for the young man, he put on all the assurance he could, and at
last, on some opportunity, spoke out, and told him the malady was love,
a love impossible to gratify or relieve. The king was extremely
surprised, and asked, “Why impossible to relieve?” “The fact is,”
replied Erasistratus, “he is in love with my wife.” “How!” said
Seleucus, “and will our friend Erasistratus refuse to bestow his wife
upon my son and only successor, when there is no other way to save his
life?” “You,” replied Erasistratus, “who are his father, would not do
so, if he were in love with Stratonice.” “Ah, my friend,” answered
Seleucus, “would to heaven any means, human or divine, could but convert
his present passion to that; it would be well for me to part not only
with Stratonice, but with my empire, to save Antiochus.” This he said
with the greatest passion, shedding tears as he spoke; upon which
Erasistratus, taking him by the hand, replied, “In that case, you have
no need of Erasistratus; for you, who are the husband, the father, and
the king, are the proper physician for your own family.” Seleucus,
accordingly, summoning a general assembly of his people, declared to
them, that he had resolved to make Antiochus king, and Stratonice queen,
of all the provinces of Upper Asia, uniting them in marriage; telling
them, that he thought he had sufficient power over the prince’s will,
that he should find in him no repugnance to obey his commands; and for
Stratonice, he hoped all his friends would endeavor to make her
sensible, if she should manifest any reluctance to such a marriage, that
she ought to esteem those things just and honorable which had been
determined upon by the king as necessary to the general good. In this
manner, we are told, was brought about the marriage of Antiochus and
Stratonice.
To return to the affairs of Demetrius. Having obtained the crown of
Macedon, he presently became master of Thessaly also. And, holding the
greatest part of Peloponnesus, and, on this side the Isthmus, the cities
of Megara and Athens, he now turned his arms against the Boeotians. They
at first made overtures for an accommodation; but Cleonymus of Sparta
having ventured with some troops to their assistance, and having made
his way into Thebes, and Pisis, the Thespian, who was their first man in
power and reputation, animating them to make a brave resistance, they
broke off the treaty. No sooner, however, had Demetrius begun to
approach the walls with his engines, but Cleonymus in affright secretly
withdrew; and the Boeotians, finding themselves abandoned, made their
submission. Demetrius placed a garrison in charge of their towns, and,
having raised a large sum of money from them, he placed Hieronymus, the
historian, in the office of governor and military commander over them,
and was thought on the whole to have shown great clemency, more
particularly to Pisis, to whom he did no hurt, but spoke with him
courteously and kindly, and made him chief magistrate of Thespiae. Not
long after, Lysimachus was taken prisoner by Dromichaetes, and Demetrius
went off instantly in the hopes of possessing himself of Thrace, thus
left without a king. Upon this, the Boeotians revolted again, and news
also came that Lysimachus had regained his liberty. So Demetrius,
turning back quickly and in anger, found on coming up that his son
Antigonus had already defeated the Boeotians in battle, and therefore
proceeded to lay siege again to Thebes.
But, understanding that Pyrrhus had made an incursion into Thessaly,
and that he was advanced as far as Thermopylae, leaving Antigonus to
continue the siege, he marched with the rest of his army to oppose this
enemy. Pyrrhus, however, made a quick retreat. So, leaving ten thousand
foot and a thousand horse for the protection of Thessaly, he returned to
the siege of Thebes, and there brought up his famous City-taker to the
attack, which, however, was so laboriously and so slowly moved on
account of its bulk and heaviness, that in two months it did not advance
two furlongs. In the meantime the citizens made a stout defense, and
Demetrius, out of heat and contentiousness very often, more than upon
any necessity, sent his soldiers into danger; until at last Antigonus,
observing how many men were losing their lives, said to him, “Why, my
father, do we go on letting the men be wasted in this way, without any
need of it?” But Demetrius, in a great passion, interrupted him: “And
you, good sir, why do you afflict yourself for the matter? will dead men
come to you for rations?” But that the soldiers might see he valued his
own life at no dearer rate than theirs, he exposed himself freely, and
was wounded with a javelin through his neck, which put him into great
hazard of his life. But, notwithstanding, he continued the siege, and in
conclusion took the town again. And after his entrance, when the
citizens were in fear and trembling, and expected all the severities
which an incensed conqueror could indict, he only put to death thirteen,
and banished some few others, pardoning all the rest. Thus the city of
Thebes, which had not yet been ten years restored, in that short space
was twice besieged and taken.
Shortly after, the festival of the Pythian Apollo was to be
celebrated, and the Aetolians having blocked up all the passages to
Delphi, Demetrius held the games and celebrated the feast at Athens,
alleging it was great reason those honors should be paid in that place,
Apollo being the paternal god of the Athenian people, and the reputed
first founder of their race.
From thence Demetrius returned to Macedon, and as he not only was of
a restless temper himself, but saw also that the Macedonians were ever
the best subjects when employed in military expeditions, but turbulent
and desirous of change in the idleness of peace, he led them against the
Aetolians, and, having wasted their country, he left Pantauchus with a
great part of his army to complete the conquest, and with the rest he
marched in person to find out Pyrrhus, who in like manner was advancing
to encounter him. But so it fell out, that by taking different ways the
two armies did not meet; but whilst Demetrius entered Epirus, and laid
all waste before him, Pyrrhus fell upon Pantauchus, and, in a battle in
which the two commanders met in person and wounded each other, he gained
the victory, and took five thousand prisoners, besides great numbers
slain on the field. The worst thing, however, for Demetrius was that
Pyrrhus had excited less animosity as an enemy than admiration as a
brave man. His taking so large a part with his own hand in the battle
had gained him the greatest name and glory among the Macedonians. Many
among them began to say that this was the only king in whom there was
any likeness to be seen of the great Alexander’s courage; the other
kings, and particularly Demetrius, did nothing but personate him, like
actors on a stage, in his pomp and outward majesty. And Demetrius truly
was a perfect play and pageant, with his robes and diadems, his
gold-edged purple and his hats with double streamers, his very shoes
being of the richest purple felt, embroidered over in gold. One robe in
particular, a most superb piece of work, was long in the loom in
preparation for him, in which was to be wrought the representation of
the universe and the celestial bodies. This, left unfinished when his
reverses overtook him, not any one of the kings of Macedon, his
successors, though divers of them haughty enough, ever presumed to use.
But it was not this theatric pomp alone which disgusted the
Macedonians, but his profuse and luxurious way of living; and, above
all, the difficulty of speaking with him or of obtaining access to his
presence. For either he would not be seen at all, or, if he did give
audience, he was violent and overbearing. Thus he made the envoys of the
Athenians, to whom yet he was more attentive than to all the other
Grecians, wait two whole years before they could obtain a hearing. And
when the Lacedaemonians sent a single person on an embassy to him, he
held himself insulted, and asked angrily whether it was the fact that
the Lacedaemonians had sent but one ambassador. “Yes,” was the happy
reply he received, “one ambassador to one king.”
Once when in some apparent fit of a more popular and acceptable
temper he was riding abroad, a number of people came up and presented
their written petitions. He courteously received all these, and put them
up in the skirt of his cloak, while the poor people were overjoyed, and
followed him close. But when he came upon the bridge of the river Axius,
shaking out his cloak, he threw all into the river. This excited very
bitter resentment among the Macedonians, who felt themselves to be not
governed, but insulted. They called to mind what some of them had seen,
and others had heard related of King Philip’s unambitious and open,
accessible manners. One day when an old woman had assailed him several
times in the road and importuned him to hear her, after he had told her
he had no time, “If so,” cried she, “you have no time to be a king.” And
this reprimand so stung the king that after thinking of it a while he
went back into the house, and, setting all other matters apart, for
several days together he did nothing else but receive, beginning with
the old woman, the complaints of all that would come. And to do justice,
truly enough, might well be called a king’s first business. “Mars,” as
says Timotheus, “is the tyrant;” but Law, in Pindar’s words, the king of
all. Homer does not say that kings received at the hands of Jove
besieging engines or ships of war, but sentences of justice, to keep and
observe; nor is it the most warlike, unjust, and murderous, but the most
righteous of kings, that has from him the name of Jupiter’s “familiar
friend” and scholar. Demetrius’s delight was the title most unlike the
choices of the king of gods. The divine names were those of the Defender
and Keeper, his was that of the Besieger of Cities. The place of virtue
was given by him to that which, had he not been as ignorant as he was
powerful, he would have known to be vice, and honor by his act was
associated with crime. While he lay dangerously ill at Pella, Pyrrhus
pretty nearly overran all Macedon, and advanced as far as the city of
Edessa. On recovering his health, he quickly drove him out, and came to
terms with him, being desirous not to employ his time in a string of
petty local conflicts with a neighbor, when all his thoughts were fixed
upon another design. This was no less than to endeavor the recovery of
the whole empire which his father had possessed; and his preparations
were suitable to his hopes, and the greatness of the enterprise. He had
arranged for the levying of ninety-eight thousand foot, and nearly
twelve thousand horse; and he had a fleet of five hundred galleys on the
stocks, some building at Athens, others at Corinth and Chalcis, and in
the neighborhood of Pella. And he himself was passing evermore from one
to another of these places, to give his directions and his assistance to
the plans, while all that saw were amazed, not so much at the number, as
at the magnitude of the works. Hitherto, there had never been seen a
galley with fifteen or sixteen ranges of oars. At a later time, Ptolemy
Philopator built one of forty rows, which was two hundred and eighty
cubits in length, and the height of her to the top of her stern forty
eight cubits; she had four hundred sailors and four thousand rowers, and
afforded room besides for very near three thousand soldiers to fight on
her decks. But this, after all, was for show, and not for service,
scarcely differing from a fixed edifice ashore, and was not to be moved
without extreme toil and peril; whereas these galleys of Demetrius were
meant quite as much for fighting as for looking at, were not the less
serviceable for their magnificence, and were as wonderful for their
speed and general performance as for their size.
These mighty preparations against Asia, the like of which had not
been made since Alexander first invaded it, united Seleucus, Ptolemy,
and Lysimachus in a confederacy for their defense. They also dispatched
ambassadors to Pyrrhus, to persuade him to make a diversion by attacking
Macedonia; he need not think there was any validity in a treaty which
Demetrius had concluded, not as an engagement to be at peace with him,
but as a means for enabling himself to make war first upon the enemy of
his choice. So when Pyrrhus accepted their proposals, Demetrius, still
in the midst of his preparations, was encompassed with war on all sides.
Ptolemy, with a mighty navy, invaded Greece; Lysimachus entered
Macedonia upon the side of Thrace, and Pyrrhus, from the Epirot border,
both of them spoiling and wasting the country. Demetrius, leaving his
son to look after Greece, marched to the relief of Macedon, and first of
all to oppose Lysimachus. On his way, he received the news that Pyrrhus
had taken the city Beroea; and the report quickly getting out among the
soldiers, all discipline at once was lost, and the camp was filled with
lamentations and tears, anger and execrations on Demetrius; they would
stay no longer, they would march off, as they said, to take care of
their country, friends, and families; but in reality the intention was
to revolt to Lysimachus. Demetrius, therefore, thought it his business
to keep them as far away as he could from Lysimachus, who was their own
countryman, and for Alexander’s sake kindly looked upon by many; they
would be ready to fight with Pyrrhus, a new-comer and a foreigner, whom
they could hardly prefer to himself. But he found himself under a great
mistake in these conjectures. For when he advanced and pitched his camp
near, the old admiration for Pyrrhus’s gallantry in arms revived again;
and as they had been used from time immemorial to suppose that the best
king was he that was the bravest soldier, so now they were also told of
his generous usage of his prisoners, and, in short, they were eager to
have anyone in the place of Demetrius, and well pleased that the man
should be Pyrrhus. At first, some straggling parties only deserted, but
in a little time the whole army broke out into an universal mutiny,
insomuch that at last some of them went up, and told him openly that if
he consulted his own safety he were best to make haste to be gone, for
that the Macedonians were resolved no longer to hazard their lives for
the satisfaction of his luxury and pleasure. And this was thought fair
and moderate language, compared with the fierceness of the rest. So,
withdrawing into his tent, and, like an actor rather than a real king,
laying aside his stage-robes of royalty, he put on some common clothes
and stole away. He was no sooner gone but the mutinous army were
fighting and quarreling for the plunder of his tent, but Pyrrhus, coming
immediately, took possession of the camp without a blow, after which he,
with Lysimachus, parted the realm of Macedon betwixt them, after
Demetrius had securely held it just seven years.
As for Demetrius, being thus suddenly despoiled of everything, he
retired to Cassandrea. His wife Phila, in the passion of her grief,
could not endure to see her hapless husband reduced to the condition of
a private and banished man. She refused to entertain any further hope,
and, resolving to quit a fortune which was never permanent except for
calamity, took poison and died. Demetrius, determining still to hold on
by the wreck, went off to Greece, and collected his friends and officers
there. Menelaus, in the play of Sophocles, to give an image of his
vicissitudes of estate, says, —
For me, my destiny, alas, is found
Whirling upon the gods’ swift wheel around,
And changing still, and as the moon’s fair frame
Cannot continue for two nights the same,
But out of shadow first a crescent shows,
Thence into beauty and perfection grows,
And when the form of plenitude it wears,
Dwindles again, and wholly disappears.
The simile is yet truer of Demetrius and the phases of his fortunes,
now on the increase, presently on the wane, now filling up and now
falling away. And so, at this time of apparent entire obscuration and
extinction, his light again shone out, and accessions of strength,
little by little, came in to fulfill once more the measure of his hope.
At first he showed himself in the garb of a private man, and went about
the cities without any of the badges of a king. One who saw him thus at
Thebes applied to him not inaptly, the lines of Euripides,
Humbled to man, laid by the godhead’s pride,
He comes to Dirce and Ismenus’ side.
But erelong his expectations had reentered the royal track, and he
began once more to have about him the body and form of empire. The
Thebans received back, as his gift, their ancient constitution. The
Athenians had deserted him. They displaced Diphilus, who was that year
the priest of the two Tutelar Deities, and restored the archons, as of
old, to mark the year; and on hearing that Demetrius was not so weak as
they had expected, they sent into Macedonia to beg the protection of
Pyrrhus. Demetrius, in anger, marched to Athens, and laid close siege to
the city. In this distress, they sent out to him Crates the philosopher,
a person of authority and reputation, who succeeded so far, that what
with his entreaties and the solid reasons which he offered, Demetrius
was persuaded to raise the siege; and, collecting all his ships, he
embarked a force of eleven thousand men with cavalry, and sailed away to
Asia, to Caria and Lydia, to take those provinces from Lysimachus.
Arriving at Miletus, he was met there by Eurydice, the sister of Phila,
who brought along with her Ptolemais, one of her daughters by king
Ptolemy, who had before been affianced to Demetrius, and with whom he
now consummated his marriage. Immediately after, he proceeded to carry
out his project, and was so fortunate in the beginning, that many cities
revolted to him; others, as particularly Sardis, he took by force; and
some generals of Lysimachus, also, came over to him with troops and
money. But when Agathocles, the son of Lysimachus, arrived with an army,
he retreated into Phrygia, with an intention to pass into Armenia,
believing that, if he could once plant his foot in Armenia, he might set
Media in revolt, and gain a position in Upper Asia, where a fugitive
commander might find a hundred ways of evasion and escape. Agathocles
pressed hard upon him, and many skirmishes and conflicts occurred, in
which Demetrius had still the advantage; but Agathocles straitened him
much in his forage, and his men showed a great dislike to his purpose,
which they suspected, of carrying them far away into Armenia and Media.
Famine also pressed upon them, and some mistake occurred in their
passage of the river Lycus, in consequence of which a large number were
swept away and drowned. Still, however, they could pass their jests, and
one of them fixed upon Demetrius’s tent-door a paper with the first
verse, slightly altered of the Oedipus; —
Child of the blind old man, Antigonus,
Into what country are you bringing us?
But at last, pestilence, as is usual, when armies are driven to such
necessities as to subsist upon any food they can get, began to assail
them as well as famine. So that, having lost eight thousand of his men,
with the rest he retreated and came to Tarsus, and because that city was
within the dominions of Seleucus, he was anxious to prevent any
plundering, and wished to give no sort of offense to Seleucus. But when
he perceived it was impossible to restrain the soldiers in their extreme
necessity, Agathocles also having blocked up all the avenues of Mount
Taurus, he wrote a letter to Seleucus, bewailing first all his own sad
fortunes, and proceeding with entreaties and supplications for some
compassion on his part towards one nearly connected with him, who was
fallen into such calamities as might extort tenderness and pity from his
very enemies.
These letters so far moved Seleucus, that he gave orders to the
governors of those provinces that they should furnish Demetrius with all
things suitable to his royal rank, and with sufficient provisions for
his troops. But Patrocles, a person whose judgment was greatly valued,
and who was a friend highly trusted by Seleucus, pointed out to him,
that the expense of maintaining such a body of soldiers was the least
important consideration, but that it was contrary to all policy to let
Demetrius stay in the country, since he, of all the kings of his time,
was the most violent, and most addicted to daring enterprises; and he
was now in a condition which might tempt persons of the greatest temper
and moderation to unlawful and desperate attempts. Seleucus, excited by
this advice, moved with a powerful army towards Cilicia; and Demetrius,
astonished at this sudden alteration, betook himself for safety to the
most inaccessible places of Mount Taurus; from whence he sent envoys to
Seleucus, to request from him that he would permit him the liberty to
settle with his army somewhere among the independent barbarian tribes,
where he might be able to make himself a petty king, and end his life
without further travel and hardship; or, if he refused him this, at any
rate to give his troops food during the winter, and not expose him in
this distressed and naked condition to the fury of his enemies.
But Seleucus, whose jealousy made him put an ill construction on all
he said, sent him answer, that he would permit him to stay two months
and no longer in Cataonia, provided he presently sent him the principal
of his friends as hostages for his departure then; and, in the meantime,
he fortified all the passages into Syria. So that Demetrius, who saw
himself thus, like a wild beast, in the way to be encompassed on all
sides in the toils, was driven in desperation to his defense, overran
the country, and in several engagements in which Seleucus attacked him,
had the advantage of him. Particularly, when he was once assailed by the
scythed chariots, he successfully avoided the charge and routed his
assailants, and then, expelling the troops that were in guard of the
passes, made himself master of the roads leading into Syria. And now,
elated himself, and finding his soldiers also animated by these
successes, he was resolved to push at all, and to have one deciding blow
for the empire with Seleucus; who, indeed, was in considerable anxiety
and distress, being averse to any assistance from Lysimachus, whom he
both mistrusted and feared, and shrinking from a battle with Demetrius,
whose desperation he knew, and whose fortune he had so often seen
suddenly pass from the lowest to the highest.
But Demetrius, in the meanwhile, was taken with a violent sickness,
from which he suffered extremely himself, and which ruined all his
prospects. His men deserted to the enemy, or dispersed. At last, after
forty days, he began to be so far recovered as to be able to rally his
remaining forces, and marched as if he directly designed for Cilicia;
but in the night, raising his camp without sound of trumpet, he took a
countermarch, and, passing the mountain Amanus, he ravaged an the lower
country as far as Cyrrhestica.
Upon this, Seleucus advancing towards him and encamping at no great
distance, Demetrius set his troops in motion to surprise him by night.
And almost to the last moment Seleucus knew nothing, and was lying
asleep. Some deserter came with the tidings just so soon that he had
time to leap, in great consternation, out of bed, and give the alarm to
his men. And as he was putting on his boots to mount his horse, he bade
the officers about him look well to it, for they had to meet a furious
and terrible wild beast. But Demetrius, by the noise he heard in the
camp, finding they had taken the alarm, drew off his troops in haste.
With the morning’s return he found Seleucus pressing hard upon him; so,
sending one of his officers against the other wing, he defeated those
that were opposed to himself. But Seleucus, lighting from his horse,
pulling off his helmet, and taking a target, advanced to the foremost
ranks of the mercenary soldiers, and, showing them who he was, bade them
come over and join him, telling them that it was for their sakes only
that he had so long forborne coming to extremities. And thereupon,
without a blow more, they saluted Seleucus as their king, and passed
over.
Demetrius, who felt that this was his last change of fortune, and
that he had no more vicissitudes to expect, fled to the passes of
Amanus, where, with a very few friends and followers, he threw himself
into a dense forest, and there waited for the night, purposing, if
possible, to make his escape towards Caunus, where he hoped to find his
shipping ready to transport him. But upon inquiry, finding that they had
not provisions even for that one day, he began to think of some other
project. Whilst he was yet in doubt, his friend Sosigenes arrived, who
had four hundred pieces of gold about him, and, with this relief, he
again entertained hopes of being able to reach the coast, and, as soon
as it began to be dark, set forward towards the passes. But, perceiving
by the fires that the enemies had occupied them, he gave up all thought
of that road, and retreated to his old station in the wood, but not with
all his men; for some had deserted, nor were those that remained as
willing as they had been. One of them, in fine, ventured to speak out,
and say that Demetrius had better give himself up to Seleucus; which
Demetrius overhearing, drew out his sword, and would have passed it
through his body, but that some of his friends interposed and prevented
the attempt, persuading him to do as had been said. So at last he gave
way, and sent to
Seleucus, to surrender himself at discretion.
Seleucus, when he was told of it, said it was not Demetrius’s good
fortune that had found out this means for his safety, but his own, which
had added to his other honors the opportunity of showing his clemency
and generosity. And forthwith he gave order to his domestic officers to
prepare a royal pavilion, and all things suitable to give him a splendid
reception and entertainment. There was in the attendance of Seleucus one
Apollonides, who formerly had been intimate with Demetrius. He was,
therefore, as the fittest person, dispatched from the king to meet
Demetrius, that he might feel himself more at his ease, and might come
with the confidence of being received as a friend and relative. No
sooner was this message known, but the courtiers and officers, some few
at first, and afterwards almost the whole of them, thinking, Demetrius
would presently become of great power with the king, hurried off, vying
who should be foremost to pay him their respects. The effect of which
was that compassion was converted into jealousy, and ill-natured,
malicious people could the more easily insinuate to Seleucus that he was
giving way to an unwise humanity, the very first sight of Demetrius
having been the occasion of a dangerous excitement in the army. So,
whilst Apollonides, in great delight, and after him many others, were
relating to Demetrius the kind expressions of Seleucus, and he, after so
many troubles and calamities, if indeed he had still any sense of his
surrender of himself being a disgrace, had now, in confidence on the
good hopes held out to him, entirely forgotten all such thoughts,
Pausanias, with a guard of a thousand horse and foot, came and
surrounded him; and, dispersing the rest that were with him, carried
him, not to the presence of Seleucus, but to the Syrian Chersonese,
where he was committed to the safe custody of a strong guard. Sufficient
attendance and liberal provision were here allowed him, space for riding
and walking, a park with game for hunting, those of his friends and
companions in exile who wished it had permission to see him, and
messages of kindness, also, from time to time, were brought him from
Seleucus, bidding him fear nothing, and intimating, that, so soon as
Antiochus and Stratonice should arrive, he would receive his liberty.
Demetrius, however, finding himself in this condition, sent letters
to those who were with his son, and to his captains and friends at
Athens and Corinth, that they should give no manner of credit to any
letters written to them in his name, though they were sealed with his
own signet, but that, looking upon him as if he were already dead, they
should maintain the cities and whatever was left of his power, for
Antigonus, as his successor. Antigonus received the news of his father’s
captivity with great sorrow; he put himself into mourning, and wrote
letters to the rest of the kings, and to Seleucus himself, making
entreaties, and offering not only to surrender whatever they had left,
but himself to be a hostage for his father. Many cities, also, and
princes joined in interceding for him; only Lysimachus sent and offered
a large sum of money to Seleucus to take away his life. But he, who had
always shown his aversion to Lysimachus before, thought him only the
greater barbarian and monster for it. Nevertheless, he still protracted
the time, reserving the favor, as he professed, for the intercession of
Antiochus and Stratonice.
Demetrius, who had sustained the first stroke of his misfortune, in
time grew so familiar with it, that, by continuance, it became easy. At
first he persevered one way or other in taking exercise, in hunting, so
far as he had means, and in riding. Little by little, however, after a
while, he let himself grow indolent and indisposed for them, and took to
dice and drinking, in which he passed most of his time, whether it were
to escape the thoughts of his present condition, with which he was
haunted when sober, and to drown reflection in drunkenness, or that he
acknowledged to himself that this was the real happy life he had long
desired and wished for, and had foolishly let himself be seduced away
from it by a senseless and vain ambition, which had only brought trouble
to himself and others; that highest good which he had thought to obtain
by arms and fleets and soldiers, he had now discovered unexpectedly in
idleness, leisure, and repose. As, indeed, what other end or period is
there of all the wars and dangers which hapless princes run into, whose
misery and folly it is, not merely that they make luxury and pleasure,
instead of virtue and excellence, the object of their lives, but that
they do not so much as know where this luxury and pleasure are to be
found?
Having thus continued three years a prisoner in Chersonesus, for want
of exercise, and by indulging himself in eating and drinking, he fell
into a disease, of which he died at the age of fifty-four. Seleucus was
ill-spoken of, and was himself greatly grieved, that he had yielded so
far to his suspicions, and had let himself be so much outdone by the
barbarian Dromichaetes of Thrace, who had shown so much humanity and
such a kingly temper in his treatment of his prisoner Lysimachus.
There was something dramatic and theatrical in the very funeral
ceremonies with which Demetrius was honored. For his son Antigonus,
understanding that his remains were coming over from Syria, went with
all his fleet to the islands to meet them. They were there presented to
him in a golden urn, which he placed in his largest admiral galley. All
the cities where they touched in their passage sent chaplets to adorn
the urn, and deputed certain of their citizens to follow in mourning, to
assist at the funeral solemnity. When the fleet approached the harbor of
Corinth, the urn, covered with purple, and a royal diadem upon it, was
visible upon the poop, and a troop of young men attended in arms to
receive it at landing Xenophantus, the most famous musician of the day,
played on the flute his most solemn measure, to which the rowers, as the
ship came in, made loud response, their oars, like the funeral beating
of the breast, keeping time with the cadences of the music. But
Antigonus, in tears and mourning attire, excited among the spectators
gathered on the shore the greatest sorrow and compassion. After crowns
and other honors had been offered at Corinth, the remains were conveyed
to Demetrias, a city to which Demetrius had given his name, peopled from
the inhabitants of the small villages of Iolcus.
Demetrius left no other children by his wife Phila but Antigonus and
Stratonice, but he had two other sons, both of his own name, one
surnamed the Thin, by an Illyrian mother, and one who ruled in Cyrene,
by Ptolemais. He had also, by Deidamia, a son, Alexander, who lived and
died in Egypt; and there are some who say that he had a son by Eurydice,
named Corrhabus. His family was continued in a succession of kings down
to Perseus, the last, from whom the Romans took Macedonia.
And now, the Macedonian drama being ended, let us prepare to see the
Roman.
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Antony
The grandfather of Antony was the famous pleader, whom Marius put
to death for having taken part with Sylla. His father was Antony,
surnamed of Crete, not very famous or distinguished in public life, but
a worthy, good man, and particularly remarkable for his liberality, as
may appear from a single example. He was not very rich, and was for that
reason checked in the exercise of his good-nature by his wife. A friend
that stood in need of money came to borrow of him. Money he had none,
but he bade a servant bring him water in a silver basin, with which,
when it was brought, he wetted his face, as if he meant to shave; and,
sending away the servant upon another errand, gave his friend the basin,
desiring him to turn it to his purpose. And when there was, afterwards,
a great inquiry for it in the house, and his wife was in a very ill
humor, and was going to put the servants one by one to the search, he
acknowledged what he had done, and begged her pardon.
His wife was Julia, of the family of the Caesars, who, for her
discretion and fair behavior, was not inferior to any of her time. Under
her, Antony received his education, she being, after the death of his
father, remarried to Cornelius Lentulus. who was put to death by Cicero
for having been of Catiline’s conspiracy. This, probably, was the first
ground and occasion of that mortal grudge that Antony bore Cicero. He
says, even, that the body of Lentulus was denied burial, till, by
application made to Cicero’s wife, it was granted to Julia. But this
seems to be a manifest error, for none of those that suffered in the
consulate of Cicero had the right of burial denied them. Antony grew up
a very beautiful youth, but, by the worst of misfortunes, he fell into
the acquaintance and friendship of Curio, a man abandoned to his
pleasures; who, to make Antony’s dependence upon him a matter of greater
necessity, plunged him into a life of drinking and dissipation, and led
him through a course of such extravagance, that he ran, at that early
age, into debt to the amount of two hundred and fifty talents. For this
sum, Curio became his surety; on hearing which, the elder Curio, his
father, drove Antony out of his house. After this, for some short time,
he took part with Clodius, the most insolent and outrageous demagogue of
the time, in his course of violence and disorder; but, getting weary,
before long, of his madness, and apprehensive of the powerful party
forming against him, he left Italy, and traveled into Greece, where he
spent his time in military exercises and in the study of eloquence. He
took most to what was called the Asiatic taste in speaking, which was
then at its height, and was, in many ways, suitable to his ostentatious,
vaunting temper, full of empty flourishes and unsteady efforts for
glory.
After some stay in Greece, he was invited by Gabinius, who had been
consul, to make a campaign with him in Syria, which at first he refused,
not being willing to serve in a private character, but, receiving a
commission to command the horse, he went along with him. His first
service was against Aristobulus, who had prevailed with the Jews to
rebel. Here he was himself the first man to scale the largest of the
works, and beat Aristobulus out of all of them; after which he routed,
in a pitched battle, an army many times over the number of his, killed
almost all of them, and took Aristobulus and his son prisoners. This war
ended, Gabinius was solicited by Ptolemy to restore him to his kingdom
of Egypt, and a promise made of ten thousand talents reward. Most of the
officers were against this enterprise, and Gabinius himself did not much
like it, though sorely tempted by the ten thousand talents. But Antony,
desirous of brave actions, and willing to please Ptolemy, joined in
persuading Gabinius to go. And whereas all were of opinion that the most
dangerous thing before them was the march to Pelusium, in which they
would have to pass over a deep sand, where no fresh water was to be
hoped for, along the Ecregma and the Serbonian marsh (which the
Egyptians call Typhon’s breathing-hole, and which is, in probability,
water left behind by, or making its way through from, the Red Sea, which
is here divided from the Mediterranean by a narrow isthmus), Antony,
being ordered thither with the horse, not only made himself master of
the passes, but won Pelusium itself, a great city, took the garrison
prisoners, and, by this means, rendered the march secure to the army,
and the way to victory not difficult for the general to pursue. The
enemy, also, reaped some benefit of his eagerness for honor. For when
Ptolemy, after he had entered Pelusium, in his rage and spite against
the Egyptians, designed to put them to the sword, Antony withstood him,
and hindered the execution. In all the great and frequent skirmishes and
battles, he gave continual proofs of his personal valor and military
conduct; and once in particular, by wheeling about and attacking the
rear of the enemy, he gave the victory to the assailants in the front,
and received for this service signal marks of distinction. Nor was his
humanity towards the deceased Archelaus less taken notice of. He had
been formerly his guest and acquaintance, and, as he was now compelled,
he fought him bravely while alive, but, on his death, sought out his
body and buried it with royal honors. The consequence was that he left
behind him a great name among the Alexandrians, and all who were serving
in the Roman army looked upon him as a most gallant soldier.
He had also a very good and noble appearance; his beard was well
grown, his forehead large, and his nose aquiline, giving him altogether
a bold, masculine look, that reminded people of the faces of Hercules in
paintings and sculptures. It was, moreover, an ancient tradition, that
the Antonys were descended from Hercules, by a son of his called Anton;
and this opinion he thought to give credit to, by the similarity of his
person just mentioned, and also by the fashion of his dress. For,
whenever he had to appear before large numbers, he wore his tunic girt
low about the hips, a broadsword on his side, and over all a large,
coarse mantle. What might seem to some very insupportable, his vaunting,
his raillery, his drinking in public, sitting down by the men as they
were taking their food, and eating, as he stood, off the common
soldiers’ tables, made him the delight and pleasure of the army. In love
affairs, also, he was very agreeable; he gained many friends by the
assistance he gave them in theirs, and took other people’s raillery upon
his own with good-humor. And his generous ways, his open and lavish hand
in gifts and favors to his friends and fellow-soldiers, did a great deal
for him in his first advance to power, and, after he had become great,
long maintained his fortunes, when a thousand follies were hastening
their overthrow. One instance of his liberality I must relate. He had
ordered payment to one of his friends of twenty-five myriads of money,
or decies, as the Romans call it, and his steward, wondering at the
extravagance of the sum, laid all the silver in a heap, as he should
pass by. Antony, seeing the heap, asked what it meant; his steward
replied, “The money you have ordered to be given to your friend.” So,
perceiving the man’s malice, said he, “I thought the decies had been
much more; ‘t is too little; let it be doubled.” This, however, was at a
later time.
When the Roman state finally broke up into two hostile factions, the
aristocratical party joining Pompey, who was in the city, and the
popular side seeking help from Caesar, who was at the head of an army in
Gaul, Curio, the friend of Antony, having changed his party and devoted
himself to Caesar, brought over Antony also to his service. And the
influence which he gained with the people by his eloquence and by the
money which was supplied by Caesar enabled him to make Antony, first,
tribune of the people, and then, augur. And Antony’s accession to office
was at once of the greatest advantage to Caesar. In the first place, he
resisted the consul Marcellus, who was putting under Pompey’s orders the
troops who were already collected, and was giving him power to raise new
levies; he, on the other hand, making an order that they should be sent
into Syria to reinforce Bibulus, who was making war with the Parthians,
and that no one should give in his name to serve under Pompey. Next,
when the senators would not suffer Caesar’s letters to be received or
read in the senate, by virtue of his office he read them publicly, and
succeeded so well, that many were brought to change their mind; Caesar’s
demands, as they appeared in what he wrote, being but just and
reasonable. At length, two questions being put in the senate, the one,
whether Pompey should dismiss his army, the other, if Caesar his, some
were for the former, for the latter all, except some few, when Antony
stood up and put the question, if it would be agreeable to them that
both Pompey and Caesar should dismiss their armies. This proposal met
with the greatest approval, they gave him loud acclamations, and called
for it to be put to the vote. But when the consuls would not have it so,
Caesar’s friends again made some new offers, very fair and equitable,
but were strongly opposed by Cato, and Antony himself was commanded to
leave the senate by the consul Lentulus. So, leaving them with
execrations, and disguising himself in a servant’s dress, hiring a
carriage with Quintus Cassius, he went straight away to Caesar,
declaring at once, when they reached the camp, that affairs at Rome were
conducted without any order or justice, that the privilege of speaking
in the senate was denied the tribunes, and that he who spoke for common
fair dealing was driven out and in danger of his life.
Upon this, Caesar set his army in motion, and marched into Italy; and
for this reason it is that Cicero writes in his Philippics, that Antony
was as much the cause of the civil war, as Helen was of the Trojan. But
this is but a calumny. For Caesar was not of so slight or weak a temper
as to suffer himself to be carried away, by the indignation of the
moment, into a civil war with his country, upon the sight of Antony and
Cassius seeking refuge in his camp, meanly dressed and in a hired
carriage, without ever having thought of it or taken any such resolution
long before. This was to him, who wanted a pretense of declaring war, a
fair and plausible occasion; but the true motive that led him was the
same that formerly led Alexander and Cyrus against all mankind, the
unquenchable thirst of empire, and the distracted ambition of being the
greatest man in the world, which was impracticable for him, unless
Pompey were put down. So soon, then, as he had advanced and occupied
Rome, and driven Pompey out of Italy, he purposed first to go against
the legions that Pompey had in Spain, and then cross over and follow him
with the fleet that should be prepared during his absence, in the
meantime leaving the government of Rome to Lepidus, as praetor, and the
command of the troops and of Italy to Antony, as tribune of the people.
Antony was not long in getting the hearts of the soldiers, joining with
them in their exercises, and for the most part living amongst them, and
making them presents to the utmost of his abilities; but with all others
he was unpopular enough. He was too lazy to pay attention to the
complaints of persons who were injured; he listened impatiently to
petitions; and he had an ill name for familiarity with other people’s
wives. In short, the government of Caesar (which, so far as he was
concerned himself, had the appearance of anything rather than a
tyranny), got a bad repute through his friends. And of these friends,
Antony, as he had the largest trust, and committed the greatest errors,
was thought the most deeply in fault.
Caesar, however, at his return from Spain, overlooked the charges
against him, and had no reason ever to complain, in the employments he
gave him in the war, of any want of courage, energy, or military skill.
He himself, going aboard at Brundusium, sailed over the Ionian Sea with
a few troops, and sent back the vessels with orders to Antony and
Gabinius to embark the army, and come over with all speed into
Macedonia. Gabinius, having no mind to put to sea in the rough,
dangerous weather of the winter season, was for marching the army round
by the long land route; but Antony, being more afraid lest Caesar might
suffer from the number of his enemies, who pressed him hard, beat back
Libo, who was watching with a fleet at the mouth of the haven of
Brundusium, by attacking his galleys with a number of small boats, and,
gaining thus an opportunity, put on board twenty thousand foot and eight
hundred horse, and so set out to sea. And, being espied by the enemy and
pursued, from this danger he was rescued by a strong south wind, which
sprang up and raised so high a sea, that the enemy’s galleys could make
little way. But his own ships were driving before it upon a lee shore of
cliffs and rocks running sheer to the water, where there was no hope of
escape, when all of a sudden the wind turned about to south-west, and
blew from land to the main sea, where Antony, now sailing in security,
saw the coast all covered with the wreck of the enemy’s fleet. For
hither the galleys in pursuit had been carried by the gale, and not a
few of them dashed to pieces. Many men and much property fell into
Antony’s hands; he took also the town of Lissus, and, by the seasonable
arrival of so large a reinforcement, gave Caesar great encouragement.
There was not one of the many engagements that now took place one
after another in which he did not signalize himself; twice he stopped
the army in its full flight, led them back to a charge, and gained the
victory. So that not without reason his reputation, next to Caesar’s,
was greatest in the army. And what opinion Caesar himself had of him
well appeared when for the final battle in Pharsalia, which was to
determine everything, he himself chose to lead the right wing,
committing the charge of the left to Antony, as to the best officer of
all that served under him. After the battle, Caesar, being created
dictator, went in pursuit of Pompey, and sent Antony to Rome, with the
character of Master of the Horse, who is in office and power next to the
dictator, when present, and in his absence is the first, and pretty
nearly indeed the sole magistrate. For on the appointment of a dictator,
with the one exception of the tribunes, all other magistrates cease to
exercise any authority in Rome.
Dolabella, however, who was tribune, being a young man and eager for
change, was now for bringing in a general measure for canceling debts,
and wanted Antony, who was his friend, and forward enough to promote any
popular project, to take part with him in this step. Asinius and
Trebellius were of the contrary opinion, and it so happened, at the same
time, Antony was crossed by a terrible suspicion that Dolabella was too
familiar with his wife; and in great trouble at this, he parted with her
(she being his cousin, and daughter to Caius Antonius, the colleague of
Cicero), and, taking part with Asinius, came to open hostilities with
Dolabella, who had seized on the forum, intending to pass his law by
force. Antony, backed by a vote of the senate that Dolabella should be
put down by force of arms, went down and attacked him, killing some of
his, and losing some of his own men; and by this action lost his favor
with the commonalty, while with the better class and with all well
conducted people his general course of life made him, as Cicero says,
absolutely odious, utter disgust being excited by his drinking bouts at
all hours, his wild expenses, his gross amours, the day spent in
sleeping or walking off his debauches, and the night in banquets and at
theaters, and in celebrating the nuptials of some comedian or buffoon.
It is related that, drinking all night at the wedding of Hippias, the
comedian, on the morning, having to harangue the people, he came
forward, overcharged as he was, and vomited before them all, one of his
friends holding his gown for him. Sergius, the player, was one of the
friends who could do most with him; also Cytheris, a woman of the same
trade, whom he made much of, and who, when he went his progress,
accompanied him in a litter, and had her equipage, not in anything
inferior to his mother’s; while every one, moreover, was scandalized at
the sight of the golden cups that he took with him, fitter for the
ornaments of a procession than the uses of a journey, at his having
pavilions set up, and sumptuous morning repasts laid out by river-sides
and in groves, at his having chariots drawn by lions, and common women
and singing girls quartered upon the houses of serious fathers and
mothers of families. And it seemed very unreasonable that Caesar, out of
Italy, should lodge in the open field, and, with great fatigue and
danger, pursue the remainder of a hazardous war, whilst others, by favor
of his authority, should insult the citizens with their impudent luxury.
All this appears to have aggravated party quarrels in Rome, and to
have encouraged the soldiers in acts of license and rapacity. And,
accordingly, when Caesar came home, he acquitted Dolabella, and, being
created the third time consul, took, not Antony, but Lepidus, for his
colleague. Pompey’s house being offered for sale, Antony bought it, and,
when the price was demanded of him, loudly complained. This, he tells us
himself, and because he thought his former services had not been
recompensed as they deserved, made him not follow Caesar with the army
into Libya. However, Caesar, by dealing gently with his errors, seems to
have succeeded in curing him of a good deal of his folly and
extravagance. He gave up his former courses, and took a wife, Fulvia,
the widow of Clodius the demagogue, a woman not born for spinning or
housewifery, nor one that could be content with ruling a private
husband, but prepared to govern a first magistrate, or give orders to a
commander-in-chief. So that Cleopatra had great obligations to her for
having taught Antony to be so good a servant, he coming to her hands
tame and broken into entire obedience to the commands of a mistress. He
used to play all sorts of sportive, boyish tricks, to keep Fulvia in
good-humor. As, for example, when Caesar, after his victory in Spain,
was on his return, Antony, among the rest, went out to meet him; and, a
rumor being spread that Caesar was killed and the enemy marching into
Italy, he resumed to Rome, and, disguising himself, came to her by night
muffled up as a servant that brought letters from Antony. She, with
great impatience, before she received the letter, asks if Antony were
well, and instead of an answer he gives her the letter; and, as she was
opening it, took her about the neck and kissed her. This little story of
many of the same nature, I give as a specimen.
There was nobody of any rank in Rome that did not go some days’
journey to meet Caesar on his return from Spain; but Antony was the best
received of any, admitted to ride the whole journey with him in his
carriage, while behind came Brutus Albinus, and Octavian, his niece’s
son, who afterwards bore his name and reigned so long over the Romans.
Caesar being created, the fifth time, consul, without delay chose Antony
for his colleague, but, designing himself to give up his own consulate
to Dolabella, he acquainted the senate with his resolution. But Antony
opposed it with all his might, saying much that was bad against
Dolabella, and receiving the like language in return, till Caesar could
bear with the indecency no longer, and deferred the matter to another
time. Afterwards, when he came before the people to proclaim Dolabella,
Antony cried out that the auspices were unfavorable, so that at last
Caesar, much to Dolabella’s vexation, yielded and gave it up. And it is
credible that Caesar was about as much disgusted with the one as the
other. When someone was accusing them both to him, “It is not,” said he,
“these well fed, long-haired men that I fear, but the pale and the
hungry looking;” meaning Brutus and Cassius, by whose conspiracy he
afterwards fell.
And the fairest pretext for that conspiracy was furnished, without
his meaning it, by Antony himself. The Romans were celebrating their
festival, called the Lupercalia, when Caesar, in his triumphal habit,
and seated above the Rostra in the market-place, was a spectator of the
sports. The custom is, that many young noblemen and of the magistracy,
anointed with oil and having straps of hide in their hands, run about
and strike, in sport, at everyone they meet. Antony was running with the
rest; but, omitting the old ceremony, twining a garland of bay round a
diadem, he ran up to the Rostra, and, being lifted up by his companions,
would have put it upon the head of Caesar, as if by that ceremony he
were declared king. Caesar seemingly refused, and drew aside to avoid
it, and was applauded by the people with great shouts. Again Antony
pressed it, and again he declined its acceptance. And so the dispute
between them went on for some time, Antony’s solicitations receiving but
little encouragement from the shouts of a few friends, and Caesar’s
refusal being accompanied with the general applause of the people; a
curious thing enough, that they should submit with patience to the fact,
and yet at the same time dread the name as the destruction of their
liberty. Caesar, very much discomposed at what had past, got up from his
seat, and, laying bare his neck, said, he was ready to receive the
stroke, if any one of them desired to give it. The crown was at last put
on one of his statues, but was taken down by some of the tribunes, who
were followed home by the people with shouts of applause.
Caesar, however, resented it, and deposed them.
These passages gave great encouragement to Brutus and Cassius, who,
in making choice of trusty friends for such an enterprise, were thinking
to engage Antony. The rest approved, except Trebonius, who told them
that Antony and he had lodged and traveled together in the last journey
they took to meet Caesar, and that he had let fall several words, in a
cautious way, on purpose to sound him; that Antony very well understood
him, but did not encourage it; however, he had said nothing of it to
Caesar, but had kept the secret faithfully. The conspirators then
proposed that Antony should die with him, which Brutus would not consent
to, insisting that an action undertaken in defense of right and the laws
must be maintained unsullied, and pure of injustice. It was settled that
Antony, whose bodily strength and high office made him formidable,
should, at Caesar’s entrance into the senate, when the deed was to be
done, be amused outside by some of the party in a conversation about
some pretended business.
So when all was proceeded with, according to their plan, and Caesar
had fallen in the senate-house, Antony, at the first moment, took a
servant’s dress, and hid himself. But, understanding that the
conspirators had assembled in the Capitol, and had no further design
upon anyone, he persuaded them to come down, giving them his son as a
hostage. That night Cassius supped at Antony’s house, and Brutus with
Lepidus. Antony then convened the senate, and spoke in favor of an act
of oblivion, and the appointment of Brutus and Cassius to provinces.
These measures the senate passed; and resolved that all Caesar’s acts
should remain in force. Thus Antony went out of the senate with the
highest possible reputation and esteem; for it was apparent that he had
prevented a civil war, and had composed, in the wisest and most
statesman-like way, questions of the greatest difficulty and
embarrassment. But these temperate counsels were soon swept away by the
tide of popular applause, and the prospects, if Brutus were overthrown,
of being without doubt the ruler-in-chief. As Caesar’s body was
conveying to the tomb, Antony, according to the custom, was making his
funeral oration in the market; place, and, perceiving the people to be
infinitely affected with what he had said, he began to mingle with his
praises language of commiseration, and horror at what had happened, and,
as he was ending his speech, he took the under-clothes of the dead, and
held them up, showing them stains of blood and the holes of the many
stabs, calling those that had done this act villains and bloody
murderers. All which excited the people to such indignation, that they
would not defer the funeral, but, making a pile of tables and forms in
the very market-place, set fire to it; and everyone, taking a brand, ran
to the conspirators’ houses, to attack them.
Upon this, Brutus and his whole party left the city, and Caesar’s
friends joined themselves to Antony. Calpurnia, Caesar’s wife, lodged
with him the best part of the property, to the value of four thousand
talents; he got also into his hands all Caesar’s papers, wherein were
contained journals of all he had done, and draughts of what he designed
to do, which Antony made good use of; for by this means he appointed
what magistrates he pleased, brought whom he would into the senate,
recalled some from exile, freed others out of prison, and all this as
ordered so by Caesar. The Romans, in mockery, gave those who were thus
benefited the name of Charonites, since, if put to prove their patents,
they must have recourse to the papers of the dead. In short, Antony’s
behavior in Rome was very absolute, he himself being consul, and his two
brothers in great place; Caius, the one, being praetor, and Lucius, the
other, tribune of the people.
While matters went thus in Rome, the young Caesar, Caesar’s niece’s
son, and by testament left his heir, arrived at Rome from Apollonia,
where he was when his uncle was killed. The first thing he did was to
visit Antony, as his father’s friend. He spoke to him concerning the
money that was in his hands, and reminded him of the legacy Caesar had
made of seventy-five drachmas to every Roman citizen. Antony, at first,
laughing at such discourse from so young a man, told him he wished he
were in his health, and that he wanted good counsel and good friends, to
tell him the burden of being executor to Caesar would sit very uneasily
upon his young shoulders. This was no answer to him; and, when he
persisted in demanding the property, Antony went on treating him
injuriously both in word and deed, opposed him when he stood for the
tribune’s office, and, when he was taking steps for the dedication of
his father’s golden chair, as had been enacted, he threatened to send
him to prison if he did not give over soliciting the people. This made
the young Caesar apply himself to Cicero, and all those that hated
Antony; by them he was recommended to the senate, while he himself
courted the people, and drew together the soldiers from their
settlements, till Antony got alarmed, and gave him a meeting in the
Capitol, where, after some words, they came to an accommodation.
That night Antony had a very unlucky dream, fancying that his right
hand was thunderstruck. And, some few days after, he was informed that
Caesar was plotting to take his life. Caesar explained, but was not
believed, so that the breach was now made as wide as ever; each of them
hurried about all through Italy to engage, by great offers, the old
soldiers that lay scattered in their settlements, and to be the first to
secure the troops that still remained undischarged. Cicero was at this
time the man of greatest influence in Rome. He made use of all his art
to exasperate people against Antony, and at length persuaded the senate
to declare him a public enemy, to send Caesar the rods and axes and
other marks of honor usually given to praetors, and to issue orders to
Hirtius and Pansa, who were the consuls, to drive Antony out of Italy.
The armies engaged near Modena, and Caesar himself was present and took
part in the battle. Antony was defeated, but both the consuls were
slain. Antony, in his flight, was overtaken by distresses of every kind,
and the worst of all of them was famine. But it was his character in
calamities to be better than at any other time. Antony, in misfortune,
was most nearly a virtuous man. It is common enough for people, when
they fall into great disasters, to discern what is right, and what they
ought to do; but there are but few who in such extremities have the
strength to obey their judgment, either in doing what it approves or
avoiding what it condemns; and a good many are so weak as to give way to
their habits all the more, and are incapable of using their minds.
Antony, on this occasion, was a most wonderful example to his soldiers.
He, who had just quitted so much luxury and sumptuous living, made no
difficulty now of drinking foul water and feeding on wild fruits and
roots. Nay, it is related they ate the very bark of trees, and, in
passing over the Alps, lived upon creatures that no one before had ever
been willing to touch.
The design was to join the army on the other side the Alps, commanded
by Lepidus, who he imagined would stand his friend, he having done him
many good offices with Caesar. On coming up and encamping near at hand,
finding he had no sort of encouragement offered him, he resolved to push
his fortune and venture all. His hair was long and disordered, nor had
he shaved his beard since his defeat; in this guise, and with a dark
colored cloak flung over him, he came into the trenches of Lepidus, and
began to address the army. Some were moved at his habit, others at his
words, so that Lepidus, not liking it, ordered the trumpets to sound,
that he might be heard no longer. This raised in the soldiers yet a
greater pity, so that they resolved to confer secretly with him, and
dressed Laelius and Clodius in women’s clothes, and sent them to see
him. They advised him without delay to attack Lepidus’s trenches,
assuring him that a strong party would receive him, and, if he wished
it, would kill Lepidus. Antony, however, had no wish for this, but next
morning marched his army to pass over the river that parted the two
camps. He was himself the first man that stepped in, and, as he went
through towards the other bank, he saw Lepidus’s soldiers in great
numbers reaching out their hands to help him, and beating down the works
to make him way. Being entered into the camp, and finding himself
absolute master, he nevertheless treated Lepidus with the greatest
civility, and gave him the title of Father, when he spoke to him, and,
though he had everything at his own command, he left him the honor of
being called the general. This fair usage brought over to him Munatius
Plancus, who was not far off with a considerable force. Thus in great
strength he repassed the Alps, leading with him into Italy seventeen
legions and ten thousand horse, besides six legions which he left in
garrison under the command of Varius, one of his familiar friends and
boon companions, whom they used to call by the nickname of Cotylon.
Caesar, perceiving that Cicero’s wishes were for liberty, had ceased
to pay any further regard to him, and was now employing the mediation of
his friends to come to a good understanding with Antony. They both met
together with Lepidus in a small island, where the conference lasted
three days. The empire was soon determined of, it being divided amongst
them as if it had been their paternal inheritance. That which gave them
all the trouble was to agree who should be put to death, each of them
desiring to destroy his enemies and to save his friends. But, in the
end, animosity to those they hated carried the day against respect for
relations and affection for friends; and Caesar sacrificed Cicero to
Antony, Antony gave up his uncle Lucius Caesar, and Lepidus received
permission to murder his brother Paulus, or, as others say, yielded his
brother to them. I do not believe anything ever took place more truly
savage or barbarous than this composition, for, in this exchange of
blood for blood, they were equally guilty of the lives they surrendered
and of those they took; or, indeed, more guilty in the case of their
friends, for whose deaths they had not even the justification of hatred.
To complete the reconciliation, the soldiery, coming about them,
demanded that confirmation should be given to it by some alliance of
marriage; Caesar should marry Clodia, the daughter of Fulvia, wife to
Antony. This also being agreed to, three hundred persons were put to
death by proscription. Antony gave orders to those that were to kill
Cicero, to cut off his head and right hand, with which he had written
his invectives against him; and, when they were brought before him, he
regarded them joyfully, actually bursting out more than once into
laughter, and when he had satiated himself with the sight of them,
ordered them to be hung up above the speaker’s place in the forum,
thinking thus to insult the dead, while in fact he only exposed his own
wanton arrogance, and his unworthiness to hold the power that fortune
had given him. His uncle Lucius Caesar, being closely pursued, took
refuge with his sister, who, when the murderers had broken into her
house and were pressing into her chamber, met them at the door, and,
spreading out her hands, cried out several times, “You shall not kill
Lucius Caesar till you first dispatch me, who gave your general his
birth;” and in this manner she succeeded in getting her brother out of
the way, and saving his life.
This triumvirate was very hateful to the Romans, and Antony most of
all bore the blame, because he was older than Caesar, and had greater
authority than Lepidus, and withal he was no sooner settled in his
affairs, but he returned to his luxurious and dissolute way of living.
Besides the ill reputation he gained by his general behavior, it was
some considerable disadvantage to him his living in the house of Pompey
the Great, who had been as much admired for his temperance and his
sober, citizen-like habits of life, as ever he was for having triumphed
three times. They could not without anger see the doors of that house
shut against magistrates, officers, and envoys, who were shamefully
refused admittance, while it was filled inside with players, jugglers,
and drunken flatterers, upon whom were spent the greatest part of the
wealth which violence and cruelty procured. For they did not limit
themselves to the forfeiture of the estates of such as were proscribed,
defrauding the widows and families, nor were they contented with laying
on every possible kind of tax and imposition; but, hearing that several
sums of money were, as well by strangers as citizens of Rome, deposited
in the hands of the vestal virgins, they went and took the money away by
force. When it was manifest that nothing would ever be enough for
Antony, Caesar at last called for a division of property. The army was
also divided between them, upon their march into Macedonia to make war
with Brutus and Cassius, Lepidus being left with the command of the
city.
However, after they had crossed the sea and engaged in operations of
war, encamping in front of the enemy, Antony opposite Cassius, and
Caesar opposite Brutus, Caesar did nothing worth relating, and all the
success and victory were Antony’s. In the first battle, Caesar was
completely routed by Brutus, his camp taken, he himself very narrowly
escaping by flight. As he himself writes in his Memoirs, he retired
before the battle, on account of a dream which one of his friends had.
But Antony, on the other hand, defeated Cassius; though some have
written that he was not actually present in the engagement, and only
joined afterwards in the pursuit. Cassius was killed, at his own
entreaty and order, by one of his most trusted freedmen, Pindarus, not
being aware of Brutus’s victory. After a few days’ interval, they fought
another battle, in which Brutus lost the day, and slew himself; and
Caesar being sick, Antony had almost all the honor of the victory.
Standing over Brutus’s dead body, he uttered a few words of reproach
upon him for the death of his brother Caius, who had been executed by
Brutus’s order in Macedonia in revenge of Cicero; but, saying presently
that Hortensius was most to blame for it, he gave order for his being
slain upon his brother’s tomb, and, throwing his own scarlet mantle,
which was of great value, upon the body of Brutus, he gave charge to one
of his own freedmen to take care of his funeral. This man, as Antony
came to understand, did not leave the mantle with the corpse, but kept
both it and a good part of the money that should have been spent in the
funeral for himself; for which he had him put to death.
But Caesar was conveyed to Rome, no one expecting that he would long
survive. Antony, proposing to go to the eastern provinces to lay them
under contribution, entered Greece with a large force. The promise had
been made that every common soldier should receive for his pay five
thousand drachmas; so it was likely there would be need of pretty severe
taxing and levying to raise money. However, to the Greeks he showed at
first reason and moderation enough; he gratified his love of amusement
by hearing the learned men dispute, by seeing the games, and undergoing
initiation; and in judicial matters he was equitable, taking pleasure in
being styled a lover of Greece, but, above all, in being called a lover
of Athens, to which city he made very considerable presents. The people
of Megara wished to let him know that they also had something to show
him, and invited him to come and see their senate-house. So he went and
examined it, and on their asking him how he liked it, told them it was
“not very large, but extremely ruinous.” At the same time, he had a
survey made of the temple of the Pythian Apollo, as if he had designed
to repair it, and indeed he had declared to the senate his intention so
to do.
However, leaving Lucius Censorinus in Greece, he crossed over into
Asia, and there laid his hands on the stores of accumulated wealth,
while kings waited at his door, and queens were rivaling one another,
who should make him the greatest presents or appear most charming in his
eyes. Thus, whilst Caesar in Rome was wearing out his strength amidst
seditions and wars, Antony, with nothing to do amidst the enjoyments of
peace, let his passions carry him easily back to the old course of life
that was familiar to him. A set of harpers and pipers, Anaxenor and
Xuthus, the dancing-man Metrodorus, and a whole Bacchic rout of the like
Asiatic exhibitors, far outdoing in license and buffoonery the pests
that had followed out of Italy, came in and possessed the court; the
thing was past patience, wealth of all kinds being wasted on objects
like these. The whole of Asia was like the city in Sophocles, loaded, at
one time,
with incense in the air,
Jubilant songs, and outcries of despair.
When he made his entry into Ephesus, the women met him dressed up
like Bacchantes, and the men and boys like Satyrs and Fauns, and
throughout the town nothing was to be seen but spears wreathed about
with ivy, harps, flutes, and psaltries, while Antony in their songs was
Bacchus the Giver of Joy and the Gentle. And so indeed he was to some,
but to far more the Devourer and the Savage; for he would deprive
persons of worth and quality of their fortunes to gratify villains and
flatterers, who would sometimes beg the estates of men yet living,
pretending they were dead, and, obtaining a grant, take possession. He
gave his cook the house of a Magnesian citizen, as a reward for a single
highly successful supper, and, at last, when he was proceeding to lay a
second whole tribute on Asia, Hybreas, speaking on behalf of the cities,
took courage, and told him broadly, but aptly enough for Antony’s taste,
“If you can take two yearly tributes, you can doubtless give us a couple
of summers, and a double harvest time;” and put it to him in the
plainest and boldest way, that Asia had raised two hundred thousand
talents for his service: “If this has not been paid to you, ask your
collectors for it; if it has, and is all gone, we are ruined men.” These
words touched Antony to the quick, who was simply ignorant of most
things that were done in his name; not that he was so indolent, as he
was prone to trust frankly in all about him. For there was much
simplicity in his character; he was slow to see his faults, but, when he
did see them, was extremely repentant, and ready to ask pardon of those
he had injured; prodigal in his acts of reparation, and severe in his
punishments, but his generosity was much more extravagant than his
severity; his raillery was sharp and insulting, but the edge of it was
taken off by his readiness to submit to any kind of repartee; for he was
as well contented to be rallied, as he was pleased to rally others. And
this freedom of speech was, indeed, the cause of many of his disasters.
He never imagined that those who used so much liberty in their mirth
would flatter or deceive him in business of consequence, not knowing how
common it is with parasites to mix their flattery with boldness, as
confectioners do their sweetmeats with something biting, to prevent the
sense of satiety. Their freedoms and impertinences at table were
designed expressly to give to their obsequiousness in council the air of
being not complaisance, but conviction.
Such being his temper, the last and crowning mischief that could
befall him came in the love of Cleopatra, to awaken and kindle to fury
passions that as yet lay still and dormant in his nature, and to stifle
and finally corrupt any elements that yet made resistance in him, of
goodness and a sound judgment. He fell into the snare thus. When making
preparation for the Parthian war, he sent to command her to make her
personal appearance in Cilicia, to answer an accusation, that she had
given great assistance, in the late wars, to Cassius. Dellius, who was
sent on this message, had no sooner seen her face, and remarked her
adroitness and subtlety in speech, but he felt convinced that Antony
would not so much as think of giving any molestation to a woman like
this; on the contrary, she would be the first in favor with him. So he
set himself at once to pay his court to the Egyptian, and gave her his
advice, “to go,” in the Homeric style, to Cilicia, “in her best attire,”
and bade her fear nothing from Antony, the gentlest and kindest of
soldiers. She had some faith in the words of Dellius, but more in her
own attractions, which, having formerly recommended her to Caesar and
the young Cnaeus Pompey, she did not doubt might prove yet more
successful with Antony. Their acquaintance was with her when a girl,
young, and ignorant of the world, but she was to meet Antony in the time
of life when women’s beauty is most splendid, and their intellects are
in full maturity. She made great preparation for her journey, of money,
gifts, and ornaments of value, such as so wealthy a kingdom might
afford, but she brought with her her surest hopes in her own magic arts
and charms.
She received several letters, both from Antony and from his friends,
to summon her, but she took no account of these orders; and at last, as
if in mockery of them, she came sailing up the river Cydnus, in a barge
with gilded stern and outspread sails of purple, while oars of silver
beat time to the music of flutes and fifes and harps. She herself lay
all along, under a canopy of cloth of gold, dressed as Venus in a
picture, and beautiful young boys, like painted Cupids, stood on each
side to fan her. Her maids were dressed like Sea Nymphs and Graces, some
steering at the rudder, some working at the ropes. The perfumes diffused
themselves from the vessel to the shore, which was covered with
multitudes, part following the galley up the river on either bank, part
running out of the city to see the sight. The market-place was quite
emptied, and Antony at last was left alone sitting upon the tribunal;
while the word went through all the multitude, that Venus was come to
feast with Bacchus, for the common good of Asia. On her arrival, Antony
sent to invite her to supper. She thought it fitter he should come to
her; so, willing to show his good-humor and courtesy, he complied, and
went. He found the preparations to receive him magnificent beyond
expression, but nothing so admirable as the great number of lights; for
on a sudden there was let down altogether so great a number of branches
with lights in them so ingeniously disposed, some in squares, and some
in circles, that the whole thing was a spectacle that has seldom been
equaled for beauty.
The next day, Antony invited her to supper, and was very desirous to
outdo her as well in magnificence as contrivance; but he found he was
altogether beaten in both, and was so well convinced of it, that he was
himself the first to jest and mock at his poverty of wit, and his rustic
awkwardness. She, perceiving that his raillery was broad and gross, and
savored more of the soldier than the courtier, rejoined in the same
taste, and fell into it at once, without any sort of reluctance or
reserve. For her actual beauty, it is said, was not in itself so
remarkable that none could be compared with her, or that no one could
see her without being struck by it, but the contact of her presence, if
you lived with her, was irresistible; the attraction of her person,
joining with the charm of her conversation, and the character that
attended all she said or did, was something bewitching. It was a
pleasure merely to hear the sound of her voice, with which, like an
instrument of many strings, she could pass from one language to another;
so that there were few of the barbarian nations that she answered by an
interpreter; to most of them she spoke herself, as to the Ethiopians,
Troglodytes, Hebrews, Arabians, Syrians, Medes, Parthians, and many
others, whose language she had learnt; which was all the more
surprising, because most of the kings her predecessors scarcely gave
themselves the trouble to acquire the Egyptian tongue, and several of
them quite abandoned the Macedonian.
Antony was so captivated by her, that, while Fulvia his wife
maintained his quarrels in Rome against Caesar by actual force of arms,
and the Parthian troops, commanded by Labienus (the king’s generals
having made him commander-in-chief), were assembled in Mesopotamia, and
ready to enter Syria, he could yet suffer himself to be carried away by
her to Alexandria, there to keep holiday, like a boy, in play and
diversion, squandering and fooling away in enjoyments that most costly,
as Antiphon says, of all valuables, time. They had a sort of company, to
which they gave a particular name, calling it that of the Inimitable
Livers. The members entertained one another daily in turn, with an
extravagance of expenditure beyond measure or belief. Philotas, a
physician of Amphissa, who was at that time a student of medicine in
Alexandria, used to tell my grandfather Lamprias, that, having some
acquaintance with one of the royal cooks, he was invited by him, being a
young man, to come and see the sumptuous preparations for supper. So he
was taken into the kitchen, where he admired the prodigious variety of
all things; but particularly, seeing eight wild boars roasting whole,
says he, “Surely you have a great number of guests.” The cook laughed at
his simplicity, and told him there were not above twelve to sup, but
that every dish was to be served up just roasted to a turn, and if
anything was but one minute ill-timed, it was spoiled; “And,” said he,
“maybe Antony will sup just now, maybe not this hour, maybe he will call
for wine, or begin to talk, and will put it off. So that,” he continued,
“it is not one, but many suppers must be had in readiness, as it is
impossible to guess at his hour.” This was Philotas’s story; who related
besides, that he afterwards came to be one of the medical attendants of
Antony’s eldest son by Fulvia, and used to be invited pretty often,
among other companions, to his table, when he was not supping with his
father. One day another physician had talked loudly, and given great
disturbance to the company, whose mouth Philotas stopped with this
sophistical syllogism: “In some states of fever the patient should take
cold water; everyone who has a fever is in some state of fever;
therefore in a fever cold water should always be taken.” The man was
quite struck dumb, and Antony’s son, very much pleased, laughed aloud,
and said, Philotas, “I make you a present of all you see there,”
pointing to a sideboard covered with plate. Philotas thanked him much,
but was far enough from ever imagining that a boy of his age could
dispose of things of that value. Soon after, however, the plate was all
brought to him, and he was desired to set his mark upon it; and when he
put it away from him, and was afraid to accept the present, “What ails
the man?” said he that brought it; “do you know that he who gives you
this is Antony’s son, who is free to give it, if it were all gold? but
if you will be advised by me, I would counsel you to accept of the value
in money from us; for there may be amongst the rest some antique or
famous piece of workmanship, which Antony would be sorry to part with.”
