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Kpochs of Ancient History 
 
 EDITED BY 
 
 REV. G. W. COX, M.A. and C. SANKEY, M.A. 
 
 THE 
 
 ROMAN^EMPIRE of the SECOND CENTURY 
 
 W. W. CAPES, M.A. 
 
EPOCHS OF ANCIENT HISTORY. 
 
 Edited by Rev. G. W. Cox and Charles Sankky, M. A. 
 
 Eleven volumes, i6mo, with 41 Maps and Plans. Price par 
 
 I vol., $1.00. The set, Roxburgh style, gilt top, in box, $n.oow 
 
 'Troy— Its Legend, History, and Literature. By S. G. W. 
 
 Benjamin. 
 The Greeks and the Persians. By G. W. Cox. 
 The Athenian Empire. By G. W. Cox. 
 The Spartan and Theban Supremacies. By Charles Sankey. 
 The Macedonian Empire. By A. M. Curteis. 
 Early Rome. By W- Ihne. 
 Rome and Carthage. By R. Bosworth Smith. 
 The Gracchi, Marius, and Sulla. By A. H. Beesley. 
 The Roman Triumvirates. By Charles Merivale. 
 The Earlv Empire. By W. Wolfe Capes. 
 The Age of the Antomnes. By W. Wolfe Capes. 
 
 EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 Edited by Edward E. Morris. Eighteen volumes, i6ra«, 
 with 77 Maps, Plans, and Tables. Price per vol., $1.00, 
 The set, Roxburgh style, gilt top, in box, $18.00. 
 
 The Beginning of the Middle Ages. By R. W. Church. 
 
 The Normans in Europe. By A. H. Johnson. 
 
 The Crusades By G. W. Cox. 
 
 The Early Plantagenets. By Wm. Stubbs. 
 
 Edward III. By W. Warburton. 
 
 The Houses of Lancaster and York. By James Gairdner. 
 
 The Era of the Protestant Revolution. By Frederic Seebohm. 
 
 The Early TudoR6. By C. E. Moberly. 
 
 The Age of Elizabeth. By M. Creighton. 
 
 The Thirty Years War, 1618-1648. By S. R. Gardiner. 
 
 The Puritan Revolution. By S. R. Gardiner. 
 
 The Fall of the Stuarts. By Edward Hale 
 
 The English Restoration and Louis XIV. By Osmond Airy. 
 
 The Age of Anne. By Edward E. Morris. 
 
 The Early Hanoverians. Bv Edward E. Morris. 
 
 Frederick the Great. By F. W. Longman. 
 
 The French Revolution and Fir3T Empire. By W. O'ConWf 
 
 Morris. Appendix by Andrew D. White. 
 Tt« Fpoch of Reform. 1830-i8bo, By Justin Macarthy- 
 
EPOCHS OF ANCIENT HISTORY. 
 
 THE ROMAN EMPIRE 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SECOND CENTURY 
 
 OR 
 
 THE AGE OF THE A NT O NINES, 
 
 BY 
 
 W. W. CAPES, M.A. 
 
 LATE FELLOW AND TUTOR OF QUEEN S COLLEGE, AND 
 READER IN ANCIENT HISTORY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD, 
 
 WITH TWO MAPS, 
 
 
 NEW YOKK: 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 
 
 1911. 
 
Vft* 
 
 ^ x 
 
 a " . 
 
DC 
 
 ^5 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NERVA. — A. D. 96-96. 
 
 PAGE 
 Z 
 
 Nerva raised to the throne by the murderers of Domitian 
 Treats the agents of past tyranny with forbearance, though 
 
 Pliny and others cried for vengeance .... 3 
 
 Nerva's measures for the poorer citizens .... 5 
 
 The mutiny on the Danube appeased by Dion Chrysostom 6 
 
 The violence of the praetorians caused the Emperor to choose 
 
 Trajan as his colleague and successor, A.D. 97 6 
 
 Death of Nerva, A.D. 98 7 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TRAJAN — A. D. 97-II7. 
 
 Trajan avenges the outrage done to Nerva .... 7 
 After a year's delay enters Rome without parade . . 9 
 
 The simple bearing of his wife Plotina 9 
 
 His respect for constitutional forms lo 
 
 His frank courtesy and fearless confidence . . . .12 
 His thrift and moderation excite the surprise of Pliny . . 12 
 His economy could save little except in personal expenditure 14 
 Large outlay on roads, bridges, ports and aqueducts, baths 
 
 and theatres 15 
 
 The charitable endowments for poor children . . .19 
 
 Which lead others to act in a like spirit . . 2t 
 
 Trajan's policy with regard to the corn trade . . . .22 
 
 267812 
 
vi Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 His treatment of provincial interests as shown in the corre- 
 spondence with Pliny, A.D. 111-113 . . . • 23 
 He would not meddle needlessly or centralize too fast . . 25 
 
 His war policy 
 
 On the side, of Germany he had strengthened the frontier with 
 
 defensive works . . • • 2 7 
 
 The rise of the Dacian kingdom and threats of Decebalus . 29 
 Trajan declared war and set out, A.D. 101 >. . . .29 
 
 The course of the campaign 3 1 
 
 The battle of Tapse, advance into Transylvania, and Roman 
 
 victories bring the first war to a close. A.D. 102 . . 32 
 
 Peace did not last long 3* 
 
 Trajan's preparations and bridge of stone across the Danube . 34 
 The legions converged on Dacia and crushed the enemy, 
 
 A.D. 106 35 
 
 The country was colonized and garrisoned . . . • 3 6 
 
 The survival of Rome's influence in the Roumanian language 37 
 
 Trajan's forum and triumphal column .... 38 
 
 The conquest of Arabia 4° 
 
 War declared against Parthia, A.D. 113 . . . . 4 2 
 
 Trajan arrives at Antioch, and marches through Armenia, . 43 
 
 Parthamasiris deposed and slain 45 
 
 Submission of the neighbouring princes 45 
 
 The great earthquake at Antioch, A.D. 115 4 6 
 Trajan crossed the Tigris and carried all before him as far as 
 
 the Persian Gulf 47 
 
 But the lately conquered countries rose in his rear, and he was 
 
 forced to retire 48 
 
 His death at Selinus, and character 49 
 
 Taken as a type of heathen iustice in legend and art . . 5 1 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HADRIAN. — A.D. II7-I38. 
 
 The earlier life of Hadrian 5 1 
 
 His sudden elevation to the throne caused ugly rumours . 52 
 His policy of peace accompanied by personal hardihood and 
 
 regard for discipline 53 
 
Contents. vii 
 
 PAGE 
 
 He travelled constantly through the provinces . . .55 
 We hear of him in Britain, Africa, Asia Minor, and in Athens 
 
 above all ......... 57 
 
 And in Egypt . . .59 
 
 The death and apotheosis of Antinous .... 60 
 
 Hadrian's interests cosmopolitan more than Roman . . .61 
 The levelling influence of the " Perpetual Edict,'' A.D. 132 . 62 
 
 Hadrian's frugality and good finance 63 
 
 The dark moods and caprices attributed to him ... 64 
 His suspicious temper, system of espionage, and jealousy of 
 
 brilliant powers ........ 65 
 
 His fickleness, superstition, and variety of temper . . .67 
 Reasons for mistrusting these accounts of ancient authors . 68 
 His villa at Tivoli ......... 6q 
 
 Struck by disease, he chose Verus as successor, A.D. 135, who 
 
 died soon after 71 
 
 Antoninus was adopted in his place . . . . .72 
 
 Hadrian's dying agony, and fitful moods of cruelty . . 72 
 His death and canonization ....... 73 
 
 The mausoleum of Hadrian ...... 74 
 
 The outbreak in Palestine was at last terribly stamped out . 75 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANTONINUS PIUS. — A.D. 138-161. 
 
 The reign of Antoninus was uneventful ... 'jj 
 
 Why called Pius 77 
 
 His good-nature was free from weakness . . . 78 
 He did not travel abroad, but was careful of provincial inte- 
 rests 79 
 
 Wars were needful with Moors, Dacians, and Brigantes, yet 
 
 he gained more by diplomacy ...... 80 
 
 His homely life at Lorium 81 
 
 His easy and forgiving temper 81 
 
 Tender care of his adopted son, to whom he left the Empire 
 
 at his death 83 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS. — A.D. 147-180. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The early life of M. Aurelms 84 
 
 His correspondence with Fronto, his old tutor . . .85 
 His conversion from rhetoric to philosophy ... 86 
 
 The jealousy of Fronto 86 
 
 Offices of state and popular favour did not turn the head of 
 
 the young prince 88 
 
 He looked to the Stoic creed for guidance, but without loss of 
 
 tenderness .......... 89 
 
 Fronto, like Faustina, had little love for philosophers . . 90 
 On the death of Antoninus M. Aurelius shared his power with 
 
 L. Verus, A.D. 161 gI 
 
 Ominous prospects, floods, dangers on the Euphrates . 91 
 Verus starts for the East, where the soldiers were demoralized 93 
 The Parthians were humbled, and Verus claimed the merit of 
 
 his general's successes, A.D. 166 95 
 
 Fronto 's courtly panegyric 95 
 
 M. Aurelius meantime endows charities for foundlings, appoints 
 
 juridici, and guardians for orphans, and work unremittingly 96 
 But he is called away to the scene of war . . . .98 
 The fortune of the Roman arms in Britain .... 99 
 Both Emperors started for the Danube, where the border 
 
 races sued for peace ....... 101 
 
 The ravages of the plague, A.D. 167-8 101 
 
 The war begins again, but is checked by the spread of the 
 
 plague 102 
 
 Verus dies, and M. Aurelius rules henceforth alone, A.D. 169 103 
 The long and arduous struggle on the Northern frontier . 104 
 The Marcomannic war followed by the campaign against the 
 
 Quadi, in which we read of the marvel of the " Thundering 
 
 Legion " 106 
 
 The revolt of Avidius Cassius, A.D. 175 .... 108 
 Contempt expressed by him for the Emperor as a ruler . .110 
 The speedy failure of the insurrection ..... m 
 The Emperor showed no vindictive feeling «... 112 
 
Contents. ix 
 
 PAGE 
 
 He went to restore order in the East, and Faustina died on 
 
 the way ' JI 3 
 
 His short rest at Rome, and endowments in memory of his 
 
 wife "4 
 
 Recalled to the war in the North, he died at Vienna or Sir- 
 mi um, A.D. 180 JI 5 
 
 Grief of his subjects, and monuments in his honour . . 115 
 
 His " Meditations" reflect his habits of self-inquiry and grati- 
 tude XI 7 
 
 There is no trace in them of morbid vanity or self-contempt 121 
 
 He tried to be patient and cheerful in the hard work of life . 122 
 
 Nor was he too ambitious or too sanguine in his aims . 124 
 
 His anticipations of Christian feeling 125 
 
 The thought of a Ruling Providence stirred his heart with 
 
 tenderness and love ....... 128 
 
 His delicate sympathy with Nature , . . . .129 
 
 His melancholy and sense of isolation .... 131 
 
 The austere Stoic creed could not content him . . . 131 
 
 The contrast of the contemporary Christians . . . 131 
 
 M. Aurelius was unfortunate in his son Commodus . . 132 
 Was he also in his wife Faustina? Reasons for doubting the 
 
 truth of the common story 133 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ATTITUDE OF THE IMPERIAL GOVERNMENT 
 TOWARDS THE CHRISTIANS. 
 
 The Christians at first regarded as a Jewish sect, and not dis- 
 turbed 135 
 
 In the time of Nero we trace dislike to the Christians as such 137 
 
 They were regarded as unsocial and morose fanatics, accused 
 of impiety and of foul excesses 138 
 
 Christianity was not made illegal till the time of Trajan, whose 
 answer to Pliny determined the law 141 
 
 The reasons why the government might distrust the Christian 
 Church .......... 143 
 
 Succeeding Emperors inclined to mercy, but the popular dis- 
 like grew more intense 143 
 
x Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The rescripts of Hadrian and Antoninus very questionable 146 
 
 The martyrdom of Polycarp 147 
 
 The persecution at Vienna and Lugdunum .... 148 
 Lucian's account of Peregrinus Proteus reflects some noble 
 
 features of the early Church, A.D. 165 .... 151 
 
 The attack of Celsus, A.D. 150, was answered in later days . 152 
 
 The line of argument taken by the Apologists of the age . 154 
 
 The life of Justin Martyr 155 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE STATE RELIGION, AND 
 OF THE RITES IMPORTED FROM THE EAST. 
 
 The Emperors respected the old forms of national religion 157 
 
 The Collegia or brotherhoods .... . 158 
 The official registers of the Arval Brothers, containing a full 
 
 description of their ritual 159 
 
 We may note (1) their punctilious regard for ancient forms 161 
 
 (2) The absence of moral or spiritual influence . . . 162 
 
 (3) The loyalty to the established powers of state . . 163 
 The old religion was cold and meagre, and supplemented by 
 
 exotic creeds ......... 164 
 
 The civil power only feebly opposed the new rites, which were 
 
 welcomed by devout minds like Plutarch and Maximus 
 
 Tyrius 165 
 
 The mystic reveries and visions of Aristides in his sickness, 
 
 A.D. 144-161 168 
 
 New moods of ecstatic feeling, self-denial, and excitement, 
 
 and mystic gloom encouraged by Eastern religions . . 168 
 The rite of the taurobolium . . . . . . . 170 
 
 The new comers lived in peace in the imperial Pantheon . 171 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LITERARY CURRENTS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The enthusiasm for learning, but want of creative power . 172 
 
 The culture of the age was mainly Greek and professorial . 173 
 
 The various classes of Sophists I7S 
 
 1. Moralists and Philosophers 17 6 
 
Cotitents. 
 
 XI 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Epictetus, fl. under Trajan . . . 
 
 178 
 
 Dion Chrysostom .... 
 
 ' • . . 182 
 
 Plutarch " 
 
 . . 185 
 
 2. Literary artists and rhetoricians . . 
 
 . 189 
 
 Fronto, A.D. 90-168 
 
 . . 190 
 
 Polemon, fl. under Hadrian . . . 
 
 . 192 
 
 Favorinus " . . . , 
 
 193 
 
 Herodes Atticus, A.D. 101-177 
 
 . 193 
 
 Apuleius, fl. under M. Aurelius . . , 
 
 197 
 
 Lucian " " . . 
 
 199 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ADMINISTRATIVE FORMS OF THE IMPERIAL 
 GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The Emperor was an absolute sovereign, and his ministers 
 were at first his domestics, afterwards knights 
 
 The most important officers were, (1) a rationibus (treasurer) 
 2. Ab epistulis (secretary) . 
 • 3. A libellis (clerk of petitions) 
 4. A cubiculo (chamberlain) 
 
 The Privy Council .... 
 
 The Praefect of the city 
 
 The Praefect of the Praetorian Guard 
 
 The provincial governors and their suite 
 
 Local magistrates and local freedom 
 
 Few guarantees of permanence . 
 
 The municipalities courted interference 
 
 The governors began to meddle more 
 
 The Caesar was more appealed to . 
 
 The actual evils of a later age 
 
 1. The pressure of taxation, moderate at first, became 
 
 more and more intense ...••• 
 
 2. The increase of bureaucracy was followed by oppressive 
 
 restrictions on the Civil Service .... 
 
 3. The municipal honours became onerous charges 
 
 4. Trades and industries became hereditary burdens . 
 INDEX , 
 
 203 
 204 
 205 
 205 
 206 
 206 
 207 
 207 
 208 
 209 
 211 
 211 
 212 
 212 
 213 
 
 213 
 
 216 
 217 
 219 
 223 
 
ORIGINAL AUTHORITIES. 
 
 Scriptores Histor'uz Augusta. 
 
 Dion Cassius, Hist. Rom. Xiphilini Epit. 
 
 Pliny, Letters. 
 
 FRONTO, Letters. 
 
 Marcus Antoninus, quoted commonly in the transla- 
 tion of G. Long. 
 
 Elsebius, Eccl. Hist. 
 
 Philosostratus, VitcB Sophistarum. 
 
 EPICTETUS, Manual and Dissert, 
 
 Plutarch, Moral Treatises. 
 
 LUC IAN, Works. 
 
 Corpus Inscriptionum Latinarum* 
 
LIST OF MAPS. 
 
 I. Map to illustrate the Dacian War. To face page 31 
 II. Map to illustrate the Parthian War. " 43 
 
ROMAN HISTORY. 
 
 THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 NERVA. A. D. 96-98. 
 
 Before the murderers of Domitian raised their hands 
 to strike the fatal blow, they looked around, 
 
 , - , it.- Nerva 
 
 we read, to find a successor to replace.him, raised to lhe 
 Others whom they sounded on the subject Jh^urdw- 
 shrunk away in fear or in suspicion, till they ers of Do- 
 
 , mitian, 
 
 thought of M. Cocceius Nerva, who was 
 likely to fill worthily the office that would soon be va- 
 cant. 
 
 Little is known of his career for more than sixty years, 
 till after he had twice been consul, and when his work 
 seemed almost done, he rose for a little while to take the 
 highest place on earth. The tyrant on the throne had 
 eyed him darkly, had banished him because he heard 
 that the stars pointed in his case to the signs of sove- 
 reign power, and indeed only spared his life because 
 other dabblers in the mystic lore said that he was fated 
 soon to die. The sense of his danger, heightened by 
 his knowledge of the plot, made Nerva bold when others 
 
• t ••* I « « t » . 
 
 • * ft I ' 
 
 • m* • ••• « ' ** . • a * 
 
 ' ' * * 2 * »••••- The' 'Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 flinched ; so he lent the conspirators his name, and rose 
 by their help to the imperial seat. He had dallied with 
 the Muses, and courted poetry in earlier years ; but he 
 showed no creative aims as ruler, and no genius for heroic 
 measures. The fancy or the sanguine confidence of 
 youth was chequered perhaps by waning strength and 
 feeble health, or more probably a natural kindliness of 
 temper made him more careful of his people's wants. 
 After the long nightmare of oppression caused by the 
 caprices of a moody despot, Rome woke again to find 
 herself at rest under a sovereign who indulged no wan- 
 ton fancies, but was gentle and calm and unassuming, 
 
 homely in his personal bearing, and thrifty 
 gentle mode- with the coffers of the state. He had few 
 ration, expensive tastes, it seemed, and little love 
 
 for grand parade, refusing commonly the proffered sta- 
 tues ana gaudy trappings of official rank. As an old 
 senator, he felt a pride in the dignity of the august as- 
 sembly, consulted it in all concerns of moment, and 
 pledged himself to look upon its members' lives as sa- 
 cred. A short while since and they were cowering before 
 Domitian's sullen frown, or shut up in the senate house 
 by men-at-arms while the noblest of their number were 
 dragged out before their eyes to death. But now they 
 had an Emperor who treated them as his peers, who lis- 
 tened patiently to their debates, and met them on an 
 
 easy footing in the courtesies of social life, 
 treating j_j e rose a fo ove the petty jealousy which 
 
 with re- looks askant at brilliant powers or great his- 
 
 toric names, and chose even as his col- 
 league in the consulship the old Verginius Rufus, in 
 whose hands once lay the imperial power had he only 
 cared to grasp it. Nor was he haunted by suspicious 
 fears, such as sometimes give the timid a fierce appetite 
 
96-98. Nerva. 3 
 
 for blood. For when he learnt that a noble of old fami- 
 ly had formed a plot against his life, he took no steps to 
 punish him, but kept him close beside him in his train, 
 talked to him at the theatre with calm composure, and 
 even handed him a sword to try its edge and temper, as 
 if intent to prove that he had no mistrustful or revenge- 
 ful thought. 
 
 There were many indeed to whom he seemed too 
 easy-going, too careless of the memories of wrong-doing, 
 to satisfy their passionate zeal for justice. There were 
 those who had seen their friends or kinsmen hunted to 
 death by false accusers, who thought that surely now at 
 length they might wreak their vengeance on the tyrant's 
 bloodhounds. The early days of Nerva's , . 
 
 ' t J and the 
 
 rule seemed to natter all their hopes, for the agei.ts of 
 
 i iii- past ty- 
 
 pnson doors were opened to let the innocent ranny with 
 go forth, while their place was taken by forbearance, 
 spies and perjurers and all the harpies who had preyed 
 on noble victims. For a while it seemed as if the days 
 of retribution were at hand, but the Emperor's gentle 
 temper, or the advice of wary counsellors, prevailed; 
 Nerva soon stayed his hand, and would not have the 
 first pages of his annals scored in characters of blood. 
 To many, such clemency seemed idle weakness ; Pliny, 
 humane and tender-hearted as he was, reflects in his 
 familiar letters the indignation of his class, 
 and sorely frets to think, of the great crimi- pih.y and 
 nals who flaunted in the eves of men the other, cned 
 
 for ven- 
 
 pride of their ill gotten wealth. He tells geance. (Pi. 
 
 • i i- • 11 c kp. iv. 22.) 
 
 with a malicious glee the story of a supper- 
 party in the palace, where the name of a notorious in- 
 former happened to come up, and first one and then 
 another of the guests told tale after tale of his misdeeds, 
 till the Emperor asked at last what could be done with 
 
4 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 him if he were living still. Whereupon one bolder than 
 the rest replied, "he would be asked to supper with us 
 here to-night;" and indeed close beside Nerva there was 
 lolling on the couch an infamous professor of the same 
 black art. We may read, too, in a Itttet written long 
 afterwards to a young friend, how Pliny came forward 
 in the senate to laud the memory of the great Helvidius, 
 and brand with infamy the wretch who caused his death. 
 At first he found scant sympathy from those 
 Ep. ix. 13. w ^ Q heard him. Some troubled with a 
 guilty conscience tried to drown his voice in clamour, on 
 the plea that no notice had been given of his motion ; 
 some begged him not to raise the ghosts of worn-out 
 feuds, but to let them rest in peace awhile after the long 
 reign of terror. Wary friends, too, warned him to be 
 cautious, lest he should make himself a mark for the 
 jealousy of future rulers. But Pliny was resolute and 
 persevered. The consul, who acted as Speaker in the 
 senate, silenced him indeed at first, but let him rise at 
 length in his own turn, and, leaving the subject then be- 
 fore the house, speak for the memory of his injured 
 friend, till the full stream of his indignant eloquence 
 carried the listening senators along, and swept away the 
 timid protests raised for the accused. The Emperor step- 
 ped in, and stayed proceedings in the senate ; but the ora- 
 tor recalled with pride in later years the enthusiasm 
 which his vehemence had stirred, and felt no throb of 
 pity in his kindly heart when he was told that the wretched 
 man whom he accused was haunted soon after in his dying 
 moments by his own stern look and passionate words. 
 But Nerva was determined to let the veil fall on the 
 past. He raised no question about the favours and the 
 boons of earlier rulers, but respected the immunities and 
 dispensations however carelessly bestowed. 
 
96-98. Nerva. 5 
 
 There were still three powers that must be reckoned 
 with before any government could feel se- 
 cure — the populace of Rome, the frontier measures 
 legions, and the praetorian guards. The poorer citi- 
 first looked to be courted and caressed as zens - 
 usual ; but the treasury was empty, and Nerva was too 
 thrifty to spend lavishly on the circus or the theatres or 
 the processions which helped to make a Roman holiday. 
 Still he was careful of the real interests of the poor; he 
 gave large sums for land to be granted freely to the col- 
 onists who would exchange the lounging indolence of 
 Rome for honest industry in country work. Where 
 funds were wanting for this purpose, he stripped the pal- 
 ace of its costly wares, sold even the heirlooms of his 
 family, and gave up houses and broad lands to carry 
 out his plans for the well-being of his subjects. To show 
 that such self-sacrifice was due to no caprice of passing 
 fancy, he had the new name of "The Palace of the Peo- 
 ple" set up in characters which all might read upon 
 the mansion of the Caesars, while the coins that were 
 struck in his imperial mint bore the old 
 name of Liberty upon their face. For he gnc ° 3 ' 
 
 tried, says Tacitus, to reconcile the claims of monarchy 
 and freedom — the two things found incompatible be- 
 fore. 
 
 The distant legions had suffered little from Domitian's 
 misrule. His father and brother had been generals of 
 mark, and the thought of his own inglorious campaigns 
 soon faded from their memory ; they knew him chiefly 
 as a liberal paymaster and indulgent chief, and thev 
 heard with discontent that the Flavian dynasty had fall- 
 en, and that Rome had chosen a new ruler. The soldiers 
 on the Danube broke out into onen riot when thev heard 
 the news, and talked of marching to avenge their mas- 
 
6 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 „ ter. But by good hap, a certain Dion, a 
 
 The mutiny , • , , 
 
 on the Dan- poor wandering scholar, was at hand. Driv. 
 b y e Dio n ea C en by tne fallen tyrant into exile as a phi- 
 Uhrysostom. losopher of note, he had lived a vagrant life 
 upon the frontier, working for a paltry pittance as a gar- 
 dener's daily drudge, and carrying in his little bundle, 
 for the solace of his leisure, only the Phsedon of Plato 
 and a single oration of Demosthenes. Roused now to 
 sudden action by the mutiny among the legions, he flung 
 aside, like the hero of the Odyssey, the rags that had 
 disguised him, and gathering a crowd together he held 
 the rude soldiers spellbound by the charms of an elo- 
 quence which had won for him the name of Chrysostom 
 or Golden-mouthed, while he called up before their fancy 
 the outrages that had wearied a long-suffering world, 
 and armed against the despot the foes of his own house- 
 hold. So Dion's well-turned phrases, on which his bi- 
 ographer dwells with admiring pride, soothed the exci- 
 ted mutineers, and caused the bonds of discipline to re- 
 gain their hold. 
 
 But the praetorians were dangerously near to Rome, 
 and had already learnt their power to set up or to de- 
 throne their rulers. Their generals-in chief had taken 
 part in the murder of Domitian, and had influence 
 enough at first to keep their troops in hand, and make 
 them swear fealty to another Emperor. But 
 viofenceTthe discontent soon spread among them ; the 
 praetorians cre atures of Domitian plied them with in- 
 trigues, and found mouths ready to complain of scanty 
 largess and of slow promotion under the influence of 
 the new regime. The smouldering fire soon burst into a 
 flame. The guards marched in open riot to the palace 
 With ominous cries, and clamoured for the murderers' 
 heads. It was in vain that Nerva tried to soothe their 
 
5)6-98. Nerva. 7 
 
 fury; in vain he bared his neck and bade them strike; 
 the ringleaders would have their will, and dragged their 
 victims off to death before the feeble Em- , . 
 
 caused the 
 
 peror's eyes. Such a confession of his Emperor to 
 weakness was fatal, as he felt, to his useful- j an as co i_ 
 ness as a ruler. He knew that stronger ^Sssor! 1 
 hands than his were needed to steer the A - D - 97- 
 state through the troubled waters, and he resolved to 
 choose at once a worthy colleague and successor. 
 
 He chose with a rare unselfishness no kinsman or in- 
 timate of his own, not even a noble of old Roman line- 
 age, but a soldier of undoubted merit, who was then in 
 high command among the legions on the German fron- 
 tier. A few days afterwards the Emperor made his way 
 in state to the temple on the Capitol, to offer thanks for 
 the news of victory just brought from Pannonia to Rome, 
 and there, in the hearing of the crowd, he adopted Tra- 
 jan as his son, with an earnest prayer that the choice 
 might prove a blessing to the state. Then in the senate 
 house he had the name of Caesar given to his partner in 
 the cares of office, and that done, soon passed away 
 from life, after sixteen months of rule, which served oniy 
 as a fitting prelude to the government of his successor. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 TRAJAN. A.D. 97-II7. 
 
 Marcus Ulpius Trajanus, a native of Italica in Spain, 
 had been trained from early youth in the hard discipline 
 of Roman warfare, and by long service in Trajan 
 the camps had earned a title to the round avenges the 
 
 1 outrage 
 
 of civil honours, and to a place among the done to 
 
 Nerva, 
 
 senators of Rome. Summoned by Domitan 
 
S The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 from Spain at the head of a legion to the Rhine, he had 
 come probably too late to help in quelling a revolt ; but 
 he had won by his promptitude the honour of a consul- 
 ship, and was advanced by Nerva to the command of 
 upper Germany, then the most important of provincial 
 offices, in which his energy was being proved when the 
 unlooked for news arrived that he was 
 chosen for the imperial succession ; and the 
 tidings of Nerva's death found him still busy with his 
 military duties on the Rhine. He was yet 
 a.d. 9 . Jan. - n ^ e f u ri vigour of his manhood when the 
 
 cares of state fell with the purple mantle on his shoul- 
 ders ; the changing scenes of his laborious life had taught 
 him experience of men and manners, and it was with no 
 wavering hands that he took up the reins of office, and he 
 grasped them firmly to the end. Mutiny and discontent 
 seemed to have vanished already at his name ; but he 
 had not forgotten the outrage done to Nerva, nor the 
 
 parting charge in which he prayed him, 
 ' ' 42 * like the aged Chryses in the words of 
 
 Homer, " to avenge the suppliant's unavailing tears." 
 Trajan was prompt and secret. The ringleaders of the 
 riot were called away to Germany on various pleas, and ' 
 none came back to tell how they were treated there. 
 
 But though he could enforce discipline with needful 
 rigour, he had no lack of reverence for constitutional 
 
 forms. One of his earliest official acts was 
 
 but writes , , . ., - , - . 
 
 to the a letter to the senate, full of regard for its 
 
 respectful august traditions, in the course of which he 
 
 terms. promised to respect the life of every man of 
 
 worth. The credulous fancy of the age, as reported in the 
 history of Dion Cassius, saw the motive for the promise 
 in a dream, in which a venerable figure came before him, 
 clad in a purple robe and with a garland on his head— 
 
£7 -i 1 7- Trajan. 9 
 
 such as was the painter's symbol for the senate — and laid 
 his finger upon Trajan's neck, leaving his signet stamp 
 first on one side and then upon the other. Whatever 
 we may think the cause, whether sense of justice or mys- 
 terious warning prompted him to write that letter, he tried 
 certainly to make good the promise it contained, and 
 trod the dizzy heights of absolute power with the calm- 
 ness of a serene and balanced temper. He was in no 
 haste to enter Rome or receive the homage of the senate 
 and the people. Perhaps he breathed more freely in 
 the camp, where he lived as simply as his ancient con? 
 rades, and mistrusted the parade and insincerity of the 
 great city. Perhaps he waited till he felt his throne se- 
 cure, and till he knew that the far-off legions had rati- 
 fied the choice of Nerva. 
 
 At length, after a year's delay, he quietly set out upon 
 the journey, without any stately train of followers to bur- 
 den with exactions the towns through which 
 they passed. The only trace of ostentation year^fdelay 
 which he showed was in publishing the enters 
 
 r ° Rome with- 
 
 items of his travelling expenses side by side out parade, 
 
 with the accounts of the processions of Do- 
 
 mitian. 
 
 At his first entry into Rome there was the same ab- 
 sence of parade. He eschewed the white horses and 
 triumphal car of the imperial pageants ; no numerous 
 body-guard kept the people at a distance, but as his 
 manly figure moved along the streets, men saw him in- 
 terchange a hearty greeting with the senators he met, 
 and pass no old acquaintance unob- 
 served. They marked also the same simple bearingof 6 
 earnestness in the bearing of his wife Plo- ^, s ™ lfe 
 
 ° Plotina. 
 
 tina, who walked calmly by his side, and 
 
 as she passed into the palace that was now to be her 
 
io The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 home, prayed with a quiet emphasis, in the hearing of 
 the crowd, that she might leave it in the same temper 
 that she entered it. 
 
 A like unassuming spirit was shown in Trajan's deal- 
 ings with the senate. He called upon it to resume its 
 _ . , work as in an age of freedom, and to ac- 
 
 T raj an s ° ' 
 
 respect for knowledge the responsibilities of power. 
 
 the forms cf TT , ,, . , . , . . v 
 
 the consti- " e honestly respected its traditions, and 
 
 tution, wished the government to be carried for- 
 
 ward in its name. The holders of official rank were en- 
 couraged to look upon themselves as ministers of state 
 and not as servants of the Caesar; and the new generals 
 of the imperial guards had their swords given them with 
 the words, " Use this in my defence while I rule justly, 
 but against me if I prove to be unworthy." For there 
 was little danger now that the old constitutional forms 
 should be misused. The senate was no longer an as- 
 sembly of great nobles, proudly reliant on the traditions 
 of the past, and on the energy which had laid the world 
 prostrate at their feet. Many of the old families had 
 passed away ; their wealth, their eminence, their histo- 
 ric glories had made them victims to a tyrant's jealousy 
 or greed. Their places had been taken by new comers 
 from the provinces or creatures of imperial favour, and a 
 century had passed away since the senate of the com- 
 monwealth had claimed or had deserved to rule. The 
 ancient offices, even the consulship itself, 
 
 which, i-i 
 
 venerable were little more than empty honours, and 
 
 were, had no therefore passed rapidly from hand to hand ; 
 real power. an( j even piiny, full as he was of sentimen- 
 tal reverence for the past, asked himself if the tribunate 
 which he held awhile had indeed any meaning for his 
 days, or was only a venerable sham. Hence Trajan, 
 strong and self-reliant though he was, had no jealousy 
 
97 _II 7« Trajan. n 
 
 of names and titles, and cared little for the outer forms, 
 so the work was done as he would have it. He had lit- 
 tle interest in meddling with the mere machinery of gov- 
 ernment, and though some parts were chiefly ornamen- 
 tal, and others seemed rusty and out-worn, yet he would 
 not pull the whole to pieces, for the sake of symmetry 
 and finish, if there were only working wheels enough to 
 bear the necessary strain. He knew that from the force 
 of habit men loved the venerable forms, and that vital 
 changes soon grew crusted over with the fanciful associa- 
 tions of the past, till all seemed old while all was really 
 new. So new coins came from his mints with the sym- 
 bols of the old republic ; his courtiers were allowed to 
 guard with reverent care their statues of Brutus and Cas- 
 sius and the Catos, and the once dreaded name of lib- 
 erty came freely to the pen of every writer of his day. 
 
 He shrank with instinctive modesty from the naked 
 assertion of his power ; not like Augustus from fear or 
 hypocritic craft, and therefore with the sense 
 of life long self-restraint, but with the frank- His homel y 
 
 ° manners 
 
 ness of a soldier who disliked high airs and and frank 
 stiff parade. He went about the streets al- 
 most unguarded, allowed suitors of every class an eas/ 
 access to his chamber, and took part with genial courte- 
 sy in the social gatherings of Rome. 
 
 Flattering phrases had no music for his ear, and made 
 him feel none of the divinity of kingship; so he delayed 
 as long as possible the customary honours . r , 
 
 s n d fc t. i" 1 g ■*> s 
 
 for his kinsmen, and flatly refused to pose confidence, 
 himself as a deity before the time. It was 
 therefore only natural for him to rebuke the officious 
 zeal of the informers who reported words or acts of 
 seeming disrespect, and the old laws of treason which 
 had covered charges, so fatal because so ill-defined, 
 
12 The Age of the Antonines. AZ>. 
 
 dropped for a while at least into abeyance. After the 
 morbid suspicions of Domitian men could hardly under- 
 stand at first the fearless trustfulness of the present ru- 
 ler, and still told him of their fears and whispered their 
 misgivings of many a possible malcontent and traitor. 
 
 One case of this kind may be singled out to throw 
 light upon the Emperor's temper. Licinius Sura was one 
 of the wealthiest of living Romans, and a marked figure 
 in the social circles in which the intimates of Trajan 
 moved. He had won his sovereign's confidence, who 
 owed his throne, as it was said, to Sura's influence when 
 Nerva was looking round for a successor. Yet sinister 
 rumours of disloyal plots were coupled with his name, 
 and zealous friends soon brought the stories to the Em- 
 peror's ear, and wearied him with their repeated warn- 
 ings. At last he started on a visit to Licinius himself, 
 sent his guards home, and chatted freely with his host, 
 then asked to see the servant who acted as the doctor 
 of the house, and had himself dosed for some slight ail- 
 ment. After this he begged to have his friend's own 
 barber sent to him to trim his beard as he sat talking on ; 
 and that done, he stayed to dinner, took his leave, and 
 went away without one word or symptom of suspicion. 
 Ever afterwards he said to those who came to him with 
 any ugly tale about Licinius, "Why did he spare me 
 then, when he had me in his power, and his servant's 
 hand was on my throat ?" 
 