These anecdotes my grandfather told us Philotas used frequently to
relate.
To return to Cleopatra; Plato admits four sorts of flattery, but she
had a thousand. Were Antony serious or disposed to mirth, she had at any
moment some new delight or charm to meet his wishes; at every turn she
was upon him, and let him escape her neither by day nor by night. She
played at dice with him, drank with him, hunted with him; and when he
exercised in arms, she was there to see. At night she would go rambling
with him to disturb and torment people at their doors and windows,
dressed like a servant-woman, for Antony also went in servant’s
disguise, and from these expeditions he often came home very scurvily
answered, and sometimes even beaten severely, though most people guessed
who it was. However, the Alexandrians in general liked it all well
enough, and joined good humoredly and kindly in his frolic and play,
saying they were much obliged to Antony for acting his tragic parts at
Rome, and keeping his comedy for them. It would be trifling without end
to be particular in his follies, but his fishing must not be forgotten.
He went out one day to angle with Cleopatra, and, being so unfortunate
as to catch nothing in the presence of his mistress, he gave secret
orders to the fishermen to dive under water, and put fishes that had
been already taken upon his hooks; and these he drew so fast that the
Egyptian perceived it. But, feigning great admiration, she told
everybody how dexterous Antony was, and invited them next day to come
and see him again. So, when a number of them had come on board the
fishing boats, as soon as he had let down his hook, one of her servants
was beforehand with his divers, and fixed upon his hook a salted fish
from Pontus. Antony, feeling his line give, drew up the prey, and when,
as may be imagined, great laughter ensued, “Leave,” said Cleopatra, “the
fishing-rod, general, to us poor sovereigns of Pharos and Canopus; your
game is cities, provinces, and kingdoms.”
Whilst he was thus diverting himself and engaged in this boys’ play,
two dispatches arrived; one from Rome, that his brother Lucius and his
wife Fulvia, after many quarrels among themselves, had joined in war
against Caesar, and, having lost all, had fled out of Italy; the other
bringing little better news, that Labienus, at the head of the
Parthians, was overrunning Asia, from Euphrates and Syria as far as
Lydia and Ionia. So, scarcely at last rousing himself from sleep, and
shaking off the fumes of wine, he set out to attack the Parthians, and
went as far as Phoenicia; but, upon the receipt of lamentable letters
from Fulvia, turned his course with two hundred ships to Italy. And, in
his way, receiving, such of his friends as fled from Italy, he was given
to understand that Fulvia was the sole cause of the war, a woman of a
restless spirit and very bold, and withal her hopes were that commotions
in Italy would force Antony from Cleopatra. But it happened that Fulvia,
as she was coming to meet her husband, fell sick by the way, and died at
Sicyon, so that an accommodation was the more easily made. For when he
reached Italy, and Caesar showed no intention of laying anything to his
charge, and he on his part shifted the blame of everything on Fulvia,
those that were friends to them would not suffer that the time should be
spent in looking narrowly into the plea, but made a reconciliation
first, and then a partition of the empire between them, taking as their
boundary the Ionian Sea, the eastern provinces falling to Antony, to
Caesar the western, and Africa being left to Lepidus. And an agreement
was made, that everyone in their turn, as he thought fit, should make
their friends consuls, when they did not choose to take the offices
themselves.
These terms were well approved of, but yet it was thought some closer
tie would be desirable; and for this, fortune offered occasion. Caesar
had an elder sister, not of the whole blood, for Attia was his mother’s
name, hers Ancharia. This sister, Octavia, he was extremely attached to,
as, indeed, she was, it is said, quite a wonder of a woman. Her husband,
Caius Marcellus, had died not long before, and Antony was now a widower
by the death of Fulvia; for, though he did not disavow the passion he
had for Cleopatra, yet he disowned anything of marriage, reason, as yet,
upon this point, still maintaining the debate against the charms of the
Egyptian. Everybody concurred in promoting this new alliance, fully
expecting that with the beauty, honor, and prudence of Octavia, when her
company should, as it was certain it would, have engaged his affections,
all would be kept in the safe and happy course of friendship. So, both
parties being agreed, they went to Rome to celebrate the nuptials, the
senate dispensing with the law by which a widow was not permitted to
marry till ten months after the death of her husband.
Sextus Pompeius was in possession of Sicily, and with his ships,
under the command of Menas, the pirate, and Menecrates, so infested the
Italian coast, that no vessels durst venture into those seas. Sextus had
behaved with much humanity towards Antony, having received his mother
when she fled with Fulvia, and it was therefore judged fit that he also
should be received into the peace. They met near the promontory of
Misenum, by the mole of the port, Pompey having his fleet at anchor
close by, and Antony and Caesar their troops drawn up all along the
shore. There it was concluded that Sextus should quietly enjoy the
government of Sicily and Sardinia, he conditioning to scour the seas of
all pirates, and to send so much corn every year to Rome.
This agreed on, they invited one another to supper, and by lot it
fell to Pompey’s turn to give the first entertainment, and Antony,
asking where it was to be, “There,” said he, pointing to the
admiral-galley, a ship of six banks of oars, “that is the only house
that Pompey is heir to of his father’s.” And this he said, reflecting
upon Antony, who was then in possession of his father’s house. Having
fixed the ship on her anchors, and formed a bridgeway from the
promontory to conduct on board of her, he gave them a cordial welcome.
And when they began to grow warm, and jests were passing freely on
Antony and Cleopatra’s loves, Menas, the pirate, whispered Pompey in the
ear, “Shall I,” said he, “cut the cables, and make you master not of
Sicily only and Sardinia, but of the whole Roman empire?” Pompey, having
considered a little while, returned him answer, “Menas, this might have
been done without acquainting me; now we must rest content; I do not
break my word.” And so, having been entertained by the other two in
their turns, he set sail for Sicily.
After the treaty was completed, Antony dispatched Ventidius into
Asia, to check the advance of the Parthians, while he, as a compliment
to Caesar, accepted the office of priest to the deceased Caesar. And in
any state affair and matter of consequence, they both behaved themselves
with much consideration and friendliness for each other. But it annoyed
Antony, that in all their amusements, on any trial of skill or fortune,
Caesar should be constantly victorious. He had with him an Egyptian
diviner, one of those who calculate nativities, who, either to make his
court to Cleopatra, or that by the rules of his art he found it to be
so, openly declared to him, that though the fortune that attended him
was bright and glorious, yet it was overshadowed by Caesar’s; and
advised him to keep himself as far distant as he could from that young
man; “for your Genius,” said he, “dreads his; when absent from him yours
is proud and brave, but in his presence unmanly and dejected;” and
incidents that occurred appeared to show that the Egyptian spoke truth.
For whenever they cast lots for any playful purpose, or threw dice,
Antony was still the loser; and repeatedly, when they fought game-cocks
or quails, Caesar’s had the victory. This gave Antony a secret
displeasure, and made him put the more confidence in the skill of his
Egyptian. So, leaving the management of his home affairs to Caesar, he
left Italy, and took Octavia, who had lately borne him a daughter, along
with him into Greece.
Here, whilst he wintered in Athens, he received the first news of
Ventidius’s successes over the Parthians, of his having defeated them in
a battle, having slain Labienus and Pharnapates, the best general their
king, Hyrodes, possessed. For the celebrating of which he made a public
feast through Greece, and for the prizes which were contested at Athens
he himself acted as steward, and, leaving at home the ensigns that are
carried before the general, he made his public appearance in a gown and
white shoes, with the steward’s wands marching before; and he performed
his duty in taking the combatants by the neck, to part them, when they
had fought enough.
When the time came for him to set out for the war, he took a garland
from the sacred olive, and, in obedience to some oracle, he filled a
vessel with the water of the Clepsydra, to carry along with him. In this
interval, Pacorus, the Parthian king’s son, who was marching into Syria
with a large army, was met by Ventidius, who gave him battle in the
country of Cyrrhestica, slew a large number of his men, and Pacorus
among the first. This victory was one of the most renowned achievements
of the Romans, and fully avenged their defeats under Crassus, the
Parthians being obliged, after the loss of three battles successively,
to keep themselves within the bounds of Media and Mesopotamia. Ventidius
was not willing to push his good fortune further, for fear of raising
some jealousy in Antony, but, turning his arms against those that had
quitted the Roman interest, he reduced them to their former obedience.
Among the rest, he besieged Antiochus, king of Commagene, in the city of
Samosata, who made an offer of a thousand talents for his pardon, and a
promise of submission to Antony’s commands. But Ventidius told him that
he must send to Antony, who was already on his march, and had sent word
to Ventidius to make no terms with Antiochus, wishing that at any rate
this one exploit might be ascribed to him, and that people might not
think that all his successes were won by his lieutenants. The siege,
however, was long protracted; for when those within found their offers
refused, they defended themselves stoutly, till, at last, Antony,
finding he was doing nothing, in shame and regret for having refused the
first offer, was glad to make an accommodation with Antiochus for three
hundred talents. And, having given some orders for the affairs of Syria,
he returned to Athens; and, paying Ventidius the honors he well
deserved, dismissed him to receive his triumph. He is the only man that
has ever yet triumphed for victories obtained over the Parthians; he was
of obscure birth, but, by means of Antony’s friendship, obtained an
opportunity of showing his capacity, and doing great things; and his
making such glorious use of it gave new credit to the current
observation about Caesar and Antony, that they were more fortunate in
what they did by their lieutenants than in their own persons. For
Sossius, also, had great success, and Canidius, whom he left in Armenia,
defeated the people there, and also the kings of the Albanians and
Iberians, and marched victorious as far as Caucasus, by which means the
fame of Antony’s arms had become great among the barbarous nations.
He, however, once more, upon some unfavorable stories, taking offense
against Caesar, set sail with three hundred ships for Italy, and, being
refused admittance to the port of Brundusium, made for Tarentum. There
his wife Octavia, who came from Greece with him, obtained leave to visit
her brother, she being then great with child, having already borne her
husband a second daughter; and as she was on her way, she met Caesar,
with his two friends Agrippa and Maecenas, and, taking these two aside,
with great entreaties and lamentations she told them, that of the most
fortunate woman upon earth, she was in danger of becoming the most
unhappy; for as yet everyone’s eyes were fixed upon her as the wife and
sister of the two great commanders, but, if rash counsels should
prevail, and war ensue, “I shall be miserable,” said she, “without
redress; for on what side soever victory falls, I shall be sure to be a
loser.” Caesar was overcome by these entreaties, and advanced in a
peaceable temper to Tarentum, where those that were present beheld a
most stately spectacle; a vast army drawn up by the shore, and as great
a fleet in the harbor, all without the occurrence of any act of
hostility; nothing but the salutations of friends, and other expressions
of joy and kindness, passing from one armament to the other. Antony
first entertained Caesar this also being a concession on Caesar’s part
to his sister; and when at length an agreement was made between them,
that Caesar should give Antony two of his legions to serve him in the
Parthian war, and that Antony should in return leave with him a hundred
armed galleys, Octavia further obtained of her husband, besides this,
twenty light ships for her brother, and of her brother, a thousand foot
for her husband. So, having parted good friends, Caesar went immediately
to make war with Pompey to conquer Sicily. And Antony, leaving in
Caesar’s charge his wife and children, and his children by his former
wife Fulvia, set sail for Asia.
But the mischief that thus long had lain still, the passion for
Cleopatra, which better thoughts had seemed to have lulled and charmed
into oblivion, upon his approach to Syria, gathered strength again, and
broke out into a flame. And, in fine, like Plato’s restive and
rebellious horse of the human soul, flinging off all good and wholesome
counsel, and breaking fairly loose, he sends Fonteius Capito to bring
Cleopatra into Syria. To whom at her arrival he made no small or
trifling present, Phoenicia, Coele-Syria, Cyprus, great part of Cilicia,
that side of Judaea which produces balm, that part of Arabia where the
Nabathaeans extend to the outer sea; profuse gifts, which much
displeased the Romans. For, although he had invested several private
persons in great governments and kingdoms, and bereaved many kings of
theirs, as Antigonus of Judaea, whose head he caused to be struck off
(the first example of that punishment being inflicted on a king), yet
nothing stung the Romans like the shame of these honors paid to
Cleopatra. Their dissatisfaction was augmented also by his acknowledging
as his own the twin children he had by her, giving them the name of
Alexander and Cleopatra, and adding, as their surnames, the titles of
Sun and Moon. But he, who knew how to put a good color on the most
dishonest action, would say, that the greatness of the Roman empire
consisted more in giving than in taking kingdoms, and that the way to
carry noble blood through the world was by begetting in every place a
new line and series of kings; his own ancestor had thus been born of
Hercules; Hercules had not limited his hopes of progeny to a single
womb, nor feared any law like Solon’s, or any audit of procreation, but
had freely let nature take her will in the foundation and first
commencement of many families.
After Phraates had killed his father Hyrodes, and taken possession of
his kingdom, many of the Parthians left their country; among the rest,
Monaeses, a man of great distinction and authority, sought refuge with
Antony, who, looking on his case as similar to that of Themistocles, and
likening his own opulence and magnanimity to those of the former Persian
kings, gave him three cities, Larissa, Arethusa, and Hierapolis, which
was formerly called Bambyce. But when the king of Parthia soon recalled
him, giving him his word and honor for his safety, Antony was not
unwilling to give him leave to return, hoping thereby to surprise
Phraates, who would believe that peace would continue; for he only made
the demand of him, that he should send back the Roman ensigns which were
taken when Crassus was slain, and the prisoners that remained yet alive.
This done, he sent Cleopatra into Egypt, and marched through Arabia and
Armenia; and, when his forces came together, and were joined by those of
his confederate kings (of whom there were very many, and the most
considerable, Artavasdes, king of Armenia, who came at the head of six
thousand horse and seven thousand foot), he made a general muster. There
appeared sixty thousand Roman foot, ten thousand horse, Spaniards and
Gauls, who counted as Romans; and, of other nations, horse and foot,
thirty thousand. And these great preparations, that put the Indians
beyond Bactria into alarm, and made all Asia shake, were all, we are
told, rendered useless to him because of Cleopatra. For, in order to
pass the winter with her, the war was pushed on before its due time; and
all he did was done without perfect consideration, as by a man who had
no proper control over his faculties, who, under the effects of some
drug or magic, was still looking back elsewhere, and whose object was
much more to hasten his return than to conquer his enemies.
For, first of all, when he should have taken up his winter-quarters
in Armenia, to refresh his men, who were tired with long marches, having
come at least eight thousand furlongs, and then have taken the advantage
in the beginning of the spring to invade Media, before the Parthians
were out of winter-quarters, he had not patience to expect his time, but
marched into the province of Atropatene, leaving Armenia on the left
hand, and laid waste all that country. Secondly, his haste was so great,
that he left behind the engines absolutely required for any siege, which
followed the camp in three hundred wagons, and, among the rest, a ram
eighty feet long; none of which was it possible, if lost or damaged, to
repair or to make the like, as the provinces of the upper Asia produce
no trees long or hard enough for such uses. Nevertheless, he left them
all behind, as a mere impediment to his speed, in the charge of a
detachment under the command of Statianus, the wagon-officer. He himself
laid siege to Phraata, a principal city of the king of Media, wherein
were that king’s wife and children. And when actual need proved the
greatness of his error in leaving the siege train behind him, he had
nothing for it but to come up and raise a mound against the walls, with
infinite labor and great loss of time. Meantime Phraates, coming down
with a large army, and hearing that the wagons were left behind with the
battering engines, sent a strong party of horse, by which Statianus was
surprised, he himself and ten thousand of his men slain, the engines all
broken in pieces, many taken prisoners, and, among the rest, king
Polemon.
This great miscarriage in the opening of the campaign much
discouraged Antony’s army, and Artavasdes, king of Armenia, deciding
that the Roman prospects were bad, withdrew with all his forces from the
camp, although he had been the chief promoter of the war. The Parthians,
encouraged by their success, came up to the Romans at the siege, and
gave them many affronts; upon which Antony, fearing that the despondency
and alarm of his soldiers would only grow worse if he let them lie idle,
taking all the horse, ten legions, and three praetorian cohorts of heavy
infantry, resolved to go out and forage, designing by this means to draw
the enemy with more advantage to a battle. To effect this, he marched a
day’s journey from his camp, and, finding the Parthians hovering about,
in readiness to attack him while he was in motion, he gave orders for
the signal of battle to be hung out in the encampment, but, at the same
time, pulled down the tents, as if he meant not to fight, but to lead
his men home again; and so he proceeded to lead them past the enemy, who
were drawn up in a half-moon, his orders being that the horse should
charge as soon as the legions were come up near enough to second them.
The Parthians, standing still while the Romans marched by them, were in
great admiration of their army, and of the exact discipline it observed,
rank after rank passing on at equal distances in perfect order and
silence, their pikes all ready in their hands. But when the signal was
given, and the horse turned short upon the Parthians, and with loud
cries charged them, they bravely received them, though they were at once
too near for bowshot; but the legions, coming up with loud shouts and
rattling of their arms, so frightened their horses and indeed the men
themselves, that they kept their ground no longer. Antony pressed them
hard, in great hopes that this victory should put an end to the war; the
foot had them in pursuit for fifty furlongs, and the horse for thrice
that distance, and yet, the advantage summed up, they had but thirty
prisoners, and there were but fourscore slain. So that they were all
filled with dejection and discouragement, to consider, that when they
were victorious, their advantage was so small, and that when they were
beaten, they lost so great a number of men as they had done when the
carriages were taken.
The next day, having put the baggage in order, they marched back to
the camp before Phraata, in the way meeting with some scattering troops
of the enemy, and, as they marched further, with greater parties, at
length with the body of the enemy’s army, fresh and in good order, who
called them to battle, and charged them on every side, and it was not
without great difficulty that they reached the camp. There Antony,
finding that his men had in a panic deserted the defense of the mound,
upon a sally of the Medes, resolved to proceed against them by
decimation, as it is called, which is done by dividing the soldiers into
tens, and, out of every ten, putting one to death, as it happens by lot.
The rest he gave orders should have, instead of wheat, their rations of
corn in barley.
The war was now become grievous to both parties, and the prospect of
its continuance yet more fearful to Antony, in respect that he was
threatened with famine; for he could no longer forage without wounds and
slaughter. And Phraates, on the other side, was full of apprehension
that, if the Romans were to persist in carrying on the siege, the
autumnal equinox being past and the air already closing in for cold, he
should be deserted by his soldiers, who would suffer anything rather
than wintering in open field. To prevent which, he had recourse to the
following deceit: he gave order to those of his men who had made most
acquaintance among the Roman soldiers, not to pursue too close when they
met them foraging, but to suffer them to carry off some provision;
moreover, that they should praise their valor, and declare that it was
not without just reason that their king looked upon the Romans as the
bravest men in the world. This done, upon further opportunity they rode
nearer in, and, drawing up their horses by the men, began to revile
Antony for his obstinacy; that whereas Phraates desired nothing more
than peace, and an occasion to show how ready he was to save the lives
of so many brave soldiers, he, on the contrary, gave no opening to any
friendly offers, but sat awaiting the arrival of the two fiercest and
worst enemies, winter and famine, from whom it would be hard for them to
make their escape, even with all the good-will of the Parthians to help
them. Antony, having these reports from many hands, began to indulge the
hope; nevertheless, he would not send any message to the Parthian till
he had put the question to these friendly talkers, whether what they
said was said by order of their king. Receiving answer that it was,
together with new encouragement to believe them, he sent some of his
friends to demand once more the standards and prisoners, lest, if he
should ask nothing, he might be supposed to be too thankful to have
leave to retreat in quiet. The Parthian king made answer, that as for
the standards and prisoners, he need not trouble himself; but if he
thought fit to retreat, he might do it when he pleased, in peace and
safety. Some few days, therefore, being spent in collecting the baggage,
he set out upon his march. On which occasion, though there was no man of
his time like him for addressing a multitude, or for carrying soldiers
with him by the force of words, out of shame and sadness he could not
find in his heart to speak himself, but employed Domitius Aenobarbus.
And some of the soldiers resented it, as an undervaluing of them; but
the greater number saw the true cause, and pitied it, and thought it
rather a reason why they on their side should treat their general with
more respect and obedience than ordinary.
Antony had resolved to return by the same way he came, which was
through a level country clear of all trees, but a certain Mardian came
to him (one that was very conversant with the manners of the Parthians,
and whose fidelity to the Romans had been tried at the battle where the
machines were lost), and advised him to keep the mountains close on his
right hand, and not to expose his men, heavily armed, in a broad, open,
riding country, to the attacks of a numerous army of light-horse and
archers; that Phraates with fair promises had persuaded him from the
siege on purpose that he might with more ease cut him off in his
retreat; but, if so he pleased, he would conduct him by a nearer route,
on which moreover he should find the necessaries for his army in greater
abundance. Antony upon this began to consider what was best to be done;
he was unwilling to seem to have any mistrust of the Parthians after
their treaty; but, holding it to be really best to march his army the
shorter and more inhabited way, he demanded of the Mardian some
assurance of his faith, who offered himself to be bound until the army
came safe into Armenia. Two days he conducted the army bound, and, on
the third, when Antony had given up all thought of the enemy, and was
marching at his ease in no very good order, the Mardian, perceiving the
bank of a river broken down, and the water let out and overflowing the
road by which they were to pass, saw at once that this was the handiwork
of the Parthians, done out of mischief, and to hinder their march; so he
advised Antony to be upon his guard, for that the enemy was nigh at
hand. And no sooner had he begun to put his men in order, disposing the
slingers and dart men in convenient intervals for sallying out, but the
Parthians came pouring in on all sides, fully expecting to encompass
them, and throw the whole army into disorder. They were at once attacked
by the light troops, whom they galled a good deal with their arrows;
but, being themselves as warmly entertained with the slings and darts,
and many wounded, they made their retreat. Soon after, rallying up
afresh, they were beat back by a battalion of Gallic horse, and appeared
no more that day.
By their manner of attack Antony seeing what to do, not only placed
the slings and darts as a rear guard, but also lined both flanks with
them, and so marched in a square battle, giving order to the horse to
charge and beat off the enemy, but not to follow them far as they
retired. So that the Parthians, not doing more mischief for the four
ensuing days than they received, began to abate in their zeal, and,
complaining that the winter season was much advanced, pressed for
returning home.
But, on the fifth day, Flavius Gallus, a brave and active officer,
who had a considerable command in the army, came to Antony, desiring of
him some light-infantry out of the rear, and some horse out of the
front, with which he would undertake to do some considerable service.
Which when he had obtained, he beat the enemy back, not withdrawing, as
was usual, at the same time, and retreating upon the mass of the heavy
infantry, but maintaining his own ground, and engaging boldly. The
officers who commanded in the rear, perceiving how far he was getting
from the body of the army, sent to warn him back, but he took no notice
of them. It is said that Titius the quaestor snatched the standards and
turned them round, upbraiding Gallus with thus leading so many brave men
to destruction. But when he on the other side reviled him again, and
commanded the men that were about him to stand firm, Titius made his
retreat, and Gallus, charging the enemies in the front, was encompassed
by a party that fell upon his rear, which at length perceiving, he sent
a messenger to demand succor. But the commanders of the heavy infantry,
Canidius amongst others, a particular favorite of Antony’s, seem here to
have committed a great oversight. For, instead of facing about with the
whole body, they sent small parties, and, when they were defeated, they
still sent out small parties, so that by their bad management the rout
would have spread through the whole army, if Antony himself had not
marched from the van at the head of the third legion, and, passing this
through among the fugitives, faced the enemies, and hindered them from
any further pursuit.
In this engagement were killed three thousand, five thousand were
carried back to the camp wounded, amongst the rest Gallus, shot through
the body with four arrows, of which wounds he died. Antony went from
tent to tent to visit and comfort the rest of them, and was not able to
see his men without tears and a passion of grief. They, however, seized
his hand with joyful faces, bidding him go and see to himself and not be
concerned about them, calling him their emperor and their general, and
saying that if he did well they were safe. For in short, never in all
these times can history make mention of a general at the head of a more
splendid army; whether you consider strength and youth, or patience and
sufferance in labors and fatigues; but as for the obedience and
affectionate respect they bore their general, and the unanimous feeling
amongst small and great alike, officers and common soldiers, to prefer
his good opinion of them to their very lives and being, in this part of
military excellence it was not possible that they could have been
surpassed by the very Romans of old. For this devotion, as I have said
before, there were many reasons, as the nobility of his family, his
eloquence, his frank and open manners, his liberal and magnificent
habits, his familiarity in talking with everybody, and, at this time
particularly, his kindness in assisting and pitying the sick, joining in
all their pains, and furnishing them with all things necessary, so that
the sick and wounded were even more eager to serve than those that were
whole and strong.
Nevertheless, this last victory had so encouraged the enemy, that,
instead of their former impatience and weariness, they began soon to
feel contempt for the Romans, staying all night near the camp, in
expectation of plundering their tents and baggage, which they concluded
they must abandon; and in the morning new forces arrived in large
masses, so that their number was grown to be not less, it is said, than
forty thousand horse; and the king had sent the very guards that
attended upon his own person, as to a sure and unquestioned victory. For
he himself was never present in any fight. Antony, designing to harangue
the soldiers, called for a mourning habit, that he might move them the
more, but was dissuaded by his friends; so he came forward in the
general’s scarlet cloak, and addressed them, praising those that had
gained the victory, and reproaching those that had fled, the former
answering him with promises of success, and the latter excusing
themselves, and telling him they were ready to undergo decimation, or
any other punishment he should please to inflict upon them, only
entreating that he would forget and not discompose himself with their
faults. At which he lifted up his hands to heaven, and prayed the gods,
that if to balance the great favors he had received of them any judgment
lay in store, they would pour it upon his head alone, and grant his
soldiers victory.
The next day they took better order for their march, and the
Parthians, who thought they were marching rather to plunder than to
fight, were much taken aback, when they came up and were received with a
shower of missiles, to find the enemy not disheartened, but fresh and
resolute. So that they themselves began to lose courage. But at the
descent of a hill where the Romans were obliged to pass, they got
together, and let fly their arrows upon them as they moved slowly down.
But the full-armed infantry, facing round, received the light troops
within; and those in the first rank knelt on one knee, holding their
shields before them, the next rank holding theirs over the first, and so
again others over these, much like the tiling of a house, or the rows of
seats in a theater, the whole affording sure defense against arrows,
which glance upon them without doing any harm. The Parthians, seeing the
Romans down upon their knees, could not imagine but that it must proceed
from weariness; so that they laid down their bows, and, taking their
spears, made a fierce onset, when the Romans, with a great cry, leapt
upon their feet, striking hand to hand with their javelins, slew the
foremost, and put the rest to flight. After this rate it was every day,
and the trouble they gave made the marches short; in addition to which
famine began to be felt in the camp, for they could get but little corn,
and that which they got they were forced to fight for; and, besides
this, they were in want of implements to grind it and make bread. For
they had left almost all behind, the baggage horses being dead or
otherwise employed in carrying the sick and wounded. Provision was so
scarce in the army that an Attic quart of wheat sold for fifty drachmas,
and barley loaves for their weight in silver. And when they tried
vegetables and roots, they found such as are commonly eaten very scarce,
so that they were constrained to venture upon any they could get, and,
among others, they chanced upon an herb that was mortal, first taking
away all sense and understanding. He that had eaten of it remembered
nothing in the world, and employed himself only in moving great stones
from one place to another, which he did with as much earnestness and
industry as if it had been a business of the greatest consequence.
Through all the camp there was nothing to be seen but men grubbing upon
the ground at stones, which they carried from place to place. But in the
end they threw up bile and died, as wine, moreover, which was the one
antidote, failed. When Antony saw them die so fast, and the Parthian
still in pursuit, he was heard to exclaim several times over, “O, the
Ten Thousand!” as if in admiration of the retreat of the Greeks with
Xenophon, who, when they had a longer journey to make from Babylonia,
and a more powerful enemy to deal with, nevertheless came home safe.
The Parthians, finding that they could not divide the Roman army, nor
break the order of their battle, and that withal they had been so often
worsted, once more began to treat the foragers with professions of
humanity; they came up to them with their bows unbended, telling them
that they were going home to their houses; that this was the end of
their retaliation, and that only some Median troops would follow for two
or three days, not with any design to annoy them, but for the defense of
some of the villages further on. And, saying this, they saluted them and
embraced them with a great show of friendship. This made the Romans full
of confidence again, and Antony, on hearing of it, was more disposed to
take the road through the level country, being told that no water was to
be hoped for on that through the mountains. But while he was preparing
thus to do, Mithridates came into the camp, a cousin to Monaeses, of
whom we related that he sought refuge with the Romans, and received in
gift from Antony the three cities. Upon his arrival, he desired somebody
might be brought to him that could speak Syriac or Parthian. One
Alexander, of Antioch, a friend of Antony’s, was brought to him, to whom
the stranger, giving his name, and mentioning Monaeses as the person who
desired to do the kindness, put the question, did he see that high range
of hills, pointing at some distance. He told him, yes. “It is there,”
said he, “the whole Parthian army lie in wait for your passage; for the
great plains come immediately up to them, and they expect that,
confiding in their promises, you will leave the way of the mountains,
and take the level route. It is true that in passing over the mountains
you will suffer the want of water, and the fatigue to which you have
become familiar, but if you pass through the plains, Antony must expect
the fortune of Crassus.”
This said, he departed. Antony, in alarm, calling his friends in
council, sent for the Mardian guide, who was of the same opinion. He
told them that, with or without enemies, the want of any certain track
in the plain, and the likelihood of their losing their way, were quite
objection enough; the other route was rough and without water, but then
it was but for a day. Antony, therefore, changing his mind, marched away
upon this road that night, commanding that everyone should carry water
sufficient for his own use; but most of them being unprovided with
vessels, they made shift with their helmets, and some with skins. As
soon as they started, the news of it was carried to the Parthians, who
followed them, contrary to their custom, through the night, and at
sunrise attacked the rear, which was tired with marching and want of
sleep, and not in condition to make any considerable defense. For they
had got through two hundred and forty furlongs that night, and at the
end of such a march to find the enemy at their heels, put them out of
heart. Besides, having to fight for every step of the way increased
their distress from thirst. Those that were in the van came up to a
river, the water of which was extremely cool and clear, but brackish and
medicinal, and, on being drunk, produced immediate pains in the bowels
and a renewed thirst. Of this the Mardian had forewarned them, but they
could not forbear, and, beating back those that opposed them, they drank
of it. Antony ran from one place to another, begging they would have a
little patience, that not far off there was a river of wholesome water,
and that the rest of the way was so difficult for the horse, that the
enemy could pursue them no further; and, saying this, he ordered to
sound a retreat to call those back that were engaged, and commanded the
tents should be set up, that the soldiers might at any rate refresh
themselves in the shade.
But the tents were scarce well put up, and the Parthians beginning,
according to their custom, to withdraw, when Mithridates came again to
them, and informed Alexander, with whom he had before spoken, that he
would do well to advise Antony to stay where he was no longer than needs
he must, that, after having refreshed his troops, he should endeavor
with all diligence to gain the next river, that the Parthians would not
cross it, but so far they were resolved to follow them. Alexander made
his report to Antony, who ordered a quantity of gold plate to be carried
to Mithridates, who, taking as much as be could well hide under his
clothes, went his way. And, upon this advice, Antony, while it was yet
day, broke up his camp, and the whole army marched forward without
receiving any molestation from the Parthians, though that night by their
own doing was in effect the most wretched and terrible that they passed.
For some of the men began to kill and plunder those whom they suspected
to have any money, ransacked the baggage, and seized the money there. In
the end, they laid hands on Antony’s own equipage, and broke all his
rich tables and cups, dividing the fragments amongst them. Antony,
hearing such a noise and such a stirring to and fro all through the
army, the belief prevailing that the enemy had routed and cut off a
portion of the troops, called for one of his freedmen, then serving as
one of his guards, Rhamnus by name, and made him take an oath that,
whenever he should give him orders, he would run his sword through his
body and cut off his head, that he might not fall alive into the hands
of the Parthians, nor, when dead, be recognized as the general. While he
was in this consternation, and all his friends about him in tears, the
Mardian came up, and gave them all new life. He convinced them, by the
coolness and humidity of the air, which they could feel in breathing it,
that the river which he had spoken of was now not far off, and the
calculation of the time that had been required to reach it came, he
said, to the same result, for the night was almost spent. And, at the
same time, others came with information that all the confusion in the
camp proceeded only from their own violence and robbery among
themselves. To compose this tumult, and bring them again into some order
after their distraction, he commanded the signal to be given for a halt.
Day began to break, and quiet and regularity were just reappearing,
when the Parthian arrows began to fly among the rear, and the light
armed troops were ordered out to battle. And, being seconded by the
heavy infantry, who covered one another as before described with their
shields, they bravely received the enemy, who did not think convenient
to advance any further, while the van of the army, marching forward
leisurely in this manner came in sight of the river, and Antony, drawing
up the cavalry on the banks to confront the enemy, first passed over the
sick and wounded. And, by this time, even those who were engaged with
the enemy had opportunity to drink at their ease; for the Parthians, on
seeing the river, unbent their bows, and told the Romans they might pass
over freely, and made them great compliments in praise of their valor.
Having crossed without molestation, they rested themselves awhile, and
presently went forward, not giving perfect credit to the fair words of
their enemies. Six days after this last battle, they arrived at the
river Araxes, which divides Media and Armenia, and seemed, both by its
deepness and the violence of the current, to be very dangerous to pass.
A report, also, had crept in amongst them, that the enemy was in ambush,
ready to set upon them as soon as they should be occupied with their
passage. But when they were got over on the other side, and found
themselves in Armenia, just as if land was now sighted after a storm at
sea, they kissed the ground for joy, shedding tears and embracing each
other in their delight. But taking their journey through a land that
abounded in all sorts of plenty, they ate, after their long want, with
that excess of everything they met with, that they suffered from
dropsies and dysenteries.
Here Antony, making a review of his army, found that he had lost
twenty thousand foot and four thousand horse, of which the better half
perished, not by the enemy, but by diseases. Their march was of
twenty-seven days from Phraata, during which they had beaten the
Parthians in eighteen battles, though with little effect or lasting
result, because of their being so unable to pursue. By which it is
manifest that it was Artavasdes who lost Antony the benefit of the
expedition. For had the sixteen thousand horsemen whom he led away out
of Media, armed in the same style as the Parthians and accustomed to
their manner of fight, been there to follow the pursuit when the Romans
put them to flight, it is impossible they could have rallied so often
after their defeats, and reappeared again as they did to renew their
attacks. For this reason, the whole army was very earnest with Antony to
march into Armenia to take revenge. But he, with more reflection,
forbore to notice the desertion, and continued all his former
courtesies, feeling that the army was wearied out, and in want of all
manner of necessaries. Afterwards, however, entering Armenia, with
invitations and fair promises he prevailed upon Artavasdes to meet him,
when he seized him, bound him, and carried him to Alexandria, and there
led him in a triumph; one of the things which most offended the Romans,
who felt as if all the honors and solemn observances of their country
were, for Cleopatra’s sake, handed over to the Egyptians.
This, however, was at an after time. For the present, marching his
army in great haste in the depth of winter through continual storms of
snow, he lost eight thousand of his men, and came with much diminished
numbers to a place called the White Village, between Sidon and Berytus,
on the seacoast, where he waited for the arrival of Cleopatra. And,
being impatient of the delay she made, he bethought himself of
shortening the time in wine and drunkenness, and yet could not endure
the tediousness of a meal, but would start from table and run to see if
she were coming. Till at last she came into port, and brought with her
clothes and money for the soldiers. Though some say that Antony only
received the clothes from her, and distributed his own money in her
name.
A quarrel presently happened between the king of Media and Phraates
of Parthia, beginning, it is said, about the division of the booty that
was taken from the Romans, and creating great apprehension in the Median
lest he should lose his kingdom. He sent, therefore, ambassadors to
Antony, with offers of entering into a confederate war against Phraates.
And Antony, full of hopes at being thus asked, as a favor, to accept
that one thing, horse and archers, the want of which had hindered his
beating the Parthians before, began at once to prepare for a return to
Armenia, there to join the Medes on the Araxes, and begin the war
afresh. But Octavia, in Rome, being desirous to see Antony, asked
Caesar’s leave to go to him; which he gave her, not so much, say most
authors, to gratify his sister, as to obtain a fair pretense to begin
the war upon her dishonorable reception. She no sooner arrived at
Athens, but by letters from Antony she was informed of his new
expedition, and his will that she should await him there. And, though
she were much displeased, not being ignorant of the real reason of this
usage, yet she wrote to him to know to what place he would be pleased
she should send the things she had brought with her for his use; for she
had brought clothes for his soldiers, baggage, cattle, money, and
presents for his friends and officers, and two thousand chosen soldiers
sumptuously armed, to form praetorian cohorts. This message was brought
from Octavia to Antony by Niger, one of his friends, who added to it the
praises she deserved so well. Cleopatra, feeling her rival already, as
it were, at hand, was seized with fear, lest if to her noble life and
her high alliance, she once could add the charm of daily habit and
affectionate intercourse, she should become irresistible, and be his
absolute mistress for ever. So she feigned to be dying for love of
Antony, bringing her body down by slender diet; when he entered the
room, she fixed her eyes upon him in a rapture, and when he left, seemed
to languish and half faint away. She took great pains that he should see
her in tears, and, as soon as he noticed it, hastily dried them up and
turned away, as if it were her wish that he should know nothing of it.
All this was acting while he prepared for Media; and Cleopatra’s
creatures were not slow to forward the design, upbraiding Antony with
his unfeeling, hard-hearted temper, thus letting a woman perish whose
soul depended upon him and him alone. Octavia, it was true, was his
wife, and had been married to him because it was found convenient for
the affairs of her brother that it should be so, and she had the honor
of the title; but Cleopatra, the sovereign queen of many nations, had
been contented with the name of his mistress, nor did she shun or
despise the character whilst she might see him, might live with him, and
enjoy him; if she were bereaved of this, she would not survive the loss.
In fine, they so melted and unmanned him, that, fully believing she
would die if he forsook her, he put off the war and returned to
Alexandria, deferring his Median expedition until next summer, though
news came of the Parthians being all in confusion with intestine
disputes. Nevertheless, he did some time after go into that country, and
made an alliance with the king of Media, by marriage of a son of his by
Cleopatra to the king’s daughter, who was yet very young; and so
returned, with his thoughts taken up about the civil war.
When Octavia returned from Athens, Caesar, who considered she had
been injuriously treated, commanded her to live in a separate house; but
she refused to leave the house of her husband, and entreated him, unless
he had already resolved, upon other motives, to make war with Antony,
that he would on her account let it alone; it would be intolerable to
have it said of the two greatest commanders in the world, that they had
involved the Roman people in a civil war, the one out of passion for;
the other out of resentment about, a woman. And her behavior proved her
words to be sincere. She remained in Antony’s house as if he were at
home in it, and took the noblest and most generous care, not only of his
children by her, but of those by Fulvia also. She received all the
friends of Antony that came to Rome to seek office or upon any business,
and did her utmost to prefer their requests to Caesar; yet this her
honorable deportment did but, without her meaning it, damage the
reputation of Antony; the wrong he did to such a woman made him hated.
Nor was the division he made among his sons at Alexandria less
unpopular; it seemed a theatrical piece of insolence and contempt of his
country. For, assembling the people in the exercise ground, and causing
two golden thrones to be placed on a platform of silver, the one for him
and the other for Cleopatra, and at their feet lower thrones for their
children, he proclaimed Cleopatra queen of Egypt, Cyprus, Libya, and
Coele-Syria, and with her conjointly Caesarion, the reputed son of the
former Caesar, who left Cleopatra with child. His own sons by Cleopatra
were to have the style of kings of kings; to Alexander he gave Armenia
and Media, with Parthia, so soon as it should be overcome; to Ptolemy,
Phoenicia, Syria, and Cilicia. Alexander was brought out before the
people in the Median costume, the tiara and upright peak, and Ptolemy,
in boots and mantle and Macedonian cap done about with the diadem; for
this was the habit of the successors of Alexander, as the other was of
the Medes and Armenians. And, as soon as they had saluted their parents,
the one was received by a guard of Macedonians, the other by one of
Armenians. Cleopatra was then, as at other times when she appeared in
public, dressed in the habit of the goddess Isis, and gave audience to
the people under the name of the New Isis.
Caesar, relating these things in the senate, and often complaining to
the people, excited men’s minds against Antony. And Antony also sent
messages of accusation against Caesar. The principal of his charges were
these: first, that he had not made any division with him of Sicily,
which was lately taken from Pompey; secondly, that he had retained the
ships he had lent him for the war; thirdly, that after deposing Lepidus,
their colleague, he had taken for himself the army, governments, and
revenues formerly appropriated to him; and, lastly, that he had parceled
out almost all Italy amongst his own soldiers, and left nothing for his.
Caesar’s answer was as follows: that he had put Lepidus out of
government because of his own misconduct; that what he had got in war he
would divide with Antony, so soon as Antony gave him a share of Armenia;
that Antony’s soldiers had no claims in Italy, being in possession of
Media and Parthia, the acquisitions which their brave actions under
their general had added to the Roman empire.
Antony was in Armenia when this answer came to him, and immediately
sent Canidius with sixteen legions towards the sea; but he, in the
company of Cleopatra, went to Ephesus, whither ships were coming in from
all quarters to form the navy, consisting, vessels of burden included,
of eight hundred vessels, of which Cleopatra furnished two hundred,
together with twenty thousand talents, and provision for the whole army
during the war. Antony, on the advice of Domitius and some others, bade
Cleopatra return into Egypt, there to expect the event of the war; but
she, dreading some new reconciliation by Octavia’s means, prevailed with
Canidius, by a large sum of money, to speak in her favor with Antony,
pointing out to him that it was not just that one that bore so great a
part in the charge of the war should be robbed of her share of glory in
the carrying it on: nor would it be politic to disoblige the Egyptians,
who were so considerable a part of his naval forces; nor did he see how
she was inferior in prudence to any one of the kings that were serving
with him; she had long governed a great kingdom by herself alone, and
long lived with him, and gained experience in public affairs. These
arguments (so the fate that destined all to Caesar would have it),
prevailed; and when all their forces had met, they sailed together to
Samos, and held high festivities. For, as it was ordered that all kings,
princes, and governors, all nations and cities within the limits of
Syria, the Maeotid Lake, Armenia, and Illyria, should bring or cause to
be brought all munitions necessary for war, so was it also proclaimed
that all stage-players should make their appearance at Samos; so that,
while pretty nearly the whole world was filled with groans and
lamentations, this one island for some days resounded with piping and
harping, theaters filling, and choruses playing. Every city sent an ox
as its contribution to the sacrifice, and the kings that accompanied
Antony competed who should make the most magnificent feasts and the
greatest presents; and men began to ask themselves, what would be done
to celebrate the victory, when they went to such an expense of festivity
at the opening of the war.
This over, he gave Priene to his players for a habitation, and set
sail for Athens, where fresh sports and play-acting employed him.
Cleopatra, jealous of the honors Octavia had received at Athens (for
Octavia was much beloved by the Athenians), courted the favor of the
people with all sorts of attentions. The Athenians, in requital, having
decreed her public honors, deputed several of the citizens to wait upon
her at her house; amongst whom went Antony as one, he being an Athenian
citizen, and he it was that made the speech. He sent orders to Rome to
have Octavia removed out of his house. She left it, we are told,
accompanied by all his children, except the eldest by Fulvia, who was
then with his father, weeping and grieving that she must be looked upon
as one of the causes of the war. But the Romans pitied, not so much her,
as Antony himself, and more particularly those who had seen Cleopatra,
whom they could report to have no way the advantage of Octavia either in
youth or in beauty.
The speed and extent of Antony’s preparations alarmed Caesar, who
feared he might be forced to fight the decisive battle that summer. For
he wanted many necessaries, and the people grudged very much to pay the
taxes; freemen being called upon to pay a fourth part of their incomes,
and freed slaves an eighth of their property, so that there were loud
outcries against him, and disturbances throughout all Italy. And this is
looked upon as one of the greatest of Antony’s oversights, that he did
not then press the war. For he allowed time at once for Caesar to make
his preparations, and for the commotions to pass over. For while people
were having their money called for, they were mutinous and violent; but,
having paid it, they held their peace. Titius and Plancus, men of
consular dignity and friends to Antony, having been ill used by
Cleopatra, whom they had most resisted in her design of being present in
the war, came over to Caesar, and gave information of the contents of
Antony’s will, with which they were acquainted. It was deposited in the
hands of the vestal virgins, who refused to deliver it up, and sent
Caesar word, if he pleased, he should come and seize it himself, which
he did. And, reading it over to himself, he noted those places that were
most for his purpose, and, having summoned the senate, read them
publicly. Many were scandalized at the proceeding, thinking it out of
reason and equity to call a man to account for what was not to be until
after his death. Caesar specially pressed what Antony said in his will
about his burial; for he had ordered that even if he died in the city of
Rome, his body, after being carried in state through the forum, should
be sent to Cleopatra at Alexandria. Calvisius, a dependent of Caesar’s,
urged other charges in connection with Cleopatra against Antony; that he
had given her the library of Pergamus, containing two hundred thousand
distinct volumes; that at a great banquet, in the presence of many
guests, he had risen up and rubbed her feet, to fulfill some wager or
promise; that he had suffered the Ephesians to salute her as their
queen; that he had frequently at the public audience of kings and
princes received amorous messages written in tablets made of onyx and
crystal, and read them openly on the tribunal; that when Furnius, a man
of great authority and eloquence among the Romans, was pleading,
Cleopatra happening to pass by in her chair, Antony started up and left
them in the middle of their cause, to follow at her side and attend her
home.
Calvisius, however, was looked upon as the inventor of most of these
stories. Antony’s friends went up and down the city to gain him credit,
and sent one of themselves, Geminius, to him, to beg him to take heed
and not allow himself to be deprived by vote of his authority, and
proclaimed a public enemy to the Roman state. But Geminius no sooner
arrived in Greece but he was looked upon as one of Octavia’s spies; at
their suppers he was made a continual butt for mockery, and was put to
sit in the least honorable places; all which he bore very well, seeking
only an occasion of speaking with Antony. So, at supper, being told to
say what business he came about, he answered he would keep the rest for
a soberer hour, but one thing he had to say, whether full or fasting,
that all would go well if Cleopatra would return to Egypt. And on Antony
showing his anger at it, “You have done well, Geminius,” said Cleopatra,
“to tell your secret without being put to the rack.” So Geminius, after
a few days, took occasion to make his escape and go to Rome. Many more
of Antony’s friends were driven from him by the insolent usage they had
from Cleopatra’s flatterers, amongst whom were Marcus Silanus and
Dellius the historian. And Dellius says he was afraid of his life, and
that Glaucus, the physician, informed him of Cleopatra’s design against
him. She was angry with him for having said that Antony’s friends were
served with sour wine, while at Rome Sarmentus, Caesar’s little page
(his delicia, as the Romans call it), drank Falernian.
As soon as Caesar had completed his preparations, he had a decree
made, declaring war on Cleopatra, and depriving Antony of the authority
which he had let a woman exercise in his place. Caesar added that he had
drunk potions that had bereaved him of his senses, and that the generals
they would have to fight with would be Mardion the eunuch, Pothinus,
Iras, Cleopatra’s hairdressing girl, and Charmion, who were Antony’s
chief state-councillors.
These prodigies are said to have announced the war. Pisaurum, where
Antony had settled a colony, on the Adriatic sea, was swallowed up by an
earthquake; sweat ran from one of the marble statues of Antony at Alba
for many days together, and, though frequently wiped off, did not stop.
When he himself was in the city of Patrae, the temple of Hercules was
struck by lightning, and, at Athens, the figure of Bacchus was torn by a
violent wind out of the Battle of the Giants, and laid flat upon the
theater; with both which deities Antony claimed connection, professing
to be descended from Hercules, and from his imitating Bacchus in his way
of living having received the name of Young Bacchus. The same whirlwind
at Athens also brought down, from amongst many others which were not
disturbed, the colossal statues of Eumenes and Attalus, which were
inscribed with Antony’s name. And in Cleopatra’s admiral-galley, which
was called the Antonias, a most inauspicious omen occurred. Some
swallows had built in the stern of the galley, but other swallows came,
beat the first away, and destroyed their nests.
When the armaments gathered for the war, Antony had no less than five
hundred ships of war, including numerous galleys of eight and ten banks
of oars, as richly ornamented as if they were meant for a triumph. He
had a hundred thousand foot and twelve thousand horse. He had vassal
kings attending, Bocchus of Libya, Tarcondemus of the Upper Cilicia,
Archelaus of Cappadocia, Philadelphus of Paphlagonia, Mithridates of
Commagene, and Sadalas of Thrace; all these were with him in person. Out
of Pontus Polemon sent him considerable forces, as did also Malchus from
Arabia, Herod the Jew, and Amyntas, king of Lycaonia and Galatia; also
the Median king sent some troops to join him. Caesar had two hundred and
fifty galleys of war, eighty thousand foot, and horse about equal to the
enemy. Antony’s empire extended from Euphrates and Armenia to the Ionian
sea and the Illyrians; Caesar’s, from Illyria to the westward ocean, and
from the ocean all along the Tuscan and Sicilian sea. Of Africa, Caesar
had all the coast opposite to Italy, Gaul, and Spain, as far as the
Pillars of Hercules, and
Antony the provinces from Cyrene to Ethiopia.
But so wholly was he now the mere appendage to the person of
Cleopatra, that, although he was much superior to the enemy in
land-forces, yet, out of complaisance to his mistress, he wished the
victory to be gained by sea, and that, too, when he could not but see
how, for want of sailors, his captains, all through unhappy Greece, were
pressing every description of men, common travelers and ass-drivers,
harvest laborers and boys, and for all this the vessels had not their
complements, but remained, most of them, ill-manned and badly rowed.
Caesar, on the other side, had ships that were built not for size or
show, but for service, not pompous galleys, but light, swift, and
perfectly manned; and from his head-quarters at Tarentum and Brundusium
he sent messages to Antony not to protract the war, but come out with
his forces; he would give him secure roadsteads and ports for his fleet,
and, for his land army to disembark and pitch their camp, he would leave
him as much ground in Italy, inland from the sea, as a horse could
traverse in a single course. Antony, on the other side, with the like
bold language, challenged him to a single combat, though he were much
the older; and, that being refused, proposed to meet him in the
Pharsalian fields, where Caesar and Pompey had fought before. But whilst
Antony lay with his fleet near Actium, where now stands Nicopolis,
Caesar seized his opportunity, and crossed the Ionian sea, securing
himself at a place in Epirus called the Ladle. And when those about
Antony were much disturbed, their land-forces being a good way off,
“Indeed,” said Cleopatra, in mockery, “we may well be frightened if
Caesar has got hold of the Ladle!”
On the morrow, Antony, seeing the enemy sailing up, and fearing lest
his ships might be taken for want of the soldiers to go on board of
them, armed all the rowers, and made a show upon the decks of being in
readiness to fight; the oars were mounted as if waiting to be put in
motion, and the vessels themselves drawn up to face the enemy on either
side of the channel of Actium, as though they were properly manned, and
ready for an engagement And Caesar, deceived by this stratagem, retired.
He was also thought to have shown considerable skill in cutting off the
water from the enemy by some lines of trenches and forts, water not
being plentiful anywhere else, nor very good. And again, his conduct to
Domitius was generous, much against the will of Cleopatra. For when he
had made his escape in a little boat to Caesar, having then a fever upon
him, although Antony could not but resent it highly, yet he sent after
him his whole equipage, with his friends and servants; and Domitius, as
if he would give a testimony to the world how repentant he had become on
his desertion and treachery being thus manifest, died soon after. Among
the kings, also, Amyntas and Deiotarus went over to Caesar. And the
fleet was so unfortunate in everything that was undertaken, and so
unready on every occasion, that Antony was driven again to put his
confidence in the land-forces. Canidius, too, who commanded the legions,
when he saw how things stood, changed his opinion, and now was of advice
that Cleopatra should be sent back, and that, retiring into Thrace or
Macedonia, the quarrel should be decided in a land fight. For Dicomes,
also, the king of the Getae, promised to come and join him with a great
army, and it would not be any kind of disparagement to him to yield the
sea to Caesar, who, in the Sicilian wars, had had such long practice in
ship-fighting; on the contrary, it would be simply ridiculous for
Antony, who was by land the most experienced commander living, to make
no use of his well-disciplined and numerous infantry, scattering and
wasting his forces by parceling them out in the ships. But for all this,
Cleopatra prevailed that a sea-fight should determine all, having
already an eye to flight, and ordering all her affairs, not so as to
assist in gaining a victory, but to escape with the greatest safety from
the first commencement of a defeat.
There were two long walls, extending from the camp to the station of
the ships, between which Antony used to pass to and fro without
suspecting any danger. But Caesar, upon the suggestion of a servant that
it would not be difficult to surprise him, laid an ambush, which, rising
up somewhat too hastily, seized the man that came just before him, he
himself escaping narrowly by flight.
When it was resolved to stand to a fight at sea, they set fire to all
the Egyptian ships except sixty; and of these the best and largest, from
ten banks down to three, he manned with twenty thousand full-armed men,
and two thousand archers. Here it is related that a foot captain, one
that had fought often under Antony, and had his body all mangled with
wounds, exclaimed, “O, my general, what have our wounds and swords done
to displease you, that you should give your confidence to rotten
timbers? Let Egyptians and Phoenicians contend at sea, give us the land,
where we know well how to die upon the spot or gain the victory.” To
which he answered nothing, but, by his look and motion of his hand
seeming to bid him be of good courage, passed forwards, having already,
it would seem, no very sure hopes, since when the masters proposed
leaving the sails behind them, he commanded they should be put aboard,
“For we must not,” said he, “let one enemy escape.”
That day and the three following the sea was so rough they could not
engage. But on the fifth there was a calm, and they fought; Antony
commanding with Publicola the right, and Coelius the left squadron,
Marcus Octavius and Marcus Insteius the center. Caesar gave the charge
of the left to Agrippa, commanding in person on the right. As for the
land-forces, Canidius was general for Antony, Taurus for Caesar; both
armies remaining drawn up in order along the shore. Antony in a small
boat went from one ship to another, encouraging his soldiers, and
bidding them stand firm, and fight as steadily on their large ships as
if they were on land. The masters he ordered that they should receive
the enemy lying still as if they were at anchor, and maintain the
entrance of the port, which was a narrow and difficult passage. Of
Caesar they relate, that, leaving his tent and going round, while it was
yet dark, to visit the ships, he met a man driving an ass, and asked him
his name. He answered him that his own name was “Fortunate, and my ass,”
says he, “is called Conqueror.” And afterwards, when he disposed the
beaks of the ships in that place in token of his victory, the statue of
this man and his ass in bronze were placed amongst them. After examining
the rest of his fleet, he went in a boat to the right wing, and looked
with much admiration at the enemy lying perfectly still in the straits,
in all appearance as if they had been at anchor. For some considerable
length of time he actually thought they were so, and kept his own ships
at rest, at a distance of about eight furlongs from them. But about noon
a breeze sprang up from the sea, and Antony’s men, weary of expecting
the enemy so long, and trusting to their large tall vessels, as if they
had been invincible, began to advance the left squadron. Caesar was
overjoyed to see them move, and ordered his own right squadron to
retire, that he might entice them out to sea as far as he could, his
design being to sail round and round, and so with his light and
well-manned galleys to attack these huge vessels, which their size and
their want of men made slow to move and difficult to manage.
When they engaged, there was no charging or striking of one ship by
another, because Antony’s, by reason of their great bulk, were incapable
of the rapidity required to make the stroke effectual, and, on the other
side, Caesar’s durst not charge head to head on Antony’s, which were all
armed with solid masses and spikes of brass; nor did they like even to
run in on their sides, which were so strongly built with great squared
pieces of timber, fastened together with iron bolts, that their vessels’
beaks would easily have been shattered upon them. So that the engagement
resembled a land fight, or, to speak yet more properly, the attack and
defense of a fortified place; for there were always three or four
vessels of Caesar’s about one of Antony’s, pressing them with spears,
javelins, poles, and several inventions of fire, which they flung among
them, Antony’s men using catapults also, to pour down missiles from
wooden towers. Agrippa drawing out the squadron under his command to
outflank the enemy, Publicola was obliged to observe his motions, and
gradually to break off from the middle squadron, where some confusion
and alarm ensued, while Arruntius engaged them. But the fortune of the
day was still undecided, and the battle equal, when on a sudden
Cleopatra’s sixty ships were seen hoisting sail and making out to sea in
full flight, right through the ships that were engaged. For they were
placed behind the great ships, which, in breaking through, they put into
disorder. The enemy was astonished to see them sailing off with a fair
wind towards Peloponnesus. Here it was that Antony showed to all the
world that he was no longer actuated by the thoughts and motives of a
commander or a man, or indeed by his own judgment at all, and what was
once said as a jest, that the soul of a lover lives in some one else’s
body, he proved to be a serious truth. For, as if he had been born part
of her, and must move with her wheresoever she went, as soon as he saw
her ship sailing away, he abandoned all that were fighting and spending
their lives for him, and put himself aboard a galley of five ranks of
oars, taking with him only Alexander of Syria and Scellias, to follow
her that had so well begun his ruin and would hereafter accomplish it.
She, perceiving him to follow, gave the signal to come aboard. So, as
soon as he came up with them, he was taken into the ship. But without
seeing her or letting himself be seen by her, he went forward by
himself, and sat alone, without a word, in the ship’s prow, covering his
face with his two hands. In the meanwhile, some of Caesar’s light
Liburnian ships, that were in pursuit, came in sight. But on Antony’s
commanding to face about, they all gave back except Eurycles the
Laconian, who pressed on, shaking a lance from the deck, as if he meant
to hurl it at him. Antony, standing at the prow, demanded of him, “Who
is this that pursues Antony?” “I am,” said he, “Eurycles, the son of
Lachares, armed with Caesar’s fortune to revenge my father’s death.”
Lachares had been condemned for a robbery, and beheaded by Antony’s
orders. However, Eurycles did not attack Antony, but ran with his full
force upon the other admiral-galley (for there were two of them), and
with the blow turned her round, and took both her and another ship, in
which was a quantity of rich plate and furniture. So soon as Eurycles
was gone, Antony returned to his posture, and sat silent, and thus he
remained for three days, either in anger with Cleopatra, or wishing not
to upbraid her, at the end of which they touched at Taenarus. Here the
women of their company succeeded first in bringing them to speak, and
afterwards to eat and sleep together. And, by this time, several of the
ships of burden and some of his friends began to come in to him from the
rout, bringing news of his fleet’s being quite destroyed, but that the
land-forces, they thought, still stood firm. So that he sent messengers
to Canidius to march the army with all speed through Macedonia into
Asia. And, designing himself to go from Taenarus into Africa, he gave
one of the merchant ships, laden with a large sum of money, and vessels
of silver and gold of great value, belonging to the royal collections,
to his friends, desiring them to share it amongst them, and provide for
their own safety. They refusing his kindness with tears in their eyes,
he comforted them with all the goodness and humanity imaginable,
entreating them to leave him, and wrote letters in their behalf to
Theophilus, his steward, at Corinth, that he would provide for their
security, and keep them concealed till such time as they could make
their peace with Caesar. This Theophilus was the father of Hipparchus,
who had such interest with Antony, who was the first of all his freedmen
that went over to Caesar, and who settled afterwards at Corinth. In this
posture were affairs with Antony.
But at Actium, his fleet, after a long resistance to Caesar, and
suffering the most damage from a heavy sea that set in right ahead,
scarcely, at four in the afternoon, gave up the contest, with the loss
of not more than five thousand men killed, but of three hundred ships
taken, as Caesar himself has recorded. Only few had known of Antony’s
flight; and those who were told of it could not at first give any belief
to so incredible a thing, as that a general who had nineteen entire
legions and twelve thousand horse upon the sea-shore, could abandon all
and fly away; and he, above all, who had so often experienced both good
and evil fortune, and had in a thousand wars and battles been inured to
changes. His soldiers, howsoever would not give up their desires and
expectations, still fancying he would appear from some part or other,
and showed such a generous fidelity to his service, that, when they were
thoroughly assured that he was fled in earnest, they kept themselves in
a body seven days, making no account of the messages that Caesar sent to
them. But at last, seeing that Canidius himself, who commanded them, was
fled from the camp by night, and that all their officers had quite
abandoned them, they gave way, and made their submission to the
conqueror. After this, Caesar set sail for Athens, where he made a
settlement with Greece, and distributed what remained of the provision
of corn that Antony had made for his army among the cities, which were
in a miserable condition, despoiled of their money, their slaves, their
horses, and beasts of service. My great-grandfather Nicarchus used to
relate, that the whole body of the people of our city were put in
requisition to carry each one a certain measure of corn upon their
shoulders to the sea-side near Anticyra, men standing by to quicken them
with the lash. They had made one journey of the kind, but when they had
just measured out the corn and were putting it on their backs for a
second, news came of Antony’s defeat, and so saved Chaeronea, for all
Antony’s purveyors and soldiers fled upon the news, and left them to
divide the corn among themselves.
When Antony came into Africa, he sent on Cleopatra from Paraetonium
into Egypt, and stayed himself in the most entire solitude that he could
desire, roaming and wandering about with only two friends, one a Greek,
Aristocrates, a rhetorician, and the other a Roman, Lucilius, of whom we
have elsewhere spoken, how, at Philippi, to give Brutus time to escape,
he suffered himself to be taken by the pursuers, pretending he was
Brutus. Antony gave him his life, and on this account he remained true
and faithful to him to the last.
But when also the officer who commanded for him in Africa, to whose
care he had committed all his forces there, took them over to Caesar, he
resolved to kill himself, but was hindered by his friends. And coming to
Alexandria, he found Cleopatra busied in a most bold and wonderful
enterprise. Over the small space of land which divides the Red Sea from
the sea near Egypt, which may be considered also the boundary between
Asia and Africa, and in the narrowest place is not much above three
hundred furlongs across, over this neck of land Cleopatra had formed a
project of dragging her fleet, and setting it afloat in the Arabian
Gulf, thus with her soldiers and her treasure to secure herself a home
on the other side, where she might live in peace, far away from war and
slavery. But the first galleys which were carried over being burnt by
the Arabians of Petra, and Antony not knowing but that the army before
Actium still held together, she desisted from her enterprise, and gave
orders for the fortifying all the approaches to Egypt. But Antony,
leaving the city and the conversation of his friends, built him a
dwelling-place in the water, near Pharos, upon a little mole which he
cast up in the sea, and there, secluding himself from the company of
mankind, said he desired nothing but to live the life of Timon; as,
indeed, his case was the same, and the ingratitude and injuries which he
suffered from those he had esteemed his friends, made him hate and
mistrust all mankind.
This Timon was a citizen of Athens, and lived much about the
Peloponnesian war, as may be seen by the comedies of Aristophanes and
Plato, in which he is ridiculed as the hater and enemy of mankind. He
avoided and repelled the approaches of everyone, but embraced with
kisses and the greatest show of affection Alcibiades, then in his hot
youth. And when Apemantus was astonished, and demanded the reason, he
replied that he knew this young man would one day do infinite mischief
to the Athenians. He never admitted anyone into his company, except at
times this Apemantus, who was of the same sort of temper, and was an
imitator of his way of life. At the celebration of the festival of
flagons, these two kept the feast together, and Apemantus saying to him,
“What a pleasant party, Timon!” “It would be,” he answered, “if you were
away.” One day he got up in a full assembly on the speaker’s place, and
when there was a dead silence and great wonder at so unusual a sight, he
said, “Ye men of Athens, I have a little plot of ground, and in it grows
a fig-tree, on which many citizens have been pleased to hang themselves;
and now, having resolved to build in that place, I wished to announce it
publicly that any of you who may be desirous may go and hang yourselves
before I cut it down.” He died and was buried at Halae, near the sea,
where it so happened that, after his burial, a land-slip took place on
the point of the shore, and the sea, flowing in, surrounded his tomb,
and made it inaccessible to the foot of man. It bore this inscription: —
Here am I laid, my life of misery done.
Ask not my name, I curse you every one.
And this epitaph was made by himself while yet alive; that which is
more generally known is by Callimachus: —
Timon, the misanthrope, am I below.
Go, and revile me, traveler, only go.
Thus much of Timon, of whom much more might be said. Canidius now
came, bringing word in person of the loss of the army before Actium.
Then he received news that Herod of Judaea was gone over to Caesar with
some legions and cohorts, and that the other kings and princes were in
like manner deserting him, and that, out of Egypt, nothing stood by him.
All this, however, seemed not to disturb him, but, as if he were glad to
put away all hope, that with it he might be rid of all care, and leaving
his habitation by the sea, which he called the Timoneum, he was received
by Cleopatra in the palace, and set the whole city into a course of
feasting, drinking, and presents. The son of Caesar and Cleopatra was
registered among the youths, and Antyllus, his own son by Fulvia,
received the gown without the purple border, given to those that are
come of age; in honor of which the citizens of Alexandria did nothing
but feast and revel for many days. They themselves broke up the Order of
the Inimitable Livers, and constituted another in its place, not
inferior in splendor, luxury, and sumptuosity, calling it that of the
Diers together. For all those that said they would die with Antony and
Cleopatra gave in their names, for the present passing their time in all
manner of pleasures and a regular succession of banquets. But Cleopatra
was busied in making a collection of all varieties of poisonous drugs,
and, in order to see which of them were the least painful in the
operation, she had them tried upon prisoners condemned to die. But,
finding that the quick poisons always worked with sharp pains, and that
the less painful were slow, she next tried venomous animals, and watched
with her own eyes whilst they were applied, one creature to the body of
another. This was her daily practice, and she pretty well satisfied
herself that nothing was comparable to the bite of the asp, which,
without convulsion or groaning, brought on a heavy drowsiness and
lethargy, with a gentle sweat on the face, the senses being stupefied by
degrees; the patient, in appearance, being sensible of no pain, but
rather troubled to be disturbed or awakened, like those that are in a
profound natural sleep.
At the same time, they sent ambassadors to Caesar into Asia,
Cleopatra asking for the kingdom of Egypt for her children, and Antony,
that he might have leave to live as a private man in Egypt, or, if that
were thought too much, that he might retire to Athens. In lack of
friends, so many having deserted, and others not being trusted,
Euphronius, his son’s tutor, was sent on this embassy. For Alexas of
Laodicea, who, by the recommendation of Timagenes, became acquainted
with Antony at Rome, and had been more powerful with him than any Greek,
and was, of all the instruments which Cleopatra made use of to persuade
Antony, the most violent, and the chief subverter of any good thoughts
that, from time to time, might rise in his mind in Octavia’s favor, had
been sent before to dissuade Herod from desertion; but, betraying his
master, stayed with him, and, confiding in Herod’s interest, had the
boldness to come into Caesar’s presence. Herod, however, was not able to
help him, for he was immediately put in chains, and sent into his own
country, where, by Caesar’s order, he was put to death. This reward of
his treason Alexas received while Antony was yet alive.
Caesar would not listen to any proposals for Antony, but he made
answer to Cleopatra, that there was no reasonable favor which she might
not expect, if she put Antony to death, or expelled him from Egypt. He
sent back with the ambassadors his own freedman Thyrsus, a man of
understanding, and not at all ill-qualified for conveying the messages
of a youthful general to a woman so proud of her charms and possessed
with the opinion of the power of her beauty. But by the long audiences
he received from her, and the special honors which she paid him,
Antony’s jealousy began to be awakened; he had him seized, whipped, and
sent back; writing Caesar word that the man’s busy, impertinent ways had
provoked him; in his circumstances he could not be expected to be very
patient: “But if it offend you,” he added, “you have got my freedman,
Hipparchus, with you; hang him up and scourge him to make us even.” But
Cleopatra, after this, to clear herself, and to allay his jealousies,
paid him all the attentions imaginable. When her own birthday came, she
kept it as was suitable to their fallen fortunes; but his was observed
with the utmost prodigality of splendor and magnificence, so that many
of the guests sat down in want, and went home wealthy men. Meantime,
continual letters came to Caesar from Agrippa, telling him his presence
was extremely required at Rome.
And so the war was deferred for a season. But, the winter being over,
he began his march; he himself by Syria, and his captains through
Africa. Pelusium being taken, there went a report as if it had been
delivered up to Caesar by Seleucus not without the consent of Cleopatra;
but she, to justify herself, gave up into Antony’s hands the wife and
children of Seleucus to be put to death. She had caused to be built,
joining to the temple of Isis, several tombs and monuments of wonderful
height, and very remarkable for the workmanship; thither she removed her
treasure, her gold, silver, emeralds, pearls, ebony, ivory, cinnamon,
and, after all, a great quantity of torchwood and tow. Upon which Caesar
began to fear lest she should, in a desperate fit, set all these riches
on fire; and, therefore, while he was marching towards the city with his
army, he omitted no occasion of giving her new assurances of his good
intentions. He took up his position in the Hippodrome, where Antony made
a fierce sally upon him, routed the horse, and beat them back into their
trenches, and so returned with great satisfaction to the palace, where,
meeting Cleopatra, armed as he was, he kissed her, and commended to her
favor one of his men, who had most signalized himself in the fight, to
whom she made a present of a breastplate and helmet of gold; which he
having received, went that very night and deserted to Caesar.
After this, Antony sent a new challenge to Caesar, to fight him hand
to hand; who made him answer that he might find several other ways to
end his life; and he, considering with himself that he could not die
more honorably than in battle, resolved to make an effort both by land
and sea. At supper, it is said, he bade his servants help him freely,
and pour him out wine plentifully, since tomorrow, perhaps, they should
not do the same, but be servants to a new master, whilst he should lie
on the ground, a dead corpse, and nothing. His friends that were about
him wept to hear him talk so; which he perceiving, told them he would
not lead them to a battle in which he expected rather an honorable death
than either safety or victory. That night, it is related, about the
middle of it, when the whole city was in a deep silence and general
sadness, expecting the event of the next day, on a sudden was heard the
sound of all sorts of instruments, and voices singing in tune, and the
cry of a crowd of people shouting and dancing, like a troop of
bacchanals on its way. This tumultuous procession seemed to take its
course right through the middle of the city to the gate nearest the
enemy; here it became loudest, and suddenly passed out. People who
reflected considered this to signify that Bacchus, the god whom Antony
had always made it his study to copy and imitate, had now forsaken him.
As soon as it was light, he marched his infantry out of the city, and
posted them upon a rising ground, from whence he saw his fleet make up
to the enemy. There he stood in expectation of the event; but, as soon
as the fleets came near to one another, his men saluted Caesar’s with
their oars; and, on their responding, the whole body of the ships,
forming into a single fleet, rowed up direct to the city. Antony had no
sooner seen this, but the horse deserted him, and went over to Caesar;
and his foot being defeated, he retired into the city, crying out that
Cleopatra had betrayed him to the enemies he had made for her sake. She,
being afraid lest in his fury and despair he might do her a mischief,
fled to her monument, and letting down the falling doors, which were
strong with bars and bolts, she sent messengers who should tell Antony
she was dead. He, believing it, cried out, “Now, Antony, why delay
longer? Fate has snatched away the only pretext for which you could say
you desired yet to live.” Going into his chamber, and there loosening
and opening his coat of armor, “I am not,” said he, “troubled,
Cleopatra, to be at present bereaved of you, for I shall soon be with
you; but it distresses me that so great a general should be found of a
tardier courage than a woman.” He had a faithful servant, whose name was
Eros; he had engaged him formerly to kill him when he should think it
necessary, and now he put him to his promise. Eros drew his sword, as
designing to kill him, but, suddenly turning round, he slew himself. And
as he fell dead at his feet, “It is well done, Eros,” said Antony; “you
show your master how to do what you had not the heart to do yourself;”
and so he ran himself into the belly, and laid himself upon the couch.
The wound, however, was not immediately mortal; and the flow of blood
ceasing when he lay down, presently he came to himself, and entreated
those that were about him to put him out of his pain; but they all fled
out of the chamber, and left him crying out and struggling, until
Diomede, Cleopatra’s secretary, came to him, having orders from her to
bring him into the monument.
When he understood she was alive, he eagerly gave order to the
servants to take him up, and in their arms was carried to the door of
the building. Cleopatra would not open the door, but, looking from a
sort of window, she let down ropes and cords, to which Antony was
fastened; and she and her two women, the only persons she had allowed to
enter the monument, drew him up. Those that were present say that
nothing was ever more sad than this spectacle, to see Antony, covered
all over with blood and just expiring, thus drawn up, still holding up
his hands to her, and lifting up his body with the little force he had
left. As, indeed, it was no easy task for the women; and Cleopatra, with
all her force, clinging to the rope, and straining with her head to the
ground, with difficulty pulled him up, while those below encouraged her
with their cries, and joined in all her effort and anxiety. When she had
got him up, she laid him on the bed, tearing all her clothes, which she
spread upon him; and, beating her breasts with her hands, lacerating
herself, and disfiguring her own face with the blood from his wounds,
she called him her lord, her husband, her emperor, and seemed to have
pretty nearly forgotten all her own evils, she was so intent upon his
misfortunes. Antony, stopping her lamentations as well as he could,
called for wine to drink, either that he was thirsty; or that he
imagined that it might put him the sooner out of pain. When he had
drunk, he advised her to bring her own affairs, so far as might be
honorably done, to a safe conclusion, and that, among all the friends of
Caesar, she should rely on Proculeius; that she should not pity him in
this last turn of fate, but rather rejoice for him in remembrance of his
past happiness, who had been of all men the most illustrious and
powerful, and, in the end, had fallen not ignobly, a Roman by a Roman
overcome.
Just as he breathed his last, Proculeius arrived from Caesar; for
when Antony gave himself his wound, and was carried in to Cleopatra, one
of his guards, Dercetaeus, took up Antony’s sword and hid it; and, when
he saw his opportunity, stole away to Caesar, and brought him the first
news of Antony’s death, and withal showed him the bloody sword. Caesar,
upon this, retired into the inner part of his tent, and, giving some
tears to the death of one that had been nearly allied to him in
marriage, his colleague in empire, and companion in so many wars and
dangers, he came out to his friends, and, bringing with him many
letters, he read to them with how much reason and moderation he had
always addressed himself to Antony, and in return what overbearing and
arrogant answers he received. Then he sent Proculeius to use his utmost
endeavors to get Cleopatra alive into his power; for he was afraid of
losing a great treasure, and, besides, she would be no small addition to
the glory of his triumph. She, however, was careful not to put herself
in Proculeius’s power; but from within her monument, he standing on the
outside of a door, on the level of the ground, which was strongly
barred, but so that they might well enough hear one another’s voice, she
held a conference with him; she demanding that her kingdom might be
given to her children, and he bidding her be of good courage, and trust
Caesar for everything.
Having taken particular notice of the place, he returned to Caesar,
and Gallus was sent to parley with her the second time; who, being come
to the door, on purpose prolonged the conference, while Proculeius fixed
his scaling-ladders in the window through which the women had pulled up
Antony. And so entering, with two men to follow him, he went straight
down to the door where Cleopatra was discoursing with Gallus. One of the
two women who were shut up in the monument with her cried out,
“Miserable Cleopatra, you are taken prisoner!” Upon which she turned
quick, and, looking at Proculeius, drew out her dagger, which she had
with her to stab herself. But Proculeius ran up quickly, and, seizing
her with both his hands, “For shame,” said he, “Cleopatra; you wrong
yourself and Caesar much, who would rob him of so fair an occasion of
showing his clemency, and would make the world believe the most gentle
of commanders to be a faithless and implacable enemy.” And so, taking
the dagger out of her hand, he also shook her dress to see if there were
any poison hid in it. After this, Caesar sent Epaphroditus, one of his
freedmen, with orders to treat her with all the gentleness and civility
possible, but to take the strictest precautions to keep her alive.
In the meanwhile, Caesar made his entry into Alexandria, with Areius
the philosopher at his side, holding him by the hand and talking with
him; desiring that all his fellow-citizens should see what honor was
paid to him, and should look up to him accordingly from the very first
moment. Then, entering the exercise-ground, he mounted a platform
erected for the purpose, and from thence commanded the citizens (who, in
great fear and consternation, fell prostrate at his feet) to stand up,
and told them, that he freely acquitted the people of all blame, first,
for the sake of Alexander, who built their city; then, for the city’s
sake itself, which was so large and beautiful; and, thirdly, to gratify
his friend Areius.
Such great honor did Areius receive from Caesar; and by his
intercession many lives were saved, amongst the rest that of
Philostratus, a man, of all the professors of logic that ever were, the
most ready in extempore speaking, but quite destitute of any right to
call himself one of the philosophers of the Academy. Caesar, out of
disgust at his character, refused all attention to his entreaties. So,
growing a long, white beard, and dressing himself in black, he followed
behind Areius, shouting out the verse,
The wise, if they are wise, will save the wise.
Which Caesar hearing, gave him his pardon, to prevent rather any
odium that might attach to Areius, than any harm that Philostratus might
suffer.
Of Antony’s children, Antyllus, his son by Fulvia, being betrayed by
his tutor, Theodorus, was put to death; and while the soldiers were
cutting off his head, his tutor contrived to steal a precious jewel
which he wore about his neck, and put it into his pocket, and afterwards
denied the fact, but was convicted and crucified. Cleopatra’s children,
with their attendants, had a guard set on them, and were treated very
honorably. Caesarion, who was reputed to be the son of Caesar the
Dictator, was sent by his mother, with a great sum of money, through
Ethiopia, to pass into India; but his tutor, a man named Rhodon, about
as honest as Theodorus, persuaded him to turn back, for that Caesar
designed to make him king. Caesar consulting what was best to be done
with him, Areius, we are told, said,
Too many Caesars are not well.
So, afterwards, when Cleopatra was dead, he was killed.
Many kings and great commanders made petition to Caesar for the body
of Antony, to give him his funeral rites; but he would not take away his
corpse from Cleopatra, by whose hands he was buried with royal splendor
and magnificence, it being granted to her to employ what she pleased on
his funeral. In this extremity of grief and sorrow, and having inflamed
and ulcerated her breasts with beating them, she fell into a high fever,
and was very glad of the occasion, hoping, under this pretext, to
abstain from food, and so to die in quiet without interference. She had
her own physician, Olympus, to whom she told the truth, and asked his
advice and help to put an end to herself, as Olympus himself has told
us, in a narrative which he wrote of these events. But Caesar,
suspecting her purpose, took to menacing language about her children,
and excited her fears for them, before which engines her purpose shook
and gave way, so that she suffered those about her to give her what meat
or medicine they pleased.
Some few days after, Caesar himself came to make her a visit and
comfort her. She lay then upon her pallet-bed in undress, and, on his
entering in, sprang up from off her bed, having nothing on but the one
garment next her body, and flung herself at his feet, her hair and face
looking wild and disfigured, her voice quivering, and her eyes sunk in
her head. The marks of the blows she had given herself were visible
about her bosom, and altogether her whole person seemed no less
afflicted than her soul. But, for all this, her old charm, and the
boldness of her youthful beauty had not wholly left her, and, in spite
of her present condition, still sparkled from within, and let itself
appear in all the movements of her countenance. Caesar, desiring her to
repose herself, sat down by her; and, on this opportunity, she said
something to justify her actions, attributing what she had done to the
necessity she was under, and to her fear of Antony; and when Caesar, on
each point, made his objections, and she found herself confuted, she
broke off at once into language of entreaty and deprecation, as if she
desired nothing more than to prolong her life. And at last, having by
her a list of her treasure, she gave it into his hands; and when
Seleucus, one of her stewards, who was by, pointed out that various
articles were omitted, and charged her with secreting them, she flew up
and caught him by the hair, and struck him several blows on the face.
Caesar smiling and withholding her, “Is it not very hard, Caesar,” said
she, “when you do me the honor to visit me in this condition I am in,
that I should be accused by one of my own servants of laying by some
women’s toys, not meant to adorn, be sure, my unhappy self, but that I
might have some little present by me to make your Octavia and your
Livia, that by their intercession I might hope to find you in some
measure disposed to mercy?” Caesar was pleased to hear her talk thus,
being now assured that she was desirous to live. And, therefore, letting
her know that the things she had laid by she might dispose of as she
pleased, and his usage of her should be honorable above her expectation,
he went away, well satisfied that he had overreached her, but, in fact,
was himself deceived.
There was a young man of distinction among Caesar’s companions, named
Cornelius Dolabella. He was not without a certain tenderness for
Cleopatra, and sent her word privately, as she had besought him to do,
that Caesar was about to return through Syria, and that she and her
children were to be sent on within three days. When she understood this,
she made her request to Caesar that he would be pleased to permit her to
make oblations to the departed Antony; which being granted, she ordered
herself to be carried to the place where he was buried, and there,
accompanied by her women, she embraced his tomb with tears in her eyes,
and spoke in this manner: “O, dearest Antony,” said she, “it is not long
since that with these hands I buried you; then they were free, now I am
a captive, and pay these last duties to you with a guard upon me, for
fear that my just griefs and sorrows should impair my servile body, and
make it less fit to appear in their triumph over you. No further
offerings or libations expect from me; these are the last honors that
Cleopatra can pay your memory, for she is to be hurried away far from
you. Nothing could part us whilst we lived, but death seems to threaten
to divide us. You, a Roman born, have found a grave in Egypt; I, an
Egyptian, am to seek that favor, and none but that, in your country. But
if the gods below, with whom you now are, either can or will do anything
(since those above have betrayed us), suffer not your living wife to be
abandoned; let me not be led in triumph to your shame, but hide me and
bury me here with you, since, amongst all my bitter misfortunes, nothing
has afflicted me like this brief time that I have lived away from you.”
Having made these lamentations, crowning the tomb with garlands and
kissing it, she gave orders to prepare her a bath, and, coming out of
the bath, she lay down and made a sumptuous meal. And a country fellow
brought her a little basket, which the guards intercepting and asking
what it was, the fellow put the leaves which lay uppermost aside, and
showed them it was full of figs; and on their admiring the largeness and
beauty of the figs, he laughed, and invited them to take some, which
they refused, and, suspecting nothing, bade him carry them in. After her
repast, Cleopatra sent to Caesar a letter which she had written and
sealed; and, putting everybody out of the monument but her two women,
she shut the doors. Caesar, opening her letter, and finding pathetic
prayers and entreaties that she might be buried in the same tomb with
Antony, soon guessed what was doing. At first he was going himself in
all haste, but, changing his mind, he sent others to see. The thing had
been quickly done. The messengers came at full speed, and found the
guards apprehensive of nothing; but on opening the doors, they saw her
stone-dead, lying upon a bed of gold, set out in all her royal
ornaments. Iras, one of her women, lay dying at her feet, and Charmion,
just ready to fall, scarce able to hold up her head, was adjusting her
mistress’s diadem. And when one that came in said angrily, “Was this
well done of your lady, Charmion?” “Extremely well,” she answered, “and
as became the descendant of so many kings”; and as she said this, she
fell down dead by the bedside.
Some relate that an asp was brought in amongst those figs and covered
with the leaves, and that Cleopatra had arranged that it might settle on
her before she knew, but, when she took away some of the figs and saw
it, she said, “So here it is,” and held out her bare arm to be bitten.
Others say that it was kept in a vase, and that she vexed and pricked it
with a golden spindle till it seized her arm. But what really took place
is known to no one. Since it was also said that she carried poison in a
hollow bodkin, about which she wound her hair; yet there was not so much
as a spot found, or any symptom of poison upon her body, nor was the asp
seen within the monument; only something like the trail of it was said
to have been noticed on the sand by the sea, on the part towards which
the building faced and where the windows were. Some relate that two
faint puncture-marks were found on Cleopatra’s arm, and to this account
Caesar seems to have given credit; for in his triumph there was carried
a figure of Cleopatra, with an asp clinging to her. Such are the various
accounts. But Caesar, though much disappointed by her death, yet could
not but admire the greatness of her spirit, and gave order that her body
should he buried by Antony with royal splendor and magnificence. Her
women, also, received honorable burial by his directions. Cleopatra had
lived nine and thirty years, during twenty-two of which she had reigned
as queen, and for fourteen had been Antony’s partner in his empire.
Antony, according to some authorities, was fifty-three, according to
others, fifty-six years old. His statues were all thrown down, but those
of Cleopatra were left untouched; for Archibius, one of her friends,
gave Caesar two thousand talents to save them from the fate of Antony’s.
Antony left by his three wives seven children, of whom only Antyllus,
the eldest, was put to death by Caesar; Octavia took the rest, and
brought them up with her own. Cleopatra, his daughter by Cleopatra, was
given in marriage to Juba, the most accomplished of kings; and Antony,
his son by Fulvia, attained such high favor, that whereas Agrippa was
considered to hold the first place with Caesar, and the sons of Livia
the second, the third, without dispute, was possessed by Antony.
Octavia, also, having had by her first husband, Marcellus, two
daughters, and one son named Marcellus, this son Caesar adopted, and
gave him his daughter in marriage; as did Octavia one of the daughters
to Agrippa. But Marcellus dying almost immediately after his marriage,
she, perceiving that her brother was at a loss to find elsewhere any
sure friend to be his son-in-law, was the first to recommend that
Agrippa should put away her daughter and marry Julia. To this Caesar
first, and then Agrippa himself, gave assent; so Agrippa married Julia,
and Octavia, receiving her daughter, married her to the young Antony. Of
the two daughters whom Octavia had borne to Antony, the one was married
to Domitius Ahenobarbus; and the other, Antonia, famous for her beauty
and discretion, was married to Drusus, the son of Livia, and step-son to
Caesar. Of these parents were born Germanicus and Claudius. Claudius
reigned later; and of the children of Germanicus, Caius, after a reign
of distinction, was killed with his wife and child; Agrippina, after
bearing a son, Lucius Domitius, to Ahenobarbus, was married to Claudius
Caesar, who adopted Domitius, giving him the name of Nero Germanicus. He
was emperor in our time, and put his mother to death, and with his
madness and folly came not far from ruining the Roman empire, being
Antony’s descendant in the fifth generation.
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Comparison of Demetrius and Antony
As both are great examples of the vicissitudes of fortune, let us
first consider in what way they attained their power and glory.
Demetrius heired a kingdom already won for him by Antigonus, the
most powerful of the Successors, who, before Demetrius grew to be a
man, traversed with his armies and subdued the greater part of Asia.
Antony’s father was well enough in other respects, but was no
warrior, and could bequeath no great legacy of reputation to his
son, who had the boldness, nevertheless, to take upon him the
government, to which birth gave him no claim, which had been held by
Caesar, and became the inheritor of his great labors. And such power
did he attain, with only himself to thank for it, that, in a
division of the whole empire into two portions, he took and received
the nobler one; and, absent himself, by his mere subalterns and
lieutenants often defeated the Parthians, and drove the barbarous
nations of the Caucasus back to the Caspian Sea. Those very things
that procured him ill-repute bear witness to his greatness.
Antigonus considered Antipater’s daughter Phila, in spite of the
disparity of her years, an advantageous match for Demetrius. Antony
was thought disgraced by his marriage with Cleopatra, a queen
superior in power and glory to all, except Arsaces, who were kings
in her time. Antony was so great as to be thought by others worthy
of higher things than his own desires.
As regards the right and justice of their aims at empire,
Demetrius need not be blamed for seeking to rule a people that had
always had a king to rule them. Antony, who enslaved the Roman
people, just liberated from the rule of Caesar, followed a cruel and
tyrannical object. His greatest and most illustrious work, his
successful war with Brutus and Cassius, was done to crush the
liberties of his country and of his fellow-citizens. Demetrius, till
he was driven to extremity, went on, without intermission,
maintaining liberty in Greece, and expelling the foreign garrisons
from the cities; not like Antony, whose boast was to have slain in
Macedonia those who had set up liberty in Rome. As for the profusion
and magnificence of his gifts, one point for which Antony is lauded,
Demetrius so far outdid them, that what he gave to his enemies was
far more than Antony ever gave to his friends. Antony was renowned
for giving Brutus honorable burial; Demetrius did so to all the
enemy’s dead, and sent the prisoners back to Ptolemy with money and
presents.
Both were insolent in prosperity, and abandoned themselves to
luxuries and enjoyments. Yet it cannot be said that Demetrius, in
his revelings and dissipations, ever let slip the time for action;
pleasures with him attended only the superabundance of his ease, and
his Lamia, like that of the fable, belonged only to his playful,
half-waking, half-sleeping hours. When war demanded his attention,
his spear was not wreathed with ivy, nor his helmet redolent of
unguents; he did not come out to battle from the women’s chamber,
but, hushing the bacchanal shouts and putting an end to the orgies,
he became at once, as Euripides calls it, “the minister of the
unpriestly Mars;” and, in short, he never once incurred disaster
through indolence or self-indulgence. Whereas Antony, like Hercules
in the picture where Omphale is seen removing his club and stripping
him of his lion’s skin, was over and over again disarmed by
Cleopatra, and beguiled away, while great actions and enterprises of
the first necessity fell, as it were, from his hands, to go with her
to the seashore of Canopus and Taphosiris, and play about. And in
the end, like another Paris, he left the battle to fly to her arms;
or rather, to say the truth, Paris fled when he was already beaten;
Antony fled first, and, to follow Cleopatra, abandoned his victory.
There was no law to prevent Demetrius from marrying several
wives; from the time of Philip and Alexander, it had become usual
with Macedonian kings, and he did no more than was done by
Lysimachus and Ptolemy. And those he married he treated honorably.
But Antony, first of all, in marrying two wives at once, did a thing
which no Roman had ever allowed himself; and then he drove away his
lawful Roman wife to please the foreign and unlawful woman. And so
Demetrius incurred no harm at all; Antony procured his ruin by his
marriage. On the other hand, no licentious act of Antony’s can be
charged with that impiety which marks those of Demetrius. Historical
writers tell us that the very dogs are excluded from the whole
Acropolis, because of their gross, uncleanly habits. The very
Parthenon itself saw Demetrius consorting with harlots and
debauching free women of Athens. The vice of cruelty, also, remote
as it seems from the indulgence of voluptuous desires, must be
attributed to him, who, in the pursuit of his pleasures, allowed, or
to say more truly, compelled the death of the most beautiful and
most chaste of the Athenians, who found no way but this to escape
his violence. In one word, Antony himself suffered by his excesses,
and other people by those of Demetrius.
In his conduct to his parents, Demetrius was irreproachable.
Antony gave up his mother’s brother, in order that he might have
leave to kill Cicero, this itself being so cruel and shocking an
act, that Antony would hardly be forgiven if Cicero’s death had been
the price of this uncle’s safety. In respect of breaches of oaths
and treaties, the seizure of Artabazes, and the assassination of
Alexander, Antony may urge the plea which no one denies to be true,
that Artabazes first abandoned and betrayed him in Media; Demetrius
is alleged by many to have invented false pretexts for his act, and
not to have retaliated for injuries, but to have accused one whom he
injured himself.
The achievements of Demetrius are all his own work. Antony’s
noblest and greatest victories were won in his absence by his
lieutenants. For their final disasters they have both only to thank
themselves; not, however, in an equal degree. Demetrius was
deserted, the Macedonians revolted from him: Antony deserted others,
and ran away while men were fighting for him at the risk of their
lives. The fault to be found with the one is that he had thus
entirely alienated the affections of his soldiers; the other’s
condemnation is that he abandoned so much love and faith as he still
possessed. We cannot admire the death of either, but that of
Demetrius excites our greater contempt. He let himself become a
prisoner, and was thankful to gain a three years’ accession of life
in captivity. He was tamed like a wild beast by his belly, and by
wine; Antony took himself out of the world in a cowardly, pitiful,
and ignoble manner, but, still in time to prevent the enemy having
his person in their power.
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Dion
If it be true, Sosius Senecio, that, as Simonides tells us,
“Of the Corinthians Troy does not complain”
for having taken part with the Achaeans in the siege, because the
Trojans also had Corinthians (Glaucus, who sprang from Corinth,)
fighting bravely on their side, so also it may be fairly said that
neither Romans nor Greeks can quarrel with the Academy, each nation
being equally represented in the following pair of lives, which will
give an account of Brutus and of Dion, — Dion, who was Plato’s own
hearer, and Brutus, who was brought up in his philosophy. They came from
one and the selfsame school, where they had been trained alike, to run
the race of honor; nor need we wonder that in the performance of actions
often most nearly allied and akin, they both bore evidence to the truth
of what their guide and teacher had said, that, without the concurrence
of power and success with justice and prudence, public actions do not
attain their proper, great, and noble character. For as Hippomachus the
wrestling-master affirmed, he could distinguish his scholars at a
distance. though they were but carrying meat from the shambles, so it is
very probable that the principles of those who have had the same good
education should appear with a resemblance in all their actions,
creating in them a certain harmony and proportion, at once agreeable and
becoming.
We may also draw a close parallel of the lives of the two men from
their fortunes, wherein chance, even more than their own designs, made
them nearly alike. For they were both cut off by an untimely death, not
being able to accomplish those ends which through many risks and
difficulties they aimed at. But, above all, this is most wonderful; that
by preternatural interposition both of them had notice given of their
approaching death by an unpropitious form, which visibly appeared to
them. Although there are people who utterly deny any such thing, and say
that no man in his right senses ever yet saw any supernatural phantom or
apparition, but that children only, and silly women, or men disordered
by sickness, in some aberration of the mind or distemperature of the
body, have had empty and extravagant imaginations, whilst the real evil
genius, superstition, was in themselves. Yet if Dion and Brutus, men of
solid understanding, and philosophers, not to be easily deluded by fancy
or discomposed by any sudden apprehension, were thus affected by
visions, that they forthwith declared to their friends what they had
seen, I know not how we can avoid admitting again the utterly exploded
opinion of the oldest times, that evil and beguiling spirits, out of an
envy to good men, and a desire of impeding their good deeds, make
efforts to excite in them feelings of terror and distraction, to make
them shake and totter in their virtue, lest by a steady and unbiased
perseverance they should obtain a happier condition than these beings
after death. But I shall leave these things for another opportunity,
and, in this twelfth book of the lives of great men compared one with
another, begin with his who was the elder.
Dionysius the First, having possessed himself of the government, at
once took to wife the daughter of Hermocrates, the Syracusan. She, in an
outbreak which the citizens made before the new power was well settled,
was abused in such a barbarous and outrageous manner, that for shame she
put an end to her own life. But Dionysius, when he was reestablished and
confirmed in his supremacy, married two wives together, one named Doris,
of Locri, the other, Aristomache, a native of Sicily, and daughter of
Hipparinus, a man of the first quality in Syracuse, and colleague with
Dionysius when he was first chosen general with unlimited powers for the
war. It is said he married them both in one day, and no one ever knew
which of the two he first made his wife; and ever after he divided his
kindness equally between them, both accompanying him together at his
table, and in his bed by turns. Indeed, the Syracusans were urgent that
their own countrywoman might be preferred before the stranger; but
Doris, to compensate for her foreign extraction; had the good fortune to
be the mother of the son and heir of the family, whilst Aristomache
continued a long time without issue, though Dionysius was very desirous
to have children by her, and, indeed, caused Doris’s mother to be put to
death, laying to her charge that she had given drugs to Aristomache, to
prevent her being with child.
Dion, Aristomache’s brother, at first found an honorable reception
for his sister’s sake; but his own worth and parts soon procured him a
nearer place in his brother-in-law’s affection, who, among other favors,
gave special command to his treasurers to furnish Dion with whatever
money he demanded, only telling him on the same day what they had
delivered out. Now, though Dion was before reputed a person of lofty
character; of a noble mind, and daring courage, yet these excellent
qualifications all received a great development from the happy chance
which conducted Plato into Sicily; not assuredly by any human device or
calculation, but some supernatural power, designing that this remote
cause should hereafter occasion the recovery of the Sicilians’ lost
liberty and the subversion of the tyrannical government, brought the
philosopher out of Italy to Syracuse, and made acquaintance between him
and Dion. Dion was, indeed, at this time extremely young in years, but
of all the scholars that attended Plato he was the quickest and aptest
to learn, and the most prompt and eager to practice, the lessons of
virtue, as Plato himself reports of him, and his own actions
sufficiently testify. For though he had been bred up under a tyrant in
habits of submission, accustomed to a life, on the one hand of servility
and intimidation, and yet on the other of vulgar display and luxury, the
mistaken happiness of people that knew no better thing than pleasure and
self-indulgence, yet, at the first taste of reason and a philosophy that
demands obedience to virtue, his soul was set in a flame, and in the
simple innocence of youth, concluding, from his own disposition, that
the same reasons would work the same effects upon Dionysius, he made it
his business, and at length obtained the favor of him, at a leisure
hour, to hear Plato.
At this their meeting, the subject-matter of their discourse in
general was human virtue, but, more particularly, they disputed
concerning fortitude, which Plato proved tyrants, of all men, had the
least pretense to; and thence proceeding to treat of justice, asserted
the happy estate of the just, and the miserable condition of the unjust;
arguments which Dionysius would not hear out, but, feeling himself, as
it were, convicted by his words, and much displeased to see the rest of
the auditors full of admiration for the speaker and captivated with his
doctrine, at last, exceedingly exasperated, he asked the philosopher in
a rage, what business he had in Sicily. To which Plato answered, “I came
to seek a virtuous man.” “It seems then,” replied Dionysius, “you have
lost your labor.” Dion, supposing, that this was all, and that nothing
further could come of his anger, at Plato’s request, conveyed him aboard
a galley, which was conveying Pollis, the Spartan, into Greece. But
Dionysius privately dealt with Pollis, by all means to kill Plato in the
voyage; if not, to be sure to sell him for a slave: he would, of course,
take no harm of it, being the same just man as before; he would enjoy
that happiness, though he lost his liberty. Pollis, therefore, it is
stated, carried Plato to Aegina, and there sold him; the Aeginetans,
then at war with Athens, having made a decree that whatever Athenian was
taken on their coasts should forthwith be exposed to sale.
Notwithstanding, Dion was not in less favor and credit with Dionysius
than formerly, but was entrusted with the most considerable employments,
and sent on important embassies to Carthage, in the management of which
he gained very great reputation. Besides, the usurper bore with the
liberty he took to speak his mind freely, he being the only man who upon
any occasion durst boldly say what he thought, as, for example, in the
rebuke he gave him about Gelon. Dionysius was ridiculing Gelon’s
government, and, alluding to his name, said, he had been the
laughing-stock of Sicily. While others seemed to admire and applaud the
quibble, Dion very warmly replied, “Nevertheless, it is certain that you
are sole governor here, because you were trusted for Gelon’s sake; but
for your sake no man will ever hereafter be trusted again.” For, indeed,
Gelon had made a monarchy appear the best, whereas Dionysius had
convinced men that it was the worst, of governments.
Dionysius had three children by Doris, and by Aristomache four, two
of which were daughters, Sophrosyne and Arete. Sophrosyne was married to
his son Dionysius; Arete, to his brother Thearides, after whose death,
Dion received his niece Arete to wife. Now when Dionysius was sick and
like to die, Dion endeavored to speak with him in behalf of the children
he had by Aristomache, but was still prevented by the physicians, who
wanted to ingratiate themselves with the next successor, who also, as
Timaeus reports, gave him a sleeping potion which he asked for, which
produced an insensibility only followed by his death.
Nevertheless, at the first council which the young Dionysius held
with his friends, Dion discoursed so well of the present state of
affairs, that he made all the rest appear in their politics but
children, and in their votes rather slaves than counselors, who
timorously and disingenuously advised what would please the young man,
rather than what would advance his interest. But that which startled
them most was the proposal he made to avert the imminent danger they
feared of a war with the Carthaginians, undertaking, if Dionysius wanted
peace, to sail immediately over into Africa, and conclude it there upon
honorable terms; but, if he rather preferred war, then he would fit out
and maintain at his own cost and charges fifty galleys ready for the
service.
Dionysius wondered much at his greatness of mind, and received his
offer with satisfaction. But the other courtiers, thinking his
generosity reflected upon them, and jealous of being lessened by his
greatness, from hence took all occasions by private slanders to render
him obnoxious to the young man’s displeasure; as if he designed by his
power at sea to surprise the government, and by the help of those naval
forces confer the supreme authority upon his sister Aristomache’s
children. But, indeed, the most apparent and the strongest grounds for
dislike and hostility existed already in the difference of his habits,
and his reserved and separate way of living. For they, who, from the
beginning, by flatteries and all unworthy artifices, courted the favor
and familiarity of the prince, youthful and voluptuously bred,
ministered to his pleasures, and sought how to find him daily some new
amours and occupy him in vain amusements, with wine or with women, and
in other dissipations; by which means, the tyranny, like iron softened
in the fire, seemed, indeed, to the subject to be more moderate and
gentle, and to abate somewhat of its extreme severity; the edge of it
being blunted, not by the clemency, but rather the sloth and degeneracy
of the sovereign, whose dissoluteness, gaining ground daily, and growing
upon him, soon weakened and broke those “adamantine chains,” with which
his father, Dionysius, said he had left the monarchy fastened and
secured. It is reported of him, that, having begun a drunken debauch, he
continued it ninety days without intermission; in all which time no
person on business was allowed to appear, nor was any serious
conversation heard at court, but drinking, singing, dancing. and
buffoonery reigned there without control.
It is likely then they had little kindness for Dion, who never
indulged himself in any youthful pleasure or diversion. And so his very
virtues were the matter of their calumnies, and were represented under
one or other plausible name as vices; they called his gravity pride, his
plain-dealing self-will, the good advice he gave was all construed into
reprimand, and he was censured for neglecting and scorning those in
whose misdemeanors he declined to participate. And to say the truth,
there was in his natural character something stately, austere, reserved,
and unsociable in conversation, which made his company unpleasant and
disagreeable not only to the young tyrant, whose ears had been corrupted
by flatteries; many also of Dion’s own intimate friends, though they
loved the integrity and generosity of his temper, yet blamed his manner,
and thought he treated those with whom he had to do, less courteously
and affably than became a man engaged in civil business. Of which Plato
also afterwards wrote to him; and, as it were, prophetically advised him
carefully to avoid an arbitrary temper, whose proper helpmate was a
solitary life. And, indeed, at this very time, though circumstances made
him so important, and, in the danger of the tottering government, he was
recognized as the only or the ablest support of it, yet he well
understood that he owed not his high position to any good-will or
kindness, but to the mere necessities of the usurper.
And, supposing the cause of this to be ignorance and want of
education, he endeavored to induce the young man into a course of
liberal studies, and to give him some knowledge of moral truths and
reasonings, hoping he might thus lose his fear of virtuous living, and
learn to take pleasure in laudable actions. Dionysius, in his own
nature, was not one of the worst kind of tyrants, but his father,
fearing that if he should come to understand himself better, and
converse with wise and reasonable men, he might enter into some design
against him, and dispossess him of his power, kept him closely shut up
at home; where, for want of other company, and ignorant how to spend his
time better, he busied himself in making little chariots, candlesticks,
stools, tables, and other things of wood. For the elder Dionysius was so
diffident and suspicious, and so continually on his guard against all
men, that he would not so much as let his hair be trimmed with any
barber’s or hair-cutter’s instruments, but made one of his artificers
singe him with a live coal. Neither were his brother or his son allowed
to come into his apartment in the dress they wore, but they, as all
others, were stripped to their skins by some of the guard, and, after
being seen naked, put on other clothes before they were admitted into
the presence. When his brother Leptines was once describing the
situation of a place, and took a javelin from one of the guard to draw
the plan of it, he was extremely angry with him, and had the soldier who
gave him the weapon put to death. He declared, the more judicious his
friends were, the more he suspected them; because he knew, that were it
in their choice, they would rather be tyrants themselves than the
subjects of a tyrant. He slew Marsyas, one of his captains whom he had
preferred to a considerable command, for dreaming that he killed him:
without some previous waking thought and purpose of the kind, he could
not, he supposed, have had that fancy in his sleep. So timorous was he,
and so miserable a slave to his fears, yet very angry with Plato,
because he would not allow him to be the valiantest man alive.
Dion, as we said before, seeing the son thus deformed and spoilt in
character for want of teaching, exhorted him to study, and to use all
his entreaties to persuade Plato, the first of philosophers, to visit
him in Sicily, and; when he came, to submit himself to his direction and
advice: by whose instructions he might conform his nature to the truths
of virtue, and, living after the likeness of the Divine and glorious
Model of Being, out of obedience to whose control the general confusion
is changed into the beautiful order of the universe, so he in like
manner might be the cause of great happiness to himself and to all his
subjects, who, obliged by his justice and moderation, would then
willingly pay him obedience as their father, which now grudgingly, and
upon necessity, they are forced to yield him as their master. Their
usurping tyrant he would then no longer be, but their lawful king. For
fear and force, a great navy and standing army of ten thousand hired
barbarians are not, as his father had said, the adamantine chains which
secure the regal power, but the love, zeal, and affection inspired by
clemency and justice; which, though they seem more pliant than the stiff
and hard bonds of severity, are nevertheless the strongest and most
durable ties to sustain a lasting government. Moreover, it is mean and
dishonorable that a ruler, while careful to be splendid in his dress,
and luxurious and magnificent in his habitation, should, in reason and
power of speech, make no better show than the commonest of his subjects,
nor have the princely palace of his mind adorned according to his royal
dignity.
Dion frequently entertaining the king upon this subject, and, as
occasion offered, repeating some of the philosopher’s sayings, Dionysius
grew impatiently desirous to have Plato’s company, and to hear him
discourse. Forthwith, therefore, he sent letter upon letter to him to
Athens, to which Dion added his entreaties; also several philosophers of
the Pythagorean sect from Italy sent their recommendations, urging him
to come and obtain a hold upon this pliant, youthful soul, which his
solid and weighty reasonings might steady, as it were, upon the seas of
absolute power and authority. Plato, as he tells us himself, out of
shame more than any other feeling, lest it should seem that he was all
mere theory, and that of his own good-will he would never venture into
action, hoping withal, that if he could work a cure upon one man, the
head and guide of the rest, he might remedy the distempers of the whole
island of Sicily, yielded to their requests.
But Dion’s enemies, fearing an alteration in Dionysius, persuaded him
to recall from banishment Philistus, a man of learned education, and at
the same time of great experience in the ways of tyrants, and who might
serve as a counterpoise to Plato and his philosophy. For Philistus from
the beginning had been a great instrument in establishing the tyranny,
and for a long time had held the office of captain of the citadel. There
was a report, that he had been intimate with the mother of Dionysius the
first, and not without his privity. And when Leptines, having two
daughters by a married woman whom he had debauched, gave one of them in
marriage to Philistus, without acquainting Dionysius, he, in great
anger, put Leptines’s mistress in prison, and banished Philistus from
Sicily. Whereupon, he fled to some of his friends on the Adriatic coast,
in which retirement and leisure it is probable he wrote the greatest
part of his history; for he returned not into his country during the
reign of that Dionysius.
But after his death, as is just related, Dion’s enemies occasioned
him to be recalled home, as fitter for their purpose, and a firm friend
to the arbitrary government. And this, indeed, immediately upon his
return he set himself to maintain; and at the same time various
calumnies and accusations against Dion were by others brought to the
king: as that he held correspondence with Theodotes and Heraclides, to
subvert the government; as, doubtless, it is likely enough, that Dion
had entertained hopes, by the coming of Plato, to mitigate the rigid and
despotic severity of the tyranny, and to give Dionysius the character of
a fair and lawful governor; and had determined, if he should continue
averse to that, and were not to be reclaimed, to depose him, and restore
the commonwealth to the Syracusans; not that he approved a democratic
government, but thought it altogether preferable to a tyranny, when a
sound and good aristocracy could not be procured.
This was the state of affairs when Plato came into Sicily, who, at
his first arrival, was received with wonderful demonstration of kindness
and respect. For one of the royal chariots, richly ornamented, was in
attendance to receive him when he came on shore; Dionysius himself
sacrificed to the gods in thankful acknowledgment for the great
happiness which had befallen his government. The citizens, also, began
to entertain marvelous hopes of a speedy reformation, when they observed
the modesty which now ruled in the banquets, and the general decorum
which prevailed in all the court, their tyrant himself also behaving
with gentleness and humanity in all their matters of business that came
before him. There was a general passion for reasoning: and philosophy,
insomuch that the very palace, it is reported, was filled with dust by
the concourse of the students in mathematics who were working their
problems there. Some few days after, it was the time of one of the
Syracusan sacrifices, and when the priest, as he was wont, prayed for
the long and safe continuance of the tyranny, Dionysius, it is said, as
he stood by, cried out, “Leave off praying for evil upon us.” This
sensibly vexed Philistus and his party, who conjectured, that if Plato,
upon such brief acquaintance, had so far transformed and altered the
young man’s mind, longer converse and greater intimacy would give him
such influence and authority, that it would he impossible to withstand
him.
Therefore, no longer privately and apart, but jointly and in public,
all of them, they began to slander Dion, noising it about that he had
charmed and bewitched Dionysius by Plato’s sophistry, to the end that
when he was persuaded voluntarily to part with his power, and lay down
his authority, Dion might take it up, and settle it upon his sister
Aristomache’s children. Others professed to be indignant that the
Athenians, who formerly had come to Sicily with a great fleet and a
numerous land-army, and perished miserably without being able to take
the city of Syracuse, should now, by means of one sophister, overturn
the sovereignty of Dionysius; inveigling him to cashier his guard of ten
thousand lances, dismiss a navy of four hundred galleys, disband an army
of ten thousand horse and many times over that number of foot, and go
seek in the schools an unknown and imaginary bliss, and learn by the
mathematics how to be happy; while, in the meantime, the substantial
enjoyments of absolute power, riches, and pleasure would be handed over
to Dion and his sister’s children.
By these means, Dion began to incur at first suspicion, and by
degrees more apparent displeasure and hostility. A letter, also, was
intercepted and brought to the young prince, which Dion had written to
the Carthaginian agents, advising them, that, when they treated with
Dionysius concerning the peace, they should not come to their audience
without communicating with him: they would not fail to obtain by this
means all that they wanted. When Dionysius had shown this to Philistus,
and consulted with him, as Timaeus relates, about it, he overreached
Dion by a feigned reconciliation, professing, after some fair and
reasonable expression of his feelings, that he was at friends with him,
and thus, leading him alone to the sea-side, under the castle wall, he
showed him the letter, and taxed him with conspiring with the
Carthaginians against him. And when Dion essayed to speak in his own
defense, Dionysius suffered him not; but immediately forced him aboard a
boat, which lay there for that purpose, and commanded the sailors to set
him ashore on the coast of Italy.
When this was publicly known, and was thought very hard usage, there
was much lamentation in the tyrant’s own household on account of the
women, but the citizens of Syracuse encouraged themselves, expecting
that for his sake some disturbance would ensue; which, together with the
mistrust others would now feel, might occasion a general change and
revolution in the state. Dionysius, seeing this, took alarm, and
endeavored to pacify the women and others of Dion’s kindred and friends;
assuring them that he had not banished, but only sent him out of the way
for a time, for fear of his own passion, which might be provoked some
day by Dion’s self-will into some act which he should be sorry for. He
gave also two ships to his relations, with liberty to send into
Peloponnesus for him whatever of his property or servants they thought
fit.
Dion was very rich, and had his house furnished with little less than
royal splendor and magnificence. These valuables his friends packed up
and conveyed to him, besides many rich presents which were sent him by
the women and his adherents. So that, so far as wealth and riches went,
he made a noble appearance among the Greeks, and they might judge, by
the affluence of the exile, what was the power of the tyrant.
Dionysius immediately removed Plato into the castle, designing, under
color of an honorable and kind reception, to set a guard upon him, lest
he should follow Dion, and declare to the world in his behalf, how
injuriously he had been dealt with. And, moreover, time and conversation
(as wild beasts by use grow tame and tractable) had brought Dionysius to
endure Plato’s company and discourse, so that he began to love the
philosopher, but with such an affection as had something of the tyrant
in it, requiring of Plato that he should, in return of his kindness,
love him only, and attend to him above all other men; being ready to
permit to his care the chief management of affairs, and even the
government, too, upon condition that he would not prefer Dion’s
friendship before his. This extravagant affection was a great trouble to
Plato, for it was accompanied with petulant and jealous humors, like the
fond passions of those that are desperately in love; frequently he was
angry and fell out with him, and presently begged and entreated to be
friends again. He was beyond measure desirous to be Plato’s scholar, and
to proceed in the study of philosophy, and yet he was ashamed of it with
those who spoke against it and professed to think it would ruin him.
But a war about this time breaking out, he sent Plato away, promising
him in the summer to recall Dion, though in this he broke his word at
once; nevertheless, he remitted to him his revenues, desiring Plato to
excuse him as to the time appointed, because of the war, but, as soon as
he had settled a peace, he would immediately send for Dion, requiring
him in the interim to be quiet, and not raise any disturbance, nor speak
ill of him among the Grecians. This Plato endeavored to effect, by
keeping Dion with him in the Academy, and busying him in philosophical
studies.
Dion sojourned in the Upper Town of Athens, with Callippus, one of
his acquaintance; but for his pleasure he bought a seat in the country,
which afterwards, when he went into Sicily, he gave to Speusippus, who
had been his most frequent companion while he was at Athens, Plato so
arranging it, with the hope that Dion’s austere temper might be softened
by agreeable company, with an occasional mixture of seasonable mirth.
For Speusippus was of the character to afford him this; we find him
spoken of in Timon’s Silli, as “good at a jest.” And Plato himself, as
it happened, being called upon to furnish a chorus of boys, Dion took
upon him the ordering and management of it, and defrayed the whole
expense, Plato giving him this opportunity to oblige the Athenians,
which was likely to procure his friend more kindness than himself
credit. Dion went also to see several other cities, visiting the noblest
and most statemanlike persons in Greece, and joining in their
recreations and entertainments in their times of festival. In all which,
no sort of vulgar ignorance, or tyrannic assumption, or luxuriousness
was remarked in him; but, on the contrary, a great deal of temperance,
generosity, and courage, and a well-becoming taste for reasoning and
philosophic discourses. By which means he gained the love and admiration
of all men, and in many cities had public honors decreed him; the
Lacedaemonians making him a citizen of Sparta, without regard to the
displeasure of Dionysius, though at that time he was aiding them in
their wars against the Thebans.
It is related that once, upon invitation, he went to pay a visit to
Ptoeodorus the Megarian, a man, it would seem, of wealth and importance;
and when, on account of the concourse of people about his doors, and the
press of business, it was very troublesome and difficult to get access
to him, turning about to his friends who seemed concerned and angry at
it, “What reason,” said he, “have we to blame Ptoeodorus, when we
ourselves used to do no better when we were at Syracuse?”
After some little time, Dionysius, envying Dion, and jealous of the
favor and interest he had among the Grecians, put a stop upon his
incomes, and no longer sent him his revenues, making his own
commissioners trustees of the estate. But, endeavoring to obviate the
ill-will and discredit which, upon Plato’s account, might accrue to him
among the philosophers, he collected in his court many reputed learned
men; and, ambitiously desiring to surpass them in their debates he was
forced to make use, often incorrectly, of arguments he had picked up
from Plato. And now he wished for his company again, repenting he had
not made better use of it when he had it, and had given no greater heed
to his admirable lessons. Like a tyrant, therefore, inconsiderate in his
desires, headstrong and violent in whatever he took a will to, on a
sudden he was eagerly set on the design of recalling him, and left no
stone unturned, but addressed himself to Archytas the Pythagorean (his
acquaintance and friendly relations with whom owed their origin to
Plato), and persuaded him to stand as surety for his engagements, and to
request Plato to revisit Sicily.
Archytas therefore sent Archedemus, and Dionysius some galleys, with
divers friends, to entreat his return; moreover, he wrote to him himself
expressly and in plain terms, that Dion must never look for any favor or
kindness, if Plato would not be prevailed with to come into Sicily; but
if Plato did come, Dion should be assured of whatever he desired. Dion
also received letters full of solicitations from his sister and his
wife, urging him to beg Plato to gratify Dionysius in this request, and
not give him an excuse for further ill-doing. So that, as Plato says of
himself, the third time he set sail for the Strait of Scylla,
“Venturing again Charybdis’s dangerous gulf.”
This arrival brought great joy to Dionysius, and no less hopes to the
Sicilians, who were earnest in their prayers and good wishes that Plato
might get the better of Philistus, and philosophy triumph over tyranny.
Neither was he unbefriended by the women, who studied to oblige him; and
he had with Dionysius that peculiar credit which no man else ever
obtained, namely, liberty to come into his presence without being
examined or searched. When he would have given him a considerable sum of
money, and, on several repeated occasions, made fresh offers, which
Plato as often declined, Aristippus the Cyrenaean, then present, said
that Dionysius was very safe in his munificence, he gave little to those
who were ready to take all they could get, and a great deal to Plato,
who would accept of nothing.
After the first compliments of kindness were over, when Plato began
to discourse of Dion, he was at first diverted by excuses for delay,
followed soon after by complaints and disgusts, though not as yet
observable to others, Dionysius endeavoring to conceal them, and, by
other civilities and honorable usage, to draw him off from his affection
to Dion. And for some time Plato himself was careful not to let anything
of this dishonesty and breach of promise appear, but bore with it, and
dissembled his annoyance. While matters stood thus between them, and, as
they thought, they were unobserved and undiscovered, Helicon the
Cyzicenian, one of Plato’s followers, foretold an eclipse of the sun,
which happened according to his prediction; for which he was much
admired by the tyrant, and rewarded with a talent of silver; whereupon
Aristippus, jesting with some others of the philosophers, told them, he
also could predict something extraordinary; and on their entreating him
to declare it, “I foretell,” said he, “that before long there will be a
quarrel between Dionysius and Plato.”
At length, Dionysius made sale of Dion’s estate, and converted the
money to his own use, and removed Plato from an apartment he had in the
gardens of the palace to lodgings among the guards he kept in pay, who
from the first had hated Plato, and sought opportunity to make away with
him, supposing he advised Dionysius to lay down the government and
disband his soldiers.
When Archytas understood the danger he was in, he immediately sent a
galley with messengers to demand him of Dionysius; alleging that he
stood engaged for his safety, upon the confidence of which Plato had
come to Sicily. Dionysius, to palliate his secret hatred, before Plato
came away, treated him with great entertainments and all seeming
demonstrations of kindness, but could not forbear breaking out one day
into the expression, “No doubt, Plato, when you are at home among the
philosophers, your companions, you will complain of me, and reckon up a
great many of my faults.” To which Plato answered with a smile, “The
Academy will never, I trust, be at such a loss for subjects to discuss
as to seek one in you.” Thus, they say, Plato was dismissed; but his own
writings do not altogether agree with this account.
Dion was angry at all this, and not long after declared open enmity
to Dionysius, on hearing what had been done with his wife; on which
matter Plato, also, had had some confidential correspondence with
Dionysius. Thus it was. After Dion’s banishment, Dionysius, when he sent
Plato back, had desired him to ask Dion privately, if he would be averse
to his wife’s marrying another man, For there went a report, whether
true, or raised by Dion’s enemies, that his marriage was not pleasing to
him, and that he lived with his wife on uneasy terms. When Plato
therefore came to Athens, and had mentioned the subject to Dion, he
wrote a letter to Dionysius, speaking of other matters openly, but on
this in language expressly designed to be understood by him alone, to
the effect that he had talked with Dion about the business, and that it
was evident he would highly resent the affront, if it should be put into
execution. At that time, therefore, while there were yet great hopes of
an accommodation, he took no new steps with his sister, suffering her to
live with Dion’s child. But when things were come to that pass, that no
reconciliation could be expected, and Plato, after his second visit, was
again sent away in displeasure, he then forced Arete, against her will,
to marry Timocrates, one of his favorites; in this action coming short
even of his father’s justice and lenity; for he, when Polyxenus, the
husband of his sister, Theste, became his enemy, and fled in alarm out
of Sicily, sent for his sister, and taxed her, that, being privy to her
husband’s flight, she had not declared it to him. But the lady,
confident and fearless, made him this reply: “Do you believe me,
brother, so bad a wife, or so timorous a woman, that, having known my
husband’s flight, I would not have borne him company, and shared his
fortunes? I knew nothing of it; since otherwise it had been my better
lot to be called the wife of the exile Polyxenus, than the sister of the
tyrant Dionysius.” It is said, he admired her free and ready answer, as
did the Syracusans, also, her courage and virtue, insomuch that she
retained her dignity and princely retinue after the dissolution of the
tyranny, and, when she died, the citizens, by public decree, attended
the solemnity of her funeral. And the story, though a digression from
the present purpose, was well worth the telling.
From this time, Dion set his mind upon warlike measures; with which
Plato, out of respect for past hospitalities, and because of his age,
would have nothing to do. But Speusippus and the rest of his friends
assisted and encouraged him, bidding him deliver Sicily, which with
lift-up hands implored his help, and with open arms was ready to receive
him. For when Plato was staying at Syracuse, Speusippus, being oftener
than he in company with the citizens, had more thoroughly made out how
they were inclined; and though at first they had been on their guard,
suspecting his bold language, as though he had been set on by the tyrant
to trepan them, yet at length they trusted him. There was but one mind
and one wish or prayer among them all, that Dion would undertake the
design, and come, though without either navy, men, horse, or arms; that
he would simply put himself aboard any ship, and lend the Sicilians his
person and name against Dionysius. This information from Speusippus
encouraged Dion, who, concealing his real purpose, employed his friends
privately to raise what men they could; and many statesmen and
philosophers were assisting to him, as, for instance, Eudemus the
Cyprian, on whose death Aristotle wrote his Dialogue of the Soul, and
Timonides the Leucadian. They also engaged on his side Miltas the
Thessalian, who was a prophet, and had studied in the Academy. But of
all that were banished by Dionysius, who were not fewer than a thousand,
five and twenty only joined in the enterprise; the rest were afraid, and
abandoned it. The rendezvous was in the island Zacynthus, where a small
force of not quite eight hundred men came together, all of them,
however, persons already distinguished in plenty of previous hard
service, their bodies well trained and practiced, and their experience
and courage amply sufficient to animate and embolden to action the
numbers whom Dion expected to join him in Sicily.
Yet these men, when they first understood the expedition was against
Dionysius, were troubled and disheartened, blaming Dion, that, hurried
on like a madman by mere passion and despair, he rashly threw both
himself and them into certain ruin. Nor were they less angry with their
commanders and muster-masters, that they had not in the beginning let
them know the design. But when Dion in his address to them had set forth
the unsafe and weak condition of arbitrary government, and declared that
he carried them rather for commanders than soldiers, the citizens of
Syracuse and the rest of the Sicilians having been long ready for a
revolt, and when, after him, Alcimenes, an Achaean of the highest birth
and reputation, who accompanied the expedition, harangued them to the
same effect, they were contented.
It was now the middle of summer, and the Etesian winds blowing
steadily on the seas, the moon was at the full, when Dion prepared a
magnificent sacrifice to Apollo; and with great solemnity marched his
soldiers to the temple in all their arms and accouterments. And after
the sacrifice, he feasted them all in the race-course of the
Zacynthians, where he had made provision for their entertainment. And
when here they beheld with wonder the quantity and the richness of the
gold and silver plate, and the tables laid to entertain them, all far
exceeding the fortunes of a private man, they concluded with themselves,
that a man now past the prime of life, who was master of so much
treasure, would not engage himself in so hazardous an enterprise without
good reason of hope, and certain and sufficient assurances of aid from
friends over there. Just after the libations were made, and the
accompanying prayers offered, the moon was eclipsed; which was no wonder
to Dion, who understood the revolutions of eclipses, and the way in
which the moon is overshadowed and the earth interposed between her and
the sun. But because it was necessary that the soldiers, who were
surprised and troubled at it, should be satisfied and encouraged, Miltas
the diviner, standing up in the midst of the assembly, bade them be of
good cheer, and expect all happy success, for that the divine powers
foreshowed that something at present glorious and resplendent should be
eclipsed and obscured; nothing at this time being more splendid than the
sovereignty of Dionysius, their arrival in Sicily should dim this glory,
and extinguish this brightness. Thus Miltas, in public, descanted upon
the incident. But concerning a swarm of bees which settled on the poop
of Dion’s ship, he privately told him and his friends, that he feared
the great actions they were like to perform, though for a time they
should thrive and flourish, would be of short continuance, and soon
suffer a decay. It is reported, also, that many prodigies happened to
Dionysius at that time. An eagle, snatching a javelin from one of the
guard, carried it aloft, and from thence let it fall into the sea. The
water of the sea that washed the castle walls was for a whole day sweet
and potable, as many that tasted it experienced. Pigs were farrowed
perfect in all their other parts, but without ears. This the diviners
declared to portend revolt and rebellion, for that the subjects would no
longer give ear to the commands of their superiors. They expounded the
sweetness of the water to signify to the Syracusans a change from hard
and grievous times into easier and more happy circumstances. The eagle
being the bird of Jupiter, and the spear an emblem of power and command,
this prodigy was to denote that the chief of the gods designed the end
and dissolution of the present government. These things Theopompus
relates in his history.
Two ships of burden carried all Dion’s men; a third vessel, of no
great size, and two galleys of thirty oars attended them. In addition to
his soldiers’ own arms, he carried two thousand shields, a very great
number of darts and lances, and abundant stores of all manner of
provisions, that there might be no want of anything in their voyage;
their purpose being to keep out at sea during the whole voyage, and use
the winds, since all the land was hostile to them, and Philistus, they
had been told, was in Iapygia with a fleet, looking out for them. Twelve
days they sailed with a fresh and gentle breeze; on the thirteenth, they
made Pachynus, the Sicilian cape. There Protus, the chief pilot, advised
them to land at once and without delay, for if they were forced again
from the shore, and did not take advantage of the headland, they might
ride out at sea many nights and days, waiting for a southerly wind in
the summer season. But Dion, fearing a descent too near his enemies, and
desirous to begin at a greater distance, and further on in the country,
sailed on past Pachynus. They had not gone far, before stress of
weather, the wind blowing hard at north, drove the fleet from the coast;
and it being now about the time that Arcturus rises, a violent storm of
wind and rain came on, with thunder and lightning, the mariners were at
their wits’ end, and ignorant what course they ran, until on a sudden
they found they were driving with the sea on Cercina, the island on the
coast of Africa, just where it is most craggy and dangerous to run upon.
Upon the cliffs there they escaped narrowly of being forced and staved
to pieces; but, laboring hard at their oars, with much difficulty they
kept clear until the storm ceased. Then, lighting by chance upon a
vessel, they understood they were upon the Heads, as it is called, of
the Great Syrtis; and when they were now again disheartened by a sudden
calm, and beating to and fro without making any way, a soft air began to
blow from the land, when they expected anything rather than wind from
the south and scarce believed the happy change of their fortune. The
gale gradually increasing, and beginning to blow fresh, they clapped on
all their sails, and, praying to the gods, put out again into the open
sea, steering right from Africa for Sicily. And, running steady before
the wind, the fifth day they arrived at Minoa, a little town of Sicily,
in the dominion of the Carthaginians, of which Synalus, an acquaintance
and friend of Dion’s, happened at that time to be governor; who, not
knowing it was Dion and his fleet, endeavored to hinder his men from
landing; but they rushed on shore with their swords in their hands, not
slaying any of their opponents (for this Dion had forbidden, because of
his friendship with the Carthaginians), but forced them to retreat, and,
following close, pressed in a body with them into the place, and took
it. As soon as the two commanders met, they mutually saluted each other;
Dion delivered up the place again to Synalus, without the least damage
done to anyone therein, and Synalus quartered and entertained the
soldiers, and supplied Dion with what he wanted.
They were most of all encouraged by the happy accident of Dionysius’s
absence at this nick of time; for it appeared that he was lately gone
with eighty sail of ships to Italy. Therefore, when Dion was desirous
that the soldiers should refresh themselves there, after their tedious
and troublesome voyage, they would not be prevailed with, but, earnest
to make the best use of that opportunity, they urged Dion to lead them
straight on to Syracuse. Leaving therefore their baggage, and the arms
they did not use, Dion desired Synalus to convey them to him as he had
occasion, and marched directly to Syracuse.
The first that came in to him upon his march were two hundred horse
of the Agrigentines who were settled near Ecnomum, and, after them, the
Geloans. But the news soon flying to Syracuse, Timocrates, who had
married Dion’s wife, the sister of Dionysius, and was the principal man
among his friends now remaining in the city, immediately dispatched a
courier to Dionysius with letters announcing Dion’s arrival; while he
himself took all possible care to prevent any stir or tumult in the
city, where all were in great excitement, but as yet continued quiet,
fearing to give too much credit to what was reported. A very strange
accident happened to the messenger who was sent with the letters; for
being arrived in Italy, as he traveled through the land of Rhegium,
hastening to Dionysius at Caulonia, he met one of his acquaintance, who
was carrying home part of a sacrifice. He accepted a piece of the flesh,
which his friend offered him, and proceeded on his journey with all
speed; having traveled a good part of the night, and being through
weariness forced to take a little rest, he laid himself down in the next
convenient place he came to, which was in a wood near the road. A wolf,
scenting the flesh, came and seized it as it lay fastened to the
letter-bag, and with the flesh carried away the bag also, in which were
the letters to Dionysius. The man, awaking and missing his bag, sought
for it up and down a great while, and, not finding it, resolved not to
go to the king without his letters, but to conceal himself, and keep out
of the way.
Dionysius, therefore, came to hear of the war in Sicily from other
hands, and that a good while after. In the meantime, as Dion proceeded
in his march, the Camarineans joined his forces, and the country people
in the territory of Syracuse rose and joined him in a large body. The
Leontines and Campanians, who, with Timocrates, guarded the Epipolae,
receiving a false alarm which was spread on purpose by Dion, as if he
intended to attack their cities first, left Timocrates, and hastened off
to carry succor to their own homes. News of which being brought to Dion,
where he lay near Macrae, he raised his camp by night, and came to the
river Anapus, which is distant from the city about ten furlongs; there
he made a halt, and sacrificed by the river, offering vows to the rising
sun. The soothsayers declared that the gods promised him victory; and
they that were present, seeing him assisting at the sacrifice with a
garland on his head, one and all crowned themselves with garlands. There
were about five thousand that had joined his forces in their march; who,
though but ill-provided, with such weapons as came next to hand, made up
by zeal and courage for the want of better arms; and when once they were
told to advance, as if Dion were already conqueror, they ran forward
with shouts and acclamations, encouraging each other with the hopes of
liberty.
The most considerable men and better sort of the citizens of
Syracuse, clad all in white, met him at the gates. The populace set upon
all that were of Dionysius’s party, and principally searched for those
they called setters or informers, a number of wicked and hateful
wretches, who made it their business to go up and down the city,
thrusting themselves into all companies, that they might inform
Dionysius what men said, and how they stood affected. These were the
first that suffered, being beaten to death by the crowd. Timocrates, not
being able to force his way to the garrison that kept the castle, took
horse, and fled out of the city, filling all the places where he came
with fear and confusion, magnifying the amount of Dion’s forces, that he
might not be supposed to have deserted his charge without good reason
for it. By this time, Dion was come up, and appeared in the sight of the
people; he marched first in a rich suit of arms, and by him on one hand
his brother, Megacles, on the other, Callippus the Athenian, crowned
with garlands. Of the foreign soldiers, a hundred followed as his guard,
and their several officers led the rest in good order; the Syracusans
looking on and welcoming them, as if they believed the whole to be a
sacred and religious procession, to celebrate the solemn entrance, after
an absence of forty-eight years, of liberty and popular government.
Dion entered by the Menitid gate, and, having by sound of trumpet
quieted the noise of the people, he caused proclamation to be made, that
Dion and Megacles, who were come to overthrow the tyrannical government,
did declare the Syracusans and all other Sicilians to be free from the
tyrant. But, being desirous to harangue the people himself, he went up
through the Achradina. The citizens on each side the way brought victims
for sacrifice, set out their tables and goblets, and as he passed by
each door threw flowers and ornaments upon him, with vows and
acclamations, honoring him as a god. There was under the castle and the
Pentapyla a lofty and conspicuous sundial, which Dionysius had set up.