 But probably his special merit in the eyes of all classes 
 in Italy save the very poorest was his frugal thrift. Au- 
 „. c . gustus had husbanded with care the re- 
 
 His frugal ° 
 
 thrift, sources of the state and restored the finan- 
 
 cial credit of the empire ; but he drew large- 
 ly from the purses of his subjects, had recourse at first 
 to proscriptions and forced loans, and in spite of angry 
 
97-H7- Trajan. 13 
 
 clamour had imposed succession duties which were 
 odious to all the wealthy Romans. Vespasian had ruled 
 with wise economy and replenished his exhausted cof- 
 fers ; but then his name recalled the memory of a mean 
 and sordid parsimony that trafficked and haggled for the 
 pettiest gains. Most of the other Caesars had supplied 
 their needs by rapine ; had struck down wealthy victims 
 when they coveted their lands or mansions, or had let 
 the informers loose upon their prey, to harry and to pro- 
 secute, and to rake the spoils into the Em- 
 peror's privy purse. But Trajan checked n"h t ^ n s t h n e° 
 with a firm hand all the fiscal abuses of the burdens of 
 
 taxation, 
 
 last century that were brought belore his 
 eye, withdrew all bounties and encouragements from the 
 informers, and had the disputed claims of his own agents 
 brought before the courts of law and decided on their le- 
 gal merits. The presents which town councils and 
 other corporate bodies had offered to each sovereign at 
 his accession had grown into a burdensome exaction, 
 and they heard with thankfulness that Trajan would 
 take nothing at their hands. 
 
 The pressure of the succession duties too was light- 
 ened ; near kinsmen were exempted from the charge, 
 and a minimum of property was fixed below which the 
 heir paid nothing. Men's dying wishes also were re- 
 spected. No longer were greedy hands laid on their 
 property in the interests of Caesar, nor quibbling charges 
 brought to quash their wills ; the legacies that fell to 
 Trajan were the tokens of a genuine regard, and not the 
 poor shifts of a dissembling fear which sacrificed a part 
 to save the rest. 
 
 A financial policy so just and liberal was hailed on all 
 sides with a hearty welcome, but shrewd heads may well 
 have thought there was a danger that such self-denial 
 
A.D. IOO. 
 
 14 The Age of the Antonints. A.D* 
 
 might be pushed too far. The cool account- 
 
 excite the 
 
 surprise of ants and close-handed agents of the trea- 
 Pnny. sury murmure( j probably that the state would 
 
 be bankrupt if systems so lax came into vogue , and 
 
 even Pliny in his stately panegyric, after a 
 
 passing jest at their expense, stays the cur- 
 rent of his unbroken praise to hint that there may pos- 
 sibly be rocks ahead. " When I think," he says " of the 
 loyal offerings declined, of the imperial dues remitted by 
 the treasury, of the informers thrust aside, and then again 
 of the largess granted to the soldiers and the people, I 
 am tempted to enquire whether you have balanced care- 
 fully enough the ways and means of the imperial budget." 
 And indeed the Roman ruler's purse was not too full, 
 nor was it an easy task to meet the calls upon it. 
 
 The charges of the civil service were a new burden of 
 the empire. In the best days of the republic men served 
 
 their country from a sense of duty or for 
 could save honour ; in the worst age of its decline they 
 
 received no pay directly from the state, but 
 pillaged the poor provincials %t their mercy. Now sala- 
 ries were given to all the officials of the central govern- 
 ment throughout the Roman world, save a few only in 
 the capital, and the outlay on this head tended always to 
 mount higher as the mechanism in each department grew 
 more complex. The world had been conquered at the 
 first by troops of citizens, serving only on short cam- 
 paigns ; and in after years the needy soldiers of the later 
 commonwealth were in great measure fed and pensioned 
 out of the plunder of the provinces : but the standing 
 armies now encamped upon the borders of the empire, 
 though small if measured by the standard of our modern 
 life, were large enough to make their maintenance a 
 problem somewhat hard to solve. The dissolute popu- 
 
97-117* Trajan. 15 
 
 lace of Rome, too proud to work but not to beg, looked 
 to have their food and pleasures provided for them by 
 the state, and were likely to rise in riotous discontent if 
 their civil list were pared too close. 
 
 Under these heads there was little saving to be made, 
 and it remained only for the Emperor to stint himself. 
 Happily he had few costly tastes, no pam- 
 
 \ r   , , , . except in the 
 
 pered favourites to be endowed, no passion Emperor's 
 for building sumptuous palaces, no 'wish to expenditure, 
 squander the revenues of a province on a sin- 
 gle stately pageant, to be a nine days' wonder to the world. 
 He was blessed too with a wife of rare discretion. Con- 
 tent like the old Roman matrons to rule her house with 
 singleness of heart and be the life-long partner of her 
 husband's cares, Plotina showed no restless vanity as the 
 queen of changing fashions in the gay society of the 
 great city, but discouraged luxury and ostentation, and 
 was best pleased to figure in the coinage of her times as 
 the familiar type of wifely fidelity and T 
 
 - . , Large outlay 
 
 womanly decorum. Little was spent upon on public 
 the imperial household, but there was large 
 outlay on great public works, planned and carried out 
 with grand magnificence. Gradually by patient thrift the 
 funds were gathered for such ends as trade revived, and 
 credit was restored, and capital came forth once more 
 from its hiding places in an epoch of mutual confidence 
 and justice. As the national wealth increased under the 
 influence of favouring conditions, the burdens of taxation 
 pressed less heavily, while the revenues of the state grew 
 larger every year. 
 
 Safety and ease of intercourse are among the primary 
 needs of civilized life, and the Romans might be proud 
 of being the great road-makers of the an- 
 
 00 on roads, 
 
 cient world. But of late years, we read, the 
 
1 6 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 needful works had been neglected, and some of the fa- 
 mous highways of old times were fast falling into disre- 
 pair. The Appian above all, the queen of roads as it 
 had once been styled, was figured in the coins and bas- 
 reliefs of Trajan's reign as a woman leaning on a wheel, 
 and imploring the Emperor to come to her relief. Suc- 
 cour was given with a liberal hand, and where it ran 
 through the dangerous Pontine marshes, foundations of 
 solid stone were raised above the surface of the boggy 
 soil, bridges were built over the winding rivulets, and 
 houses of refuge erected here and there along the way. 
 
 Other parts of Italy were also the objects of like care. 
 Three new roads at least connected the great towns that 
 lay upon the coast, and though the fragmentary annals 
 of the times make no mention of them, the milestones 
 or monuments since found speak of the careful fore- 
 thought of the ruler whose name they bore. We have 
 also in like forms in other countries the same enduring" 
 
 witnesses to roads and works like the famous 
 bridges bridge of Alcantara ; and the cost of these 
 
 was sometimes met by his own privy purse, 
 sometimes by the imperial treasury, or else by the cor- 
 porate funds of neighbouring towns. 
 
 Much was done too in the interests of trade to open 
 up Italy to foreign navies. The old port of Ostia, deep- 
 ened and improved a century before, had been nearly 
 choked by sand and mud. Fresh efforts were now made 
 
 to arrest the forces of decay, and under the 
 
 and ports, e _ 
 
 new name of Trajan s Port it appears upon 
 the faces of the coins as a wide bay in which triremes 
 could ride at anchor. But Rome seemed to need a safer 
 outlet to the sea, as the old one at the Tiber's mouth 
 
 was really doomed to fail. A new port was 
 
 a d. 106 or r 
 
 107. therefore made at Centumcellae, the Civita 
 
97-H7- ' Trajan. 17 
 
 Vecchia of later days. Pliny, who went 
 there on a visit when the work was going 
 on, describes in lively style what was being P1,n y> V1 - 
 done before his eyes, and tells of the break- 
 water which, rising at the entrance of the harbour, looked 
 almost like a natural island, though formed of rocks 
 from the mainland. 
 
 A third work of the same kind was carried forward on 
 the other coast, in the harbour of Ancona ; and a grand 
 triumphal arch, built of enormous blocks of stone, is left 
 still standing to record the senate's grateful praises of 
 the ruler who had spent so much of his own 
 purse to open Italy and make the seas se- before a. d. 
 cure. The Isthmus of Suez too was cared 
 for in the interests of trade ; and the name of Trajan 
 which it bears in Ptolemy points to the efforts of the mo- 
 narch to carry out the needful works in connexion with 
 the granite quarries of the neighbouring Claudian range, 
 in which inscriptions of the period are found. Nor was 
 Rome neglected while other lands were 
 cared for. The great aqueducts of the 5 nd nquft " 
 
 & n ducts, 
 
 republic and the early empire were not 
 now enough to content the citizens of Rome, and com- 
 plaints were often heard that the streams of water 
 brought in them from the hills far away were often tur- 
 bid and impure, and polluted by the carelessness of 
 those who used them. But now the various sources of 
 supply were kept carefully distinct, a lake 
 was formed in and reserved for separate 
 uses ; which the waters of the Anio might stand and 
 clear themselves after their headlong course over the 
 rough mountain ground; and besides these and the 
 purer streams of the Aqua Marcia, others were provided 
 by the bounty of the present ruler and specially ho- 
 
iS The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 noured with his name. For nearly 300,000 Roman 
 paces the various aqueducts were carried on the long 
 lines of countless arches, and their vast remains still 
 move the traveller's wonder as he sees them stretch 
 from the city walls far into the Campagna, or perhaps 
 even more as he comes here and there upon some state- 
 ly fragment in the lonely valleys of the Sabine hills. 
 
 The policy of the great statesmen of the Augustan 
 age, the vanity and pomp of other rulers, had filled the 
 
 capital with great buildings destined for 
 and theatres every variety of use; but as if the supply 
 
 was still too scanty, fresh baths and porti- 
 coes and theatres were raised to speak to future ages of 
 the sovereign who lived simply but built-* grandly. For 
 his own personal comfort, it would seem, no mason toiled, 
 and when the great circus was enlarged to hold some 
 thousand more spectators, the Emperor's balcony was 
 swept away, and no projecting lines were left to interrupt 
 the people's view. Pliny had once said of him, in the 
 formal eulogy of earlier days, that his modesty of temper 
 led him to preserve the old works rather than raise new 
 ones and that the streets of Rome at last had rest from 
 the heavy loads of the contractor's waggons. And this 
 was true perhaps of the first years of his reign ; it may 
 have held good always of the wants of himself and of 
 his family ; but it seems a ouritms contrast to the words 
 in which, after seeing Trajan's name inscribed on one 
 after another of the national monuments which he had 
 raised, Constantine compared it to the parasitic herb 
 which grew as a thing of course on every wall. But in 
 , , all this he was only following the imperial 
 
 without fresh . ' - 
 
 burdens traditions, and the only trace of novelty 
 
 of taxation. ,, , , .., 
 
 therein was ooing so much without putting 
 fresh burdens on his people. 
 
q 7—1 1 7. Trajan. 19 
 
 Another form of outlay showed a more original con- 
 ception, and the end and means in this case were both 
 new. In the middle of the eighteenth century some 
 peasants near Placentia (Piacenza) turned up with the 
 plough a bronze tablet, which was no less 
 
 , r , , r , , • i 1 /- The charitable 
 
 than ten feet broad, six feet high, and 000 endowments 
 pounds in weight. It was soon broken into -^g^ 
 pieces, some of which were sold as old osetal 
 to be melted down for bells, but happily they caught the 
 eyes of men who had scholarship enough to read the 
 Latin words engraved on them.. By their liberality and 
 zeal the other fragments were bought up, and the whole 
 when pieced together brought to light one of the longest 
 classical inscriptions yet discovered, written in as many 
 as 670 lines. It consists of mortgage deeds by which 
 lar^e sums were lent by the Emperor on landed property 
 throughout some districts near Placentia. The names of 
 the several farms and owners, and the various amounts, 
 were specified in great detail, and the interest at five per 
 cent, was to be paid over to a fund for the maintenance 
 of poor boys and girls whose number and pensions were 
 defined. Fragments of a like inscription have been 
 found since then at Beneventum, and we have reason 
 to believe that throughout Italy there were similar pro- 
 visions for a measure which history speaks of in quite 
 general terms. 
 
 In this there are several things that call for notice. 
 First as to the end proposed. In Rome itself there had 
 been for two centuries a sort of poor law system, by 
 which manv thousands of the citizens had received their 
 monthly dole of corn. No Emperor had been rash 
 enough to repeal this law, though thoughtful statesmen 
 mourned over the lazy able-bodied paupers crowded in 
 the capital, and the discouragement to industry abroad 
 
20 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 The custom in old times had grown out of no tenderness 
 of charity, but from the wish to keep the populace in 
 good humour at the expense of the provincials who had 
 to pay the cost, and in later times it was kept up from 
 fear of the riots that might follow if the stream ceased 
 to flow. But in all parts there were helpless orphans, or 
 children of the destitute and disabled, to whom the 
 world was hard and pitiless, and for whom 
 
 ihe novelty 
 
 and use of real charity was needed. From these the 
 actual government had nothing to hope, 
 nothing to fear, and to care for these was to recognise a 
 moral duty which had never been owned on a large 
 scale by any ruler before Trajan. There was yet this 
 further reason to make their claim more pressing, in 
 that it rested with the father's will to expose or rear the 
 new-born babe. Infanticide was sadly common as hope 
 and industry declined, and good land was passing into 
 desert from want of hands to till the soil. There was 
 no fear then that the increase of population should out- 
 run the means of living; but there was danger that the 
 selfish or improvident should decline the cares of father- 
 hood, hurry out of life again those whom 
 sho t wn n in , lhe ip they had called into the world, or leave 
 form of the them to struggle at haphazard through the 
 
 endowment. °° r ° 
 
 tender years of childhood. As to the end 
 therefore we may say that tender-heartedness was shown 
 in caring for the young and helpless, and also states- 
 manship in trying to rear more husbandmen to till the 
 fields of Italy. The coins and monuments bring both of 
 these aims before our eyes, sometimes portraying Trajan 
 as raising from the ground women kneeling with their 
 little ones, at other times referring to the methods by 
 which he had provided for the eternity of his dear 
 Italy. 
 
9 7~i 1 7- Trajan. 2 1 
 
 As to means, again, we may note the measures taken 
 to set on foot a lasting system. Payments from the 
 treasury made by one ruler might have been withdrawn 
 by his successor ; personal caprice or the pressure of 
 other needs might cause the funds to be withheld, and 
 starve the charitable work. The endowment therefore 
 took the form of loans made to the landowners through- 
 out the country, and the interest was paid by them to a 
 special Bounty Office, for which commissioners were 
 named each year to collect and to dispense the sums 
 accruing. There was also this advantage in the course, 
 that the landed interest gained by the new capital em- 
 ployed upon the soil, while needful works, brought to a 
 standstill for the want of funds, could be pushed forward 
 with fresh vigour, to multiply the resources of the 
 country. 
 
 Lastly, we may be curious to know something more of 
 the results. The government had done so much that 
 it micrht well have been expected that the 
 
 & r Others act 
 
 work would be taken up by other hands, and in a like 
 that kindly charities of the same sort would 
 spread fast among the wealthy. And some did copy the 
 fashion set them from above. Pliny in his letters tells us 
 how he had acted in like spirit, by saddling some estates 
 with a rent charge which was always to be spent on the 
 maintenance of poor boys and girls, and we may still 
 read an inscription in which the town of Como gives him 
 thanks for the kindly charity of his endowment. His 
 beneficence dates probably in its earliest form from 
 Nerva's reign, but others seemingly began to follow the 
 example of their rulers, for the legal codes speak of 
 it as a practice not uncommon ; and each of the three 
 Emperors who followed gave something to help on 
 the cause, in the interest more often of the girls than of 
 
22 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 the boys, because perhaps they had been less cared for 
 hitherto, and at their birth Roman fathers more often 
 refused to bear the expense of rearing them. 
 
 But in the darker times that were presently in store, 
 later rulers found the treasury bankrupt, and laid greedy 
 hands upon the funds which for a century had helped so 
 many through the years of helplessness, and all notice 
 of them vanishes at last from history in the strife and 
 turmoil of the ages of decline. 
 
 The beneficence of former rulers, we have seen, took 
 the questionable form of monthly doles of cdrn to the 
 _, ,. populace of Rome. To fill the granaries and 
 
 The policy r L ° 
 
 of Trajan stock the markets of the capital they had 
 
 with regard ,, . ., .,.,.,, , 
 
 to the corn the tribute paid in kind by the great corn- 
 trade, bearing provinces. They had bought up 
 large quantities of grain and fixed an arbitrary scale of 
 prices, had forbidden the export of produce to any but 
 Italian ports, and had watched over Egypt with a jealous 
 care as the storehouse of the empire, in which at first no 
 Roman noble might even land without a passport But 
 Trajan had the breadth of view to begin a more enlight- 
 ened policy. He trusted wholly to free trade to balance 
 the supply and the demand, declined to fix a legal maxi- 
 mum for what he bought, and trusted the producers to 
 bring the supplies in their own way to Rome. Egypt it- 
 self was suffering from a dearth because the Nile refused 
 to rise ; but happily elsewhere the failure of her stores 
 was lightly felt, for, thanks to the freedom of the carry- 
 ing trade, other rich countries stepped into her place, and 
 after keeping the markets of Italy supplied, even fed 
 Egypt with the surplus. 
 
 Trajan's treatment of provincial interests showed the 
 same large-minded policy. A curious light is thrown 
 upon the subject by the letters written to him by Pliny 
 
 / 
 
97 -I, 7- Trajan. 23 
 
 while governor of Bithynia, and these are still left for us 
 to read, together with the Emperor's replies. 
 
 First we may notice by their help how His treat- 
 
 1 r ment of pro- 
 
 large a range of local freedom and self-go- vincial in- 
 
 vernment remained throughout the Roman shown in the 
 
 empire. Though in that distant province ence e with d " 
 
 there were few citizens of the highest class, Pliny, a.d. 
 
 and scarcely any municipia or colonies, yet 
 
 the currents of free civic life flowed strongly. HbertTe? 
 
 Popular assemblies, senates, and elected ex > sted on 
 
 1 ' sufferance; 
 
 magistrates managed the affairs of every 
 petty town ; the richest men were proud to serve their 
 countrymen in posts of honour, and to spend largely of 
 their means in the interest of all. But these privileges, 
 though in some few cases guaranteed by special treaty 
 dating from the times of conquest, had commonly no le- 
 gal safeguard to secure them ; they lasted on by suffer- 
 ance only, because the Roman governors had neither 
 will nor leisure to rule all the details of social life around 
 them. The latter had, however, large powers of interfe- 
 rence, subject only to appeal to Rome; and 
 if they were passionate or venal they abused provin- 
 
 , . . r . . cial 
 
 their power to gratily caprice or greed, governors 
 though often called to account for their mis- tempte^to 
 deeds when their term of office had expired. interfere 
 Conscientious rulers were also tempted to 
 meddle or dictate, sometimes from the strong man's in- 
 stinctive grasp of power, sometimes from impatience of 
 disorder and confusion, or from a love of symmetry and 
 uniformity of system ; and above all it seemed their 
 duty to step in to prevent such waste or misuse of public 
 funds as might burden future ages or dry the sources of 
 the streams that fed the imperial treasury. 
 
 Pliny was a talker and a student rather than a man 
 
24 The Age cf the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 of action, and feeling the weight of power heavy, he 
 leant upon the Emperor for support and guidance. Not 
 content with referring to his judgment all grave ques- 
 tions, he often wrote on things of very little 
 Pliny* who moment. " Prusa has an old and dirty 
 refers even bath ; may not the town enlarge it on a 
 
 petty ques- ' J ° 
 
 tions to the scale more worthy of the credit of the city 
 
 Emperor. 1111 r • 
 
 and the splendour of your reign ? " The 
 aqueduct at Nicomedia is in ruins, though large sums 
 have been wasted more than once upon the works. As 
 they really are in want of water, would it not be well to 
 see that they spend their money wisely, and use up the 
 old materials as far as they will go, though for the rest 
 bricks will be cheaper than hewn stone ? " " The thea- 
 tre and gymnasium at Nicaea have been very badly 
 built, ought not an architect to be employed to see if 
 they can be repaired without throwing good money after 
 bad?" " Nicomedia would like to enlarge the area of 
 its market-place, but an old, half-ruined temple of the 
 Great Goddess stops the way. Might it not be transferred 
 to a new site, as I can find, nothing in the form of con- 
 secration to forbid it ? Also there has beeri great havoc 
 done by fire of late in the same city for the want of en- 
 gines and the men to work them ; would there be any 
 danger in setting up a guild of firemen to meet like ca- 
 ses in the future, if all due care is taken against possible 
 abuses ? " On some of these points indeed the Emperor 
 might wish to be consulted, as they had to do with the 
 power of the purse. But he read with more impatience 
 the requests that Pliny made to him to have architects 
 and surveyors sent from Rome to carry out the works : 
 he reminded him that such artists were no specialty of 
 Italian growth, but were trained more easily in Greece 
 and Asia. Still more emphatic is the language in which 
 
97-H7- Trajan. 25 
 
 he rebuked his minister's ill-timed zeal, which would 
 make light of the charters and traditions of the province. 
 He tells him that it might be convenient, but would not 
 be seemly, to force the town councillors, as he wished, 
 to take up at interest on loan the public funds 
 which were then lying idle ; that the old W ouidre- 
 privilege of Apamea to draw up its budget ^ges^and 
 for itself without control must be respected, not meddle 
 
 , . . TT , • , needlessly, 
 
 anomaly as it might seem. He has no wish, 
 for the mere sake of symmetry, to set aside the variety 
 of local usages as to the entrance fees paid on admission 
 to the senates ; and in general he repeats that he will 
 have no wanton meddling with any rights based on real 
 charters, or with any old-established customs. 
 
 As we read the letters, we admire the cautious self- 
 restraint of Trajan in refusing to allow smooth systems 
 of centralized machinery to take the place 
 of the motley aggregate of local usages : but ? r centr <?'- 
 there are also to be noted some ominous to- 
 kens for the future. If the gentle Pliny while in office 
 under Trajan was tempted to propose despotic measures, 
 would not other ministers be likely to go further in that 
 course, with more favour from their master ? If the cen- 
 tral government had such watchful care already for the 
 revenues of every town, would it not in time of need 
 help itself freely to the funds which it had husbanded so 
 jealously ? 
 
 The answer to these questions would reveal in a later 
 age two causes of the empire's slow decline, the paraly- 
 sis of the local energy which was displaced by central- 
 ized bureaux, and the exhaustion of a society overbur- 
 dened by taxation. 
 
 Great as were Trajan's merits in the arts of peace, the 
 world knew him chiefly as a soldier, renewing after a 
 
26 The Age of the A?itonines. a.d. 
 
 The world century of disuse the imperial traditions of 
 knew most the early Caesars. The genius of Julius, 
 niiii.ary n the steady progress of the generals of Au- 
 
 loweis, gustus, had carried the conquering arms of 
 
 Rome into new lands, and pushed the frontiers forward 
 till well-defined natural boundaries were reached. Since 
 then there had been little effort to go onward, and save 
 in the case of Britain, no conquest of importance had 
 been made. The Emperors had kept their generals to 
 the border camps, and had shown little taste for warlike 
 enterprise; even those who, like Vespasian, had been 
 trained as soldiers, found the round of official work task 
 all their energies at Rome, or feared the risk of a long 
 absence in a far-off province. Trajan had other views. 
 It seemed to him perhaps that the machinery 
 earlier of central government was working smooth- 
 
 policy was ly and securely, while his own warlike qual- 
 one p war. j t j eg were rus ti n g away for want of use. 
 
 Policy might whisper that an empire won by force must 
 be maintained by constant drill and timely energy, and 
 that the spirit of the legions might grow faint if they were 
 always cooped up in border camps in the dull routine of 
 an inglorious service, while the neighbouring races of 
 the north were showing daily a bolder and more threat- 
 ening front. 
 
 On the side of Germany indeed there was for a while 
 no pressing danger. The hostile tribes were weakened 
 by their internecine struggles, and the " Germania " of 
 Tacitus, which was written early in this reign, records in 
 tones of cruel triumph the bloody feuds which had al- 
 most blotted from the book of nations the name of the 
 once powerful Bructeri. But in the Roman ranks them- 
 selves there had been license and disorder, and Trajan 
 seems to have been sent by Domitian to hold the chief 
 
9 7 _ x 1 7 • Trajan. 2 7 
 
 command upon the Rhine, as a general who could be 
 trusted to tighten the bands of discipline and secure the 
 wavering loyalty of the legions. One of their chiefs had 
 lately risen in revolt against his master, and the mutiny, 
 though soon put down, had left behind it a smouldering- 
 discontent and restlessness in the temper of the soldiers. 
 The spirit of discipline had commonly declined at once 
 when the highest posts were filled by weak ~ , . , 
 
 . On the side 
 
 and selfish generals, and it needed a strong of Germany 
 
 111 -i r ne had been 
 
 and a resolute will to check the evils 01 mis- content to 
 rule. He found work enough ready to his ^frontier 
 hand to last for years, and even the tidings wnhdefen- 
 
 ■* ° sive works, 
 
 of his great rise in life, and of the death of and he did 
 
 , T ,. , , . r . not care to 
 
 Nerva, did not tempt him for some time to return. 
 leave his post of military duty. 
 
 He left some enduring traces of his organizing care in 
 the towns and fortresses which he founded or restored, 
 and in the great line of defence which he strengthened 
 on the frontier. On the site of the old camp or fort {cas- 
 tra vetera) which was stormed by the Germans in the 
 war of 6y, he built the colony of Ulpia Trajana, the 
 name of which reappears in the curious form of the 
 "little Troy'' in the early German poems, and helped to 
 give currency to the old fancy that the Franks had come 
 from Troy; while in a later age it changed to that of 
 Xanten (urbs Sanctorum) as the supposed scene of the 
 great massacre of Victor and his sainted followers by the 
 Theban legion. Among the many scenes which he 
 chose for colonies or castles, the most famous pro- 
 bably in later times was that of Aquae (Baden-Baden) 
 where many traces have been found of the legions 
 which were serving under him, and of the soldiers who 
 probably were often glad to take the waters there, like 
 the invalids of later days. But the greatest works on 
 
2b The Age of the Antonines. a.b. 
 
 this side of the empire were carried on for the defence 
 of the tithe grounds ("Agri decumates ") between the 
 Danube and the Rhine, to which colonists had been in- 
 vited from all parts of Gaul with the offer of a free grant 
 of lands, subject only to the payment of a tenth as rent- 
 charge to the state. This corner was the weak place in 
 the Roman border on the north, and as such needed 
 special lines for its defence ; Drusus and Tiberius had 
 long ago begun to raise them, and they were now push- 
 ed on with energy, and continued by succeeding rulers. 
 The "limes Romanorum" ran along for many a mile from 
 one great river to the other, with wall and dyke and pal- 
 isade, and forts at short intervals to protect the works. 
 Remains of them are still left here and there, scarcely 
 injured by the wreck of ages, and are called in the pea- 
 sants' patois the " Devil's Wall " or " Heathens' Dyke," 
 and many more fantastic names. Ages after Trajan some 
 of the defences of this country still bore his name in his- 
 tory as well as local fancy, and witnessed to his energy 
 in office; and modern travellers have fancied, though 
 with little reason, that ruins found near Mainz belonged 
 to a stone bridge built by him across the Rhine, on the 
 same plan as the famous one upon the Danube. 
 
 His work in Germany was done so thoroughly before 
 he left that he never needed to return. But on the 
 _ , . Danube there was soon a pressing call for 
 
 But his r 
 
 presence resolute action, and the Emperor answered 
 
 needed on it without delay. The people scattered on 
 
 the Danube. both sides of the lower Danube appear in 
 history under many names, of which the most familiar 
 are Thracians, Getas, Dacians ; but all seemingly were 
 members of the same great race. Thev had come often 
 into hostile contact with the powers of Greece and Rome, 
 tdl at last, under Augustus, all the southern tribes were 
 
9 7 - i 1 7- Trajan. 29 
 
 brought into subjection, and their land, under the name 
 of Mcesia, became a Roman province. Their kinsmen 
 on the north retained their independence, _ 
 
 The rise of 
 
 and the Dacian peoples had been lately the Dacian 
 drawn together and welded into a formida- " 1S 
 ble nation by the energy of Decebalus, their chieftain. 
 Not content with organizing a powerful kingdom within 
 the mountain chains of Transylvania, he had sallied from 
 his natural fastness and crossed the Danube to spread 
 havoc among the villages of Mcesia. Domitian had 
 marched in person to the rescue, but found too late that 
 he had neither the soldier's daring nor the general's skill, 
 and was glad to purchase an inglorious peace by the 
 rich presents that the Dacians looked upon as tribute. 
 Artists also and mechanics were demanded to spread the 
 arts of Roman culture in the north, for Decebalus was no 
 mere barbarian of vulgar aim, but one who had the in- 
 sight to see the advantages of civilized ways, and to 
 meet his rivals with the weapons drawn from their own 
 armoury. Emboldened by success he raised 
 his terms, and took a threatening attitude and threats of 
 
 ' ° Decebalus. 
 
 upon the Danube, presuming on the weak- 
 ness of the timid Domitian and the aged Nerva. But 
 Trajan was in no mood to brook such insults, and when 
 asked for the usual presents he haughtily replied that he 
 at least had not been conquered ; then hearing of fresh 
 insults, and of intrigues with the neighbouring races, and 
 even with the distant Parthians, he resolved 
 on war, and set out himself to secure the safety Trajan de- 
 
 ' J dared war 
 
 and avenge the honour of the empire. With and set out. 
 . . , . . . TT 1 • AD - loI< 
 
 him went his young kinsman Hadrian as 
 
 aide-de-camp (comes expeditionis Dacicas), and the 
 
 trusted Licinius Sura was always by his side in the 
 
 campaign, while the ablest generals of the age were 
 
30 The Age of the Autonincs. a.d. 
 
 gathered on the scene of action to win fresh laurels in 
 the war. 
 
 He had passed, it seems, unchanged through the lux- 
 urious life of Rome, and kept all the hardihood of his 
 earlier habits. His old comrades saw him march bare- 
 headed and on foot, taking his full share of danger and 
 discomfort, joining in the mock fight which varied the 
 sameness of the march, or ready to give and take hard 
 blows without thought of personal dignity or safety. So 
 retentive was his memory that he learnt, as it is said, the 
 names and faces even of the common soldiers of the 
 legions, could speak to them of their deeds of valour or 
 of their honourable wounds, and make each feel that he 
 was singled out for special notice. It was, they saw, 
 no mere holiday campaign such as Emperors had some- 
 times come from Rome to witness, with its parade of un- 
 real victories and idle triumphs, but the stern reality of 
 war under a commander trained in life-long service, 
 like the great generals of earlier days. Full of reliance 
 in their leader, and in the high tone of discipline which he 
 restored, they were eager to begin the strife and looked 
 forward to success as sure. 
 
 For details of the progress of the war we may look in 
 
 vain to the histories of ancient writers. The 
 
 For details of cnap t ers f Dion Cassius which treated of 
 
 the war we l 
 
 must look to it have come down to us only in a meagre 
 
 mjiiumems 
 
 mor. than to summary. Later epitomists compress into a 
 writers. 16 " 1 P a g e tne whole story of the reign. Monu- 
 mental evidence indeed gives more details. 
 The bridges, fortresses, and road works of Trajan 
 stamped themselves in local names upon the common 
 language of the country, and left enduring traces which 
 remain even to this day. We may track the course of 
 the invading legions by *.he inscriptions graven by 
 
.- - --- 
 
 • 
 
97-H7- Trajan. 31 
 
 pious fingers to the memory of the comrades who had 
 fallen; and the cunning hands of artists have bodied 
 forth to fancy in a thousand varied forms scene after 
 scene in the progress of the conquering armies. But 
 even with such help we can draw at best 
 
 r I he course 
 
 but the outline of the campaigns, and can- of the 
 
 . _ . . . ,~, campaign. 
 
 not hope for any definite precision. I he 
 forces that had made their way through Pannonia by 
 different routes, were first assembled probably at Seges- 
 tica (Sissek) on the Save, which Strabo speaks of as 
 the natural starting point for a war in Dacia, and which 
 had long before been strongly fortified for such a purpose. 
 Here boats could be drawn together and sent down the 
 stream for future use, while on the road along the river's 
 banks, at which the legionaries of Tiberius had toiled 
 already, new magazines and forts were formed to protect 
 their communications in the rear, and letters carved 
 upon the rocks near Ogradina tell us of the energy of 
 Trajan's engineers. Moving steadily to the eastward 
 they at last crossed the Danube at two points between 
 Belgrade and Orsova, probably at Viminacium and 
 Tierna, at each of which a bridge of boats was made 
 where the stream was at its narrowest. 
 
 With one half of the army the Emperor crossed in 
 person, the other was left to the command of Lusius 
 Quietus, a Moor, the most tried and trusty of his gene- 
 rals. The invaders were to move at first by separate 
 roads, but to converge at the entrance of the single 
 mountain pass which led to the stronghold of the 
 Dacians. The enemy, meantime, had made no effort to 
 molest them on their march, or to bar their way across 
 the river. 
 
 Envoys came, indeed, as if to treat for peace; but it 
 was remarked that they were men only of mean rank, who 
 
32 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 wore long hair and went bareheaded, and 
 
 they were sent away unheeded. Forged 
 despatches, too, were brought as if from neighbouring 
 peoples to urge him to make peace and to be gone ; but 
 Trajan, suspecting treachery, was resolute and wary, 
 and in the spring pushed steadily forward on his way- 
 Ambassadors arrived once more, this time of the higher 
 rank that gave the privilege of wearing hats upon their 
 heads, like the Spanish grandees who by special grace 
 might be covered in the presence of the king. Through 
 them Decebalus, their master, sued for mercy, and 
 offered to submit to any terms that the ministers of 
 Trajan might impose. It Was, however, only to gain 
 time, for he would not meet the Roman envoys, but 
 suddenly appeared in arms, and springing upon the 
 
 legions on their march, closed with them at 
 cf h Ta a se le Tapae in a desperate engagement. The 
 
 combatants were fairly matched, and fought 
 on with a desperate valour, for each knew that their 
 sovereign was present in their ranks. The Dacians 
 at length were routed, but the victory was dearly bought, 
 for the battle-field was strewn with the dying and the 
 dead; there was not even lint enough to dress the 
 wounds, and the Emperor tore his own clothes to pieces 
 to staunch the blood of the men who lay about him. 
 The other army had been also waylaid upon its march, 
 but beating its assailants back, it made its way to a junc- 
 tion with the rest. 
 