Getting up upon the top of that, he made an oration to the people,
calling upon them to maintain and defend their liberty; who, with great
expressions of joy and acknowledgment, created Dion and Megacles
generals, with plenary powers, joining in commission with them, at their
desire and entreaty, twenty colleagues, of whom half were of those that
had returned with them out of banishment. It seemed also to the diviners
a most happy omen, that Dion, when he made his address to the people,
had under his feet the stately monument which Dionysius had been at such
pains to erect; but because it was a sundial on which he stood when he
was made general, they expressed some fears that the great actions he
had performed might be subject to change, and admit some rapid turn and
declination of fortune.
After this, Dion, taking the Epipolae, released the citizens who were
imprisoned there, and then raised a wall to invest the castle. Seven
days after, Dionysus arrived by sea, and got into the citadel, and about
the same time came carriages bringing the arms and ammunition which Dion
had left with Synalus. These he distributed among the citizens; and the
rest that wanted furnished themselves as well as they could, and put
themselves in the condition of zealous and serviceable men-at-arms.
Dionysius sent agents, at first privately, to Dion, to try what terms
they could make with him. But he declaring that any overtures they had
to make must be made in public to the Syracusans as a free people,
envoys now went and came between the tyrant and the people, with fair
proposals, and assurances that they should have abatements of their
tributes and taxes, and freedom from the burdens of military
expeditions, all which should be made according to their own approbation
and consent with him. The Syracusans laughed at these offers, and Dion
returned answer to the envoys that Dionysius must not think to treat
with them upon any other terms but resigning the government; which if he
would actually do, he would not forget how nearly he was related to him,
or be wanting to assist him in procuring oblivion for the past, and
whatever else was reasonable and just. Dionysius seemed to consent to
this, and sent his agents again, desiring some of the Syracusans to come
into the citadel and discuss with him in person the terms to which on
each side they might be willing, after fair debate, to consent. There
were therefore some deputed, such as Dion approved of; and the general
rumor from the castle was, that Dionysius would voluntarily resign his
authority, and rather do it himself as his own good deed, than let it be
the act of Dion. But this profession was a mere trick to amuse the
Syracusans. For he put the deputies that were sent to him in custody,
and by break of day, having first, to encourage his men, made them drink
plentifully of raw wine, he sent the garrison of mercenaries out to make
a sudden sally against Dion’s works. The attack was quite unexpected,
and the barbarians set to work boldly with loud cries to pull down the
cross-wall, and assailed the Syracusans so furiously that they were not
able to maintain their post. Only a party of Dion’s hired soldiers, on
first taking the alarm, advanced to the rescue; neither did they at
first know what to do, or how to employ the aid they brought, not being
able to hear the commands of their officers, amidst the noise and
confusion of the Syracusans, who fled from the enemy and ran in among
them, breaking through their ranks, until Dion, seeing none of his
orders could be heard, resolved to let them see by example what they
ought to do, and charged into the thickest of the enemy. The fight about
him was fierce and bloody, he being as well known by the enemy as by his
own party, and all running with loud cries to the quarter where he
fought. Though his time of life was no longer that of the bodily
strength and agility for such a combat, still his determination and
courage were sufficient to maintain him against all that attacked him;
but, while bravely driving them back, he was wounded in the hand with a
lance, his body armor also had been much battered, and was scarcely any
longer serviceable to protect him, either against missiles or blows hand
to hand. Many spears and javelins had passed into it through the shield,
and, on these being broken back, he fell to the ground, but was
immediately rescued, and carried off by his soldiers. The
command-in-chief he left to Timonides, and, mounting a horse, rode about
the city, rallying the Syracusans that fled; and, ordering up a
detachment of the foreign soldiers out of Achradina, where they were
posted on guard, he brought them as a fresh reserve, eager for battle,
upon the tired and failing enemy, who were already well inclined to give
up their design. For having hopes at their first sally to retake the
whole city, when beyond their expectation they found themselves engaged
with bold and practiced fighters, they fell back towards the castle. As
soon as they gave ground, the Greek soldiers pressed the harder upon
them, till they turned and fled within the walls. There were lost in
this action seventy-four of Dion’s men, and a very great number of the
enemy. This being a signal victory, and principally obtained by the
valor of the foreign soldiers, the Syracusans rewarded them in honor of
it with a hundred minae, and the soldiers on their part presented Dion
with a crown of gold.
Soon after, there came heralds from Dionysius, bringing Dion letters
from the women of his family, and one addressed outside, “To his father,
from Hipparinus;” this was the name of Dion’s son, though Timaeus says,
he was, from his mother Arete’s name, called Aretaeus; but I think
credit is rather to be given to Timonides’s report, who was his father’s
fellow-soldier and confidant. The rest of the letters were read
publicly, containing many solicitations and humble requests of the
women; that professing to be from his son, the heralds would not have
them open publicly, but Dion, putting force upon them, broke the seal.
It was from Dionysius, written in the terms of it to Dion, but in effect
to the Syracusans, and so worded that, under a plausible justification
of himself and entreaty to him, means were taken for rendering him
suspected by the people. It reminded him of the good service he had
formerly done the usurping government, it added threats to his dearest
relations, his sister, son, and wife, if he did not comply with the
contents, also passionate demands mingled with lamentations, and, most
to the purpose of all, urgent recommendations to him not to destroy the
government, and put the power into the hands of men who always hated
him, and would never forget their old piques and quarrels; let him take
the sovereignty himself, and so secure the safety of his family and his
friends.
When this letter was read, the Syracusans were not, as they should
have been, transported with admiration at the unmovable constancy and
magnanimity of Dion, who withstood all his dearest interests to be true
to virtue and justice, but, on the contrary, they saw in this their
reason for fearing and suspecting that he lay under an invincible
necessity to be favorable to Dionysius; and they began therefore to look
out for other leaders, and the rather, because to their great joy they
received the news that Heraclides was on his way. This Heraclides was
one of those whom Dionysius had banished, very good soldier, and well
known for the commands he had formerly had under the tyrant; yet a man
of no constant purpose, of a fickle temper, and least of all to be
relied upon when he had to act with a colleague in any honorable
command. He had had a difference formerly with Dion in Peloponnesus, and
had resolved, upon his own means, with what ships and soldiers he had,
to make an attack upon Dionysius. When he arrived at Syracuse, with
seven galleys and three small vessels, he found Dionysius already close
besieged, and the Syracusans high and proud of their victories.
Forthwith, therefore, he endeavored by all ways to make himself popular;
and, indeed, he had in him naturally something that was very insinuating
and taking with a populace that loves to be courted. He gained his end,
also, the easier, and drew the people over to his side, because of the
dislike they had taken to Dion’s grave and stately manner, which they
thought overbearing and assuming; their successes having made them so
careless and confident, that they expected popular arts and flatteries
from their leaders, before they had in reality secured a popular
government.
Getting therefore together in an irregular assembly, they chose
Heraclides their admiral; but when Dion came forward, and told them,
that conferring this trust upon Heraclides was in effect to withdraw
that which they had granted him, for he was no longer their
generalissimo if another had the command of the navy, they repealed
their order, and, though much against their wills, canceled the new
appointment. When this business was over, Dion invited Heraclides to his
house, and pointed out to him, in gentle terms, that he had not acted
wisely or well to quarrel with him upon a punctilio of honor, at a time
when the least false step might be the ruin of all; and then, calling a
fresh assembly of the people, he there named Heraclides admiral, and
prevailed with the citizens to allow him a life-guard, as he himself
had.
Heraclides openly professed the highest respect for Dion, and made
him great acknowledgments for this favor, attending him with all
deference, as ready to receive his commands; but underhand he kept up
his dealings with the populace and the unrulier citizens, unsettling
their minds and disturbing them with his complaints, and putting Dion
into the utmost perplexity and disquiet. For if he advised to give
Dionysius leave to quit the castle, he would be exposed to the
imputation of sparing and protecting him; if, to avoid giving offense or
suspicion, he simply continued the siege, they would say he protracted
the war, to keep his office of general the longer, and overawe the
citizens.
There was one Sosis, notorious in the city for his bad conduct and
his impudence, yet a favorite with the people, for the very reason that
they liked to see it made a part of popular privileges to carry free
speech to this excess of license. This man, out of a design against
Dion, stood up one day in an assembly, and, having sufficiently railed
at the citizens as a set of fools, that could not see how they had made
an exchange of a dissolute and drunken for a sober and watchful
despotism, and thus having publicly declared himself Dion’s enemy, took
his leave. The next day, he was seen running through the streets, as if
he fled from some that pursued him, almost naked, wounded in the head,
and bloody all over. In this condition, getting people about him in the
marketplace, he told them that he had been assaulted by Dion’s men; and,
to confirm what he said, showed them the wounds he had received in his
head. And a good many took his part, exclaiming loudly against Dion for
his cruel and tyrannical conduct, stopping the mouths of the people by
bloodshed and peril of life. Just as an assembly was gathering in this
unsettled and tumultuous state of mind, Dion came before them, and made
it appear how this Sosis was brother to one of Dionysius’s guard, and
that he was set on by him to embroil the city in tumult and confusion;
Dionysius having now no way left for his security but to make his
advantage of their dissensions and distractions. The surgeons, also,
having searched the wound, found it was rather razed, than cut with a
downright blow; for the wounds made with a sword are, from their mere
weight, most commonly deepest in the middle, but this was very slight,
and all along of an equal depth; and it was not one continued wound, as
if cut at once, but several incisions, in all probability made at
several times, as he was able to endure the pain. There were credible
persons, also, who brought a razor, and showed it in the assembly,
stating that they met Sosis running in the street, all bloody, who told
them that he was flying from Dion’s soldiers, who had just attacked and
wounded him; they ran at once to look after them, and met no one, but
spied this razor lying under a hollow stone near the place from which
they observed he came.
Sosis was now likely to come by the worst of it. But when, to back
all this, his own servants came in, and gave evidence that he had left
his house alone before break of day, with the razor in his hand, Dion’s
accusers withdrew themselves, and the people by a general vote condemned
Sosis to die, being once again well satisfied with Dion and his
proceedings.
Yet they were still as jealous as before of his soldiers, and the
rather, because the war was now carried on principally by sea; Philistus
being come from Iapygia with a great fleet to Dionysius’s assistance.
They supposed, therefore, that there would be no longer need of the
soldiers, who were all landsmen and armed accordingly: these were
rather, indeed, they thought, in a condition to be protected by
themselves, who were seamen, and had their power in their shipping.
Their good opinion of themselves was also much enhanced by an advantage
they got in an engagement by sea, in which they took Philistus prisoner,
and used him in a barbarous and cruel manner. Ephorus relates that when
he saw his ship was taken he slew himself. But Timonides, who was with
Dion from the very first, and was present at all the events as they
occurred, writing to Speusippus the philosopher, relates the story thus:
that Philistus’s galley running aground, he was taken prisoner alive,
and first disarmed, then stripped of his corslet, and exposed naked,
being now an old man, to every kind of contumely; after which they cut
off his head, and gave his body to the boys of the town, bidding them
drag it through the Achradina, and then throw it into the Quarries.
Timaeus, to increase the mockery, adds further, that the boys tied him
by his lame leg, and so drew him through the streets, while the
Syracusans stood by laughing and jesting at the sight of that very man
thus tied and dragged about by the leg, who had told Dionysius, that, so
far from flying on horseback from Syracuse, he ought to wait till he
should be dragged out by the heels. Philistus, however, has stated, that
this was said to Dionysius by another, and not by himself.
Timaeus avails himself of this advantage, which Philistus truly
enough affords against himself in his zealous and constant adherence to
the tyranny, to vent his own spleen and malice against him. They,
indeed, who were injured by him at the time are perhaps excusable, if
they carried their resentment to the length of indignities to his dead
body; but they who write history afterwards, and were noway wronged by
him in his lifetime, and have received assistance from his writings, in
honor should not with opprobrious and scurrilous language upbraid him
for those misfortunes, which may well enough befall even the best of
men. On the other side, Ephorus is as much out of the way in his
encomiums. For, however ingenious he is in supplying unjust acts and
wicked conduct with fair and worthy motives, and in selecting decorous
and honorable terms, yet when he does his best, he does not himself
stand clear of the charge of being the greatest lover of tyrants, and
the fondest admirer of luxury and power and rich estates and alliances
of marriage with absolute princes. He that neither praises Philistus for
his conduct, nor insults over his misfortunes, seems to me to take the
fittest course.
After Philistus’s death, Dionysius sent to Dion, offering to
surrender the castle, all the arms, provisions, and garrison-soldiers,
with full pay for them for five months, demanding in return that he
might have safe conduct to go unmolested into Italy, and there to
continue, and also to enjoy the revenues of Gyarta, a large and fruitful
territory belonging to Syracuse, reaching from the sea-side to the
middle of the country. Dion rejected these proposals, and referred him
to the Syracusans. They, hoping in a short time to take Dionysius alive,
dismissed his ambassadors summarily. But he, leaving his eldest son,
Apollocrates, to defend the castle, and putting on board his ships the
persons and the property that he set most value upon, took the
opportunity of a fair wind, and made his escape, undiscovered by the
admiral Heraclides and his fleet.
The citizens loudly exclaimed against Heraclides for this neglect;
but he got one of their public speakers, Hippo by name, to go among
them, and make proposals to the assembly for a redivision of lands,
alleging that the first beginning of liberty was equality, and that
poverty and slavery were inseparable companions. In support of this,
Heraclides spoke, and used the faction in favor of it to overpower Dion,
who opposed it; and, in fine, he persuaded the people to ratify it by
their vote, and further to decree, that the foreign soldiers should
receive no pay, and that they would elect new commanders, and so be rid
of Dion’s oppression. The people, attempting, as it were, after their
long sickness of despotism, all at once to stand on their legs, and to
do the part, for which they were yet unfit, of freemen, stumbled in all
their actions; and yet hated Dion, who, like a good physician,
endeavored to keep the city to a strict and temperate regimen.
When they met in the assembly to choose their commanders, about the
middle of summer, unusual and terrible thunders, with other inauspicious
appearances, for fifteen days together, dispersed the people, deterring
them, on grounds of religious fear, from creating new generals. But, at
last, the popular leaders, having found a fair and clear day, and having
got their party together, were proceeding to an election, when a
draught-ox, who was used to the crowd and noise of the streets, but for
some reason or other grew unruly to his driver, breaking from his yoke,
ran furiously into the theater where they were assembled, and set the
people flying and running in all directions before him in the greatest
disorder and confusion; and from thence went on, leaping and rushing
about, over all that part of the city which the enemies afterwards made
themselves masters of. However, the Syracusans, not regarding all this,
elected five and twenty captains, and, among the rest, Heraclides; and
underhand tampered with Dion’s men, promising, if they would desert him,
and enlist themselves in their service, to make them citizens of
Syracuse, with all the privileges of natives. But they would not hear
the proposals, but, to show their fidelity and courage, with their
swords in their hands, placing Dion for his security in the midst of
their battalion, conveyed him out of the city, not offering violence to
anyone, but upbraiding those they met with their baseness and
ingratitude. The citizens, seeing they were but few, and did not offer
any violence, despised them; and, supposing that with their large
numbers they might with ease overpower and cut them off before they got
out of the city, fell upon them in the rear.
Here Dion was in a great strait, being necessitated either to fight
against his own countrymen, or tamely suffer himself and his faithful
soldiers to be cut in pieces. He used many entreaties to the Syracusans,
stretching out his hands towards the castle, that was full of their
enemies, and showing them the soldiers, who in great numbers appeared on
the walls and watched what was doing. But when no persuasions could
divert the impulse of the multitude, and the whole mass, like the sea in
a storm, seemed to be driven before the breath of the demagogues, he
commanded his men, not to charge them, but to advance with shouts and
clashing of their arms; which being done, not a man of them stood his
ground; all fled at once through the streets, though none pursued them.
For Dion immediately commanded his men to face about, and led them
towards the city of the Leontines.
The very women laughed at the new captains for this retreat; so to
redeem their credit, they bid the citizens arm themselves again, and
followed after Dion, and came up with him as he was passing a river.
Some of the light-horse rode up and began to skirmish. But when they saw
Dion no more tame and calm, and no signs in his face of any fatherly
tenderness towards his countrymen, but with an angry countenance, as
resolved not to suffer their indignities any longer, bidding his men
face round and form in their ranks for the onset, they presently turned
their backs more basely than before, and fled to the city, with the loss
of some few of their men.
The Leontines received Dion very honorably, gave money to his men,
and made them free of their city; sending envoys to the Syracusans, to
require them to do the soldiers justice, who, in return, sent back other
agents to accuse Dion. But when a general meeting of the confederates
met in the town of the Leontines, and the matter was heard and debated,
the Syracusans were held to be in fault. They, however, refused to stand
to the award of their allies, following their own conceit, and making it
their pride to listen to no one, and not to have any commanders but
those who would fear and obey the people.
About this time, Dionysius sent in a fleet, under the command of
Nypsius the Neapolitan, with provisions and pay for the garrison. The
Syracusans fought him, had the better, and took four of his ships; but
they made very ill use of their good success, and, for want of good
discipline, fell in their joy to drinking and feasting in an extravagant
manner, with so little regard to their main interest, that, when they
thought themselves sure of taking the castle, they actually lost their
city. Nypsius, seeing the citizens in this general disorder, spending
day and night in their drunken singing and reveling, and their
commanders well pleased with the frolic, or at least not daring to try
and give any orders to men in their drink, took advantage of this
opportunity, made a sally, and stormed their works; and, having made his
way through these, let his barbarians loose upon the city, giving up it
and all that were in it to their pleasure.
The Syracusans quickly saw their folly and misfortune, but could not,
in the distraction they were in, so soon redress it. The city was in
actual process of being sacked, the enemy putting the men to the sword,
demolishing the fortifications, and dragging the women and children with
lamentable shrieks and cries prisoners into the castle. The commanders,
giving all for lost, were not able to put the citizens in any tolerable
posture of defense, finding them confusedly mixed up and scattered among
the enemy. While they were in this condition, and the Achradina in
danger to be taken, everyone was sensible who he was in whom all their
remaining hopes rested, but no man for shame durst name Dion, whom they
had so ungratefully and foolishly dealt with. Necessity at last forcing
them, some of the auxiliary troops and horsemen cried out, “Send for
Dion and his Peloponnesians from the Leontines.” No sooner was the
venture made and the name heard among the people, but they gave a shout
for joy, and, with tears in their eyes, wished him there, that they
might once again see that leader at the head of them, whose courage and
bravery in the worst of dangers they well remembered, calling to mind
not only with what an undaunted spirit he always behaved himself, but
also with what courage and confidence he inspired them when he led them
against the enemy. They immediately, therefore, dispatched Archonides
and Telesides of the confederate troops, and of the horsemen Hellanicus
and four others. These, traversing the road between at their horses’
full speed, reached the town of the Leontines in the evening. The first
thing they did was to leap from their horses and fall at Dion’s feet,
relating with tears the sad condition the Syracusans were in. Many of
the Leontines and Peloponnesians began to throng about them, guessing by
their speed and the manner of their address that something extraordinary
had occurred.
Dion at once led the way to the assembly, and, the people being
gathered together in a very little time, Archonides and Hellanicus and
the others came in among them, and in short declared the misery and
distress of the Syracusans, begging the foreign soldiers to forget the
injuries they had received, and assist the afflicted, who had suffered
more for the wrong they had done, than they themselves who received it
would (had it been in their power) have inflicted upon them. When they
had made an end, there was a profound silence in the theater; Dion then
stood up, and began to speak, but tears stopped his words; his soldiers
were troubled at his grief, but bade him take good courage and proceed.
When he had recovered himself a little, therefore, “Men of
Peloponnesus,” he said, “and of the confederacy, I asked for your
presence here, that you might consider your own interests. For myself, I
have no interests to consult while Syracuse is perishing, and, though I
may not save it from destruction, I will nevertheless hasten thither,
and be buried in the ruins of my country. Yet if you can find in your
hearts to assist us, the most inconsiderate and unfortunate of men, you
may to your eternal honor again retrieve this unhappy city. But if the
Syracusans can obtain no more pity nor relief from you, may the gods
reward you for what you have formerly valiantly done for them, and for
your kindness to Dion, of whom speak hereafter as one who deserted you
not when you were injured and abused, nor afterwards forsook his
fellow-citizens in their afflictions and misfortunes.”
Before he had yet ended his speech, the soldiers leapt up, and with a
great shout testified their readiness for the service, crying out, to
march immediately to the relief of the city. The Syracusan messengers
hugged and embraced them, praying the Gods to send down blessings upon
Dion and the Peloponnesians. When the noise was pretty well over, Dion
gave orders that all should go to their quarters to prepare for their
march, and, having refreshed themselves, come ready armed to their
rendezvous in the place where they now were, resolving that very night
to attempt the rescue.
Now at Syracuse, Dionysius’s soldiers, as long as day continued,
ransacked the city, and did all the mischief they could; but when night
came on, they retired into the castle, having lost some few of their
number. At which the factious ringleaders taking heart, and hoping the
enemy would rest content with what they had done and make no further
attempt upon them, persuaded the people again to reject Dion, and, if he
came with the foreign soldiers, not to admit him; advising them not to
yield, as inferior to them in point of honor and courage, but to save
their city and defend their liberties and properties themselves. The
populace, therefore, and their leaders sent messengers to Dion to forbid
him to advance, while the noble citizens and the horse sent others to
him to desire him to hasten his march; for which reason he slacked his
pace, yet did not remit his advance. And in the course of the night, the
faction that was against him set a guard upon the gates of the city to
hinder him from coming in. But Nypsius made another sally out of the
castle with a far greater number of men, and those far more bold and
eager than before, who quite ruined what of the rampart was left
standing, and fell in, pell-mell, to sack and ravage the city. The
slaughter was now very great, not only of the men, but of the women also
and children; for they regarded not so much the plunder, as to destroy
and kill all they met. For Dionysius, despairing to regain the kingdom,
and mortally hating the Syracusans, resolved to bury his lost
sovereignty in the ruin and desolation of Syracuse. The soldiers,
therefore, to anticipate Dion’s succors, resolved upon the most complete
and ready way of destruction, to lay the city in ashes, firing all at
hand with torches and lamps, and at distance with flaming arrows, shot
from their bows. The citizens fled every way before them; they who, to
avoid the fire, forsook their houses were taken in the streets and put
to the sword; they who betook themselves for refuge into the houses were
forced out again by the flames, many buildings being now in a blaze, and
many falling in ruins upon them as they fled past.
This fresh misfortune by general consent opened the gates for Dion.
He had given up his rapid advance, when he received advice that the
enemies were retreated into the castle; but, in the morning, some horse
brought him the news of another assault, and, soon after, some of those
who before opposed his coming fled now to him, to entreat him he would
hasten his relief. The pressure increasing, Heraclides sent his brother,
and after him his uncle, Theodotes, to beg him to help them: for that
now they were not able to resist any longer; he himself was wounded, and
the greatest part of the city either in ruins or in flames. When Dion
met this sad news, he was about sixty furlongs distant from the city.
When he had acquainted the soldiers with the exigency, and exhorted them
to behave themselves like men, the army no longer marched but ran
forwards, and by the way were met by messengers upon messengers
entreating them to make haste. By the wonderful eagerness of the
soldiers and their extraordinary speed, Dion quickly came to the city
and entered what is called the Hecatompedon, sending his light-armed men
at once to charge the enemy, that, seeing them, the Syracusans might
take courage. In the meantime, he drew up in good order his full-armed
men and all the citizens that came in and joined him; forming his
battalions deep, and distributing his officers in many separate
commands, that he might, be able to attack from many quarters at once,
and so he more alarming to the enemy.
So, having made his arrangements and offered vows to the gods, when
he was seen in the streets advancing at the head of his men to engage
the enemy, a confused noise of shouts, congratulations, vows, and
prayers was raised by the Syracusans, who now called Dion their
deliverer and tutelar deity, and his soldiers their friends, brethren,
and fellow-citizens. And, indeed, at that moment, none seemed to regard
themselves, or value their safeties, but to be concerned more for Dion’s
life than for all their own together, as he marched at the head of them
to meet the danger, through blood and fire and over heaps of dead bodies
that lay in his way.
And indeed the posture of the enemy was in appearance terrible; for
they were flushed and ferocious with victory, and had posted themselves
very advantageously along the demolished works, which made the access to
them very hazardous and difficult. Yet that which disturbed Dion’s
soldiers most was the apprehension they were in of the fire, which made
their march very trouble some and difficult; for the houses being in
flames on al] sides, they were met everywhere with the blaze, and,
treading upon burning ruins and every minute in danger of being
overwhelmed with falling houses, through clouds of ashes and smoke they
labored hard to keep their order and maintain their ranks. When they
came near to the enemy, the approach was so narrow and uneven that but
few of them could engage at a time; but at length, with loud cheers and
much zeal on the part of the Syracusans, encouraging them and joining
with them, they beat off Nypsius’s men, and put them to flight. Most of
them escaped into the castle, which was near at hand; all that could not
get in were pursued and picked up here and there by the soldiers, and
put to the sword. The present exigency, however, did not suffer the
citizens to take immediate benefit of their victory in such mutual
congratulations and embraces as became so great a success; for now all
were busily employed to save what houses were left standing, laboring
hard all night, and scarcely so could master the fire.
The next day, not one of the popular haranguers durst stay in the
city, but all of them, knowing their own guilt, by their flight
confessed it, and secured their lives. Only Heraclides and Theodotes
went voluntarily and surrendered themselves to Dion, acknowledging that
they had wronged him, and begging he would be kinder to them than they
had been just to him; adding, how much it would become him who was
master of so many excellent accomplishments, to moderate his anger and
be generously compassionate to ungrateful men, who were here before him,
making their confession, that, in all the matter of their former enmity
and rivalry against him, they were now absolutely overcome by his
virtue. Though they thus humbly addressed him, his friends advised him
not to pardon these turbulent and ill-conditioned men, but to yield them
to the desires of his soldiers, and utterly root out of the commonwealth
the ambitious affectation of popularity, a disease as pestilent and
pernicious as the passion for tyranny itself. Dion endeavored to satisfy
them, telling them that other generals exercised and trained themselves
for the most part in the practices of war and arms; but that he had long
studied in the Academy how to conquer anger, and not let emulation and
envy conquer him; that to do this it is not sufficient that a man be
obliging and kind to his friends, and those that have deserved well of
him, but rather, gentle and ready to forgive in the case of those who do
wrong; that he wished to let the world see that he valued not himself so
much upon excelling Heraclides in ability and conduct, as he did in
outdoing him in justice and clemency; herein to have the advantage is to
excel indeed; whereas the honor of success in war is never entire;
fortune will be sure to dispute it, though no man should pretend to have
a claim. What if Heraclides be perfidious, malicious, and base, must
Dion therefore sully or injure his virtue by passionate concern for it?
For, though the laws determine it juster to revenge an injury than to do
an injury, yet it is evident that both, in the nature of things,
originally proceed from the same deficiency and weakness. The malicious
humor of men, though perverse and refractory, is not so savage and
invincible but it may be wrought upon by kindness, and altered by
repeated obligations. Dion, making use of these arguments, pardoned and
dismissed Heraclides and Theodotes.
And now, resolving to repair the blockade about the castle, he
commanded all the Syracusans to cut each man a stake and bring it to the
works; and then, dismissing them to refresh themselves, and take their
rest, he employed his own men all night, and by morning had finished his
line of palisade; so that both the enemy and the citizens wondered, when
day returned, to see the work so far advanced in so short a time.
Burying therefore the dead, and redeeming the prisoners, who were near
two thousand, he called a public assembly, where Heraclides made a
motion that Dion should be declared general with full powers at land and
sea. The better citizens approved well of it, and called on the people
to vote it so. But the mob of sailors and handicraftsmen would not yield
that Heraclides should lose his command of the navy; believing him, if
otherwise an ill man, at any rate to be more citizenlike than Dion, and
readier to comply with the people. Dion therefore submitted to them in
this, and consented Heraclides should continue admiral. But when they
began to press the project of the redistribution of lands and houses, he
not only opposed it, but repealed all the votes they had formerly made
upon that account, which sensibly vexed them. Heraclides, therefore,
took a new advantage of him, and, being at Messene, harangued the
soldiers and ships’ crews that sailed with him, accusing Dion that he
had a design to make himself absolute. And yet at the same time he held
private correspondence for a treaty with Dionysius by means of Pharax
the Spartan. Which when the noble citizens of Syracuse had intimation
of, there arose a sedition in the army, and the city was in great
distress and want of provisions; and Dion now knew not what course to
take, being also blamed by all his friends for having thus fortified
against himself such a perverse and jealous and utterly corrupted man as
Heraclides was.
Pharax at this time lay encamped at Neapolis, in the territory of
Agrigentum. Dion, therefore, led out the Syracusans, but with an intent
not to engage him till he saw a fit opportunity. But Heraclides and his
seamen exclaimed against him, that he delayed fighting on purpose that
he might the longer continue his command; so that, much against his
will, he was forced to an engagement and was beaten, his loss however
being inconsiderable, and that occasioned chiefly by the dissension that
was in the army. He rallied his men, and, having put them in good order
and encouraged them to redeem their credit, resolved upon a second
battle. But, in the evening, he received advice that Heraclides with his
fleet was on his way to Syracuse, with the purpose to possess himself of
the city and keep him and his army out. Instantly, therefore, taking
with him some of the strongest and most active of his men, he rode off
in the dark, and about nine the next morning was at the gates, having
ridden seven hundred furlongs that night. Heraclides, though he strove
to make all the speed he could, yet, coming too late, tacked and stood
out again to sea; and, being unresolved what course to steer,
accidentally he met Gaesylus the Spartan, who told him he was come from
Lacedaemon to head the Sicilians, as Gylippus had formerly done.
Heraclides was only too glad to get hold of him, and fastening him as it
might be a sort of amulet to himself, he showed him to the confederates,
and sent a herald to Syracuse to summon them to accept the Spartan
general. Dion returned answer that they had generals enough, and, if
they wanted a Spartan to command them, he could supply that office,
being himself a citizen of Sparta. When Gaesylus saw this, he gave up
all pretensions, and sailed in to Dion, and reconciled Heraclides to
him, making Heraclides swear the most solemn oaths to perform what he
engaged, Gaesylus himself also undertaking to maintain Dion’s right, and
inflict chastisement on Heraclides if he broke his faith.
The Syracusans then laid up their navy, which was at present a great
charge and of little use to them, but an occasion of differences and
dissensions among the generals, and pressed on the siege, finishing the
wall of blockade with which they invested the castle. The besieged,
seeing no hopes of succors and their provisions failing, began to
mutiny; so that the son of Dionysius, in despair of holding out longer
for his father, capitulated, and articled with Dion to deliver up the
castle with all the garrison soldiers and ammunition; and so, taking his
mother and sisters and manning five galleys, he set out to go to his
father, Dion seeing him safely out, and scarce a man in all the city not
being there to behold the sight, as indeed they called even on those
that were not present, out of pity that they could not be there, to see
this happy day and the sun shining on a free Syracuse. And as this
expulsion of Dionysius is even now always cited as one of the greatest
and most remarkable examples of fortune’s vicissitudes, how
extraordinary may we imagine their joy to have been, and how entire
their satisfaction, who had totally subverted the most potent tyranny
that ever was by very slight and inconsiderable means!
When Apollocrates was gone, and Dion coming to take possession of the
castle, the women could not stay while he made his entry, but ran to
meet him at the gate. Aristomache led Dion’s son, and Arete followed
after weeping, fearful and dubious how to salute or address her husband,
after living with another man. Dion first embraced his sister, then his
son; when Aristomache bringing Arete to him, “O Dion,” said she, “your
banishment made us all equally miserable; your return and victory has
canceled all sorrows, excepting this poor sufferer’s, whom I, unhappy,
saw compelled to be another’s, while you were yet alive. Fortune has now
given you the sole disposal of us; how will you determine concerning her
hard fate? In what relation must she salute you as her uncle, or as her
husband?” This speech of Aristomache’s brought tears from Dion, who with
great affection embraced his wife, gave her his son, and desired her to
retire to his own house, where he continued to reside when he had
delivered up the castle to the Syracusans.
For though all things had now succeeded to his wish, yet he desired
not to enjoy any present advantage of his good fortune, except to
gratify his friends, reward his allies, and bestow upon his companions
of former time in Athens and the soldiers that had served him some
special mark of kindness and honor, striving herein to outdo his very
means in his generosity. As for himself, he was content with a very
frugal and moderate competency, and was indeed the wonder of all men,
that when not only Sicily and Carthage, but all Greece looked to him as
in the height of prosperity, and no man living greater than he, no
general more renowned for valor and success, yet in his garb, his
attendance, his table, he seemed as if he rather commoned with Plato in
the Academy than lived among hired captains and paid soldiers, whose
solace of their toils and dangers it is to eat and drink their fill, and
enjoy themselves plentifully every day. Plato indeed wrote to him that
the eyes of all the world were now upon him; but it is evident that he
himself had fixed his eye upon one place in one city, the Academy, and
considered that the spectators and judges there regarded not great
actions, courage, or fortune, but watched to see how temperately and
wisely he could use his prosperity, how evenly he could behave himself
in the high condition he now was in. Neither did he remit anything of
his wonted stateliness in conversation or serious carriage to the
people; he made it rather a point to maintain it, notwithstanding that a
little condescension and obliging civility were very necessary for his
present affairs; and Plato, as we said before, rebuked him, and wrote to
tell him that self-will keeps house with solitude. But certainly his
natural temperament was one that could not bend to complaisance; and,
besides, he wished to work the Syracusans back the other way, out of
their present excess of license and caprice.
Heraclides began again to set up against him, and, being invited by
Dion to make one of the Council, refused to come, saying he would give
his opinion as a private citizen in the public assembly. Next he
complained of Dion because he had not demolished the citadel, and
because he had hindered the people from throwing down Dionysius’s tomb
and doing despite to the dead; moreover he accused him for sending to
Corinth for counselors and assistants in the government, thereby
neglecting and slighting his fellow-citizens. And indeed he had sent
messages for some Corinthians to come to him, hoping by their means and
presence the better to settle that constitution he intended; for he
designed to suppress the unlimited democratic government, which indeed
is not a government, but, as Plato calls it, a marketplace of
governments, and to introduce and establish a mixed polity, on the
Spartan and Cretan model, between a commonwealth and a monarchy, wherein
an aristocratic body should preside, and determine all matters of
greatest consequence; for he saw also that the Corinthians were chiefly
governed by something like an oligarchy, and the people but little
concerned in public business.
Now knowing that Heraclides would be his most considerable adversary,
and that in all ways he was a turbulent, fickle, and factious man, he
gave way to some whom formerly he hindered when they designed to kill
him, who, breaking in, murdered Heraclides in his own house. His death
was much resented by the citizens. Nevertheless, when Dion made him a
splendid funeral, followed the dead body with all his soldiers, and then
addressed them, they understood that it would have been impossible to
have kept the city quiet, as long as Dion and Heraclides were
competitors in the government.
Dion had a friend called Callippus, an Athenian, who, Plato says,
first made acquaintance and afterwards obtained familiarity with him,
not from any connection with his philosophic studies, but on occasion
afforded by the celebration of the mysteries, and in the way of ordinary
society. This man went with him in all his military service, and was in
great honor and esteem; being the first of his friends who marched by
his side into Syracuse, wearing a garland upon his head, having behaved
himself very well in all the battles, and made himself remarkable for
his gallantry. He, finding that Dion’s principal and most considerable
friends were cut off in the war, Heraclides now dead, and the people
without a leader, and that the soldiers had a great kindness for him,
like a perfidious and wicked villain, in hopes to get the chief command
of Sicily as his reward for the ruin of his friend and benefactor, and,
as some say, being also bribed by the enemy with twenty talents to
destroy Dion, inveigled and engaged several of the soldiers in a
conspiracy against him, taking this cunning and wicked occasion for his
plot. He daily informed Dion of what he heard or what he feigned the
soldiers said against him; whereby he gained that credit and confidence,
that he was allowed by Dion to consort privately with whom he would, and
talk freely against him in any company, that he might discover who were
his secret and factious maligners. By this means, Callippus in a short
time got together a cabal of all the seditious malcontents in the city;
and if anyone who would not be drawn in advised Dion that he was
tampered with, he was not troubled or concerned at it, believing
Callippus did it in compliance with his directions.
While this conspiracy was afoot, a strange and dreadful apparition
was seen by Dion. As he sat one evening in a gallery in his house alone
and thoughtful, hearing a sudden noise he turned about, and saw at the
end of the colonnade, by clear daylight, a tall woman, in her
countenance and garb like one of the tragical Furies, with a broom in
her hand, sweeping the floor. Being amazed and extremely affrighted, he
sent for some of his friends, and told them what he had seen, entreating
them to stay with him and keep him company all night; for he was
excessively discomposed and alarmed, fearing that if he were left alone
the specter would again appear to him. He saw it no more. But a few days
after, his only son, being almost grown up to man’s estate, upon some
displeasure and pet he had taken upon a childish and frivolous occasion,
threw himself headlong from the top of the house and broke his neck.
While Dion was under this affliction, Callippus drove on his
conspiracy, and spread a rumor among the Syracusans, that Dion, being
now childless, was resolved to send for Dionysius’s son, Apollocrates,
who was his wife’s nephew and sister’s grandson, and make him his heir
and successor. By this time, Dion and his wife and sister began to
suspect what was doing, and from all hands information came to them of
the plot. Dion, being troubled, it is probable, for Heraclides’s murder,
which was like to be a blot and stain upon his life and actions, in
continual weariness and vexation, declared he had rather die a thousand
times, and open his breast himself to the assassin, than live not only
in fear of his enemies but suspicion of his friends. But Callippus,
seeing the women very inquisitive to search to the bottom of the
business, took alarm, and came to them, utterly denying it with tears in
his eyes, and offering to give them whatever assurances of his fidelity
they desired. They required that he should take the Great Oath, which
was after this manner. The juror went into the sanctuary of Ceres and
Proserpine, where, after the performance of some ceremonies, he was clad
in the purple vestment of the goddess, and, holding a lighted torch in
his hand, took his oath. Callippus did as they required, and forswore
the fact. And indeed he so little valued the goddesses, that he stayed
but till the very festival of Proserpine, by whom he had sworn, and on
that very day committed his intended murder; as truly he might well
enough disregard the day, since he must at any other time as impiously
offend her, when he who had acted as her initiating priest should shed
the blood of her worshiper.
There were a great many in the conspiracy; and as Dion was at home
with several of his friends in a room with tables for entertainment in
it, some of the conspirators beset the house around, others secured the
doors and windows. The actual intended murderers were some Zacynthians,
who went inside in their under-dresses without swords. Those outside
shut the doors upon them and kept them fast. The murderers fell on Dion,
endeavoring to stifle and crush him; then, finding they were doing
nothing, they called for a sword, but none durst open the door. There
were a great many within with Dion, but everyone was for securing
himself, supposing that by letting him lose his life he should save his
own, and therefore no man ventured to assist him. When they had waited a
good while, at length Lycon the Syracusan reached a short sword in at
the window to one of the Zacynthians, and thus, like a victim at a
sacrifice, this long time in their power, and trembling for the blow,
they killed him. His sister, and wife big with child, they hurried to
prison, who poor lady, in her unfortunate condition was there brought to
bed of a son, which, by the consent of the keepers, they intended to
bring up, the rather because Callippus began already to be embroiled in
troubles.
After the murder of Dion, he was in great glory, and had the sole
government of Syracuse in his hands; and to that effect wrote to Athens,
a place which, next the immortal gods, being guilty of such an
abominable crime, he ought to have regarded with shame and fear. But
true it is, what is said of that city, that the good men she breeds are
the most excellent, and the bad the most notorious; as their country
also produces the most delicious honey and the most deadly hemlock.
Callippus, however, did not long continue to scandalize fortune and
upbraid the gods with his prosperity, as though they connived at and
bore with the wretched man, while he purchased riches and power by
heinous impieties, but he quickly received the punishment he deserved.
For, going to take Catana, he lost Syracuse; whereupon they report he
said, he had lost a city and got a bauble. Then, attempting Messena, he
had most of his men cut off, and, among the rest, Dion’s murderers. When
no city in Sicily would admit him, but all hated and abhorred him, he
went into Italy and took Rhegium; and there, being in distress and not
able to maintain his soldiers, he was killed by Leptines and
Polysperchon, and, as fortune would have it with the same sword by which
Dion was murdered, which was known by the size, being but short, as the
Spartan swords, and the workmanship of it very curious and artificial.
Thus Callippus received the reward of his villanies.
When Aristomache and Arete were released out of prison, Hicetes, one
of Dion’s friends, took them to his house, and seemed to intend to
entertain them well and like a faithful friend. Afterwards, being
persuaded by Dion’s enemies, he provided a ship and pretended to send
them into Peloponnesus, but commanded the sailors, when they came out to
sea, to kill them and throw them overboard. Others say that they and the
little boy were thrown alive into the sea. This man also escaped not the
due recompense of his wickedness, for he was taken by Timoleon and put
to death, and the Syracusans, to revenge Dion, slew his two daughters;
of all which I have given a more particular account in the life of
Timoleon.
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Marcus Brutus
Marcus Brutus was descended from that Junius Brutus to whom the
ancient Romans erected a statue of brass in the capitol among the images
of their kings with a drawn sword in his hand, in remembrance of his
courage and resolution in expelling the Tarquins and destroying the
monarchy. But that ancient Brutus was of a severe and inflexible nature,
like steel of too hard a temper, and having never had his character
softened by study and thought, he let himself be so far transported with
his rage and hatred against tyrants, that, for conspiring with them, he
proceeded to the execution even of his own sons. But this Brutus, whose
life we now write, having to the goodness of his disposition added the
improvements of learning and the study of philosophy, and having stirred
up his natural parts, of themselves grave and gentle, by applying
himself to business and public affairs, seems to have been of a temper
exactly framed for virtue; insomuch that they who were most his enemies
upon account of his conspiracy against Caesar, if in that whole affair
there was any honorable or generous part, referred it wholly to Brutus,
and laid whatever was barbarous and cruel to the charge of Cassius,
Brutus’s connection and familiar friend, but not his equal in honesty
and pureness of purpose. His mother, Servilia, was of the family of
Servilius Ahala, who, when Spurius Maelius worked the people into a
rebellion and designed to make himself king, taking a dagger under his
arm, went forth into the marketplace, and, upon presence of having some
private business with him, came up close to him, and, as he bent his
head to hear what he had to say, struck him with his dagger and slew
him. And thus much, as concerns his descent by the mother’s side, is
confessed by all; but as for his father’s family, they who for Caesar’s
murder bore any hatred or ill-will to Brutus say that he came not from
that Brutus who expelled the Tarquins, there being none of his race left
after the execution of his two sons; but that his ancestor was a
plebeian, son of one Brutus, a steward, and only rose in the latest
times to office or dignity in the commonwealth. But Posidonius the
philosopher writes that it is true indeed what the history relates, that
two of the sons of Brutus who were of men’s estate were put to death,
but that a third, yet an infant, was left alive, from whom the family
was propagated down to Marcus Brutus; and further, that there were
several famous persons of this house in his time whose looks very much
resembled the statue of Junius Brutus. But of this subject enough.
Cato the philosopher was brother to Servilia, the mother of Brutus,
and he it was whom of all the Romans his nephew most admired and studied
to imitate, and he afterwards married his daughter Porcia. Of all the
sects of the Greek philosophers, though there was none of which he had
not been a hearer and in which he had not made some proficiency, yet he
chiefly esteemed the Platonists; and, not much approving of the modern
and middle Academy, as it is called, he applied himself to the study of
the ancient. He was all his lifetime a great admirer of Antiochus of the
city of Ascalon, and took his brother Aristus into his own house for his
friend and companion, a man for his learning inferior indeed to many of
the philosophers, but for the evenness of his temper and steadiness of
his conduct equal to the best. As for Empylus, of whom he himself and
his friends often make mention in their epistles, as one that lived with
Brutus, he was a rhetorician, and has left behind him a short but
well-written history of the death of Caesar, entitled Brutus.
In Latin, he had by exercise attained a sufficient skill to be able
to make public addresses and to plead a cause; but in Greek, he must be
noted for affecting the sententious and short Laconic way of speaking in
sundry passages of his epistles; as when, in the beginning of the war,
he wrote thus to the Pergamenians: “I hear you have given Dolabella
money; if willingly, you must own you have injured me; if unwillingly,
show it by giving willingly to me.” And another time to the Samians:
“Your counsels are remiss and your performances slow: what think ye will
be the end?” And of the Patareans thus: “The Xanthians, suspecting my
kindness, have made their country the grave of their despair; the
Patareans, trusting themselves to me, enjoy in all points their former
liberty; it is in your power to choose the judgment of the Patareans or
the fortune of the Xanthians.” And this is the style for which some of
his letters are to be noted.
When he was but a very young man, he accompanied his uncle Cato, to
Cyprus, when he was sent there against Ptolemy. But when Ptolemy killed
himself, Cato, being by some necessary business detained in the isle of
Rhodes, had already sent one of his friends, named Canidius, to take
into his care and keeping the treasure of the king; but presently, not
feeling sure of his honesty, he wrote to Brutus to sail immediately for
Cyprus out of Pamphylia, where he then was staying to refresh himself,
being but just recovered of a fit of sickness. He obeyed his orders, but
with a great deal of unwillingness, as well out of respect to Canidius,
who was thrown out of this employment by Cato with so much disgrace, as
also because he esteemed such a commission mean, and unsuitable to him,
who was in the prime of his youth, and given to books and study.
Nevertheless, applying himself to the business, he behaved himself so
well in it that he was highly commended by Cato, and, having turned all
the goods of Ptolemy into ready money, he sailed with the greatest part
of it in his own ship to Rome.
But upon the general separation into two factions, when, Pompey and
Caesar taking up arms against one another, the whole empire was turned
into confusion, it was commonly believed that he would take Caesar’s
side; for his father in past time had been put to death by Pompey. But
he, thinking it his duty to prefer the interest of the public to his own
private feelings, and judging Pompey’s to be the better cause, took part
with him; though formerly he used not so much as to salute or take any
notice of Pompey, if he happened to meet him, esteeming it a pollution
to have the least conversation with the murderer of his father. But now,
looking upon him as the general of his country, he placed himself under
his command, and set sail for Cilicia in quality of lieutenant to
Sestius, who had the government of that province. But finding no
opportunity there of doing any great service, and hearing that Pompey
and Caesar were now near one another and preparing for the battle upon
which all depended, he came of his own accord to Macedonia to partake in
the danger. At his coming it is said that Pompey was so surprised and so
pleased, that, rising from his chair in the sight of all who were about
him, he saluted and embraced him, as one of the chiefest of his party.
All the time that he was in the camp, excepting that which he spent in
Pompey’s company, he employed in reading and in study, which he did not
neglect even the day before the great battle. It was the middle of
summer, and the heat was very great, the camp having been pitched near
some marshy ground, and the people that carried Brutus’s tent were a
long while before they came. Yet though upon these accounts he was
extremely harassed and out of order, having scarcely by the middle of
the day anointed himself and eaten a sparing meal, whilst most others
were either laid to sleep or taken up with the thoughts and
apprehensions of what would be the issue of the fight, he spent his time
until the evening in writing an epitome of Polybius.
It is said that Caesar had so great a regard for him that he ordered
his commanders by no means to kill Brutus in the battle, but to spare
him, if possible, and bring him safe to him, if he would willingly
surrender himself; but if he made any resistance, to suffer him to
escape rather than do him any violence. And this he is believed to have
done out of a tenderness to Servilia, the mother of Brutus; for Caesar
had, it seems, in his youth been very intimate with her, and she
passionately in love with him; and, considering that Brutus was born
about that time in which their loves were at the highest, Caesar had a
belief that he was his own child. The story is told, that when the great
question of the conspiracy of Catiline, which had like to have been the
destruction of the commonwealth, was debated in the senate, Cato and
Caesar were both standing up, contending together on the decision to be
come to; at which time a little note was delivered to Caesar from
without, which he took and read silently to himself. Upon this, Cato
cried out aloud, and accused Caesar of holding correspondence with and
receiving letters from the enemies of the commonwealth; and when many
other senators exclaimed against it, Caesar delivered the note as he had
received it to Cato, who reading it found it to be a love-letter from
his own sister Servilia, and threw it back again to Caesar with the
words, “Keep it, you drunkard,” and returned to the subject of the
debate. So public and notorious was Servilia’s love to Caesar.
After the great overthrow at Pharsalia, Pompey himself having made
his escape to the sea, and Caesar’s army storming the camp, Brutus stole
privately out by one of the gates leading to marshy ground full of water
and covered with reeds, and, traveling through the night, got safe to
Larissa. From Larissa he wrote to Caesar, who expressed a great deal of
joy to hear that he was safe, and, bidding him come, not only forgave
him freely, but honored and esteemed him among his chiefest friends. Now
when nobody could give any certain account which way Pompey had fled,
Caesar took a little journey alone with Brutus, and tried what was his
opinion herein, and after some discussion which passed between them,
believing that Brutus’s conjecture was the right one, laying aside all
other thoughts, he set out directly to pursue him towards Egypt. But
Pompey, having reached Egypt, as Brutus guessed his design was to do,
there met his fate.
Brutus in the meantime gained Caesar’s forgiveness for his friend
Cassius; and pleading also in defense of the king of the Lybians, though
he was overwhelmed with the greatness of the crimes alleged against him,
yet by his entreaties and deprecations to Caesar in his behalf, he
preserved to him a great part of his kingdom. It is reported that
Caesar, when he first heard Brutus speak in public, said to his friends,
“I know not what this young man intends, but, whatever he intends, he
intends vehemently.” For his natural firmness of mind, not easily
yielding, or complying in favor of everyone that entreated his kindness,
once set into action upon motives of right reason and deliberate moral
choice, whatever direction it thus took, it was pretty sure to take
effectively, and to work in such a way as not to fail in its object. No
flattery could ever prevail with him to listen to unjust petitions; and
he held that to be overcome by the importunities of shameless and
fawning entreaties, though some compliment it with the name of modesty
and bashfulness, was the worst disgrace a great man could suffer. And he
used to say, that he always felt as if they who could deny nothing could
not have behaved well in the flower of their youth.
Caesar, being about to make his expedition into Africa against Cato
and Scipio, committed to Brutus the government of Cisalpine Gaul, to the
great happiness and advantage of that province. For while people in
other provinces were in distress with the violence and avarice of their
governors, and suffered as much oppression as if they had been slaves
and captives of war, Brutus, by his easy government, actually made them
amends for their calamities under former rulers, directing moreover all
their gratitude for his good deeds to Caesar himself; insomuch that it
was a most welcome and pleasant spectacle to Caesar, when in his return
he passed through Italy, to see the cities that were under Brutus’s
command and Brutus himself increasing his honor and joining agreeably in
his progress.
Now several praetorships being vacant, it was all men’s opinion, that
that of the chiefest dignity, which is called the praetorship of the
city, would be conferred either upon Brutus or Cassius; and some say
that, there having been some little difference upon former accounts
between them, this competition set them much more at variance, though
they were connected in their families, Cassius having married Junia, the
sister of Brutus. Others say that the contention was raised between them
by Caesar’s doing, who had privately given each of them such hopes of
his favor as led them on, and provoked them at last into this open
competition and trial of their interest. Brutus had only the reputation
of his honor and virtue to oppose to the many and gallant actions
performed by Cassius against the Parthians. But Caesar, having heard
each side, and deliberating about the matter among his friends, said,
“Cassius has the stronger plea, but we must let Brutus be first
praetor.” So another praetorship was given to Cassius; the gaining of
which could not so much oblige him, as he was incensed for the loss of
the other. And in all other things Brutus was partaker of Caesar’s power
as much as he desired; for he might, if he had pleased, have been the
chief of all his friends, and had authority and command beyond them all,
but Cassius and the company he met with him drew him off from Caesar.
Indeed, he was not yet wholly reconciled to Cassius, since that
competition which was between them; but yet he gave ear to Cassius’s
friends, who were perpetually advising him not to be so blind as to
suffer himself to be softened and won upon by Caesar, but to shun the
kindness and favors of a tyrant, which they intimated that Caesar showed
him, not to express any honor to his merit or virtue, but to unbend his
strength, and undermine his vigor of purpose.
Neither was Caesar wholly without suspicion of him nor wanted
informers that accused Brutus to him; but he feared, indeed, the high
spirit and the great character and the friends that he had, but thought
himself secure in his moral disposition. When it was told him that
Antony and Dolabella designed some disturbance, “It is not,” said he,
“the fat and the long-haired men that I fear, but the pale and the
lean,” meaning Brutus and Cassius. And when some maligned Brutus to him,
and advised him to beware of him, taking hold of his flesh with his
hand, “What,” he said, “do you think that Brutus will not wait out the
time of this little body?” as if he thought none so fit to succeed him
in his power as Brutus. And indeed it seems to be without doubt that
Brutus might have been the first man in the commonwealth, if he had had
patience but a little time to be second to Caesar, and would have
suffered his power to decline after it was come to its highest pitch,
and the fame of his great actions to die away by degrees. But Cassius, a
man of a fierce disposition, and one that out of private malice, rather
than love of the public, hated Caesar, not the tyrant, continually fired
and stirred him up. Brutus felt the rule an oppression, but Cassius
hated the ruler; and, among other reasons on which he grounded his
quarrel against Caesar, the loss of his lions which he had procured when
he was aedile elect was one: for Caesar, finding these in Megara, when
that city was taken by Calenus, seized them to himself. These beasts,
they say, were a great calamity to the Megarians; for, when their city
was just taken, they broke open the lions’ dens, and pulled off their
chains and let them loose, that they might run upon the enemy that was
entering the city; but the lions turned upon them themselves, and tore
to pieces a great many unarmed persons running about, so that it was a
miserable spectacle even to their enemies to behold.
And this, some say, was the chief provocation that stirred up Cassius
to conspire against Caesar; but they are much in the wrong. For Cassius
had from his youth a natural hatred and rancor against the whole race of
tyrants, which he showed when he was but a boy, and went to the same
school with Faustus, the son of Sylla; for, on his boasting himself
amongst the boys, and extolling the sovereign power of his father,
Cassius rose up and struck him two or three boxes on the ear; which when
the guardians and relations of Faustus designed to inquire into and to
prosecute, Pompey forbade them, and, sending for both the boys together,
examined the matter himself. And Cassius then is reported to have said
thus, “Come, then, Faustus, dare to speak here those words that provoked
me, that I may strike you again as I did before.” Such was the
disposition of Cassius.
But Brutus was roused up and pushed on to the undertaking by many
persuasions of his familiar friends, and letters and invitations from
unknown citizens. For under the statue of his ancestor Brutus, that
overthrew the kingly government, they wrote the words, “O that we had a
Brutus now!” and, “O that Brutus were alive!” And Brutus’s own tribunal,
on which he sat as praetor, was filled each morning with writings such
as these: “You are asleep, Brutus,” and, “You are not a true Brutus.”
Now the flatterers of Caesar were the occasion of all this, who, among
other invidious honors which they strove to fasten upon Caesar, crowned
his statues by night with diadems, wishing to incite the people to
salute him king instead of dictator. But quite the contrary came to
pass, as I have more particularly related in the life of Caesar.
When Cassius went about soliciting friends to engage in this design
against Caesar, all whom he tried readily consented, if Brutus would be
head of it; for their opinion was that the enterprise wanted not hands
or resolution, but the reputation and authority of a man such as he was,
to give as it were the first religious sanction, and by his presence, if
by nothing else, to justify the undertaking; that without him they
should go about this action with less heart, and should lie under
greater suspicions when they had done it, for, if their cause had been
just and honorable, people would be sure that Brutus would not have
refused it. Cassius, having considered these things with himself, went
to Brutus, and made him the first visit after their falling out; and
after the compliments of reconciliation had passed, and former
kindnesses were renewed between them, he asked him if he designed to be
present in the senate on the Calends of March, for it was discoursed, he
said, that Caesar’s friends intended then to move that he might be made
king. When Brutus answered, that he would not be there, “But what,” says
Cassius, “if they should send for us?” “It will be my business then,”
replied Brutus, “not to hold my peace, but to stand up boldly, and die
for the liberty of my country.” To which Cassius with some emotion
answered, “But what Roman will suffer you to die? What, do you not know
yourself, Brutus? Or do you think that those writings that you find upon
your praetor’s seat were put there by weavers and shopkeepers, and not
by the first and most powerful men of Rome? From other praetors, indeed,
they expect largesses and shows and gladiators, but from you they claim,
as an hereditary debt, the extirpation of tyranny; they are all ready to
suffer anything on your account, if you will but show yourself such as
they think you are and expect you should be.” Which said, he fell upon
Brutus, and embraced him; and after this, they parted each to try their
several friends.
Among the friends of Pompey there was one Caius Ligarius, whom Caesar
had pardoned, though accused for having been in arms against him. This
man, not feeling so thankful for having been forgiven as he felt
oppressed by that power which made him need a pardon, hated Caesar, and
was one of Brutus’s most intimate friends. Him Brutus visited, and,
finding him sick, “O Ligarius,” says he, “what a time have you found out
to be sick in!” At which words Ligarius, raising himself and leaning on
his elbow, took Brutus by the hand, and said, “But, O Brutus, if you are
on any design worthy of yourself, I am well.”
From this time, they tried the inclinations of all their acquaintance
that they durst trust, and communicated the secret to them, and took
into the design not only their familiar friends, but as many as they
believed bold and brave and despisers of death. For which reason they
concealed the plot from Cicero, though he was very much trusted and as
well beloved by them all, lest, to his own disposition, which was
naturally timorous, adding now the wariness and caution of old age, by
his weighing, as he would do, every particular, that he might not make
one step without the greatest security, he should blunt the edge of
their forwardness and resolution in a business which required all the
dispatch imaginable. As indeed there were also two others that were
companions of Brutus, Statilius the Epicurean, and Favonius the admirer
of Cato, whom he left out for this reason: as he was conversing one day
with them, trying them at a distance, and proposing some such question
to be disputed of as among philosophers, to see what opinion they were
of, Favonius declared his judgment to be that a civil war was worse than
the most illegal monarchy; and Statilius held, that, to bring himself
into troubles and danger upon the account of evil or foolish men, did
not become a man that had any wisdom or discretion. But Labeo, who was
present, contradicted them both; and Brutus, as if it had been an
intricate dispute, and difficult to be decided, held his peace for that
time, but afterwards discovered the whole design to Labeo, who readily
undertook it. The next thing that was thought convenient, was to gain
the other Brutus, surnamed Albinus, a man of himself of no great bravery
or courage, but considerable for the number of gladiators that he was
maintaining for a public show, and the great confidence that Caesar put
in him. When Cassius and Labeo spoke with him concerning the matter, he
gave them no answer; but, seeking an interview with Brutus himself
alone, and finding that he was their captain, he readily consented to
partake in the action. And among the others, also, the most and best
were gained by the name of Brutus. And, though they neither gave nor
took any oath of secrecy, nor used any other sacred rite to assure their
fidelity to each other, yet all kept their design so close, were so
wary, and held it so silently among themselves, that, though by
prophecies and apparitions and signs in the sacrifices the gods gave
warning of it, yet could it not be believed.
Now Brutus, feeling that the noblest spirits of Rome for virtue,
birth, or courage were depending upon him, and surveying with himself
all the circumstances of the dangers they were to encounter, strove
indeed as much as possible, when abroad, to keep his uneasiness of mind
to himself, and to compose his thoughts; but at home, and especially at
night, he was not the same man, but sometimes against his will his
working care would make him start out of his sleep, and other times he
was taken up with further reflection and consideration of his
difficulties, so that his wife that lay with him could not choose but
take notice that he was full of unusual trouble, and had in agitation
some dangerous and perplexing question. Porcia, as was said before, was
the daughter of Cato, and Brutus, her cousin-german, had married her
very young, though not a maid, but after the death of her former
husband, by whom she had one son, that was named Bibulus; and there is a
little book, called Memoirs of Brutus, written by him, yet extant. This
Porcia, being addicted to philosophy, a great lover of her husband, and
full of an understanding courage, resolved not to inquire into Brutus’s
secrets before she had made this trial of herself. She turned all her
attendants out of her chamber, and, taking a little knife, such as they
use to cut nails with, she gave herself a deep gash in the thigh; upon
which followed a great flow of blood, and, soon after, violent pains and
a shivering fever, occasioned by the wound. Now when Brutus was
extremely anxious and afflicted for her, she, in the height of all her
pain, spoke thus to him: “I, Brutus, being the daughter of Cato, was
given to you in marriage, not like a concubine, to partake only in the
common intercourse of bed and board, but to bear a part in all your good
and all your evil fortunes; and for your part, as regards your care for
me, I find no reason to complain; but from me, what evidence of my love,
what satisfaction can you receive, if I may not share with you in
bearing your hidden griefs, nor be admitted to any of your counsels that
require secrecy and trust? I know very well that women seem to be of too
weak a nature to be trusted with secrets; but certainly, Brutus, a
virtuous birth and education, and the company of the good and honorable,
are of some force to the forming our manners; and I can boast that I am
the daughter of Cato and the wife of Brutus, in which two titles though
before I put less confidence, yet now I have tried myself, and find that
I can bid defiance to pain.” Which words having spoken, she showed him
her wound, and related to him the trial that she had made of her
constancy; at which he being astonished, lifted up his hands to heaven,
and begged the assistance of the gods in his enterprise, that he might
show himself a husband worthy of such a wife as Porcia. So then he
comforted his wife.
But a meeting of the senate being appointed, at which it was believed
that Caesar would be present, they agreed to make use of that
opportunity: for then they might appear all together without suspicion;
and, besides, they hoped that all the noblest and leading men of the
commonwealth, being then assembled, as soon as the great deed was done,
would immediately stand forward, and assert the common liberty. The very
place, too, where the senate was to meet, seemed to be by divine
appointment favorable to their purpose. It was a portico, one of those
joining the theater, with a large recess, in which there stood a statue
of Pompey, erected to him by the commonwealth, when he adorned that part
of the city with the porticos and the theater. To this place it was that
the senate was summoned for the middle of March (the Ides of March is
the Roman name for the day); as if some more than human power were
leading the man thither, there to meet his punishment for the death of
Pompey.
As soon as it was day, Brutus, taking with him a dagger, which none
but his wife knew of, went out. The rest met together at Cassius’s
house, and brought forth his son, that was that day to put on the manly
gown, as it is called, into the forum; and from thence, going all to
Pompey’s porch, stayed there, expecting Caesar to come without delay to
the senate. Here it was chiefly that anyone who had known what they had
purposed, would have admired the unconcerned temper and the steady
resolution of these men in their most dangerous undertaking; for many of
them, being praetors, and called upon by their office to judge and
determine causes, did not only hear calmly all that made application to
them and pleaded against each other before them, as if they were free
from all other thoughts, but decided causes with as much accuracy and
judgment as they had heard them with attention and patience. And when
one person refused to stand to the award of Brutus, and with great
clamor and many attestations appealed to Caesar, Brutus, looking round
about him upon those that were present, said, “Caesar does not hinder
me, nor will he hinder me, from doing according to the laws.”
Yet there were many unusual accidents that disturbed them and by mere
chance were thrown in their way. The first and chiefest was the long
stay of Caesar, though the day was far spent, and his being detained at
home by his wife, and forbidden by the soothsayers to go forth, upon
some defect that appeared in his sacrifice. Another was this: There came
a man up to Casca, one of the company, and, taking him by the hand, “You
concealed,” said he, “the secret from us, but Brutus has told me all.”
At which words when Casca was surprised, the other said laughing, “How
come you to be so rich of a sudden, that you should stand to be chosen
aedile?” So near was Casca to let out the secret, upon the mere
ambiguity of the other’s expression. Then Popilius Laenas, a senator,
having saluted Brutus and Cassius more earnestly than usual, whispered
them softly in the ear and said, “My wishes are with you, that you may
accomplish what you design, and I advise you to make no delay, for the
thing is now no secret.” This said, he departed, and left them in great
suspicion that the design had taken wind. In the meanwhile, there came
one in all haste from Brutus’s house, and brought him news that his wife
was dying. For Porcia, being extremely disturbed with expectation of the
event, and not able to bear the greatness of her anxiety, could scarce
keep herself within doors; and at every little noise or voice she heard,
starting up suddenly, like those possessed with the bacchic frenzy, she
asked everyone that came in from the forum what Brutus was doing, and
sent one messenger after another to inquire. At last, after long
expectation, the strength of her body could hold out no longer; her mind
was overcome with her doubts and fears, and she lost the control of
herself, and began to faint away. She had not time to betake herself to
her chamber, but, sitting as she was amongst her women, a sudden swoon
and a great stupor seized her, and her color changed, and her speech was
quite lost. At this sight, her women made a loud cry, and many of the
neighbors running to Brutus’s door to know what was the matter, the
report was soon spread abroad that Porcia was dead; though with her
women’s help she recovered in a little while, and came to herself again.
When Brutus received this news, he was extremely troubled, nor without
reason, yet was not so carried away by his private grief as to quit his
public purpose.
For now news was brought that Caesar was coming, carried in a litter.
For, being discouraged by the ill omens that attended his sacrifice, he
had determined to undertake no affairs of any great importance that day,
but to defer them till another time, excusing himself that he was sick.
As soon as he came out of his litter, Popilius Laenas, he who but a
little before had wished Brutus good success in his undertaking, coming
up to him, conversed a great while with him, Caesar standing still all
the while, and seeming to be very attentive. The conspirators, (to give
them this name,) not being able to hear what he said, but guessing by
what themselves were conscious of that this conference was the discovery
of their treason, were again disheartened, and, looking upon one
another, agreed from each other’s countenances that they should not stay
to be taken, but should all kill themselves. And now when Cassius and
some others were laying hands upon their daggers under their robes, and
were drawing them out, Brutus, viewing narrowly the looks and gesture of
Laenas, and finding that he was earnestly petitioning and not accusing,
said nothing, because there were many strangers to the conspiracy
mingled amongst them, but by a cheerful countenance encouraged Cassius.