 They had been moving hitherto since they left the 
 
 Danube in what is now called the Austrian Banat, from 
 
 , , which Transvlvania, the centre of the old 
 
 the advance J 
 
 into Transyl- Dacian kingdom, is parted by a formidable 
 
 barrier of mountains. One road alone passed 
 
 through a narrow rift in the great chain, called the Iron 
 
97-H7- Trajan. 33 
 
 Gate, either from the strength of the steep defiles or from 
 the neighbouring mines. Through these the Romans 
 had to pass, like the travellers of later days. A less de- 
 termined leader might have shrunk from the hazardous 
 enterprise before him ; but Trajan pushed resolutely on, 
 seized the heights with his light troops, and by dint of 
 hard fighting cleared a passage through the mountains. 
 Where the narrow valley widens out into the open 
 country in the Hatszeger Thai, the camp may still be 
 seen where the Romans lay for a while entrenched to 
 rest after the hardships of the march before 
 they joined battle with Decebalus once and R . oman 
 
 J J victories 
 
 more. Sarmizegethusa (Varhely), the strong- 
 hold of the Dacian chieftain, was now threatened, and in 
 its defence the nation made its last decisive stand. 
 Once more, after hard fighting, they gave way, and re- 
 sistance now seemed hopeless. The spirit of their king 
 was broken, for his sister in a strongly guarded fort had 
 fallen into the invader's power, and a last embassy of 
 notables was sent, with their hands tied behind their 
 backs, in token of entire submission. Hard terms of 
 peace were offered and accepted. The Dacian was to 
 raze his strongholds to the ground, to give up his con- 
 quests from the neighbouring peoples, and to send back 
 the artists, mechanics, and drill sergeants who had been 
 enticed across the border to teach the arts 
 
 , bring the first 
 
 f peace and war. He consented even to wa rtoaclose. 
 send his deputies to beg the Roman senate A ' D- io2 ' 
 to ratify the treaty now agreed on, and stooped so far as 
 to come himself to Trajan's presence, to do homage to 
 his conqueror. 
 
 The war had spread over two years already, and it 
 was hazardous for the emperor to linger so far and so 
 long away from Rome. But he could not well have 
 
34 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 hoped that the struggle was quite ended. Decebalus 
 
 had been humbled but not crushed ; his own kingdom 
 
 of Transylvania had not been overrun, and his people 
 
 were brave and loyal still. He might fairly count on the 
 
 alliance of his neighbours on the east, and even of the 
 
 Parthians, who were brought together by their jealousy 
 
 of Rome. Soon it was heard that he was stirring to 
 
 avenge his recent losses. The dismantled fortresses 
 
 were rebuilt and garrisoned afresh; lukewarm friends 
 
 or deserters from his cause were made to feel his power, 
 
 and all his skill in diplomacy was strained to organize a 
 
 _ , league of warlike nations, and dispose of 
 
 But the f » r 
 
 peace did not their forces in the field. Then Trajan knew 
 
 last lone;, and , , , . . . .. . . . 
 
 war broke he must delay no longer if he would not see 
 out again. ^e wor k f y ears crumble into pieces ; so 
 
 after a breathing space of a few months he set out once 
 more for the old scene of action, resolved to turn Dacia 
 at last into a tributary province. 
 
 He had first to meet treachery before open force was 
 tried. Assassins were sent to take his life in Mcesia 
 and when the murderous project failed, Longinus, the 
 commander of a contingent, was decoyed under the 
 plea of a conference with the Dacian chief, who seized 
 and held him captive with the threat that he would only 
 give him back alive if the legions were withdrawn and 
 peace secured. The high-souled Roman had no wish to 
 buy his safety with his country's loss ; he would not even 
 expose his sovereign to the cruel embarrassment of 
 choice, but hastened to meet the inevitable 
 Trajan death. It was left to Trajan to avenge him. 
 
 made great •> ° 
 
 preparations His plan of the campaign was soon ma- 
 
 and built a 
 
 bridge of tured, and the needful preparations set on 
 
 thTrjanube. foot. Of these the greatest was the bridge 
 
 across the Danube. Not content with 
 
97-117- Trajan. 35 
 
 having one or more of boats, such as was soon made in 
 the last war, he resolved to build upon a grander 
 scale a bridge of stone, or possibly to finish one which 
 had been begun already in the course of the first war, 
 that so he might be secured in his return against frost or 
 a sudden blow, Dion Cassius, who as governor of Pan- 
 nonia in later years could see so much of the work as 
 time had spared, writes strongly in the expression of his 
 wonder, and regards it as the greatest of the Emperor's 
 creations. Each, he says, of the twenty piers on which 
 the arches rested was 60 feet in breadth and 150 high, 
 without taking count of the foundations. It was in ruins 
 in his time ; but the mighty piers were standing to show 
 the greatness of Trajan's aims and the skill of his engi- 
 neer Apollodorus. Between the Wallachian Turn- 
 Severin near the town of Czernetz and the Servian Cla- 
 dova, remains may still be seen of what was probably 
 once the famous bridge. From this point along the 
 right bank of the river runs an old Roman road which 
 the Wallachs still call Trajan's highway, and passing 
 through a mountain gorge it may be traced as far as 
 Hermannstadt. Where it entered the Car- _, , . 
 
 1 he legions 
 
 pathians it was fortified by works of which converged on 
 
 *.r_ << t> j t> >» -.. _ «. tX. Transylvania 
 
 the "Red Tower- gives its name to the by various 
 whole pass, while "Trajan's Gate " is still P asses 
 standing in memory of his invading armv. But the 
 work was to be done thoroughly this time, and the ene- 
 my to be taken on all sides. The advan- 
 cing legions tramped along every great road 
 which from the south or west converged on the little 
 Dacian kingdom that lay entrenched within its fence of 
 mountains. Through the Iron Gates and the Volcan 
 Pass and the gorge of the Red Tower they stormed the 
 defences raised to bar their way, and after many a hard 
 
$6 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 struggle swept their enemies before them by the sheer 
 weight of steady discipline, till at last they stood in the 
 heart of the Dacian kingdom. 
 
 The league on which Decebalus had counted came to 
 
 nothing : old adherents slunk away, and looked-for 
 
 . . allies had stood aloof, so that he was left to 
 
 and after obsti- 
 nate fightiug fight on unaided to the bitter end. Tracked 
 
 Dacian power, like a wild beast from lair to lair, he saw 
 a.d. 106. one a f ter anot h er of his castles wrested from 
 
 him, and only when his chief stronghold could hold out no 
 longer, did he close the struggle by a voluntary death. 
 
 Many of his loyal followers were faithful to him to the 
 last, and setting fire to their homes passed from hand to 
 hand the poisoned cup, unwilling to survive the freedom 
 of the country which they loved. 
 
 When the last city had been stormed, the treasures of 
 the fallen Dacian, in spite of his precautions, passed in- 
 to the victor's hands. In vain had he turned aside the 
 stream Sargetia (Istrig) from its bed, and had a secret 
 chamber for his hoards built in the dry channel by his 
 prisoners of war. In vain had he, so ran the story, re- 
 stored the current to its former bed, and butchered the 
 captives when their work was done. One friend and 
 confidant alone was left alive, but he was languishing in 
 Roman bonds, and told the story to buy life or favour. 
 
 The war was over ; the kingdom of Dacia had ceased 
 to be, and it remained only to organize the conquest. 
 No time was lost in completing and extending the great 
 roads which led from the points where Trajan's bridges 
 „, , had been built. Strong works were raised 
 
 To complete 
 
 the conquest for their defence as they entered the moun- 
 was C coion- y tain passes, and fortresses to command their 
 ised an.j outlets from the highlands, while in the cen- 
 
 gamsor.ed, _ *• 
 
 tral spots on which the highways converged. 
 
97-H7- Trajan. 37 
 
 new towns rose apace with Romanized names and 
 charters of Italian rights. Many of the old inhabitants 
 who had escaped the horrors of the war had left their 
 ruined homesteads, and bidding farewell for ever to 
 their country, had sought a shelter among the kindred 
 races to the east ; but their place was taken by the vet- 
 erans, who were rewarded for their hardihood with pen- 
 sions and with land, while yet further to make good the 
 waste of life throughout the ravaged country, colonists 
 came streaming at the Emperor's call from all the border 
 provinces, which were still full of hardy peasants only 
 latelv brought within the range of Roman influence, but 
 now ready in their turn to be the pioneers of civilized 
 progress in the far-off Carpathian valleys. After them, 
 or even with the armies, went the engineers, the archi- 
 tects, the artists of the older culture. Temples and baths, 
 aqueducts and theatres rose speedily among the town- 
 ships, and monuments of every kind are strewn over the 
 land, so that few regions have had more to tell the anti- 
 quarian than this last corner in the Roman empire. 
 Strange to say, even the ancestral faith of the conquered 
 Dacians was lost to view, and while the inscriptions 
 found among their ruins bear witness to the exotic rites 
 of eastern deities which now took root among them, 
 there are no tokens seemingly of the old national religion. 
 Nor are there wanting still more enduring traces of the 
 conquest to show how thoroughly the work was done. 
 Though soon exposed to the pressure of invading races 
 in the gradual disruption of the Roman and the , an . 
 world, and torn away completelv from the ^ieoC old 
 
 , _ ' J Rome survives 
 
 rest before two centuries had passed, though in -he Waii- 
 
 1 1 .,, ■, i-1-.-i , achian or Rou« 
 
 scourged and pillaged ruthlessly by the manianto' 
 Goths and Huns, the Slavs and Mongols, fejTwas 
 who swept the land by turns and drove its her influence. 
 
38 The Age of the Antonines. ad. 
 
 people to their mountain homes, it still clung to the 
 memory of Trajan, and gave his name to many a mon- 
 ument of force and greatness, while the language of old 
 Rome planted by his colonists survived the rude shock 
 of barbarous war and the slow process of decay, and as 
 spoken by the mouths of the Roumans and the Wallachs 
 of the Danube still proves its undoubted sisterhood 
 with the French or the Italian of our day. 
 
 To commemorate the glory of successes which had 
 
 given to the empire a province of 1,000 miles in circuit, 
 
 a monument at Rome seemed needed on a 
 
 rhemonu- scale of corresponding grandeur. To find 
 mdit ot the L & ° 
 
 Dacian r^m for it a space was cleared on the high 
 
 victory ii. 
 
 irajan's ridge which ran between the Capitoline and 
 
 a.™"^. * ne Quirinal hills. Within this space a new 
 
 forum was laid out, and the skill of Apoll- 
 odorus, the great designer of the age, was tasked 
 to adorn it worthily. A .t the entrance rose the triumphal 
 arch, of which some of the statuary and bas-reliefs may 
 still be seen in the arch of Corfstantine, although disfig- 
 ured by the tasteless additions of a latter age. Opposite 
 was built the great basilica, one of the covered colonnades 
 which served then for an exchange and law-court, and of 
 which the name was borrowed from the portico at Athens, 
 while the form lasted on to set the type of the early Chris- 
 tian churches. In the centre of the forum, as in the place 
 of honour, was a statue of the Emperor on horseback. 
 All around in every corner were statues and warlike em- 
 blems of the conquest, to which the later emperors added 
 in their turn, till art sunk under Constantine too low to 
 do more than spoil the ornaments which it borrowed. 
 Close by was the great library, rich above all others in 
 statute law and jurisprudence, and graced with the busts 
 of all the undying dead in art and literature and science. 
 
97—117- Trajan. 39 
 
 Far above all towered Trajan's famous column, the 
 height of which, 128 feet in all, marked the quantity of 
 earth which had been cleared away below 
 the level of the hill in the place of which the phal column, 
 forum stood. Twenty-three blocks of mar- KX> ' II3 ' 
 ble only are piled upon each other to make up the col- 
 umn's shaft, round which winds in spiral form the long 
 series of sculptured groups, which give us at once a live- 
 ly portraiture of the details of Roman warfare and all 
 the special incidents of the Dacian campaigns. Though 
 we have often little clue to time or place or actual cir- 
 cumstance, still we can follow from the scenes before us 
 the invading army on the march, see them cross each 
 river on their bridge of boats, force their way through 
 rock and forest, storm and burn the strongholds of the 
 enemy, and bring the spoils of war to grace the triumph 
 of their leader. We can distinguish the trousered Da- 
 cians with their belted tunics, skirmishing outside their 
 quarters, over which flies the national symbol of the dra- 
 gon, while the stockades are decked with the ghastly 
 skulls torn from their fallen enemies. Their ferocity is 
 pictured to our fancy in the scene where the Roman 
 corpses are mangled on their chariot wheels, or where 
 their women gather round the captive legionary and 
 hold the lighted torches to his limbs. We see them 
 sue for pardon with their outstretched hands, or wend 
 their way in sad procession from their homes, with 
 wives and children, flocks and herds, turning their 
 backs upon their devastated country, or when driven 
 like wild beasts to bay, crowd round the poisoned goblet 
 and roll in the agonies of death upon the ground. 
 
 This monument, the crowning glory of the splendid 
 forum, is left to us well nigh unscathed by the ravages 
 of time, save that the gilding and the colours have 
 
4o The Age of the Antonines. a.d 
 
 faded almost wholly from the sculpture. 
 cohimnls anc ^ that Trajan's statue which once took 
 
 left of the j ts s tand by natural right upon the too 
 
 scene on J ° r " 
 
 which Con- has been replaced by that of the Apostle 
 
 stantius . . 
 
 looked with Paul. Little remains to us of all the rest, 
 
 admiration. i • i i_ r i i 
 
 Ammian. b ut we may judge somewhat of our loss by 
 
 Marceil. fae terms in which an old historian describes 
 
 XVI. IO. 
 
 the scene as it first met the eyes of the 
 Emperor Constantius at his entry into Rome two centu- 
 ries later. He gazed with wonder, we are told, at the 
 historic glories of the ancient city, but when he came to 
 Trajan's forum he stood speechless for awhile with 
 admiration at a work which seemed to rise far above 
 the power of words to paint or the art of later days to 
 copy. In despair of doing anything so great as what he 
 looked on, he said at last that he would rest content 
 with having a horse made to match the one which 
 carried Trajan. But Hormisdas, a Persian noble who 
 was standing at his side, said, " It would be well to build 
 the stable first, for your horse should be lodged as 
 royally as the one which we admire.'' 
 
 While the conquering eagles were thus 
 of h Arab?a UeSt borne over new lands in the far north, the 
 
 frontier line was also carried forward on the 
 south. Cornelius Palma, the regent of Syria marched 
 over the sandy deserts of Arabia, which had never 
 seen the arms of Rome since drought and pestilence 
 beat back the soldiers of Augustus. The country of the 
 
 Idumaean Petra was subdued, and imperial 
 jljb. 105 to coins of this period pourtray Arabia in 
 
 woman's form offering to Trajan incense 
 and perfumes in token of submission, while the fame 
 of these successes brought embassies to sue for peace 
 from countries hitherto unknown. 
 
97-117, Trajan. 41 
 
 The triumph that followed all these victories was one 
 of extraordinary splendour and ferocity. For one hun- 
 dred and twenty days the long round of bloody specta- 
 cles went on : wild beasts of every kind died by thousands 
 in the circus, and the prisoners of war fenced with each 
 other in theirbloody sport till the idle populace was grati- 
 fied and sated by the offering of some ten thousand lives. 
 
 And now for years Trajan and the world had peace, 
 broken only perhaps by a short campaign against the 
 Parthians, to which some. questionable evidence of med- 
 als and church writers seems to point, although secular 
 history is wholly silent on the subject. 
 
 There was enough indeed to occupy his thoughts 
 meantime. The cares of office on so vast a scale, the 
 oversight of so much ministerial work, the grandiose 
 constructions in the capital and throughout Italy, the 
 plans tor usefulness and charity described already, 
 formed labour enough for any single mind. There was 
 no fear therefore that his powers should rust away from 
 inaction in a time of peace. But there might possibly be 
 dangers of another sort. To this period belong seem- 
 ingly the rumours of traitorous designs and plots against 
 his life, to which he gave indeed no open credence, 
 but loftily professed his disregard, which may, however, 
 have ruffled the calm even of his resolute nature, 
 and sickened him of longer stay at Rome. For there 
 was something feverish in the life of the great city ; the 
 air was charged with thunder clouds which rpight burst at 
 any moment. Few of the rulers who had livjed before him 
 but had cause to fear the fickle passions of the populace or 
 guards, or the jealousy of unscrupulous intriguers. 
 
 Once more therefore he resolved on war, in part per- 
 haps from tne feelings of disquietude at home, in part it 
 may be from the overweening sense of absolute power, 
 
42 The Age of the Antonines. a d. 
 
 and the restlessness of the great conqueror, spurred on 
 by his ambition for more glory 
 
 There was one rival only of historic name, the Par- 
 thian empire of the east, and with that it was not hard 
 to pick a quarrel. Its sovereign Chosroes 
 against^" had lately claimed to treat Armenia, as a 
 Parthia. dependent fief, and had set a nephew of his 
 
 A.D. 173. r r 
 
 own upon the throne, though the Romans 
 had long looked upon it as a vassal kingdom, and Nero 
 as a suzerain had set the crown upon its prince's head. 
 No time was lost in resenting the affront, and instant war 
 was threatened if the intruder did not withdraw his forces 
 from Armenia, and leave the new-made monarch to his 
 fate. The pretext was caught at the more gladly, as 
 on this side only of the empire was the frontier line 
 still undecided, and an organized power was left in arms 
 to menace the boundaries of Rome. 
 
 Once more the note of preparation sounded for the 
 war, the arsenals were all astir, and the tramp of the ad- 
 vancing legions was heard along the highways of the 
 east. Before long the Emperor himself was on his way 
 to take the field in person with his troops ; but at Athens 
 where he halted for a time, he was met by the am- 
 bassadors who came to sue for peace and offer presents, 
 and beg him in their master's name to accept the hom- 
 age of another kinsman in place of the one who had 
 already forfeited the kingdom which was given him. 
 For the Parthians were no longer in the heyday of their 
 national vigour, as when they shattered the hosts of 
 Crassus on the fatal field of Carrhae, or swept almost 
 without a check through western Asia and drove M. 
 Antonius back from a fruitless and inglorious campaign. 
 Three centuries ago they had made themselves a name 
 in history by humbling the dynasty of Syria ; the energy 
 
97 _II 7- Trajan. 43 
 
 of conquest had carried them from their highland homes 
 and sent the thrones of Asia toppling down 
 before them, till all from the Euphrates ^ r °ng t h was 
 to the Oxus and Hydaspes owned their * hen In lts 
 
 J r decay, 
 
 sway ; but now the tide had spent its force 
 and the great empire was slowly sinking to decay. 
 Like the Turks of later days they had no genius to 
 organize or to create, but were at bebt an aristocracy of 
 warlike clans, lording it over subject peoples, full of 
 their pride of race and barbarous disdain of all the arts 
 of civilized progress, encamped awhile among the great 
 historic cities of the past, but only to waste and to de- 
 stroy. The currents of the national lifeblood now flowed 
 feebly ; the family feuds of the Arsacidse, the ruling 
 line, threatened to distract their forces, and they could 
 scarcely make good with the sword their right to what 
 the sword alone had won. 
 
 Trajan knew possibly something of their weakness, 
 or expressed only the self-reliance of his own strong 
 will, when he answered the envoys in a haughty strain, 
 telling them that friends were secured by deeds and not 
 by fair words, and that he would take such action as 
 seemed good when he arrived upon the scene. From 
 Athens he went forward on his way to the fortress of 
 Seleucia, the key of Syria, proud of the ^ . 
 
 Tr3.13.ri cirri vcs 
 
 memory of its famous siege, and of the at Amioch, 
 gift of Roman freedom won by its stout de- Jan ' A " D * II4 ' 
 fence against Tigranes. ^FKence he marched to the 
 neighbouring Antioch^nrwhose crowded streets the so- 
 cial currents of tljeiiast and West were blended, the 
 city where the^name of Christian was first heard, but 
 where alsp^the cypress groves of Daphne were the 
 haunts /df infamous debauchery in religion's name. 
 Thicker came ambassadors to ask for peace ; the satraps 
 
44 The Age of the Antonines. A.D, 
 
 and petty chieftains met him on his way, and swore 
 
 fealty to their lord and master. 
 
 He passed on to the Euphrates, and no one appeared 
 
 in arms to bar his road. The new Arsacid in Armenia, 
 
 , so lately seated on the throne, had sent al- 
 
 and marcnes 
 
 through ready more than once to Trajan. But his 
 
 first letter was written in lofty style as to a 
 brother king, and was therefore left without an answer; 
 the second struck a lower note, and offered to do homasrd 
 through the governor of a neighbouring province. Even 
 this the Emperor scarcely deigned to notice, would not 
 even for a time displace the official from his post, but 
 merely sent the governor's son to bear this answer. 
 
 Before long the legions in their march had crossed 
 
 the confines of Armenia; the towns by which they 
 
 passed were occupied without a blow, and the princely 
 
 Parthamasiris was summoned to his master's presence 
 
 in the heart of a countrv that was lately ah 
 
 whose king ■* J 
 
 Parthamasiris, his own. There on a lofty seat sat Traja™ 
 
 came to the , , ...'-. , 
 
 camp to do on the earth-works raised for the entrench- 
 homage ; ments of the camp, while the legions stood 
 
 around as on parade. The prince bowed low before thb 
 throne, and laid his diadem before the Emperor's feet, 
 then waited silently in hope to see it replaced with 
 graceful courtesy upon his head. But he hoped and 
 waited all in vain; the soldiers who stood near raised 
 a shout of triumph at his act of self-abasement, and 
 startled at the din he turned as if in act to fly, but only 
 to find himself girt in by armed battalions, from whuni 
 escape seemed hopeless. Regaining self-control he 
 begged to be received in private interview; but baffled 
 of his hopes, he turned at last with anger and despiir to 
 quit the camp. Before he had gone far he was recalled, 
 brought once more before the throne, and bidden to 
 
97-JI7- Trajan. 45 
 
 make his suit in the hearing of the legions. Then at 
 last the chieftain's pride took fire, and he gave his in- 
 dignation vent. He came, he said, not as . 
 
 but was de- 
 
 a conquered foeman or an humble vassal, posed, and 
 
 br 1 • r 1 • . .1 • slain when he 
 
 ut of his tree cnoice to court the majesty attempted to 
 
 of Rome. He had laid his crown down as resist - 
 
 a token of respect, but looked to have his kingdom given 
 
 him again, as to Tiridates in like case from Nero's hands. 
 
 The Emperor's reply was stern and brief. Armenia was 
 
 to be henceforth a Roman province, and its line of kings 
 
 •was closed ; but for the rest the ex-monarch and his 
 
 followers might go safely where they pleased. But the 
 
 Armenian prince was too high-spirited to 
 
 yield without a struggle; he flew to arms, it £\ Fron , t ?.' 
 
 J 00 » . » Pnnc. Hist. 
 
 seems, and was slain soon after at a word 
 
 from Trajan, who had not generosity enough to spare 
 
 the rival whom he had humbled. 
 
 Then a panic spread through all the courts of Asia. 
 From far-off regions, little known before, came humble 
 offers of submission to the invader who was so master- 
 ful and stern ; and wary intriguers, who had kept away 
 before, found to their dismay that they could 
 not longer play upon him with ambiguous terroTand 
 words. The distant chiefs indeed were submission 
 
 in the 
 
 allowed to hold their own, but in all the neighbouring 
 
 , , ... princes, 
 
 country between the two great rivers in the 
 
 track of the advancing army, the native prijiees were 
 
 deposed and Roman governors took tjieir'place. 
 
 Meantime the postal service^haa been organized with 
 
 special care. On the gfeat roads that led to Rc-me 
 
 carriages and relays of horses conveyed the couriers with 
 
 their state despatches ; and the great city traced from 
 
 week to week the course of the campaign through scenes 
 
 beyond the range of their experience or fancy, listening 
 
46 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 with a lively wonder to the lengthening tale of bloodless 
 conquests. The Senate vainly tried to find a list of fit- 
 ting honours for their prince; they voted the 
 triumph at solemn services and days of thanksgiving, 
 Romo ' and called him Parthicus as they had styled 
 
 him Dacius after the last war, but above all other titles of 
 their choice he prided himself the most on that of 
 Optimus (the Best), linked as it was in popular fancy 
 with the name of Jupiter, mightiest of the gods of Rome, 
 and pointing as he seemed to think more to the graces 
 of his character than to the glories of his arms. 
 
 But the gladness of the general triumph, both at home 
 
 and at the seat of war, was rudely broken by the tidings 
 
 of a great disaster. While the soldiers were 
 
 But the . . ,-ii i 
 
 great earth- resting from their labours in their winter 
 Ami!,ch at quarters, an earthquake of appalling force 
 
 spread ruin shook many of the towns of Asia, and 
 
 and dismay " 
 
 among Tra- marked its power at Antioch by features of 
 Dec! 13, especial horror. The fair city was at all 
 
 J.'^alaias. times a teeming hive of population ; mer- 
 chants and mariners of every land were 
 crowded in its port on the Orontes ; art and luxury and 
 learning drew the votaries of fashion to the great Broad- 
 way of Epiphanes which ran its level course four miles 
 in length, with spacious colonnades on either side. But 
 at this time especially the Emperor's presence brought 
 a more than usual concourse thither. Soldiers and 
 courtiers, litigants and senators, sightseers and traders 
 jostled each other in the streets and mingled the 
 languages of East and West. The more fatal therefore 
 was the sudden blow which carried sorrow and bereave- 
 ment to men's homes in every land. We need not 
 dwell upon the too familiar features of all the great 
 earthquakes that we hear of. Here, too, we read of the 
 
97 _II 7- Trajan. 47 
 
 mysterious rumblings underground, of the heaving and 
 the rocking earth, of the houses crashing into ruins and 
 burying their inmates in the wreck, of the few survivors 
 disinterred at last from what might have been their 
 tomb. It adds little to the genuine horrors of the scene 
 to be told in the fanciful language of a later writer of the 
 babe found sucking at the breast of the mother who was 
 cold and dead, or of the unknown visitor of unearthly 
 stature who beckoned the Emperor from th.e place of 
 danger to the open ground within the circus, where he 
 stayed for days till the earthquake passed away. 
 
 But the thoughts of the soldiers were soon called away 
 from these memories of gloom and desolation. In early 
 spring once more the Emperor took the field 
 
 ..... c He took the 
 
 with overwhelming forces. It was no easy field again, 
 task, indeed, to cross the rapid current of the Tigris 
 the Tigris in the face of an enemy drawn up A-D- II6, 
 in arms upon the bank, and in a country where no tim- 
 ber grew for rafts. But through the winter months the 
 highland forests had been felled far up the river ; ship- 
 builders had been busy with their work, and boats w-ere 
 brought in pieces to the water's edge, where they were 
 joined together and floated down the stream to the point 
 chosen for the passage. Then the flotillas suddenly ap- 
 peared in swarms before the eyes of the startled natives, 
 and manned by overpowering numbers, pushed rapidly 
 across the river, and dislodged the thin lines 
 
 . carried 
 
 that stood to bar the way. The Parthians, all before 
 
 struck with panic at their resolute advance 
 or distracted by civil feuds, were swept away before 
 them, and scarcely fronted them again that year to strike 
 a blow for independence. 
 
 Onward the legions tramped in steady progress, but 
 their march was a triumphal pageant. They neared the 
 
48 The Age of the Anto?iines. A.D. 
 
 ruins of Nineveh, capital of the Assyria of ancient story; 
 passed by the battle-field of Arbela, where the pha- 
 lanx of Alexander routed the multitudinous hosts of Per- 
 sia : at Babylon they saw the wonders done of old by 
 the builders and engineers of early despots. Ctesiphon, 
 with the winter palace of the Parthian king, fell into 
 their hands, with the neighbouring Seleucia, that still re- 
 tained the semblance of a shadowy republic, though a 
 royal fortress towered above it. Not content with sweep- 
 ing all before them in Assyria, they pushed onward yet 
 to Susa, the old residence of Persian monarchs. The 
 daughter of the Parthian king became a captive ; his 
 throne of beaten gold was sent as a trophy to the Roman 
 Senate, which heard the exciting tidings that one after 
 another the great cities of historic fame had passed 
 under the Emperor's sway, who was following in the 
 steps of Alexander and pining for more worlds to con- 
 quer. Indeed, old as he was, he seemed 
 and pushed possessed with the daring of adventurous 
 
 on as lar as * ° 
 
 the Persian youth. Taking ship, we read, on the Eu- 
 phrates, he let the current bear him to its 
 mouth, and there upon the shores of ocean saw the mer- 
 chant-boats set sail for India, the land of fable and ro- 
 mance, and dreamed of enterprises still to come in 
 countries where the Roman eagles were unknown. 
 
 But his career of triumph was now closed, and the 
 few months of life which still were left- to him were cloud- 
 ed with the gloom of failure and disaster. While he 
 was roaming as a knight-errant in quest of adventures 
 far away, the conquered countries were in 
 
 But the ■" i,, . . 
 
 lately con- arms once more. The cities of Assyria rose 
 countries against his garrisons as soon as the spell of 
 
 rose in his his name and presence was removed ; Ara- 
 bia and Edessa flung off their allegiance ; 
 
97~ii7' Trajan. 49 
 
 and the Jews of Cyrenaica, Egypt and Cyprus sprung in 
 blind fury at their Roman masters, as if to avenge the 
 cruelties practised long ago in Palestine by Titus. This 
 fieice explosion of fanatic zeal from a people girt about by 
 alien races was hopeless, of course, and sternly repressed 
 with fire and sword. To secure his hold on Parthia the 
 Emperor set up a puppet-king, and crowned him with 
 great parade at Ctesiphon, but could not give him the 
 right to claim or the force to secure the loyalty of an 
 unwilling nation. His generals marched with dubious 
 success against the cities that had risen in revolt, while 
 he took neld himself against a petty power 
 of the south, whose only strength lay in the failed to 
 desert in which it was entrenched. He dis- f e ? V n hls 
 
 hold upon 
 
 played in the campaign all his old hardi- them before 
 hood and valour, and led more than once strength 
 his horsemen to the charge ; but heat and ^retti. 1 "™ 
 drought and sickness baffled all his efforts, 
 and drove him back at last with tarnished fame and ru- 
 ined health. 
 
 Once more he talked of marching to chastise the 
 rebels in Chaldea, but his strength was failing fast, and 
 it was time to leave the scenes where he had won so 
 much of fruitless glory, and swept all before him like a 
 passing storm. He set his face towards Italy upon his 
 homeward way; but the long journey was too much for 
 his enfeebled frame, and he sank down at Selinus in 
 Cilicia, after nearly twenty years of monarchy and more 
 than sixty of a stirring life. 
 
 So died the strongest and the justest of the imperial 
 rulers whom Rome had seen as yet. Only in the last 
 war can we see the traces of the despot's He died af 
 arrogance and vainglory. The Dacian cam- Selinus. 
 
 • 1 ii , - , Augustus 
 
 paigns might well seem needful to secure a 
 
50 The Age of the Antonines. ad. 
 
 frontier and chastise an insolent aggressor; and to the 
 soldier's eye, perhaps, there was a danger that, after a 
 century of peace, the Roman empire might 
 settle on its lees, and lose its energy and 
 self-respect. At home, in the routine of civil government 
 he was wary and vigilant and self restrained, rising as 
 ruler and as judge above the suspicion of personal 
 bias and caprice, promptly curbing the wrong-doer and 
 checking the officious zeal of his own ministers. He was 
 natural and unaffected in the gentle courtesies of com- 
 mon life, cared little for the outer forms of rank, and was 
 easy of access to the meanest of his people. 
 
 Dion Cassius, who never fails to insist upon the darker 
 side of every character which he describes, says that he 
 was lascivious in feeling, and given to habits of hard 
 drinking, but owns that he can find no record of any- 
 wrong or harm done by him in such moods. The re- 
 fined Pliny paints for us a different picture of the social 
 life in which he took a part. Coming fresh from the 
 meetings of the privy council held for some days in the 
 Emperor's villa, he tells us how he spent 
 
 Ep. vi. 31. , . _,, r 
 
 the time at court. The fare, it seems, was 
 somewhat simple; there was no costly show of entertain- 
 ments ; but publjc readings amused the guests, and lite- 
 rary discussions followed with pleasant converse far into 
 the night. 
 
 Through the great monuments which were called after 
 his name, Trajan stood to the fancy of the middle ages 
 
 as a personal symbol of the force and 
 worloTof art grandeur of old Rome; but art and poetry 
 affect-dpow- brought him forward also as the favourite 
 
 erfully the & 
 
 imagination of type of heathen justice. A scene in the 
 
 sculptures of his forum represented him as 
 
 starting for the wars, while a woman was bending low 
 
9 7~ 1 1 7- Trajan. 5 1 
 
 with piteous gesture at his feet. Out of this a legend 
 grew that a poor widow came to him to ask for ven- 
 geance on the soldiers who had killed her ^ , 
 
 Taken as a 
 
 f,on. "When I come back I will listen to type of 
 
 .,, ., t- .j 1. \ i u heathen jus- 
 
 your suit, the Emperor said. And who t ice in legend 
 will right me if you die?" was the reply. and art - 
 "My successor." "Your successor; yes, but his act 
 will not profit you, and it were better surely to do the good 
 yourself and to deserve the recompense that will follow.'' 
 Trajan's heart, so ran the story, was touched by the 
 widow's earnest plea ; he waited patiently to hear her 
 case, and would not leave till she had justice done her. 
 Such is the form the legend takes in the 
 poetry of Dante, and it is with this meaning 
 that the scene was pictured to the fancy in many a work 
 of later art, such as that which we still may see at 
 Venice in one of the capitals of the Doge's palace. 
 
 It was a favourite addition to the story that Gregory 
 the Great was so moved with sympathy when it was told 
 him that he prayed for the soul of the old pagan, who, 
 having not the law, was yet a law unto himself. That 
 very night he saw a vision in his sleep, and heard that, 
 in answer to his prayer, the soul of Trajan had winged 
 its flight to join the spirits of the blest. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 HADRIAN, A. D. II7-I38. 
 
 From the story of the frank and earnest Trajan, we turn 
 with a strange sense of contrast to the hfe and character 
 of his successor, one of the most versatile The ear i ler 
 and paradoxical of men. Of the career of life of 
 
 Hadrian. 
 
 P. ^Elius Hadrianus, little is known to us for 
 
52 The Age of the Antonines. A.i>. 
 
 the forty years before he gained the throne, and the 
 meagre tale may be soon told. 
 
 Born himself at Rome, he came of a family which 
 drew its name from Hadria in Northern Italy, but had. 
 been settled for centuries in Spain. Losing his father at 
 an early age, he came under the care of Trajan, his 
 near kinsman, and after a few years, in which he made 
 such rapid progress in his studies as to be called " the 
 little Greekling," he took to hunting with such passion as 
 to need a check, and was therefore put at once into the 
 army, and taken by his guardian to the wars. The news 
 of Nerva's death found him in Upper Germany at a dis- 
 tance from his kinsman, and he was the first to carry to 
 him the tidings of his accession to the empire, outstrip- 
 ping, though on foot, the courier sent by his sister's hus- 
 band Servianus, who had contrived to make his carriage 
 break down upon the way. 
 
 The same relative tried also to make mischief by call- 
 ing Trajan's notice to the debts and youthful follies of 
 his ward ; but Hadrian still had influence at court, and 
 stood high in the good graces of Plotina, married by her 
 help the Emperor's grand niece, and had a legion given 
 him to command in the second Dacian war. In this, 
 as afterwards in Pannonia and Parthia, his gallantry 
 and powers of discipline were spoken of with marked 
 approval ; powerful friends began to rally round him 
 at the court, and to think of him and act for him as a 
 possible successor to the throne. But no decisive word 
 was uttered to encourage friends or to alarm his rivals, 
 „. , , and all up to the last were in suspense, till 
 
 His sudden r * > 
 
 elevation to he heard suddenly in Syria, where Trajan 
 
 caused ugly had left him in command, first, that the 
 
 rumours. emperor had named him as his heir, and 
 
 then a few days afterwards that the post of monarchy 
 
1 1 7-138. Hadrian. 5^ 
 
 was vacant. So sudden was the act as to give rise to 
 ugly rumours. Plotina, it was whispered, who loved 
 him fondly if not wisely, had tampered for his sake with 
 her dying husband's will, had even kept his death a 
 secret for a time, and written with her own hand the 
 letters to the Senate which named Hadrian his heir. 
 But in what we read elsewhere about Plotina she appears 
 as a type of womanly dignity and honour, and the story 
 serves best perhaps to illustrate the licence of court 
 scandal which absolute monarchy so often fosters. 
 
 The first acts of the new sovereign were temperate and 
 wary. His letters to the Senate were full of filial respect 
 for Trajan and regard for constitutional usage. He ex- 
 cused himself because the soldiers in their haste had 
 hailed him Emperor without waiting for their sanction, 
 asked for divine honours for the departed ruler, whose 
 remains he went to look upon with dutiful affection, and 
 sent to be enshrined within the famous column in the 
 forum. Declining the triumph for himself, he had Tra- 
 jan's likeness borne in state along the streets in the pa- 
 geant that was to do honour to his exploits. But for all 
 that, Hadrian was in no mood to follow in his steps, had 
 no wish to copy his love of war or his impe- 
 rial ambition. On every frontier hostile Hl * mode ; 
 
 J ration and 
 
 races were in arms ; in far-off Britain as policy of 
 well as in the East, among the Moors of 
 Africa and among the bold races of the north there were 
 rumours of invasion or revolt. There was no lack of 
 opportunities, nor, indeed, of armies trained to conquest; 
 but he was not to be tempted with the hope of military 
 laurels, and his constant policy was one of peace. He 
 withdrew at once the weak pretender forced upon the 
 Parthians by the arms of Rome, and left all the lands 
 beyond the Tigris where no western colonists had any 
 
54 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 claims upon his care. It was far otherwise in Dacia, in 
 which peaceful settlers had found a home for years, and 
 strongholds had been garrisoned for their defence. It 
 would seem therefore most unlikely that he thought of 
 drawing back his troops from the strong mountain bar- 
 rier of Transylvania, and of leaving the new province 
 to its fate. Later writers, reflecting possibly the discon- 
 tent of Trajan's generals, said indeed that he was mind- 
 ed to do this, and that he had actually begun to break 
 the bridge across the Danube ; but the facts remain, 
 that the language and the arts of Rome steadily gained 
 ground upon that northern border, and that Hadrian 
 surrendered nothing which was worth retaining. For 
 the rest, in other parts of the great empire, he was con- 
 tent to restore order, and waged no offensive warfare. 
 
 Yet, strange to say, not only had he personal hardi- 
 hood and valour, and was ready on the march to face 
 the heat and labours of the day like the 
 was accom- meanest soldier in the ranks, but he always 
 
 panied by 
 
 personal with watchful care maintained his armies 
 
 and strict in a state of vigour and efficiency that sel- 
 
 dlfciplme ^om nac ^ been rivalled. He swept away 
 
 with an unsparing hand the abuses of the 
 past, and insisted on the austere discipline of ancient 
 days, putting down with peremptory sternness the luxu- 
 rious arrangements of the camp, which even in Germa-ny 
 endangered the soldier's manliness and self-control, and 
 still more in Syria, where the wanton Antioch, hot-bed 
 of licence as it was, spread far around it the contagion 
 of its dissolute and unruly temper. In the spirit of the 
 generals of olden time he walked bareheaded alike 
 through Alpine snows and in the scorching heats of 
 Afrira, setting them thus a pattern of robust endurance. 
 In every land through which he passed he inspected 
 
117-133- Hadrian. 55 
 
 carefully the forts, encampments, arsenals, and stores, 
 and seemed to have lodged in his capacious memory 
 the story of each legion, and the names even of the rank 
 and file. 
 
 In the centre of Algeria we may still trace the ram- 
 parts of a camp where an auxiliary force was stationed 
 to defend the border and to be the pio- 
 neers of civilized progress. On a column Theinscnp- 
 
 r o tion in the 
 
 which was raised in the centre of the camp camp in 
 
 . Lambaesis. 
 
 was posted in monumental characters a 
 proclamation of the Emperor to the soldiers of this 
 distant outpost, in which he dwells upon their laborious 
 energy and loyal zeal. 
 
 Thus trained and organized, his armies were formida- 
 ble weapons for the hand of an enterprising leader; but 
 he used them wholly for repression or defence, and 
 never with aggressive aims. Even in Britain, where 
 the peaceful south was harassed by the incursions of the 
 wilder tribes, in place of any war of conquest a great 
 wall, a triple line of earthworks strengthened by a high 
 wall of solid masonry, was carried for many a mile 
 across the country, to be a barrier to the northern sav- 
 agery ; and fragments of the work may yet be seen 
 between Newcastle and Carlisle to show how earnestly 
 defence was sought by the ruler who built on such a 
 scale. 
 
 But it was no love of personal ease that clipped the 
 wings of his ambition. Instead of staying quietly at 
 Rome to take his pleasure, he was always on 
 the move, and every province witnessed in constantly 6 
 its turn the restless activitv of his imperial through the 
 
 ' l provinces. 
 
 care. The coins struck in his honour as he 
 went to and fro upon his journeys, the stately monu- 
 ments and public works which were called into being by 
 
56 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 him as he passed along, these are evidence enough, 
 when the meagre accounts of our historians fail to tell 
 us, of the wide range of his long-continued wanderings 
 and of the benefits which followed in his train. 
 
 The empire had long claimed to govern in the inter- 
 ests of the provinces, and not of Rome alone, and here 
 at last was an Emperor who seemed resolved to see with 
 his own eyes all his people's wants, to spend with liberal 
 bounty for the common good, to reform impartially the 
 abuses of old times, and lay the heavy rod of his dis- 
 pleasure upon all his weak or faithless servants. To the 
 largeness of such aims there corresponded a breadth and 
 manysidedness of character and powers; and few living 
 men were better fitted to anter with fresh interest into 
 the varied life of all the lands through which he tra- 
 velled. Had he not been emperor he might have been 
 a sort of "admirable Crichton." He had thrown him- 
 self with eager curiosity into all the art and learning of 
 his age, and his vast memory enabled him to take all 
 knowledge for his own. Poet, geometer, 
 allTbrfadth musician, orator, and artist, he had studied 
 of view and a ][ t h e p- races and accomplishments of lib- 
 
 Lirgeness of ° r 
 
 sympathy eral culture, knew something of the history 
 
 almost unique. , . . . 1 1 • 
 
 and genius of every people, could estimate 
 their literary or artistic skill, and admire the achieve- 
 ments of the past. 
 
 But he was far from travelling merely as an antiqua- 
 rian or art critic, for he left in every land enduring 
 traces of his present care. The bridges, aqueducts, and 
 theatres were repaired, fresh public works were under- 
 taken, municipal accounts were overhauled, the gover- 
 nors' official acts reviewed, and every department of the 
 public service thoroughly sifted and controlled. The 
 imperial treasury was seen to gather in its stores in the 
 
1 1 7—138. liadrian. 57 
 
 interest of the provinces at large, and not for a few dis- 
 solute favourites at court or for the idle populace of 
 Rome. To symbolize in striking forms his impartial 
 care for all his subjects, he was ready to accept local 
 offices of every kind, and discharge by deputy the 
 magisterial functions in the district towns under every 
 variety of national title. 
 
 In the movements of the imperial tourist there was 
 little luxury or ostentation. He walked or rode in mili- 
 tary guise before his guard, with his head uncovered in 
 all weather, ready to share without a murmur the legion- 
 ary's humble fare, and to bear all the heat and labour 
 of the day. History gives us few details as to the exact 
 course and order of his wanderings, but inscriptions 
 upon bronze and stone abound with the tokens of his 
 energy in every land, and of the thankfulness with 
 which each province hailed the presence of its ruler. 
 
 In Britain, which had seen no emperor since Claudius, 
 he came to inspect the menaced frontier, and to plan the 
 long lines of defence against the free races _. , 
 
 _ We hear of 
 
 of the north. In Africa we find him sooth- him in 
 ing the disquiet caused of late by the panic 
 fears of Jewish massacres and Roman vengeance. His 
 diplomacy and liberal courtesies dispel the 
 clouds of war that gather on the lines of the 
 Euphrates and are serious enough to require his pre- 
 sence on the scene. On the plains of Troy we hear of 
 him gazing around him in the spirit of a pilgrim, and 
 solemnly burying the gigantic relics in which his rever- 
 ent fancy saw the bones of Ajax. The great towns of 
 western Asia are proud to let their Emperor 
 
 , . , . , . . , ... Asia Minor. 
 
 see their wealth, their industry, their teem- 
 ing populations; they have to thank him for many a 
 public monument of note, and record upon their coinage 
 
5 8 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 in many a varying phrase and symbol his justice, liber- 
 ality, and guardian care. 
 
 But it was in Athens that he tarried longest, or hither 
 he came most frequently to find repose as in his favourite 
 home. Here in the centre of the old Hellenic art, he 
 put otf awhile the soldier and the prince, and soothed 
 himself with the amenities of liberal culture. He tried 
 
 to fancy himself back in the Greek life of 
 Athena palmier days; he presided at the public 
 
 m re than games, sat by to witness the feats of literary 
 
 skill, raised the theatres and temples from 
 their ruins, and asked to be admitted to the venerable 
 mysteries of their national faith. To the Athens of old 
 
 days he added a new quarter, to be called 
 Kberaily 6 henceforth Hadrian's city ; he gave it a new 
 
 endowed art coc j e f j aws to r } va i those of Dracon and 
 
 and learning, 
 
 of Solon, and recalled some shadowy me- 
 mories of its days of sovereign power by making it mis- 
 tress of the isle of Kephallonia. It had already acade- 
 mic fame, and drew its scholars from all lands ; its 
 public professorships had given a recognised status to 
 its studies ; fresh endowments were bestowed upon its 
 chairs with a liberal hand, and nothing was spared for 
 the encouragement of learning. 
 
 The lecturers on rhetoric and philosophy, the so-called 
 
 sophists, basked in the sunshine of imperial favour, had 
 
 immunities and bounties showered upon 
 
 honouring ., j , . , . ai c 
 
 there and them, and were raised at times to offices ot 
 
 elsewhere state and high command. One of them was 
 
 t mc pro- o 
 
 feasors of intrusted with a princely fortune to beautify 
 
 science " 
 
 the city which he honoured with his learned 
 presence. Another found his professional income large 
 enough to feed his fellow citizens in time of famine. A 
 third, the writer Arrian, was taken from his Stoic mu- 
 
1 1 7— 13S. Hadrian. 59 
 
 sings to fill the place of general and governor of Cappa- 
 docia, one of the largest of the provinces of Rome. 
 There in his turn he followed the example set him in 
 high quarters, started from Trapezus (Trebizond) upon 
 a journey of discovery round the coasts of the Black 
 Sea, visited the seats of the old colonial enterprises of 
 Miletus, studied with a careful eye the extent of trade 
 and the facilities for intercourse in prosperous regions 
 not yet ruined by the incursions of barbarian hordes. 
 The explorer's journey ended, he wrote a valuable 
 memoir to his master ; which is of interest as gather- 
 ing up all that geography had learned upon the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 There was yet another ancient land which had mani- 
 fold attractions for the tourist. It was seemingly in later 
 life that Hadrian tarried long in Egypt, to 
 
 explore the wonders of its art and study the Hadrian m 
 1 } Egypt. 
 
 genius of its people. He looked no doubt 
 with curious eye upon the pyramids, the sphinxes, and 
 the giant piles of Carnac, and the rude lines may still 
 be read upon the face of Memnon's vocal statue which 
 tell us of the visit of his wife Sabina. His curious fancy 
 found enough to stir it in the secrets of the mystic lore 
 which had been handed down from bygone ages, in the 
 strange medley of the wisdom and the folly which 
 crossed each other in the national thought, in their strong 
 hold on the belief in an unseen world and the moral 
 government of Providence, in the animal worship which 
 had plunged of late a whole neighbourhood into deadly 
 feud about the conflicting claims of "cat and ibis, and 
 made rival towns dispute in arms their right to feed in 
 their midst the sacred bull called Apis for 'the adoration 
 of the rest. He could not but admire the great museum 
 of the Ptolemies, the magnificent' seat of art and litera- 
 
6o The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 I 
 
 a' 
 
 ture and science, the home for centuries of so much 
 academic wit and learning. 
 
 In that land of many wonders the people of Alexandria 
 
 were not the least. In a letter to his brother-in-law 
 
 ..V TT . . which still remains we mav see the mocking: 
 
 Oyl Hist. Aug. ..... 
 
 ^ \ Vopisci insight with which the emperor studied the 
 
 changing moods of the great city, full, as it 
 seemed to him, of soothsayers, astrologers, and quacks, 
 \ of worshippers of Christ and votaries of Serapis, passing 
 
 Qv in their fickleness from extreme of loyalty to that of 
 
 $ N. . licence, so industrious by instinct as to tolerate no idle 
 k lounger in their midst, and yet withal so turbulent as to 
 
 be incapable of governing themselves, professing rever- 
 ence for many a rival deity, yet all alike paying their 
 court to Mammon. 
 
 But even as he scoffed at the fanciful extravagance of 
 Egypt, he was unmanned by the spell of her distempered 
 thought. As he travelled on the Nile, we read, he was 
 busy with magic arts which called for a human victim. 
 One of his train, a Bithynian shepherd of rare beauty, 
 was ready to devote himself, and died to give 
 
 The death . > i i • A 
 
 andapo- a moments pleasure to his master. An- 
 
 theosis of other story tells us only that he fell into the 
 
 Antinous. J J 
 
 river, and died an involuntary death. But 
 both agree in this at least, that Hadrian loved him 
 fondly, mourned him deeply, and would not be com- 
 forted when he was gone. He could not bring him 
 back to life, but he could honour him as no sovereign 
 had honoured man/before. The district where he died 
 must bear his name, and a city grow on the spot where 
 he was buried. If the old nomes of Egypt had their 
 tutelary beasts which they worshipped as divine, the 
 Antinoite might claim like rank for the new hero who 
 had given it a name, might build temples to his memory, 
 
1 1 7—1 38. Hadrian. 61 
 
 consult his will in oracles, and task the arts of Greece to 
 lodge him worthily. Soon the new religion spread be- 
 yond those narrow bounds. City after city of the Greek 
 and Eastern world caught the fever of this servile adora- 
 tion, built altars and temples to Antinous, founded festi- 
 vals to do him honour, and dressed him up to modern 
 fancy in the attributes and likeness of their ancient gods. 
 The sculptor's art lent itself with little scruple to the 
 spreading flattery of the fashion, reproduced him under 
 countless forms as its favourite type of beauty, while 
 poets laureate sung his praises, and provincial mints 
 put his face and name upon their medals. 
 
 We may see the tokens at this time of an influence 
 rather cosmopolitan than Roman. By his visible con- 
 cern for the well-being of the provinces, by 
 his long-continued wanderings in every 5teresis S 
 land, by his Hellenic svmpathies and tastes, cosmo- 
 
 ■' ' politan 
 
 Hadrian lessened certainly the attractive more than 
 
 force of the old imperial city, and dealt a 
 blow at her ascendancy overmen's minds. Not indeed 
 that he treated her with any marked neglect. The 
 round of shows and largesses went on as usual : the 
 public granaries were filled, the circus was supplied with 
 costly victims, and the proud paupers of the streets had 
 little cause to grumble. The old religions of home 
 growth were guarded by the state with watchful care, 
 and screened from the dangerous rivalry of the deeper 
 sentiment or more exciting rituals of the East. In her 
 streets he himself wore the toga, the citizen's traditional 
 dress of state, required the senators to do the like, and 
 so revived for a time decaying custom. But the pro- 
 vinces began to feel themselves more nearly on a level 
 with the central city. Every year the doors of citizen- 
 ship seemed to open wider as one after another of the 
 
62 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 towns was raised by special grace to the 
 
 As the 
 
 provinces Latin or the Roman status. Each Emperor 
 
 self-respect, na d done his part towards the diffusion of 
 
 ancvof end " t ^ e r i& nts which had been the privilege of 
 
 Rome and the capital in olden time ; and Hadrian 
 
 of her lan- 
 guage grew made them feel that he was ruling in the 
 
 interests of all without distinction, since he 
 spent his life in wandering through their midst, and met 
 their wants with liberal and impartial hand. They 
 looked therefore less and less to Rome to set the tone 
 and guide the fashions. The great towns of Alexandria 
 and Antioch, the thriving marts of Asia Minor, were 
 separate centres of influence and commerce ; and Greece, 
 meanwhile, spectral and decayed as were her ancient 
 cities, resumed her intellectual sway over men's minds, 
 students of all lands flocked to her university of culture, 
 and the tongue which her poets, philosophers, and 
 orators had spoken became henceforth without a rival 
 the literary language of the world. The speech of Cicero 
 and Vergil gradually lost its purity and power ; scholars 
 disdained to pen their thoughts in it : taste and fashion 
 seemed to shun it, and scarcely a great name is added 
 after this to the roll of its writers of renown. 
 
 In the sphere of law and justice another levelling in- 
 fluence had been at work which was carried 
 i-jflu nee of g further at this time. The civil law of Rome, 
 'ie"perpetu- w ^ its old traditional usages and forms, 
 
 J edict. - ° 
 
 had long been seen by statesmen to need 
 expansion in a liberal spirit before the courts could fairly 
 deal with the suits of alien&, or wr?h new cases wholly 
 undefined. The praetors had for many years put out a 
 statement of the principles*"by which they would be 
 guided in dealing with the questions where the statute 
 law would fail them or press hardly on the suitors, and 
 
1 1 7-138. Hadrian. 63 
 
 many of these rules and forms, though at first binding 
 only for the year, had gradually crystallised into a sys- 
 tem of equity, which passed commonly from hand to 
 hand, though somewhat loose and ill-defined, and with 
 much room for individual judgment and caprice. It was 
 a gain to progress when Salvius Julianus, an eminent 
 jurist of the day, sifted and harmonized these floating 
 principles and forms of justice, giving them a systematic 
 shape under the name of Hadrian's "perpetual edict." 
 It was a great step towards the imperial codes of later 
 days, in which the currents of world-wide experience 
 and Greek philosophy were mingled with the stream of 
 purely Roman thought. The Emperor was the sole 
 legislator of the realm ; the statutes were the expression 
 of his personal will; but the great jurists who advised 
 him in the council chamber came from countries far 
 away, and reflected in many various forms the universal 
 sense of justice. 
 
 (So far we have seen only the strength of Hadrian's 
 character. To organize and drill the armies in a period 
 of almost unbroken peace, and give a tone to discipline 
 which lasted on long after he was gone, to study by per- 
 sonal intercourse the problems of government in every 
 land, dealing with all races on the same broad level of 
 impartial justice, to combine the rigid machinery and 
 iron force of Roman rule with the finer graces of Hel- 
 lenic culture, this was a policy which, borrowed as it was 
 perhaps from the old traditions of Augustus, yet could 
 be carried out only by an intellect of most unusual flexi- 
 bility and force. j For the work which was to be done 
 upon so vast a scale he had only limited resources ; he 
 dealt with it in a spirit which was at once Hadrian's fru- 
 liberal and thrifty, thus following in the gaiity and 
 
 ' ' ° good finance. 
 
 steps of the wisest emperors who had gone 
 
64 The Age of the AntoJiines. a.d. 
 
 before him. In the first year of his reign he had re- 
 mitted the arrears due to the treasury to the amount of 
 900 million sesterces, burning the bonds in Trajan's 
 forum as a public offering to his memory. The charities 
 lately set on foot for the rearing of poor children were 
 endowed by him with further bounties. We may still 
 read the medals struck in honour of his largesses of 
 money to the populace of Rome, repeated on seven dis- 
 tinct occasions. Prompt succour was given with a kindly 
 hand to the sufferers by fire and plague and earthquake 
 in all parts of the widespread empire. But to meet such 
 calls upon his purse, and to maintain the armies and the 
 civil service, he felt the need of frugal ways and good 
 finance. He revised the imperial budget with the skill 
 of a trained accountant, held the details in his reten- 
 tive memory, and would have no waste or peculation. 
 Economy was the order of his household ; no greedy 
 favourites or freedmen grew fat and wanton at the trea- 
 sury's expense; the purveyors of his table even found 
 that they must be careful, for at his dinners of state he 
 sent sometimes to taste the dishes which were served to 
 the humblest of his guests. 
 
 But great as were Hadrian's talents, and consistent in 
 
 the main as was his policy as ruler, we are yet told of 
 
 many a pettiness and strange caprice. If we try to 
 
 study his real character it seems, like the 
 
 Put . 
 
 Hadrian's legendary Proteus, to take every form by 
 
 fieTwcre 11 " turns, to pass from the brightest to the dark- 
 
 bailncecfby est moods h Y som e inexplicable fantasy. 
 
 dark moods One of the first things we read of him on his 
 
 and strange . ... 
 
 caprices. nse to power is his speech to an old enemy, 
 
 " Now you are safe," as if he could stoop no 
 
 longer to the meanness of a personal quarrel. He will 
 
 not listen to the advice of a trusty friend to sweep out 
 
117-138- Hadrian. 65 
 
 of his path three men who might be dangerous rivals; 
 but shortly afterwards Rome heard with horror that the 
 most eminent of Trajan's generals, Cornelius Palma, the 
 conqueror of Arabia, and Lusius Quietus, perhaps the 
 ablest soldier of his day, with other men of 
 special mark, had oeen suddenly struck cious 
 
 down unheard, without any forms of legal temper, 
 
 trial, on the plea of traitorous plots against the Emperor's 
 life. Resenting probably as a personal affront the sur- 
 render of the conquests which they had helped to win 
 for Trajan, and despising the scholar prince whose great 
 qualities were as yet unknown, they had made common 
 cause, as it was said, with malcontents at Rome, and 
 joined in a wide-spread conspiracy. Hadrian indeed 
 was in Dacia at the time, and soon came back in haste, 
 and with good reason, seemingly, threw upon the prae- 
 torian prsefect and the Senate the burden of the dark 
 deed that had been done, promising that henceforth no 
 senator should be condemned except by the sentence of 
 his peers. He kept his word till his reason lost its bal- 
 ance. But years afterwards the instinct of cruelty broke 
 out in fearful earnest. When old age and sickness 
 pressed him hard, and the reins of power were slipping 
 from his hands, his fears of treachery proved fatal to his 
 nearest intimates and kinsmen, to those who had se- 
 cured his rise to empire, or had shown their loyalty by 
 the service of a life-time. 
 
 As we read the story in the poor chroniclers of a later 
 age the description of his personal habits is full of 
 striking inconsistencies. He lived with the citizens of 
 Rome as with his peers, and moved to and fro with little 
 state ; yet he was the first Emperor to employ the ser- 
 vices of knights for the menial offices of the palace filled 
 hitherto by treedmen. He would hear no more of the 
 
66 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 charges of high treason so terrible in years gone by, he 
 
 would have the courts of law to act without respect of 
 
 persons ; but he organized a system of espi- 
 
 system of onage of a new and searching- kind, and 
 
 espionage, ° ° ' 
 
 read the familiar correspondence of his 
 friends, twitting them even, now and then, with the re- 
 proaches of their wives meant only for the husbands' 
 ears. He loved art and literature sincerely, he liked to 
 be surrounded with the men who studied them in ear- 
 nest, but they thought at least that he took umbrage 
 easily at any fancied rivalry, and was full of jealousy 
 and unworthy spite. 
 
 It was dangerous to be too brilliant where the Empe- 
 ror wished to shine, and there were few departments of 
 the fine arts in which he did not find himself 
 oufyof 1 " at home. The scholar Favorinus once 
 
 brilliant was as k e d whv he had given way so easily 
 
 powers, . - ° J 
 
 in a dispute upon a point of grammar when 
 he was in the right, and he answered with good *v,ason, 
 " It is not a prudent thing to call in question the learning 
 of the master of thirty legions." The professors of re- 
 pute who moved his envy found their pupils taken from 
 
 them, or rival lecturers started <o irritate 
 SsTof and supplant them. Apollodorm the great 
 
 Apoliodoms. arc h}tect, was even more unlucky. Long ago 
 in Trajan's company he had listened with \ npatience 
 to the future Emperoi's critical remarks, and had told 
 him to paint pumpkins and not to meddle wwh design. 
 Years afterwards, when Hadrian sent him his own plans 
 for the temple of Aphrodite which he wished to build, it 
 was returned with the offensive comment that the statue 
 of the goddess was made upon so large a scale that she 
 could not stand upright in her own house. The critic 
 paid with his life, we read, the penalty for his sharp words. 
 
1 1 7—138. Hadrian. 6 7 
 
 Even the glory of the immortal dead stirred the jeal- 
 ousy of the artist prince, and he affected to prefer C:;r.o 
 to Cicero, Ennius to Vergil, the obscure Antimachus to 
 Homer. He was said to be jealous of the fame of Trajan 
 and therefore to attribute to his most secret counsels the 
 most unpopular of his own measures ; by way of indi- 
 rectly blaming him, he would not have his own name 
 put upon any of the public buildings which he raised, 
 while yet he was ready to allow some twenty cities to 
 take their title from him. 
 
 It was a marked feature of his policy to be on good 
 terms with the chieftains of the border races, and 
 to win their good -will with ample presents, 
 
 His tiilvlcncss 
 
 a dangerous precedent perhaps for the tri- 
 bute paid to barbarians by later rulers ; but after receiv- 
 ing one of them at Rome with special honour, he treated 
 with contempt the robes of state presented to him by his 
 illustrious guest, dressing up in like attire 300 criminals 
 whom he sent to fight as gladiators in the circus. 
 
 He was courteous and kindly to his friends, granting 
 them readily the boons they asked ; yet he listened with 
 open ears to scandalous stories to their hurt, and few 
 even of the most favoured escaped at last without dis- 
 grace. Shrewd and hardheaded as he was, 
 
 , , ,. j , superstition, 
 
 he believed in necromancy, magic, and as- 
 trology, and after making much of keeping up the purity 
 of the old national faith, he allowed the flattery of his 
 people to canonize Antinous, the minion who won his 
 love in later vears. In fine, savs one of the oldest writers 
 of his life, after reckoning up his fickle moods and varied 
 graces, " he was everything by turns ; earnest and light- 
 hearted, courteous and stern, bountiful and thrifty, 
 frank and dissembling, wary and wanton " — a very cha- 
 meleon with changing colours. It seemed as If he 
 
68 2 he Age of the Antonines. ad. 
 
 and para- gathered up in his paradoxical and many- 
 
 doxical °. ,,,,-• ,-   j 
 
 variety of sided nature all the fair qualities and gross 
 
 emp ei defects which singly characterised each of 
 
 the earlier rulers. Yet we have grave reasons for mis- 
 trusting the accounts which reach us from such question- 
 able sources as the poor "biographies and 
 
 Reasons for 1 _ 
 
 mistrusting epitomes of a much later age, which often 
 
 these accounts , r . .. ,* M , 
 
 of ancient betray a fatal want of judgment while they 
 
 reflect the credulous malevolence of rumour. 
 Rome had no tender feeling for a ruler who seemed 
 more at home in learned Athens, or in the camp among 
 the soldiers, than in the old capital of fashion and of 
 power. The idle nobles doubtless were well pleased to 
 repeat and colour the ill-natured stories which floated in 
 the air, and in the literary circles gathered round the 
 prince -there were sensitive and jealous spirits ready to 
 resent a hasty word and think their merits unacknow- 
 ledged, or to point a venomed epigram against the 
 Emperor's sorry taste. Hadrian was a master in the 
 fence of words, and could hit hard in repartees, as when 
 a tippling poet wrote of him in jesting strain, "I should 
 not like to be a Csesar, roaming through the wilds of 
 Britain, suffering from Scythian frosts," he answered in 
 the same metre, " I should not like to be a Florus, wan- 
 dering among the taverns and keeping pothouse com- 
 pany." He may well have shown impatience at petty 
 vanities and literary quarrels, or have amused himself at 
 the*ir expense with scant regard for ruffled pride; but if 
 we pass from words to facts few definite charges can be 
 brought against his dignity or justice as a prince. An 
 enlightened patron of the arts, he fostered learning with 
 a liberal bounty, advanced to posts of trust the scholars 
 whose talents he had noticed, and knew how to turn 
 their powers to practical account, as when Salvius Julia- 
 
1 1 7—1 38. Hadrian. 69 
 
 nus began, probably by his direction, to compile a code 
 of equity, or when he prompted Arnan to compose his 
 " Tactics " and explore the line of border forts upon the 
 Euxine, or when he bade Apollodorus to write his treatise 
 on artillery (Poliorketica), the opening words of which, 
 though written in exile, betray no personal resentment 
 as of one suffering from a wanton wrong. With that 
 exception, if it really was one, there is no clear case of 
 harshness or of cruelty to stain his memory until his 
 reason failed in the frenzy of his dying agony. To set 
 against such rumours and suspicions we have proofs 
 enough, in monumental evidence and in the works which 
 lived on after he was gone, of the greatness of the sov- 
 ereign, who left abiding tokens of his energy strewn 
 through all the lands of the vast empire, who kept his 
 legions in good humour though busy with unceasing 
 drill, who stamped his influence for centuries upon the 
 forms of military service, drew vast lines of fortresses 
 and walls round undefended frontiers, reorganized de- 
 partments of the civil service, and withal found leisure 
 enough and width of intellectual sympathies to appreci- 
 ate and foster all the higher culture of the age. 
 
 We may find perhaps a sort of symbol of his wide 
 range of tastes in the arrangements of the villa and the 
 gardens which he planned for himself in his 
 old age at Tibur (Tivoli). No longer able £. is v . i,la at 
 
 ° ' ° livoh. 
 
 with his failing strength to roam over the 
 world, he thought of gathering in his own surroundings 
 a sort of pictorial history of the genius of each race and 
 the national monuments of every land. Artists travelled 
 at his bidding, and plied their tools, and reproduced in 
 marble and in bronze the memories of a lifetime and the 
 work^ of all the ages. A great museum was laid out under 
 the open sky, bounded by a ring fence of some ten miles 
 
70 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 in circuit; within it the old historic names were heard 
 again, but in strange fellowship, as the most diverse 
 periods of art and thought joined hands as it were to 
 suit the Emperor's fancy. The parks and avenues were 
 peopled with statues which seemed to have just left the 
 hands of Phidias or Polycletus or many an artist of 
 renown. 
 
 There was the Academy linked in memory for ever to 
 the name of Plato : there the Lyceum where his scholar 
 and his rival lectured, and the Porch which gave its 
 name to the doctors of the Stoic creed, and the Prytane- 
 um or Guildhall, the centre of the civic life of Athens. 
 Not far away were imaged forth in mimic forms the cool 
 retreats of Tempe, while the waters of a neighbouring 
 valley bore the votaries along- to what seemed the tern- 
 
 ■J *_> 
 
 pie of Serapis at Canopus. Not content with the solid 
 realities of earth, he found room also for the shadowy 
 forms of the unseen world. The scenes of Hades were 
 pourtrayed as borrowed from the poet's fancy, or as 
 represented in dramatic shapes in the Eleusinian mys- 
 teries. In the settings of these pictures a large eclectic 
 taste gave itself free liberty of choice. The arts of Greece, 
 of Egypt, and of Asia yielded up their stores at the bid- 
 ding of a connoisseur who saw an interest or a beauty in 
 them all. 
 
 The famous gardens are now a wilderness of ruins, 
 full of weird suggestions of the past, over which a teem- 
 ing nature has flung her luxuriant festoons to deck the 
 fairy land of fancy; but they have served for centuries 
 as a mine which the curious might explore, and the art 
 galleries of Europe owe many of their bronzes, marbles, 
 and mosaics to the industry and skill once summoned 
 to adorn Hadrian's panorama of the history of civilized 
 progress. Among these the various statues of Antinous 
 
1 1 7—138. Hadrian. 7 1 
 
 are of most interest, partly as they show the methods of 
 ideal treatment then in vogue, and the amount of crea- 
 tive power which still remained, but partly also as the 
 symptoms of the infatuation of a prince who could find 
 no worthier subjects for the artists of his day than the 
 sensuous beauty of a Bithynian shepherd. 
 
 At this time indeed his finest faculties of mind were 
 failing, and his death was drawing nigh. He was seized 
 by a painful and hopeless malady, and it 
 was time to think of choosing his succes- disease he 
 sor. But at first he could not bear the chose, for 
 
 hi succes- 
 
 thought of anyone preparing to step into sor, Verus, 
 his place, and his jealousy was fatal to the 
 men who were pointed out by natural claims or by the 
 people's favour. After a time he singled out a ceitain 
 CElius Verus, who had showy accomplishments, a 
 graceful carriage, and an air of culture and refinement. 
 But he was thought to be a sensual, selfish trifler, with 
 little trace of the manly hardihood of Hadrian in his 
 best days ; and few eyes, save the Emperor's, could see 
 his merits. The world was spared the chances of a pos- 
 sible Nero in the future ; the Emperor himself soon 
 found, to use his own words, "that he was leaning on a 
 tottering wall," and that the great sums spent in dona- 
 tives to the soldiers upon the adoption of the new-made 
 Caesar were a pure loss to his treasury. The 
 
 who died 
 
 young man s health was failing rapidly ; he soon after, 
 
 had not even strength to make his compli- 
 mentary speech before the Senate, and the dose which 
 he took to stimulate his nerves was too potent for his 
 feeble system, and hurried the weakling to the grave 
 before he had time to mount the throne. 
 
 Once more the old embarrassment of choice recurred, 
 but this time with a happier issue. By a lucky accident 
 
72 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 one day, we read, the Emperor's eye fell on 
 Amon.nus Titus Aurelius Antoninus as he came into 
 
 was a o ted the senate house supporting 1 the weakness 
 
 in his place. 
 
 of his aged father-in-law with his strong arm. 
 He had passed with unstained honour through the round 
 of the offices of state, had taken rank in the council 
 chamber of the prince, where his voice was always raised 
 in the interest of mercy. All knew his worth, and gladly 
 hailed the choice when the Emperor's mantle fell upon 
 his shoulders ; the formal act of adoption once com- 
 pleted, they could wait now with lighter hearts till th< 
 last scenes of Hadrian's life were over. 
 
 The Prince's sun was setting fast in lurid cloud. 
 Disease was tightening its hold upon him, and bringing 
 u ,. , with it a lingering agony of torment, in 
 
 Hadrian s . ■. 
 
 dying which his strong reason wholly lost its bal- 
 
 ag.iny and , , _ 
 
 fitful moods ance, and gave way to the fitful moods of a 
 of cruelty. delirious frenzy. Now he was a prey to 
 
 wild suspicions, and was haunted by a mania for blood- 
 shed ; now he tried to obtain relief by magic arts and 
 incantations ; and at last in his supreme despair he re- 
 solved to die. But his physician would not give him the 
 fatal potion which he called for ; his servants shrank in 
 terror from the thought of dealing the blow which would 
 rid him of his pains, and stole out of his grasp the dag- 
 ger which he tried to use. In vain he begged them to 
 cut short his sufferings in mercy. The filial piety of 
 Antoninus watched over his bedside and stayed his 
 hand when it was raised to strike himself, as he had al- 
 ready hid from his sight the objects of his murderous 
 suspicions. But the memory of Servianus, whom he 
 had slain but lately, haunted in nightmare shapes the 
 conscience of the stricken sufferer with the words which 
 the victim uttered at the last : — ' I am to die though in- 
 
iii.'i 7-138. Hadrian. 73 
 
 shnocent; may the gcds give to Hadrian the wish to die, 
 a without' the power." He had also lucid intervals when 
 c his thoughts were busy upon the world unknown beyond 
 the grave, and the scenes that were pictured for him in 
 the gardens of his favoured home of Tivoli. Even on 
 his deathbed he could feel the poet's love for tuneful 
 phrase, and the verses are still left to us which were ad- 
 dressed by him to his soul, which, pale and cold and 
 naked, would soon have to make its way to regions all 
 unknown, with none of its whilom gaiety :— 
 
 Animula. vagula, blandula, 
 Hospes comesque corporis, 
 Quae nunc abibis in loca, 
 Pallidula, rigida, nudula, 
 Nee ut soles dabis jocos. 
 