And after a little while, Laenas, having kissed Caesar’s hand, went
away, showing plainly that all his discourse was about some particular
business relating to himself.
Now when the senate was gone in before to the chamber where they were
to sit, the rest of the company placed themselves close about Caesar’s
chair, as if they had some suit to make to him, and Cassius, turning his
face to Pompey’s statue, is said to have invoked it, as if it had been
sensible of his prayers. Trebonius, in the meanwhile, engaged Antony’s
attention at the door, and kept him in talk outside. When Caesar
entered, the whole senate rose up to him. As soon as he was set down,
the men all crowded round about him, and set Tillius Cimber, one of
their own number, to intercede in behalf of his brother, that was
banished; they all joined their prayers with his, and took Caesar by the
hand, and kissed his head and his breast. But he putting aside at first
their supplications, and afterwards, when he saw they would not desist,
violently rising up, Tillius with both hands caught hold of his robe and
pulled it off from his shoulders, and Casca, that stood behind him,
drawing his dagger, gave him the first, but a slight wound, about the
shoulder. Caesar snatching hold of the handle of the dagger, and crying
out aloud in Latin, “Villain Casca, what do you?” he, calling in Greek
to his brother, bade him come and help. And by this time, finding
himself struck by a great many hands, and looking round about him to see
if he could force his way out, when he saw Brutus with his dagger drawn
against him, he let go Casca’s hand, that he had hold of, and, covering
his head with his robe, gave up his body to their blows. And they so
eagerly pressed towards the body, and so many daggers were hacking
together, that they cut one another; Brutus, particularly, received a
wound in his hand, and all of them were besmeared with the blood.
Caesar being thus slain, Brutus, stepping forth into the midst,
intended to have made a speech, and called back and encouraged the
senators to stay; but they all affrighted ran away in great disorder,
and there was a great confusion and press at the door, though none
pursued or followed. For they had come to an express resolution to kill
nobody besides Caesar, but to call and invite all the rest to liberty.
It was indeed the opinion of all the others, when they consulted about
the execution of their design, that it was necessary to cut off Antony
with Caesar, looking upon him as an insolent man, an affecter of
monarchy, and one that, by his familiar intercourse, had gained a
powerful interest with the soldiers. And this they urged the rather,
because at that time to the natural loftiness and ambition of his temper
there was added the dignity of being consul and colleague to Caesar. But
Brutus opposed this counsel, insisting first upon the injustice of it,
and afterwards giving them hopes that a change might be worked in
Antony. For he did not despair but that so highly gifted and honorable a
man, and such a lover of glory as Antony, stirred up with emulation of
their great attempt, might, if Caesar were once removed, lay hold of the
occasion to be joint restorer with them of the liberty of his country.
Thus did Brutus save Antony’s life. But he, in the general
consternation, put himself into a plebeian habit, and fled. But Brutus
and his party marched up to the capitol, in their way showing their
hands all bloody, and their naked swords, and proclaiming liberty to the
people. At first all places were filled with cries and shouts; and the
wild running to and fro, occasioned by the sudden surprise and passion
that everyone was in, increased the tumult in the city. But no other
bloodshed following, and no plundering of the goods in the streets, the
senators and many of the people took courage and went up to the men in
the capitol; and, a multitude being gathered together, Brutus made an
oration to them, very popular, and proper for the state that affairs
were then in. Therefore, when they applauded his speech, and cried out
to him to come down, they all took confidence and descended into the
forum; the rest promiscuously mingled with one another, but many of the
most eminent persons, attending Brutus, conducted him in the midst of
them with great honor from the capitol, and placed him in the rostra. At
the sight of Brutus, the crowd, though consisting of a confused mixture
and all disposed to make a tumult, were struck with reverence, and
expected what he would say with order and with silence, and, when he
began to speak, heard him with quiet and attention. But that all were
not pleased with this action they plainly showed when, Cinna beginning
to speak and accuse Caesar, they broke out into a sudden rage, and
railed at him in such language, that the whole party thought fit again
to withdraw to the capitol. And there Brutus, expecting to be besieged,
dismissed the most eminent of those that had accompanied them thither,
not thinking it just that they who were not partakers of the fact should
share in the danger.
But the next day, the senate being assembled in the temple of the
Earth, and Antony and Plancus and Cicero having made orations
recommending concord in general and an act of oblivion, it was decreed,
that the men should not only be put out of all fear or danger, but that
the consuls should see what honors and dignities were proper to be
conferred upon them. After which done, the senate broke up; and, Antony
having sent his son as an hostage to the capitol, Brutus and his company
came down, and mutual salutes and invitations passed amongst them, the
whole of them being gathered together. Antony invited and entertained
Cassius, Lepidus did the same to Brutus, and the rest were invited and
entertained by others, as each of them had acquaintance or friends. And
as soon as it was day, the senate met again and voted thanks to Antony
for having stifled the beginning of a civil war; afterwards Brutus and
his associates that were present received encomiums, and had provinces
assigned and distributed among them. Crete was allotted to Brutus,
Africa to Cassius, Asia to Trebonius, Bithynia to Cimber, and to the
other Brutus Gaul about the Po.
After these things, they began to consider of Caesar’s will, and the
ordering of his funeral. Antony desired that the will might be read, and
that the body should not have a private or dishonorable interment, lest
that should further exasperate the people. This Cassius violently
opposed, but Brutus yielded to it, and gave leave; in which he seems to
have a second time committed a fault. For as before in sparing the life
of Antony he could not be without some blame from his party, as thereby
setting up against the conspiracy a dangerous and difficult enemy, so
now, in suffering him to have the ordering of the funeral, he fell into
a total and irrecoverable error. For first, it appearing by the will
that Caesar had bequeathed to the Roman people seventy-five drachmas a
man, and given to the public his gardens beyond Tiber (where now the
temple of Fortune stands), the whole city was fired with a wonderful
affection for him, and a passionate sense of the loss of him. And when
the body was brought forth into the forum, Antony, as the custom was,
making a funeral oration in the praise of Caesar, and finding the
multitude moved with his speech, passing into the pathetic tone,
unfolded the bloody garment of Caesar, showed them in how many places it
was pierced, and the number of his wounds. Now there was nothing to be
seen but confusion; some cried out to kill the murderers, others (as was
formerly done when Clodius led the people) tore away the benches and
tables out of the shops round about, and, heaping them all together,
built a great funeral pile, and, having put the body of Caesar upon it,
set it on fire, the spot where this was done being moreover surrounded
with a great many temples and other consecrated places, so that they
seemed to burn the body in a kind of sacred solemnity. As soon as the
fire flamed out, the multitude, flocking in some from one part and some
from another, snatched the brands that were half burnt out of the pile,
and ran about the city to fire the houses of the murderers of Caesar.
But they, having beforehand well fortified themselves, repelled this
danger.
There was however a kind of poet, one Cinna, not at all concerned in
the guilt of the conspiracy, but on the contrary one of Caesar’s
friends. This man dreamed that he was invited to supper by Caesar, and
that he declined to go, but that Caesar entreated and pressed him to it
very earnestly; and at last, taking him by the hand, led him into a very
deep and dark place, whither he was forced against his will to follow in
great consternation and amazement. After this vision, he had a fever the
most part of the night; nevertheless in the morning, hearing that the
body of Caesar was to be carried forth to be interred, he was ashamed
not to be present at the solemnity, and came abroad and joined the
people, when they were already infuriated by the speech of Antony. And
perceiving him, and taking him not for that Cinna who indeed he was, but
for him that a little before in a speech to the people had reproached
and inveighed against Caesar, they fell upon him and tore him to pieces.
This action chiefly, and the alteration that Antony had wrought, so
alarmed Brutus and his party, that for their safety they retired from
the city. The first stay they made was at Antium, with a design to
return again as soon as the fury of the people had spent itself and was
abated, which they expected would soon and easily come to pass in an
unsettled multitude, apt to be carried away with any sudden and
impetuous passion, especially since they had the senate favorable to
them; which, though it took no notice of those that had torn Cinna to
pieces, yet made a strict search and apprehended in order to punishment
those that had assaulted the houses of the friends of Brutus and
Cassius. By this time, also, the people began to be dissatisfied with
Antony, who they perceived was setting up a kind of monarchy for
himself; they longed for the return of Brutus, whose presence they
expected and hoped for at the games and spectacles which he, as praetor,
was to exhibit to the public. But he, having intelligence that many of
the old soldiers that had borne arms under Caesar, by whom they had had
lands and cities given them, lay in wait for him, and by small parties
at a time had stolen into the city, would not venture to come himself;
however, in his absence there were most magnificent and costly shows
exhibited to the people; for, having bought up a great number of all
sorts of wild beasts, he gave order that not any of them should be
returned or saved, but that all should be spent freely at the public
spectacles. He himself made a journey to Naples to procure a
considerable number of players, and hearing of one Canutius, that was
very much praised for his acting upon the stage, he wrote to his friends
to use all their entreaties to bring him to Rome (for, being a Grecian,
he could not be compelled); he wrote also to Cicero, begging him by no
means to omit being present at the shows.
This was the posture of affairs when another sudden alteration was
made upon the young Caesar’s coming to Rome. He was son to the niece of
Caesar, who adopted him, and left him his heir by his will. At the time
when Caesar was killed, he was following his studies at Apollonia, where
he was expecting also to meet Caesar on his way to the expedition which
he had determined on against the Parthians; but, hearing of his death,
he immediately came to Rome, and, to ingratiate himself with the people,
taking upon himself the name of Caesar, and punctually distributing
among the citizens the money that was left them by the will, he soon got
the better of Antony; and by money and largesses, which he liberally
dispersed amongst the soldiers, he gathered together and brought over to
his party a great number of those that had served under Caesar. Cicero
himself, out of the hatred which he bore to Antony, sided with young
Caesar; which Brutus took so ill that he treated with him very sharply
in his letters, telling him, that he perceived Cicero could well enough
endure a tyrant, but was afraid that he who hated him should be the man;
that in writing and speaking so well of Caesar, he showed that his aim
was to have an easy slavery. “But our forefathers,” said Brutus, “could
not brook even gentle masters.” Further he added, that for his own part
he had not as yet fully resolved whether he should make war or peace;
but that as to one point he was fixed and settled, which was, never to
be a slave; that he wondered Cicero should fear the dangers of a civil
war, and not be much more afraid of a dishonorable and infamous peace;
that the very reward that was to be given him for subverting Antony’s
tyranny was the privilege of establishing Caesar as tyrant in his place.
This is the tone of Brutus’s first letters to Cicero.
The city being now divided into two factions, some betaking
themselves to Caesar and others to Antony, the soldiers selling
themselves, as it were, by public outcry, and going over to him that
would give them most, Brutus began to despair of any good event of such
proceedings, and, resolving to leave Italy, passed by land through
Lucania and came to Elea by the seaside. From hence it was thought
convenient that Porcia should return to Rome. She was overcome with
grief to part from Brutus, but strove as much as was possible to conceal
it; but, in spite of all her constancy, a picture which she found there
accidentally betrayed it. It was a Greek subject, Hector parting from
Andromache when he went to engage the Greeks, giving his young son
Astyanax into her arms, and she fixing her eyes upon him. When she
looked at this piece, the resemblance it bore to her own condition made
her burst into tears, and several times a day she went to see the
picture, and wept before it. Upon this occasion, when Acilius, one of
Brutus’s friends, repeated out of Homer the verses, where Andromache
speaks to Hector: —
But Hector, you
To me are father and are mother too,
My brother, and my loving husband true.
Brutus, smiling, replied, “But I must not answer Porcia, as Hector
did Andromache,
‘Mind you your loom, and to your maids give law.’
For though the natural weakness of her body hinders her from doing
what only the strength of men can perform, yet she has a mind as valiant
and as active for the good of her country as the best of us.” This
narrative is in the memoirs of Brutus written by Bibulus, Porcia’s son.
Brutus took ship from hence, and sailed to Athens where he was
received by the people with great demonstrations of kindness, expressed
in their acclamations and the honors that were decreed him. He lived
there with a private friend, and was a constant auditor of Theomnestus
the Academic and Cratippus the Peripatetic, with whom he so engaged in
philosophical pursuits, that he seemed to have laid aside all thoughts
of public business, and to be wholly at leisure for study. But all this
while, being unsuspected, he was secretly making preparation for war; in
order to which he sent Herostratus into Macedonia to secure the
commanders there to his side, and he himself won over and kept at his
disposal all the young Romans that were then students at Athens. Of this
number was Cicero’s son, whom he everywhere highly extols, and says that
whether sleeping or waking he could not choose but admire a young man of
so great a spirit and such a hater of tyranny.
At length he began to act openly, and to appear in public business,
and, being informed that there were several Roman ships full of treasure
that in their course from Asia were to come that way, and that they were
commanded by one of his friends, he went to meet him about Carystus.
Finding him there, and having persuaded him to deliver up the ships, he
made a more than usually splendid entertainment, for it happened also to
be his birthday. Now when they came to drink, and were filling their
cups with hopes for victory to Brutus and liberty to Rome, Brutus, to
animate them the more, called for a larger bowl, and holding it in his
hand, on a sudden upon no occasion or forethought pronounced aloud this
verse: —
But fate my death and Leto’s son have wrought.
And some writers add that in the last battle which he fought at
Philippi the word that he gave to his soldiers was Apollo, and from
thence conclude that this sudden unaccountable exclamation of his was a
presage of the overthrow that he suffered there.
Antistius, the commander of these ships, at his parting gave him
fifty thousand myriads of the money that he was conveying to Italy; and
all the soldiers yet remaining of Pompey’s army, who after their
general’s defeat wandered about Thessaly, readily and joyfully flocked
together to join him. Besides this, he took from Cinna five hundred
horse that he was carrying to Dolabella into Asia. After that, he sailed
to Demetrias, and there seized a great quantity of arms, that had been
provided by the command of the deceased Caesar for the Parthian war, and
were now to be sent to Antony. Then Macedonia was put into his hands and
delivered up by Hortensius the praetor, and all the kings and potentates
round about came and offered their services. So when news was brought
that Caius, the brother of Antony, having passed over from Italy, was
marching on directly to join the forces that Vatinius commanded in
Dyrrhachium and Apollonia, Brutus resolved to anticipate him, and to
seize them first, and in all haste moved forwards with those that he had
about him. His march was very difficult, through rugged places and in a
great snow, but so swift that he left those that were to bring his
provisions for the morning meal a great way behind. And now, being very
near to Dyrrhachium, with fatigue and cold he fell into the distemper
called Bulimia. This is a disease that seizes both men and cattle after
much labor, and especially in a great snow; whether it is caused by the
natural heat, when the body is seized with cold, being forced all
inwards, and consuming at once all the nourishment laid in, or whether
the sharp and subtle vapor which comes from the snow as it dissolves,
cuts the body, as it were, and destroys the heat which issues through
the pores; for the sweatings seem to arise from the heat meeting with
the cold, and being quenched by it on the surface of the body. But this
I have in another place discussed more at large.
Brutus growing very faint, and there being none in the whole army
that had anything for him to eat, his servants were forced to have
recourse to the enemy, and, going as far as to the gates of the city,
begged bread of the sentinels that were upon duty. As soon as they heard
of the condition of Brutus, they came themselves, and brought both meat
and drink along with them; in return for which, Brutus, when he took the
city, showed the greatest kindness, not to them only, but to all the
inhabitants, for their sakes. Caius Antonius, in the meantime, coming to
Apollonia, summoned all the soldiers that were near that city to join
him there; but finding that they nevertheless went all to Brutus, and
suspecting that even those of Apollonia were inclined to the same party,
he quitted that city, and came to Buthrotum, having first lost three
cohorts of his men, that in their march thither were cut to pieces by
Brutus. After this, attempting to make himself master of some strong
places about Byllis which the enemy had first seized, he was overcome in
a set battle by young Cicero, to whom Brutus gave the command, and whose
conduct he made use of often and with much success. Caius himself was
surprised in a marshy place, at a distance from his supports; and
Brutus, having him in his power, would not suffer his soldiers to
attack, but maneuvering about the enemy with his horse, gave command
that none of them should be killed, for that in a little time they would
all be of his side; which accordingly came to pass, for they surrendered
both themselves and their general. So that Brutus had by this time a
very great and considerable army. He showed all marks of honor and
esteem to Caius for a long time, and left him the use of the ensigns of
his office, though, as some report, he had several letters from Rome,
and particularly from Cicero, advising him to put him to death. But at
last, perceiving that he began to corrupt his officers, and was trying
to raise a mutiny amongst the soldiers, he put him aboard a ship and
kept him close prisoner. In the meantime the soldiers that had been
corrupted by Caius retired to Apollonia, and sent word to Brutus,
desiring him to come to them thither. He answered that this was not the
custom of the Romans, but that it became those who had offended to come
themselves to their general and beg forgiveness of their offences; which
they did, and accordingly received their pardon.
As he was preparing to pass into Asia, tidings reached him of the
alteration that had happened at Rome; where the young Caesar, assisted
by the senate, in opposition to Antony, and having driven his competitor
out of Italy, had begun himself to be very formidable, suing for the
consulship contrary to law, and maintaining large bodies of troops of
which the commonwealth had no manner of need. And then, perceiving that
the senate, dissatisfied with his proceedings, began to cast their eyes
abroad upon Brutus, and decreed and confirmed the government of several
provinces to him, he had taken the alarm. Therefore dispatching
messengers to Antony, he desired that there might be a reconciliation,
and a friendship between them. Then, drawing all his forces about the
city, he made himself be chosen consul, though he was but a boy, being
scarce twenty years old, as he himself writes in his memoirs. At his
first entry upon the consulship he immediately ordered a judicial
process to be issued out against Brutus and his accomplices for having
murdered a principal man of the city, holding the highest magistracies
of Rome, without being heard or condemned; and appointed Lucius
Cornificius to accuse Brutus, and Marcus Agrippa to accuse Cassius. None
appearing to the accusation, the judges were forced to pass sentence and
condemn them both. It is reported, that when the crier from the
tribunal, as the custom was, with a loud voice cited Brutus to appear,
the people groaned audibly, and the noble citizens hung down their heads
for grief. Publius Silicius was seen to burst out into tears, which was
the cause that not long after he was put down in the list of those that
were proscribed. After this, the three men, Caesar, Antony, and Lepidus,
being perfectly reconciled, shared the provinces among themselves, and
made up the catalogue of proscription, wherein were set those that were
designed for slaughter, amounting to two hundred men, in which number
Cicero was slain.
This news being brought to Brutus in Macedonia, he was under a
compulsion, and sent orders to Hortensius that he should kill Caius
Antonius in revenge of the death of Cicero his friend, and Brutus his
kinsman, who also was proscribed and slain. Upon this account it was
that Antony, having afterwards taken Hortensius in the battle of
Philippi, slew him upon his brother’s tomb. But Brutus expresses himself
as more ashamed for the cause of Cicero’s death than grieved for the
misfortune of it, and says he cannot help accusing his friends at Rome,
that they were slaves more through their own doing than that of those
who now were their tyrants; they could be present and see and yet suffer
those things which even to hear related ought to them to have been
insufferable.
Having made his army, that was already very considerable, pass into
Asia, he ordered a fleet to be prepared in Bithynia and about Cyzicus.
But going himself through the country by land, he made it his business
to settle and confirm all the cities, and gave audience to the princes
of the parts through which he passed. And he sent orders into Syria to
Cassius to come to him, and leave his intended journey into Egypt;
letting him understand, that it was not to gain an empire for
themselves, but to free their country, that they went thus wandering
about and had got an army together whose business it was to destroy the
tyrants; that therefore, if they remembered and resolved to persevere in
their first purpose, they ought not to be too far from Italy, but make
what haste they could thither, and endeavor to relieve their
fellow-citizens from oppression.
Cassius obeyed his summons, and returned, and Brutus went to meet
him; and at Smyrna they met, which was the first time they had seen one
another since they parted at the Piraeus in Athens, one for Syria, and
the other for Macedonia. They were both extremely joyful and had great
confidence of their success at the sight of the forces that each of them
had got together, since they who had fled from Italy, like the most
despicable exiles, without money, without arms, without a ship or a
soldier or a city to rely on, in a little time after had met together so
well furnished with shipping and money, and an army both of horse and
foot, that they were in a condition to contend for the empire of Rome.
Cassius was desirous to show no less respect and honor to Brutus than
Brutus did to him; but Brutus was still beforehand with him, coming for
the most part to him, both because he was the elder man, and of a weaker
constitution than himself. Men generally reckoned Cassius a very expert
soldier, but of a harsh and angry nature, and one that desired to
command rather by fear than love; though, on the other side, among his
familiar acquaintance he would easily give way to jesting, and play the
buffoon. But Brutus, for his virtue, was esteemed by the people, beloved
by his friends, admired by the best men, and hated not by his enemies
themselves. For he was a man of a singularly gentle nature, of a great
spirit, insensible of the passions of anger or pleasure or covetousness;
steady and inflexible to maintain his purpose for what he thought right
and honest. And that which gained him the greatest affection and
reputation was the entire faith in his intentions. For it had not ever
been supposed that Pompey the Great himself, if he had overcome Caesar,
would have submitted his power to the laws, instead of taking the
management of the state upon himself, soothing the people with the
specious name of consul or dictator, or some other milder title than
king. And they were well persuaded that Cassius, being a man governed by
anger and passion and carried often, for his interest’s sake, beyond the
bounce of justice, endured all these hardships of war and travel and
danger most assuredly to obtain dominion to himself, and not liberty to
the people. And as for the former disturbers of the peace of Rome,
whether a Cinna, a Marius, or a Carbo, it is manifest that they, having
set their country as a stake for him that should win, did almost own in
express terms that they fought for empire. But even the enemies of
Brutus did not, they tell us, lay this accusation to his charge; nay,
many heard Antony himself say that Brutus was the only man that
conspired against Caesar out of a sense of the glory and the apparent
justice of the action, but that all the rest rose up against the man
himself, from private envy and malice of their own. And it is plain by
what he writes himself, that Brutus did not so much rely upon his
forces, as upon his own virtue. For thus he speaks in a letter to
Atticus, shortly before he was to engage with the enemy: that his
affairs were in the best state of fortune that he could wish; for that
either he should overcome, and restore liberty to the people of Rome, or
die, and be himself out of the reach of slavery; that other things being
certain and beyond all hazard, one thing was yet in doubt, whether they
should live or die free men. He adds further, that Mark Antony had
received a just punishment for his folly, who, when he might have been
numbered with Brutus and Cassius and Cato, would join himself to
Octavius; that though they should not now be both overcome, they soon
would fight between them selves. And in this he seems to have been no
ill prophet.
Now when they were at Smyrna, Brutus desired of Cassius that he might
have part of the great treasure that he had heaped up, because all his
own was expended in furnishing out such a fleet of ships as was
sufficient to keep the whole interior sea in their power. But Cassius’s
friends dissuaded him from this; “for,” said they, “it is not just that
the money which you with so much parsimony keep and with so much envy
have got, should be given to him to be disposed of in making himself
popular, and gaining the favor of the soldiers.” Notwithstanding this,
Cassius gave him a third part of all that he had; and then they parted
each to their several commands. Cassius, having taken Rhodes, behaved
himself there with no clemency; though at his first entry, when some had
called him lord and king, he answered, that he was neither king nor
lord, but the destroyer and punisher of a king and lord. Brutus, on the
other part, sent to the Lycians to demand from them a supply of money
and men; but Naucrates, their popular leader, persuaded the cities to
resist, and they occupied several little mountains and hills, with a
design to hinder Brutus’s passage. Brutus at first sent out a party of
horse, which, surprising them as they were eating, killed six hundred of
them; and afterwards, having taken all their small towns and villages
round about, he set all his prisoners free without ransom, hoping to win
the whole nation by good-will. But they continued obstinate, taking in
anger what they had suffered, and despising his goodness and humanity;
until, having forced the most warlike of them into the city of Xanthus,
he besieged them there. They endeavored to make their escape by swimming
and diving through the river that flows by the town, but were taken by
nets let down for that purpose in the channel, which had little bells at
the top, which gave present notice of any that were taken in them. After
that, they made a sally in the night, and seizing several of the
battering engines, set them on fire; but being perceived by the Romans,
were beaten back to their walls, and, there being a strong wind, it
carried the flames to the battlements of the city with such fierceness,
that several of the adjoining houses took fire. Brutus, fearing lest the
whole city should be destroyed, commanded his own soldiers to assist,
and quench the fire.
But the Lycians were on a sudden possessed with a strange and
incredible desperation; such a frenzy as cannot be better expressed than
by calling it a violent appetite to die, for both women and children,
the bondmen and the free, those of all ages and of all conditions strove
to force away the soldiers that came in to their assistance, from the
walls; and themselves gathering together reeds and wood, and whatever
combustible matter they found, spread the fire over the whole city,
feeding it with whatever fuel they could, and by all possible means
exciting its fury, so that the flame, having dispersed itself and
encircled the whole city, blazed out in so terrible a manner, that
Brutus, being extremely afflicted at their calamity, got on horseback
and rode round the walls, earnestly desirous to preserve the city, and,
stretching forth his hands to the Xanthians, begged of them that they
would spare themselves and save their town. Yet none regarded his
entreaties, but by all manner of ways strove to destroy themselves; not
only men and women, but even boys and little children, with a hideous
outcry, leaped, some into the fire, others from the walls, others fell
upon their parents’ swords, baring their throats and desiring to be
struck. After the destruction of the city, there was found a woman who
had hanged herself with her young child hanging from her neck, and the
torch in her hand, with which she had fired her own house. It was so
tragical a sight, that Brutus could not endure to see it, but wept at
the very relation of it, and proclaimed a reward to any soldier that
could save a Xanthian. And it is said that one hundred and fifty only
were found, to have their lives saved against their wills. Thus the
Xanthians, after a long space of years, the fated period of their
destruction having, as it were, run its course, repeated by their
desperate deed the former calamity of their forefathers, who after the
very same manner in the Persian war had fired their city and destroyed
themselves.
Brutus, after this, finding the Patareans resolved to make resistance
and hold out their city against him, was very unwilling to besiege it,
and was in great perplexity lest the same frenzy might seize them too.
But having in his power some of their women, who were his prisoners, he
dismissed them all without any ransom; who, returning and giving an
account to their husbands and fathers, who were of the greatest rank,
what an excellent man Brutus was how temperate and how just, persuaded
them to yield themselves and put their city into his hands. From this
time all the cities round about came into his power, submitting
themselves to him, and found him good and merciful even beyond their
hopes. For though Cassius at the same time had compelled the Rhodians to
bring in all the silver and gold that each of them privately was
possessed of, by which he raised a sum of eight thousand talents, and
besides this had condemned the public to pay the sum of five hundred
talents more, Brutus, not having taken above a hundred and fifty talents
from the Lycians, and having done them no other manner of injury, parted
from thence with his army to go into Ionia.
Through the whole course of this expedition, Brutus did many
memorable acts of justice in dispensing rewards and punishments to such
as had deserved either; but one in particular I will relate, because he
himself, and all the noblest Romans, were gratified with it above all
the rest. When Pompey the Great, being overthrown from his great power
by Caesar, had fled to Egypt, and landed near Pelusium, the protectors
of the young king consulted among themselves what was fit to be done on
that occasion, nor could they all agree in the same opinion, some being
for receiving him, others for driving him from Egypt. But Theodotus, a
Chian by birth, and then attending upon the king as a paid teacher of
rhetoric, and for want of better men admitted into the council,
undertook to prove to them, that both parties were in the wrong, those
that counseled to receive Pompey, and those that advised to send him
away; that in their present case one thing only was truly expedient, to
seize him and to kill him; and ended his argument with the proverb, that
“dead men don’t bite.” The council agreed to his opinion, and Pompey the
Great (an example of incredible and unforeseen events) was slain, as the
sophister himself had the impudence to boast, through the rhetoric and
cleverness of Theodotus. Not long after, when Caesar came to Egypt, some
of the murderers received their just reward and suffered the evil death
they deserved. But Theodotus, though he had borrowed on from fortune a
little further time for a poor despicable and wandering life, yet did
not lie hid from Brutus as he passed through Asia; but being seized by
him and executed, had his death made more memorable than was his life.
About this time, Brutus sent to Cassius to come to him at the city of
Sardis, and, when he was on his journey, went forth with his friends to
meet him; and the whole army in array saluted each of them with the name
of Imperator. Now (as it usually happens in business of great concern
and where many friends and many commanders are engaged), several
jealousies of each other and matters of private accusation having passed
between Brutus and Cassius, they resolved, before they entered upon any
other business, immediately to withdraw into some apartment; where, the
door being shut and they two alone, they began first to expostulate,
then to dispute hotly, and accuse each other; and finally were so
transported into passion as to fall to hard words, and at last burst out
into tears. Their friends who stood without were amazed, hearing them
loud and angry, and feared lest some mischief might follow, but yet
durst not interrupt them, being commanded not to enter the room.
However, Marcus Favonius, who had been an ardent admirer of Cato, and,
not so much by his learning or wisdom as by his wild, vehement manner,
maintained the character of a philosopher, was rushing in upon them, but
was hindered by the attendants. But it was a hard matter to stop
Favonius, wherever his wildness hurried him; for he was fierce in all
his behavior, and ready to do anything to get his will. And though he
was a senator, yet, thinking that one of the least of his excellences,
he valued himself more upon a sort of cynical liberty of speaking what
he pleased, which sometimes, indeed, did away with the rudeness and
unseasonableness of his addresses with those that would interpret it in
jest. This Favonius, breaking by force through those that kept the
doors, entered into the chamber, and with a set voice declaimed the
verses that Homer makes Nestor use, —
Be ruled, for I am older than ye both.
At this Cassius laughed; but Brutus thrust him our, calling him
impudent dog and counterfeit Cynic; but yet for the present they let it
put an end to their dispute, and parted. Cassius made a supper that
night, and Brutus invited the guests; and when they were set down,
Favonius, having bathed, came in among them. Brutus called out aloud and
told him he was not invited, and bade him go to the upper couch; but he
violently thrust himself in, and lay down on the middle one; and the
entertainment passed in sportive talk, not wanting either wit or
philosophy.
The next day after, upon the accusation of the Sardians, Brutus
publicly disgraced and condemned Lucius Pella, one that had been censor
of Rome, and employed in offices of trust by himself, for having
embezzled the public money. This action did not a little vex Cassius;
for but a few days before, two of his own friends being accused of the
same crime, he only admonished them in private, but in public absolved
them, and continued them in his service; and upon this occasion he
accused Brutus of too much rigor and severity of justice in a time which
required them to use more policy and favor. But Brutus bade him remember
the Ides of March, the day when they killed Caesar, who himself neither
plundered nor pillaged mankind, but was only the support and strength of
those that did; and bade him consider, that if there was any color for
justice to be neglected, it had been better to suffer the injustice of
Caesar’s friends than to give impunity to their own; “for then,” said
he, “we could have been accused of cowardice only; whereas now we are
liable to the accusation of injustice, after all our pain and dangers
which we endure.” By which we may perceive what was Brutus’s purpose,
and the rule of his actions.
About the time that they were going to pass out of Asia into Europe,
it is said that a wonderful sign was seen by Brutus. He was naturally
given to much watching, and by practice and moderation in his diet had
reduced his allowance of sleep to a very small amount of time. He never
slept in the daytime, and in the night then only when all his business
was finished, and when, everyone else being gone to rest, he had nobody
to discourse with him. But at this time, the war being begun, having the
whole state of it to consider and being solicitous of the event, after
his first sleep, which he let himself take after his supper, he spent
all the rest of the night in settling his most urgent affairs; which if
he could dispatch early and so make a saving of any leisure, he employed
himself in reading until the third watch, at which time the centurions
and tribunes were used to come to him for orders. Thus one night before
he passed out of Asia, he was very late all alone in his tent, with a
dim light burning by him, all the rest of the camp being hushed and
silent; and reasoning about something with himself and very thoughtful,
he fancied someone came in, and, looking up towards the door, he saw a
terrible and strange appearance of an unnatural and frightful body
standing by him without speaking. Brutus boldly asked it, “What are you,
of men or gods, and upon what business come to me?” The figure answered,
“I am your evil genius, Brutus; you shall see me at Philippi.” To which
Brutus, not at all disturbed, replied, “Then I shall see you.”
As soon as the apparition vanished, he called his servants to him,
who all told him that they had neither heard any voice nor seen any
vision. So then he continued watching till the morning, when he went to
Cassius, and told him of what he had seen. He, who followed the
principles of Epicurus’s philosophy, and often used to dispute with
Brutus concerning matters of this nature, spoke to him thus upon this
occasion: “It is the opinion of our sect, Brutus, that not all that we
feel or see is real and true; but that the sense is a most slippery and
deceitful thing, and the mind yet more quick and subtle to put the sense
in motion and affect it with every kind of change upon no real occasion
of fact; just as an impression is made upon wax; and the soul of man,
which has in itself both what imprints and what is imprinted on, may
most easily, by its own operations, produce and assume every variety of
shape and figure. This is evident from the sudden changes of our dreams;
in which the imaginative principle, once started by anything matter,
goes through a whole series of most diverse emotions and appearances. It
is its nature to be ever in motion, and its motion is fantasy or
conception. But besides all this, in your case, the body, being tired
and distressed with continual toil, naturally works upon the mind, and
keeps it in an excited and unusual condition. But that there should be
any such thing as supernatural beings, or, if there were, that they
should have human shape or voice or power that can reach to us, there is
no reason for believing; though I confess I could wish that there were
such beings, that we might not rely upon our arms only, and our horses
and our navy, all which are so numerous and powerful, but might be
confident of the assistance of gods also, in this our most sacred and
honorable attempt.” With such discourses as these Cassius soothed the
mind of Brutus. But just as the troops were going on board, two eagles
flew and lighted on the first two ensigns, and crossed over the water
with them, and never ceased following the soldiers and being fed by them
till they came to Philippi, and there, but one day before the fight,
they both flew away.
Brutus had already reduced most of the places and people of these
parts; but they now marched on as far as to the coast opposite Thasos,
and, if there were any city or man of power that yet stood out, brought
them all to subjection. At this point Norbanus was encamped, in a place
called the Straits, near Symbolum. Him they surrounded in such sort that
they forced him to dislodge and quit the place; and Norbanus narrowly
escaped losing his whole army, Caesar by reason of sickness being too
far behind; only Antony came to his relief with such wonderful swiftness
that Brutus and those with him did not believe when they heard he was
come. Caesar came up ten days after, and encamped over against Brutus,
and Antony over against Cassius.
The space between the two armies is called by the Romans the Campi
Philippi. Never had two such large Roman armies come together to engage
each other. That of Brutus was somewhat less in number than that of
Caesar, but in the splendidness of the men’s arms and richness of their
equipage it wonderfully exceeded; for most of their arms were of gold
and silver, which Brutus had lavishly bestowed among them. For though in
other things he had accustomed his commanders to use all frugality and
self-control, yet he thought that the riches which soldiers carried
about them in their hands and on their bodies would add something of
spirit to those that were desirous of glory, and would make those that
were covetous and lovers of gain fight the more valiantly to preserve
the arms which were their estate.
Caesar made a view and lustration of his army within his trenches,
and distributed only a little corn and but five drachmas to each soldier
for the sacrifice they were to make. But Brutus, either pitying this
poverty, or disdaining this meanness of spirit in Caesar, first, as the
custom was, made a general muster and lustration of the army in the open
field, and then distributed a great number of beasts for sacrifice to
every regiment, and fifty drachmas to every soldier; so that in the love
of his soldiers and their readiness to fight for him Brutus had much the
advantage. But at the time of lustration it is reported that an unlucky
omen happened to Cassius; for his lictor, presenting him with a garland
that he was to wear at sacrifice, gave it him the wrong way up. Further,
it is said that some time before, at a certain solemn procession, a
golden image of Victory, which was carried before Cassius, fell down by
a slip of him that carried it. Besides this there appeared many birds of
prey daily about the camp, and swarms of bees were seen in a place
within the trenches, which place the soothsayers ordered to be shut out
from the camp, to remove the superstition which insensibly began to
infect even Cassius himself and shake him in his Epicurean philosophy,
and had wholly seized and subdued the soldiers; from whence it was that
Cassius was reluctant to put all to the hazard of a present battle, but
advised rather to draw out the war until further time, considering that
they were stronger in money and provisions, but in numbers of men and
arms inferior. But Brutus, on the contrary, was still, as formerly,
desirous to come with all speed to the decision of a battle; that so he
might either restore his country to her liberty, or else deliver from
their misery all those numbers of people whom they harassed with the
expenses and the service and exactions of the war. And finding also his
light-horse in several skirmishes still to have had the better, he was
the more encouraged and resolved; and some of the soldiers having
deserted and gone to the enemy, and others beginning to accuse and
suspect one another, many of Cassius’s friends in the council changed
their opinions to that of Brutus. But there was one of Brutus’s party,
named Atellius, who opposed his resolution, advising rather that they
should tarry over the winter. And when Brutus asked him in how much
better a condition he hoped to be a year after, his answer was, “If I
gain nothing else, yet I shall live so much the longer.” Cassius was
much displeased at this answer; and among the rest, Atellius was had in
much disesteem for it. And so it was presently resolved to give battle
the next day.
Brutus that night at supper showed himself very cheerful and full of
hope, and reasoned on subjects of philosophy with his friends, and
afterwards went to his rest. But Messala says that Cassius supped
privately with a few of his nearest acquaintance, and appeared
thoughtful and silent, contrary to his temper and custom; that after
supper he took him earnestly by the hand, and speaking to him, as his
manner was when he wished to show affection, in Greek, said, “Bear
witness for me, Messala, that I am brought into the same necessity as
Pompey the Great was before me, of hazarding the liberty of my country
upon one battle; yet ought we to be of courage, relying on our good
fortune, which it were unfair to mistrust, though we take evil
counsels.” These, Messala says, were the last words that Cassius spoke
before he bade him farewell; and that he was invited to sup with him the
next night, being his birthday.
As soon as it was morning, the signal of battle, the scarlet coat,
was set out in Brutus’s and Cassius’s camps, and they themselves met in
the middle space between their two armies. There Cassius spoke thus to
Brutus: “Be it as we hope, O Brutus, that this day we may overcome, and
all the rest of our time may live a happy life together; but since the
greatest of human concerns are the most uncertain, and since it may be
difficult for us ever to see one another again, if the battle should go
against us, tell me, what is your resolution concerning flight and
death?” Brutus answered, “When I was young, Cassius, and unskillful in
affairs, I was led, I know not how, into uttering a bold sentence in
philosophy, and blamed Cato for killing himself, as thinking it an
irreligious act, and not a valiant one among men, to try to evade the
divine course of things, and not fearlessly to receive and undergo the
evil that shall happen, but run away from it. But now in my own fortunes
I am of another mind; for if Providence shall not dispose what we now
undertake according to our wishes, I resolve to put no further hopes or
warlike preparations to the proof, but will die contented with my
fortune. For I already have given up my life to my country on the Ides
of March; and have lived since then a second life for her sake, with
liberty and honor.” Cassius at these words smiled, and, embracing Brutus
said, “With these resolutions let us go on upon the enemy; for either we
ourselves shall conquer, or have no cause to fear those that do.” After
this they discoursed among their friends about the ordering of the
battle; and Brutus desired of Cassius that he might command the right
wing, though it was thought that this was more fit for Cassius, in
regard both of his age and his experience. Yet even in this Cassius
complied with Brutus, and placed Messala with the valiantest of all his
legions in the same wing, so Brutus immediately drew out his horse,
excellently well equipped, and was not long in bringing up his foot
after them.
Antony’s soldiers were casting trenches from the marsh by which they
were encamped, across the plain, to cut off Cassius’s communications
with the sea. Caesar was to be at hand with his troops to support them,
but he was not able to be present himself, by reason of his sickness;
and his soldiers, not much expecting that the enemy would come to a set
battle, but only make some excursions with their darts and light arms to
disturb the men at work in the trenches, and not taking notice of the
boons drawn up against them ready to give battle, were amazed when they
heard the confused and great outcry that came from the trenches. In the
meanwhile Brutus had sent his tickets, in which was the word of battle,
to the officers; and himself riding about to all the troops, encouraged
the soldiers; but there were but few of them that understood the word
before they engaged; the most of them, not staying to have it delivered
to them, with one impulse and cry ran upon the enemy. This disorder
caused an unevenness in the line, and the legions got severed and
divided one from another; that of Messala first, and afterwards the
other adjoining, went beyond the left wing of Caesar; and having just
touched the extremity, without slaughtering any great number, passing
round that wing, fell directly into Caesar’s camp. Caesar himself, as
his own memoirs tell us, had but just before been conveyed away, Marcus
Artorius, one of his friends, having had a dream bidding Caesar be
carried out of the camp. And it was believed that he was slain; for the
soldiers had pierced his litter, which was left empty, in many places
with their darts and pikes. There was a great slaughter in the camp that
was taken, and two thousand Lacedaemonians that were newly come to the
assistance of Caesar were all cut off together.
The rest of the army, that had not gone round but had engaged the
front, easily overthrew them, finding them in great disorder, and slew
upon the place three legions; and being carried on with the stream of
victory, pursuing those that fled, fell into the camp with them, Brutus
himself being there. But they that were conquered took the advantage in
their extremity of what the conquerors did not consider. For they fell
upon that part of the main body which had been left exposed and
separated, where the right wing had broke off from them and hurried away
in the pursuit; yet they could not break into the midst of their battle,
but were received with strong resistance and obstinacy. Yet they put to
flight the left wing, where Cassius commanded, being in great disorder,
and ignorant of what had passed on the other wing; and, pursuing them to
their camp, they pillaged and destroyed it, neither of their generals
being present; for Antony, they say, to avoid the fury of the first
onset, had retired into the marsh that was hard by; and Caesar was
nowhere to be found after his being conveyed out of the tents; though
some of the soldiers showed Brutus their swords bloody, and declared
that they had killed him, describing his person and his age. By this
time also the center of Brutus’s battle had driven back their opponents
with great slaughter; and Brutus was everywhere plainly conqueror, as on
the other side Cassius was conquered. And this one mistake was the ruin
of their affairs, that Brutus did not come to the relief of Cassius,
thinking that he, as well as himself, was conqueror; and that Cassius
did not expect the relief of Brutus, thinking that he too was overcome.
For as a proof that the victory was on Brutus’s side, Messala urges his
taking three eagles and many ensigns of the enemy without losing any of
his own. But now, returning from the pursuit after having plundered
Caesar’s camp, Brutus wondered that he could not see Cassius’s tent
standing high, as it was wont, and appearing above the rest, nor other
things appearing as they had been; for they had been immediately pulled
down and pillaged by the enemy upon their first falling into the camp.
But some that had a quicker and longer sight than the rest acquainted
Brutus that they saw a great deal of shining armor and silver targets
moving to and fro in Cassius’s camp, and that they thought, by their
number and the fashion of their armor, they could not be those that they
left to guard the camp; but yet that there did not appear so great a
number of dead bodies thereabouts as it was probable there would have
been after the actual defeat of so many legions. This first made Brutus
suspect Cassius’s misfortune, and, leaving a guard in the enemy’s camp,
he called back those that were in the pursuit, and rallied them together
to lead them to the relief of Cassius, whose fortune had been as
follows.
First, he had been angry at the onset that Brutus’s soldiers made,
without the word of battle or command to charge. Then, after they had
overcome, he was as much displeased to see them rush on to the plunder
and spoil, and neglect to surround and encompass the rest of the enemy.
Besides this, letting himself act by delay and expectation, rather than
command boldly and with a clear purpose, he got hemmed in by the right
wing of the enemy, and, his horse making with all haste their escape and
flying towards the sea, the foot also began to give way, which he
perceiving labored as much as ever he could to hinder their flight and
bring them back; and, snatching an ensign out of the hand of one that
fled, he stuck it at his feet, though he could hardly keep even his own
personal guard together. So that at last he was forced to fly with a few
about him to a little hill that overlooked the plain. But he himself,
being weak-sighted, discovered nothing, only the destruction of his
camp, and that with difficulty. But they that were with him saw a great
body of horse moving towards him, the same whom Brutus had sent. Cassius
believed these were enemies, and in pursuit of him; however, he sent
away Titinius, one of those that were with him, to learn what they were.
As soon as Brutus’s horse saw him coming, and knew him to be a friend
and a faithful servant of Cassius, those of them that were his more
familiar acquaintance, shouting out for joy and alighting from their
horses, shook hands and embraced him, and the rest rode round about him
singing and shouting, through their excess of gladness at the sight of
him. But this was the occasion of the greatest mischief that could be.
For Cassius really thought that Titinius had been taken by the enemy,
and cried out, “Through too much fondness of life, I have lived to
endure the sight of my friend taken by the enemy before my face.” After
which words he retired into an empty tent, taking along with him only
Pindarus, one of his freedmen, whom he had reserved for such an occasion
ever since the disasters in the expedition against the Parthians, when
Crassus was slain. From the Parthians he came away in safety; but now,
pulling up his mantle over his head, he made his neck bare, and held it
forth to Pindarus, commanding him to strike. The head was certainly
found lying severed from the body. But no man ever saw Pindarus after,
from which some suspected that he had killed his master without his
command. Soon after they perceived who the horsemen were, and saw
Titinius, crowned with garlands, making what haste he could towards
Cassius. But as soon as he understood by the cries and lamentations of
his afflicted friends the unfortunate error and death of his general, he
drew his sword, and having very much accused and upbraided his own long
stay, that had caused it, he slew himself.
Brutus, as soon as he was assured of the defeat of Cassius, made
haste to him; but heard nothing of his death till he came near his camp.
Then having lamented over his body, calling him “the last of the
Romans,” it being impossible that the city should ever produce another
man of so great a spirit, he sent away the body to be buried at Thasos,
lest celebrating his funeral within the camp might breed some disorder.
He then gathered the soldiers together and comforted them; and, seeing
them destitute of all things necessary, he promised to every man two
thousand drachmas in recompense of what he had lost. They at these words
took courage, and were astonished at the magnificence of the gift; and
waited upon him at his parting with shouts and praises, magnifying him
for the only general of all the four who was not overcome in the battle.
And indeed the action itself testified that it was not without reason he
believed he should conquer; for with a few legions he overthrew all that
resisted him; and if all his soldiers had fought, and the most of them
had not passed beyond the enemy in pursuit of the plunder, it is very
likely that he had utterly defeated every part of them.
There fell of his side eight thousand men, reckoning the servants of
the army, whom Brutus calls Briges; and on the other side, Messala says
his opinion is that there were slain above twice that number. For which
reason they were more out of heart than Brutus, until a servant of
Cassius, named Demetrius, came in the evening to Antony, and brought to
him the garment which he had taken from the dead body, and his sword; at
the sight of which they were so encouraged, that, as soon as it was
morning, they drew out their whole force into the field, and stood in
battle array. But Brutus found both his camps wavering and in disorder;
for his own, being filled with prisoners, required a guard more strict
than ordinary over them; and that of Cassius was uneasy at the change of
general, besides some envy and rancor, which those that were conquered
bore to that part of the army which had been conquerors. Wherefore he
thought it convenient to put his army in array, but to abstain from
fighting. All the slaves that were taken prisoners, of whom there was a
great number that were mixed up, not without suspicion, among the
soldiers, he commanded to be slain; but of the freemen and citizens,
some he dismissed, saying that among the enemy they were rather
prisoners than with him, for with them they were captives and slaves,
but with him freemen and citizens of Rome. But he was forced to hide and
help them to escape privately, perceiving that his friends and officers
were bent upon revenge against them. Among the captives there was one
Volumnius, a player, and Sacculio, a buffoon; of these Brutus took no
manner of notice, but his friends brought them before him, and accused
them that even then in that condition they did not refrain from their
jests and scurrilous language. Brutus, having his mind taken up with
other affairs, said nothing to their accusation; but the judgment of
Messala Corvinus was, that they should be whipped publicly upon a stage,
and so sent naked to the captains of the enemy, to show them what sort
of fellow drinkers and companions they took with them on their
campaigns. At this some that were present laughed; and Publius Casca, he
that gave the first wound to Caesar, said, “We do ill to jest and make
merry at the funeral of Cassius. But you, O Brutus,” he added, “will
show what esteem you have for the memory of that general, according as
you punish or preserve alive those who will scoff and speak shamefully
of him.” To this Brutus, in great discomposure replied, “Why then,
Casca, do you ask me about it, and not do yourselves what you think
fitting?” This answer of Brutus was taken for his consent to the death
of these wretched men; so they were carried away and slain.
After this he gave the soldiers the reward that he had promised them;
and having slightly reproved them for having fallen upon the enemy in
disorder without the word of battle or command, he promised them, that
if they behaved themselves bravely in the next engagement, he would give
them up two cities to spoil and plunder, Thessalonica and Lacedaemon.
This is the one indefensible thing of all that is found fault with in
the life of Brutus; though true it may be that Antony and Caesar were
much more cruel in the rewards that they gave their soldiers after
victory; for they drove out, one might almost say, all the old
inhabitants of Italy, to put their soldiers in possession of other men’s
lands and cities. But indeed their only design and end in undertaking
the war was to obtain dominion and empire, whereas Brutus, for the
reputation of his virtue, could not be permitted either to overcome or
save himself but with justice and honor, especially after the death of
Cassius, who was generally accused of having been his adviser to some
things that he had done with less clemency. But now, as in a ship, when
the rudder is broken by a storm, the mariners fit and nail on some other
piece of wood instead of it, striving against the danger not well, but
as well as in that necessity they can, so Brutus, being at the head of
so great an army, in a time of such uncertainty, having no commander
equal to his need, was forced to make use of those that he had, and to
do and to say many things according to their advice; which was, in
effect, whatever might conduce to the bringing of Cassius’s soldiers
into better order. For they were very headstrong and intractable, bold
and insolent in the camp for want of their general, but in the field
cowardly and fearful, remembering that they had been beaten.
Neither were the affairs of Caesar and Antony in any better posture;
for they were straitened for provision, and, the camp being in a low
ground, they expected to pass a very hard winter. For being driven close
upon the marshes, and a great quantity of rain, as is usual in autumn,
having fallen after the battle, their tents were all filled with mire
and water, which through the coldness of the weather immediately froze.
And while they were in this condition, there was news brought to them of
their loss at sea. For Brutus’s fleet fell upon their ships, which were
bringing a great supply of soldiers out of Italy, and so entirely
defeated them, that but very few of the men escaped being slain, and
they too were forced by famine to feed upon the sails and tackle of the
ship. As soon as they heard this, they made what haste they could to
come to the decision of a battle, before Brutus should have notice of
his good success. For it had so happened that the fight both by sea and
land was on the same day, but by some misfortune, rather than the fault
of his commanders, Brutus knew not of his victory twenty days after. For
had he been informed of this, he would not have been brought to a second
battle, since he had sufficient provisions for his army for a long time,
and was very advantageously posted, his camp being well sheltered from
the cold weather, and almost inaccessible to the enemy, and his being
absolute master of the sea, and having at land overcome on that side
wherein he himself was engaged, would have made him full of hope and
confidence. But it seems, the state of Rome not enduring any longer to
be governed by many, but necessarily requiring a monarchy, the divine
power, that it might remove out of the way the only man that was able to
resist him that could control the empire, cut off his good fortune from
coming to the ears of Brutus; though it came but a very little too late,
for the very evening before the fight, Clodius, a deserter from the
enemy, came and announced that Caesar had received advice of the loss of
his fleet, and for that reason was in such haste to come to a battle.
But his story met with no credit, nor was he so much as seen by Brutus,
being simply set down as one that had had no good information, or
invented lies to bring himself into favor.
The same night, they say, the vision appeared again to Brutus, in the
same shape that it did before, but vanished without speaking. But
Publius Volumnius, a philosopher, and one that had from the beginning
borne arms with Brutus, makes no mention of this apparition, but says
that the first eagle was covered with a swarm of bees, and that there
was one of the captains whose arm of itself sweated oil of roses, and,
though they often dried and wiped it, yet it would not cease; and that
immediately before the battle, two eagles falling upon each other fought
in the space between the two armies, that the whole field kept
incredible silence and all were intent upon the spectacle, until at last
that which was on Brutus’s side yielded and fled. But the story of the
Ethiopian is very famous, who meeting the standard-bearer at the opening
the gate of the camp, was cut to pieces by the soldiers, that took it
for an ill omen.
Brutus, having brought his army into the field and set them in array
against the enemy, paused a long while before he would fight; for, as he
was reviewing the troops, suspicions were excited, and informations laid
against some of them. Besides, he saw his horse not very eager to begin
the action, and waiting to see what the foot would do. Then suddenly
Camulatus, a very good soldier, and one whom for his valor he highly
esteemed, riding hard by Brutus himself, went over to the enemy, the
sight of which grieved Brutus exceedingly. So that partly out of anger,
and partly out of fear of some greater treason and desertion, he
immediately drew on his forces upon the enemy, the sun now declining,
about three of the clock in the afternoon. Brutus on his side had the
better, and pressed hard on the left wing, which gave way and retreated;
and the horse too fell in together with the foot, when they saw the
enemy in disorder. But the other wing, when the officers extended the
line to avoid its being encompassed, the numbers being inferior, got
drawn out too thin in the center, and was so weak here that they could
not withstand the charge, but at the first onset fled. After defeating
these, the enemy at once took Brutus in the rear, who all the while
performed all that was possible for an expert general and valiant
soldier, doing everything in the peril, by counsel and by hand, that
might recover the victory. But that which had been his superiority in
the former fight was to his prejudice in this second. For in the first
fight, that part of the enemy which was beaten was killed on the spot;
but of Cassius’s soldiers that fled few had been slain, and those that
escaped, daunted with their defeat, infected the other and larger part
of the army with their want of spirit and their disorder. Here Marcus,
the son of Cato, was slain, fighting and behaving himself with great
bravery in the midst of the youth of the highest rank and greatest
valor. He would neither fly nor give the least ground, but, still
fighting and declaring who he was and naming his father’s name, he fell
upon a heap of dead bodies of the enemy. And of the rest, the bravest
were slain in defending Brutus.
There was in the field one Lucilius, an excellent man and a friend of
Brutus, who, seeing some barbarian horse taking no notice of any other
in the pursuit, but galloping at full speed after Brutus, resolved to
stop them, though with the hazard of his life; and, letting himself fall
a little behind, he told them that he was Brutus. They believed him the
rather, because he prayed to be carried to Antony, as if he feared
Caesar, but durst trust him. They, overjoyed with their prey, and
thinking themselves wonderfully fortunate, carried him along with them
in the night, having first sent messengers to Antony of their coming. He
was much pleased, and came to meet them; and all the rest that heard
that Brutus was taken and brought alive, flocked together to see him,
some pitying his fortune, others accusing; him of a meanness unbecoming
his former glory, that out of too much love of life he would be a prey
to barbarians. When they came near together, Antony stood still,
considering with himself in what manner he should receive Brutus. But
Lucilius, being brought up to him, with great confidence said: “Be
assured, Antony, that no enemy either has taken or ever shall take
Marcus Brutus alive (forbid it, heaven, that fortune should ever so much
prevail above virtue), but he shall be found, alive or dead, as becomes
himself. As for me, I am come hither by a cheat that I put upon your
soldiers, and am ready, upon this occasion, to suffer any severities you
will inflict.” All were amazed to hear Lucilius speak these words. But
Antony, turning himself to those that brought him, said: “I perceive, my
fellow-soldiers, that you are concerned and take it ill that you have
been thus deceived, and think yourselves abused and injured by it; but
know that you have met with a booty better than that you sought. For you
were in search of an enemy, but you have brought me here a friend. For
indeed I am uncertain how I should have used Brutus, if you had brought
him alive; but of this I am sure, that it is better to have such men as
Lucilius our friends than our enemies.” Having said this, he embraced
Lucilius, and for the present commended him to the care of one of his
friends, and ever after found him a steady and a faithful friend.
Brutus had now passed a little brook, running among trees and under
steep rocks, and, it being night, would go no further, but sat down in a
hollow place with a great rock projecting before it, with a few of his
officers and friends about him. At first, looking up to heaven, that was
then full of stars, he repeated two verses, one of which, Volumnius
writes, was this: —
Punish, great Jove, the author of these ills.
The other he says he has forgot. Soon after, naming severally all his
friends that had been slain before his face in the battle, he groaned
heavily, especially at the mentioning of Flavius and Labeo, the latter
his lieutenant, and the other chief officer of his engineers. In the
meantime, one of his companions, that was very thirsty and saw Brutus in
the same condition, took his helmet and ran to the brook for water,
when, a noise being heard from the other side of the river, Volumnius,
taking Dardanus, Brutus’s armor-bearer, with him, went out to see what
it was. They returned in a short space, and inquired about the water.
Brutus, smiling with much meaning, said to Volumnius, “It is all drunk;
but you shall have some more fetched.” But he that had brought the first
water, being sent again, was in great danger of being taken by the
enemy, and, having received a wound, with much difficulty escaped.
Now Brutus guessing that not many of his men were slain in the fight,
Statyllius undertook to dash through the enemy (for there was no other
way), and to see what was become of their camp; and promised, if he
found all things there safe, to hold up a torch for a signal, and then
return. The torch was held up, for Statyllius got safe to the camp; but
when after a long time he did not return, Brutus said, “If Statyllius be
alive, he will come back.” But it happened that in his return he fell
into the enemy’s hands, and was slain.
The night now being far spent, Brutus, as he was sitting, leaned his
head towards his servant Clitus and spoke to him; he answered him not,
but fell a weeping. After that, he drew aside his armor-bearer, Dardanus,
and had some discourse with him in private. At last, speaking to
Volumnius in Greek, he reminded him of their common studies and former
discipline, and begged that he would take hold of his sword with him,
and help him to thrust it through him. Volumnius put away his request,
and several others did the like; and someone saying, that there was no
staying there, but they needs must fly, Brutus, rising up, said, “Yes,
indeed, we must fly, but not with our feet, but with our hands.” Then
giving each of them his right hand, with a countenance full of pleasure,
he said, that he found an infinite satisfaction in this, that none of
his friends had been false to him; that as for fortune, he was angry
with that only for his country’s sake; as for himself, he thought
himself much more happy than they who had overcome, not only as he had
been a little time ago, but even now in his present condition; since he
was leaving behind him such a reputation of his virtue as none of the
conquerors with all their arms and riches should ever be able to
acquire, no more than they could hinder posterity from believing and
saying, that, being unjust and wicked men, they had destroyed the just
and the good, and usurped a power to which they had no right. After
this, having exhorted and entreated all about him to provide for their
own safety, he withdrew from them with two or three only of his peculiar
friends; Strato was one of these, with whom he had contracted an
acquaintance when they studied rhetoric together. Him he placed next to
himself, and, taking hold of the hilt of his sword and directing it with
both his hands, he fell upon it, and killed himself. But others say,
that not he himself, but Strato, at the earnest entreaty of Brutus,
turning aside his head, held the sword, upon which he violently throwing
himself, it pierced his breast, and he immediately died. This same
Strato, Messala, a friend of Brutus, being, after reconciled to Caesar,
brought to him once at his leisure, and with tears in his eyes said,
“This, O Caesar, is the man that did the last friendly office to my
beloved Brutus.” Upon which Caesar received him kindly; and had good use
of him in his labors and his battles at Actium, being one of the Greeks
that proved their bravery in his service. It is reported of Messala
himself, that, when Caesar once gave him this commendation, that though
he was his fiercest enemy at Philippi in the cause of Brutus, yet he had
shown himself his most entire friend in the fight of Actium, he
answered, “You have always found me, Caesar, on the best and justest
side.”
Brutus’s dead body was found by Antony, who commanded the richest
purple mantle that he had to be thrown over it, and afterwards the
mantle being stolen, he found the thief, and had him put to death. He
sent the ashes of Brutus to his mother Servilia. As for Porcia his wife,
Nicolaus the philosopher and Valerius Maximus write, that, being
desirous to die, but being hindered by her friends, who continually
watched her, she snatched some burning charcoal out of the fire, and,
shutting it close in her mouth, stifled herself, and died. Though there
is a letter current from Brutus to his friends, in which he laments the
death of Porcia, and accuses them for neglecting her so that she desired
to die rather than languish with her disease. So that it seems Nicolaus
was mistaken in the time; for this epistle (if it indeed is authentic,
and truly Brutus’s) gives us to understand the malady and love of Porcia,
and the way in which her death occurred.
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Comparison of Dion and Brutus
There are noble points in abundance in the characters of these
two men, and one to be first mentioned is their attaining such a
height of greatness upon such inconsiderable means; and on this
score Dion has by far the advantage. For he had no partner to
contest his glory, as Brutus had in Cassius, who was not, indeed,
his equal in proved virtue and honor, yet contributed quite as much
to the service of the war by his boldness, skill, and activity; and
some there be who impute to him the rise and beginning of the whole
enterprise, saying that it was he who roused Brutus, till then
indisposed to stir, into action against Caesar. Whereas Dion seems
of himself to have provided not only arms, ships, and soldiers, but
likewise friends and partners for the enterprise. Neither did he, as
Brutus, collect money and forces from the war itself, but, on the
contrary, laid out of his own substance, and employed the very means
of his private sustenance in exile for the liberty of his country.
Besides this, Brutus and Cassius, when they fled from Rome, could
not live safe or quiet, being condemned to death and pursued, and
were thus of necessity forced to take arms and hazard their lives in
their own defense, to save themselves, rather than their country. On
the other hand, Dion enjoyed more ease, was more safe, and his life
more pleasant in his banishment, than was the tyrant’s who had
banished him, when he flew to action, and ran the risk of all to
save Sicily.
Take notice, too, that it was not the same thing for the
Sicilians to be freed from Dionysius, and for the Romans to be freed
from Caesar. The former owned himself a tyrant, and vexed Sicily
with a thousand oppressions; whereas Caesar’s supremacy, certainly,
in the process for attaining it, had inflicted no little trouble on
its opponents, but, once established and victorious, it had indeed
the name and appearance, but fact that was cruel or tyrannical there
was none. On the contrary, in the malady of the times and the need
of a monarchical government, he might be thought to have been sent,
as the gentlest physician, by no other than a divine intervention.
And thus the common people instantly regretted Caesar, and grew
enraged and implacable against those that killed him. Whereas Dion’s
chief offense in the eyes of his fellow-citizens was his having let
Dionysius escape, and not having demolished the former tyrant’s
tomb.
In the actual conduct of war, Dion was a commander without fault,
improving to the utmost those counsels which he himself gave, and,
where others led him into disaster, correcting and turning
everything to the best. But Brutus seems to have shown little wisdom
in engaging in the final battle, which was to decide everything,
and, when he failed, not to have done his business in seeking a
remedy ; he gave all up, and abandoned his hopes, not venturing
against fortune even as far as Pompey did, when he had still means
enough to rely on in his troops, and was clearly master of all the
seas with his ships.
The greatest thing charged on Brutus is, that he, being saved by
Caesar’s kindness, having saved all the friends whom he chose to ask
for, he moreover accounted a friend, and preferred above many, did
yet lay violent hands upon his preserver. Nothing like this could be
objected against Dion; quite the contrary, whilst he was of
Dionysius’s family and his friend, he did good service, and was
useful to him; but driven from his country, wronged in his wife, and
his estate lost, he openly entered upon a war just and lawful. Does
not, however, the matter turn the other way? For the chief glory of
both was their hatred of tyranny, and abhorrence of wickedness. This
was unmixed and sincere in Brutus; for he had no private quarrel
with Caesar, but went into the risk singly for the liberty of his
country. The other, had he not been privately injured, had not
fought. This is plain from Plato’s epistles, where it is shown that
he was turned out, and did not forsake the court to wage war upon
Dionysius. Moreover, the public good made Brutus Pompey’s friend
(instead of his enemy as he had been) and Caesar’s enemy; since he
proposed for his hatred and his friendship no other end and standard
but justice. Dion was very serviceable to Dionysius whilst in favor;
when no longer trusted, he grew angry and fell to arms. And, for
this reason, not even were his own friends all of them satisfied
with his undertaking, or quite assured that, having overcome
Dionysius, he might not settle the government on himself, deceiving
his fellow-citizens by some less obnoxious name than tyranny. But
the very enemies of Brutus would say that he had no other end or
aim, from first to last, save only to restore to the Roman people
their ancient government.
And apart from what has just been said, the adventure against
Dionysius was nothing equal with that against Caesar. For none that
was familiarly conversant with Dionysius but scorned him for his
life of idle amusement with wine, women, and dice; whereas it
required an heroic soul and a truly intrepid and unquailing spirit
so much as to entertain the thought of crushing Caesar so formidable
for his ability, his power, and his fortune, whose very name
disturbed the slumbers of the Parthian and Indian kings. Dion was no
sooner seen in Sicily but thousands ran in to him and joined him
against Dionysius; whereas the renown of Caesar, even when dead,
gave strength to his friends; and his very name so heightened the
person that took it, that from a simple boy he presently became the
chief of the Romans; and he could use it for a spell against the
enmity and power of Antony. If any object that it cost Dion great
trouble and difficulties to overcome the tyrant, whereas Brutus slew
Caesar naked and unprovided, yet this itself was the result of the
most consummate policy and conduct, to bring it about that a man so
guarded around, and so fortified at all points, should be taken
naked and unprovided. For it was not on the sudden, nor alone, nor
with a few, that he fell upon and killed Caesar; but after long
concerting the plot, and placing confidence in a great many men, not
one of whom deceived him. For he either at once discerned the best
men, or by confiding in them made them good. But Dion, either making
a wrong judgment, trusted himself with ill men, or else by his
employing them made ill men of good; either of the two would be a
reflection on a wise man. Plato also is severe upon him, for
choosing such for friends as betrayed him.