 The end came at last at Baiae. The body was net 
 brought in state to Rome, for the capital had long been 
 weary of its ruler. It forgot the justice of 
 his earlier years and the breadth of his im- ^bSS? 1 
 perial aims, and could not shake off the 
 sense of terror of his moribund cruelty and frenzy. The 
 senators were minded even to proscribe his memory and 
 annul his acts, and to refuse him the divine honours 
 which had been given with such an easy grace to men 
 of far less worth. They yielded with reluctance to the 
 prayers of Antoninus, and dropped an official veil over 
 the memories of the last few months, influ- 
 enced partly by their joy at finding that the aT \ d canoni - 
 v : ctims whom they had mourned were living 
 still, but far more out of respect for the present Emperor 
 than the past. Was it popular caprice or a higher tone 
 of public feeling, owing to which, Rome, which had 
 borne with Caligula and regretted Nero, could not par- 
 
74 The Age of the Antonines. a. id. 
 
 don the last morbid excesses of a ruler who for one-andn 
 twenty years had given the world the blessings of secu-i 
 rity and justice ? 
 
 Though Hadrian cared little for state parade in life, 
 he wished to be lodged royally in death. The mauso- 
 leum of Augustus was already full; he re- 
 
 The mauso- ° J ' 
 
 kum of solved therefore to build a worthy resting- 
 
 place for himself and for the Caesars yet to 
 come. A stately bridge across the Tiber, in the neigh- 
 bourhood of the Campus Martius, decked with a row of 
 statues on each side, was made to serve as a road of 
 state to lead to the great tower in which his ashes were 
 to lie. Above the tower stood out to view the groups of 
 statuary whose beauty moved the wonder of the travel- 
 lers of later days ; within was a sepulchral cham- 
 ber, in a niche of which was stored the urn which 
 contained all that the flames had left of Hadrian. The 
 tower was built of masonry almost as solid as the giant 
 piles of Egypt, and with the bridge it has outlived the 
 wreck of ages. For almost a century it served only to 
 enshrine the dust of Emperors, but afterwards it was 
 used for other ends, and became a fortress, a papal resi- 
 dence, a prison. When the Goths were storming Rome, 
 the tide of war rolled up against the mausoleum, and 
 when all else failed the statues which adorned it were 
 torn from their pedestals by the besieged, and flung 
 down upon their enemies below. Some few were found, 
 long centuries after, almost unhurt among the ruins, and 
 may be still seen in the great galleries of Europe. The 
 works of art have disappeared with the gates of bronze 
 and with the lining of rich marble which covered it with- 
 in, and after ages have done little to it save to replace 
 the triumphal statue of the builder with the figure of the 
 Archangel Michael, whom a Pope saw in his vision 
 
ji 1 7— 13S. Hadrian. 75 
 
 sheathing his sword in token that the plague was stayed 
 above the old tower that has since been called the castle 
 of St. Angelo. 
 
 The policy of Hadrian was one of peace ; through a 'J 
 his wide dominions a generation had grown 
 up which scarcely knew the crash of war- wi 011 !,* 
 One race only, the Jewish, would not rest. Palatine, 
 
 . . , A. D. I32. 
 
 but rose again 111 fierce revolt. The hopes 
 of the nation had seemingly been crushed forever by tlu 
 harsh hand of Titus ; the generals of Trajan piti- 
 lessly stifled its vindictive passion that had burst ou* 
 afresh in Africa and Cyprus. It had seen in Palestine the 
 iron force of Roman discipline, and the outcasts in every 
 land had learned how enormous was the empire and how 
 irresistible its powei. Yet, strange to say, they flung 
 themselves once more in blind fury on their masters, and 
 refused to despair or to submit. They could not bear to 
 think that colonists were planted among the ruins of 
 their Holy City ; that heathen temples should be built in 
 spots so full to them of sacred memories, or that the old 
 sound of Jerusalem should be displaced in favour of the 
 rrotley combination of /Elia Capitolina, to which both 
 the Emperor and the chief god of Rome lent each their 
 quota. They nursed their wrath till Hadrian's back was 
 turned, and the bulk of the legions far away ; then at 
 last the fire blazed out again, and wrapped all Palestine 
 in flames. A would-be-Messiah showed himself among 
 them, taking the title of Barchochebas, after the star 
 whose rising they had waited for so long. The multitudes 
 flocked eagerly around his banner, and Akiba, the great 
 rabbi, lent him the sanction of his venerated name. 
 The patriot armies needed weapons, but the Jewish 
 smiths had bungled purposely in working for the Roman 
 soldiers, that the cast-off arms might be left upoi* their 
 
76 The Age of the Anionines. A.d. 
 
 hands. The dismantled fortresses were speedily rebuilt, 
 the walls which Titus ruined rose afresh, and secret pass- 
 ages and galleries were constructed under the strong- 
 holds that the garrisons might find ingress and egress as 
 they pleased. They would not meet the legions in the 
 field, but tried to distract their energy by multitudinous 
 warfare. The revolt, despised at first, soon grew to such 
 a height as to call for the best general of the empire and 
 all the discipline of her armies. Julius Sev- 
 
 was at last . 
 
 terribly erus was brought from distant Britain to 
 
 stampe ou . ^rive the fanatics to bay and to crush them 
 with his overwhelming forces. One stronghold after 
 another fell, though stubbornly defended, till the fiercest 
 of the zealots intrenched themselves in their despair at 
 Bether, and yielded only to the last extremities of 
 famine. The war was closed after untold misery and 
 bloodshed, and even the official bulletins avowed in their 
 ominous change of style how great was the loss of 
 Roman life. 
 
 All that had been left of the Holy City of the Jews 
 was swept away, and local memories were quite effaced. 
 New settlers took the place of the old people ; statues of 
 the Emperor marked the site where the old Temple 
 stood; and the spots dear to Christian pilgrims were be- 
 fouled and hid away from sight by a building raised in 
 honour of mere carnal passion. The Jews might never 
 wander more in the old city of their fathers. Once only 
 in the" year were they allowed, on the anniversary of the 
 destruction of their temple, to stand awhile within the 
 holy precincts and kiss a fragment of the venerable ruin, 
 and mourn over the hopeless desolation of their land. 
 Even this privilege, says Jerome, they dearly bought, 
 for a price was set by their masters on their tears, as 
 they had set their price of old upon the blood of Jesus. 
 
138-161. Antoninus Pius. jj 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ANTONINUS PIUS. A. D. I38-161. 
 
 The ancient writer who tells us most of Antoninus twice 
 compares him with the legendary Numa whose reign 
 appears in the romance of early Roman his- 
 tory as the golden age of peace and equity, The r ^ ign of 
 
 J f . . Antoninus 
 
 when men lived nearest in communion with w. s un- 
 heaven. As in that dreamland of olden 
 fancy the outlines are all faint and indistinct from want 
 of stirring adventure or excitement, so now it might 
 seem as if the happiness of the world were too com- 
 plete to let it care either to make history or to write it. 
 For the new sovereign was no Trajan, happiest when on 
 the march and proud of his prowess in the field ; he 
 was not brilliant and versatile like Hadrian, bent on ex- 
 ploring every land in person and exhausting all the 
 experience of his age. His life as Emperor was passion- 
 less and uneventful, and history, wearied of unbroken 
 eulogy, has soon dropped her curtain upon the govern- 
 ment of a prince who shunned parade and high ambi- 
 tion, and was content to secure the welfare of his people. 
 To describe him, the popular fancy chose 
 the name of Pius, as Vergil called the hero Why called 
 
 & Pius. 
 
 of his epic, though not perhaps with the 
 same shade of meaning. The Romans meant by piety 
 the scrupulous conscience and the loving heart which 
 are careless of no claims upon them, and leave no task 
 of duty unfulfilled. They used it for the reverence for 
 the unseen world and the mystic fervour of devotion ; 
 but oftener far for the quiet unobtrusive virtues of bro- 
 
78 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 ther, child, or friend. In the case of Antoninus other 
 reasons were not wanting to justify the title, but above 
 all, it seemed a fitting name for the tenderness with 
 which he watched over Hadrian's bed of sickness, refu- 
 sing to let him cut short his pains and his despair, or 
 stain his memory with the blood of guiltless victims ; 
 and when death came at last to the sufferer's relief, he 
 would not rest till he wrung from the unwilling Senate 
 the vote which raised the departed Emperor to the rank 
 of godhead. But he had spent the same loving care, it 
 seems, already on many of his kinsmen, had given 
 loans on easy terms to friends and neighbours, and 
 showed to all a gentle courtesy which never failed. A 
 character so kindly could not look with un- 
 His chanty concern upon the endowments for poor 
 
 was tender, r x 
 
 children which Trajan's charity had found- 
 ed. He enlarged their number, and called the girls 
 whom he reared at his expense, after the name of his 
 own wife, Faustina. 
 
 But there was no weakness, no extravagance in this 
 good nature. His household servants, the officials of 
 the court, who had counted perhaps on his indulgence, 
 found to their surprise that his favour was no royal road 
 to wealth. There was no golden harvest to be reaped 
 from fees and perquisites and bribes in the service of a 
 master who had a word and ear for all who came to 
 see him, but made no special favourites, and had a per- 
 fect horror of rich sinecures as a cruel tax upon the en- 
 durance of his people. Nor did he, like 
 yet free from earlier monarchs, use his patronage to win 
 
 weakness. r ° 
 
 the loyalty of more adherents. The offices 
 of state in the old days of the republic had passed rapidly 
 from hand to hand, to satisfy the ambition of the ruling 
 classes; the first Emperors gave the consulship for a few 
 
138-161. Antoninus Pius. 79 
 
 months only to please men's vanity with the unsubstan- 
 tial honour, and rarely kept provincial governors long at 
 the same post. But Antoninus had no love of change ; 
 he. retained in office the ministers whom Hadrian had 
 named, and seldom displaced the men who had proved 
 their capacity to rub. In this he had chiefly the public 
 interest in view, for he called his agents sharply to ac- 
 count if they were grasping or oppressive ; he tried to 
 lighten the burden of taxation, and would not even 
 travel abroad for fear that the calls of hospi- 
 tality towards his train might be burden- ^Ix 
 some to the lands through which it passed. abroad . bu * 
 
 r was careful 
 
 Yet though the provincials never saw him of provincial 
 
 interests 
 
 in their midst, they felt the tokens of his 
 watchful care. He was ready to grant an audience to 
 every deputation ; his ear was open to all the cries for 
 succour or redress; he seemed quite familiar with the 
 ways and means of all the country towns, and with the 
 chief expenses which they had to meet. Had any grave 
 disaster from fire or earthquake scourged their neighbour- 
 hood, the Emperor was prompt with words of condolence 
 and acts of sjrace. He was not ostentatious in his boun- 
 ty, for he knew that to give freely to the favoured he 
 must take largely from the rest; and in the imperial 
 budget of those times there was no wide margin for his 
 .personal pleasures. In earlier days, indeed, he had 
 readily received the family estates bequeathed to him by 
 the kinsmen who had prized his dutiful 
 affection, but now he would take no leeacv and econo- 
 
 m 1 c 3.1 
 
 save from the childless, and discouraged the 
 morbid whim of those who used his name to gratifv 
 some spleen against their natural heirs. The eagerness 
 of fiscal agents and informers died away, and the dreaded 
 name of treason was seldom, if ever, heard. 
 
80 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 It is natural to read that fat and wide the provinces 
 
 were prosperous and contented with a prince who ruled 
 
 them quietly and firmly, who had no hank- 
 though . A 
 
 wars were ering after military laurels, but liked to say 
 
 neediul. ..'.... . , . . 
 
 with bcipio that he would rather save a sin- 
 gle fellow-countryman than slay a thousand of the enemy. 
 Yet his reign was not one of unbroken peace, like that ot 
 
 fabled Numa. The Moors and the Britons 
 Moorish an d thp untamed races of the Rhine and 
 
 and Dacian 
 
 war pro- Danube tasked the skill and patience of his 
 
 a.d. 139. generals, and the Jews even, hopelessly 
 
 War with crushed as they had seemed to be, flung 
 
 Brigantes, themselves once more with ineffectual fury 
 
 A.D. 14O-145. , ■* 
 
 on the legions. But in the main the influ- 
 ence of Rome was spread by wise diplomacy rather than 
 with the sword. The neighbouring potentates saw 
 
 Hadrian's machinery of war standing in 
 
 He gained .... . . , 
 
 more by strong and burnished trim upon their bor- 
 
 ip omacy. d e rs, an d had no mind to try its force, while 
 the gentle courtesies of Antoninus came with a better 
 grace from one who could wield, if need be, such thun- 
 derbolts of battle. So kings and chieftains sought his 
 friendship. Some came to Rome from the far East to do 
 him honour. Others at a word or sign stopped short in 
 the career of their ambition, appealed to him to be um- 
 pire in their quarrels, or renounced the aims which 
 threatened to cross his will. For in the interests of the 
 empire he would not part with the reality of power, 
 though he cared little for the show of glory ; he grasped 
 the substance, but despised the shadow. 
 
 This is well nigh all we read about the ruler. It is 
 time to turn to the pictures of the man, in the quiet of the 
 home circle and in the simplicity of rural life. His 
 family on the father's side had lorg resided at Nemausus 
 
1 3 8- 1 6 1 . Antoninus Pius. 8 1 
 
 (Nismes), in the Romanised Provincia (Provence), but 
 he chose for his favourite resort in time of leisure his 
 country seat at Lorium in Etruria. There __. , 
 
 His homely 
 
 he had passed the happy years of child- Hie at 
 hood ; and though often called away to the 
 dignities of office in which father and ancestors had gone 
 before him, he had gladly returned thither as often as he 
 could lay aside his cares. There, too, as Emperor, he 
 retired from the business and bustle of the city, put off 
 awhile the purple robe of state, and dressed himself in 
 the simple homespun of his native village. In that re- 
 treat no tedious ceremonies disturbed his peace, no 
 weariness of early greetings, no long debates in privy 
 council or in judgment hall; but in their stead were the 
 homely interest of the farm and vintage, varied only by 
 a rustic merry-making or the pleasures of the chase. It 
 was such a life as Curius or Cato lived of old, before the 
 country was deserted for the towns, or slave-labour on 
 the large estates took the place of native yeomen, though 
 the rude austerity of ancient manners was tempered by 
 a genial refinement which was no natural growth upon 
 the soil of Italy. In the memoirs of his adopted son, 
 who was one day to succeed him, we find a pleasant 
 picture of the surroundings of the prince, of the easy 
 tone and unaffected gaiety of the intercourse in his home 
 circle, where all the etiquette of courts was laid aside, 
 and every neighbour found a hearty welcome. 
 
 The Emperor stood little on his dignity, and could 
 waive easily enough the claims of rank, could take in 
 good part a friendly jest, or even at times a 
 rude retort. In the house of an acquaint- ?emper, Sy 
 
 ance he was one day looking at some por- 
 phyry columns which he fancied, and asking where his 
 host had bought them, but was unceremoniously told 
 
32 The Age of the Antonines. A.D. 
 
 that under a friend's roof a guest should know how to be 
 both deaf and dumb in season. Such airs disturbed him 
 little, at times served only to amuse him, as when Apol- 
 lonius came from Colchis to teach philosophy to the 
 young Marcus at the invitation of the prince, but de- 
 clined to call upon him when he came to Rome, saying 
 that the pupil should wait upon the master, not the mas- 
 ter on the pupil. Antoninus only laughed at his preten- 
 tiousness, and said that it was easier seemingly to come 
 all the way from Colchis than to walk across the street 
 at Rome. Long before, when he was governor of Asia, 
 and had visited Smyrna in the course of a judicial cir- 
 cuit, he was quartered by the magistrates in 
 
 which readily . . . . 
 
 forgave a the mansion of the sophist Polemon, who 
 
 s 1§ l ' was away upon a journey at the time. At 
 
 the dead of night the master of the house came home, 
 and knocked with impatience at the doors, and would 
 not be pacified till he had the place entirely to himself, 
 and had closed the doors upon his unbidden guest. The 
 great man took the insult quietly enough, and when, 
 years afterwards, the sophist came to Rome to show off 
 his powers of eloquence, the Emperor welcomed him to 
 court without any show of rancour at the past, only tell- 
 ing his own servants to be careful not to turn the door 
 upon him when he called. And when an actor came 
 with a complaint that Polemon, as stage director, had 
 dismissed him without warning from a company of play- 
 ers, he only asked what time it was when he was so 
 abruptly turned away. " Midday !'' was the complain- 
 ant's answer. "He thrust me out at midnight!" said 
 the prince, "and 1 lodged no appeal!" 
 
 It was the charm and merit of hi? character that he 
 was so natural in all he said and did, and disliked con- 
 ventional and affected manners. His young heir was 
 
Ij8~i6i. Antoninus Pius, 83 
 
 warm and tender-hearted, and would not be comforted 
 when he had lost his tutor. The servants of the court, 
 quite shocked at what seemed an outburst 
 
 ^ . His tender 
 
 of such vulgar gnef, urged him to consult care of his 
 his dignity and curb his feelings, but the a opu ,on ' 
 Emperor silenced them and said: " Let the tears flow ; 
 neither philosophy nor rank need stifle the affections of 
 the heart." Happily, he was himself rewarded by the 
 tenderness which he respected in its love for others. He 
 had adopted his nephew long ago by Hadrian's wish, 
 had married him to his own daughter, and watched his 
 career with anxious care. The character thus formed 
 under his eye was dutiful and loyal to the last. For 
 many a year the young man was near him always, night 
 and day storing in his memory lessons of statecraft and 
 experience, taking in his pliant temper the impression of 
 the stronger will, and preparing to receive the burdens 
 of state upon his shoulder when the old man was forced 
 to lay them down. 
 
 At length the time was come, and Antoninus felt that 
 the end was near. He had only strength to 
 
 1 j <-\ to whom he 
 
 say a few last words, to commend the em- i eft the em pira 
 pire and his daughter to the care of his ^ D hi ^ ath ' 
 successor, to bid his servants move into the 
 chamber of his son the golden statuette of Fortune which 
 had stood always near his bed, and to give the watch- 
 word for the last time to the officer on guard, before lie 
 passed away after three-and-twenty years of rule. The 
 word he chose was "Equanimity,' and it may serve as 
 a fitting symbol for the calm and balanced temper, which 
 was gentle yet firm, and homely yet with perfect dignity. 
 History has dealt kindly with the good old man, for it 
 has let his faults fall quite into the shade, till they have 
 passed away from memory, and we know him only as 
 
84 The Age of the Antonines. A.D, 
 
 the unselfish ruler, who was rich at his accession, but 
 told his wife that when he took the empire he must give 
 up all besides, who preferred to repair the monuments of 
 others rather than to build new ones of his own, and, 
 prince as he was, recurred fondly ia his medals to the 
 memories of the old republic. No great deeds are told 
 of him, save this perhaps the greatest, that he secured 
 the love and happiness of those he ruled. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MARCUS AURELIUS ANTONINUS. A.D. I47-180. 
 
 Plato had written long ago that there could be no per- 
 fect government on earth till philosophy was seated on 
 the throne. The fancy was to be realised at 
 T ^ e A arl y,. llfe last in the person of the second of theAnto- 
 
 of M. Aurehus. v 
 
 nines, for the whole civilized world was in 
 the hands of one who in the search for truth had sat at 
 the feet of all the sages of his day, and left no source of 
 ancient wisdom unexplored. M. Annius Verus, for such 
 was the name he bore at first, came of a family which 
 had long been settled in the south of Spain, and thence 
 summoned to the capital to fill the highest offices of 
 state. Left fatherless in infancy, he had been tenderly 
 cared for by his grandfather, and early caught the fancy 
 of the Emperor Hadrian, who, because of the frank 
 candour of his childish ways called him playfully Veris- 
 simus, a name which he liked well enough in later years 
 to have it put even at times upon the coins struck in his 
 mints. At the early age of eight he was promoted to a 
 place among the Salii, the priests of Mars, recruited com- 
 monly from the oldest of the patrician families at Rome. 
 
i47 -I 8o. Marcus Aure litis Antoninus. 85 
 
 With them he learned to make the stated round in pub- 
 lic through the city with the shields which fell of yore 
 from heaven, to join in the old dances and the venerable 
 litany, to which, among much that had almost lost its 
 meaning to their ears, new lines were added now and 
 then, in honour of the rulers lately deified. When they 
 flung their flowers together on the statue of the god, his 
 was the only garland which lighted on the sacred head, 
 and young as he was he took the lead of all the rest, 
 and knew by heart all tire hymns to be recited. He 
 grew apace in the sunshine of court favour, and no pains 
 were spared at home meantime to fit him for high sta- 
 tion, for the greatest of the teachers of his day took part 
 in his instruction. 
 
 Of these Fronto was one of the most famous. By a 
 lucky accident, not many years ago, the letters which 
 passed between him and his young pupil „. 
 
 .His corres- 
 
 were found in an old manuscript, over the pondence 
 fading characters of which another work had his old tutor, 
 been written at a later date, in accordance 
 with a custom which has saved for us many a pious 
 homily at the expense of classic lore. There is much of 
 pedantry and affectation in the style, and professor of 
 rhetoric as Fronto was, he could not teach his young 
 charge how to write with dignity or grace. Yet if we 
 look below the poor conceits of form and stilted diction, 
 we shall find the gush of warm affections welling up to 
 give beauty to the boyish letters. There is a genuine 
 ring about the endearing epithets which he lavishes 
 upon his teacher, and a trustfulness with which he counts 
 upon his sympathy in all his passing interests. He 
 writes to him of course about his studies, how he is learn- 
 ing Greek and hopes one day to rival the most eloquent 
 Hellenic authors, how he is so hard at work as to have 
 
&6 The Age of the Anto nines. a.i> 
 
 made extracts in the course of a few days from sixty 
 books at least, but playfully relieves his fears by telling 
 him that some of the books were very short. And then 
 among passages of pretentious criticism, which make us 
 fear that he is growing a conceited book-worm, come 
 others of a lighter vein, which show that he has not lost 
 his natural love of youthful pranks. One day he writes 
 in glee to say how he frightened some shepherds on the 
 road where he was riding, who took him and his friends 
 for highway robbers, for, seeing how suspiciously they 
 eyed him, he charged at full speed upon the flock, and 
 only scampered off again when they stood on their de- 
 fence and began to bandy blows with crook and staff. 
 
 But happily the lad had other masters who 
 sion from taught him something better than the quib- 
 
 philosophy ^ es an< ^ subtleties of rhetoric. Philosophy 
 
 found him an apt pupil at a tender age, and 
 he soon caught up with eagerness, and pushed even to 
 excess, the lessons of hardihood and self-control. He 
 tried to put his principles to the test of practice, to live 
 simply in the midst of luxury and licence, to content him- 
 self with frugal fare, and to take the bare ground for his 
 bed at night. At last it needed all his mother's gentle 
 influence to curb the enthusiasm of his ascetic humour. 
 The old professor whom he loved so well began to be 
 jealous of such rival influence, and begged him not to 
 forsake the Muses for austerer guides, who cared little 
 for the graces of fine language, but seemed to think it 
 vain and worldly to dress well or write a decent style. It 
 was indeed no petty jealousy of a narrow heart, for the 
 old man thought sincerely that rhetoric was the queen of 
 
 all the sciences and arts, and longed to see 
 rf h Fronto? USy her seated on the throne. He wished to 
 
 see his pupil famous, and could think of no 
 
i47 _I 8o. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 87 
 
 opportunities so good as the one which imperial elo- 
 quence would have before it. To lecture his subjects on 
 the duty of man, to award the meed of praise or blame, 
 co animate to high endeavours in well turned periods and 
 graceful phrase — herein, he thought, lay the greatness of 
 the ruler's work, not in policy or law-making, or the 
 rough game of war. The interests of humanity therefore 
 were at stake, not personal ambition only, or the credit 
 of his favourite study. He writes to say that he had 
 already passed many a sleepless night, in which he was 
 haunted by the fear that he had culpably neglected to 
 stimulate the progress of his pupil. He had not guarded 
 carefully the purity of his growing taste, had let him turn 
 to questionable models; but henceforth they should study 
 the g&and style together, eschew comedies and such 
 meaner moods of thought and language, and drink 
 only at the sources which were undefiled. 
 
 But the earnest scholar had outgrown his master, and 
 even then was full of serious thoughts about great ques- 
 tions, of "the misgivings of a creature moving about in 
 worlds not realised," and was not to be moved to give 
 them up for canons of taste and rules of AT ,. T 
 
 1 Medit. I. 7. 
 
 prosody. He gave in after years the Stoic 
 Rusticus the credit of his conversion from letters to 
 philosophy. " It was he who made me feel how much I 
 needed to reform and train my character. He warned me 
 from the treacherous paths of sophistry, from formal 
 speeches of parade which aim at nothing higher than 
 applause. Thanks to him I am weaned from rhetoric 
 and poetry, from affected elegance of style, and can write 
 now with simplicity. From him I have learned to con- 
 centrate my thoughts on serious study, and nor to be 
 surprised into agreeing with all the random utterance of 
 fluent speech." 
 
88 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 Other influences came in meantime to tempt his 
 
 thoughts from graver themes. Honours and dignities 
 
 pursued him more as he grew careless of 
 
 Officesof state thdr charms> Already at fifteen years of 
 
 age he was made prefect of the city, or first magistrate 
 of Rome, when the consuls were away to keep the Latin 
 holidays ; he was betrothed also to the daughter of vElius 
 Verus, who stood nearest to the imperial succession, and 
 on his death two years later he was, at the express wish 
 of Hadrian, adopted himself byAntoninus, who was raised 
 into the vacant place, and was soon to be left in undis- 
 puted power. In accordance with the Roman practice, 
 the young man called himself after the Aurelian family 
 into which he passed, and may be spoken of hencefor- 
 ward as Marcus Aurelius, the name by which history 
 knows him best. It was a brilliant prospect that opened 
 now before his eyes. Titles of rank and offices of state 
 followed fast upon each other ; all the priestly colleges 
 were glad to welcome him among their members; in- 
 scriptions in his honour which have been found even in 
 far off Dacia show that the eyes of men were 
 fawur° PUlar turnecl on tne young Caesar, who already 
 bore his part of the burdens of the empire. 
 They soon learned, it seems, to love him, and to hope 
 fondly of his youthful promise. The popular fancy mul- 
 tiplied his portraits, and an eve-witness 
 
 did not turn , c . , - , , ... , 
 
 the head of speaks of the rude daubs and ill-carved 
 prince" ng statuettes which were everywhere exposed 
 for sale, and which, in the shops and public 
 taverns and over the tables of the money-changers, 
 showed the well-known features of the universal fa- 
 vourite. 
 
 But happily the incense of such flattery did not turn 
 his head or cloud his judgment. Rather it seemed to 
 
i47 -I 8o Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 89 
 
 make him feel more deeply the responsibilities of high 
 estate, and to make him the more resolved to fill it wor- 
 thily. The sirens of the court had tried on him the 
 witchery of their wanton charms, and the home life of 
 Hadrian, which he shared awhile, had brought him into 
 somewhat questionable circles ; but his mother watched 
 him with her constant care, and screened the purity of 
 his growing manhood — a tender service for which he 
 fondly thanks her memory in later years. Attracted by 
 the high professions of the Stoic creed, he sought the 
 secret of a noble life from the great doctors of the Porch, 
 trusting with their help to find a sure guiding 
 star of duty, and the true measure of all who looked 
 
 J to the Stoic 
 
 earthly grandeur. Their principles indeed creed for 
 
 iij guidance, 
 
 had sometimes been austere and hard, 
 counsels of perfection scarcely fitted for the frail and 
 struggling, coldly disdainful of the weakness of our suf- 
 fering manhood. But Marcus Aurelius was too gene- 
 rous and tender-hearted to nurse such a lonely pride of 
 philosophic calm. He was vigorous in questioning his 
 heart, but was stern only to himself. 
 
 The man was not forgotten in the student. We may 
 still read in the familiar letters which he wrote to his old 
 friend and teacher about the pleasant days 
 
 but without 
 
 he spent in the country house at Lorium, loss often- 
 
 how he dwells fondly on the infant graces of family affec- 
 
 his children, and, watches with anxious care ti0ns ' 
 
 the course of every little ailment. He speaks often of 
 
 his little nestlings, and forgets his graver thoughts while 
 
 he is with them. " The weather is bad, and 
 
 I feel ill at ease," he writes, " but when my as m ?y b . s 
 
 ' ' J seen in his 
 
 little girls are well, it seems that my own letter* to 
 
 ,. .. , . . . Fronto, 
 
 pains are of slight moment, and the weather 
 
 is quite fair." Fronto enters readily enough into the 
 
go The Age of the Antonines. ad. 
 
 same vein of homely sentiment, sends his loving greet- 
 ing to the young princesses, " kisses their fat little toes 
 and tiny hands," and dwells complacently upon the 
 simple happiness of the prince's circle. " I have seen 
 your little ones,'" he writes, "and no sight could have 
 been more charming to me, for they are so like you in 
 face that nothing could be more striking than the like- 
 ness. I was well rewarded for my pains in journeying 
 to Lorium, for the slippery road and rough ascent ; for 
 I had two copies of yourself beside me, and both happily 
 were strong of voice, and had the look of health upon 
 their faces. One held a morsel of fine white bread in 
 his hands, such as a king's son might eat, the other a 
 hard black crust, fit for the child of a philosopher. In 
 the pleasant prattle of their little voices I seemed to re- 
 cognise already the clear tones of your harmonious 
 speech." 
 
 Fronto had learned, it seems, to jest at the austerer 
 studies of his former pupil, but he disliked them still as 
 much as ever. Philosophy indeed was now a great mo- 
 ral force, and the chief teacher of the heathen world ; 
 but he could only think of it as the mere wrangling of 
 pretentious quibblers, intent only on hair splitting or 
 fence of words, and with no power to guide the reason 
 , ,., or to touch the heart. Prejudiced and one- 
 
 who, like . -iii 
 
 Faustina, sided as his criticism was, it had perhaps 
 
 liking"^ some value when he urged the future sove- 
 
 phiiosophers. re \g n to remember the responsibilities of 
 high estate, and the difference between the purple of the 
 Caesars and the coarse mantle of the Stoic sages. He 
 had also a powerful ally who did not fail to use her in- 
 fluence. Faustina, the mother of the little nestlings 
 whom Fronto wrote about so often, was affectionate and 
 tender as a wife, but had all the pride of birth and the 
 
i47" I 8o. Marcus Aureiius Antoninus. 91 
 
 fastidious refinement of the fashionable Roman circles. 
 She had little liking doubtless for the uncourtly doctors 
 of the Porch, with their philosophic talk about equality 
 and rights of manhood, grudged them their influence 
 v/ith her husband, and freely spent her woman's wit in 
 petulant sally or in mocking jest. The sages took it 
 somewhat ill, misjudging her levity of manner, and saw 
 only wantonness or vice in the frank gaiety of the high- 
 born dame. Hence among the earnest thinkers, or in 
 liteiary circles, harsh sentiments began to spread about 
 Faustina, and stamped themselves perhaps in ugly me- 
 mories on the page of formal history. 
 
 Thus the years passed by in serious study and the 
 cares of state, relieved by the tenderness of home affec- 
 tions; but history has no more details of in- 
 terest to give us, till at length Antoninus f n Antoninus 
 closed his long reisrn of prosperous calm, \> e shared the 
 
 ° r r imperial pow- 
 
 leaving the throne to his adopted son, who er with Lucius 
 
 \ T crus. 
 
 was already partner in the tribunician power, 
 the most expressive of the imperial honours. Marcus 
 Aureiius might now have stood alone without a rival, if 
 he had harboured a vulgar ambition in his soul. But he 
 bethought him of the claims, else little heeded, of Lucius 
 Vcrus, who like himself, had been adopted, at Hadrian's 
 wish, by the late Emperor, and had grown up doubtless 
 in the hopes of future greatness. He was 
 raised also to the throne, and Rome saw- 
 now, for the first time, two co-rulers share between them 
 on an equal footing aU the dignity of absolute power. 
 
 Their accession was not greeted at the first by fair 
 omens of prosperity and peace, such as the world had 
 now enjoyed for many years. Soon the The ominous 
 bright sky was overcast, and the lowerinsr P ros p ect ;° f 
 
 ° J ° nooas and war, 
 
 storms began to burst. First the Tiber rose 
 
Q2 Ttu Age of cite Antoninec. a. d 
 
 to an unprecedented height, till the flood spread over all 
 the low grounds of the city, with fearful loss of property 
 and life, and only retired at length to leave widespread 
 ruin and famine in its track. Then came rumours of 
 danger and of war in far-off lands. In Britain the 
 troops were on the point of ribing to assert their liberty 
 of choice and to raise their general to the seat of em- 
 pire. But their experienced and gallant leader would 
 not be tempted to revolt, and the soldiers soon returned 
 to their allegiance, while their favourite was recalled to 
 do good service shortly in the East. On the northern 
 borders also the native races were in arms, and broke 
 in sudden onset through the Roman lines, and a soldier 
 of mark had to be sent to drive them back. But it was 
 on the Euphrates that the danger seemed 
 ™ e Eup&°s most pressing. There the Parthians, long 
 was most "kent in check by the memory of Trajan's 
 
 pressing. l ... 
 
 military prowess, and by the skilful policy 
 of his successors, challenged once more the arms of 
 Rome. Years ago they had taken offence, it seems, be- 
 cause a ruler had been chosen for the dependent king- 
 dom of Armenia, which had been the debateable ground 
 for ages between the empires of the East and of the 
 West. For awhile the war had been averted by fair 
 words or watchful caution, but the storm burst at last at 
 an unguarded moment, and swept over the border lands 
 with unresisted fury, Armenia fell into the invaders* 
 hands almost without a blow. The city in which the 
 Roman general stood at bay was taken by storm; a 
 whole legion cut to pieces; and Syria was laid open 
 to the conquerors, who pressed on to ravage and to 
 plunder. 
 
 The danger wns imminent enough to call for the pres 
 ence of an Emperor in the field, and Verus started for 
 
i47 _I 8o. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 93 
 
 the East to rouse the soldiers' courage and 
 
 . Verus starts 
 
 organize the forces of defence. With him for the East, 
 or before him went skilled advisers to direct 
 the plan of the campaign, chief among whom was 
 Avidius Cassius, a leader of ancient hardihood and 
 valour. It was well for Roman honour that resolute 
 men were in command; for the soldiers were demoral- 
 ized by long years of peace. Sloth and self indulgence 
 in the Syrian cities had proved fatal to their 
 
 where the 
 
 discipline; and profligate Antioch, above soldiers were 
 all, with its ill-famed haunts of Daphne, 
 had unnerved the vigour of their manhood. They cared 
 little, as we read, that their horses were ill groomed and 
 their equipments out of gear, so long as their arms were 
 light enough to be borne with ease, and their saddles 
 stuffed with down. 
 
 Verus, the general-in-chief, was worthy of such troops. 
 He was in no haste to reach the seat of war, alarming 
 as were the tidings which. each fresh courier brought. 
 He lingered in the south of Italy to enjoy the pleasures 
 of the chase, and dallied amid the isles of Greece, where 
 all his interests seemed to centre in the charms of music 
 and of song. The attractions of the towns upon the 
 coast of Asia tempted him often to halt upon the way, 
 and when at last he came to Antioch he stooped so low 
 as to treat for peace with the invader, and only resolved 
 to prosecute the war in earnest when the Parthians 
 spurned the proffered terms. Even then he had no 
 mind to take the field in person, or risk the 
 
 > t-r 1 • i r In spite of 
 
 hazards of a soldier s lite, but loitered far his inca- 
 behind, safe in the rear of all the fighting, Hoth^hfa 1 
 and gave himself up without reserve to fri- generals 
 
 ° r made the 
 
 volous gaieties and sensual excess, till even Parthians 
 
 T 1 . r i <- 1 sue f° r 
 
 indolent natives of the Syrian towns began peace. 
 
94 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 to scoff, and courtly panegyrists found it hard to 
 tfloss over his slothful incapacity with their nattering 
 phrases. 
 
 But hardier troops were in the field meantime than 
 the licentious garrison of Antioch. The armies of the 
 distant frontiers sent their contingents to the East, and 
 at least eight legions may be traced in the campaigns 
 that followed, besides a multitude of auxiliary forces. 
 
 Happily there were also skilful generals to handle 
 them aright. Statius Priscus, the commander who had 
 been put forward by his men against his will as a pre- 
 tender to the throne, proved his loyalty once more by 
 his successful march into Armenia, and the conquest oi 
 its capital Artaxata. Avidius Cassius meantime, with 
 the bulk of the Roman army, pushed on direct towards 
 Parthia, proved his valour and address in many a hard- 
 fought battle, and drove back the beaten enemy at last 
 beyond the walls of Seleucia and Ctesiphon. The 
 humbled Parthians sued for peace, and gained it at the 
 price of the border lands between the two great rivers. 
 The fame of these achievements found an echo possibly 
 in the far regions of the east of Asia, where no sound of 
 western armies had hitherto been heard. The native 
 chroniclers of China date the first Roman embassy to 
 the Celestial Empire, with its presents of tortoiseshell 
 and ivory, from the very year in which the 
 
 A. D. l66. • T T-, 1 • 1 1 , 
 
 war with Parthia closed ; but the visitors, 
 whether simply merchants or official envoys, entered 
 China from the south, and not by the direct route 
 through central Asia, which when they started was 
 doubtless barred to them by the movements of the 
 armies in the field. 
 
 Five years had passed away in the course of the 
 campaign, and Verus at length unwillingly prepared to 
 
trf* iSo. Marcus Aure litis Antoninus. 95 
 
 leave the scene of his soldiers' glory, but of „ 
 
 11 Venus claims 
 
 his own shame. Once only, at the urgent the merit of 
 
 entreaties of his court, had he moved to the l e tnump 
 front as far as the Euphrates. He had journeyed also 
 to Ephesus to meet his bride Lucilla, for fear that Marcus 
 Aurelius might come with her in person, to see for him- 
 self the life which his son-in-law was leading. But his 
 time was chiefly spent in listless dalliance and sybaritic 
 ease, in which there was little else to mark the lapse of 
 time except the recurring changes from his winter- 
 quarters to his summer-palace. There was little in such 
 a life to fire the fancy of poet laureate or courtly chroni- 
 cler. Yet if we read the letter which he wrote to Fronto 
 on the subject of the Parthian war, we shall find that he 
 expects the history on which the old professor was en- 
 gaged to make his name illustrious to future ages. He 
 promises that his generals shall forward 
 their account of the battles and campaigns, whites™"* 
 with special memoirs on the nature of the courtl y . 
 
 r panegyric. 
 
 country and the climate, and offers even to 
 send some notes himself, so great is his desire for glory. 
 But calmly, as a thing of course, he takes the credit of 
 all the successes won by the valour of his captains, and 
 begs the rhetorician to paint in striking colours the 
 general dismay in Syria before the Emperor arrived 
 upon the scene to chain victory once more to the Roman 
 eagles. The history which Fronto wrote has not sur- 
 vived ; but we may judge perhaps somewhat of its tone, 
 and of the author's willingness to cater for the vanity of 
 his princely correspondent, when we read his pretentious 
 eulogy of the struggle of generosity between the two co- 
 rulers on the subject of the titles to be taken in honour 
 of the successes in the East. Marcus Aurelius declined 
 to be called Parthicus or Armeniacus in memory of a 
 
96 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 war in which he took no part ; but Verus, not to be out- 
 done in seeming modesty, would only accept the names 
 on condition that he shared them with his colleague. 
 "To have pressed this point and won it," says the 
 courtier, in his hyperbolic vein, "is a greater thing than 
 all the glories of the past campaigns. Many a strong- 
 hold like Artaxata had fallen before the onset of thy 
 conquering arms, but it was left for thy eloquence to 
 storm, in the resolute persistence of thy brother to refuse 
 the proffered honours, a fortress more impregnable." 
 
 Little is told us of what passed meantime during the 
 five years in Italy, where Marcus Aurelius ruled alone ; 
 ,„ . ,. and the scanty fragments of our knowledge 
 
 M. Aurelius . 
 
 meantime come chiefly from monumental sources. The 
 
 endows . - i -i i riii 
 
 charitable endowments tor poor children founded by 
 foundations, ^ e cnar ity f re cent Emperors were put 
 
 under the charge of consular officials instead of simple 
 knights, in token of the importance of the work, while 
 on occasion of the imperial marriage, which bound the 
 princes by fresh ties, the claims of poverty were not for- 
 gotten, but fresh funds were set apart to rear more little 
 ones, who were to bear probably the names of the two 
 reigning houses, as the earlier foundlings had been 
 called after Trajan and Faustina. 
 
 Another measure of this date seems to have been 
 prompted by a tender interest for the material welfare 
 of the people. Some four or five officials of high rank 
 had been sent from Rome of late with large powers of 
 jurisdiction in the county courts of Italy, in 
 appoints tne interest alike of central authority and 
 
 furzdia, 
 
 local justice, rising as they did above the 
 town councillors and magistrates of boroughs. These 
 " juridici" as they were called, were now entrusted with 
 the further duty of watching over the supplies of food, 
 
i47 -I So. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 97 
 
 and the regulation of the corn trade, for Italy was letting 
 her lands pass out of culture, and growing more depend- 
 ent every year upon the mercy of the winds and the 
 surplus of foreign harvests. An inscription found at 
 Rimini informs us that the seven wards of the old city, 
 and all the corporations in it, passed a public vote of 
 thanks to one of these officials for his laborious exertions 
 in behalf of themselves and all their neighbours in the 
 hard times of famine. 
 
 A third change breathes the same spirit *" b^JuTrXln 
 of compassion for the helpless and the des- °[ orphan 
 
 1 r children, 
 
 titute. A "praetor" was specially commis- 
 sioned to watch over the welfare of orphan children, 
 and to see that the guardians did not abuse their trust or 
 neglect the interests of their wards. By a singular coin- 
 cidence the first of these officials thus appointed became 
 soon after a juridicus in Northern Italy, and also won an 
 honorary notice of the energy with which he had met 
 the crisis of famine, and brought to countless homes the 
 Emperor's thoughtful tenderness. 
 
 A new provision was closely connected with these 
 changes, as well as with the needs of a well- 
 
 and caused 
 
 ordered state. All births in Italy were to births to be 
 be registered henceforth in a public office 
 within the space of thirty days — a necessary step if pub- 
 lic or private charity were to try to cope with the spread 
 of pauperism and despair. 
 
 For the rest the Emperor had no high ambition, nor 
 cared to signalise himself by great achievements. He 
 was content to let the Senate rule, and treat- 
 
 . He works 
 
 ed it throughout with marked respect, be- unremitting- 
 
 1 . 1 ly himself 
 
 ing always present at its meetings when he atpu'iic 
 could, and when business was pressing he business; 
 sat oftentimes till nightfall. He never spared himself 
 
gS The Age of the Antonines. A.D, 
 
 meantime, but worked on with unremitting labour till 
 his pale face and careworn looks told all who loved him 
 how serious was the strain upon his feeble powers of 
 body, and made his physicians warn him that he must 
 give himself more rest or die. For he was anxious above 
 all things to do justice promptly to his people, by him- 
 self or through his servants, and to have no arrears of 
 work. With this view he added largely to the number 
 of the days on which the law courts might be opened, 
 and sought the counsel and the active aid of the most 
 enlightened men around him. His old master Junius 
 Rusticus had to give up his learned leisure, and take 
 perforce to politics, to be consul first, then prefect of the 
 city, to show his old pupil by his own example how to 
 turn the Stoic maxims to practical account, and prove 
 that the ruler of mankind must learn to govern others 
 by first governing himself. 
 — /- But Marcus Aurelius had little leisure after this to stu- 
 dy the arts of civil rule in peace, for untoward destiny 
 required him to spend the best years of his 
 calledaway ^ e m an inglorious warfare with enemies 
 from civil unknown to fame. His was too gentle and 
 
 duties to the ° 
 
 distasteful sensitive a nature to feel at home among 
 
 work of war. . -iii-iii 
 
 the armies : too large-minded to be dazzled 
 by the vanity of fading laurels. The war was none of 
 his own seeking, and he would gladly have purchased 
 peace at any price save that of honour or of the safety 
 of his people. But the dangers were very imminent and 
 grave, and could not everywhere be safely left to the 
 care of generals of lower rank. The austere lessons of 
 philosophy had taught him not to play the sophist with 
 his conscience, or to shirk distasteful offices when duty 
 called. 
 
 The Roman lines lay like a broad belt around the 
 
i47 -I So. Marcus Aureiius Antoninus. 99 
 
 civilised world, and the trusty legionaries stood there on 
 watch and ward. The wild tribes beyond had been long 
 quiet, cowed- seemingly by Trajan's martial energy and 
 Hadrian's armaments of war. But now some passion- 
 ate impulse seemed to pass like a fiery cross along the 
 borders, and barbarous hordes came swarming up with 
 fury to the attack, and threatened to burst the barriers 
 raised against them. The Parthians had been humbled 
 for a time, but were soon to show themselves in arms 
 once more. The Moors of Africa were on the move, 
 and before long were sweeping over Spain with havoc 
 and desolation in their track. The Caledonians of the 
 far west were irritated rather than frightened by the long 
 lines of wall and dyke which had been built to shut 
 them in, and their untamed fierceness was enough to 
 make the Roman troops retire before the children of the 
 mist. 
 
 From the mouth of the Dniester to where the Rhine 
 bears to the sea the waters of all its tributary rivers a 
 multitude of restless tribes with uncouth name and un- 
 known antecedents, Teutonic, Slave, Finnish, and Tar- 
 tar, were roaming in hostile guise along the northern 
 frontiers, and ready to burst in at every unguarded 
 point. It is time to enter more into details on the sub- 
 ject of these wars, to see in what spirit the meditative 
 student faced the rough work of war, and how far he 
 showed the forethought of a ruler cast on evil times. 
 
 We turn with natural interest to read of the fortunes 
 of his arms in Britain, but there are only 
 scanty data to reward our search. At the ^he fortunes 
 
 J of the Roman 
 
 outset of this period a new commander, arms in 
 Calpurnius Agricola by name, had been 
 sent to meet the threatening rumours of a rising among 
 the native or the Roman forces. His name recalled the 
 
ioo The Age of the Anionines. a.d. 
 
 memory of the famous captain of an earlier age, whose 
 career of glory in the island found in his kinsman Taci- 
 tus a chronicler of note. But there is no evidence that 
 the efforts of the later general were crowned with like? suc- 
 cess. Seven years afterwards at the least he is mentioned 
 in an inscription found near Hadrian's wall ; but there 
 is no trace of any forward movement in the course of all 
 these years, not a single monumental notice of a Roman 
 soldier upon Scottish soil, though under Antoninus an 
 imperial legate had pushed his way some eighty miles 
 beyond the old ramparts of defence, and raised a second 
 line of wall and dyke between the Clyde and the Frith 
 of Forth to screen the conquered lands from the indom- 
 itable races of the . north. Reinforcements had been 
 brought meantime from countries far away ; five thousand 
 horsemen came in one contingent from the lower Dan- 
 ube, where a friendly tribe had taken service in the pay 
 of Rome, but they found their match in the hardy war' 
 riors of the Picts and Scots, before whom Sarmatian 
 ferocity and Roman discipline combined could scarcely 
 make head or even hold their ground. But formal his- 
 tory hardly deigns to note their doings at this time, and 
 the troubles of that distant province seemed insignificant 
 enough, no doubt, to the imperial court. 
 
 The dangers on another frontier were more threaten- 
 ing. The army of defence upon the Danube had been 
 weakened to meet the pressure of the Par- 
 Th- danger en thian war an( j the Marcomanni and their 
 
 the Danube 
 
 was more neighbours, who were constantly on the 
 
 pressing, ,   . 
 
 alert, had taken advantage of the withdrawal 
 of the legions, and harried the undefended provinces 
 with fire and sword. From the mouth of the Danube to 
 the confines of Illyria the barbarian world was on the 
 move, and all those elements of disorder, if allowed to 
 
i47 _I 8o. Marcus Aurelius Antojiinus. 101 
 
 gather undisturbed, might roll ere long as an avalanche 
 of ruin on the south. There was no time to be lost in 
 parrying this danger, when peace was restored on the 
 Euphrates. The acclamations of the city populace had 
 hardly died away, or the pomp of the triumphal show 
 faded from men's thoughts when both Emperors resolved 
 to start together to conduct their armies in the field. 
 But in spite of the successes lately won they 
 weie in no cheerful mood to open fresh Emperors 
 
 „, c , , . , . started for the 
 
 campaigns. The tone ot public sentiment north' r 1 
 
 was sadly low ; the brooding fancy of the peo- frontl r ' 
 
 pie drew presages of disaster and defeat for coming days 
 
 from the misfortunes of the present. The 
 
 effects of the famine were still felt in Italy, while the 
 
 J p!;igue was 
 
 though years had passed since its ravages had spreading 
 
 . rr - nl1 rapidly 
 
 first begun, and officers ot state had been within the 
 ready with their timely succours. A yet ^1x167. 
 more fatal visitant had stalked among them, 
 and spread a panic through the hearts of men. The sol- 
 diers who had come back from the East to take part in 
 the reviews which graced the public triumph, or to return 
 to their old quarters, brought with them the fatal seeds 
 of plague, and spread them rapidly through all the 
 countries of the West. The scourge passed on its deso- 
 lating course from land to land. In the capital itself 
 numbers of honoured victims fell, while deaths followed 
 so fast upon each other that all the carriages available 
 were needed for the transport of the plague-stricken 
 corpses through the street. Stringent laws had to be 
 passed to regulate the interment of the bodies, and pro- 
 visions made in the interests of the poorer classes, for 
 whom the state took up the task which slipped from their 
 despairing hands. While men's hearts were thus failing 
 them for fear, and death was knocking at the door of 
 
102 The Age of the Antonines. A.D. 
 
 every class without distinction, appeal was made to the 
 ministrations of religion to soothe and reassure their 
 troubled minds. Lcctistcrnia, as they were called, were 
 solemnised; days of public mourning and humiliation 
 set apart ; and as if the old national deities were inef- 
 fectual to save, men turned in their bewilderment to the 
 mystic rites of alien creeds, and drew near with offering 
 and prayer to the altars of many an unknown god. 
 The races of the North meantime, who had learnt that 
 the Emperors were on the way, already heard 
 The border upon the border the tramp of the advancing - 
 
 races retire, *■ l ° 
 
 and beg for legions, and their ardour for war was cooling 
 fast in the presence of the forces of defence. 
 Hardly had the princes arrived at Aquileia, when the 
 tidings came that their enemies had withdrawn beyond 
 the river, and were sending in hot haste envoys to sue 
 for peace, bearing the heads of the counsellors who had 
 urged them to attack the Roman lines. So complete 
 seemed the discouragement among them that the Ouadi, 
 who were at the time without a leader, asked to have a 
 chieftain given them by Rome. Verus, we read, in the 
 carelessness of his self-indulgent nature, thought that 
 the danger was quite over, and was urgent to return. 
 But it needed little foresight to discern that it was but a 
 temporary lull in the fury of the storm, and that only a 
 stern and watchful front could maintain the 
 but before long cr r ound which had been won. The meagre 
 
 are in arms ° . ° 
 
 again, and the annals of the period fail to tell us how long 
 
 marching' the Emperors were in the field. We only 
 
 them' hear that within two years of their return 
 
 they were summoned from Rome once more 
 
 A.D. 169. J 
 
 bv the news that the hollow truce was bro- 
 ken, and their old enemies again in arms. They set 
 out together, as before, for Aquileia, where the armies 
 
i47 -I 8o. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 103 
 
 were to be organized and drilled during the winter 
 months, to be ready for the spring when the campaign 
 might open in real earnest. 
 
 But the plague, whose ravages had never wholly 
 ceased meantime, broke out afresh with redoubled fury 
 in the crowded camp, and the death rate mounted with 
 alarming speed. The famous Galen was called in to try 
 all that medical experience and skill could 
 do, but his efforts failed to arrest the spread * re checked 
 of pestilence or bring its victims back to spread of 
 health. In face of such fearful waste of life 
 the plan of the war had to be changed. The camp was 
 broken up without delay ; the various battalions were 
 dispersed in separate cantonments ; and the Emperors 
 set forth on their return. 
 
 They were not far upon the homeward way when, at 
 Altinum, Verus was struck down with a sudden attack, 
 from which he never rallied, and Marcus 
 
 at i r 11 . 1 • which is 
 
 Aurelius was left to rule alone. Alone in- fatal to 
 deed he had often stood already ; the col- 
 league who was taken from him had helped him little 
 with the cares of state, and there were few who could 
 regret his loss. Unnerved by years of selfish luxury in 
 the East, Verus had come back with shattered body and 
 with diseased mind to startle the sober citizens of Rome 
 with freaks of dissolute wantonness which recalled the 
 memory of Nero and the orgies of his House of Gold. 
 Marcus Aurelius was not blind to the luxury and extra- 
 vagance of his ignoble nature. He had sent him to "he 
 East, perhaps, in hope that the braver manhood in him 
 might be roused by the sobering contact of real cares. 
 He had seen to his dismay that the careless worldling 
 had come back with a motley train of actors, dancers, 
 parasites, and buffoons, to be the pastimes of his idle 
 
io4 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 life, while in default of manlier pleasures he loved to 
 have gladiators in to fence and hack themselves before 
 his eyes. 
 
 Still the Emperor had borne calmly and patiently the 
 vices of his colleague, and even now that he was dead 
 ~, , , he proposed the usual vote of honours in 
 
 1 henceforth * ^ l 
 
 M. Aureiius the Senate ; but he dropped some words, 
 
 reigned alone, , , , . , 
 
 perhaps unconsciously, which betrayed to 
 watchful ears that he had long chafed and fretted, 
 though in silence, and now was resolved to rule alone 
 without the embarrassment of divided power. He might 
 perhaps have been more careful had he known that ru- 
 mour was busy with the death of Verus, and pointing to 
 foul play with which his own name was coupled, though 
 indeed in all days of personal government scandalous 
 gossip circulates about the court, and, as an old bio- 
 grapher remarks, no one can hope to rise above suspicion 
 if the pure name of M. Aureiius was thus befouled. 
 
 He had lost also a young son whom he loved fondly 
 and mourned deeply, for the sages of the Porch had 
 never taught him, as they did to others, to disguise his 
 feelings under a cloak of Stoic calm, and the Senate's 
 votes of honours and of statues were but a sorry com- 
 fort to the tender father. 
 
 But he had little leisure for his grief. The danger on 
 the Danube was still urgent, and the same year saw him 
 
 and was soon once more on his way northward, to guide 
 call-d once tne plans and share the labours of the war. 
 
 more to the * 
 
 seat of war in All through his reign that danger lasted; 
 
 the North, n . n , , . , , . . - , 
 
 nor did he ever shirk the irksome duty, but 
 was constantly upon the scene of action, and lived 
 henceforth more on the frontier than at Rome. In 
 default of full details in the ancient writers we may judge 
 how arduous was the struggle by the evidence of the 
 
i47^ _I So. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 105 
 
 where the 
 struggle w;.s 
 
 inscriptions. Of the thirty legions which 
 made up the regular complement of the 
 Roman army, more than half took part in long and 
 
 r aiduous. 
 
 the Alarcomannic war, and have left repeated 
 tokens of their presence in epitaphs or votive offerings. 
 We may find the traces also of the irregular contingents 
 which marched with them to the field from many a far- 
 off province and its fringe of barbarous races, and which 
 though variously manned and armed were welded into 
 unity by the stern discipline of Rome. For she soon 
 learned the lesson, since familiar to the world, to group 
 distinct nationalities round a common centre by a strong 
 imperial system in which each helped in arms to keep 
 the others down. As the war went on, the Emperor had 
 recourse to far more questionable levies, if what we read 
 is true, enrolling exiles, gladiators, and even slaves in 
 two new legions which he brought into the field. The 
 work of recruiting went slowly forward, and could scarce- 
 ly supply the constant drain of war. The central pro- 
 vinces had long ago wearied of military service, since 
 Augustus raised his legions on the border lands, and at 
 Rome itself no volunteers would answer to the call; but 
 the lazy rabble hooted as they saw the gladiators go, and 
 said in hot displeasure, "Our gloomy prince would rob 
 us even of our pleasures to make us turn philosophers." 
 
 The pestilence was still abroad, and spread its rava- 
 ges among the ranks, clouding with discouragement all 
 their hones and efforts. Thev showed little courage in 
 the field ; sometimes they were driven back in panic 
 fear. In one such rout the fortress of Aquileia had near- 
 ly fallen, but the bravery of its garrison saved it from 
 disaster. To make matters worse, the treasury was 
 empty, drained perhaps by the charitable outlay for the 
 sufferers by plague and famine. The Emperor drew 
 
io6 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 upon his privy purse ; when that too failed, he stripped 
 his palaces of their costly furniture, put up to auction 
 the art-treasures which Hadrian's fine taste had gathered 
 in the course of the journeys of a lifetime, and sold them 
 all without reserve, while for himself he needed little 
 more than the general's teni and soldier's cloak. 
 
 Brighter days set in at last to reward his persevering 
 courage, though dangers meantime had thickened in his 
 path. The tribes of the Rhine and Danube had joined 
 hands, forgetting for a while their mutual rivalries in 
 the hope of carrying the Roman lines in one great si- 
 multaneous assault. Their women were stirred with 
 patriotic ardour, and fought and died beside their hus- 
 bands. The rigour of the winter could not check them ; 
 for in time of frost, we read, they challenged the legion- 
 aries to mortal duel on the ice-bound river/where the 
 southerners, dismayed at first, found a firm footing at 
 the last by standing on their shields, and closing in a 
 death grapple with the foe. In the ranks of Rome none 
 showed more resolution than the Emperor himself, none 
 faced with a calmer or a stouter heart the hardship of 
 the wintry climate, the monotony of the life of camps, 
 or the horrors of the crash of war. At length he was 
 rewarded by seeing the assailants sullenly retire before 
 the firm front of his array ; and the Danubian provinces 
 were left a while undisturbed. 
 
 Not content with resting on his laurels he set forth to 
 chastise the Ouadi, and drive back the hos- 
 
 When the ~ 
 
 Marcomannic tile tribes yet further from his borders. The 
 
 for a time, the hard winter had been followed by a hot 
 
 asainst^e an< ^ P ai "ching Summer which made the la- 
 
 Quadi fol- bours of the march exhausting to the troops. 
 
 lowed, & r 
 
 In the midst of the campaign they were 
 lured into a pass where the natives beset them on all 
 
1 4 7- 1 80 . Marcus A urelius Antoninus. 107 
 
 sides. Worn out by heat and thirst, and harassed by 
 continual onsets, they were on the point of breaking in 
 disgraceful rout when the scorching sun was covered, 
 and the rain burst in torrents from the clouds to cool 
 and refresh the weary combatants. The enemy came 
 swarming up once more to the attack, but they were 
 met with pelting hail and lightning flashes, and driven 
 back in utter consternation to lay down their arms be- 
 fore the imperial forces. Dion Cassius, who tells the 
 story in greatest detail, accounts for the marvel by the 
 magic incantations of an Egyptian in the army, whose 
 potent spells unlocked the windows of heaven, and 
 called to the rescue powers unseen. And in accord- 
 ance with the legend we may see on the monumental 
 column, which pourtrays in sculptured forms the mili- 
 tary story of this reign, a Jupiter Pluvius of giant stature 
 whose arms and hair seem dripping with the moisture 
 which the Romans run to gather, while the thunderbolts 
 are falling fast in the meantime upon the hostile ranks. 
 But Xiphilinus, the Christian monk who abridged 
 the historian's tedious chapters, taxes his 
 
 , ..... . . . in the course 
 
 author roundly with inventing a lying tale of which we 
 to support the credit of the heathen gods, supposed mar- 
 His pious fancy fondly dwells upon a mira- thunder" n 
 cle of grace, vouchsafed in answer to the Legion." 
 Christian prayers of a battalion come from 
 Melitene, in the east of Asia, which was called thence- 
 forth the "Thundering" legion, in token of the prodigy 
 wrought by their ministry of intercession. The fathers 
 of the Church took kindly to the story, and pointed the 
 moral with becoming fervour. But the twelfth legion, 
 which had indeed been sent long since from the siege 
 of Jerusalem to Melitene, to defend the line of the Eu- 
 phrates, had borne in earlier years the name, not of 
 
10S The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 " Fulminans " indeed but " Fulminata," and so appears 
 on an inscription which was written as early as the time 
 of Nero. 
 
 There was now a prospect of at least a breathing 
 space in the long struggle with the races of the North. 
 The humbled tribes consented to give back the captives 
 swept away in border forays. The human spoil to be 
 surrendered by the Ouadi reached the tale of 50,000, and 
 a neighbouring race which had resisted with desperate 
 valour restored, we are told, twice that number when 
 the war was closed. Some hordes of the Marcomanni 
 consented to abandon their old homes, and were quar- 
 tered in the country near Ravenna ; but before long they 
 tired of the dulness of inglorious peace, and took once 
 more to butchery and rapine, till Italy sadly rued the fatal 
 experiment which future Emperors were one day to copy. 
 
 The Emperor was still busy with the arrears of work 
 
 which the war had brought with it in its train, when the 
 
 alarming news arrived that a governor in 
 
 The revolt . , - . 
 
 of Avidius the. East had raised the banner of revolt, 
 and seemed likely to carrv with him the 
 whole province as well as the legions under his com- 
 mand. Avidius Cassius had won distinction in the Par- 
 thian campaigns, and to his skill and energy the suc- 
 cesses of the war were largely due, while the general in 
 chief was lounging at ease in the haunts of Syrian luxury. 
 He had been chosen at the first as a commander of the 
 good old type to tighten the bands of discipline among 
 the dissolute soldiers who were more formidable to quiet 
 citizens than to the foe. He soon checked with an un- 
 sparing hand the spread of luxury and self-indulgence, 
 let them stroll no more at will in the licentious precincts 
 of Daphne, or in like scenes of riot, but kept them to 
 hard fare and steady drill, threatening to make them 
 
i47 _I So. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 109 
 
 winter in the open field, till he had them perfectly in 
 hand. Before long a new spirit of hardihood and valour 
 spread among the ranks, till the army, going forward 
 witK their leader in the path of glory, proved itself 
 worthy of the ancient memories of Rome. 
 
 Yet Verus eyed with jealousy the talents which 
 eclipsed his own, was stung by words or looks of sar- 
 casm which fell sometimes from the hardy soldier, or 
 perhaps divined the latent germs of the ambition which 
 was one day to make a rebel of the loyal 
 
 J against whom 
 
 warrior. He warned his brother Emperor M. Aurelius 
 
 , . . . , 11- had been 
 
 to be upon his guard, and urged him even warned 
 
 in 
 
 to dismiss the general from his post before vain " 
 his influence with the army grew too potent. The 
 answer of M. Aurelius is recorded, and throws an in- 
 teresting light on his pure unselfish nature. " I have 
 read," he writes,- " the letter in which you give utterance 
 to fears ill-becoming an Emperor or a government like 
 ours. If it is the will of heaven that Cassius should 
 mount the throne, resistance on our part is idle. Your 
 own forefather used to say that no prince can kill his 
 own successor. If it is not written in the book of destiny 
 that he shall reign, disloyal efforts on his part will be 
 followed by his fall. Why then deprive ourselves, on 
 mere suspicion, of a good general, whose services are 
 needful to the state ? His death, you say, would secure 
 the prospects of my children. Nay, but it will be time 
 for the sons of M. Aurelius to die when Cassius is able 
 more than they to win the love and further the happiness 
 of our people." Nor were these mere idle phrases, for 
 Cassius was retained in command of Syria and the 
 border armies, and treated with an undiminished confi- 
 dence, which he repayed by quelling a revolt in Egypt 
 and by victories in Arabia. 
 
no The Age of the Anionines. a.d, 
 
 But the man of action seems to have despised the 
 
 scholar prince as a mere bookworm, fitter to take part 
 
 in verbal quibbles than in cares of state, to 
 
 IxpreSeTbT* have thou S ht him to ° easy-tempered and 
 Avidius Cas- indulgent to keep strict watch over his ser- 
 
 sins (or the * 
 
 powers oi the vants and check their knavery and greed. 
 
 Emperor as T ■, , . , ,....., 
 
 aiuier, ln a letter to his son-in-law, which is still 
 
 preserved, he dwells on such abuses, how 
 truly we have no means of knowing. "Marcus is a very 
 
 worthy man, but in his wish to be thought 
 S^ ci i. GaIli " merciful he bears with those of whose cha- 
 
 racter he thinks but ill. Where is Cato the 
 old censor, where are the strict rules of ancient times? 
 They are vanished long ago, and no one dreams of re- 
 viving them again; for our prince spends his time in 
 star gazing, in fine talk about the elements and the 
 human soul, in questions of justice and of honour, but 
 neglects the interests of state meanwhile. There is need 
 to draw the sword, to prune and lop away with energy, 
 before the commonwealth can be put upon its former 
 footing. As for the governors of the provinces, if gov- 
 ernors they can be called who think that offices of state 
 are given them that they may live at ease and make 
 
 their fortunes — was not a praetorian praefect 
 
 and com- x x 
 
 plaints of his only the other day a starveling mendicant, 
 
 subordinates. • 1 1 01*1 ^.i 
 
 rich as he is now? — let them enjoy their 
 wealth and take their pleasure while they can, for if 
 heaven smiles upon my cause they shall fill the treasury 
 with the riches they disgorge." It would be hazardous 
 to accept the views of a discontented rival in place of 
 solid evidence upon this subject; but it is likely enough 
 that the Emperor may have been too tolerant and gentle 
 to repress with needful promptitude the abuses of his 
 servants. The machinery of government was perhaps 
 
i47 _I So. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. Ill 
 
 out of gear when the chief who applied the motive force 
 was busy with a great war upon a distant frontier, and 
 glad to steal the moments of his leisure for the congenial 
 studies of philosophy. 
 
 Certainly if we may trust the stones gleaned by the 
 writers of a later age, Avidius Cassius was not the man 
 to err on the side of sentimental weakness. He had 
 gained a name, it seems, among the soldiers for a 
 severity near akin to cruelty, had invented startling 
 forms of punishment for marauders and deserters, cruci- 
 fying some in frightful torments, and leaving others ham- 
 strung by the way to be a living warning to the rest. He 
 carried the sternness of his discipline so far as to hurry 
 off to execution the officers who had just returned in 
 triumph from a border foray for which he had himself 
 given no sanction. But we can put little trust in the 
 talk of the day, for few cared to deal tenderly with the 
 memory of an unsuccessful rebel. Probably it is only 
 such an afterthought of history when we are told that he 
 came of the family of Cassius, the murderer of the great 
 Caesar, and that like his ancestor he hated the very name 
 of monarchy, deploring often that the imperial power 
 rould only be assailed by one who must be emperor 
 himself. It is idle now upon such evidence as we pos- 
 sess to speculate upon his motives, or to say how far 
 personal ambition was disguised by larger 
 and unselfish aims. Of Marcus Aurelius he f the motives 
 seldom spoke, at least in public, save in re- of the mo . v e- 
 
 1 * ' ment, which 
 
 spectful tones, and only appealed to his soon failed. 
 
 ■t i r i A D - x 75- 
 
 partisans to rally round him when a raise 
 rumour of the prince's death was spread abroad. 
 
 The movement was short-lived, threatening as was its 
 march at first. It spread through Syria without let or 
 hindrance, and all beyond the Taurus was won by the 
 
ii2 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 usurper's arms. It seemed that there was no time to be 
 lost; and ttie Emperor was on his way to face the strug* 
 gle in which an empire was at stake, when the news came 
 that Cassius was no more, having met an inglorious 
 death by the hand of a petty officer of his own army, 
 the victim of revenge more probably than 
 ^"vSTovin- loyal feeling. The Emperor heard the ti- 
 dictive feeling, dings calmly> sho wed regret at the death of 
 
 the pretender, and would sanction no vindictive mea- 
 sures, though Faustina, whom idle rumour has accused 
 of urging Cassius to revolt, had written to him before in 
 a tone of passionate resentment, praying him not to 
 spare the traitor, but to think of the safety of his chil- 
 dren. He answered her with tenderness, chiding her 
 gently for her revengeful language, and reminding her 
 that mercy was the blessed prerogative of imperial 
 power. He wrote in a like spirit to the Senate also, to 
 let its members know that he would have no sentence 
 of attainder passed on the wife or children of the fallen 
 leader, and no proscription of his partisans. For himseli 
 he only wished that none had died already, to rob him 
 of his privilege of mercy, and now he was resolved that 
 in that cause no more blood should flow. The Senate 
 read his words with gladness, were well pleased to drop 
 the veil on the intrigues in which some of their own 
 body were concerned, and carefully entered on their 
 minutes all th*i dutiful phrases and ejaculations in which 
 the counsellors showed their thankfulness and admira- 
 tion. The letters and despatches of the rebel, which 
 were full, probably, of fatal evidence against his accom- 
 plices in the army or at Rome, fell into the hands of the 
 governor of Syria, or some said of the Emperor himself, 
 but were V'irnt without delay to relieve the fears of the 
 surviv>rA £ 
 
J47 -I 8o. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 113 
 
 The people of Antioch had sided eagerly with Cassius, 
 and used their wit 111 contemptuous jest against their 
 prince, moving him to resent tiieir disloyalty 
 by forbidding for a while all public gather- j^^JS 
 ings for business or pleasure. Soon, how- order in 
 
 1 1 1 1 • • 1 1 the East. 
 
 ever, he relented, and even visited the city, 
 when he passed by in his state progress to restore order 
 to the troubled East. Now for the first time in his career 
 could he set foot in those far-off regions, and wander 
 among the memories of ancient peoples. Before he 
 left Rome, as it would seem, he had the tribunician title 
 conferred on Commodus, the son who was soon to take 
 his place, and then more than a year was spent in the 
 loner iourney. His wife Faustina died upon __. 
 
 ° J J r His wife 
 
 the way, at a tiny village near the range of Faustina 
 
 . , . . c . died upon 
 
 Taurus, which was raised, in honour ot her, the way. 
 to the dignity of a city and a colony. For A- D ' 1?> 
 the empress herself the Senate passed, at his request, 
 the solemn vote which raised her to the rank of the im- 
 mortals, and one of the sculptures of his triumphal arch 
 pourtrayed her as borne aloft to heaven by the guardian 
 arms of Fame. 
 
 He took Egypt in his homeward way, and at Alexan- 
 dria was willing to forget the signs of sympathy which 
 the citizens had shown his rival, leaving his daughter to 
 their care in token of the confidence with which he 
 trusted them. At Smyrna he wished to hear the emi- 
 nent Aristides lecture, whose vanity was such that he 
 would only consent to speak while attended with a long 
 train of pupils, who must have free liberty to clap him 
 when they would. The Emperor let them all in willingly 
 enough, and himself gave the signal for applause at the 
 eloquent periods of the famous sophist. 
 