Besides, when Dion was killed, none appeared to revenge his
death. Whereas Brutus, even amongst his enemies, had Antony that
buried him splendidly; and Caesar also took care his honors should
be preserved. There stood at Milan in Gaul, within the Alps, a
brazen statue, which Caesar in after-times noticed (being a real
likeness, and a fine work of art), and passing by it, presently
stopped short, and in the hearing of many commended the magistrates
to come before him. He told them their town had broken their league,
harboring an enemy. The magistrates at first simply denied the
thing, and, not knowing what he meant, looked one upon another, when
Caesar, turning towards the statue and gathering his brows, said,
“Pray, is not that our enemy who stands there?” They were all in
confusion, and had nothing to answer; but he, smiling, much
commended the Gauls, as who had been firm to their friends, though
in adversity, and ordered that the statue should remain standing as
he found it.
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Aratus
The philosopher Chrysippus, O Polycrates, quotes an ancient
proverb, not as really it should be, apprehending, I suppose, that it
sounded too harshly, but so as he thought it would run best, in these
words,
Who praise their father but the generous sons?
But Dionysodorus the Troezenian proves him to be wrong, and restores
the true reading, which is this, —
Who praise their fathers but degenerate sons?
telling us that the proverb is meant to stop the mouth of those who,
having no merit of their own, take refuge in the virtues of their
ancestors, and make their advantage of praising them.
But, as Pindar hath it,
He that by nature doth inherit
From ancestors a noble spirit,
as you do, who make your life the copy of the fairest originals of
your family, — such, I say, may take great satisfaction in being
reminded, both by hearing others speak and speaking themselves, of the
best of their progenitors. For they assume not the glory of praises
earned by others out of any want of worth of their own, but, affiliating
their own deeds to those of their ancestor, give them honor as the
authors both of their descent and manners.
Therefore I have sent to you the life which I have written of your
fellow-citizen and forefather Aratus, to whom you are no discredit in
point either of reputation or of authority, not as though you had not
been most diligently careful to inform yourself from the beginning
concerning his actions, but that your sons, Polycrates and Pythocles,
may both by hearing and reading become familiar with those family
examples which it behooves them to follow and imitate. It is a piece of
self-love, and not of the love of virtue, to imagine one has already
attained to what is best.
The city of Sicyon, from the time that it first fell off from the
pure and Doric aristocracy (its harmony being destroyed, and a mere
series of seditions and personal contests of popular leaders ensuing),
continued to be distempered and unsettled, changing from one tyrant to
another, until, Cleon being slain, Timoclides and Clinias, men of the
most repute and power amongst the citizens, were chosen to the
magistracy. And the commonwealth now seeming to be in a pretty settled
condition, Timoclides died, and Abantidas, the son of Paseas, to possess
himself of the tyranny, killed Clinias, and, of his kindred and friends,
slew some and banished others. He sought also to kill his son Aratus,
whom he left behind him, being but seven years old. This boy in the
general disorder getting out of the house with those that fled, and
wandering about the city helpless and in great fear, by chance got
undiscovered into the house of a woman who was Abantidas’s sister, but
married to Prophantus, the brother of Clinias, her name being Soso. She,
being of a generous temper, and believing the boy had by some
supernatural guidance fled to her for shelter, hid him in the house, and
at night sent him away to Argos.
Aratus, being thus delivered and secured from this danger, conceived
from the first and ever after nourished a vehement and burning hatred
against tyrants, which strengthened with his years. Being therefore bred
up amongst his father’s acquaintance and friends at Argos with a liberal
education, and perceiving his body to promise good health and stature,
he addicted himself to the exercises of the palaestra, to that degree
that he competed in the five games, and gained some crowns; and indeed
in his statues one may observe a certain kind of athletic cast, and the
sagacity and majesty of his countenance does not dissemble his full diet
and the use of the hoe. Whence it came to pass that he less studied
eloquence than perhaps became a statesman, and yet he was more
accomplished in speaking than many believe, judging by the commentaries
which he left behind him, written carelessly and by the way, as fast as
he could do it, and in such words as first came to his mind.
In the course of time, Dinias and Aristoteles the logician killed
Abantidas, who used to be present in the marketplace at their
discussions, and to make one in them; till they, taking the occasion,
insensibly accustomed him to the practice, and so had opportunity to
contrive and execute a plot against him. After him Paseas, the father of
Abantidas, taking upon him the government, was assassinated by Nicocles,
who himself set up for tyrant. Of him it is related that he was
strikingly like Periander the son of Cypselus, just as it is said that
Orontes the Persian bore a great resemblance to Alcmaeon the son of
Amphiaraus, and that Lacedaemonian youth, whom Myrsilus relates to have
been trodden to pieces by the crowd of those that came to see him upon
that report, to Hector.
This Nicocles governed four months, in which, after he had done all
kinds of mischief to the city, he very nearly let it fall into the hands
of the Aetolians. By this time Aratus, being grown a youth, was in much
esteem, both for his noble birth and his spirit and disposition, which,
while neither insignificant nor wanting in energy, were solid, and
tempered with a steadiness of judgment beyond his years. For which
reason the exiles had their eyes most upon him, nor did Nicocles less
observe his motions, but secretly spied and watched him, not out of
apprehension of any such considerable or utterly audacious attempt, but
suspecting he held correspondence with the kings, who were his father’s
friends and acquaintance. And, indeed, Aratus first attempted this way;
but finding that Antigonus, who had promised fair, neglected him and
delayed the time, and that his hopes from Egypt and Ptolemy were long to
wait for, he determined to cut off the tyrant by himself.
And first he broke his mind to Aristomachus and Ecdelus, the one an
exile of Sicyon, the other, Ecdelus, an Arcadian of Megalopolis, a
philosopher, and a man of action, having been the familiar friend of
Arcesilaus the Academic at Athens. These readily consenting, he
communicated with the other exiles, whereof some few, being ashamed to
seem to despair of success, engaged in the design; but most of them
endeavored to divert him from his purpose, as one that for want of
experience was too rash and daring.
Whilst he was consulting to seize upon some post in Sicyonia, from
whence he might make war upon the tyrant, there came to Argos a certain
Sicyonian, newly escaped out of prison, brother to Xenocles, one of the
exiles, who being by him presented to Aratus informed him, that that
part of the wall over which he escaped was, inside, almost level with
the ground, adjoining a rocky and elevated place, and that from the
outside it might be scaled with ladders. Aratus, hearing this,
dispatches away Xenocles with two of his own servants, Seuthas and
Technon, to view the wall, resolving, if possible, secretly and with one
risk to hazard all on a single trial, rather than carry on a contest as
a private man against a tyrant by long war and open force. Xenocles,
therefore, with his companions, returning having taken the height of the
wall, and declaring the place not to be impossible or indeed difficult
to get over, but that it was not easy to approach it undiscovered, by
reason of some small but uncommonly savage and noisy dogs belonging to a
gardener hard by, he immediately undertook the business.
Now the preparation of arms gave no jealousy, because robberies and
petty forays were at that time common everywhere between one set of
people and another; and for the ladders, Euphranor, the machine-maker,
made them openly, his trade rendering him unsuspected, though one of the
exiles. As for men, each of his friends in Argos furnished him with ten
apiece out of those few they had, and he armed thirty of his own
servants, and hired some few soldiers of Xenophilus, the chief of the
robber captains, to whom it was given out that they were to march into
the territory of Sicyon to seize the king’s stud; most of them were sent
before, in small parties, to the tower of Polygnotus, with orders to
wait there; Caphisias also was dispatched beforehand lightly armed, with
four others, who were, as soon as it was dark, to come to the gardener’s
house, pretending to be travelers, and, procuring their lodging there,
to shut up him and his dogs; for there was no other way of getting past.
And for the ladders, they had been made to take in pieces, and were put
into chests, and sent before hidden upon wagons. In the meantime, some
of the spies of Nicocles appearing in Argos, and being said to go
privately about watching Aratus, he came early in the morning into the
market-place, showing him self openly and conversing with his friends;
then he anointed himself in the exercise ground, and, taking with him
thence some of the young men that used to drink and spend their time
with him, he went home; and presently after several of his servants were
seen about the marketplace, one carrying garlands, another buying
flambeaus, and a third speaking to the women that used to sing and play
at banquets, all which things the spies observing were deceived, and
said laughing to one another, “Certainly nothing can be more timorous
than a tyrant, if Nicocles, being master of so great a city and so
numerous a force, stands in fear of a youth that spends what he has to
subsist upon in his banishment in pleasures and day-debauches;” and,
being thus imposed upon, they returned home.
But Aratus, departing immediately after his morning meal, and coming
to his soldiers at Polygnotus’s tower, led them to Nemea; where he
disclosed, to most of them for the first time; his true design, making
them large promises and fair speeches, and marched towards the city,
giving for the word Apollo victorious, proportioning his march to the
motion of the moon, so as to have the benefit of her light upon the way,
and to be in the garden, which was close to the wall, just as she was
setting. Here Caphisias came to him, who had not secured the dogs, which
had run away before he could catch them, but had only made sure of the
gardener. Upon which most of the company being out of heart and desiring
to retreat, Aratus encouraged them to go on, promising to retire in case
the dogs were too troublesome; and at the same time sending forward
those that carried the ladders, conducted by Ecdelus and Mnasitheus, he
followed them himself leisurely, the dogs already barking very loud and
following, the steps of Ecdelus and his companions. However, they got to
the wall, and reared the ladders with safety. But as the foremost men
were mounting them, the captain of the watch that was to be relieved by
the morning guard passed on his way with the bell, and there were many
lights, and a noise of people coming up. Hearing which, they clapped
themselves close to the ladders, and so were unobserved; but as the
other watch also was coming up to meet this, they were in extreme danger
of being discovered. But when this also went by without observing them,
immediately Mnasitheus and Ecdelus got upon the wall, and, possessing
themselves of the approaches inside and out, sent away Technon to
Aratus, desiring him to make all the haste he could.
Now there was no great distance from the garden to the wall and to
the tower, in which latter a large hound was kept. The hound did not
hear their steps of himself, whether that he were naturally drowsy, or
overwearied the day before, but, the gardener’s curs awaking him, he
first began to growl and grumble in response, and then as they passed by
to bark out aloud. And the barking was now so great, that the sentinel
opposite shouted out to the dog’s keeper to know why the dog kept such a
barking, and whether anything was the matter; who answered, that it was
nothing, but only that his dog had been set barking by the lights of the
watch and the noise of the bell. This reply much encouraged Aratus’s
soldiers, who thought the dog’s keeper was privy to their design, and
wished to conceal what was passing, and that many others in the city
were of the conspiracy. But when they came to scale the wall, the
attempt then appeared both to require time and to be full of danger, for
the ladders shook and tottered extremely unless they mounted them
leisurely and one by one, and time pressed, for the cocks began to crow,
and the country people that used to bring things to the market would be
coming to the town directly. Therefore Aratus made haste to get up
himself, forty only of the company being already upon the wall, and,
staying but for a few more of those that were below, he made straight to
the tyrant’s house and the general’s office, where the mercenary
soldiers passed the night, and, coming suddenly upon them, and taking
them prisoners without killing any one of them, he immediately sent to
all his friends in their houses to desire them to come to him, which
they did from all quarters. By this time the day began to break, and the
theater was filled with a multitude that were held in suspense by
uncertain reports and knew nothing distinctly of what had happened,
until a public crier came forward and proclaimed that Aratus, the son of
Clinias, invited the citizens to recover their liberty.
Then at last assured that what they so long looked for was come to
pass, they pressed in throngs to the tyrant’s gates to set them on fire.
And such a flame was kindled, the whole house catching fire, that it was
seen as far as Corinth; so that the Corinthians, wondering what the
matter could be, were upon the point of coming to their assistance.
Nicocles fled away secretly out of the city by means of certain
underground passages, and the soldiers, helping the Sicyonians to quench
the fire, plundered the house. This Aratus hindered not, but divided
also the rest of the riches of the tyrants amongst the citizens. In this
exploit, not one of those engaged in it was slain, nor any of the
contrary party, fortune so ordering the action as to be clear and free
from civil bloodshed. He restored eighty exiles who had been expelled by
Nicocles, and no less than five hundred who had been driven out by
former tyrants and had endured a long banishment, pretty nearly, by this
time, of fifty years’ duration. These returning, most of them very poor,
were impatient to enter upon their former possessions, and, proceeding
to their several farms and houses, gave great perplexity to Aratus, who
considered that the city without was envied for its liberty and aimed at
by Antigonus, and within was full of disorder and sedition. Wherefore,
as things stood, he thought it best to associate it to the Achaean
community, and so, although Dorians, they of their own will took upon
them the name and citizenship of the Achaeans, who at that time had
neither great repute nor much power. For the most of them lived in small
towns, and their territory was neither large nor fruitful, and the
neighboring sea was almost wholly without a harbor, breaking direct upon
a rocky shore. But yet these above others made it appear that the
Grecian courage was invincible, whensoever it could only have order and
concord within itself and a prudent general to direct it. For though
they had scarcely been counted as any part of the ancient Grecian power,
and at this time did not equal the strength of one ordinary city, yet by
prudence and unanimity, and because they knew how not to envy and
malign, but to obey and follow him amongst them that was most eminent
for virtue, they not only preserved their own liberty in the midst of so
many great cities, military powers, and monarchies, but went on steadily
saving and delivering from slavery great numbers of the Greeks.
As for Aratus, he was in his behavior a true statesman, high-minded,
and more intent upon the public than his private concerns, a bitter
hater of tyrants, making the common good the rule and law of his
friendships and enmities. So that indeed he seems not to have been so
faithful a friend, as he was a reasonable and gentle enemy, ready,
according to the needs of the state, to suit himself on occasion to
either side; concord between nations, brotherhood between cities, the
council and the assembly unanimous in their votes, being the objects
above all other blessings to which he was passionately devoted;
backward, indeed, and diffident in the use of arms and open force, but
in effecting a purpose underhand, and outwitting cities and potentates
without observation, most politic and dexterous. Therefore, though he
succeeded beyond hope in many enterprises which he undertook, yet he
seems to have left quite as many unattempted, though feasible enough,
for want of assurance. For it should seem, that, as the sight of certain
beasts is strong in the night but dim by day, the tenderness of the
humors of their eyes not bearing the contact of the light, so there is
also one kind of human skill and sagacity which is easily daunted and
disturbed in actions done in the open day and before the world, and
recovers all its self-possession in secret and covert enterprises; which
inequality is occasioned in noble minds for want of philosophy, a mere
wild and uncultivated fruit of a virtue without true knowledge coming
up; as might be made out by examples.
Aratus, therefore, having associated himself and his city to the
Achaeans, served in the cavalry, and made himself much beloved by his
commanding officers for his exact obedience; for though he had made so
large an addition to the common strength as that of his own credit and
the power of his country, yet he was as ready as the most ordinary
person to be commanded by the Achaean general of the time being, whether
he were a man of Dymae, or of Tritaea, or any yet meaner town than
these. Having also a present of five and twenty talents sent him from
the king, he took them, but gave them all to his fellow-citizens, who
wanted money, amongst other purposes, for the redemption of those who
had been taken prisoners.
But the exiles being by no means to be satisfied, disturbing
continually those that were in possession of their estates, Sicyon was
in great danger of falling into perfect desolation; so that, having no
hope left but in the kindness of Ptolemy, he resolved to sail to him,
and to beg so much money of him as might reconcile all parties. So he
set sail from Mothone beyond Malea, designing to make the direct
passage. But the pilot not being able to keep the vessel up against a
strong wind and high waves that came in from the open sea, he was driven
from his course, and with much ado got to shore in Andros, an enemy’s
land, possessed by Antigonus, who had a garrison there. To avoid which
he immediately landed, and, leaving the ship, went up into the country a
good way from the sea, having along with him only one friend, called
Timanthes; and throwing themselves into some ground thickly covered with
wood, they had but an ill night’s rest of it. Not long after, the
commander of the troops came, and, inquiring for Aratus, was deceived by
his servants, who had been instructed to say that he had fled at once
over into the island of Euboea. However, he declared the chip, the
property on board of her, and the servants, to be lawful prize, and
detained them accordingly. As for Aratus, after some few days, in his
extremity by good fortune a Roman ship happened to put in just at the
spot in which he made his abode, sometimes peeping out to seek his
opportunity, sometimes keeping close. She was bound for Syria; but going
aboard, he agreed with the master to land him in Caria. In which voyage
he met with no less danger on the sea than before. From Caria being
after much time arrived in Egypt, he immediately went to the king, who
had a great kindness for him, and had received from him many presents of
drawings and paintings out of Greece. Aratus had a very good judgment in
them, and always took care to collect and send him the most curious and
finished works, especially those of Pamphilus and Melanthus.
For the Sicyonian pieces were still in the height of their
reputation, as being the only ones whose colors were lasting; so that
Apelles himself, even after he had become well known and admired, went
thither, and gave a talent to be admitted into the society of the
painters there, not so much to partake of their skill, which he wanted
not, but of their credit. And accordingly Aratus, when he freed the
city, immediately took down the representations of the rest of the
tyrants, but demurred a long time about that of Aristratus, who
flourished in the time of Philip. For this Aristratus was painted by
Melanthus and his scholars, standing by a chariot, in which a figure of
Victory was carried, Apelles himself having had a hand in it, as Polemon
the geographer reports. It was an extraordinary piece, and therefore
Aratus was fain to spare it for the workmanship, and yet, instigated by
the hatred he bore the tyrants, commanded it to be taken down. But
Nealces the painter, one of Aratus’s friends, entreated him, it is said,
with tears in his eyes, to spare it, and, finding he did not prevail
with him, told him at last he should carry on his war with the tyrants,
but with the tyrants alone: “Let therefore the chariot and the Victory
stand, and I will take means for the removal of Aristratus;” to which
Aratus consenting, Nealces blotted out Aristratus, and in his place
painted a palm-tree, not daring to add anything else of his own
invention. The feet of the defaced figure of Aristratus are said to have
escaped notice, and to be hid under the chariot. By these means Aratus
got favor with the king, who, after he was more fully acquainted with
him, loved him so much the more, and gave him for the relief of his city
one hundred and fifty talents; forty of which he immediately carried
away with him, when he sailed to Peloponnesus, but the rest the king
divided into installments, and sent them to him afterwards at different
times.
Assuredly it was a great thing to procure for his fellow-citizens a
sum of money, a small portion of which had been sufficient, when
presented by a king to other captains and popular leaders, to induce
them to turn dishonest, and betray and give away their native countries
to him. But it was a much greater, that by means of this money he
effected a reconciliation and good understanding between the rich and
poor, and created quiet and security for the whole people. His
moderation, also, amidst so great power was very admirable. For being
declared sole arbitrator and plenipotentiary for settling the questions
of property in the case of the exiles, he would not accept the
commission alone, but, associating with himself fifteen of the citizens,
with great pains and trouble he succeeded in adjusting matters, and
established peace and good-will in the city, for which good service, not
only all the citizens in general bestowed extraordinary honors upon him,
but the exiles, apart by themselves, erecting his statue in brass,
inscribed on it these elegiac verses: —
Your counsels, deeds, and skill for Greece in war
Known beyond Hercules’s pillars are;
But we this image, O Aratus, gave
Of you who saved us, to the gods who save,
By you from exile to our homes restored,
That virtue and that justice to record,
To which the blessing Sicyon owes this day
Of wealth that’s shared alike, and laws that all obey.
By his success in effecting these things, Aratus secured himself from
the envy of his fellow-citizens, on account of the benefits they felt he
had done them; but king Antigonus being troubled in his mind about him,
and designing either wholly to bring him over to his party, or else to
make him suspected by Ptolemy, besides other marks of his favor shown to
him, who had little mind to receive them, added this too, that,
sacrificing to the gods in Corinth, he sent portions to Aratus at
Sicyon, and at the feast, where were many guests, he said openly, “I
thought this Sicyonian youth had been only a lover of liberty and of his
fellow-citizens, but now I look upon him as a good judge of the manners
and actions of kings. For formerly he despised us, and, placing his
hopes further off, admired the Egyptian riches, hearing so much of their
elephants, fleets, and palaces. But after seeing all these at a nearer
distance, perceiving them to be but mere stage show and pageantry, he is
now come over to us. And for my part I willingly receive him, and,
resolving to make great use of him myself, command you to look upon him
as a friend.” These words were soon taken hold of by those that envied
and maligned him, who strove which of them should, in their letters to
Ptolemy, attack him with the worst calumnies, so that Ptolemy sent to
expostulate the matter with him; so much envy and ill-will did there
always attend the so much contended for, and so ardently and
passionately aspired to, friendships of princes and great men.
But Aratus, being now for the first time chosen general of the
Achaeans, ravaged the country of Locris and Calydon, just over against
Achaea, and then went to assist the Boeotians with ten thousand
soldiers, but came not up to them until after the battle near Chaeronea
had been fought, in which they were beaten by the Aetolians, with the
loss of Aboeocritus the Boeotarch, and a thousand men besides. A year
after, being again elected general, he resolved to attempt the capture
of the Acro-Corinthus, not so much for the advantage of the Sicyonians
or Achaeans, as considering that by expelling the Macedonian garrison he
should free all Greece alike from a tyranny which oppressed every part
of her. Chares the Athenian, having the good fortune to get the better,
in a certain battle, of the king’s generals, wrote to the people of
Athens that this victory was “sister to that at Marathon.” And so may
this action be very safely termed sister to those of Pelopidas the
Theban and Thrasybulus the Athenian, in which they slew the tyrants;
except, perhaps, it exceed them upon this account, that it was not
against natural Grecians, but against a foreign and stranger domination.
The Isthmus, rising like a bank between the seas, collects into a single
spot and compresses together the whole continent of Greece; and
Acro-Corinthus, being a high mountain springing up out of the very
middle of what here is Greece, whensoever it is held with a garrison,
stands in the way and cuts off all Peloponnesus from intercourse of
every kind, free passage of men and arms, and all traffic by sea and
land, and makes him lord of all, that is master of it. Wherefore the
younger Philip did not jest, but said very true, when he called the city
of Corinth “the fetters of Greece.” So that this post was always much
contended for, especially by the kings and tyrants; and so vehemently
was it longed for by Antigonus, that his passion for it came little
short of that of frantic love; he was continually occupied with devising
how to take it by surprise from those that were then masters of it,
since he despaired to do it by open force.
Therefore Alexander, who held the place, being dead, poisoned by him,
as is reported, and his wife Nicaea succeeding in the government and the
possession of Acro-Corinthus, he immediately made use of his son,
Demetrius, and, giving her pleasing hopes of a royal marriage and of a
happy life with a youth, whom a woman now growing old might well find
agreeable, with this lure of his son he succeeded in taking her; but the
place itself she did not deliver up, but continued to hold it with a
very strong garrison, of which he seeming to take no notice, celebrated
the wedding in Corinth, entertaining them with shows and banquets
everyday, as one that has nothing else in his mind but to give himself
up for awhile to indulgence in pleasure and mirth. But when the moment
came, and Amoebeus began to sing in the theater, he waited himself upon
Nicaea to the play, she being carried in a royally-decorated chair,
extremely pleased with her new honor, not dreaming of what was intended.
As soon, therefore, as they were come to the turning which led up to the
citadel, he desired her to go on before him to the theater, but for
himself, bidding farewell to the music, farewell to the wedding, he went
on faster than one would have thought his age would have admitted to the
Acro-Corinthus, and, finding the gate shut, knocked with his staff,
commanding them to open, which they within, being amazed, did. And
having thus made himself master of the place, he could not contain
himself for joy; but, though an old man, and one that had seen so many
turns of fortune, he must needs revel it in the open streets and the
midst of the market-place, crowned with garlands and attended with
flute-women, inviting everybody he met to partake in his festivity. So
much more does joy without discretion transport and agitate the mind
than either fear or sorrow. Antigonus, therefore, having in this manner
possessed himself of Acro-Corinthus, put a garrison into it of those he
trusted most, making Persaeus the philosopher governor.
Now Aratus, even in the lifetime of Alexander, had made an attempt,
but, a confederacy being made between Alexander and the Achaeans, he
desisted. But now he started afresh, with a new plan of effecting the
thing, which was this: there were in Corinth four brothers, Syrians
born, one of whom, called Diocles, served as a soldier in the garrison,
but the three others, having stolen some gold of the king’s, came to
Sicyon, to one Aegias, a banker, whom Aratus made use of in his
business. To him they immediately sold part of their gold, and the rest
one of them, called Erginus, coming often thither, exchanged by parcels.
Becoming, by this means, familiarly acquainted with Aegias, and being by
him led into discourses concerning the fortress, he told him that in
going up to his brother he had observed, in the face of the rock, a
side-cleft, leading to that part of the wall of the castle which was
lower than the rest. At which Aegias joking with him and saying, “So,
you wise man, for the sake of a little gold you have broken into the
king’s treasure; when you might, if you chose, get money in abundance
for a single hour’s work, burglary, you know, and treason being punished
with the same death,” Erginus laughed and told him then, he would break
the thing to Diocles (for he did not altogether trust his other
brothers), and, returning within a few days, he bargained to conduct
Aratus to that part of the wall where it was no more than fifteen feet
high, and to do what else should be necessary, together with his brother
Diocles.
Aratus, therefore, agreed to give them sixty talents if he succeeded,
but if he failed in his enterprise, and yet he and they came off safe,
then he would give each of them a house and a talent. Now the threescore
talents being to be deposited in the hands of Aegias for Erginus and his
partners, and Aratus neither having so much by him, nor willing, by
borrowing it from others, to give anyone a suspicion of his design, he
pawned his plate and his wife’s golden ornaments to Aegias for the
money. For so high was his temper, and so strong his passion for noble
actions, that, even as he had heard that Phocion and Epaminondas were
the best and justest of the Greeks, because they refused the greatest
presents and would not surrender their duty for money, so he now chose
to be at the expense of this enterprise privately, and to advance all
the cost out of his own property, taking the whole hazard on himself for
the sake of the rest that did not so much as know what was doing. And
who indeed can withhold, even now, his admiration for and his sympathy
with the generous mind of one, who paid so largely to purchase so great
a risk, and lent out his richest possessions to have an opportunity to
expose his own life, by entering among his enemies in the dead of the
night, without desiring any other security for them than the hope of a
noble success.
Now the enterprise, though dangerous enough in itself, was made much
more so by an error happening through mistake in the very beginning. For
Technon, one of Aratus’s servants, was sent away to Diocles, that they
might together view the wall. Now he had never seen Diocles, but made no
question of knowing him by the marks Erginus had given him of him;
namely, that he had curly hair, a swarthy complexion, and no beard.
Being come, therefore, to the appointed place, he stayed waiting for
Erginus and Diocles outside the town, in front of the place called
Ornis. In the meantime, Dionysius, elder brother to Erginus and Diocles,
who knew nothing at all of the matter, but much resembled Diocles,
happened to pass by. Technon, upon this likeness, all being in
accordance with what he had been told, asked him if he knew Erginus; and
on his replying that he was his brother, taking it for granted that he
was speaking with Diocles, not so much as asking his name or staying for
any other token, he gave him his hand, and began to discourse with him
and ask him questions about matters agreed upon with Erginus. Dionysius,
cunningly taking the advantage of his mistake, seemed to understand him
very well, and returning towards the city, led him on, still talking,
without any suspicion. And being now near the gate, he was just about to
seize on him, when by chance again Erginus met them, and, apprehending
the cheat and the danger, beckoned to Technon to make his escape, and
immediately both of them, betaking themselves to their heels, ran away
as fast as they could to Aratus, who for all this despaired not, but
immediately sent away Erginus to Dionysius to bribe him to hold his
tongue. And he not only effected that, but also brought him along with
him to Aratus. But, when they had him, they no longer left him at
liberty, but binding him, they kept him close shut up in a room, whilst
they prepared for executing their design.
All things being now ready, he commanded the rest of his forces to
pass the night by their arms, and taking with him four hundred chosen
men, few of whom knew what they were going about, he led them to the
gates by the temple of Juno. It was the midst of summer, and the moon
was at full, and the night so clear without any clouds, that there was
danger lest the arms glistening in the moonlight should discover them.
But as the foremost of them came near the city, a mist came off from the
sea, and darkened the city itself and the outskirts about it. Then the
rest of them, sitting down, put off their shoes, because men both make
less noise and also climb surer, if they go up ladders barefooted, but
Erginus, taking with him seven young men dressed like travelers, got
unobserved to the gate, and killed the sentry with the other guards. And
at the same time the ladders were clapped to the walls, and Aratus,
having in great haste got up a hundred men, commended the rest to follow
as they could, and immediately drawing up his ladders after him, he
marched through the city with his hundred men towards the castle, being
already overjoyed that he was undiscovered, and not doubting of the
success. But while still they were some way off, a watch of four men
came with a light, who did not see them, because they were still in the
shade of the moon, but were seen plainly enough themselves as they came
on directly towards them. So withdrawing a little way amongst some walls
and plots for houses, they lay in wait for them; and three of them they
killed. But the fourth, being wounded in the head with a sword, fled,
crying out that the enemy was in the city. And immediately the trumpets
sounded, and all the city was in an uproar at what had happened, and the
streets were full of people running up and down, and many lights were
seen shining both below in the town, and above in the castle, and a
confused noise was to be heard in all parts.
In the meantime, Aratus was hard at work struggling to get up the
rocks, at first slowly and with much difficulty, straying continually
from the path, which lay deep, and was overshadowed with the crags,
leading to the wall with many windings and turnings; but the moon
immediately and as if by miracle, it is said, dispersing the clouds,
shone out and gave light to the most difficult part of the way, until he
got to that part of the wall he desired, and there she overshadowed and
hid him, the clouds coming together again. Those soldiers whom Aratus
had left outside the gate, near Juno’s temple, to the number of three
hundred, entering the town, now full of tumult and lights, and not
knowing the way by which the former had gone, and finding no track of
them, slunk aside, and crowded together in one body under a flank of the
cliff that cast a strong shadow, and there stood and waited in great
distress and perplexity. For, by this time, those that had gone with
Aratus were attacked with missiles from the citadel, and were busy
fighting, and a sound of cries of battle came down from above, and a
loud noise, echoed back and back from the mountain sides, and therefore
confused and uncertain whence it proceeded, was heard on all sides. They
being thus in doubt which way to turn themselves, Archelaus, the
commander of Antigonus’s troops, having a great number of soldiers with
him, made up towards the castle with great shouts and noise of trumpets
to fall upon Aratus’s people, and passed by the three hundred, who, as
if they had risen out of an ambush, immediately charged him, killing the
first they encountered, and so affrighted the rest, together with
Archelaus, that they put them to flight and pursued them until they had
quite broke and dispersed them about the city. No sooner were these
defeated, but Erginus came to them from those that were fighting above,
to acquaint them that Aratus was engaged with the enemy, who defended
themselves very stoutly, and there was a fierce conflict at the very
wall, and need of speedy help. They therefore desired him to lead them
on without delay, and, marching up, they by their shouts made their
friends understand who they were, and encouraged them; and the full
moon, shining on their arms, made them, in the long line by which they
advanced, appear more in number to the enemy than they were; and the
echo of the night multiplied their shouts. In short, falling on with the
rest, they made the enemy give way, and were masters of the castle and
garrison, day now beginning to be bright, and the rising sun shining out
upon their success. By this time, also, the rest of his army came up to
Aratus from Sicyon, the Corinthians joyfully receiving them at the gates
and helping them to secure the king’s party.
And now, having put all things into a safe posture, he came down from
the castle to the theater, an infinite number of people crowding thither
to see him and to hear what he would say to the Corinthians. Therefore
drawing up the Achaeans on each side of the stage-passages, he came
forward himself upon the stage, with his corslet still on, and his face
showing the effects of all his hard work and want of sleep, so that his
natural exultation and joyfulness of mind were overborne by the
weariness of his body. The people, as soon as he came forth, breaking
out into great applauses and congratulations, he took his spear in his
right hand, and, resting his body upon it with his knee a little bent,
stood a good while in that posture, silently receiving their shouts and
acclamations, while they extolled his valor and wondered at his fortune;
which being over, standing up, he began an oration in the name of the
Achaeans, suitable to the late action, persuading the Corinthians to
associate themselves to the Achaeans, and withal delivered up to them
the keys of their gates, which had never been in their power since the
time of king Philip. Of the captains of Antigonus, he dismissed
Archelaus, whom he had taken prisoner, and Theophrastus, who refused to
quit his post, he put to death. As for Persaeus, when he saw the castle
was lost, he had got away to Cenchreae, where, some time after,
discoursing with one that said to him that the wise man only is a true
general, “Indeed,” he replied, “none of Zeno’s maxims once pleased me
better than this, but I have been converted to another opinion by the
young man of Sicyon.” This is told by many of Persaeus. Aratus,
immediately after, made himself master of the temple of Juno and haven
of Lechaeum, seized upon five and twenty of the king’s ships, together
with five hundred horses and four hundred Syrians; these he sold. The
Achaeans kept guard in the Acro-Corinthus with a body of four hundred
soldiers, and fifty dogs with as many keepers.
The Romans, extolling Philopoemen, called him the last of the
Grecians, as if no great man had ever since his time been bred amongst
them. But I should call this capture of the Acro-Corinthus the last of
the Grecian exploits, being comparable to the best of them, both for the
daringness of it, and the success, as was presently seen by the
consequences. For the Megarians, revolting from Antigonus, joined
Aratus, and the Troezenians and Epidaurians enrolled themselves in the
Achaean community, and issuing forth for the first time, he entered
Attica, and passing over into Salamis, he plundered the island, turning
the Achaean force every way, as if it were just let loose out of prison
and set at liberty. All freemen whom he took he sent back to the
Athenians without ransom, as a sort of first invitation to them to come
over to the league. He made Ptolemy become a confederate of the
Achaeans, with the privilege of command both by sea and land. And so
great was his power with them, that since he could not by law be chosen
their general every year, yet every other year he was, and by his
counsels and actions was in effect always so. For they perceived that
neither riches nor reputation, nor the friendship of kings, nor the
private interest of his own country, nor anything else was so dear to
him as the increase of the Achaean power and greatness. For he believed
that the cities, weak individually, could be preserved by nothing else
but a mutual assistance under the closest bond of the common interest;
and, as the members of the body live and breathe by the union of all in
a single natural growth, and on the dissolution of this, when once they
separate, pine away and putrefy, in the same manner are cities ruined by
being dissevered, as well as preserved when, as the members of one great
body they enjoy the benefit of that providence and counsel that govern
the whole.
Now being distressed to see that, whereas the chief neighboring
cities enjoyed their own laws and liberties, the Argives were in
bondage, he took counsel for destroying their tyrant Aristomachus, being
very desirous both to pay his debt of gratitude to the city where he had
been bred up, by restoring it its liberty, and to add so considerable a
town to the Achaeans. Nor were there some wanting who had the courage to
undertake the thing, of whom Aeschylus and Charimenes the soothsayer
were the chief. But they wanted swords; for the tyrant had prohibited
the keeping of any under a great penalty. Therefore Aratus, having
provided some small daggers at Corinth and hidden them in the
pack-saddles of some pack-horses that carried ordinary ware, sent them
to Argos. But Charimenes letting another person into the design,
Aeschylus and his partners were angry at it, and henceforth would have
no more to do with him, and took their measures by themselves, and
Charimenes, on finding this, went, out of anger, and informed against
them, just as they were on their way to attack the tyrant; however, the
most of them made a shift to escape out of the marketplace, and fled to
Corinth. Not long after, Aristomachus was slain by some slaves, and
Aristippus, a worse tyrant than he, seized the government. Upon this,
Aratus, mustering all the Achaeans present that were of age, hurried
away to the aid of the city, believing that he should find the people
ready to join with him. But the greater number being by this time
habituated to slavery and content to submit, and no one coming to join
him, he was obliged to retire, having moreover exposed the Achaeans to
the charge of committing acts of hostility in the midst of peace; upon
which account they were sued before the Mantineans, and, Aratus not
making his appearance, Aristippus gained the cause, and had damages
allowed him to the value of thirty minae. And now hating and fearing
Aratus, he sought means to kill him, having the assistance herein of
king Antigonus; so that Aratus was perpetually dogged and watched by
those that waited for an opportunity to do this service. But there is no
such safeguard of a ruler as the sincere and steady good-will of his
subjects, for, where both the common people and the principal citizens
have their fears not of but for their governor, he sees with many eyes
and hears with many ears whatsoever is doing. Therefore I cannot but
here stop short a little in the course of my narrative, to describe the
manner of life which the so much envied arbitrary power and the so much
celebrated and admired pomp and pride of absolute government obliged
Aristippus to lead.
For though Antigonus was his friend and ally, and though he
maintained numerous soldiers to act as his body-guard, and had not left
one enemy of his alive in the city, yet he was forced to make his guards
encamp in the colonnade about his house; and for his servants, he turned
them all out immediately after supper, and then shutting the doors upon
them, he crept up into a small upper chamber, together with his
mistress, through a trapdoor, upon which he placed his bed, and there
slept after: such a fashion, as one in his condition can be supposed to
sleep, that is, interruptedly and in fear. The ladder was taken away by
the woman’s mother, and locked up in another room; in the morning she
brought it again, and putting it to, called up this brave and wonderful
tyrant, who came crawling out like some creeping thing out of its hole.
Whereas Aratus, not by force of arms, but lawfully and by his virtue,
lived in possession of a firmly settled command, wearing the ordinary
coat and cloak, being the common and declared enemy of all tyrants, and
has left behind him a noble race of descendants surviving among the
Grecians to this day; while those occupiers of citadels and maintainers
of bodyguards, who made all this use of arms and gates and bolts to
protect their lives, in some few cases perhaps escaped, like the hare
from the hunters; but in no instance have we either house or family, or
so much as a tomb to which any respect is shown, remaining to preserve
the memory of any one of them.
Against this Aristippus, therefore, Aratus made many open and many
secret attempts, whilst he endeavored to take Argos, though without
success; once, particularly, clapping scaling ladders in the night to
the wall, he desperately got up upon it with a few of his soldiers, and
killed the guards that opposed him. But the day appearing, the tyrant
set upon him on all hands, whilst the Argives, as if it had not been
their liberty that was contended for, but some Nemean game going on for
which it was their privilege to assign the prize, like fair and
impartial judges, sat looking on in great quietness. Aratus, fighting
bravely, was run through the thigh with a lance, yet he maintained his
ground against the enemy till night, and, had he been able to go on and
hold out that night also, he had gained his point; for the tyrant
thought of nothing but flying, and had already shipped most of his
goods. But Aratus, having no intelligence of this, and wanting water,
being disabled himself by his wound, retreated with his soldiers.
Despairing henceforth to do any good this way, he fell openly with
his army into Argolis, and plundered it, and, in a fierce battle with
Aristippus near the river Chares, he was accused of having withdrawn out
of the fight, and thereby abandoned the victory. For whereas one part of
his army had unmistakably got the better, and was pursuing the enemy at
a good distance from him, he yet retreated in confusion into his camp,
not so much because he was overpressed by those with whom he was
engaged, as out of mistrust of success and through a panic fear. But
when the other wing, returning from the pursuit, showed themselves
extremely vexed, that though they had put the enemy to flight and killed
many more of his men than they had lost, yet those that were in a manner
conquered should erect a trophy as conquerors, being much ashamed he
resolved to fight them again about the trophy, and the next day but one
drew up his army to give them battle. But, perceiving that they were
reinforced with fresh troops, and came on with better courage than
before, he durst not hazard a fight, but retired, and sent to request a
truce to bury his dead. However, by his dexterity in dealing personally
with men and managing political affairs, and by his general favor, he
excused and obliterated this fault, and brought in Cleonae to the
Achaean association, and celebrated the Nemean games at Cleonae, as the
proper and more ancient place for them. The games were also celebrated
by the Argives at the same time, which gave the first occasion to the
violation of the privilege of safe conduct and immunity always granted
to those that came to compete for the prizes, the Achaeans at that time
selling as enemies all those they caught going through their country
after joining in the games at Argos. So vehement and implacable a hater
was he of the tyrants.
Not long after, having notice that Aristippus had a design upon
Cleonae, but was afraid of him, because he then was staying in Corinth,
he assembled an army by public proclamation, and, commanding them to
take along with them provision for several days, he marched to
Cenchreae, hoping by this stratagem to entice Aristippus to fall upon
Cleonae, when he supposed him far enough off. And so it happened, for he
immediately brought his forces against it from Argos. But Aratus,
returning from Cenchreae to Corinth in the dusk of the evening, and
setting posts of his troops in all the roads, led on the Achaeans, who
followed him in such good order and with so much speed and alacrity,
that they were undiscovered by Aristippus, not only whilst upon their
march, but even when they got, still in the night, into Cleonae, and
drew up in order of battle. As soon as it was morning, the gates being
opened and the trumpets sounding, he fell upon the enemy with great
cries and fury, routed them at once, and kept close in pursuit,
following the course which he most imagined Aristippus would choose,
there being many turns that might be taken. And so the chase lasted as
far as Mycenae, where the tyrant was slain by a certain Cretan called
Tragiscus, as Dinias reports. Of the common soldiers, there fell above
fifteen hundred. Yet though Aratus had obtained so great a victory, and
that too without the loss of a man, he could not make himself master of
Argos nor set it at liberty, because Agias and the younger Aristomachus
got into the town with some of the king’s forces, and seized upon the
government. However, by this exploit he spoiled the scoffs and jests of
those that flattered the tyrants, and in their raillery would say that
the Achaean general was usually troubled with a looseness when he was to
fight a battle, that the sound of a trumpet struck him with a drowsiness
and a giddiness, and that, when he had drawn up his army and given the
word, he used to ask his lieutenants and officers whether there was any
further need of his presence now the die was cast, and then went aloof,
to await the result at a distance. For indeed these stories were so
generally listened to, that, when the philosophers disputed whether to
have one’s heart beat and to change color upon any apparent danger be an
argument of fear, or rather of some distemperature and chilliness of
bodily constitution, Aratus was always quoted as a good general, who was
always thus affected ill time of battle.
Having thus dispatched Aristippus, he advised with himself how to
overthrow Lydiades, the Megalopolitan, who held usurped power over his
country. This person was naturally of a generous temper, and not
insensible of true honor, and had been led into this wickedness, not by
the ordinary motives of other tyrants, licentiousness and rapacity, but
being young, and stimulated with the desire of glory, he had let his
mind be unwarily prepossessed with the vain and false applauses given to
tyranny, as some happy and glorious thing. But he no sooner seized the
government, than he grew weary of the pomp and burden of it. And at once
emulating the tranquillity and fearing the policy of Aratus, he took the
best of resolutions, first, to free himself from hatred and fear, from
soldiers and guards, and, secondly, to be the public benefactor of his
country. And sending for Aratus, he resigned the government, and
incorporated his city into the Achaean community. The Achaeans,
applauding this generous action, chose him their general; upon which,
desiring to outdo Aratus in glory, amongst many other uncalled-for
things, he declared war against the Lacedaemonians; which Aratus
opposing was thought to do it out of envy; and Lydiades was the second
time chosen general, though Aratus acted openly against him, and labored
to have the office conferred upon another. For Aratus himself had the
command every other year, as has been said. Lydiades, however, succeeded
so well in his pretensions, that he was thrice chosen general, governing
alternately, as did Aratus; but at last, declaring himself his professed
enemy, and accusing him frequently to the Achaeans, he was rejected, and
fell into contempt, people now seeing that it was a contest between a
counterfeit and a true, unadulterated virtue, and, as Aesop tells us
that the cuckoo once, asking the little birds why they flew away from
her, was answered, because they feared she would one day prove a hawk,
so Lydiades’s former tyranny still cast a doubt upon the reality of his
change.
But Aratus gained new honor in the Aetolian war. For the Achaeans
resolving to fall upon the Aetolians on the Megarian confines, and Agis
also, the Lacedaemonian king, who came to their assistance with an army,
encouraging them to fight, Aratus opposed this determination. And
patiently enduring many reproaches, many scoffs and jeerings at his soft
and cowardly temper, he would not, for any appearance of disgrace,
abandon what he judged to be the true common advantage, and suffered the
enemy to pass over Geranea into Peloponnesus without a battle. But when,
after they had passed by, news came that they had suddenly captured
Pellene, he was no longer the same man, nor would he hear of any delay,
or wait to draw together his whole force, but marched towards the enemy
with such as he had about him to fall upon them, as they were indeed now
much less formidable through the intemperances and disorders committed
in their success. For as soon as they entered the city, the common
soldiers dispersed and went hither and thither into the houses,
quarreling and fighting with one another about the plunder; and the
officers and commanders were running about after the wives and daughters
of the Pellenians, on whose heads they put their own helmets, to mark
each man his prize, and prevent another from seizing it. And in this
posture were they when news came that Aratus was ready to fall upon
them. And in the midst of the consternation likely to ensue in the
confusion they were in, before all of them heard of the danger, the
outmost of them, engaging at the gates and in the suburbs with the
Achaeans, were already beaten and put to flight, and, as they came
headlong back, filled with their panic those who were collecting and
advancing to their assistance.
In this confusion, one of the captives, daughter of Epigethes, a
citizen of repute, being extremely handsome and tall, happened to be
sitting in the temple of Diana, placed there by the commander of the
band of chosen men, who had taken her and put his crested helmet upon
her. She, hearing the noise, and running out to see what was the matter,
stood in the temple gates, looking down from above upon those that
fought, having the helmet upon her head; in which posture she seemed to
the citizens to be something more than human, and struck fear and dread
into the enemy, who believed it to be a divine apparition; so that they
lost all courage to defend themselves. But the Pellenians tell us that
the image of Diana stands usually untouched, and when the priestess
happens at any time to remove it to some other place, nobody dares look
upon it, but all turn their faces from it; for not only is the sight of
it terrible and hurtful to mankind, but it makes even the trees, by
which it happens to be carried, become barren and cast their fruit. This
image, therefore, they say, the priestess produced at that time, and,
holding it directly in the faces of the Aetolians, made them lose their
reason and judgment. But Aratus mentions no such thing in his
commentaries, but says, that, having put to flight the Aetolians, and
falling in pell-mell with them into the city, he drove them out by main
force, and killed seven hundred of them. And the action was extolled as
one of the most famous exploits, and Timanthes the painter made a
picture of the battle, giving by his composition a most lively
representation of it.
But many great nations and potentates combining against the Achaeans,
Aratus immediately treated for friendly arrangements with the Aetolians,
and, making use of the assistance of Pantaleon, the most powerful man
amongst them, he not only made a peace, but an alliance between them and
the Achaeans. But being desirous to free the Athenians, he got into
disgrace and ill-repute among the Achaeans, because, notwithstanding the
truce and suspension of arms made between them and the Macedonians, he
had attempted to take the Piraeus. He denies this fact in his
commentaries, and lays the blame on Erginus, by whose assistance he took
Acro-Corinthus, alleging that he upon his own private account attacked
the Piraeus, and, his ladders happening to break, being hotly pursued,
he called out upon Aratus as if present, by which means deceiving the
enemy, he got safely off. This excuse, however, sounds very improbable;
for it is not in any way likely that Erginus, a private man and a Syrian
stranger, should conceive in his mind so great an attempt, without
Aratus at his back, to tell him how and when to make it, and to supply
him with the means. Nor was it twice or thrice, but very often, that,
like an obstinate lover, he repeated his attempts on the Piraeus, and
was so far from being discouraged by his disappointments, that his
missing his hopes but narrowly was an incentive to him to proceed the
more boldly in a new trial. One time amongst the rest, in making his
escape through the Thriasian plain, he put his leg out of joint, and was
forced to submit to many operations with the knife before he was cured,
so that for a long time he was carried in a litter to the wars.
And when Antigonus was dead, and Demetrius succeeded him in the
kingdom, he was more bent than ever upon Athens, and in general quite
despised the Macedonians. And so, being overthrown in battle near
Phylacia by Bithys, Demetrius’s general, and there being a very strong
report that he was either taken or slain, Diogenes, the governor of the
Piraeus, sent letters to Corinth, commanding the Achaeans to quit that
city, seeing Aratus was dead. When these letters came to Corinth, Aratus
happened to be there in person, so that Diogenes’s messengers, being
sufficiently mocked and derided, were forced to return to their master.
King Demetrius himself also sent a ship, wherein Aratus was to be
brought to him in chains. And the Athenians, exceeding all possible
fickleness of flattery to the Macedonians, crowned themselves with
garlands upon the first news of his death. And so in anger he went at
once and invaded Attica, and penetrated as far as the Academy, but then
suffering himself to be pacified, he did no further act of hostility.
And the Athenians afterwards, coming to a due sense of his virtue, when
upon the death of Demetrius they attempted to recover their liberty,
called him in to their assistance; and although at that time another
person was general of the Achaeans, and he himself had long kept his bed
with a sickness, yet, rather than fail the city in a time of need, he
was carried thither in a litter, and helped to persuade Diogenes the
governor to deliver up the Piraeus, Munychia, Salamis, and Sunium to the
Athenians in consideration of a hundred and fifty talents, of which
Aratus himself contributed twenty to the city. Upon this, the Aeginetans
and the Hermionians immediately joined the Achaeans, and the greatest
part of Arcadia entered their confederacy; and the Macedonians being
occupied with various wars upon their own confines and with their
neighbors, the Achaean power, the Aetolians also being in alliance with
them, rose to great height.
But Aratus, still bent on effecting his old project, and impatient
that tyranny should maintain itself in so near a city as Argos, sent to
Aristomachus to persuade him to restore liberty to that city, and to
associate it to the Achaeans, and that, following Lydiades’s example, he
should rather choose to be the general of a great nation, with esteem
and honor, than the tyrant of one city, with continual hatred and
danger. Aristomachus slighted not the message, but desired Aratus to
send him fifty talents, with which he might pay off the soldiers. In the
meantime, whilst the money was providing, Lydiades, being then general,
and extremely ambitious that this advantage might seem to be of his
procuring for the Achaeans, accused Aratus to Aristomachus, as one that
bore an irreconcilable hatred to the tyrants, and, persuading him to
commit the affair to his management, he presented him to the Achaeans.
But there the Achaean council gave a manifest proof of the great credit
Aratus had with them and the good-will they bore him. For when he, in
anger, spoke against Aristomachus’s being admitted into the association,
they rejected the proposal, but when he was afterwards pacified and came
himself and spoke in its favor, they voted everything cheerfully and
readily, and decreed that the Argives and Phliasians should be
incorporated into their commonwealth, and the next year they chose
Aristomachus general. He, being in good credit with the Achaeans, was
very desirous to invade Laconia, and for that purpose sent for Aratus
from Athens. Aratus wrote to him to dissuade him as far as he could from
that expedition, being very unwilling the Achaeans should be engaged in
a quarrel with Cleomenes, who was a daring man, and making extraordinary
advances to power. But Aristomachus resolving to go on, he obeyed and
served in person, on which occasion he hindered Aristomachus from
fighting a battle, when Cleomenes came upon them at Pallantium; and for
this act was accused by Lydiades, and, coming to an open conflict with
him in a contest for the office of general, he carried it by the show of
hands, and was chosen general the twelfth time.
This year, being routed by Cleomenes near the Lycaeum, he fled, and,
wandering out of the way in the night, was believed to be slain; and
once more it was confidently reported so throughout all Greece. He,
however, having escaped this danger and rallied his forces, was not
content to march off in safety, but, making a happy use of the present
conjuncture, when nobody dreamed any such thing, he fell suddenly upon
the Mantineans, allies of Cleomenes, and, taking the city, put a
garrison into it, and made the stranger inhabitants free of the city;
procuring, by this means, those advantages for the beaten Achaeans,
which, being conquerors, they would not easily have obtained. The
Lacedaemonians again invading the Megalopolitan territories, he marched
to the assistance of the city, but refused to give Cleomenes, who did
all he could to provoke him to it, any opportunity of engaging him in a
battle, nor could be prevailed upon by the Megalopolitans, who urged him
to it extremely. For besides that by nature he was ill-suited for set
battles, he was then much inferior in numbers, and was to deal with a
daring leader, still in the heat of youth, while he himself, now past
the prime of courage and come to a chastised ambition, felt it his
business to maintain by prudence the glory, which he had obtained, and
the other was only aspiring to by forwardness and daring.
So that though the light-armed soldiers had sallied out and driven
the Lacedaemonians as far as their camp, and had come even to their
tents, yet would not Aratus lead his men forward, but, posting himself
in a hollow watercourse in the way thither, stopped and prevented the
citizens from crossing this. Lydiades, extremely vexed at what was going
on, and loading Aratus with reproaches, entreated the horse that
together with him they would second them that had the enemy in chase,
and not let a certain victory slip out of their hands, nor forsake him
that was going to venture his life for his country. And being reinforced
with many brave men that turned after him, he charged the enemy’s right
wing, and routing it, followed the pursuit without measure or
discretion, letting his eagerness and hopes of glory tempt him on into
broken ground, full of planted fruit trees and cut up with broad
ditches, where, being engaged by Cleomenes, he fell, fighting gallantly
the noblest of battles, at the gate of his country. The rest, flying
back to their main body and troubling the ranks of the full-armed
infantry, put the whole army to the rout. Aratus was extremely blamed,
being suspected to have betrayed Lydiades, and was constrained by the
Achaeans, who withdrew in great anger, to accompany them to Aegium,
where they called a council, and decreed that he should no longer be
furnished with money, nor have any more soldiers hired for him, but
that, if he would make war, he should pay them himself.
This affront he resented so far as to resolve to give up the seal and
lay down the office of general; but upon second thoughts he found it
best to have patience, and presently marched with the Achaeans to
Orchomenus and fought a battle with Megistonus, the step-father of
Cleomenes, where he got the victory, killing three hundred men and
taking Megistonus prisoner. But whereas he used to be chosen general
every other year, when his turn came and he was called to take upon him
that charge, he declined it, and Timoxenus was chosen in his stead. The
true cause of which was not the pique he was alleged to have taken at
the people, but the ill circumstances of the Achaean affairs. For
Cleomenes did not now invade them gently and tenderly as hitherto, as
one controlled by the civil authorities, but having killed the Ephors,
divided the lands, and made many of the stranger residents free of the
city, he was responsible to no one in his government; and therefore fell
in good earnest upon the Achaeans, and put forward his claim to the
supreme military command. Wherefore Aratus is much blamed, that in a
stormy and tempestuous time, like a cowardly pilot, he should forsake
the helm, when it was even perhaps his duty to have insisted, whether
they would or no, on saving them; or if he thought the Achaean affairs
desperate, to have yielded all up to Cleomenes, and not to have let
Peloponnesus fall once again into barbarism with Macedonian garrisons,
and Acro-Corinthus be occupied with Illyric and Gaulish soldiers, and,
under the specious name of Confederates, to have made those masters of
the cities whom he had held it his business by arms and by policy to
baffle and defeat, and, in the memoirs he left behind him, loaded with
reproaches and insults. And say that Cleomenes was arbitrary and
tyrannical, yet was he descended from the Heraclidae, and Sparta was his
country, the obscurest citizen of which deserved to be preferred to the
generalship before the best of the Macedonians by those that had any
regard to the honor of Grecian birth. Besides, Cleomenes sued for that
command over the Achaeans as one that would return the honor of that
title with real kindnesses to the cities; whereas Antigonus, being
declared absolute general by sea and land, would not accept the office
unless Acro-Corinthus were by special agreement put into his hands,
following the example of Aesop’s hunter; for he would not get up and
ride the Achaeans, who desired him so to do, and offered their backs to
him by embassies and popular decrees, till, by a garrison and hostages,
they had allowed him to bit and bridle them. Aratus exhausts all his
powers of speech to show the necessity that was upon him. But Polybius
writes, that long before this, and before there was any necessity,
apprehending the daring temper of Cleomenes, he communicated secretly
with Antigonus, and that he had beforehand prevailed with the
Megalopolitans to press the Achaeans to crave aid from Antigonus. For
they were the most harassed by the war, Cleomenes continually plundering
and ransacking their country. And so writes also Phylarchus, who, unless
seconded by the testimony of Polybius, would not be altogether credited;
for he is seized with enthusiasm when he so much as speaks a word of
Cleomenes, and as if he were pleading, not writing a history, goes on
throughout defending the one and accusing the other.
The Achaeans, therefore, lost Mantinea, which was recovered by
Cleomenes, and being beaten in a great fight near Hecatombaeum, so
general was the consternation, that they immediately sent to Cleomenes
to desire him to come to Argos and take the command upon him. But
Aratus, as soon as he understood that he was coming, and was got as far
as Lerna with his troops, fearing the result, sent ambassadors to him,
to request him to come accompanied with three hundred only, as to
friends and confederates, and, if he mistrusted anything, he should
receive hostages. Upon which Cleomenes, saying this was mere mockery and
affront, went away, sending a letter to the Achaeans full of reproaches
and accusation against Aratus. And Aratus also wrote letters against
Cleomenes; and bitter revilings and railleries were current on both
hands, not sparing even their marriages and wives. Hereupon Cleomenes
sent a herald to declare war against the Achaeans, and in the meantime
missed very narrowly of taking Sicyon by treachery. Turning off at a
little distance, he attacked and took Pellene, which the Achaean general
abandoned, and not long after took also Pheneus and Penteleum. Then
immediately the Argives voluntarily joined with him, and the Phliasians
received a garrison, and in short nothing among all their new
acquisitions held firm to the Achaeans. Aratus was encompassed on every
side with clamor and confusion; he saw the whole of Peloponnesus shaking
around him, and the cities everywhere set in revolt by men desirous of
innovations.
For indeed no place remained quiet or satisfied with the present
condition; even amongst the Sicyonians and Corinthians themselves, many
were well known to have had private conferences with Cleomenes, who long
since, out of desire to make themselves masters of their several cities,
had been discontented with the present order of things. Aratus, having
absolute power given him to bring these to condign punishment, executed
as many of them as he could find at Sicyon, but going about to find them
out and punish them at Corinth also, he irritated the people, already
unsound in feeling and weary of the Achaean government. So collecting
tumultuously in the temple of Apollo, they sent for Aratus, having
determined to take or kill him before they broke out into open revolt.
He came accordingly, leading his horse in his hand, as if he suspected
nothing. Then several leaping up and accusing and reproaching him, with
mild words and a settled countenance he bade them sit down, and not
stand crying out upon him in a disorderly manner, desiring, also, that
those that were about the door might be let in, and saying so, he
stepped out quietly, as if he would give his horse to somebody. Clearing
himself thus of the crowd, and speaking without discomposure to the
Corinthians that he met, commanding them to go to Apollo’s temple, and
being now, before they were aware, got near to the citadel, he leaped
upon his horse, and commanding Cleopater, the governor of the garrison,
to have a special care of his charge, he galloped to Sicyon, followed by
thirty of his soldiers, the rest leaving him and shifting for
themselves. And not long after, it being known that he was fled, the
Corinthians pursued him, but not overtaking him, they immediately sent
for Cleomenes and delivered up the city to him, who, however, thought
nothing they could give was so great a gain, as was the loss of their
having let Aratus get away. Nevertheless, being strengthened by the
accession of the people of the Acte, as it is called, who put their
towns into his hands, he proceeded to carry a palisade and lines of
circumvallation around the Acro-Corinthus.
But Aratus being arrived at Sicyon, the body of the Achaeans there
flocked to him, and, in an assembly there held, he was chosen general
with absolute power, and he took about him a guard of his own citizens,
it being now three and thirty years since he first took a part in public
affairs among the Achaeans, having in that time been the chief man in
credit and power of all Greece; but he was now deserted on all hands,
helpless and overpowered, drifting about amidst the waves and danger on
the shattered hulk of his native city. For the Aetolians, affected whom
he applied to, declined to assist him in his distress, and the
Athenians, who were well affected to him, were diverted from lending him
any succor by the authority of Euclides and Micion. Now whereas he had a
house and property in Corinth, Cleomenes meddled not with it, nor
suffered anybody else to do so, but calling for his friends and agents,
he bade them hold themselves responsible to Aratus for everything, as to
him they would have to render their account; and privately he sent to
him Tripylus, and afterwards Megistonus, his own stepfather, to offer
him, besides several other things, a yearly pension of twelve talents,
which was twice as much as Ptolemy allowed him, for he gave him six; and
all that he demanded was to be declared commander of the Achaeans, and
together with them to have the keeping of the citadel of Corinth. To
which Aratus returning answer that affairs were not so properly in his
power as he was in the power of them, Cleomenes, believing this a mere
evasion, immediately entered the country of Sicyon, destroying all with
fire and sword, and besieged the city three months, whilst Aratus held
firm, and was in dispute with himself whether he should call in
Antigonus upon condition of delivering up the citadel of Corinth to him;
for he would not lend him assistance upon any other terms.
In the meantime the Achaeans assembled at Aegium, and called for
Aratus; but it was very hazardous for him to pass thither, while
Cleomenes was encamped before Sicyon; besides, the citizens endeavored
to stop him by their entreaties, protesting that they would not suffer
him to expose himself to so evident danger, the enemy being so near; the
women, also, and children hung about him, weeping and embracing him as
their common father and defender. But he, having comforted and
encouraged them as well as he could, got on horseback, and being
accompanied with ten of his friends and his son, then a youth, got away
to the sea-side, and finding vessels there waiting off the shore, went
on board of them and sailed to Aegium to the assembly; in which it was
decreed that Antigonus should be called in to their aid, and should have
the Acro-Corinthus delivered to him. Aratus also sent his son to him
with the other hostages. The Corinthians, extremely angry at this
proceeding, now plundered his property, and gave his house as a present
to Cleomenes.
Antigonus being now near at hand with his army, consisting of twenty
thousand Macedonian foot and one thousand three hundred horse, Aratus,
with the Members of Council, went to meet him by sea, and got,
unobserved by the enemy, to Pegae, having no great confidence either in
Antigonus or the Macedonians. For he was very sensible that his own
greatness had been made out of the losses he had caused them, and that
the first great principle of his public conduct had been hostility to
the former Antigonus. But perceiving the necessity that was now upon
him, and the pressure of the time, that lord and master of those we call
rulers, to be inexorable, he resolved to put all to the venture. So
soon, therefore, as Antigonus was told that Aratus was coming up to him,
he saluted the rest of the company after the ordinary manner, but him he
received at the very first approach with especial honor, and finding him
afterwards to be both good and wise, admitted him to his nearer
familiarity. For Aratus was not only useful to him in the management of
great affairs, but singularly agreeable also as the private companion of
a king in his recreations. And therefore, though Antigonus was young,
yet as soon as he observed the temper of the man to be proper for a
prince’s friendship, he made more use of him than of any other, not only
of the Achaeans, but also of the Macedonians that were about him. So
that the thing fell out to him just as the god had foreshown in a
sacrifice. For it is related that, as Aratus was not long before
offering sacrifice, there were found in the liver two gall-bags enclosed
in the same caul of fat; whereupon the soothsayer told him that there
should very soon be the strictest friendship imaginable between him and
his greatest and most mortal enemies; which prediction he at that time
slighted, having in general no great faith in soothsayings and
prognostications, but depending most upon rational deliberation. At an
after time, however, when, things succeeding well in the war, Antigonus
made a great feast at Corinth, to which he invited a great number of
guests, and placed Aratus next above himself, and presently calling for
a coverlet, asked him if he did not find it cold, and on Aratus’s
answering “Yes, extremely cold,” bade him come nearer, so that when the
servants brought the coverlet, they threw it over them both, then Aratus
remembering the sacrifice, fell a laughing, and told the king the sign
which had happened to him, and the interpretation of it. But this fell
out a good while after.
So Aratus and the king, plighting their faith to each other at Pegae,
immediately marched towards the enemy, with whom they had frequent
engagements near the city, Cleomenes maintaining a strong position, and
the Corinthians making a very brisk defense. In the meantime,
Aristoteles the Argive, Aratus’s friend, sent privately to him to let
him know, that he would cause Argos to revolt, if he would come thither
in person with some soldiers. Aratus acquainted Antigonus, and, taking
fifteen hundred men with him, sailed in boats along the shore as quickly
as he could from the Isthmus to Epidaurus. But the Argives had not
patience till he could arrive, but, making a sudden insurrection, fell
upon Cleomenes’s soldiers, and drove them into the citadel. Cleomenes
having news of this, and fearing lest, if the enemy should possess
themselves of Argos, they might cut off his retreat home, leaves the
Acro-Corinthus and marches away by night to help his men. He got thither
first, and beat off the enemy, but Aratus appearing not long after, and
the king approaching with his forces, he retreated to Mantinea, upon
which all the cities again came over to the Achaeans, and Antigonus took
possession of the Acro-Corinthus. Aratus, being chosen general by the
Argives, persuaded them to make a present to Antigonus of the property
of the tyrants and the traitors. As for Aristomachus, after having put
him to the rack in the town of Cenchreae, they drowned him in the sea;
for which, more than anything else, Aratus was reproached, that he could
suffer a man to be so lawlessly put to death, who was no bad man, had
been one of his long acquaintance, and at his persuasion had abdicated
his power, and annexed the city to the Achaeans.
And already the blame of the other things that were done began to be
laid to his account; as that they so lightly gave up Corinth to
Antigonus, as if it had been an inconsiderable village; that they had
suffered him, after first sacking Orchomenus, then to put into it a
Macedonian garrison; that they made a decree that no letters nor embassy
should be sent to any other king without the consent of Antigonus, that
they were forced to furnish pay and provision for the Macedonian
soldiers, and celebrated sacrifices, processions, and games in honor of
Antigonus, Aratus’s citizens setting the example and receiving
Antigonus, who was lodged and entertained at Aratus’s house. All these
things they treated as his fault, not knowing that having once put the
reins into Antigonus’s hands, and let himself be borne by the impetus of
regal power, he was no longer master of anything but one single voice,
the liberty of which it was not so very safe for him to use. For it was
very plain that Aratus was much troubled at several things, as appeared
by the business about the statues. For Antigonus replaced the statues of
the tyrants of Argos that had been thrown down, and on the contrary
threw down the statues of all those that had taken the Acro-Corinthus,
except that of Aratus, nor could Aratus, by all his entreaties, dissuade
him. Also, the usage of the Mantineans by the Achaeans seemed not in
accordance with the Grecian feelings and manners. For being masters of
their city by the help of Antigonus, they put to death the chief and
most noted men amongst them; and of the rest, some they sold, others
they sent, bound in fetters, into Macedonia, and made slaves of their
wives and children; and of the money thus raised, a third part they
divided among themselves, and the other two thirds were distributed
among the Macedonians. And this might seem to have been justified by the
law of retaliation; for although it be a barbarous thing for men of the
same nation and blood thus to deal with one another in their fury, yet
necessity makes it, as Simonides says, sweet and something excusable,
being the proper thing, in the mind’s painful and inflamed condition, to
give alleviation and relief. But for what was afterwards done to that
city, Aratus cannot be defended on any ground either of reason or
necessity. For the Argives having had the city bestowed on them by
Antigonus, and resolving to people it, he being then chosen as the new
founder, and being general at that time, decreed that it should no
longer be called Mantinea, but Antigonea, which name it still bears. So
that he may be said to have been the cause that the old memory of the
“beautiful Mantinea” has been wholly extinguished, and the city to this
day has the name of the destroyer and slayer of its citizens.