 As Athens, where he left some lasting traces of his 
 
H4 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 visit in the endowment of professorial chairs, he had him- 
 self admitted to the Eleusinian mysteries, whose vener- 
 able symbols might haply shadow forth to his inquiring 
 fancy some new beliefs or hopes about the world unseen. 
 For more than a year the Emperor had rest at Rome, 
 and signalised his period of repose by charitable cares 
 for the. Puellce Fausti?iia?ice, the poor girls 
 
 During his , , , . rl . . r 
 
 short rest at who were to be reared in memory of his wife, 
 f 7 7 m he AD- ' an< ^ ^ear h er name - We may see at Rome 
 endowed a bas-relief in which the sculptor's fancy 
 
 trie x ueli3e 
 
 Faustinianse has pourtrayed the maidens clustering round 
 
 and married .1 i i i 1 • , 
 
 his son the noble dame, and pouring corn into the 
 
 Commodus, folds of t j ie g arment w hich one of them is 
 
 holding for the purpose. The medals also of the year 
 record the liberal largess given to the populace of Rome at 
 the festivities which followed the marriage of the youthful 
 Commodus, on which occasion the bonds which the state 
 held against its debtors were thrown into the fire in the 
 forum, while similar munificence was shown in helping 
 the ruined Smyrna to rise once more in its old stately 
 beauty after the havoc caused by a great earthquake. 
 
 Meantime the thunder-clouds were gathering on the 
 
 northern frontier, and the military chiefs were anxious 
 
 to have the Emperor again upon the scene. 
 
 but had Once more he started for the seat of war, 
 
 soon to v/llv ' v ' ' 
 
 start again after observing with a scrupulous care the 
 
 for the & , . ™. 
 
 northern ceremonial customs of old time, ilie spear- 
 
 wars ' head taken from the shrine of Mars was 
 
 dipped in blood and hurled by the prince's hand in the 
 direction of the hostile borders, within which in the 
 earlier days of the Republic the lance itself was flung as 
 a symbol of the war thereby declared. Once more victory 
 crowned the efforts of the Roman leaders, and the title 
 of Imj)e?'ator was taken for the tenth time by the prince. 
 
i47 _I 8°' Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 115 
 
 The war itself seemed well-nigh over, but M. Aurelius 
 was not permitted to survive it. 
 
 While in Pannonia, either at Vienna or at Sirmium, 
 he was struck down by disease, probably by the plague, 
 whose ravages may still be traced along those countries 
 by the evidence of old inscriptions. Dion Cassius, as 
 usual, takes up the vilest story he can find, 
 and charges Commodus with parricide, in sJJn,* 38 
 the form of poison given by a doctor's hand, down on his 
 Other writers tell us only that the dying a.d.'iSo. 
 Emperor's son showed little feeling, save the 
 selfish wish to escape from the danger of contagion by a 
 speedy flight. When the friends who were gathered 
 round his deathbed asked whom he wished to be the 
 guardians of his young successor, he answered only 
 " Yourselves, if he be worthy ;" then drawing his Stoic 
 mantle round his head, he died as he had lived, with 
 gentle dignity. His health had never been robust, and 
 it was sorely tried by the hardships of a soldier's life, by 
 hurried journeys to and fro, and the rigour of those 
 winters by the Danube. His resolute spirit had drawn 
 thus far on its reserves of moral force to keep the 
 frail body to its work, but the keen blade wore out its 
 sheath at last. 
 
 The Romans mourned their Emperor as they had 
 seldom mourned for one before, yet on the day when the 
 funeral procession passed along the streets 
 they abstained from outward show of grief, grief e of hU 
 convinced as they were, says his biographer, suh J ects - 
 that heaven had only lent him for a time, and taken him 
 soon back again to his own place among the immortal 
 gods. "You also," adds the writer, ad- 
 dressing Diocletian his prince, "regard M. / in l; J a jj t t0 * 
 Aurelius as a god, and make him the object 
 
n6 The Age of the A?ito?iines. a.d, 
 
 of a special worship, praying oftentimes that you may 
 copy the virtues of a ruler whom Plato himself with all 
 his lessons of philosophy, could not excel." 
 
 In honour of the victories which his arms had won 
 ^ L over the formidable warriors of those border 
 
 lne monu- 
 ments in his lands, great monuments were raised at Rome. 
 
 One of these, an arch of triumph, stood for 
 nearly fifteen centuries till a Pope (Alexander VII.), 
 ordered it to be thrown down, because it was thought to 
 block the way through which in days of carnival the 
 crowds of masked revellers used to pass. " The arch," 
 says a modern writer, "had happily escaped the barba- 
 rians, the mediaeval times, the Renaissance ; but a Pope 
 was found not only to lay bold hands upon it, but to 
 have the naivete to take credit to himself for doing so in 
 an inscription which the curious still may read upon the 
 site." 
 
 A second monument is standing still, but the papal 
 government which dealt so hardly with the arch of tri- 
 umph, tried to rob the Emperor of this glory also, for the 
 title carved upon his column by the order of a second 
 Pope (Sixtus V.) ascribes the work to Antoninus Pius. 
 Like Trajan's column, of which it is a copy, it is formed 
 of cylinders of marble piled upon each other, round 
 which is coiled in spiral form a long series of bas-reliefs 
 which illustrate the Marcomannic war. The literary 
 records of the ten years' struggle are too meagre to en- 
 able us to give their local colour to the scenes pictorially 
 rendered ; the sculptured figures.too complacently exhibit 
 the unvarying success of Roman armies to represent with 
 fairness a war in which the German and Sarmatian tribes 
 tasked year after year the military resources of the Em- 
 pire. One set of images there is which frequently recurs 
 in varying forms, and we may trust to these as evidence 
 
i47"" I So. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 117 
 
 of the constant hindrance to the forward movement of 
 the legions in the wild lands beyond the Danube. The 
 broad current of the great river and its tributary streams, 
 the uncleared forest, and the dangerous morasses, are 
 often shown in symbolic guise upon the column, and in 
 these Roman vanity was ready to admit the obstacles and 
 perils which carried with them no dishonourto the eagles. 
 Trophies of war were little suited to the character of 
 such a ruler, but happily we have a worthier monument 
 in the " Thoughts " or " Meditations " which, intended 
 for no eye but his, reflect his passing sentiments from day 
 to day. Written here and there in the moments of his 
 leisure, sometimes on the eve of battle in __. „,. ,. 
 
 His " Medita- 
 the general's tent, sometimes in the dreary tions" are afar 
 
 . 111 worthier mon- 
 
 monotony of winter quarters and by the U ment of his 
 morasses of the Danube, they have little s emus ' 
 nicety of style or literary finish, they contain no system 
 of philosophy set off with parade of dialectic fence ; but 
 there is in them what is better far, the truthful utterance 
 of an earnest soul, which would lay bare 
 
 , , , r '. reflecting his 
 
 its inmost thoughts, study the secrets ot its habits of 
 strength and weakness, and be by turns the ^^ se1f " 
 accused, the witness, advocate and judge. 
 
 Self-enquiry such as this had been of old the favourite 
 tenet of Pythagorean schools, it had been pressed by 
 Socrates upon his age with a sort of missionary fervour, 
 it had since passed almost as a commonplace into the 
 current systems of the day, and become a recognised 
 duty with the earnest-minded, just as the practice of con- 
 fession in the Church of Rome. With M. Aurelius it 
 was a lifelong habit, and covered the whole range of 
 thought ana action. " How hast thou be- 
 
 jVIedit. v. 31. 
 
 haved thus far," he asks himself, " to the 
 
 gods, thy parents, brethren, children, teachers, to those 
 
ti8 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 who looked after thy infancy, to thy friends, kinsfolk, to 
 thy slaves ? Think if thou hast hitherto behaved to all 
 in such a way that this may be said of thee, 
 
 Ne'er has he wronged a man in word or deed. 
 
 Call to recollection how many things thou hast passed 
 through, and what thou hast been able to endure, and 
 that the history of thy life is fully told and thy service 
 drawing to its close ; think how many fair things thou 
 hast seen, and how many pleasures and pains thou hast 
 despised; how much that the world holds in honour thou 
 hast spurned ; and with how many ill-minded folks thou 
 hast dealt kindly." In the course of such reflections he 
 recurs with tender gratitude to the memory of those who 
 watched over his early years, or helped to 
 gratitude to all form his character or enrich his thought ; to 
 friends and' ^he g°°d parents, teachers, kinsmen, friends, 
 kinsmen who for the blessings of whose care he thanks the 
 
 had helped 
 
 to form his gods so fervently, while he dwells fondly on 
 the features of the moral character of each. 
 He speaks of his mother's cheerful piety and kindly tem- 
 per, of the instinctive delicacy with which she shunned 
 not the practice merely but the thought of evil, of how 
 she spent with him the last years of her short life, guard- 
 ing the virgin modesty of his young mind, that he might 
 grow up with the purity of his manhood unbefouled. 
 
 The twenty years of unbroken intercourse with his 
 adoptive father had not faded from his thoughts when 
 he penned in all sincerity these graceful lines : 
 ., ,.„ " Do everything as a pupil of Antoninus- 
 
 Medit. vi. 30. } & " r 
 
 Remember his constancy in every act whicn 
 was conformable to reason, his evenness in all things, 
 his piety, the serenity of his countenance, his sweetness, 
 his disregard of empty fame, and his efforts to under- 
 
1 4 7 - 1 8 o . Marcus Aureiius A ntoninus. 119 
 
 stand things duly ; how he would let nothing pass with- 
 out having first most carefully examined it and clearly 
 understood it ; how he bore with those who blamed him 
 unjustly without blaming them in return; how he did 
 nothing in a hurry; how he listened not to calumnies, 
 and how exact an examiner of manners and actions he 
 was; not given to reproach people, nor timid, nor sus- 
 picious, nor a sophist ; how he bore with freedom of 
 speech in those who opposed his judgments ; the pleasure 
 that he had when any man showed him anything better ; 
 and how religious he was, without superstition. Imitate 
 all this, that in thy last hour thou mayest have as good 
 a conscience as he had." 
 
 He speaks too in later years with thankfulness of his 
 aged guardian's care, which would not trust him to the 
 risks and uncertainties of the public schools, but grudged 
 no outlay on his education, supplying him with the best 
 teachers of the day at home. 
 
 As he passes in memory over the long list of these, 
 he does not care to dwell upon the order of his studies, 
 or how much he learnt from each of them of the stores 
 of art and learning, but he tries rather to remember in 
 each case what was or might have been the moral im- 
 press on his character from the examples of their lives 
 
 His governor, he says, gave him a distaste for the pas- 
 sionate excitement of the circus or the gladiators' fights, 
 taught him to "endure labour, and want 
 little ; to work with his own hands, and not 
 to meddle with the affairs of others, or listen readily to 
 slander.'' Diognetus turned his thoughts from the trifles 
 to the realities of life, introduced him to philosophy, and 
 made him feel the value of ascetic training, of the coarse 
 dress and the hard pallet bed. Fronto meantime was 
 leading him to note " what envy and duplicity and 
 
120 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 hypocrisy are in a tyrant, and how commonly the nobles 
 of the day are wanting in parental love.'V^From Severus 
 he learnt to admire the great men of the past — Thrasea, 
 Helvidius, Cato, Brutus; 'and from him I received the 
 idea of a polity in which there is the same law for all, 
 a. polity administered with regard to equal rights and 
 freedom of speech, and the idea of a kingly government." 
 Rusticus, who did him the good service of introducing 
 him to the mind of Epictetus as expressed in the memoirs 
 of his pupils, led him to see the vanity of sophistic emu- 
 lation and display. In the example of " Apollonius he saw 
 that the same man can be most resolute and yielding ;" 
 he had before his eyes a teacher who regarded his skill 
 and experience in instruction as the smallest of his 
 merits; and from him he learnt " how to receive from 
 friends what are thought favors, without being either 
 humbled by them or letting them pass unnoticed." In 
 Sextus he saw the beauty of a genial courtesy, and "had 
 the example of a family governed in a fatherly manner, 
 and of living conformably to nature, and gravity without 
 affectation. He had the power of accommodating him- 
 self readily to all. so that intercourse with him was more 
 agreeable than any flattery ; and at the same time he 
 was most highly venerated by those who associated with 
 him." 
 
 Alexander the grammarian never used "to chide those 
 who uttered any barbarous or strange-sounding phrase ; 
 but dexterously introduced the very expression which 
 ought to have been used, in the way of answer or assent, 
 or joining in enquiry about the thing itself, and not about 
 the word." In Maximus he saw unvarying cheerfulness, 
 " and a just admixture of sweetness and of dignity hi 
 the moral character. He was beneficent, ready to for- 
 give, free from falsehood, and presented the appearance 
 
i47 _I So. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 121 
 
 of a man who could not be diverted from the right, 
 rather than of one who had been improved." Finally, 
 after the long survey of all the influences of earlier days, 
 he thanks the powers of heaven for all " their gifts and 
 inspirations," which tended to make the path of duty 
 easy, "though I still fall short of it through my own 
 fault, and from not observing the admonitions, or I may 
 almost say, the direct instructions of the gods." 
 
 Few who have read the remaining Meditations can 
 think that M. Aurelius is here numbering complacently 
 his own good qualities of heart and temper, or throwing 
 a decent cloak over his praises of himself. There is a 
 danger doubtless that the habit of constant 
 introspection may lead to vanity, or at least The i'? is no 
 
 1 J J morbid vanity 
 
 to a morbid persistency of self-centred or self-love in 
 
 ,. . i-i i r 1 1   1 such oblique 
 
 thought which may be fatal to the simple reference to 
 naturalness of healthy action. But in this qJiklities 
 case at least there are no traces of such in- 
 fluence. The candour of his early youth seems reflected in 
 the utterances of later years. He has a lively 
 horror of deceit and affectation, would have 
 his soul be " simple and single and naked, more mani- 
 fest than the body which surrounds it," so 
 that the character may be written on the xu 15 ' 
 forehead as " true affection reads everything in the eyes 
 of those it loves." 
 
 He wonders " how it is that every man loves himself 
 more than all the rest of men, but yet sets less value on 
 his own opinion of himself than on the judg- 
 ment of the world. If a god or a wise teach- xu ' 4 ' 
 er should present himself to a man, and bid him think 
 of nothing and design nothing which he would not ex- 
 press as soon as he conceived it, he could not bear it 
 even for a single day. So much more respect have we 
 
122 The Age of the Anto?iines. A.D t 
 
 to what our neighbours shall think of us than to what we 
 shall think of our own selves." 
 
 There is yet another danger, which is very real, when 
 
 earnest thought broods intently upon moral action, and 
 
 • dissects its motives and its aims. It often ends 
 
 and no . , . . 
 
 ?\nuue self- in seeing mainly what is mean and selfish, in 
 o? n p essi- having eyes only for the baser side of human 
 
 mism, nature, in becoming fretful and suspicious, 
 
 or in feeding an intellectual pride by stripping off what 
 seem the mere disguises of hypocrisy and fashion, and 
 pointing to the cankerworm of selfishness in all the 
 flowers and fruits of social life. Do we find anything in 
 these Meditations which may point to such painfulness 
 of self- contempt, or to any impatient scorn of the petti- 
 ness and vices of the men and women whom he knew ? 
 A pure and noble nature such as his could not but be 
 keenly sensitive to evil, and he does not shrink from 
 speaking of it often. " Begin the morning by 
 saying to thyself, I shall meet with the busy- 
 body, the ungrateful, arrogant, deceitful, envious, unso- 
 cial," but he goes on to find a motive for 
 wa"often e patience and forbearance. He was often 
 
 wearvof S - IC ^ an( j weary it would seem, of social 
 
 the evil. ■" 
 
 troubles and of uncongenial work. Men 
 s,eek retreats for themselves, houses in the country, sea- 
 shores and mountains ; and thou too art wont to desire 
 such things very much. ... It is in thy power 
 whenever thou shalt choose to retire into 
 thyself. For nowhere either with more quiet or more 
 freedom from troubles does a man retire than into his 
 own soul. Constantly then give thyself this retreat, and 
 renew thyself; and let thy principles be brief and fun- 
 damental, which, as soon as thou shalt recur to them, 
 will be sufficient to cleanse the soul completely, and to 
 
r 4 7 - 1 8 o . Marcus A u relius A ntoninus. 123 
 
 send thee back free from all discontent with the things 
 to which thou returnest." He would find rest and com- 
 fort in a larger, more hopeful view of things. " There 
 are briers in the road — turn aside from 
 them. Do not add, And why were such 
 things made in the world ? For thou wilt be ridiculed 
 by a man who is acquainted with nature, as thou wouldst 
 be by a carpenter or a shoemaker if thou 
 didst find fault because in his workshop tried to be 
 there were to be seen shavings and cuttings 
 from the things which he was making." He exhorts 
 himself to imitate the patience of the powers of heaven. 
 " The gods who are immortal are not vexed 
 because during so long a time they must 
 tolerate continually men such as they are, and so many 
 of them bad ; and be-ides this, they also take care of 
 them in all wavs. But thou, who art destined to end so 
 soon, art thou weary of enduring the bad, and this too 
 when thou art one of them ?" But above all he would 
 aim at cheerfulness in the thoughts of what is good and 
 noble. " When thou wishest to delight thy- 
 self, think of the virtues of those who live 
 with thee ; for instance, the activity of one, and cheerful - 
 and the modesty of another, and the liberality of a 
 third, and some other good quality of a fourth. For 
 nothing delights so much as the examples of the virtues, 
 when they are set before us in the morals of those who 
 live with us." 
 
 But M. Aurelius felt the cares of state 
 
 1 1 -ii •> • ir • i t 1 He would 
 
 too deeply to indulge himself in the listless not indulge 
 contemplation which might unnerve him for listless con- 
 the work of life. He bids himself " not to temptation, 
 
 but re- 
 be a man of many words, or busy about memi er the 
 
 1 • it 1 ti .. V, naI "d work 
 
 many things, but to act like 'a Roman of life 
 
124 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 and a ruler, who has taken his post like a 
 in. 5. . . L 
 
 man waiting for the signal which summons 
 him from life." Or again : "In the morn- 
 ing when thou risest unwillingly, let this thought be 
 present. I am rising to a man's work. Why then am 
 I dissatisfied if I am going to do the things for which I 
 exist, and for which I was brought into the world ? Or 
 have I been made for this, to lie in the bedclothes and 
 keep myself warm ? Those who love their several arts 
 exhaust themselves in working at them unwashed and 
 without food. But are the acts which concern society 
 more vile in thy eyes and less worthy of thy labour?" 
 Again : " Reverence the gods and help 
 men. Take care that thou art not made 
 into a Caesar.'' And to throw light upon his meaning, we 
 may read the strong words which are poured out so 
 abruptly : " A black character ; a womanish 
 character; a stubborn character; bestial, 
 childish, animal, stupid, counterfeit, scurrilous, fraudu- 
 lent, tyrannical !" 
 
 In the fulness of time philosophy was seated in his 
 
 person on the throne, but he was too wise to entertain 
 
 heroic aims and hopes of moulding- human 
 
 ix. 29. l & 
 
 nature like the potter's clay. *' How worth- 
 He was not , ... 
 
 too ambitious less are all these poor people who are en- 
 L r his a h im S f ul g a Sed in politics, and, as they think, are 
 playing the philosopher! . . . Do not expect 
 Plato's Republic, but be content if the least thing goes 
 well, and consider such an event to be no small matter. 
 For who can change men's opinions ; and without a 
 change of opinion what else is there than the slavery of 
 men who groan while they are pretending to obey ? 
 Draw me not aside to insolence and pride. Simple and 
 modest is the work of philosophy." Hovv modest was 
 
1 47- 1 80 . Marcus Aurelius A ntojiinus. 125 
 
 its aim, how far from all Utopian fancies of the use of 
 force, we may gather from another passage : 
 " What will the most violent man do to thee 
 if thou art still kindly towards him, and if, as opportunity 
 occurs, thou gently admonishest him and calmly cor- 
 rectest his errors at the very time when he is trying to do 
 thee harm, saying, Not so, my child ; we are made by 
 Nature for something else : I shall certainly not be 
 harmed, but thou art injuring thyself? Show him by 
 gentle tact and by general principles that this is so, and 
 that even bees do not as he does, nor any animals of 
 social nature. This thou must do affectionately and 
 without any rancour in thy soul ; and not as if thou wert 
 lecturing him, nor yet that any bystander may admire.'' 
 " The kingdom of heaven cometh not with observa- 
 tion." Not by the strong hand of the master of thirty 
 legions, nor by the voice of the imperial lawgiver, but by 
 the softer influence of loving hearts like his, was the 
 spirit of a nobler manhood to be spread on earth. For 
 when he speaks, as he often does, of charity, , , „ . 
 
 r ' J but full of 
 
 his words are not the old commonplaces of tender charity 
 the schools, but tender phrases full of deli- tionsof 
 cate refinement and enthusiastic ardour, fe^' ian 
 such as no work of heathendom can vie 
 with, such as need but little change of words to bring 
 before us the most characteristic graces of 'the Gospel 
 standard. " Think of thyself not as a part 
 
 Vll I ^   
 
 merely of the world, but as a member of 
 the human body, else thou dost not yet love men from thy 
 heart ; to do good does not delight thee for its own sake ; 
 thou doest it still barely as a thing of propriety, and not 
 yet as doing good to thine own self." What is this but 
 the well-known thought, " If one member suffer, all the 
 members suffer with it ?" 
 
126 The Age of tlie Antonines. a.d. 
 
 "As a dog when he has tracked the game, as a bee 
 when he has made the honey, so a man when he has 
 done a good act does not call out for others 
 to come and see, but goes on to another act 
 as a vine goes on to produce again the grapes in season. 
 Must a man then be one of these, who in a manner act 
 thus without observing it? Yes.'' Here we seem to 
 hear the precept, " Let not thy left hand know what thy 
 right hand doeth." 
 
 Again, on the duty of forgiveness : " When a. man has 
 
 done thee any wrong, immediately consider with what 
 
 opinion about good or evil he has done 
 
 wrong. For when thou hast seen this thou 
 
 wilt pity him, and wilt neither wonder nor be angry. It 
 
 is thy duty then to pardon him." Translate this into 
 
 Christian language, and we have the words, " Forgive 
 
 them, for they know not what they do." Or 
 
 again : " Suppose that men kill thee, curse 
 
 thee. . . If a man should stand by a pure spring and 
 
 curse it, the spring never ceases sending up wholesome 
 
 water; and if he should cast clay into it or filth, it will 
 
 speedily disperse them, and wash them out, and will not 
 
 be at all polluted." Surely this is a variation on the 
 
 theme, " Bless them that curse you and despitefully use 
 
 you." 
 
 It was the ardour of this charity which kept from ex- 
 travagance cr bitterness his sense of the pettiness of 
 all the transitory interests of earth. For he 
 fromTxtrava- often has his mystic moods in which he feels 
 -   ce or . hlt ~ that he is only a stranger and a pilgrim 
 
 ternesa in a;l J ° r ° 
 
 his sense of iourneving awhile amid vain and unsubstan- 
 
 t'e unreality . , , ' ~ • , , • r tt 
 
 of earthiy tial snows. "Consider the times ot V espa- 
 
 go ° ' sian. Thou wilt see all these things ; peo- 
 
 ple marrying, bringing up children, sick, dying, war- 
 
I47 _ i8o- Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 127 
 
 ring, feasting, trafficking, flattering, suspecting, plotting, 
 . . . . heaping up treasure, grumbling about 
 the present. Well then, the life of these 
 people is no more. Pass on again to the times of Tra- 
 jan. Again all is the same. Their life too is gone. So 
 view also the other epochs of time and of whole nations, 
 and see how many after great efforts fell, and were re- 
 solved into the elements For all things soon pass 
 
 away and become a mere tale, and complete oblivion 
 soon buries them .... What then is that about which 
 we ought to employ our serious pains ? This one thing; 
 just thoughts and social acts, and words which never lie, 
 and temper which accepts gladly all that happens.". 
 
 Or as he writes elsewhere, in a still sadder vein, but 
 with the same moral as before : " Soon, very soon, thou 
 wilt be ashes, or a skeleton, and either a name 
 
 v. 33. 
 
 or not even that ; . . . . the things which 
 are much prized in life are empty and rotten, and tri- 
 fling, and like little dogs biting one another, and lit- 
 tle children quarrelling, laughing, and then straightway 
 weeping. But fidelity and modesty and justice and truth 
 are fled 
 
 Up to Olympus from the wide-spread earth. 
 
 What then is there which still detains thee here ? . . . . 
 To have good repute amidst such a world as this is an 
 empty thing. Why then dost thou not wait in tranquil- 
 lity for thy end, whether it be extinction or removal to 
 another state? And until that time comes, what is suf- 
 ficient? Why, what else than to venerate the gods and 
 bless them, and to do good to men, and to practise toler- 
 ance and self-restraint." He wearies of his books, of 
 the life of courts, of dreams of glory and the conquer- 
 or's ambition, of the blindness and waywardness of men. 
 
128 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 " For this is the only thing, if there be any. 
 
 ix. 3. . 
 
 which could draw us the contrary way, and 
 
 attach us to life, to be permitted to live with those who 
 have the same principles as ourselves. But now thou 
 seest how great is the trouble arising from the discord- 
 ance of those who live together, so that thou mayst say, 
 Come quick, O death, lest perchance I too should forget 
 myself." 
 
 " Vanity of vanities ! all here is vanity," he seems to 
 say, 'save reverence and charity and self-restraint;" 
 
 but true to his Stoic creed, he still clings 
 to'theThought nrm ly t0 the thought that there is a Ruling 
 Pro a vide U icef Providence and Perfect Wisdom, which is 
 
 guiding all things for the best, although its 
 judgments may be unsearchable and its ways past find- 
 ing out. 
 
 It is the peculiar feature of his character that this re- 
 ligious optimism has the power not only to content his 
 
 reason, but to stir his heart, and fill it at 
 his hear^with times to overflowing with a gush of tender- 
 ancn rneSS ness and love. " Everything harmonises 
 
 with me which is harmonious to thee, O 
 Universe. Nothing is too early nor too late for me which 
 
 is in due time for thee. Everything is fruit to 
 
 me which thy seasons bring, O Nature ; from 
 thee are all things ; in thee are all things ; to thee all things 
 return. The poet says, Dear city of Cecrops ; and wilt thou 
 
 not say, Dear city of Zeus?" Or again: 
 
 " What is it to me to live in a universe de- 
 void of gods ? . . . But in truth they do exist, and they 
 do care for human things, and they have put all the 
 means in man's power to enable him not to fall into real 
 evil." 
 
 It moves his heart with gratitude to think that the 
 
1 4 7 - 1 8 o . Marcus A urelius A ntoninus . 129 
 
 sinner has a place given him for repentance, and may 
 come back from his moral isolation. " Suppose that thou 
 hast detached thyself from the natural unity, 
 yet here there is this beautiful provision, 
 that it is in thy power again to unite thyself. God has 
 allowed this to no other part, after it has been cut asun- 
 der, to come together again. But consider the kindness 
 by which He has distinguished man, for He has put it 
 in his power not to be parted at all from the universal, 
 and when he has been parted, He has allowed him to 
 return and to resume his place." 
 
 This reverent tenderness of feeling and delicate sym- 
 pathy with Nature made him find a certain loveliness in 
 things which had no beauty to the ancient , , ,. 
 
 J and delicate 
 
 world. " Even the things which follow after sympathy 
 
 . - . . . , . with Nature, 
 
 those of natural growth contain something 
 pleasing and attractive. . . Figs when they ii; 2 
 are quite ripe gape open ; and in the ripe 
 olives the very circumstance of their being near to rot- 
 tenness adds a peculiar beauty to the fruit. The ears of 
 corn bending down and the lion's eyebrows, and the 
 foam which flows from the mouths of wild boars, and 
 many other things . . . consequent upon the things 
 which are formed by nature, help to adorn them, and 
 they please the mind ; so that if a man showed a feeling 
 and a deeper insight . . . there is hardly one of those 
 which follow by way of natural sequence which will 
 not seem to him to be in a manner so disposed as to give 
 pleasure." There was something here beyond what he 
 had learned from his old Stoic masters. They had 
 taught him that the world was ruled bv an Intellect Su- 
 preme, with which it was man's privilege, as it was his 
 duty, to be in constant unison ; but their phrases were 
 cold and hard and unimpassioned till they were trans- 
 
130 The Age of the Antonines. ad. 
 
 figured by his moods of tender fancy. They had shown 
 their followers how to meet the ills of life with dignity 
 and calm, and to face death with stern composure, if tiot 
 with a parade of tragic pride, as if philosophy had robbed 
 their last enemy of his fatal sting. But it is a gentler, 
 
 humbler voice that cries, " Pass through this 
 lv ' 48, little space of time conformably to nature, 
 
 and end thy journey in content, just as an olive falls off 
 when it is ripe, blessing Nature who produced it, and 
 thanking the tree on which it grew." 
 
 Yet withal we are haunted by a certain melancholy 
 which runs through all these Meditations, and as we read 
 
 his earnest words we feel a ring of sadness 
 
 which does , . 
 
 not however sounding in our ears, ror he had hopes 
 certain 6 * an d aspirations for which the Stoic creed 
 
 melancholy cou]d fin( j nQ place . an( j he sore l y f e l t t h e 
 
 problems which his reason could not solve. " How can 
 
 it be that the gods, after having arranged all things well 
 
 and benevolently for mankind, have overlooked this 
 
 alone, that some men, and very good men, 
 
 xii. 5- j , 
 
 and men who, as we may say, have had 
 most communion with the Deity, and through pious acts 
 and religious observances have been most intimate with 
 the Deity, when they have once died should never live 
 again, but should be quite extinguished?" He would 
 fain hush to rest such yearning doubts, but the heart 
 probably remained unconvinced by the poor logic which 
 his reason had to offer. " But if this is so, be assured 
 that if it ought to have been otherwise, the gods would 
 have done it. . . . But because it is not so, if in fact it 
 is not so, be thou convinced that it ought not to have 
 been so." 
 
 At times too there is something very sad in the con- 
 fessions of his lonely isolation, for the air is keen and 
 
!47 -I 8o. Marcus Aurelius Antoninus. 13 J 
 
 chilling on the heights to which he towered 
 
 by character as well as station. "Live as and sense 
 
 J ot isolation. 
 
 on a mountain. . . . Let men see, let them 
 
 know a real man who lives according to Nature. If they 
 
 cannot endure him, let them kill him. For 
 
 Y T C 
 
 that is better than to live thus." Or again 
 "Thou wilt consider this then when thou art dying, and 
 thou wilt depart more contentedly by reflect- 
 ing thus. I am going away from such a life, 
 in which even my associates, in behalf of whom I have 
 striven, prayed, and cared so much, themselves wish me to 
 depart, hoping perchance to get some little advantage by 
 it. Why then should a man cling to a longer stay here ?" 
 From the imperfect sympathy of fellow-men he turned, 
 as by natural instinct, to communion with the Eternal 
 and Divine. But here again he found a sorry comfort . 
 in the system of his choice. The Universal Mind, the 
 Abstract Godhead, or the Soul diffused 
 
 The aus- 
 
 through all creation and revealed by Na- terity of the 
 
 , • , - t 1 j Stoic creed 
 
 ture s myriad voices — these were cold and could not 
 neutral phrases which might indeed con- contenthim - 
 vince his reason, but could not animate or stir his heart. 
 He could not therefore rest content to use them always 
 in their austere nakedness, but must invest the cold ab- 
 stractions with the form and colour of a personifying 
 fancy, bringing thus before us on his pages the postu- 
 lates of emotion rather than of logic. But meantime 
 the poor artisans and freedmen of the Christian churches 
 were praying to their Father in heaven with all the con- 
 fidence of trustful childhood. The rabble of „, 
 
 The con- 
 
 the streets were clamouring for their lives, trast of the 
 
 d. , . , , . , - contem- 
 
 quickening the loyal zeal of many a porary 
 
 Gallio on the seat of judgment; but they Christians, 
 found comfort in the thought of One who called them 
 
13 2 The Age of ihe Antonines. a.d. 
 
 friends and brothers, and who had gone before them on 
 the road which they must travel, supported by the un- 
 seen help of an Eternal Lov.e. They laid their dead 
 within the Catacombs, tracing on the rough hewn walls 
 the symbol of the Cross or the form of the Good Shep- 
 herd ; but they felt no dark misgivings and no inexpli- 
 cable yearnings, and so were happier in their life and 
 death than the philosophic Emperor of the proud Roman 
 world, who speaks once only of the Christians, and then 
 notices them as facing death with the composure of mere 
 obstinate pride. 
 
 It is sad to think that an Emperor so good was fol- 
 lowed by a successor so unworthy ; sadder still that that 
 M. Aureiius successor w ^s his son. Could not the philo- 
 wasunfor- sophic ruler, Julian asked, rise above a 
 
 tunate in his c \ » j r 
 
 successor, lather s doting fondness, and find some one 
 
 better fitted to replace him than a selfish 
 stripling who was soon to prove himself a frantic tyrant 
 with a gladiator's tastes? He had a son-in-law beside 
 him, Pompeianus, a soldier and a statesman of ripe age, 
 or failing him there were all the worthiest of Rome to 
 choose from, as he himself had been singled out in 
 earlier years, and raised by adoption to the empire. He 
 had himself served for many years of tutelage, under 
 the eyes of Antoninus, to fit him for the responsibilities 
 of absolute power ; was it wise to hope that an inexperi- 
 enced youth, cradled in the purple, and exposed to the 
 mean arts and flattery of servile spirits while his father 
 was far away upon the Danube, would have the wisdom 
 or the self-control to provide for the welfare of the sub- 
 ject millions? Roman gossips had an ugly story of the 
 signs of cruelty which had shown themselves in Com- 
 modus already; how in a fit of passion at a slave who 
 had failed to heat his bath, he ordered him to be flung 
 
1 4 7 - 1 80 . Marcus Aurelius A ntoninus. 1 5 3 
 
 into the furnace, but was tricked by the smell of frying 
 sheepskin, which, thanks to an attendant's happy thought, 
 took the place of the poor bath man. True or false, the 
 tale may serve to illustrate the current talk, and show 
 how little men dared to hope that the father's virtues 
 would be continued in the son. 
 
 Was M. Aurelius unfortunate in his wife as well as 
 his successor? We must think him so indeed if we 
 believe the common story, so confidently Was he aIso 
 repeated since, that she disgraced him by in his wife 
 
 ... 1 n r Faustina ? 
 
 the profligate amours which were the talk: ot 
 the whole town and the mark of scurrilous jests upon 
 the stage ; that she intrigued with Cassius and urged 
 him to revolt ; and died by her own hand at last, in fear 
 of imminent detection. 
 
 Yet we have grave reasons to mistrust this picture of 
 Faustina's character, and the evidence on which it rests 
 is very poor. The Emperor himself, in a striking pass- 
 age of his memoirs, speaks of her in a very _ 
 
 01 Reasons for 
 
 different strain. When in the loneliness of doubting the 
 the general's tent beside the Danube, there the common 
 rise before his thoughts the memories of the stor y- 
 kinsmen, friends, and teachers who had guided him by 
 their counsels or example, when he thanks the powers 
 of heaven for all their goodness to him in 
 the past, he does not fail to praise them for 
 the blessing of a wife " so obedient, so affectionate, and 
 so simple." The touching pictures of the Emperor's 
 home life in Fronto's letters bring her to our fancy as the 
 tender wife and loving mother. Her own recorded 
 words, written in hot passion at the news of the revolt 
 of Cassius, are full of affection towards her husband and 
 cries of vengeance on the traitor, and data recently dis- 
 covered in inscriptions in the Hauran have disposed of 
 
134 The Age of the Antonines. a.d. 
 
 the doubts as to their genuineness raised long ago by 
 critics. In the countless medals struck in honour of her 
 by the Emperor or Senate she appeared sometimes as 
 the patroness of Female Modesty, sometimes as the 
 power of Love and Beauty ; and flattery, however gross, 
 would hardly have devised such questionable titles to 
 provoke the flippant wit of Rome had such grave scan- 
 dals been believed. 
 