After this, Cleomenes, being overthrown in a great battle near
Sellasia, forsook Sparta and fled into Egypt, and Antigonus, having
shown all manner of kindness and fair-dealing to Aratus, retired into
Macedonia. There, falling sick, he sent Philip, the heir of the kingdom,
into Peloponnesus, being yet scarce a youth, commanding him to follow
above all the counsel of Aratus, to communicate with the cities through
him, and through him to make acquaintance with the Achaeans; and Aratus,
receiving him accordingly, so managed him as to send him back to Macedon
both well affected to himself and full of desire and ambition to take an
honorable part in the affairs of Greece.
When Antigonus was dead, the Aetolians, despising the sloth and
negligence of the Achaeans, who, having learned to be defended by other
men’s valor and to shelter themselves under the Macedonian arms, lived
in ease and without any discipline, now attempted to interfere in
Peloponnesus. And plundering the land of Patrae and Dyme in their way,
they invaded Messene and ravaged it; at which Aratus being indignant,
and finding that Timoxenus, then general, was hesitating and letting the
time go by, being now on the point of laying down his office, in which
he himself was chosen to succeed him, he anticipated the proper term by
five days, that he might bring relief to the Messenians. And mustering
the Achaeans, who were both in their persons unexercised in arms and in
their minds relaxed and averse to war, he met with a defeat at Caphyae.
Having thus begun the war, as it seemed, with too much heat and passion,
he then ran into the other extreme, cooling again and desponding so
much, that he let pass and overlooked many fair opportunities of
advantage given by the Aetolians, and allowed them to run riot, as it
were, throughout all Peloponnesus, with all manner of insolence and
licentiousness. Wherefore, holding forth their hands once more to the
Macedonians, they invited and drew in Philip to intermeddle in the
affairs of Greece, chiefly hoping, because of his affection and trust
that he felt for Aratus, they should find him easy-tempered, and ready
to be managed as they pleased.
But the king, being now persuaded by Apelles, Megaleas, and other
courtiers, that endeavored to ruin the credit Aratus had with him, took
the side of the contrary faction, and joined them in canvassing to have
Eperatus chosen general by the Achaeans. But he being altogether scorned
by the Achaeans, and, for the want of Aratus to help, all things going
wrong, Philip saw he had quite mistaken his part, and, turning about and
reconciling himself to Aratus, he was wholly his; and his affairs now
going on favorably both for his power and reputation, he depended upon
him altogether as the author of all his gains in both respects; Aratus
hereby giving a proof to the world that he was as good a nursing father
of a kingdom as he had been of a democracy, for the actions of the king
had in them the touch and color of his judgment and character. The
moderation which the young man showed to the Lacedaemonians, who had
incurred his displeasure, and his affability to the Cretans, by which in
a few days he brought over the whole island to his obedience, and his
expedition against the Aetolians, so wonderfully successful, brought
Philip reputation for hearkening to good advice, and to Aratus for
giving it; for which things the king’s followers envying him more than
ever and finding they could not prevail against him by their secret
practices, began openly to abuse and affront him at the banquets and
over their wine, with every kind of petulance and impudence; so that
once they threw stones at him as he was going back from supper to his
tent. At which Philip being much offended, immediately fined them twenty
talents; and finding afterwards that they still went on disturbing
matters and doing mischief in his affairs, he put them to death.
But with his run of good success, prosperity began to puff him up,
and various extravagant desires began to spring and show themselves in
his mind; and his natural bad inclinations, breaking through the
artificial restraints he had put upon them, in a little time laid open
and discovered his true and proper character. And in the first place, he
privately injured the younger Aratus in his wife, which was not known of
a good while, because he was lodged and entertained at their house; then
he began to be more rough and untractable in the domestic politics of
Greece, and showed plainly that he was wishing to shake himself loose of
Aratus. This the Messenian affairs first gave occasion to suspect. For
they falling into sedition, and Aratus being just too late with his
succors, Philip, who got into the city one day before him, at once blew
up the flame of contention amongst them, asking privately, on the one
hand, the Messenian generals, if they had not laws whereby to suppress
the insolence of the common people, and on the other, the leaders of the
people, whether they had not hands to help themselves against their
oppressors. Upon which gathering courage, the officers attempted to lay
hands on the heads of the people, and they on the other side, coming
upon the officers with the multitude, killed them, and very near two
hundred persons with them.
Philip having committed this wickedness, and doing his best to set
the Messenians by the ears together more than before, Aratus arrived
there, and both showed plainly that he took it ill himself, and also he
suffered his son bitterly to reproach and revile him. It should seem
that the young man had an attachment for Philip, and so at this time one
of his expressions to him was, that he no longer appeared to him the
handsomest, but the most deformed of all men, after so foul an action.
To all which Philip gave him no answer, though he seemed so angry as to
make it expected he would, and though several times he cried out aloud,
while the young man was speaking. But as for the elder Aratus, seeming
to take all that he said in good part, and as if he were by nature a
politic character and had a good command of himself, he gave him his
hand and led him out of the theater, and carried him with him to the
Ithomatas, to sacrifice there to Jupiter, and take a view of the place,
for it is a post as fortifiable as the Acro-Corinthus, and, with a
garrison in it, quite as strong and as impregnable to the attacks of all
around it. Philip therefore went up hither, and having offered
sacrifice, receiving the entrails of the ox with both his hands from the
priest, he showed them to Aratus and Demetrius the Pharian, presenting
them sometimes to the one and sometimes to the other, asking them what
they judged, by the tokens in the sacrifice, was to be done with the
fort; was he to keep it for himself, or restore it to the Messenians.
Demetrius laughed and answered, “If you have in you the soul of
soothsayer, you will restore it, but if of a prince, you will hold the
ox by both the horns,” meaning to refer to Peloponnesus, which would be
wholly in his power and at his disposal if he added the Ithomatas to the
Acro-Corinthus. Aratus said not a word for a good while; but Philip
entreating him to declare his opinion, he said “Many and great hills are
there in Crete, and many rocks in Boeotia and Phocis, and many
remarkable strong-holds both near the sea and in the midland in
Acarnania, and yet all these people obey your orders, though you have
not possessed yourself of any one of those places. Robbers nest
themselves in rocks and precipices; but the strongest fort a king can
have is confidence and affection. These have opened to you the Cretan
sea; these make you master of Peloponnesus, and by the help of these,
young as you are, are you become captain of the one, and lord of the
other.” While he was still speaking, Philip returned the entrails to the
priest, and drawing Aratus to him by the hand, “Come, then,” said he,
“let us follow the same course;” as if he felt himself forced by him,
and obliged to give up the town.
From this time Aratus began to withdraw from court, and retired by
degrees from Philip’s company; when he was preparing to march into
Epirus, and desired him that he would accompany him thither, he excused
himself and stayed at home, apprehending that he should get nothing but
discredit by having anything to do with his actions. But when,
afterwards, having shamefully lost his fleet against the Romans and
miscarried in all his designs, he returned into Peloponnesus, where he
tried once more to beguile the Messenians by his artifices, and failing
in this, began openly to attack them and to ravage their country, then
Aratus fell out with him downright, and utterly renounced his
friendship; for he had begun then to be fully aware of the injuries done
to his son in his wife, which vexed him greatly, though he concealed
them from his son, as he could but know he had been abused, without
having any means to revenge himself. For, indeed, Philip seems to have
been an instance of the greatest and strangest alteration of character;
after being a mild king and modest and chaste youth, he became a
lascivious man and most cruel tyrant; though in reality this was not a
change of his nature, but a bold unmasking, when safe opportunity came,
of the evil inclinations which his fear had for a long time made him
dissemble.
For that the respect he at the beginning bore to Aratus had a great
alloy of fear and awe appears evidently from what he did to him at last.
For being desirous to put him to death, not thinking himself, whilst he
was alive, to be properly free as a man, much less at liberty to do his
pleasure as a king or tyrant, he durst not attempt to do it by open
force, but commanded Taurion, one of his captains and familiars, to make
him away secretly by poison, if possible, in his absence. Taurion,
therefore, made himself intimate with Aratus, and gave him a dose, not
of your strong and violent poisons, but such as cause gentle, feverish
heats at first, and a dull cough, and so by degrees bring on certain
death. Aratus perceived what was done to him, but, knowing that it was
in vain to make any words of it, bore it patiently and with silence, as
if it had been some common and usual distemper. Only once, a friend of
his being with him in his chamber, he spat some blood, which his friend
observing and wondering at, “These, O Cephalon,” said he, “are the wages
of a king’s love.”
Thus died he in Aegium, in his seventeenth generalship. The Achaeans
were very desirous that he should be buried there with a funeral and
monument suitable to his life, but the Sicyonians treated it as a
calamity to them if he were interred anywhere but in their city, and
prevailed with the Achaeans to grant them the disposal of the body.
But there being an ancient law that no person should be buried within
the walls of their city, and besides the law also a strong religious
feeling about it, they sent to Delphi to ask counsel of the Pythoness,
who returned this answer: —
Sicyon, whom oft he rescued, “Where,” you say, “Shall we the relics
of Aratus lay?” The soil that would not lightly o’er him rest,
Or to be under him would feel oppressed,
Were in the sight of earth and seas and skies unblest.
This oracle being brought, all the Achaeans were well pleased at it,
but especially the Sicyonians, who, changing their mourning into public
joy, immediately fetched the body from Aegium, and in a kind of solemn
procession brought it into the city, being crowned with garlands, and
arrayed in white garments, with singing and dancing, and, choosing a
conspicuous place, they buried him there, as the founder and savior of
their city. The place is to this day called Aratium, and there they
yearly make two solemn sacrifices to him, the one on the day he
delivered the city from tyranny, being the fifth of the month Daesius,
which the Athenians call Anthesterion, and this sacrifice they call
Soteria; the other in the month of his birth, which is still remembered.
Now the first of these was performed by the priest of Jupiter Soter, the
second by the priest of Aratus, wearing a band around his head, not pure
white, but mingled with purple. Hymns were sung to the harp by the
singers of the feasts of Bacchus; the procession was led up by the
president of the public exercises, with the boys and young men; these
were followed by the councilors wearing garlands, and other citizens
such as pleased. Of these observances, some small traces, it is still
made a point of religion not to omit, on the appointed days; but the
greatest part of the ceremonies have through time and other intervening
accidents been disused.
And such, as history tells us, was the life and manners of the elder
Aratus. And for the younger, his son, Philip, abominably wicked by
nature and a savage abuser of his power, gave him such poisonous
medicines, as though they did not kill him indeed, yet made him lose his
senses, and run into wild and absurd attempts and desire to do actions
and satisfy appetites that were ridiculous and shameful. So that his
death, which happened to him while he was yet young and in the flower of
his age, cannot be so much esteemed a misfortune as a deliverance and
end of his misery. However, Philip paid dearly, all through the rest of
his life, for these impious violations of friendship and hospitality.
For, being overcome by the Romans, he was forced to put himself wholly
into their hands, and, being deprived of his other dominions and
surrendering all his ships except five, he had also to pay a fine of a
thousand talents, and to give his son for hostage, and only out of mere
pity he was suffered to keep Macedonia and its dependences; where
continually putting to death the noblest of his subjects and the nearest
relations he had, he filled the whole kingdom with horror and hatred of
him. And whereas amidst so many misfortunes he had but one good chance,
which was the having a son of great virtue and merit, him, through
jealousy and envy at the honor the Romans had for him, he caused to be
murdered, and left his kingdom to Perseus, who, as some say, was not his
own child, but supposititious, born of a seamstress called Gnathaenion.
This was he whom Paulus Aemilius led in triumph, and in whom ended the
succession of Antigonus’s line and kingdom. But the posterity of Aratus
continued still in our days at Sicyon and Pellene.
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Artaxerxes
The first Artaxerxes, among all the kings of Persia the most
remarkable for a gentle and noble spirit, was surnamed the Long-handed,
his right hand being longer than his left, and was the son of Xerxes.
The second, whose story I am now writing, who had the surname of the
Mindful, was the grandson of the former, by his daughter Parysatis, who
brought Darius four sons, the eldest Artaxerxes, the next Cyrus, and two
younger than these, Ostanes and Oxathres. Cyrus took his name of the
ancient Cyrus, as he, they say, had his from the sun, which, in the
Persian language, is called Cyrus. Artaxerxes was at first called
Arsicas; Dinon says Oarses; but it is utterly improbable that Ctesias
(however otherwise he may have filled his books with a perfect farrago
of incredible and senseless fables) should be ignorant of the name of
the king with whom he lived as his physician, attending upon himself,
his wife, his mother, and his children.
Cyrus, from his earliest youth, showed something of a headstrong and
vehement character; Artaxerxes, on the other side, was gentler in
everything, and of a nature more yielding and soft in its action. He
married a beautiful and virtuous wife, at the desire of his parents, but
kept her as expressly against their wishes. For king Darius, having put
her brother to death, was purposing likewise to destroy her. But Arsicas,
throwing himself at his mother’s feet, by many tears, at last, with much
ado, persuaded her that they should neither put her to death nor divorce
her from him. However, Cyrus was his mother’s favorite, and the son whom
she most desired to settle in the throne. And therefore, his father
Darius now lying ill, he, being sent for from the sea to the court, set
out thence with full hopes that by her means he was to be declared the
successor to the kingdom. For Parysatis had the specious plea in his
behalf, which Xerxes on the advice of Demaratus had of old made use of,
that she had borne him Arsicas when he was a subject, but Cyrus when a
king. Notwithstanding, she prevailed not with Darius, but the eldest son
Arsicas was proclaimed king, his name being changed into Artaxerxes; and
Cyrus remained satrap of Lydia, and commander in the maritime provinces.
It was not long after the decease of Darius that the king, his
successor, went to Pasargadae, to have the ceremony of his inauguration
consummated by the Persian priests. There is a temple dedicated to a
warlike goddess, whom one might liken to Minerva; into which when the
royal person to be initiated has passed, he must strip himself of his
own robe, and put on that which Cyrus the first wore before he was king;
then, having devoured a frail of figs, he must eat turpentine, and drink
a cup of sour milk. To which if they superadd any other rites, it is
unknown to any but those that are present at them. Now Artaxerxes being
about to address himself to this solemnity, Tisaphernes came to him,
bringing a certain priest, who, having trained up Cyrus in his youth in
the established discipline of Persia, and having taught him the Magian
philosophy, was likely to be as much disappointed as any man that his
pupil did not succeed to the throne. And for that reason his veracity
was the less questioned when he charged Cyrus as though he had been
about to lie in wait for the king in the temple, and to assault and
assassinate him as he was putting off his garment. Some affirm that he
was apprehended upon this impeachment, others that he had entered the
temple and was pointed out there, as he lay lurking, by the priest. But
as he was on the point of being put to death, his mother clasped him in
her arms, and, entwining him with the tresses of her hair, joined his
neck close to her own, and by her bitter lamentation and intercession to
Artaxerxes for him, succeeded in saving his life; and sent him away
again to the sea and to his former province. This, however, could no
longer content him; nor did he so well remember his delivery as his
arrest, his resentment for which made him more eagerly desirous of the
kingdom than before.
Some say that he revolted from his brother, because he had not a
revenue allowed him sufficient for his daily meals; but this is on the
face of it absurd. For had he had nothing else, yet he had a mother
ready to supply him with whatever he could desire out of her own means.
But the great number of soldiers who were hired from all quarters and
maintained, as Xenophon informs us, for his service, by his friends and
connections, is in itself a sufficient proof of his riches. He did not
assemble them together in a body, desiring as yet to conceal his
enterprise; but he had agents everywhere, enlisting foreign soldiers
upon various pretenses; and, in the meantime, Parysatis, who was with
the king, did her best to put aside all suspicions, and Cyrus himself
always wrote in a humble and dutiful manner to him, sometimes soliciting
favor, sometimes making countercharges against Tisaphernes, as if his
jealousy and contest had been wholly with him. Moreover, there was a
certain natural dilatoriness in the king, which was taken by many for
clemency. And, indeed, in the beginning of his reign, he did seem really
to emulate the gentleness of the first Artaxerxes, being very accessible
in his person, and liberal to a fault in the distribution of honors and
favors. Even in his punishments, no contumely or vindictive pleasure
could be seen; and those who offered him presents were as much pleased
with his manner of accepting, as were those who received gifts from him
with his graciousness and amiability in giving them. Nor truly was there
anything, however inconsiderable, given him, which he did not deign
kindly to accept of; insomuch that when one Omises had presented him
with a very large pomegranate, “By Mithras,” said he, “this man, were he
entrusted with it, would turn a small city into a great one.”
Once when some were offering him one thing, some another, as he was
on a progress, a certain poor laborer, having got nothing at hand to
bring him, ran to the river side, and, taking up water in his hands,
offered it to him; with which Artaxerxes was so well pleased that he
sent him a goblet of gold and a thousand darics. To Euclidas, the
Lacedaemonian, who had made a number of bold and arrogant speeches to
him, he sent word by one of his officers, “You have leave to say what
you please to me, and I, you should remember, may both say and do what I
please to you.” Teribazus once, when they were hunting, came up and
pointed out to the king that his royal robe was torn; the king asked him
what he wished him to do; and when Teribazus replied “May it please you
to put on another and give me that,” the king did so, saying withal, “I
give it you, Teribazus, but I charge you not to wear it.” He, little
regarding the injunction, being not a bad, but a light-headed,
thoughtless man, immediately the king took it off, put it on, and
bedecked himself further with royal golden necklaces and women’s
ornaments, to the great scandal of everybody, the thing being quite
unlawful. But the king laughed and told him, “You have my leave to wear
the trinkets as a woman, and the robe of state as a fool.” And whereas
none usually sat down to eat with the king besides his mother and his
wedded wife, the former being placed above, the other below him,
Artaxerxes invited also to his table his two younger brothers, Ostanes
and Oxathres. But what was the most popular thing of all among the
Persians was the sight of his wife Statira’s chariot, which always
appeared with its curtains down, allowing her countrywomen to salute and
approach her, which made the queen a great favorite with the people.
Yet busy, factious men, that delighted in change, professed it to be
their opinion that the times needed Cyrus, a man of a great spirit, an
excellent warrior, and a lover of his friends, and that the largeness of
their empire absolutely required a bold and enterprising prince. Cyrus,
then; not only relying upon those of his own province near the sea, but
upon many of those in the upper countries near the king, commenced the
war against him. He wrote to the Lacedaemonians, bidding them come to
his assistance and supply him with men, assuring them that to those who
came to him on foot he would give horses, and to the horsemen chariots;
that upon those who had farms he would bestow villages, and those who
were lords of villages he would make so of cities; and that those who
would be his soldiers should receive their pay, not by count, but by
weight. And among many other high praises of himself, he said he had the
stronger soul; was more a philosopher and a better Magian; and could
drink and bear more wine than his brother, who, as he averred, was such
a coward and so little like a man, that he could neither sit his horse
in hunting nor his throne in time of danger. The Lacedaemonians, his
letter being read, sent a staff to Clearchus, commanding him to obey
Cyrus in all things. So Cyrus marched towards the king, having under his
conduct a numerous host of barbarians, and but little less than thirteen
thousand stipendiary Grecians; alleging first one cause, then another,
for his expedition. Yet the true reason lay not long concealed, but
Tisaphernes went to the king in person to declare it. Thereupon, the
court was all in an uproar and tumult, the queen-mother bearing almost
the whole blame of the enterprise, and her retainers being suspected and
accused. Above all, Statira angered her by bewailing the war and
passionately demanding where were now the pledges and the intercessions
which saved the life of him that conspired against his brother; “to the
end,” she said, “that he might plunge us all into war and trouble.” For
which words Parysatis hating Statira, and being naturally implacable and
savage in her anger and revenge, consulted how she might destroy her.
But since Dinon tells us that her purpose took effect in the time of the
war, and Ctesias says it was after it, I shall keep the story for the
place to which the latter assigns it, as it is very unlikely that he,
who was actually present, should not know the time when it happened, and
there was no motive to induce him designedly to misplace its date in his
narrative of it, though it is not infrequent with him in his history to
make excursions from truth into mere fiction and romance.
As Cyrus was upon the march, rumors and reports were brought him, as
though the king still deliberated, and were not minded to fight and
presently to join battle with him; but to wait in the heart of his
kingdom until his forces should have come in thither from all parts of
his dominions. He had cut a trench through the plain ten fathoms in
breadth, and as many in depth, the length of it being no less than four
hundred furlongs. Yet he allowed Cyrus to pass across it, and to advance
almost to the city of Babylon. Then Teribazus, as the report goes, was
the first that had the boldness to tell the king that he ought not to
avoid the conflict, nor to abandon Media, Babylon, and even Susa, and
hide himself in Persis, when all the while he had an army many times
over more numerous than his enemies, and an infinite company of
governors and captains that were better soldiers and politicians than
Cyrus. So at last he resolved to fight, as soon as it was possible for
him. Making, therefore, his first appearance, all on a sudden, at the
head of nine hundred thousand well-marshaled men, he so startled and
surprised the enemy, who with the confidence of contempt were marching
on their way in no order, and with their arms not ready for use, that
Cyrus, in the midst of much noise and tumult, was scarce able to form
them for battle. Moreover, the very manner in which he led on his men,
silently and slowly, made the Grecians stand amazed at his good
discipline; who had expected irregular shouting and leaping, much
confusion and separation between one body of men and another, in so vast
a multitude of troops. He also placed the choicest of his armed chariots
in the front of his own phalanx over against the Grecian troops, that a
violent charge with these might cut open their ranks before they closed
with them.
But as this battle is described by many historians, and Xenophon in
particular as good as shows it us by eyesight, not as a past event, but
as a present action, and by his vivid account makes his hearers feel all
the passions and join in all the dangers of it, it would be folly in me
to give any larger account of it than barely to mention any things
omitted by him which yet deserve to be recorded. The place, then, in
which the two armies were drawn out is called Cunaxa, being about five
hundred furlongs distant from Babylon. And here Clearchus beseeching
Cyrus before the fight to retire behind the combatants, and not expose
himself to hazard, they say he replied, “What is this, Clearchus? Would
you have me, who aspire to empire, show myself unworthy of it?” But if
Cyrus committed a great fault in entering headlong into the midst of
danger, and not paying any regard to his own safety, Clearchus was as
much to blame, if not more, in refusing to lead the Greeks against the
main body of the enemy, where the king stood, and in keeping his right
wing close to the river, for fear of being surrounded. For if he wanted,
above all other things, to be safe, and considered it his first object
to sleep in whole skin, it had been his best way not to have stirred
from home. But, after marching in arms ten thousand furlongs from the
sea-coast, simply on his own choosing, for the purpose of placing Cyrus
on the throne, to look about and select a position which would enable
him, not to preserve him under whose pay and conduct he was, but himself
to engage with more ease and security seemed much like one that through
fear of present dangers had abandoned the purpose of his actions, and
been false to the design of his expedition. For it is evident from the
very event of the battle that none of those who were in array around the
king’s person could have stood the shock of the Grecian charge; and had
they been beaten out of the field, and Artaxerxes either fled or fallen,
Cyrus would have gained by the victory, not only safety, but a crown.
And, therefore, Clearchus, by his caution, must be considered more to
blame for the result in the destruction of the life and fortune of
Cyrus, than he by his heat and rashness. For had the king made it his
business to discover a place, where having posted the Grecians, he might
encounter them with the least hazard, he would never have found out any
other but that which was most remote from himself and those near him; of
his defeat in which he was insensible, and, though Clearchus had the
victory, yet Cyrus could not know of it, and could take no advantage of
it before his fall. Cyrus knew well enough what was expedient to be
done, and commanded Clearchus with his men to take their place in the
center. Clearchus replied that he would take care to have all arranged
as was best, and then spoiled all.
For the Grecians, where they were, defeated the barbarians till they
were weary, and chased them successfully a very great way. But Cyrus
being mounted upon a noble but a headstrong and hard-mouthed horse,
bearing the name, as Ctesias tells us, of Pasacas, Artagerses, the
leader of the Cadusians, galloped up to him, crying aloud, “O most
unjust and senseless of men, who are the disgrace of the honored name of
Cyrus, are you come here leading the wicked Greeks on a wicked journey,
to plunder the good things of the Persians, and this with the intent of
slaying your lord and brother, the master of ten thousand times ten
thousand servants that are better men than you? as you shall see this
instant; for you shall lose your head here, before you look upon the
face of the king.” Which when he had said, he cast his javelin at him.
But the coat of mail stoutly repelled it, and Cyrus was not wounded; yet
the stroke falling heavy upon him, he reeled under it. Then Artagerses
turning his horse, Cyrus threw his weapon, and sent the head of it
through his neck near the shoulder bone. So that it is almost
universally agreed to by all the author that Artagerses was slain by
him. But as to the death of Cyrus, since Xenophon, as being himself no
eye-witness of it, has stated it simply and in few words, it may not be
amiss perhaps to run over on the one hand what Dinon, and on the other,
what Ctesias has said of it.
Dinon then affirms, that, after the death of Artagerses, Cyrus,
furiously attacking the guard of Artaxerxes, wounded the king’s horse,
and so dismounted him, and when Teribazus had quickly lifted him up upon
another, and said to him, “O king, remember this day, which is not one
to be forgotten,” Cyrus, again spurring up his horse, struck down
Artaxerxes. But at the third assault the king being enraged, and saying
to those near him that death was more eligible, made up to Cyrus, who
furiously and blindly rushed in the face of the weapons opposed to him.
So the king struck him with a javelin, as likewise did those that were
about him. And thus Cyrus falls, as some say, by the hand of the king;
as others, by the dart of a Carian, to whom Artaxerxes, for a reward of
his achievement, gave the privilege of carrying ever after a golden cock
upon his spear before the first ranks of the army in all expeditions.
For the Persians call the men of Caria cocks, because of the crests with
which they adorn their helmets.
But the account of Ctesias, to put it shortly, omitting many details,
is as follows: Cyrus, after the death of Artagerses, rode up against the
king, as he did against him, neither exchanging a word with the other.
But Ariaeus, Cyrus’s friend, was beforehand with him, and darted first
at the king, yet wounded him not. Then the king cast his lance at his
brother, but missed him, though he both hit and slew Satiphernes, a
noble man and a faithful friend to Cyrus. Then Cyrus directed his lance
against the king, and pierced his breast with it quite through his
armor, two inches deep, so that he fell from his horse with the stroke.
At which those that attended him being put to flight and disorder, he,
rising with a few, among whom was Ctesias, and making his way to a
little hill not far off, rested himself. But Cyrus, who was in the thick
of the enemy, was carried off a great way by the wildness of his horse,
the darkness which was now coming on making it hard for them to know
him, and for his followers to find him. However, being made elate with
victory, and full of confidence and force, he passed through them,
crying out, and that more than once, in the Persian language, “Clear the
way, villains, clear the way;” which they indeed did, throwing
themselves down at his feet. But his tiara dropped off his head, and a
young Persian, by name Mithridates, running by, struck a dart into one
of his temples near his eye, not knowing who he was, out of which wound
much blood gushed, so that Cyrus, swooning and senseless, fell off his
horse. The horse escaped, and ran about the field; but the companion of
Mithridates took the trappings, which fell off, soaked with blood. And
as Cyrus slowly began to come to himself, some eunuchs who were there
tried to put him on another horse, and so convey him safe away. And when
he was not able to ride, and desired to walk on his feet, they led and
supported him, being indeed dizzy in the head and reeling, but convinced
of his being victorious, hearing, as he went, the fugitives saluting
Cyrus as king, and praying for grace and mercy. In the meantime, some
wretched, poverty-stricken Caunians, who in some pitiful employment as
camp-followers had accompanied the king’s army, by chance joined these
attendants of Cyrus, supposing them to be of their own party. But when,
after a while, they made out that their coats over their breastplates
were red, whereas all the king’s people wore white ones, they knew that
they were enemies. One of them, therefore, not dreaming that it was
Cyrus, ventured to strike him behind with a dart. The vein under the
knee was cut open, and Cyrus fell, and at the same time struck his
wounded temple against a stone, and so died. Thus runs Ctesias’s
account, tardily, with the slowness of a blunt weapon, effecting the
victim’s death.
When he was now dead, Artasyras, the king’s eye, passed by on
horseback, and, having observed the eunuchs lamenting, he asked the most
trusty of them, “Who is this, Pariscas, whom you sit here deploring?” He
replied, “Do not you see, O Artasyras, that it is my master, Cyrus?”
Then Artasyras wondering, bade the eunuch be of good cheer, and keep the
dead body safe. And going in all haste to Artaxerxes, who had now given
up all hope of his affairs, and was in great suffering also with his
thirst and his wound, he with much joy assured him that he had seen
Cyrus dead. Upon this, at first, he set out to go in person to the
place, and commanded Artasyras to conduct him where he lay. But when
there was a great noise made about the Greeks, who were said to be in
full pursuit, conquering and carrying all before them, he thought it
best to send a number of persons to see; and accordingly thirty men went
with torches in their hands. Meantime, as he seemed to be almost at the
point of dying from thirst, his eunuch Satibarzanes ran about seeking
drink for him; for the place had no water in it, and he was at a good
distance from his camp. After a long search he at last luckily met with
one of those poor Caunian camp-followers, who had in a wretched skin
about four pints of foul and stinking water, which he took and gave to
the king; and when he had drunk all off, he asked him if he did not
dislike the water; but he declared by all the gods, that he never so
much relished either wine, or water out of the lightest or purest
stream. “And therefore,” said he, “if I fail myself to discover and
reward him who gave it to you, I beg of heaven to make him rich and
prosperous.”
Just after this, came back the thirty messengers, with joy and
triumph in their looks, bringing him the tidings of his unexpected
fortune. And now he was also encouraged by the number of soldiers that
again began to flock in and gather about him; so that he presently
descended into the plain with many lights and flambeaus round about him.
And when he had come near the dead body, and, according to a certain law
of the Persians, the right hand and head had been lopped off from the
trunk, he gave orders that the latter should be brought to him, and,
grasping the hair of it, which was long and bushy, he showed it to those
who were still uncertain and disposed to fly. They were amazed at it,
and did him homage; so that there were presently seventy thousand of
them got about him, and entered the camp again with him. He had led out
to the fight, as Ctesias affirms, four hundred thousand men. But Dinon
and Xenophon aver that there were many more than forty myriads actually
engaged. As to the number of the slain, as the catalogue of them was
given up to Artaxerxes, Ctesias says, they were nine thousand, but that
they appeared to him no fewer than twenty thousand. Thus far there is
something to be said on both sides. But it is a flagrant untruth on the
part of Ctesias to say that he was sent along with Phalinus the
Zacynthian and some others to the Grecians. For Xenophon knew well
enough that Ctesias was resident at court; for he makes mention of him,
and had evidently met with his writings. And, therefore, had he come,
and been deputed the interpreter of such momentous words, Xenophon
surely would not have struck his name out of the embassy to mention only
Phalinus. But Ctesias, as is evident, being excessively vain-glorious,
and no less a favorer of the Lacedaemonians and Clearchus, never fails
to assume to himself some province in his narrative, taking opportunity,
in these situations, to introduce abundant high praise of Clearchus and
Sparta.
When the battle was over, Artaxerxes sent goodly and magnificent
gifts to the son of Artagerses, whom Cyrus slew. He conferred likewise
high honors upon Ctesias and others, and, having found out the Caunian
who gave him the bottle of water, he made him, of a poor, obscure man, a
rich and an honorable person. As for the punishments he indicted upon
delinquents, there was a kind of harmony betwixt them and the crimes. He
gave order that one Arbaces, a Mede, that had fled in the fight to
Cyrus, and again at his fall had come back, should, as a mark that he
was considered a dastardly and effeminate, not a dangerous or
treasonable man, have a common harlot set upon his back, and carry her
about for a whole day in the marketplace. Another, besides that he had
deserted to them, having falsely vaunted that he had killed two of the
rebels, he decreed that three needles should be struck through his
tongue. And both supposing that with his own hand he had cut off Cyrus,
and being willing that all men should think and say so, he sent rich
presents to Mithridates, who first wounded him, and charged those by
whom he conveyed the gifts to him to tell him, that “the king has
honored you with these his favors, because you found and brought him the
horse-trappings of Cyrus.” The Carian, also, from whose wound in the ham
Cyrus died, suing for his reward, he commanded those that brought it him
to say that “the king presents you with this as a second remuneration
for the good news told him; for first Artasyras, and, next to him, you
assured him of the decease of Cyrus.” Mithridates retired without
complaint, though not without resentment. But the unfortunate Carian was
fool enough to give way to a natural infirmity. For being ravished with
the sight of the princely gifts that were before him, and being tempted
thereupon to challenge and aspire to things above him, he deigned not to
accept the king’s present as a reward for good news, but indignantly
crying out and appealing to witnesses, he protested that he, and none
but he, had killed Cyrus, and that he was unjustly deprived of the
glory. These words, when they came to his ear, much offended the king,
so that forthwith he sentenced him to be beheaded. But the queen mother,
being in the king’s presence, said, “Let not the king so lightly
discharge this pernicious Carian; let him receive from me the fitting
punishment of what he dares to say.” So when the king had consigned him
over to Parysatis, she charged the executioners to take up the man, and
stretch him upon the rack for ten days, then, tearing out his eyes, to
drop molten brass into his ears till he expired.
Mithridates, also, within a short time after, miserably perished by
the like folly; for being invited to a feast where were the eunuchs both
of the king and of the queen mother, he came arrayed in the dress and
the golden ornaments which he had received from the king. After they
began to drink, the eunuch that was the greatest in power with Parysatis
thus speaks to him: A magnificent dress, indeed, O Mithridates, is this
which the king has given you; the chains and bracelets are glorious, and
your scimitar of invaluable worth; how happy has he made you, the object
of every eye!” To whom he, being a little overcome with the wine
replied, “What are these things, Sparamizes? Sure I am, I showed myself
to the king in that day of trial to be one deserving greater and
costlier gifts than these.” At which Sparamizes smiling, said, “I do not
grudge them to you, Mithridates; but since the Grecians tell us that
wine and truth go together, let me hear now, my friend, what glorious or
mighty matter was it to find some trappings that had slipped off a
horse, and to bring them to the king?” And this he spoke, not as
ignorant of the truth, but desiring to unbosom him to the company,
irritating the vanity of the man, whom drink had now made eager to talk
and incapable of controlling himself. So he forbore nothing, but said
out, “Talk you what you please of horse-trappings, and such trifles; I
tell you plainly, that this hand was the death of Cyrus. For I threw not
my dart as Artagerses did, in vain and to no purpose, but only just
missing his eye, and hitting him right on the temple, and piercing him
through, I brought him to the ground; and of that wound he died.” The
rest of the company, who saw the end and the hapless fate of Mithridates
as if it were already completed, bowed their heads to the ground; and he
who entertained them said, “Mithridates, my friend, let us eat and drink
now, revering the fortune of our prince, and let us waive discourse
which is too weighty for us.”
Presently after, Sparamizes told Parysatis what he said, and she told
the king, who was greatly enraged at it, as having the lie given him,
and being in danger to forfeit the most glorious and most pleasant
circumstance of his victory. For it was his desire that everyone,
whether Greek or barbarian, should believe that in the mutual assaults
and conflicts between him and his brother, he, giving and receiving a
blow, was himself indeed wounded, but that the other lost his life. And,
therefore, he decreed that Mithridates should be put to death in boats;
which execution is after the following manner: Taking two boats framed
exactly to fit and answer each other, they lay down in one of them the
malefactor that suffers, upon his back; then, covering it with the
other, and so setting them together that the head, hands, and feet of
him are left outside, and the rest of his body lies shut up within, they
offer him food, and if he refuse to eat it, they force him to do it by
pricking his eyes; then, after he has eaten, they drench him with a
mixture of milk and honey, pouring it not only into his mouth, but all
over his face. They then keep his face continually turned towards the
sun; and it becomes completely covered up and hidden by the multitude of
flies that settle on it. And as within the boats he does what those that
eat and drink must needs do, creeping things and vermin spring out of
the corruption and rottenness of the excrement, and these entering into
the bowels of him, his body is consumed. When the man is manifestly
dead, the uppermost boat being taken off, they find his flesh devoured,
and swarms of such noisome creatures preying upon and, as it were,
growing to his inwards. In this way Mithridates, after suffering for
seventeen days, at last expired.
Masabates, the king’s eunuch, who had cut off the hand and head of
Cyrus, remained still as a mark for Parysatis’s vengeance. Whereas,
therefore, he was so circumspect, that he gave her no advantage against
him, she framed this kind of snare for him. She was a very ingenious
woman in other ways, and was an excellent player at dice, and, before
the war, had often played with the king. After the war, too, when she
had been reconciled to him, she joined readily in all amusements with
him, played at dice with him, was his confidant in his love matters, and
in every way did her best to leave him as little as possible in the
company of Statira, both because she hated her more than any other
person, and because she wished to have no one so powerful as herself.
And so once when Artaxerxes was at leisure, and inclined to divert
himself, she challenged him to play at dice with her for a thousand
Darics, and purposely let him win them, and paid him down in gold. Yet,
pretending to be concerned for her loss, and that she would gladly have
her revenge for it, she pressed him to begin a new game for a eunuch; to
which he consented. But first they agreed that each of them might except
five of their most trusty eunuchs, and that out of the rest of them the
loser should yield up any the winner should make choice of. Upon these
conditions they played. Thus being bent upon her design, and thoroughly
in earnest with her game, and the dice also running luckily for her,
when she had got the game, she demanded Masabates, who was not in the
number of the five excepted. And before the king could suspect the
matter, having delivered him up to the tormentors, she enjoined them to
flay him alive, to set his body upon three stakes, and to stretch his
skin upon stakes separately from it.
These things being done, and the king taking them ill, and being
incensed against her, she with raillery and laughter told him, “You are
a comfortable and happy man indeed, if you are so much disturbed for the
sake of an old rascally eunuch, when I, though I have thrown away a
thousand Darics, hold my peace and acquiesce in my fortune.” So the
king, vexed with himself for having been thus deluded, hushed up all.
But Statira both in other matters openly opposed her, and was angry with
her for thus, against all law and humanity, sacrificing to the memory of
Cyrus the king’s faithful friends and eunuchs.
Now after that Tisaphernes had circumvented and by a false oath had
betrayed Clearchus and the other commanders, and, taking them, had sent
them bound in chains to the king, Ctesias says that he was asked by
Clearchus to supply him with a comb; and that when he had it, and had
combed his head with it, he was much pleased with this good office, and
gave him a ring, which might be a token of the obligation to his
relatives and friends in Sparta; and that the engraving upon this signet
was a set of Caryatides dancing. He tells us that the soldiers, his
fellow captives, used to purloin a part of the allowance of food sent to
Clearchus, giving him but little of it; which thing Ctesias says he
rectified, causing a better allowance to be conveyed to him, and that a
separate share should be distributed to the soldiers by themselves;
adding that he ministered to and supplied him thus by the interest and
at the instance of Parysatis. And there being a portion of ham sent
daily with his other food to Clearchus, she, he says, advised and
instructed him, that he ought to bury a small knife in the meat, and
thus send it to his friend, and not leave his fate to be determined by
the king’s cruelty; which he, however, he says, was afraid to do.
However, Artaxerxes consented to the entreaties of his mother, and
promised her with an oath that he would spare Clearchus; but afterwards,
at the instigation of Statira, he put every one of them to death except
Menon. And thenceforward, he says, Parysatis watched her advantage
against Statira, and made up poison for her; not a very probable story,
or a very likely motive to account for her conduct, if indeed he means
that out of respect to Clearchus she dared to attempt the life of the
lawful queen, that was mother of those who were heirs of the empire. But
it is evident enough, that this part of his history is a sort of funeral
exhibition in honor of Clearchus. For he would have us believe, that,
when the generals were executed, the rest of them were torn in pieces by
dogs and birds; but as for the remains of Clearchus, that a violent gust
of wind, bearing before it a vast heap of earth, raised a mound to cover
his body, upon which, after a short time, some dates having fallen
there, a beautiful grove of trees grew up and overshadowed the place, so
that the king himself declared his sorrow, concluding that in Clearchus
he put to death a man beloved of the gods.
Parysatis, therefore, having from the first entertained a secret
hatred and jealousy against Statira, seeing that the power she herself
had with Artaxerxes was founded upon feelings of honor and respect for
her, but that Statira’s influence was firmly and strongly based upon
love and confidence, was resolved to contrive her ruin, playing at
hazard, as she thought, for the greatest stake in the world. Among her
attendant women there was one that was trusty and in the highest esteem
with her, whose name was Gigis; who, as Dinon avers, assisted in making
up the poison. Ctesias allows her only to have been conscious of it, and
that against her will; charging Belitaras with actually giving the drug,
whereas Dinon says it was Melantas. The two women had begun again to
visit each other and to eat together; but though they had thus far
relaxed their former habits of jealousy and variance, still, out of fear
and as a matter of caution, they always ate of the same dishes and of
the same parts of them. Now there is a small Persian bird, in the inside
of which no excrement is found, only a mass of fat, so that they suppose
the little creature lives upon air and dew. It is called rhyntaces.
Ctesias affirms, that Parysatis, cutting a bird of this kind into two
pieces with a knife, one side of which had been smeared with the drug,
the other side being clear of it, ate the untouched and wholesome part
herself, and gave Statira that which was thus infected; but Dinon will
not have it to be Parysatis, but Melantas, that cut up the bird and
presented the envenomed part of it to Statira; who, dying with dreadful
agonies and convulsions, was herself sensible of what had happened to
her, and aroused in the king’s mind suspicion of his mother, whose
savage and implacable temper he knew. And therefore proceeding instantly
to an inquest, he seized upon his mother’s domestic servants that
attended at her table, and put them upon the rack. Parysatis kept Gigis
at home with her a long time, and, though the king commanded her, she
would not produce her. But she, at last, herself desiring that she might
be dismissed to her own home by night, Artaxerxes had intimation of it,
and, lying in wait for her, hurried her away, and adjudged her to death.
Now poisoners in Persia suffer thus by law. There is a broad stone, on
which they place the head of the culprit, and then with another stone
beat and press it, until the face and the head itself are all pounded to
pieces; which was the punishment Gigis lost her life by. But to his
mother, Artaxerxes neither said nor did any other hurt, save that he
banished and confined her, not much against her will, to Babylon,
protesting that while she lived he would not come near that city. Such
was the condition of the king’s affairs in his own house.
But when all his attempts to capture the Greeks that had come up with
Cyrus, though he desired to do so no less than he had desired to
overcome Cyrus and maintain his throne, proved unsuccessful, and they,
though they had lost both Cyrus and their own generals, nevertheless
escaped, as it were, out of his very palace, making it plain to all men
that the Persian king and his empire were mighty indeed in gold and
luxury and women, but otherwise were a mere show and vain display, upon
this, all Greece took courage, and despised the barbarians; and
especially the Lacedaemonians thought it strange if they should not now
deliver their countrymen that dwelt in Asia from their subjection to the
Persians, nor put an end to the contumelious usage of them. And first
having an army under the conduct of Thimbron, then under Dercyllidas,
but doing nothing memorable, they at last committed the war to the
management of their king Agesilaus, who, when he had arrived with his
men in Asia, as soon as he had landed them, fell actively to work, and
got himself great renown. He defeated Tisaphernes in a pitched battle,
and set many cities in revolt. Upon this, Artaxerxes, perceiving what
was his wisest way of waging the war, sent Timocrates the Rhodian into
Greece, with large sums of gold, commanding him by a free distribution
of it to corrupt the leading men in the cities, and to excite a Greek
war against Sparta. So Timocrates following his instructions, the most
considerable cities conspiring together, and Peloponnesus being in
disorder, the ephors remanded Agesilaus from Asia. At which time, they
say, as he was upon his return, he told his friends that Artaxerxes had
driven him out of Asia with thirty thousand archers; the Persian coin
having an archer stamped upon it.
Artaxerxes scoured the seas, too, of the Lacedaemonians, Conon the
Athenian and Pharnabazus being his admirals. For Conon, after the battle
of Aegospotami, resided in Cyprus; not that he consulted his own mere
security, but looking for a vicissitude of affairs with no less hope
than men wait for a change of wind at sea. And perceiving that his skill
wanted power, and that the king’s power wanted a wise man to guide it,
he sent him an account by letter of his projects, and charged the bearer
to hand it to the king, if possible, by the mediation of Zeno the Cretan
or Polycritus the Mendaean (the former being a dancing-master, the
latter a physician), or, in the absence of them both, by Ctesias; who is
said to have taken Conon’s letter, and foisted into the contents of it a
request; that the king would also be pleased to send over Ctesias to
him, who was likely to be of use on the sea-coast. Ctesias, however,
declares that the king, of his own accord, deputed him to this service.
Artaxerxes, however, defeating the Lacedaemonians in a sea-fight at
Cnidos, under the conduct of Pharnabazus and Conon, after he had
stripped them of their sovereignty by sea, at the same time, brought, so
to say, the whole of Greece over to him, so that upon his own terms he
dictated the celebrated peace among them, styled the peace of
Antalcidas. This Antalcidas was a Spartan, the son of one Leon, who,
acting for the king’s interest, induced the Lacedaemonians to covenant
to let all the Greek cities in Asia and the islands adjacent to it
become subject and tributary to him, peace being upon these conditions
established among the Greeks, if indeed the honorable name of peace can
fairly be given to what was in fact the disgrace and betrayal of Greece,
a treaty more inglorious than had ever been the result of any war to
those defeated in it.
And therefore Artaxerxes, though always abominating other Spartans,
and looking upon them, as Dinon says, to be the most impudent men
living, gave wonderful honor to Antalcidas when he came to him into
Persia; so much so that one day, taking a garland of flowers and dipping
it in the most precious ointment, he sent it to him after supper, a
favor which all were amazed at. Indeed he was a person fit to be thus
delicately treated, and to have such a crown, who had among the Persians
thus made fools of Leonidas and Callicratidas. Agesilaus, it seems, on
someone having said, “O the deplorable fate of Greece, now that the
Spartans turn Medes!” replied, “Nay, rather it is the Medes who become
Spartans.” But the subtlety of the repartee did not wipe off the infamy
of the action. The Lacedaemonians soon after lost their sovereignty in
Greece by their defeat at Leuctra; but they had already lost their honor
by this treaty. So long then as Sparta continued to be the first state
in Greece, Artaxerxes continued to Antalcidas the honor of being called
his friend and his guest; but when, routed and humbled at the battle of
Leuctra, being under great distress for money, they had dispatched
Agesilaus into Egypt, and Antalcidas went up to Artaxerxes, beseeching
him to supply their necessities, he so despised, slighted, and rejected
him, that finding himself, on his return, mocked and insulted by his
enemies, and fearing also the ephors, he starved himself to death.
Ismenias, also, the Theban, and Pelopidas, who had already gained the
victory at Leuctra, arrived at the Persian court; where the latter did
nothing unworthy of himself. But Ismenias, being commanded to do
obeisance to the king, dropped his ring before him upon the ground, and
so, stooping to take it up, made a show of doing him homage. He was so
gratified with some secret intelligence which Timagoras the Athenian
sent in to him by the hand of his secretary, Beluris, that he bestowed
upon him ten thousand darics, and because he was ordered, on account of
some sickness, to drink cow’s milk, there were fourscore milch kine
driven after him; also, he sent him a bed, furniture, and servants for
it, the Grecians not having skill enough to make it, as also chairmen to
carry him, being infirm in body, to the seaside. Not to mention the
feast made for him at court, which was so princely and splendid that
Ostanes, the king’s brother, said to him, “O, Timagoras, do not forget
the sumptuous table you have sat at here; it was not put before you for
nothing;” which was indeed rather a reflection upon his treason than to
remind him of the king’s bounty. And indeed the Athenians condemned
Timagoras to death for taking bribes.
But Artaxerxes gratified the Grecians in one thing in lieu of the
many wherewith he plagued them, and that was by taking off Tisaphernes,
their most hated and malicious enemy, whom he put to death; Parysatis
adding her influence to the charges made against him. For the king did
not persist long in his wrath with his mother, but was reconciled to
her, and sent for her, being assured that she had wisdom and courage fit
for royal power, and there being now no cause discernible but that they
might converse together without suspicion or offense. And from
thenceforward humoring the king in all things according to his heart’s
desire, and finding fault with nothing that he did, she obtained great
power with him, and was gratified in all her requests. She perceived he
was desperately in love with Atossa, one of his own two daughters, and
that he concealed and checked his passion chiefly for fear of herself,
though, if we may believe some writers, he had privately given way to it
with the young girl already. As soon as Parysatis suspected it, she
displayed a greater fondness for the young girl than before, and
extolled both her virtue and beauty to him, as being truly imperial and
majestic. In fine, she persuaded him to marry her and declare her to be
his lawful wife, overriding all the principles and the laws by which the
Greeks hold themselves bound, and regarding himself as divinely
appointed for a law to the Persians, and the supreme arbitrator of good
and evil. Some historians further affirm, in which number is Heraclides
of Cuma, that Artaxerxes married not only this one, but a second
daughter also, Amestris, of whom we shall speak by and by. But he so
loved Atossa when she became his consort, that when leprosy had run
through her whole body, he was not in the least offended at it; but
putting up his prayers to Juno for her, to this one alone of all the
deities he made obeisance, by laying his hands upon the earth; and his
satraps and favorites made such offerings to the goddess by his
direction, that all along for sixteen furlongs, betwixt the court and
her temple, the road was filled up with gold and silver, purple and
horses, devoted to her.
He waged war out of his own kingdom with the Egyptians, under the
conduct of Pharnabazus and Iphicrates, but was unsuccessful by reason of
their dissensions. In his expedition against the Cadusians, he went
himself in person with three hundred thousand footmen and ten thousand
horse. And making an incursion into their country, which was so
mountainous as scarcely to be passable, and withal very misty, producing
no sort of harvest of corn or the like, but with pears, apples, and
other tree-fruits feeding a warlike and valiant breed of men, he
unawares fell into great distresses and dangers. For there was nothing
to be got fit for his men to eat, of the growth of that place, nor could
anything be imported from any other. All they could do was to kill their
beasts of burden, and thus an ass’s head could scarcely be bought for
sixty drachmas. In short, the king’s own table failed; and there were
but few horses left; the rest they had spent for food. Then Teribazus, a
man often in great favor with his prince for his valor, and as often out
of it for his buffoonery, and particularly at that time in humble estate
and neglected, was the deliverer of the king and his army. There being
two kings amongst the Cadusians, and each of them encamping separately,
Teribazus, after he had made his application to Artaxerxes and imparted
his design to him, went to one of the princes, and sent away his son
privately to the other. So each of them deceived his man, assuring him
that the other prince had deputed an ambassador to Artaxerxes, suing for
friendship and alliance for himself alone; and, therefore, if he were
wise, he told him, he must apply himself to his master before he had
decreed anything, and he, he said, would lend him his assistance in all
things. Both of them gave credit to these words, and because they
supposed they were each intrigued against by the other, they both sent
their envoys, one along with Teribazus, and the other with his son. All
this taking some time to transact, fresh surmises and suspicions of
Teribazus were expressed to the king, who began to be out of heart,
sorry that he had confided in him, and ready to give ear to his rivals
who impeached him. But at last he came, and so did his son, bringing the
Cadusian agents along with them, and so there was a cessation of arms
and a peace signed with both the princes. And Teribazus, in great honor
and distinction, set out homewards in the company of the king; who,
indeed, upon this journey made it appear plainly that cowardice and
effeminacy are the effects, not of delicate and sumptuous living, as
many suppose, but of a base and vicious nature, actuated by false and
bad opinions. For notwithstanding his golden ornaments, his robe of
state, and the rest of that costly attire, worth no less than twelve
thousand talents, with which the royal person was constantly clad, his
labors and toils were not a whit inferior to those of the meanest
persons in his army. With his quiver by his side and his shield on his
arm, he led them on foot, quitting his horse, through craggy and steep
ways, insomuch that the sight of his cheerfulness and unwearied strength
gave wings to the soldiers, and so lightened the journey, that they made
daily marches of above two hundred furlongs.
After they had arrived at one of his own mansions, which had
beautiful ornamented parks in the midst of a region naked and without
trees, the weather being very cold, he gave full commission to his
soldiers to provide themselves with wood by cutting down any, without
exception, even the pine and cypress. And when they hesitated and were
for sparing them, being large and goodly trees, he, taking up an ax
himself, felled the greatest and most beautiful of them. After which his
men used their hatchets, and piling up many fires, passed away the night
at their ease. Nevertheless, he returned not without the loss of many
and valiant subjects, and of almost all his horses. And supposing that
his misfortunes and the ill success of his expedition made him despised
in the eyes of his people, he looked jealously on his nobles, many of
whom he slew in anger, and yet more out of fear. As, indeed, fear is the
bloodiest passion in princes; confidence, on the other hand, being
merciful, gentle, and unsuspicious. So we see among wild beasts, the
intractable and least tamable are the most timorous and most easily
startled; the nobler creatures, whose courage makes them trustful, are
ready to respond to the advances of men.
Artaxerxes, now being an old man, perceived that his sons were in
controversy about his kingdom, and that they made parties among his
favorites and peers. Those that were equitable among them thought it
fit, that as he had received it, so he should bequeath it, by right of
age, to Darius. The younger brother, Ochus, who was hot and violent, had
indeed a considerable number of the courtiers that espoused his
interest, but his chief hope was that by Atossa’s means he should win
his father. For he flattered her with the thoughts of being his wife and
partner in the kingdom after the death of Artaxerxes. And truly it was
rumored that already Ochus maintained a too intimate correspondence with
her. This, however, was quite unknown to the king; who, being willing to
put down in good time his son Ochus’s hopes, lest, by his attempting the
same things his uncle Cyrus did, wars and contentions might again
afflict his kingdom, proclaimed Darius, then twenty-five years old, his
successor, and gave him leave to wear the upright hat, as they call it.
It was a rule and usage of Persia, that the heir apparent to the crown
should beg a boon, and that he that declared him so should give whatever
he asked, provided it were within the sphere of his power. Darius
therefore requested Aspasia, in former time the most prized of the
concubines of Cyrus, and now belonging to the king. She was by birth a
Phocaean, of Ionia, born of free parents, and well educated. Once when
Cyrus was at supper, she was led in to him with other women, who, when
they were sat down by him, and he began to sport and dally and talk
jestingly with them, gave way freely to his advances. But she stood by
in silence, refusing to come when Cyrus called her, and when his
chamberlains were going to force her towards him, said, “Whosoever lays
hands on me shall rue it;” so that she seemed to the company a sullen
and rude-mannered person. However, Cyrus was well pleased, and laughed,
saying to the man that brought the women, “Do you not see of a certainty
that this woman alone of all that came with you is truly noble and pure
in character?” After which time he began to regard her, and loved her
above all of her sex, and called her the Wise. But Cyrus being slain in
the fight, she was taken among the spoils of his camp.
Darius, in demanding her, no doubt much offended his father, for the
barbarian people keep a very jealous and watchful eye over their carnal
pleasures, so that it is death for a man not only to come near and touch
any concubine of his prince, but likewise on a journey to ride forward
and pass by the carriages in which they are conveyed. And though, to
gratify his passion, he had against all law married his daughter Atossa,
and had besides her no less than three hundred and sixty concubines
selected for their beauty, yet being importuned for that one by Darius,
he urged that she was a free-woman, and allowed him to take her, if she
had an inclination to go with him, but by no means to force her away
against it. Aspasia, therefore, being sent for, and, contrary to the
king’s expectation, making choice of Darius, he gave him her indeed,
being constrained by law, but when he had done so, a little after he
took her from him. For he consecrated her priestess to Diana of Ecbatana,
whom they name Anaitis, that she might spend the remainder of her days
in strict chastity, thinking thus to punish his son, not rigorously, but
with moderation, by a revenge checkered with jest and earnest. But he
took it heinously, either that he was passionately fond of Aspasia, or
because he looked upon himself as affronted and scorned by his father.
Teribazus, perceiving him thus minded, did his best to exasperate him
yet further, seeing in his injuries a representation of his own, of
which the following is the account: Artaxerxes, having many daughters,
promised to give Apama to Pharnabazus to wife, Rhodogune to Orontes, and
Amestris to Teribazus; whom alone of the three he disappointed, by
marrying Amestris himself. However, to make him amends, he betrothed his
youngest daughter Atossa to him. But after he had, being enamored of her
too, as has been said, married her, Teribazus entertained an
irreconcilable enmity against him. As indeed he was seldom at any other
time steady in his temper, but uneven and inconsiderate; so that whether
he were in the number of the choicest favorites of his prince, or
whether he were offensive and odious to him, he demeaned himself in
neither condition with moderation; but if he was advanced he was
intolerably insolent, and in his degradation not submissive and
peaceable in his deportment, but fierce and haughty.
And therefore Teribazus was to the young prince flame added upon
flame, ever urging him, and saying, that in vain those wear their hats
upright who consult not the real success of their affairs, and that he
was ill befriended of reason if he imagined, whilst he had a brother,
who, through the women’s apartments, was seeking a way to the supremacy,
and a father of so rash and fickle a humor, that he should by succession
infallibly step up into the throne. For he that out of fondness to an
Ionian girl has eluded a law sacred and inviolable among the Persians is
not likely to be faithful in the performance of the most important
promises. He added, too, that it was not all one for Ochus not to attain
to, and for him to be put by his crown; since Ochus as a subject might
live happily, and nobody could hinder him; but he, being proclaimed
king, must either take up his scepter or lay down his life. These words
presently inflamed Darius: what Sophocles says being indeed generally
true: —
Quick travels the persuasion to what’s wrong.
For the path is smooth, and upon an easy descent, that leads us to
our own will; and the most part of us desire what is evil through our
strangeness to and ignorance of good. And in this case, no doubt, the
greatness of the empire and the jealousy Darius had of Ochus furnished
Teribazus with material for his persuasions. Nor was Venus wholly
unconcerned in the matter, in regard, namely, of his loss of Aspasia.
Darius, therefore, resigned himself up to the dictates of Teribazus;
and many now conspiring with them, a eunuch gave information to the king
of their plot and the way how it was to be managed, having discovered
the certainty of it, that they had resolved to break into his
bed-chamber by night, and there to kill him as he lay. After Artaxerxes
had been thus advertised, he did not think fit, by disregarding the
discovery, to despise so great a danger, nor to believe it when there
was little or no proof of it. Thus then he did: he charged the eunuch
constantly to attend and accompany the conspirators wherever they were;
in the meanwhile, he broke down the party-wall of the chamber behind his
bed, and placed a door in it to open and shut, which covered up with
tapestry; so the hour approaching, and the eunuch having told him the
precise time in which the traitors designed to assassinate him, he
waited for them in his bed, and rose not up till he had seen the faces
of his assailants and recognized every man of them. But as soon as he
saw them with their swords drawn and coming up to him, throwing up the
hanging, he made his retreat into the inner chamber, and, bolting to the
door, raised a cry. Thus when the murderers had been seen by him, and
had attempted him in vain, they with speed went back through the same
doors they came in by, enjoining Teribazus and his friends to fly, as
their plot had been certainly detected. They, therefore, made their
escape different ways; but Teribazus was seized by the king’s guards,
and after slaying many, while they were laying hold on him, at length
being struck through with a dart at a distance, fell. As for Darius, who
was brought to trial with his children, the king appointed the royal
judges to sit over him, and because he was not himself present, but
accused Darius by proxy, he commanded his scribes to write down the
opinion of every one of the judges, and show it to him. And after they
had given their sentences, all as one man, and condemned Darius to
death, the officers seized on him and hurried him to a chamber not far
off. To which place the executioner, when summoned, came with a razor in
his hand, with which men of his employment cut off’ the heads of
offenders. But when he saw that Darius was the person thus to be
punished, he was appalled and started back, offering to go out, as one
that had neither power nor courage enough to behead a king; yet at the
threats and commands of the judges, who stood at the prison door, he
returned, and grasping the hair of his head and bringing his face to the
ground with one hand, he cut through his neck with the razor he had in
the other. Some affirm that sentence was passed in the presence of
Artaxerxes; that Darius, after he had been convicted by clear evidence,
falling prostrate before him, did humbly beg his pardon; that instead of
giving it, he, rising up in rage and drawing his scimitar, smote him
till he had killed him; that then, going forth into the court, he
worshipped the sun, and said, “Depart in peace, ye Persians, and declare
to your fellow-subjects how the mighty Oromasdes hath dealt out
vengeance to the contrivers of unjust and unlawful things.”
Such, then, was the issue of this conspiracy. And now Ochus was high
in his hopes, being confident in the influence of Atossa; but yet was
afraid of Ariaspes, the only male surviving, besides himself, of the
legitimate off-spring of his father, and of Arsames, one of his natural
sons. For indeed Ariaspes was already claimed as their prince by the
wishes of the Persians, not because he was the elder brother, but
because he excelled Ochus in gentleness, plain-dealing, and good-nature;
and on the other hand Arsames appeared, by his wisdom, fitted for the
throne, and that he was dear to his father, Ochus well knew. So he laid
snares for them both, and being no less treacherous than bloody, he made
use of the cruelty of his nature against Arsames, and of his craft and
wiliness against Ariaspes. For he suborned the king’s eunuchs and
favorites to convey to him menacing and harsh expressions from his
father, as though he had decreed to put him to a cruel and ignominious
death. When they daily communicated these things as secrets, and told
him at one time that the king would do so to him ere long, and at
another, that the blow was actually close impending, they so alarmed the
young man, struck; such a terror into him, and cast such a confusion and
anxiety upon his thoughts, that, having prepared some poisonous drugs,
he drank them, that he might be delivered from his life. The king, on
hearing what kind of death he died, heartily lamented him, and was not
without a suspicion of the cause of it. But being disabled by his age to
search into and prove it, he was, after the loss of this son, more
affectionate than before to Arsames, did manifestly place his greatest
confidence in him, and made him privy to his counsels. Whereupon Ochus
had no longer patience to defer the execution of his purpose, but having
procured Arpates, Teribazus’s son, for the undertaking, he killed
Arsames by his hand. Artaxerxes at that time had but a little hold on
life, by reason of his extreme age, and so, when he heard of the fate of
Arsames, he could not sustain it at all, but sinking at once under the
weight of his grief and distress, expired, after a life of ninety-four
years, and a reign of sixty-two. And then he seemed a moderate and
gracious governor, more especially as compared to his son Ochus, who
outdid all his predecessors in blood-thirstiness and cruelty.
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Galba
Iphicrates the Athenian used to say that it is best to have a
mercenary soldier fond of money and of pleasures, for thus he will fight
the more boldly, to procure the means to gratify his desires. But most
have been of opinion, that the body of an army, as well as the natural
one, when in its healthy condition, should make no efforts apart, but in
compliance with its head. Wherefore they tell us that Paulus Aemilius,
on taking command of the forces in Macedonia, and finding them talkative
and impertinently busy, as though they were all commanders, issued out
his orders that they should have only ready hands and keen swords, and
leave the rest to him. And Plato, who can discern no use of a good ruler
or general, if his men are not on their part obedient and conformable
(the virtue of obeying, as of ruling, being in his opinion one that does
not exist without first a noble nature, and then a philosophic
education, where the eager and active powers are allayed with the
gentler and humaner sentiments), may claim in confirmation of his
doctrines sundry mournful instances elsewhere, and, in particular, the
events that followed among the Romans upon the death of Nero, in which
plain proofs were given that nothing is more terrible than a military
force moving about in an empire upon uninstructed and unreasoning
impulses. Demades, after the death of Alexander, compared the Macedonian
army to the Cyclops after his eye was out, seeing their many disorderly
and unsteady motions. But the calamities of the Roman government might
be likened to the motions of the giants that assailed heaven, convulsed
as it was, and distracted, and from every side recoiling, as it were,
upon itself, not so much by the ambition of those who were proclaimed
emperors, as by the covetousness and license of the soldiery, who drove
commander after commander out, like nails one upon another.
Dionysius, in raillery, said of the Pheraean who enjoyed the
government of Thessaly only ten months, that he had been a tragedy-king,
but the Caesars’ house in Rome, the Palatium, received in a shorter
space of time no less than four emperors, passing, as it were, across
the stage, and one making room for another to enter.
This was the only satisfaction of the distressed, that they needed
not require any other justice on their oppressors, seeing them thus
murder each other, and first of all, and that most justly, the one that
ensnared them first, and taught them to expect such happy results from a
change of emperors, sullying a good work by the pay he gave for its
being done, and turning revolt against Nero into nothing better than
treason.
For, as already related, Nymphidius Sabinus, captain of the guards,
together with Tigellinus, after Nero’s circumstances were now desperate,
and it was perceived that he designed to fly into Egypt, persuaded the
troops to declare Galba emperor, as if Nero had been already gone,
promising to all the court and praetorian soldiers, as they are called,
seven thousand five hundred drachmas apiece, and to those in service
abroad twelve hundred and fifty drachmas each; so vast a sum for a
largess as it was impossible anyone could raise, but he must be
infinitely more exacting and oppressive than ever Nero was. This quickly
brought Nero to his grave, and soon after Galba too; they murdered the
first in expectation of the promised gift, and not long after the other
because they did not obtain it from him; and then, seeking about to find
someone who would purchase at such a rate, they consumed themselves in a
succession of treacheries and rebellions before they obtained their
demands. But to give a particular relation of all that passed would
require a history in full form; I have only to notice what is properly
to my purpose, namely, what the Caesars did and suffered.
Sulpicius Galba is owned by all to have been the richest private
person that ever came to the imperial seat. And besides the additional
honor of being of the family of the Servii, he valued himself more
especially for his relationship to Catulus, the most eminent citizen of
his time both for virtue and renown, however he may have voluntarily
yielded to others as regards power and authority. Galba was also akin to
Livia, the wife of Augustus, by whose interest he was preferred to the
consulship by the emperor. It is said of him that he commanded the
troops well in Germany, and, being made proconsul in Libya, gained a
reputation that few ever had. But his quiet manner of living and his
sparingness in expenses and his disregard of appearance gave him, when
he became emperor, an ill-name for meanness, being, in fact, his
worn-out credit for regularity and moderation. He was entrusted by Nero
with the government of Spain, before Nero had yet learned to be
apprehensive of men of great repute. To the opinion, moreover,
entertained of his mild natural temper, his old age added a belief that
he would never act incautiously.
There while Nero’s iniquitous agents savagely and cruelly harassed
the provinces under Nero’s authority, he could afford no succor, but
merely offer this only ease and consolation, that he seemed plainly to
sympathize, as a fellow-sufferer, with those who were condemned upon
suits and sold. And when lampoons were made upon Nero and circulated and
sung everywhere about, he neither prohibited them, nor showed any
indignation on behalf of the emperor’s agents, and for this was the more
beloved; as also that he was now well acquainted with them, having been
in chief power there eight years at the time when Junius Vindex, general
of the forces in Gaul, began his insurrection against Nero. And it is
reported that letters came to Galba before it fully broke out into an
open rebellion, which he neither seemed to give credit to, nor on the
other hand to take means to let Nero know, as other officers did,
sending to him the letters which came to them, and so spoiled the
design, as much as in them lay, who yet afterwards shared in the
conspiracy, and confessed they had been treacherous to themselves as
well as him. At last Vindex, plainly declaring war, wrote to Galba,
encouraging him to take the government upon him, and give a head to this
strong body, the Gaulish provinces, which could already count a hundred
thousand men in arms, and were able to arm a yet greater number if
occasion were. Galba laid the matter before his friends, some of whom
thought it fit to wait, and see what movement there might be and what
inclinations displayed at Rome for the revolution. But Titus Vinius,
captain of his praetorian guard, spoke thus: “Galba, what means this
inquiry? To question whether we shall continue faithful to Nero is, in
itself, to cease to be faithful. Nero is our enemy, and we must by no
means decline the help of Vindex: or else we must at once denounce him,
and march to attack him, because he wishes you to be the governor of the
Romans, rather than Nero their tyrant.” Thereupon Galba, by an edict,
appointed a day when he would receive manumissions, and general rumor
and talk beforehand about his purpose brought together a great crowd of
men so ready for a change, that he scarcely appeared, stepping up to the
tribunal, but they with one consent saluted him emperor. That title he
refused at present to take upon him; but after he had a while inveighed
against Nero, and bemoaned the loss of the more conspicuous of those
that had been destroyed by him, he offered himself and service to his
country, not by the titles of Caesar or emperor, but as the lieutenant
of the Roman senate and people.
Now that Vindex did wisely in inviting Galba to the empire, Nero
himself bore testimony; who, though he seemed to despise Vindex and
altogether to slight the Gauls and their concerns, yet when he heard of
Galba (as by chance he had just bathed and sat down to his morning
meal), at this news he overturned the table. But the senate having voted
Galba an enemy, presently, to make his jest, and likewise to personate a
confidence among his friends, “This is a very happy opportunity,” he
said, “for me, who sadly want such a booty as that of the Gauls, which
must all fall in as lawful prize; and Galba’s estate I can use or sell
at once, he being now an open enemy.” And accordingly he had Galba’s
property exposed to sale, which when Galba heard of; he sequestered all
that was Nero’s in Spain, and found far readier bidders.
Many now began to revolt from Nero, and pretty nearly all adhered to
Galba; only Clodius Macer in Africa, and Virginius Rufus, commander of
the German forces in Gaul, followed counsel of their own; yet these two
were not of one and the same advice, for Clodius, being sensible of the
rapines and murders to which he had been led by cruelty and
covetousness, was in perplexity, and felt it was not safe for him either
to retain or quit his command. But Virginius, who had the command of the
strongest legions, by whom he was many repeated times saluted emperor
and pressed to take the title upon him, declared that he neither would
assume that honor himself, nor see it given to any other than whom the
senate should elect.
These things at first did not a little disturb Galba, but when
presently Virginius and Vindex were in a manner forced by their armies,
having got the reins, as it were, out of their hands, to a great
encounter and battle, in which Vindex, having seen twenty thousand of
the Gauls destroyed, died by his own hand, and when the report straight
spread abroad, that all desired Virginius, after this great victory, to
take the empire upon him, or else they would return to Nero again, Galba,
in great alarm at this, wrote to Virginius, exhorting him to join with
him for the preservation of the empire and the liberty of the Romans,
and so retiring with his friends into Clunia, a town in Spain, he passed
away his time, rather repenting his former rashness, and wishing for his
wonted ease and privacy, than setting about what was fit to be done.
It was now summer, when on a sudden, a little before dusk, comes a
freedman, Icelus by name, having arrived in seven days from Rome; and
being informed where Galba was reposing himself in private, he went
straight on, and pushing by the servants of the chamber, opened the door
and entered the room, and told him, that Nero being yet alive but not
appearing, first the army, and then the people and senate, declared
Galba emperor; not long after, it was reported that Nero was dead; “but
I,” said he, “not giving credit to common fame, went myself to the body
and saw him lying dead, and only then set out to bring you word.” This
news at once made Galba great again, and a crowd of people came
hastening to the door, all very confident of the truth of his tidings,
though the speed of the man was almost incredible. Two days after came
Titus Vinius with sundry others from the camp, who gave an account in
detail of the orders of the senate, and for this service was
considerably advanced. On the freedman, Galba conferred the honor of the
gold ring, and Icelus, as he had been before, now taking the name of
Marcianus, held the first place of the freedmen.
But at Rome, Nymphidius Sabinus, not gently and little by little, but
at once, and without exception, engrossed all power to himself; Galba,
being an old man (seventy-three years of age), would scarcely, he
thought, live long enough to be carried in a litter to Rome; and the
troops in the city were from old time attached to him, and now bound by
the vastness of the promised gift, for which they regarded him as their
benefactor, and Galba as their debtor. Thus presuming on his interest,
he straightway commanded Tigellinus, who was in joint commission with
himself, to lay down his sword; and giving entertainments, he invited
the former consuls and commanders, making use of Galba’s name for the
invitation; but at the same time prepared many in the camp to propose
that a request should be sent to Galba that he should appoint Nymphidius
sole prefect for life without a colleague. And the modes which the
senate took to show him honor and increase his power, styling him their
benefactor, and attending daily at his gates, and giving him the
compliment of heading with his own name and confirming all their acts,
carried him on to a yet greater degree of arrogance, so that in a short
time he became an object, not only of dislike, but of terror, to those
that sought his favor. When the consuls themselves had dispatched their
couriers with the decrees of the senate to the emperor, together with
the sealed diplomas, which the authorities in all the towns where horses
or carriages are changed, look at and on that certificate hasten the
couriers forward with all their means, he was highly displeased that his
seal had not been used, and none of his soldiers employed on the errand.
Nay, he even deliberated what course to take with the consuls
themselves, but upon their submission and apology he was at last
pacified. To gratify the people, he did not interfere with their beating
to death any that fell into their hands of Nero’s party. Amongst others,
Spiclus, the gladiator, was killed in the forum by being thrown under
Nero’s statues, which they dragged about the place over his body.
Aponius, one of those who had been concerned in accusations, they
knocked to the ground, and drove carts loaded with stones over him. And
many others they tore in pieces, some of them no way guilty, insomuch
that Mauriscus, a person of great account and character, told the senate
that he feared, in a short time, they might wish for Nero again.
Nymphidius, now advancing towards the consummation of his hopes, did
not refuse to let it be said that he was the son of Caius Caesar,
Tiberius’s successor; who, it is told, was well acquainted with his
mother in his early youth, a woman indeed handsome enough, the
off-spring of Callistus, one of Caesar’s freedmen, and a certain
seamstress. But it is plain that Caius’s familiarity with his mother was
of too late date to give him any pretensions, and it was suspected he
might, if he pleased, claim a father in Martianus, the gladiator, whom
his mother, Nymphidia, took a passion for, being a famous man in his
way, whom also he much more resembled. However, though he certainly
owned Nymphidia for his mother, he ascribed meantime the downfall of
Nero to himself alone, and thought he was not sufficiently rewarded with
the honors and riches he enjoyed, (nay, though to all was added the
company of Sporus, whom he immediately sent for while Nero’s body was
yet burning on the pile, and treated as his consort, with the name of
Poppaea,) but he must also aspire to the empire. And at Rome he had
friends who took measures for him secretly, as well as some women and
some members of the senate also, who worked underhand to assist him. And
into Spain he dispatched one of his friends, named Gellianus, to view
the posture of affairs.
But all things succeeded well with Galba after Nero’s death; only
Virginius Rufus, still standing doubtful, gave him some anxiety, lest he
should listen to the suggestions of some who encouraged him to take the
government upon him, having, at present, besides the command of a large
and warlike army, the new honors of the defeat of Vindex and the
subjugation of one considerable part of the Roman empire, namely, the
entire Gaul, which had seemed shaking about upon the verge of open
revolt. Nor had any man indeed a greater name and reputation than
Virginius, who had taken a part of so much consequence in the
deliverance of the empire at once from a cruel tyranny and a Gallic war.
But he, standing to his first resolves, reserved to the senate the power
of electing an emperor. Yet when it was now manifest that Nero was dead,
the soldiers pressed him hard to it, and one of the tribunes, entering
his tent with his drawn sword, bade him either take the government or
that. But after Fabius Valens, having the command of one legion, had
first sworn fealty to Galba, and letters from Rome came with tidings of
the resolves of the senate, at last with much ado he persuaded the army
to declare Galba emperor. And when Flaccus Hordeonius came by Galba’s
commission as his successor, he handed over to him his forces, and went
himself to meet Galba on his way, and having met him, turned back to
attend him; in all which no apparent displeasure nor yet honor was shown
him. Galba’s feelings of respect for him prevented the former; the
latter was checked by the envy of his friends, and particularly of Titus
Vinius, who, acting in the desire of hindering Virginius’s promotion,
unwittingly aided his happy genius in rescuing him from those hazards
and hardships which other commanders were involved in, and securing him
the safe enjoyment of a quiet life and peaceable old age.
Near Narbo, a city in Gaul, the deputation of the senate met Galba,
and, after they had delivered their compliments, begged him to make what
haste he could to appear to the people, that impatiently expected him.
He discoursed with them courteously and unassumingly, and in his
entertainment, though Nymphidius had sent him royal furniture and
attendance of Nero’s, he put all aside, and made use of nothing but his
own, for which he was well spoken of, as one who had a great mind, and
was superior to little vanities. But in a short time, Vinius, by
declaring to him that these noble, unpompous, citizen-like ways were a
mere affectation of popularity and a petty bashfulness at assuming his
proper greatness, induced him to make use of Nero’s supplies, and in his
entertainments not to be afraid of a regal sumptuosity. And in more than
one way the old man let it gradually appear that he had put himself
under Vinius’s disposal.
Vinius was a person of an excessive covetousness, and not quite free
from blame in respect to women. For being a young man, newly entered
into the service under Calvisius Sabinus, upon his first campaign, he
brought his commander’s wife, a licentious woman, in a soldier’s dress,
by night into the camp, and was found with her in the very general’s
quarters, the principia, as the Romans call them. For which insolence
Caius Caesar cast him into prison, from whence he was fortunately
delivered by Caius’s death. Afterwards, being invited by Claudius Caesar
to supper, he privily conveyed away a silver cup, which Caesar hearing
of, invited him again the next day, and gave order to his servants to
set before him no silver plate, but only earthen ware. And this offense,
through the comic mildness of Caesar’s reprimand, was treated rather as
a subject of jest than as a crime. But the acts to which now, when Galba
was in his hands and his power was so extensive, his covetous temper led
him were the causes, in part, and in part the provocation, of tragical
and fatal mischiefs.
Nymphidius became very uneasy upon the return out of Spain of
Gellianus, whom he had sent to pry into Galba’s actions, understanding
that Cornelius Laco was appointed commander of the court guards, and
that Vinius was the great favorite, and that Gellianus had not been able
so much as to come nigh, much less have any opportunity to offer any
words in private, so narrowly had he been watched and observed.
Nymphidius, therefore, called together the officers of the troops, and
declared to them that Galba of himself was a good, well-meaning old man,
but did not act by his own counsel, and was ill-guided by Vinius and
Laco; and lest, before they were aware, they should engross the
authority Tigellinus had with the troops, he proposed to them to send
deputies from the camp, acquainting him that if he pleased to remove
only these two from his counsel and presence, he would be much more
welcome to all at his arrival. Wherein when he saw he did not prevail
(it seeming absurd and unmannerly to give rules to an old commander what
friends to retain or displace, as if he had been a youth newly taking
the reins of authority into his hands), adopting another course, he
wrote himself to Galba letters in alarming terms, one while as if the
city were unsettled, and had not yet recovered its tranquillity; then
that Clodius Macer withheld the corn-ships from Africa; that the legions
in Germany began to be mutinous, and that he heard the like of those in
Syria and Judaea. But Galba not minding him much nor giving credit to
his stories, he resolved to make his attempt beforehand, though Clodius
Celsus, a native of Antioch, a person of sense, and friendly and
faithful to Nymphidius, told him he was wrong, saying he did not believe
one single street in Rome would ever give him the title of Caesar.
Nevertheless many also derided Galba, amongst the rest Mithridates of
Pontus, saying, that as soon as this wrinkled, bald-headed man should be
seen publicly at Rome, they would think it an utter disgrace ever to
have had such a Caesar.
At last it was resolved, about midnight, to bring Nymphidius into the
camp, and declare him emperor. But Antonius Honoratus, who was first
among the tribunes, summoning together in the evening those under his
command, charged himself and them severely with their many and
unreasonable turns and alterations, made without any purpose or regard
to merit, simply as if some evil genius hurried them from one treason to
another. “What though Nero’s miscarriages,” said he, “gave some color to
your former acts, can you say you have any plea for betraying Galba in
the death of a mother, the blood of a wife, or the degradation of the
imperial power upon the stage and amongst players? Neither did we desert
Nero for all this, until Nymphidius had persuaded us that he had first
left us and fled into Egypt. Shall we, therefore, send Galba after, to
appease Nero’s shade, and, for the sake of making the son of Nymphidia
emperor, take off one of Livia’s family, as we have already the son of
Agrippina? Rather, doing justice on him, let us revenge Nero’s death,
and show ourselves true and faithful by preserving Galba.”
The tribune having ended his harangue, the soldiers assented, and
encouraged all they met with to persist in their fidelity to the
emperor, and, indeed, brought over the greatest part. But presently
hearing a great shout, Nymphidius, imagining, as some say, that the
soldiers called for him, or hastening to be in time to check any
opposition and gain the doubtful, came on with many lights, carrying in
his hand a speech in writing, made by Cingonius Varro, which he had got
by heart, to deliver to the soldiers. But seeing the gates of the camp
shut up, and large numbers standing armed about the walls, he began to
be afraid. Yet drawing nearer, he demanded what they meant, and by whose
orders they were then in arms; but hearing a general acclamation, all
with one consent crying out that Galba was their emperor, advancing
towards them, he joined in the cry, and likewise commanded those that
followed him to do the same. The guard notwithstanding permitted him to
enter the camp only with a few, where he was presently struck with a
dart, which Septimius, being before him, received on his shield; others,
however, assaulted him with their naked swords, and on his flying,
pursued him into a soldier’s cabin, where they slew him. And dragging
his body thence, they placed a railing about it, and exposed it next day
to public view. When Galba heard of the end which Nymphidius had thus
come to, he commanded that all his confederates who had not at once
killed themselves should immediately be dispatched; amongst whom were
Cingonius, who made his oration, and Mithridates, formerly mentioned. It
was, however, regarded as arbitrary and illegal, and though it might be
just, yet by no means popular, to take off men of their rank and quality
without a hearing. For everyone expected another scheme of government,
being deceived, as is usual, by the first plausible pretenses; and the
death of Petronius Turpilianus, who was of consular dignity, and had
remained faithful to Nero, was yet more keenly resented. Indeed, the
taking off of Macer in Africa by Trebonius, and Fonteius by Valens in
Germany, had a fair pretense, they being dreaded as armed commanders,
having their soldiers at their bidding; but why refuse Turpilianus, an
old man and unarmed, permission to try to clear himself, if any part of
the moderation and equity at first promised were really to come to a
performance? Such were the comments to which these actions exposed him.
When he came within five and twenty furlongs or thereabouts of the city,
he happened to light on a disorderly rabble of the seamen, who beset him
as he passed. These were they whom Nero made soldiers, forming them into
a legion. They so rudely crowded to have their commission confirmed,
that they did not let Galba either be seen or heard by those that had
come out to meet their new emperor; but tumultuously pressed on with
loud shouts to have colors to their legion, and quarters assigned them.
Galba put them off until another time, which they interpreting as a
denial, grew more insolent and mutinous, following and crying out, some
of them with their drawn swords in their hands. Upon seeing which, Galba
commanded the horse to ride over them, when they were soon routed, not a
man standing his ground, and many of them were slain, both there and in
the pursuit; an ill omen, that Galba should make his first entry through
so much blood and among dead bodies. And now he was looked upon with
terror and alarm by any who had entertained contempt of him at the sight
of his age and apparent infirmities.
But when he desired presently to let it appear what change would be
made from Nero’s profuseness and sumptuosity in giving presents, he much
missed his aim, and fell so short of magnificence, that he scarcely came
within the limits of decency. When Canus, who was a famous musician,
played at supper for him, he expressed his approbation, and bade the bag
be brought to him; and taking a few gold pieces, put them in with this
remark, that it was out of his own purse, and not on the public account.
He ordered the largesses which Nero had made to actors and wrestlers and
such like to be strictly required again, allowing only the tenth part to
be retained; though it turned to very small account, most of those
persons expending their daily income as fast as they received it, being
rude, improvident livers; upon which he had further inquiry made as to
those who had bought or received from them, and called upon these people
to refund. The trouble was infinite, the exactions being prosecuted far,
touching a great number of persons, bringing disrepute on Galba, and
general hatred on Vinius, who made the emperor appear base-minded and
mean to the world, whilst he himself was spending profusely, taking
whatever he could get, and selling to any buyer. Hesiod tells us to
drink without stinting of
The end and the beginning of the cask.
And Vinius, seeing his patron old and decaying, made the most of what
he considered to be at once the first of his fortune and the last of it.
Thus the aged man suffered in two ways: first, through the evil deeds
which Vinius did himself, and, next, by his preventing or bringing into
disgrace those just acts which he himself designed. Such was the
punishing Nero’s adherents. When he destroyed the bad, amongst whom were
Helius, Polycletus, Petinus, and Patrobius, the people mightily
applauded the act, crying out, as they were dragged through the forum,
that it was a goodly sight, grateful to the gods themselves, adding,
however, that the gods and men alike demanded justice on Tigellinus, the
very tutor and prompter of all the tyranny. This good man, however, had
taken his measures beforehand, in the shape of a present and a promise
to Vinius. Turpilianus could not be allowed to escape with life, though
his one and only crime had been that he had not betrayed or shown hatred
to such a ruler as Nero. But he who had made Nero what he became, and
afterwards deserted and betrayed him whom he had so corrupted, was
allowed to survive as an instance that Vinius could do anything, and an
advertisement that those that had money to give him need despair of
nothing. The people, however, were so possessed with the desire of
seeing Tigellinus dragged to execution, that they never ceased to
require it at the theater and in the race-course, till they were checked
by an edict from the emperor himself, announcing that Tigellinus could
not live long, being wasted with a consumption, and requesting them not
to seek to make his government appear cruel and tyrannical. So the
dissatisfied populace were laughed at, and Tigellinus made a splendid
feast, and sacrificed in thanksgiving for his deliverance: and after
supper, Vinius, rising from the emperor’s table, went to revel with
Tigellinus, taking his daughter, a widow, with him; to whom Tigellinus
presented his compliments, with a gift of twenty-five myriads of money,
and bade the superintendent of his concubines take off a rich necklace
from her own neck and tie it about hers, the value of it being estimated
at fifteen myriads.
After this, even reasonable acts were censured; as, for example, the
treatment of the Gauls who had been in the conspiracy with Vindex. For
people looked upon their abatement of tribute and admission to
citizenship as a piece, not of clemency on the part of Galba, but of
money-making on that of Vinius. And thus the mass of the people began to
look with dislike upon the government. The soldiers were kept on a while
in expectation of the promised donative, supposing that if they did not
receive the full, yet they should have at least as much as Nero gave
them. But when Galba, on hearing they began to complain, declared
greatly, and like a general, that he was used to enlist and not to buy
his soldiers, when they heard of this, they conceived an implacable
hatred against him; for he did not seem to defraud them merely himself
in their present expectations, but to give an ill precedent, and
instruct his successors to do the like. This heart-burning, however, was
as yet at Rome a thing undeclared, and a certain respect for Galba’s
personal presence somewhat retarded their motions, and took off their
edge, and their having no obvious occasion for beginning a revolution
curbed and kept under, more or less, their resentments. But those forces
that had been formerly under Virginius, and now were under Flaccus in
Germany, valuing themselves much upon the battle they had fought with
Vindex, and finding now no advantage of it, grew very refractory and
intractable towards their officers: and Flaccus they wholly disregarded,
being incapacitated in body by unintermitted gout, and, besides, a man
of little experience in affairs. So at one of their festivals, when it
was customary for the officers of the army to wish all health and
happiness to the emperor, the common soldiers began to murmur loudly,
and on their officers persisting in the ceremony, responded with the
words, “If he deserves it.”
When some similar insolence was committed by the legions under
Vitellius, frequent letters with the information came to Galba from his
agents; and taking alarm at this, and fearing that he might be despised
not only for his old age, but also for want of issue, he determined to
adopt some young man of distinction, and declare him his successor.
There was at this time in the city Marcus Otho, a person of fair
extraction, but from his childhood one of the few most debauched,
voluptuous, and luxurious livers in Rome. And as Homer gives Paris in
several places the title of “fair Helen’s love,” making a woman’s name
the glory and addition to his, as if he had nothing else to distinguish
him, so Otho was renowned in Rome for nothing more than his marriage
with Poppaea, whom Nero had a passion for when she was Crispinus’s wife.
But being as yet respectful to his own wife, and standing in awe of his
mother, he engaged Otho underhand to solicit her. For Nero lived
familiarly with Otho, whose prodigality won his favor, and he was well
pleased when he took the freedom to jest upon him as mean and penurious.
Thus when Nero one day perfumed himself with some rich essence and
favored Otho with a sprinkle of it, he, entertaining Nero next day,
ordered gold and silver pipes to disperse the like on a sudden freely,
like water, throughout the room. As to Poppaea, he was beforehand with
Nero, and first seducing her himself, then, with the hope of Nero’s
favor, he prevailed with her to part with her husband, and brought her
to his own house as his wife, and was not content afterwards to have a
share in her, but grudged to have Nero for a claimant, Poppaea herself,
they say, being rather pleased than otherwise with this jealousy; she
sometimes excluded Nero, even when Otho was not present, either to
prevent his getting tired with her, or, as some say, not liking the
prospect of an imperial marriage, though willing enough to have the
emperor as her lover. So that Otho ran the risk of his life, and strange
it was he escaped, when Nero, for this very marriage, killed his wife
and sister. But he was beholden to Seneca’s friendship, by whose
persuasions and entreaty Nero was prevailed with to dispatch him as
praetor into Lusitania, on the shores of the Ocean; where he behaved
himself very agreeably and indulgently to those he had to govern, well
knowing this command was but to color and disguise his banishment.
When Galba revolted from Nero, Otho was the first governor of any of
the provinces that came over to him, bringing all the gold and silver he
possessed in the shape of cups and tables, to be coined into money, and
also what servants he had fitly qualified to wait upon a prince. In all
other points, too, he was faithful to him, and gave him sufficient proof
that he was inferior to none in managing public business. And he so far
ingratiated himself, that he rode in the same carriage with him during
the whole journey, several days together. And in this journey and
familiar companionship, he won over Vinius also, both by his
conversation and presents, but especially by conceding to him the first
place, securing the second, by his interest, for himself. And he had the
advantage of him in avoiding all odium and jealousy, assisting all
petitioners, without asking for any reward, and appearing courteous and
of easy access towards all, especially to the military men, for many of
whom he obtained commands, some immediately from the emperor, others by
Vinius’s means, and by the assistance of the two favorite freedmen,
Icelus and Asiaticus, these being the men in chief power in the court.
As often as he entertained Galba, he gave the cohort on duty, in
addition to their pay, a piece of gold for every man there, upon
pretense of respect to the emperor, while really he undermined him, and
stole away his popularity with the soldiers.
So Galba consulting about a successor, Vinius introduced Otho, yet
not even this gratis, but upon promise that he would marry his daughter,
if Galba should make him his adopted son and successor to the empire.
But Galba, in all his actions, showed clearly that he preferred the
public good before his own private interest, not aiming so much to
pleasure himself as to advantage the Romans by his selection. Indeed he
does not seem to have been so much as inclined to make choice of Otho,
had it been but to inherit his own private fortune, knowing his
extravagant and luxurious character, and that he was already plunged in
debt five thousand myriads deep. So he listened to Vinius, and made no
reply, but mildly suspended his determination. Only he appointed himself
consul, and Vinius his colleague, and it was the general expectation
that he would declare his successor at the beginning of the new year.
And the soldiers desired nothing more than that Otho should be the
person.
But the forces in Germany broke out into their mutiny whilst he was
yet deliberating, and anticipated his design. All the soldiers in
general felt much resentment against Galba for not having given them
their expected largess but these troops made a pretense of a more
particular concern, that Virginius Rufus was cast off dishonorably, and
that the Gauls who had fought with them were well rewarded, while those
who had refused to take part with Vindex were punished; and Galba’s
thanks seemed all to be for him, to whose memory he had done honor after
his death with public solemnities as though he had been made emperor by
his means only. Whilst these discourses passed openly throughout the
army, on the first day of the first month of the year, the Calends, as
they call it, of January, Flaccus summoning them to take the usual
anniversary oath of fealty to the emperor, they overturned and pulled
down Galba’s statues, and having sworn in the name of the senate and
people of Rome, departed. But the officers now feared anarchy and
confusion, as much as rebellion; and one of them came forward and said:
“What will become of us, my fellow-soldiers, if we neither set up
another general, nor retain the present one? This will be not so much to
desert from Galba as to decline all subjection and command. It is
useless to try and maintain Flaccus Hordeonius, who is but a mere shadow
and image of Galba. But Vitellius, commander of the other Germany, is
but one day’s march distant, whose father was censor and thrice consul,
and in a manner co-emperor with Claudius Caesar; and he himself has the
best proof to show of his bounty and largeness of mind, in the poverty
with which some reproach him. Him let us make choice of, that all may
see we know how to choose an emperor better than either Spaniards or
Lusitanians.” Which motion whilst some assented to, and others gainsaid,
a certain standard-bearer slipped out and carried the news to Vitellius,
who was entertaining much company by night. This, taking air, soon
passed through the troops, and Fabius Valens, who commanded one legion,
riding up next day with a large body of horse, saluted Vitellius
emperor. He had hitherto seemed to decline it, professing a dread he had
to undertake the weight of the government; but on this day, being
fortified, they say, by wine and a plentiful noonday repast, he began to
yield, and submitted to take on him the title of Germanicus they gave
him, but desired to be excused as to that of Caesar. And immediately the
army under Flaccus also, putting away their fine and popular oaths in
the name of the senate, swore obedience to Vitellius as emperor, to
observe whatever he commanded.
Thus Vitellius was publicly proclaimed emperor in Germany; which news
coming to Galba’s ear, he no longer deferred his adoption; yet knowing
that some of his friends were using their interest for Dolabella, and
the greatest number of them for Otho, neither of whom he approved of, on
a sudden, without anyone’s privity, he sent for Piso, the son of Crassus
and Scribonia, whom Nero slew, a young man in general of excellent
dispositions for virtue, but his most eminent qualities those of
steadiness and austere gravity. And so he set out to go to the camp to
declare him Caesar and successor to the empire. But at his very first
going forth, many signs appeared in the heavens, and when he began to
make a speech to the soldiers, partly extempore, and partly reading it,
the frequent claps of thunder and flashes of lightning and the violent
storm of rain that burst on both the camp and the city were plain
discoveries that the divine powers did not look with favor or
satisfaction on this act of adoption, that would come to no good result.
The soldiers, also, showed symptoms of hidden discontent, and wore
sullen looks, no distribution of money being even now made to them.
However, those that were present and observed Piso’s countenance and
voice could not but feel admiration to see him so little overcome by so
great a favor, of the magnitude of which at the same time he seemed not
at all insensible. Otho’s aspect, on the other hand, did not fail to let
many marks appear of his bitterness and anger at his disappointment;
since to have been the first man thought of for it, and to have come to
the very point of being chosen, and now to be put by, was in his
feelings a sign of the displeasure and ill-will of Galba towards him.
This filled him with fears and apprehensions, and sent him home with a
mind full of various passions, whilst he dreaded Piso, hated Galba, and
was full of wrath and indignation against Vinius. And the Chaldeans and
soothsayers about him would not permit him to lay aside his hopes or
quit his design, chiefly Ptolemaeus, insisting much on a prediction he
had made, that Nero should not murder Otho, but he himself should die
first, and Otho succeed as emperor; for the first proving true, he
thought he could not distrust the rest. But none perhaps stimulated him
more than those that professed privately to pity his hard fate and
compassionate him for being thus ungratefully dealt with by Galba;
especially Nymphidius’s and Tigellinus’s creatures, who, being now cast
off and reduced to low estate, were eager to put themselves upon him,
exclaiming at the indignity he had suffered, and provoking him to
revenge himself.
Amongst these were Veturius and Barbius, the one an optio, the other
a tesserarius (these are men who have the duties of messengers and
scouts), with whom Onomastus, one of Otho’s freedmen, went to the camp,
to tamper with the army, and brought over some with money, others with
fair promises, which was no hard matter, they being already corrupted,
and only wanting a fair pretense. It had been otherwise more than the
work of four days (which elapsed between the adoption and murder) so
completely to infect them as to cause a general revolt. On the sixth day
ensuing, the eighteenth, as the Romans call it, before the Calends of
February, the murder was done. On that day, in the morning, Galba
sacrificed in the Palatium, in the presence of his friends, when
Umbricius, the priest, taking up the entrails, and speaking not
ambiguously, but in plain words, said that there were signs of great
troubles ensuing, and dangerous snares laid for the life of the emperor.
Thus Otho had even been discovered by the finger of the god; being there
just behind Galba, hearing all that was said, and seeing what was
pointed out to them by Umbricius. His countenance changed to every color
in his fear, and he was betraying no small discomposure, when Onomastus,
his freedman, came up and acquainted him that the master-builders had
come, and were waiting for him at home. Now that was the signal for Otho
to meet the soldiers. Pretending then that he had purchased an old
house, and was going to show the defects to those that had sold it to
him, he departed; and passing through what is called Tiberius’s house,
he went on into the forum, near the spot where a golden pillar stands,
at which all the several roads through Italy terminate.
Here, it is related, no more than twenty-three received and saluted
him emperor; so that, although he was not in mind as in body enervated
with soft living and effeminacy, being in his nature bold and fearless
enough in danger, nevertheless, he was afraid to go on. But the soldiers
that were present would not suffer him to recede, but came with their
drawn swords about his chair, commanding the bearers to take him up,
whom he hastened on, saying several times over to himself, “I am a lost
man.” Several persons overheard the words, who stood by wondering,
rather than alarmed, because of the small number that attempted such an
enterprise. But as they marched on through the forum, about as many more
met him, and here and there three or four at a time joined in. Thus
returning towards the camp, with their bare swords in their hands, they
saluted him as Caesar; whereupon Martialis, the tribune in charge of the
watch, who was, they say, noways privy to it, but was simply surprised
at the unexpectedness of the thing, and afraid to refuse, permitted him
entrance. And after this, no man made any resistance; for they that knew
nothing of the design, being purposely encompassed by the conspirators,
as they were straggling here and there, first submitted for fear, and
afterwards were persuaded into compliance. Tidings came immediately to
Galba in the Palatium, whilst the priest was still present and the
sacrifices at hand, so that persons who were most entirely incredulous
about such things, and most positive in their neglect of them, were
astonished, and began to marvel at the divine event. A multitude of all
sorts of people now began to run together out of the forum; Vinius and
Laco and some of Galba’s freedmen drew their swords and placed
themselves beside him; Piso went forth and addressed himself to the
guards on duty in the court; and Marius Celsus, a brave man, was
dispatched to the Illyrian legion, stationed in what is called the
Vipsanian chamber, to secure them.
Galba now consulting whether he should go out, Vinius dissuaded him,
but Celsus and Laco encouraged him by all means to do so, and sharply
reprimanded Vinius. But on a sudden a rumor came hot that Otho was slain
in the camp; and presently appeared one Julius Atticus, a man of some
distinction in the guards, running up with his drawn sword, crying out
that he had slain Caesar’s enemy; and pressing through the crowd that
stood in his way, he presented himself before Galba with his bloody
weapon, who, looking on him, demanded, “Who gave you your orders?” And
on his answering that it had been his duty and the obligation of the
oath he had taken, the people applauded, giving loud acclamations, and
Galba got into his chair and was carried out to sacrifice to Jupiter,
and so to show himself publicly. But coming into the forum, there met
him there, like a turn of wind, the opposite story, that Otho had made
himself master of the camp. And as usual in a crowd of such a size, some
called to him to return back, others to move forward; some encouraged
him to be bold and fear nothing, others bade him be cautious and
distrust. And thus whilst his chair was tossed to and fro, as it were on
the waves, often tottering, there appeared first horse, and straightaway
heavy-armed foot, coming through Paulus’s court, and all with one accord
crying out, “Down with this private man.” Upon this, the crowd of people
set off running, not to fly and disperse, but to possess themselves of
the colonnades and elevated places of the forum, as it might be to get
places to see a spectacle. And as soon as Atillius Vergilio knocked down
one of Galba’s statues, this was taken as the declaration of war, and
they sent a discharge of darts upon Galba’s litter, and, missing their
aim, came up and attacked him nearer hand with their naked swords. No
man resisted or offered to stand up in his defense, save one only, a
centurion, Sempronius Densus, the single man among so many thousands
that the sun beheld that day act worthily of the Roman empire, who,
though he had never received any favor from Galba, yet out of bravery
and allegiance endeavored to defend the litter. First, lifting up his
switch of vine, with which the centurions correct the soldiers when
disorderly, he called aloud to the aggressors, charging them not to
touch their emperor. And when they came upon him hand to hand, he drew
his sword, and made a defense for a long time, until at last he was cut
under the knees and brought to the ground.
Galba’s chair was upset at the spot called the Lacus Curtius, where
they ran up and struck at him as he lay in his corslet. He, however,
offered his throat, bidding them “Strike, if it be for the Romans’
good.” He received several wounds on his legs and arms, and at last was
struck in the throat, as most say, by one Camurius, a soldier of the
fifteenth legion. Some name Terentius, others Lecanius; and there are
others that say it was Fabius Falulus, who, it is reported, cut off the
head and carried it away in the skirt of his coat, the baldness making
it a difficult thing to take hold of. But those that were with him would
not allow him to keep it covered up, but bade him let everyone see the
brave deed he had done; so that after a while he stuck upon the lance
the head of the aged man that had been their grave and temperate ruler,
their supreme priest and consul, and, tossing it up in the air, ran like
a bacchanal, twirling and flourishing with it, while the blood ran down
the spear. But when they brought the head to Otho, “Fellow-soldiers,” he
cried out, “this is nothing, unless you show me Piso’s too,” which was
presented him not long after. The young man, retreating upon a wound
received, was pursued by one Murcus, and slain at the temple of Vesta.
Titus Vinius was also dispatched, avowing himself to have been privy to
the conspiracy against Galba by calling out that they were killing him
contrary to Otho’s pleasure. However, they cut off his head, and Laco’s
too, and brought them to Otho, requesting a boon.
And as Archilochus says —
When six or seven lie breathless on the ground,
’Twas I, ’twas I, say thousands, gave the wound.
Thus many that had no share in the murder wetted their hands and
swords in blood, and came and showed them to Otho, presenting memorials
suing for a gratuity. Not less than one hundred and twenty were
identified afterwards from their written petitions; all of whom
Vitellius sought out and put to death. There came also into the camp
Marius Celsus, and was accused by many voices of encouraging the
soldiers to assist Galba, and was demanded to death by the multitude.
Otho had no desire for this, yet, fearing an absolute denial, he
professed that he did not wish to take him off so soon, having many
matters yet to learn from him; and so committed him safe to the custody
of those he most confided in.
Forthwith a senate was convened, and as if they were not the same
men, or had other gods to swear by, they took that oath in Otho’s name
which he himself had taken in Galba’s and had broken; and withal
conferred on him the titles of Caesar and Augustus; whilst the dead
carcasses of the slain lay yet in their consular robes in the
marketplace. As for their heads, when they could make no other use of
them, Vinius’s they sold to his daughter for two thousand five hundred
drachmas; Piso’s was begged by his wife Verania; Galba’s they gave to
Patrobius’s servants; who when they had it, after all sorts of abuse and
indignities, tumbled it into the place where those that suffer death by
the emperor’s orders are usually cast, called Sessorium. Galba’s body
was conveyed away by Priscus Helvidius by Otho’s permission, and buried
in the night by Argius, his freedman.
Thus you have the history of Galba, a person inferior to few Romans,
either for birth or riches, rather exceeding all of his time in both,
having lived in great honor and reputation in the reigns of five
emperors, insomuch that he overthrew Nero rather by his fame and repute
in the world than by actual force and power. Of all the others that
joined in Nero’s deposition, some were by general consent regarded as
unworthy, others had only themselves to vote them deserving of the
empire. To him the title was offered, and by him it was accepted; and
simply lending his name to Vindex’s attempt, he gave to what had been
called rebellion before, the name of a civil war, by the presence of one
that was accounted fit to govern. And, therefore, as he considered that
he had not so much sought the position as the position had sought him,
he proposed to command those whom Nymphidius and Tigellinus had wheedled
into obedience, no otherwise than Scipio formerly and Fabricius and
Camillus had commanded the Romans of their times. But being now overcome
with age, he was indeed among the troops and legions an upright ruler
upon the antique model; but for the rest, giving himself up to Vinius,
Laco, and his freedmen, who made their gain of all things, no otherwise
than Nero had done to his insatiate favorites, he left none behind him
to wish him still in power, though many to compassionate his death.
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Otho
The new emperor went early in the morning to the capitol, and
sacrificed; and, having commanded Marius Celsus to be brought, he
saluted him, and with obliging language desired him rather to forget his
accusation than remember his acquittal; to which Celsus answered neither
meanly nor ungratefully, that his very crime ought to recommend his
integrity, since his guilt had been his fidelity to Galba, from whom he
had never received any personal obligations. Upon which they were both
of them admired by those that were present, and applauded by the
soldiers.
In the senate, Otho said much in a gentle and popular strain. He was
to have been consul for part of that year himself, but he gave the
office to Virginius Rufus, and displaced none that had been named for
the consulship by either Nero or Galba. Those that were remarkable for
their age and dignity he promoted to the priest-hoods; and restored the
remains of their fortunes, that had not yet been sold, to all those
senators that were banished by Nero and recalled by Galba. So that the
nobility and chief of the people, who were at first apprehensive that no
human creature, but some supernatural penal, or vindictive power had
seized the empire, began now to flatter themselves with hopes of a
government that smiled upon them thus early.
Besides, nothing gratified or gained the whole Roman people more than
his justice in relation to Tigellinus. It was not seen how he was in
fact already suffering punishment, not only by the very terror of
retribution which he saw the whole city requiring as a just debt, but
with several incurable diseases also; not to mention those unhallowed
frightful excesses among impure and prostituted women, to which, at the
very close of life, his lewd nature clung, and in them gasped out, as it
were, its last; these, in the opinion of all reasonable men, being
themselves the extremest punishment, and equal to many deaths. But it
was felt like a grievance by people in general that he continued yet to
see the light of day, who had been the occasion of the loss of it to so
many persons, and such persons, as had died by his means. Wherefore Otho
ordered him to be sent for, just as he was contriving his escape by
means of some vessels that lay ready for him on the coast near where he
lived, in the neighborhood of Sinuessa. At first he endeavored to
corrupt the messenger, by a large sum of money, to favor his design; but
when he found this was to no purpose, he made him as considerable a
present, as if he had really connived at it, only entreating him to stay
till he had shaved; and so took that opportunity, and with his razor
dispatched himself.
And while giving the people this most righteous satisfaction of their
desires, for himself he seemed to have no sort of regard for any private
injuries of his own. And at first, to please the populace, he did not
refuse to be called Nero in the theater, and did not interfere when some
persons displayed Nero’s statues to public view. And Cluvius Rufus says,
imperial letters, such as are sent with couriers, went into Spain with
the name of Nero affixed adoptively to that of Otho; but as soon as he
perceived this gave offense to the chief and most distinguished
citizens, it was omitted.
After he had begun to model the government in this manner, the paid
soldiers began to murmur, and endeavored to make him suspect and
chastise the nobility, either really out of a concern for his safety, or
wishing, upon this pretense, to stir up trouble and warfare. Thus,
whilst Crispinus, whom he had ordered to bring him the seventeenth
cohort from Ostia, began to collect what he wanted after it was dark,
and was putting the arms upon the wagons, some of the most turbulent
cried out that Crispinus was disaffected, that the senate was practicing
something against the emperor, and that those arms were to be employed
against Caesar, and not for him. When this report was once set afoot, it
got the belief and excited the passions of many; they broke out into
violence; some seized the wagons, and others slew Crispinus and two
centurions that opposed them; and the whole number of them, arraying
themselves in their arms, and encouraging one another to stand by
Caesar, marched to Rome. And hearing there that eighty of the senators
were at supper with Otho, they flew to the palace, and declared it was a
fair opportunity to take off Caesar’s enemies at one stroke. A general
alarm ensued of an immediate coming sack of the city. All were in
confusion about the palace, and Otho himself in no small consternation,
being not only concerned for the senators (some of whom had brought
their wives to supper thither), but also feeling himself to be an object
of alarm and suspicion to them, whose eyes he saw fixed on him in
silence and terror. Therefore he gave orders to the prefects to address
the soldiers and do their best to pacify them, while he bade the guests
rise, and leave by another door. They had only just made their way out,
when the soldiers rushed into the room, and called out, “Where are
Caesar’s enemies?” Then Otho, standing up on his couch, made use both of
arguments and entreaties, and by actual tears at last, with great
difficulty, persuaded them to desist. The next day he went to the camp,
and distributed a bounty of twelve hundred and fifty drachmas a man
amongst them; then commended them for the regard and zeal they had for
his safety, but told them, that there were some who were intriguing
among them, who not only accused his own clemency, but had also
misrepresented their loyalty; and, therefore, he desired their
assistance in doing justice upon them. To which when they all consented,
he was satisfied with the execution of two only, whose deaths he knew
would be regretted by no one man in the whole army.
Such conduct, so little expected from him, was rewarded by some with
gratitude and confidence; others looked upon his behavior as a course to
which necessity drove him, to gain the people to the support of the war.
For now there were certain tidings that Vitellius had assumed the
sovereign title and authority, and frequent expresses brought accounts
of new accessions to him; others, however, came, announcing that the
Pannonian, Dalmatian, and Moesian legions, with their officers, adhered
to Otho. Erelong also came favorable letters from Mucianus and Vespasian,
generals of two formidable armies, the one in Syria, the other in Judaea,
to assure him of their firmness to his interest: in confidence whereof
he was so exalted, that he wrote to Vitellius not to attempt anything
beyond his post; and offered him large sums of money and a city, where
he might live his time out in pleasure and ease. These overtures at
first were responded to by Vitellius with equivocating civilities; which
soon, however, turned into an interchange of angry words; and letters
passed between the two, conveying bitter and shameful terms of reproach,
which were not false indeed, for that matter, only it was senseless and
ridiculous for each to assail the other with accusations to which both
alike must plead guilty. For it were hard to determine which of the two
had been most profuse, most effeminate, which was most a novice in
military affairs, and most involved in debt through previous want of
means.
As to the prodigies and apparitions that happened about this time,
there were many reported which none could answer for, or which were told
in different ways, but one which everybody actually saw with their eyes
was the statue in the capitol, of Victory carried in a chariot, with the
reins dropped out of her hands, as if she were grown too weak to hold
them any longer; and a second, that Caius Caesar’s statue in the island
of Tiber, without any earthquake or wind to account for it, turned round
from west to east; and this they say, happened about the time when
Vespasian and his party first openly began to put themselves forward.
Another incident, which the people in general thought an evil sign, was
the inundation of the Tiber; for though it happened at a time when
rivers are usually at their fullest, yet such height of water and so
tremendous a flood had never been known before, nor such a destruction
of property, great part of the city being under water, and especially
the corn market, so that it occasioned a great dearth for several days.
But when news was now brought that Caecina and Valens, commanding for
Vitellius, had possessed themselves of the Alps, Otho sent Dolabella (a
patrician, who was suspected by the soldiery of some ill design), for
whatever reason, whether it were fear of him or of anyone else, to the
town of Aquinum, to give encouragement there; and proceeding then to
choose which of the magistrates should go with him to the war, he named
amongst the rest Lucius, Vitellius’s brother, without distinguishing him
by any new marks either of his favor or displeasure. He also took the
greatest precautions for Vitellius’s wife and mother, that they might be
safe, and free from all apprehension for themselves. He made Flavius
Sabinus, Vespasian’s brother, governor of Rome, either in honor to the
memory of Nero, who had advanced him formerly to that command, which
Galba had taken away, or else to show his confidence in Vespasian by his
favor to his brother.
After he came to Brixillum, a town of Italy near the Po, he stayed
behind himself, and ordered the army to march under the conduct of
Marius Celsus, Suetonius Paulinus, Gallus, and Spurina, all men of
experience and reputation, but unable to carry their own plans and
purposes into effect, by reason of the ungovernable temper of the army,
which would take orders from none but the emperor whom they themselves
had made their master. Nor was the enemy under much better discipline,
the soldiers there also being haughty and disobedient upon the same
account, but they were more experienced and used to hard work; whereas
Otho’s men were soft from their long easy living and lack of service,
having spent most of their time in theaters and at state-shows and on
the stage; while moreover they tried to cover their deficiencies by
arrogance and vain display, pretending to decline their duty not because
they were unable to do the thing commanded but because they thought
themselves above it. So that Spurina had like to have been cut in pieces
for attempting to force them to their work; they assailed him with
insolent language, accusing him of a design to betray and ruin Caesar’s
interest; nay, some of them that were in drink forced his tent in the
night, and demanded money for the expenses of their journey, which they
must at once take, they said, to the emperor, to complain of him.
However, the contemptuous treatment they met with at Placentia did
for the present good service to Spurina, and to the cause of Otho. For
Vitellius’s men marched up to the walls, and upbraided Otho’s upon the
ramparts, calling them players, dancers, idle spectators of Pythian and
Olympic games, but novices in the art of war, who never so much as
looked on at a battle; mean souls, that triumphed in the beheading of
Galba, an old man unarmed, but had no desire to look real enemies in the
face. Which reproaches so inflamed them, that they kneeled at Spurina’s
feet, entreated him to give his orders, and assured him no danger or
toil should be too great or too difficult for them. Whereupon when
Vitellius’s forces made a vigorous attack on the town, and brought up
numerous engines against the walls, the besieged bravely repulsed them,
and, repelling the enemy with great slaughter, secured the safety of a
noble city, one of the most flourishing places in Italy.
Besides, it was observed that Otho’s officers were much more
inoffensive, both towards the public and to private men, than those of
Vitellius; among whom was Caecina, who used neither the language nor the
apparel of a citizen; an overbearing, foreign-seeming man, of gigantic
stature and always dressed in trews and sleeves, after the manner of the
Gauls, whilst he conversed with Roman officials and magistrates. His
wife, too, traveled along with him, riding in splendid attire on
horseback, with a chosen body of cavalry to escort her. And Fabius
Valens, the other general, was so rapacious, that neither what he
plundered from enemies nor what he stole or got as gifts and bribes from
his friends and allies could satisfy his wishes. And it was said that it
was in order to have time to raise money that he had marched so slowly
that he was not present at the former attack. But some lay the blame on
Caecina, saying, that out of a desire to gain the victory by himself
before Fabius joined him, he committed sundry other errors of lesser
consequence, and by engaging unseasonably and when he could not do so
thoroughly, he very nearly brought all to ruin.
When he found himself beat off at Placentia, he set off to attack
Cremona, another large and rich city. In the meantime, Annius Gallus
marched to join Spurina at Placentia; but having intelligence that the
siege was raised, and that Cremona was in danger, he turned to its
relief, and encamped just by the enemy, where he was daily reinforced by
other officers. Caecina placed a strong ambush of heavy infantry in some
rough and woody country, and gave orders to his horse to advance, and if
the enemy should charge them, then to make a slow retreat, and draw them
into the snare. But his stratagem was discovered by some deserters to
Celsus, who attacked with a good body of horse, but followed the pursuit
cautiously, and succeeded in surrounding and routing the troops in the
ambuscade; and if the infantry which he ordered up from the camp had
come soon enough to sustain the horse, Caecina’s whole army, in all
appearance, had been totally routed. But Paulinus, moving too slowly,
was accused of acting with a degree of needless caution not to have been
expected from one of his reputation. So that the soldiers incensed Otho
against him, accused him of treachery, and boasted loudly that the
victory had been in their power, and that if it was not complete, it was
owing to the mismanagement of their generals; all which Otho did not so
much believe as he was willing to appear not to disbelieve. He therefore
sent his brother Titianus, with Proculus, the prefect of the guards, to
the army, where the latter was general in reality, and the former in
appearance. Celsus and Paulinus had the title of friends and counselors,
but not the least authority or power. At the same time, there was
nothing but quarrel and disturbance amongst the enemy, especially where
Valens commanded; for the soldiers here, being informed of what had
happened at the ambuscade, were enraged because they had not been
permitted to be present to strike a blow in defense of the lives of so
many men that had died in that action. Valens, with much difficulty,
quieted their fury, after they had now begun to throw missiles at him,
and quitting his camp, joined Caecina.
About this time, Otho came to Bedriacum, a little town near Cremona,
to the camp, and called a council of war; where Proculus and Titianus
declared for giving battle, while the soldiers were flushed with their
late success, saying they ought not to lose their time and opportunity
and present height of strength, and wait for Vitellius to arrive out of
Gaul. But Paulinus told them that the enemy’s whole force was present,
and that there was no body of reserve behind; but that Otho, if he would
not be too precipitate, and choose the enemy’s time, instead of his own,
for the battle, might expect reinforcements out of Moesia and Pannonia,
not inferior in numbers to the troops that were already present. He
thought it probable, too, that the soldiers, who were then in heart
before they were joined, would not be less so when the forces were all
come up. Besides, the deferring battle could not be inconvenient to them
that were sufficiently provided with all necessaries; but the others,
being in an enemy’s country, must needs be exceedingly straitened in a
little time. Marius Celsus was of Paulinus’s opinion; Annius Gallus,
being absent and under the surgeon’s hands through a fall from his
horse, was consulted by letter, and advised Otho to stay for those
legions that were marching from Moesia. But after all he did not follow
the advice; and the opinion of those that declared for a battle
prevailed.
There are several reasons given for this determination, but the most
apparent is this; that the praetorian soldiers, as they are called, who
serve as guards, not relishing the military discipline which they now
had begun a little more to experience, and longing for their amusements
and unwarlike life among the shows of Rome, would not be commanded, but
were eager for a battle, imagining that upon the first onset they should
carry all before them. Otho also himself seems not to have shown the
proper fortitude in bearing up against the uncertainty, and, out of
effeminacy and want of use, had not patience for the calculations of
danger, and was so uneasy at the apprehension of it, that he shut his
eyes, and like one going to leap from a precipice, left everything to
fortune. This is the account Secundus the rhetorician, who was his
secretary, gave of the matter. But others would tell you that there were
many movements in both armies for acting in concert; and if it were
possible for them to agree, then they should proceed to choose one of
their most experienced officers that were present; if not, they should
convene the senate, and invest it with the power of election. And it is
not improbable that, neither of the emperors then bearing the title
having really any reputation, such purposes were really entertained
among the genuine, serviceable, and sober-minded part of the soldiers.
For what could be more odious and unreasonable than that the evils which
the Roman citizens had formerly thought it so lamentable to inflict upon
each other for the sake of a Sylla or a Marius, a Caesar or a Pompey,
should now be undergone anew, for the object of letting the empire pay
the expenses of the gluttony and intemperance of Vitellius, or the
looseness and effeminacy of Otho? It is thought that Celsus, upon such
reflections, protracted the time in order to a possible accommodation;
and that Otho pushed on things to an extremity to prevent it.
He himself returned to Brixillum, which was another false step, both
because he withdrew from the combatants all the motives of respect and
desire to gain his favor, which his presence would have supplied, and
because he weakened the army by detaching some of his best and most
faithful troops for his horse and foot guards.
About the same time also happened a skirmish on the Po. As Caecina
was laying a bridge over it, Otho’s men attacked him, and tried to
prevent it. And when they did not succeed, on their putting into their
boats torchwood with a quantity of sulphur and pitch, the wind on the
river suddenly caught their material that they had prepared against the
enemy, and blew it into a light. First came smoke, and then a clear
flame, and the men, getting into great confusion and jumping overboard,
upset the boats, and put themselves ludicrously at the mercy of their
enemies. Also the Germans attacked Otho’s gladiators upon a small island
in the river, routed them, and killed a good many.
All which made the soldiers at Bedriacum full of anger, and eagerness
to be led to battle. So Proculus led them out of Bedriacum to a place
fifty furlongs off, where he pitched his camp so ignorantly and with
such a ridiculous want of foresight, that the soldiers suffered
extremely for want of water, though it was the spring time, and the
plains all around were full of running streams and rivers that never
dried up. The next day he proposed to attack the enemy, first making a
march of not less than a hundred furlongs; but to this Paulinus
objected, saying they ought to wait, and not immediately after a journey
engage men who would have been standing in their arms and arranging
themselves for battle at their leisure, whilst they were making a long
march with all their beasts of burden and their camp followers to
encumber them. As the generals were arguing about this matter, a
Numidian courier came from Otho with orders to lose no time, but give
battle. Accordingly they consented, and moved. As soon as Caecina had
notice, he was much surprised, and quitted his post on the river to
hasten to the camp. In the meantime, the men had armed themselves
mostly, and were receiving the word from Valens; so while the legions
took up their position, they sent out the best of their horse in
advance.
Otho’s foremost troops, upon some groundless rumor, took up the
notion that the commanders on the other side would come over; and
accordingly, upon their first approach, they saluted them with the
friendly title of fellow-soldiers. But the others returned the
compliment with anger and disdainful words; which not only disheartened
those that had given the salutation, but excited suspicions of their
fidelity amongst the others on their side, who had not. This caused a
confusion at the very first onset. And nothing else that followed was
done upon any plan; the baggage-carriers, mingling up with the fighting
men, created great disorder and division, as well as the nature of the
ground; the ditches and pits in which were so many, that they were
forced to break their ranks to avoid and go round them, and so to fight
without order and in small parties. There were but two legions, one of
Vitellius’s, called The Ravenous, and another of Otho’s, called The
Assistant, that got out into the open outspread level and engaged in
proper form, fighting, one main body against the other, for some length
of time. Otho’s men were strong and bold, but had never been in battle
before; Vitellius’s had seen many wars, but were old and past their
strength. So Otho’s legion charged boldly, drove back their opponents,
and took the eagle, killing pretty nearly every man in the first rank,
till the others, full of rage and shame, returned the charge, slew
Orfidius, the commander of the legion, and took several standards. Varus
Alfenus, with his Batavians, who are the natives of an island of the
Rhine, and are esteemed the best of the German horse, fell upon the
gladiators, who had a reputation both for valor and skill in fighting.
Some few of these did their duty, but the greatest part of them made
towards the river, and, falling in with some cohorts stationed there,
were cut off. But none behaved so ill as the praetorians, who, without
ever so much as meeting the enemy, ran away, broke through their own
body that stood, and put them into disorder. Notwithstanding this, many
of Otho’s men routed those that were opposed to them, broke right into
them, and forced their way to the camp through the very middle of their
conquerors.
As for their commanders, neither Proculus nor Paulinus ventured to
reenter with the troops; they turned aside, and avoided the soldiers,
who had already charged the miscarriage upon their officers. Annius
Gallus received into the town and rallied the scattered parties, and
encouraged them with an assurance that the battle was a drawn one and
the victory had in many parts been theirs. Marius Celsus, collecting the
officers, urged the public interest; Otho himself, if he were a brave
man, would not, after such an expense of Roman blood, attempt anything
further; especially since even Cato and Scipio, though the liberty of
Rome was then at stake, had been accused of being too prodigal of so
many brave men’s lives as were lost in Africa, rather than submit to
Caesar after the battle of Pharsalia had gone against them. For though
all persons are equally subject to the caprice of fortune, yet all good
men have one advantage she cannot deny, which is this, to act reasonably
under misfortunes.
This language was well accepted amongst the officers, who sounded the
private soldiers, and found them desirous of peace; and Titianus also
gave directions that envoys should be sent in order to a treaty. And
accordingly it was agreed that the conference should be between Celsus
and Gallus on one part, and Valens with Caecina on the other. As the two
first were upon their journey, they met some centurions, who told them
the troops were already in motion, marching for Bedriacum, but that they
themselves were deputed by their generals to carry proposals for an
accommodation. Celsus and Gallus expressed their approval, and requested
them to turn back and carry them to Caecina. However, Celsus, upon his
approach, was in danger from the vanguard, who happened to be some of
the horse that had suffered at the ambush. For as soon as they saw him,
they hallooed, and were coming down upon him; but the centurions came
forward to protect him, and the other officers crying out and bidding
them desist, Caecina came up to inform himself of the tumult, which he
quieted, and, giving a friendly greeting to Celsus, took him in his
company and proceeded towards Bedriacum. Titianus, meantime, had
repented of having sent the messengers; and placed those of the soldiers
who were more confident upon the walls once again, bidding the others
also go and support them. But when Caecina rode up on his horse and held
out his hand, no one did or said to the contrary; those on the walls
greeted his men with salutations, others opened the gates and went out,
and mingled freely with those they met; and instead of acts of
hostility, there was nothing but mutual shaking of hands and
congratulations, everyone taking the oaths and submitting to Vitellius.
This is the account which the most of those that were present at the
battle give of it, yet own that the disorder they were in, and the
absence of any unity of action would not give them leave to be certain
as to particulars. And when I myself traveled afterwards over the field
of battle, Mestrius Florus, a man of consular degree, one of those who
had been, not willingly, but by command, in attendance on Otho at the
time, pointed out to me an ancient temple, and told me, that as he went
that way after the battle, he observed a heap of bodies piled up there
to such a height, that those on the top of it touched the pinnacles of
the roof. How it came to be so, he could neither discover himself nor
learn from any other person; as indeed, he said, in civil wars it
generally happens that greater numbers are killed when an army is
routed, quarter not being given, because captives are of no advantage to
the conquerors; but why the carcasses should be heaped up after that
manner is not easy to determine.
Otho, at first, as it frequently happens, received some uncertain
rumors of the issue of the battle. But when some of the wounded that
returned from the field informed him rightly of it, it is not, indeed,
so much to be wondered at that his friends should bid him not give all
up as lost or let his courage sink; but the feeling shown by the
soldiers is something that exceeds all belief. There was not one of them
would either go over to the conqueror or show any disposition to make
terms for himself, as if their leader’s cause was desperate; on the
contrary, they crowded his gates, called out to him with the title of
emperor, and as soon as he appeared, cried out and entreated him,
catching hold of his hand, and throwing themselves upon the ground, and
with all the moving language of tears and persuasion, besought him to
stand by them, not abandon them to their enemies, but employ in his
service their lives and persons, which would not cease to be his so long
as they had breath; so urgent was their zealous and universal
importunity. And one obscure and private soldier, after he had drawn his
sword, addressed himself to Otho: “By this, Caesar, judge our fidelity;
there is not a man amongst us but would strike thus to serve you;” and
so stabbed himself. Notwithstanding this, Otho stood serene and
unshaken, and, with a face full of constancy and composure, turned
himself about and looked at them, replying thus: “This day, my
fellow-soldiers, which gives me such proofs of your affection, is
preferable even to that on which you saluted me emperor; deny me not,
therefore, the yet higher satisfaction of laying down my life for the
preservation of so many brave men; in this, at least, let me be worthy
of the empire, that is, to die for it. I am of opinion the enemy has
neither gained an entire nor a decisive victory; I have advice that the
Moesian army is not many days’ journey distant, on its march to the
Adriatic; Asia, Syria, and Egypt, and the legions that are serving
against the Jews, declare for us; the senate is also with us, and the
wives and children of our opponents are in our power; but alas, it is
not in defense of Italy against Hannibal or Pyrrhus or the Cimbri that
we fight; Romans combat here against Romans, and, whether we conquer or
are defeated, our country suffers and we commit a crime: victory, to
whichever it fall, is gained at her expense. Believe it many times over,
I can die with more honor than I can reign. For I cannot see at all, how
I should do any such great good to my country by gaining the victory, as
I shall by dying to establish peace and unanimity and to save Italy from
such another unhappy day.”
As soon as he had done, he was resolute against all manner of
argument or persuasion, and taking leave of his friends and the senators
that were present, he bade them depart, and wrote to those that were
absent, and sent letters to the towns, that they might have every honor
and facility in their journey. Then he sent for Cocceius, his brother’s
son, who was yet a boy, and bade him be in no apprehension of Vitellius,
whose mother and wife and family he had treated with the same tenderness
as his own; and also told him that this had been his reason for delaying
to adopt him, which he had meant to do, as his son; he had desired that
he might share his power, if he conquered, but not be involved in his
ruin, if he failed. “Take notice,” he added, “my boy, of these my last
words, that you neither too negligently forget, nor too zealously
remember, that Caesar was your uncle.” By and by he heard a tumult
amongst the soldiers at the door, who were treating the senators with
menaces for preparing to withdraw; upon which, out of regard to their
safety, he showed himself once more in public, but not with a gentle
aspect and in a persuading manner as before; on the contrary, with a
countenance that discovered indignation and authority, he commanded such
as were disorderly to leave the place, and was not disobeyed.
It was now evening, and feeling thirsty, he drank some water, and
then took two daggers that belonged to him, and when he had carefully
examined their edges, he laid one of them down, and put the other in his
robe, under his arm, then called his servants, and distributed some
money amongst them, but not inconsiderately, nor like one too lavish of
what was not his own; for to some he gave more, to others less, all
strictly in moderation, and distinguishing every one’s particular merit.
When this was done, he dismissed them, and passed the rest of the night
in so sound a sleep, that the officers of his bedchamber heard him
snore. In the morning, he called for one of his freedmen, who had
assisted him in arranging about the senators, and bade him bring him an
account if they were safe. Being informed they were all well and wanted
nothing, “Go then,” said he, “and show yourself to the soldiers, lest
they should cut you to pieces for being accessory to my death.” As soon
as he was gone, he held his sword upright under him with both his hands,
and falling upon it, expired with no more than one single groan, to
express his sense of the pang, or to inform those that waited without.
When his servants therefore raised their exclamations of grief, the
whole camp and city were at once filled with lamentation; the soldiers
immediately broke in at the doors with a loud cry, in passionate
distress, and accusing themselves that they had been so negligent in
looking after that life which was laid down to preserve theirs. Nor
would a man of them quit the body to secure his own safety with the
approaching enemy; but having raised a funeral pile, and attired the
body, they bore it thither, arrayed in their arms, those among them
greatly exulting, who succeeded in getting first under the bier and
becoming its bearers. Of the others, some threw themselves down before
the body and kissed his wound, others grasped his hand, and others that
were at a distance knelt down to do him obeisance. There were some who,
after putting their torches to the pile, slew themselves, though they
had not, so far as appeared, either any particular obligations to the
dead, or reason to apprehend ill usage from the victor. Simply it would
seem, no king, legal or illegal, had ever been possessed with so extreme
and vehement a passion to command others, as was that of these men to
obey Otho. Nor did their love of him cease with his death; it survived
and changed erelong into a mortal hatred to his successor, as will be
shown in its proper place.
They placed the remains of Otho in the earth, and raised over them a
monument which neither by its size nor the pomp of its inscription might
excite hostility. I myself have seen it, at Brixillum; a plain
structure, and the epitaph only this: To the memory of Marcus Otho. He
died in his thirty-eighth year, after a short reign of about three
months, his death being as much applauded as his life was censured; for
if he lived not better than Nero, he died more nobly. The soldiers were
displeased with Pollio, one of their two prefects, who bade them
immediately swear allegiance to Vitellius; and when they understood that
some of the senators were still upon the spot, they made no opposition
to the departure of the rest, but only disturbed the tranquillity of
Virginius Rufus with an offer of the government, and moving in one body
to his house in arms, they first entreated him, and then demanded of him
to accept of the empire, or at least to be their mediator. But he, that
refused to command them when conquerors, thought it ridiculous to
pretend to it now they were beat, and was unwilling to go as their envoy
to the Germans, whom in past time he had compelled to do various things
that they had not liked; and for these reasons he slipped away through a
private door. As soon as the soldiers perceived this, they owned
Vitellius, and so got their pardon, and served under Caecina.
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