 We cannot doubt indeed that some years later there 
 were stories much to her discredit floating through the 
 streets of Rome. One writer of repute now lost to us 
 is expressly charged with blackening her memory ; 
 another (Dion Cassius) raked up commonly into his 
 pages so much of the dirt of calumny that we listen to 
 his statements on the subject with reserve. The feeble 
 writers of the Augustan history a century later repeat the 
 stories, but avowedly as only current rumour, which they 
 had not tested for themselves. But the Epitomists of 
 later ages drop out the qualifying phrases altogether, and 
 speak of her without misgiving or reserve as another 
 Messalina on the throne, and later history has com- 
 monly repeated the worthless verdict of these most un- 
 critical of writers. If we hesitate to think that such grave 
 charges could be altogether, baseless, we may note that 
 Faustina, in her pride of birth and fashion, had little 
 liking for the sages whom her husband gathered round 
 him, and outraged probably the scruples of these ascetic 
 Puritans by her gay defiance of their tastes. But their 
 displeasure may have carried a moral sanction with it, 
 and lived on in literary circles, and influenced the tone 
 of history itself. The rabble of the streets grew now 
 and then impatient of the serene wisdom of their ruler, 
 and when he was inattentive at the games, or tried to 
 lessen the excitement of the gladiator's bloody sport, 
 
ch. vi. The Empire and Christianity. 135 
 
 they thought it a good jest to point to Faustina's fashion- 
 able pleasures, and to hint broadly that it was natural 
 enough that she should look for sympathy elsewhere 
 than to so august a philosopher and book-worm. When 
 Commodus in later years unbared the vileness of his 
 brutal nature, men might perhaps remember all this 
 gossip of the past, and say that he could be no true son 
 of the benign ruler whom they now regretted, thus fondly 
 embalming the memory of the prince while sacrificing to 
 it the honour of his wife. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE ATTITUDE OF THE IMPERIAL GOVERNMENT 
 TOWARDS THE CHRISTIANS. 
 
 For a century or more the imperial government took 
 little notice of the Christian church as the organized 
 form of a distinct religi'on.. It knew it chiefly 
 
 T   ~ . . r The Christians 
 
 as a Jewish sect, as a fitting object for sus- were for 
 picion or contempt, but not commonly for regardedTonly 
 active persecution. The race indeed with asa J ew 'sh 
 
 * sect, and 
 
 which they classed it was peculiarly distaste- remained 
 
 r 1 1 t-> 1 r • i 1 undisturbed; 
 
 tul to the Roman rulers, as fanatical and 
 unruly, and stirred at times by inexplicable moods of 
 wild excitement. After the terrible stru?crle of a war 
 almost of extermination they had risen in fierce revolt 
 in Palestine, Cyprus, and Egypt; in all the great centres 
 of industry and trade in which they spread, they gained 
 a name for turbulence and strife and obstinate self-asser- 
 tion. Yet for themselves at least their national worship 
 was respected, for the policy of Rome found a place in 
 its pantheon for the gods of all the countries of the 
 
j-^6 The Age of the Antonines. ch. VI. 
 
 Empire, and all might live together unmolested side by 
 
 side. 
 
 But when they tried to be aggressive, to make prose- 
 lytes even in the streets of Rome, and to unsettle men's 
 traditional beliefs, the civil power stepped in to check 
 and to chastise the disturbers of the public peace. It 
 was thus that in the old days of the Republic senate and 
 consuls oftentimes took measures to stay the progress of 
 the eastern creeds when they claimed a 
 g^vemme^T 11 ri 2 ht of settlement at Rome ; and the rulers 
 tolerated ail f t i ie early empire acted in like spirit as 
 
 creeds which J l . 
 
 were n-»t defenders of the national faith when it was 
 
 aggressive. mcnace d by what they thought the intoler- 
 ant bigotry of the Jewish zealots. In the reign of Tibe- 
 rius, for example, large numbers of such aliens, whose 
 uncouth superstitions seemed to spread contagion round 
 them, were flung into the island of Sardinia, to live or 
 die, as it might happen, in the miasma of that pestilential 
 climate. In the days of Claudius again we read of a 
 disturbance among the Jewish immigrants, which grew 
 to such a height as to be followed by a summary edict 
 of general banishment from Rome. The strange words 
 of Suetonius in which he speaks of the impulse given 
 by a certain Chrestus to the tumult, " impulsore Chresto 
 tumultuantes," point probably to the hot disputes and 
 variance caused among the synagogues by the ferment 
 of the new Christian teaching. The disturbance was 
 soon quieted, and the peremptory order was withdrawn, 
 or followed only by the departure of the leading spirits ; 
 and the little Christian church lived for a time securely 
 screened from notice and attack under the shelter of the 
 legalized religion of the Jews, with which it was com- 
 monly confused in the fancy alike of the people and 
 of their rulers. But the story of Pomponia Grsecina 
 
ch. vi. The Empire and Christianity. 137 
 
 serves to show that these exclusive creeds might not with 
 impunity overleap the barriers of race and social class, 
 A noble Roman lady was accused of tampering with new 
 forms of superstition, according to the rule of ancient 
 days, before a family council formed by her husband 
 and her nearest kinsmen. After her acquittal we are told 
 that she shunned the world of fashion, and lived for 
 years a sober life of meditation. Ecclesiastical historians 
 have commonly believed that they could read in the 
 somewhat scornful lati'ruacre of the heathen writer a de- 
 
 o o 
 
 scription of the early type of Christian devotion. 
 
 The story of the cruelties of Nero paints in far more 
 lurid colours the growing hatred of the populace and the 
 constant dangers of the infant church, which 
 now, for the first time, clearly appears to ^ ut in }^? 
 
 ' ' J rf time f ^, orr) 
 
 view in the pages of the classical historians, we m «y trace 
 
 r^, . . , . -11 distinct dislike 
 
 Hie butchery and the tortures were indeed to the 
 a mere freak of unscrupulous ferocity by as such*" 5 
 which the Emperor thought to divert men's 
 minds from the great fire which had made so many 
 thousands homeless, or at least to discharge the lower- 
 ing thunder-clouds of popular discontent upon the heads 
 of the poor Christian artisans and freedmen. "They 
 suffered,'' says Tacitus, " those votaries of a pernicious 
 superstition, not indeed that they were guilty of the fire, 
 but for their hatred of the human kind.'' We may well 
 ask ourselves the causes of the horror and repugnance 
 here and elsewhere expressed so strongly, and which 
 served as a convenient excuse for Nero's wanton cruelty, 
 guided possibly by the Jewish jealousy of his wife 
 Poppaea. How could the eentle courtesies of the new 
 moralitv insoire s'ich feelings in the societv which 
 watched its growth ? 
 
 The Jewish race was one which could not in those 
 
138 The Age of the Antonines. CH. vl 
 
 days mingle peacefully with the peoples of 
 
 due partly to J & ^ j *i 1 • 
 
 their Jewish the West. In Rome and Alexandria and 
 others of the great cities of the ancient 
 world there were frequent frays and tumults in the pop- 
 ulous quarters where they flocked; their peculiar habits 
 and dogged self-assertion stirred the antipathy of their 
 heathen neighbours, who had no eyes for their industry 
 and thrift and the nobler aspects of their moral character. 
 But the Jews had at least an old and national religion, 
 which might be borne with so long as its worshippers 
 kept peacefully to their own circles, while the Christians, 
 though really, as it seemed, of the same 
 though they race an( j cus toms, seemed to draw them- 
 
 forieited their 
 
 claims to the selves apart in still more obstinate isolation, 
 
 protection . , . , r r , . 
 
 which the to hold aloof even from their countrymen, 
 
 gSnenjoyed. and exhaust the patience of the world by 
 meaningless disputes about the nice points 
 of spiritual dogmas. Then let them do so at their cost. 
 If they disowned their ancient worship, they must forfeit 
 the legal sanction which had screened them hitherto. 
 
 Again, in the personal bearing of the Christians there 
 was much which unavoidably outraged the social senti- 
 ments of others, for they could not easily 
 
 They were . . , . . ■, r 
 
 regarded also take part in the business or pleasures ot a 
 and n m°ro a s l e world on which the stamp of idolatry was 
 fanatics, set _ They must shun the pleasant gather- 
 
 ings of their friends or neighbours, if they did not wish 
 to compromise their principles or shock the feelings of 
 the rest by their treatment of the venerable forms of 
 heathendom. In the family observances at the chief 
 epochs of a Roman's life they could not be present to 
 show their sympathy in joy or sorrow, for religious usages 
 took place at each, and they dared not touch the unclean 
 thing. At the recurring seasons of festivity they seemed 
 
ch. VI. The Empire and Christianity. 139 
 
 unmoved amid the general gladness, for they could not 
 worship at the altars, or join in the ceremonial pro- 
 cessions, or hang their garlands on the statues of the 
 gods. If they enlisted in the legions, they might be 
 called upon to adore the Genius of the Emperor, or in 
 case of their refusal be charged with rank disloyalty. 
 No wonder if they held themselves aloof from public life, 
 when at every turn they were confronted by the forms of 
 a ritual which was accursed in their eyes. When their 
 fellow-citizens kept holiday, they could not venture to the 
 theatre without a shock to their sense of right and de- 
 cency, while they turned with loathing from the ghastly 
 horrors of the gladiatorial combats. They saw the dan- 
 gers and they felt the force of the allurements to vice 
 by which they were surrounded, and they turned away 
 almost with despair from a world which seemed so wholly 
 given over to the power of sensuality and sin. They 
 had no eyes for the beauty of an art which was enlisted 
 in the service of idolatry, nor for the symbolic value of* 
 the ancient forms which were one day to be hallowed 
 for church use. Appealing to a higher standard than 
 the will of Caesar or the laws of Rome, they could npt 
 accept the current estimates of men and manners, but 
 looked often with a grave displeasure at what seemed 
 innocent to other eyes. Hence men came to think of 
 them as stern fanatics, shunning the pleasures and 
 courtesies of social life, sectarians who would cut them- 
 selves adrift from all the natural ties of country and of 
 race. 
 
 Nay more, they were branded even with impiety, be- 
 cause they took no part in any recognised forms of wor- 
 ship, but shrank from all the common usages 
 
 r 1 i-   t-u -L • -x. j and accused 
 
 of national religion. Those who visited ofimpiety, 
 their homes found no little niche or shrine to 
 
140 The Age of the Antonines. CH. VI. 
 
 hold the figures of the guardian Lares ; the oratory which 
 perhaps took its place was empty as the temple at Jerusa- 
 lem which had moved the wonder of the conqueror Pom- 
 peius. From the first they had refused all adoration to a 
 Caesar ; still more emphatically they refused it after the 
 cruelties of a Nero had coloured with their stains of blood 
 the Apocalyptic visions of Antichrist and future judgment. 
 In addition to these charges there were others ; wild 
 delusions of distempered fancy, then, as in other ages, 
 ,-, „ , greedily caught up by the credulous and 
 
 while foul & J t 
 
 stories were prejudiced masses. The simple love-feasts 
 credfted held at first in token of brotherhood and 
 
 about them. thankful memories were perverted into 
 scenes of foul debauch ; and the stories of accursed 
 pledges, cemented by the blood of slaughtered infants — 
 such as were told of old of Bacchanalian orgies or of the 
 conspiracy of Catiline — passed once more from mouth 
 to mouth, finding possibly some poor excuse in Eucha- 
 ristic language misconstrued. They were often classed 
 with the professors of magic and of necromancy, with 
 the charlatans and quacks of every kind who haunted 
 the low quarters of the town and preyed upon the igno- 
 rant fancy of the vulgar. Yet among these the Christians 
 often found their bitterest rivals, in the deceivers who 
 feared to be unmasked, or to see the profits of their trade 
 endangered. When once the suspicion and dislike of 
 the populace were roused against them as impious mis- 
 anthropes, the wildest stories were invented and believed 
 to justify the hatred which was felt. If the Nile failed to 
 overflow the fields in time of drought; if the plague 
 spread its havoc through the towns ; if the harvest failed 
 or earthquakes left their track of ruins ; the Christians 
 were the guilty wretches by whom the wrath of heaven 
 was caused. In Northern Africa, we read, it was in later 
 
ch. vi. The Empire and Christia?iity. 141 
 
 days a proverb, " If there is no rain, fix the blame upon 
 the Christians." 
 
 In the ignorant antipathy of the lower orders lay the 
 chief danger of the early church, and it was on this 
 which Nero reckoned when he made it the 
 scapegoat of the blind fury of the people. Ne F° 
 
 1 . r r reckoned on 
 
 But his cruelty, frightful as it was, was per- this popular 
 sonal only, causing no change of legal status, antl P a 
 an exceptional moment in a time of toleration. The 
 Christian religion was not yet proscribed, and its pro- 
 fessors had little cause to fear the Roman governors or 
 judges, save when the people clamoured loudly for their 
 blood. The reign of Domitian, indeed, is vaguely spoken 
 of as one of persecution ; but there is little evidence of 
 this in the annals of the time, though here and there 
 noble Romans, like Clemens and Domitilla, may have 
 suffered for lapsing from the creed of their fathers. 
 
 But with the second century of the empire darker 
 times set in in earnest, and a general ban was put at last 
 by law upon the Christian church. We may 
 find in Pliny's letters the fullest notice of the Christianity 
 change. As governor of Bithvnia he wrote wa V'°' 
 
 00 J made illegal 
 
 to Trajan from his province to tell him of tin the time 
 
 1 1. • i i ii °f Trajan. 
 
 the new religionists who were brought be- 
 fore his seat of justice, and to ask for instructions how 
 to deal with them. He had never had to do with them 
 before, he said, nor ever sat in court when such cases 
 were brought up. He was doubtful whether the name 
 of Christian should be criminal in itself, or if it would be 
 right to look only to the practice implied in the profes- 
 sion. Information had been sent to him by unknown 
 hands, and many had been denounced to him by name. 
 On enquiry it appeared that while some denied the 
 charge entirely, others admitted that they had been 
 
142 The Age of the Antonines. ch VI. 
 
 drawn away, though they had ceased to be Chris- 
 tians long ago. When sharply questioned as to the prac- 
 tice and belief of the society to which they had belonged, 
 they said its members used to meet from time to time a\ 
 break of day, and sing their hymns of praise to Christ, 
 and bind themselves by sacred pledges, not to any 
 deed of darkness, but to keep themselves unstained by 
 fraud, and falsehood, and adultery. . There were stated 
 gatherings besides, in which they joined each other in a 
 simple meal, till all such forms of social brotherhood 
 were put down by a special edict. To test the truth of 
 such confessions, Pliny had two slave girls tortured, but 
 nothing further was avowed by them nor by the rest who 
 frankly owned that they were Christians, and would not 
 recant or flinch even after repeated threats. 
 
 Their unyielding obstinacy seemed to the writer of 
 itself to call for punishment, though beyond that he 
 could only find the traces of extravagant delusion. But 
 he shrank from acting on his own discretion without in- 
 structions from the Emperor himself, so grave were the 
 interests at stake owing to the numbers of every age and 
 sex and social grade whose lives and fortunes were 
 involved. For the contagion, as he called it, had been 
 spreading fast through towns and villages and lonely 
 hamlets ; the ancient temples had been almost deserted 
 and few were found to buy the offerings for' the altars, 
 till fear of punishment had lately quickened into life the 
 forms of wonted reverence. 
 
 Reasons may be urged indeed for doubting the genuine- 
 ness of this letter, at least in the form in which we have 
 Trajan's ^ now; but we may at least accept the reply 
 
 plh^ er t0 °f Trajan, which was very brief and weighty. 
 
 determined He would give no encouragement to official 
 
 the law. ... ' _ , . 
 
 eagerness in hunting out charges of this 
 
CH. vi. The Empire a?id Christianity. 143 
 
 kind; no anonymous evidence should be accepted ; any 
 Christians should meet with pardon for the past if they 
 would adore the national gods; but punishment must be 
 enforced on all who stubbornly refused. This rescript 
 formally decided the legal status of the new religion and 
 the proceedings of the imperial agents. The Christian 
 church could now no longer claim the protection which 
 the synagogue enjoyed ; the forms and pledges of its 
 union were illegal ; any who would, might come forward 
 to inform against them, and governor or judge might 
 not pardon even if he wished. 
 
 Indeed, even to enlightened rulers such as Trajan, 
 who were not disposed to credit the gross calumnies of 
 popular fancy, there was much that might seem danger- 
 ous in the mysterious influence of the new religion. Its 
 talk of equality and brotherhood might sound like the 
 watchword of a social revolution, and the 
 
 , .. j The reasons 
 
 more so as its members w^re recruited wn y the 
 chiefly from the toiling millions. The ties mleh^rJatu- 
 of sympathv between its scattered mem- rally distrust 
 
 J r J the church. 
 
 bers were like the network of a widespread 
 conspiracy, whose designs might be political, though 
 masked under religious names. Its'meetings, often held 
 at night, were an offence against the legal maxim that 
 no new clubs must be formed or organized without the 
 sanction of the civil power ; the refusal of its members 
 to comply with a few time-honoured forms, or to swear 
 even by the Emperor's Genius, seemed like the disloyal 
 wish to break wholly with the past and to parade a 
 cynical contempt for the established powers. The obsti- 
 nate unwillingness to bow even to the will of Caesar, 
 and the claim to be guided by a higher law, had an nn 
 welcome sound in the ears of absolute power. Some too 
 there were, no doubt, who pushed their courageous pre* 
 
144 The Age of the Ajitonines. ch vi. 
 
 test to the extreme of discourteous defiance, in their sensi- 
 tive fear of dallying with the forms of idol worship, like 
 the soldier who refused to appear before his general 
 with the laurel garland on his head, and whose scruples 
 called out a treatise of Tertullian in their defence; or 
 who else vaunted openly their indifference tojieath in 
 their impatient longing for the martyr's crowi. It was 
 probably of such as these that Marcus Aureiius was 
 thinking when he penned his single reference to the 
 Christians, saying that the soul should be ready at any 
 moment to be parted from the body, not from mere obsii- 
 nacy as with them, but considerately and with dignity, 
 without tragic show. j 
 
 During the whole^eriod before us there was little 
 change in the attitude of the central power. The justice 
 of Trajan, the refined curiosity of Hadrian, the humanity 
 and gentle wisdom of the Antonines, seemed alike 
 insensible to the goodness and the grandeur of the 
 Christian morality, and alike indisposed to sanction the 
 new influence which was spreading through the heathen 
 world. Its speedy progress might well seem alarming 
 to the defenders of the established order. It has been 
 thought indeed that Pliny's letter must have been tam- 
 pered with in early times, since the numbers of the Chris- 
 tians are insisted en so strongly by a writer who con- 
 fesses that beforehand he knew nothing of their tenets. 
 Yet the churchmen of that age proudly point to the 
 striking signs of onward movement. "There is no spot 
 upon the earth," says Justin, "even among barbarous 
 peoples, where the name of the Crucified Redeemer is 
 not heard in prayer." Irenneus thinks that the church 
 is spread through the whole universe, and Tertullian in 
 the lively phrases of his rhetoric urges, "We are but of 
 yesterday, and we already fill your empire, your cities, 
 
ch. vi. The Empire and Christianity. 145 
 
 your tov/n councils, your camps, your palace, and your 
 forum ; we leave you only your temples to yourselves. 
 Without recourse to arms, we might do battle with you 
 simply by the protest of our separation ; you would be 
 frightened at your isolation." And the oldest of the Cata- 
 combs of Rome has seemed to competent observers to 
 point in the forms of its symbolic art to the number of 
 the churchmen who, even in that early age, laid their 
 dead within these obscure labyrinths of stone. 
 
 This rapid spread of the young churches, exaggerated 
 as it probably has been, was a real element of danger. 
 Not that the Emperors had any persecuting zeal, or any 
 wish to hunt the poor victims down. But the clamours 
 of the populace grew louder, and the provincial gover- 
 nors were often called on to enforce the law without ap- 
 peal to any higher courts. Some looked on with indif- 
 ference from the seat of justice while the crowd of igno- 
 ble criminals passed before them, marvelling only at the 
 conscientious scruples which declined to sprinkle a few 
 grains of incense on the altars. Others were glad to 
 court the favour of the people over whom they ruled bv the 
 sacrifice of a few stiff-necked zealots, fearing also to hear 
 the cry, " If thou lettest this man go, thou art not Csesar's 
 friend." 
 
 So we have the striking fact, that on the one hand, 
 after Trajan's rescript, the lowering clouds 
 seem to be ever gathering more blackly, and The _ succeed - 
 
 ° J ' ing Lmperors 
 
 the explosions of popular fury grow more incline to 
 
 r ii 1 /• , ,-, mercv, but 
 
 Irequent; on the other, each of the Empe- the popular 
 rors is represented in church history as morelSl 
 doing something to shield the Christians 
 from attack or to temper the austerity of justice. Thus we 
 have the letter sent by Hadrian to the governor of Asia 
 Minor, in which he comments strongly on the disorderly 
 
146 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vi. 
 
 attacks upon the Christians, such as might encourage the 
 malice and extortionate claims of false accusers. Oniv 
 indictments in strict legal form should be accepted; 
 none should be arrested on vague rumour, and none 
 convicted, save of acting contrary to law. This would 
 amount to virtual toleration, unless taken in connection 
 with the rule prescribed by Trajan which made it penal 
 to refuse to adore the gods of Rome. But even as thus 
 qualified, it would be a boon to the oppressed, as it 
 might tend to check the greed of the informers, and 
 strengthen the hands of an impartial judge. 
 
 But the letter itself is not beyond suspicion, though 
 _,, . far more credible than one which purports to 
 
 j hfi rescripts * r 
 
 of Hadrian be written by one or other of the Antonines. 
 
 and Antoni- , , , , r . , r . . 
 
 nus very to a general assembly of the deputies of Asra. 
 
 questionable, ^he message, briefly stated, runs somewhat 
 as follows : " I hold that the gods may be safely left to 
 vindicate their honour on the heads of those who spurn 
 them. The Christians prefer to die rather than be faith- 
 less to the power they worship, and they triumph in the 
 contest, for they are true to their own principles. Their 
 neighbours in their panic fear of natural portents and 
 disasters neglect to pray and offer to their gods, while 
 they persecute the Christians who alone show real re- 
 ligion. Provincial governors often wrote to my sainted 
 father on this subject, and were told not to meddle with 
 the Christians unless they were guilty of treason to the 
 state. I too would follow the same course of action, and 
 have informers warned that they will be liable to penal- 
 ties themselves if they bring vexatious charges of the 
 sort." An imperial mandate couched in such strong 
 terms would certainly have screened the Christians from 
 attack and have marked an epoch in the history of the 
 church, and as such have been constantly appealed to 
 
CH. vi. The Empire and Christianity. 147 
 
 in the law courts as also in the writings of Apologists. 
 But it is probable enough that something was. done to 
 check the violence of popular feeling or the malice of 
 informers, and that we have the traces of such action, 
 coloured in after days by grateful feeling, or overstated 
 from the fancy that princes so large hearted and humane 
 must have been in sympathy with the noblest move- 
 ments of their times. 
 
 Yet, sad to say, to the reign of the philosophic Em- 
 peror belongs many a page of the long chronicle of 
 martyrdom, and stories are given us at length of the 
 sufferings of confessors whom the good ruler was either 
 powerless or indifferent to save. One of the earliest of 
 such records may be found in a letter of the _,, 
 
 J I he ir.ar- 
 
 church of Smyrna which describes the last tyrdom of 
 
 r . 1 i -r> i -^i Polvcarp. 
 
 days of the venerable Polycarp. 1 he pas- Euseb. Hi-t. 
 sion of the populace had broken out against LccL 1V - I5 - 
 the Christians, and after witnessing the death of meaner 
 victims, they began to clamour " Away with the Athe- 
 ists!" "Let Polycarp be sought." The aged bi?hop 
 wished to stay in the city at his post of duty, but his 
 friends urcred him to withdraw and shun the storm. He 
 was tracked, however, from one house in the country to 
 another, till at length he would fly no further, but waited 
 in his hiding-place for his pursuers, saying only " God's 
 will be done." As they returned with him to the city 
 they were met by the chief officer of the police, who 
 took up Polycarp into his carriage, and spoke to him with 
 kindness, asking what harm there could be in calling 
 Caesar lord, and in offering sacrifice to save his life. 
 Polycarp at first made no reply, but at last said. " 1 will 
 not do what you advise me." Threats and violence 
 were of no avail with him, and he went on his way 
 calmly to the governor's presence, though a deafening 
 
148 The Age of the Anto7iines. ch. vi. 
 
 din was made by the assembled multitude. The pro- 
 consul urged him to swear by the Genius of Caesar, and 
 to say " Away with the Atheists !" like the rest. The 
 old man looked gravely at the crowd with a sigh and 
 with uplifted eyes, then said, pointing to them with his 
 finger, " Away with the Atheists !" The governor urged 
 him further. "Swear; curse Christ and I release thee." 
 " Eighty and six years," he answered, "have I served, 
 him, and he has never done me harm, and how can I 
 blaspheme the king who saved me ?" When still pressed, 
 he said, " If you wish to know what I am, I tell you 
 frankly that I am a Christian ; if you would hear an 
 account of Christianity, appoint a day and hear me." 
 The governor, who was no fanatic, and would have 
 gladly saved him, asked him to persuade the people, but 
 he refused to defend himself before them. The threats 
 of the wild beasts and of the stake were all of no avail, 
 and at last it was proclaimed " Polycarp has confessed 
 himself a Christian." Then all the multitude of Gentiles 
 and of Jews who dwelt at Smyrna yelled out in furious 
 clamour, " This is the teacher of impiety, the father of 
 the Christians, the enemy of our gods, who teaches so 
 many to turn away from worship and from sacrifice." 
 And they cried with one accord that Polycarp must be 
 burned alive. We need not dwell longer on the story of 
 his martyrdom, the outline of which seems genuine 
 enough, though there are features of it which were added 
 probably by the fancy of a later age. 
 
 A few years afterwards another storm of persecution 
 raged in Gaul, at Vienna and Lugdunum (Lyons), the 
 The perse- record of which is given us at full in a letter 
 v«?«« a a Lj f rom tne suffering churches to their brethren 
 Lugdunum. of Asia Minor. The various parts of the 
 
 Euseb. v. 1. . . . r 
 
 chier actors in the scene are stated in it with 
 
CH. VI. The Empire and Christianity. 149 
 
 unusual clearness, and some extracts may serve to illus- 
 trate the temper of the social forces of the time. The 
 Christians of the neighbourhood had been long exposed 
 to insult and outrage in all public places ; but at length 
 the excitement grew to such a height that a furious mob 
 began to pillage their houses and to drag the inmates off 
 to trial. As they openly avowed their faith before the 
 magistrates and people, they were shut up in prison for 
 a time until the arrival of the Roman governor. As soon 
 as they were brought before him he showed a spirit of 
 ferocious enmity, resorted even to the torture to wring 
 confession from the accused, and admitted, contrary to 
 legal usage, the evidence of heathen slaves against their 
 masters, till fear and malice caused them to be accused 
 of " Thyestean banquets and (Edipodean incest.'' No 
 age nor sex was spared meantime. Pothinus, the aged 
 bishop of Lugdunum, was roughly dragged before his 
 judge, and asked who was the Christians' God. He an- 
 swered only, " If thou art worthy, thou shalt know." For 
 this he was set upon and buffeted, and cast into a dun- 
 geon, where after two days his feeble body breathed its 
 last. Blandina, a weak woman, was racked from morn 
 till night, till the baffled gaolers grew weary of their horrid 
 work, and were astonished that she was living still. But 
 she recovered strength in the midst of her confession, 
 and her cry, " I am a Christian, and there is no evil 
 done among us," brought her refreshment in all the 
 sufferings inflicted on her. As some of the accused were 
 Roman citizens, proceedings were delayed till appeal 
 could be directly made to Caesar, and his will about the 
 prisoners could be known. At length the imperial an- 
 swer came, that those who recanted should be set free, 
 but that all who persisted in their creed must die. Mean- 
 time many who had denied already, but were still kept 
 
150 The Age of the Antomnes. ch. vi. 
 
 in bonds, were encouraged by the ardour of the true 
 champions of the faith, and came forward to the gover- 
 nor's judgment seat to make a good confession, and to 
 be sent by him, such as were citizens of Rome, to be 
 beheaded, and all the rest to the wild beasts. Some, 
 indeed, who had " no marriage garment " gave way to 
 their fears; but the rest, "like noble athletes, endured 
 divers contests, and gained great victories, and received 
 the crown of incorruption.'' Last of all Blandina was 
 again brought in along with Ponticus, a boy of about 
 fifteen years of age. " These two had been taken daily 
 to the amphitheatre to see the tortures which the rest 
 endured, and force was used to make them swear by the 
 idols of the heathen ; but as they still were firm and 
 constant, the multitude was furious against them, and 
 neither pitied the boy's tender years, nor respected the 
 woman's sex. They inflicted on them every torture, but 
 failed to make them invoke' their gods ; for Ponticus, 
 encouraged by his sister, after enduring nobly every 
 kind of agony, gave up the ghost, while the blest Blan- 
 dina, last of all, after having like a noble mother in- 
 spirited her children, trod the same path of conflict which 
 her children trod before her, hastening on to them with 
 joy at her departure, not as one thrown to the wild 
 beasts, but as one invited to a marriage supper ; . . . the 
 heathens themselves acknowledging that never among 
 them did woman endure so many and so fearful 
 tortures." 
 
 We cannot read without emotion the story of these 
 heroic martyrs ; but it has, besides, this special interest 
 for us, that it shows the persecution taking its rise, as 
 usual, in the blind fury of the people, and encouraged 
 also by local magistrates, provincial governors, and 
 either by Marcus Aurelius himself, or by his representa- 
 
■ch. vi. The Empire and Christianity. 15 1 
 
 tives at Rome, if the prince was too busy with the 
 Marcomannic war. Yet for none of these can the excuse 
 of ignorance be fairly pleaded. For Christianity had 
 been long before the world; there was no mystery or 
 concealment of its creed ; its most distinctive features 
 were confessed in the pages even of its hostile critics, 
 and for some years past Apologists had been busy in 
 doing battle with the prejudices of the people, and ap- 
 pealing to the enlightened judgment of the Caesars. 
 
 Thus even the mocking Lucian, in a single page of his 
 satiric medley, reflects the noble unworldliness of the 
 young church, its enthusiastic hopes of a life 
 
 , , L , . . . r Lucian's 
 
 beyond the grave, its generous spirit of sym- account of 
 pathy and brotherhood, with the longing to proSS"" 3 
 have all things in common, which made it reflects 
 
 some noble 
 
 easily the dupe of sanctimonious impostors, features of the 
 He describes the life of such a clever rogue, 
 under the name of Peregrinus Proteus, who after many 
 a fraudulent device professed himself a convert, and 
 soon rose to high repute among the Christians by his 
 plausible eloquence and , seeming zeal. From his 
 energy he was singled out for persecution, thus winning 
 admiration from the brethren as a confessor and a saint. 
 While he was in prison they spared no trouble or expense 
 to gain his freedom, and, failing in this, they were care- 
 ful to provide for all his wants. From the dawn of day, 
 old women, widows, and orphans might be seen standing 
 at the prison doors ; the chief members of the sect, 
 having bribed the keepers, slept near him in the dungeon. 
 They brought him all kinds of good cheer, and read the 
 books of Scripture in his presence. Even from cities in 
 Asia Minor came deputies from Christian societies to 
 offer comfort and to plead his cause. . . " For nothing," 
 says Lucian, " can exceed their eagerness in like cases, 
 
152 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vi. 
 
 or their readiness to give away all they have. Poor 
 wretches ! they fancy that they are immortal, and so 
 they make light of tortures, and give themselves up 
 willingly to death. Their first lawgiver has also caused 
 them to believe that all of them are brothers. Renoun- 
 cing, therefore, the gods of Greece, and adoring the 
 Crucified Sophist whose laws they follow, they are care- 
 less of the goods of life and have them all in common, 
 so entire is their faith in what he told them." 
 
 About the same time, probably, Celsus the philosopher 
 
 devoted all his acuteness and his wit to an elaborate 
 
 attack upon the Christian creed, and proved that he had 
 
 made himself acquainted with the letter 
 
 The attack f j ts doctrines, though he had not the ear- 
 
 of Celsus, ° 
 
 nestness of heart to appreciate its spirit. 
 His work is only known to us in the reply of Origen, but 
 in the course of the objections urged and met, we have 
 brought before us the chief aspects of the new morality. 
 Thus, when he makes the Christians say, " Let no edu- 
 cated or wise man draw near, but whoever is ignorant, 
 whoever is like a child, let him come and be comforted," 
 he only states in taunting form the well-known paradox 
 of the Gospel teaching ; but in his protest at such igno- 
 rant faith he does not stay to ask how a religion which 
 disowned, as he thought, appeal to reason, could give 
 birth to the many heresies and varying sects on which 
 he lays elsewhere such stress as a weak point in the 
 Christian system. Again, though only as a hostile critic, 
 he bears witness to its promises of peace and grace to 
 the sinful and despairing conscience. " They," he says, 
 " who bid us be initiated into the mysteries of other 
 creeds begin by proclaiming, ' Let him draw near who 
 is unstained and pure, who is conscious of no guilt, who 
 has lived a good and upright life.' But let us hear the 
 
CH. VI. The Empire and Christianity. 153 
 
 invitation of these Christians. ' Whoever is a sinner,' 
 they cry, ' whoever is foolish or unlettered, in a word, 
 whoever is wretched, him will the kingdom of God 
 receive.'" With this we may connect his comment on 
 the subject of conversion : " It is clear that no one 
 can quite change a person to whom sin has become a 
 second nature, even by punishment, and far less then by 
 mercy ; for to bring about an entire change of nature is 
 the hardest of all things." Celsus knew the chief points 
 of the story of the life and character of Christ, but was 
 unaffected by its moral grandeur. He had heard of hu- 
 mility as a marked feature of the Christian spirit, but it 
 seemed to him a morbid growth, a perversion of the 
 philosopher's ideal. He was familiar with the teaching 
 of God's Providence, and of His fatherly care for every 
 soul of man ; but he thought it all a vain presumption, 
 and the talk about the dignity of human nature and pos- 
 sibility of its redemption sounded but as idle and un- 
 meaning words to one who was content with the idea of 
 a Great Universe, evolving through unchanging laws an 
 endless round of inevitable results. 
 
 In the next century Christianity found champions who 
 were ready to meet such attack on its own ground, and 
 to furbish for their use the weapons drawn answer ed 
 from the armory of philosophic schools. in later 
 But the Apologists of that age had other Apologists 
 work to do. Accused as they had been as hadtod^al 
 atheists, misanthropes, magicians, and sen- mo ^^ ! 
 
 sualists of the worst type, the pressing need than doc- 
 
 11 triue - 
 
 for them was to rebut such wanton slander, 
 
 and to appeal to the imperial justice from the calumnies 
 
 of ignorant malice. They were not like divines engaged 
 
 on treatises of theological lore ; but, writing face to face 
 
 with the thought of speedy death, they turned to meet 
 
154 The Age of the A?itoni?ies. ch. vi. 
 
 the danger of the moment, and dwelt on practice as well 
 as on belief. In answer to the coarse falsehoods which 
 were spread about their secret meetings, they described 
 at length their doings in their Sunday gatherings — how 
 they met to read the memoirs of the Apostles and the 
 writings of the Prophets. "Then, when the reader 
 ceases, the president exhorts to copy these 
 Justin good things. Then we rise up all together 
 
 Apol. l. 67. fa ^ jr o 
 
 and offer prayers, and when we cease from 
 prayer, bread is brought, and wine, and water, and the 
 president offers prayers in like manner, and thanksgiv- 
 ings, and the people add aloud ' Amen,' and the sharing 
 of those things for which thanks have been given takes 
 place to everyone, and they are sent to those who are 
 not present. Those who have means and goodwill give 
 what they like, and the sum collected is laid up with the 
 president, who in person helps orphans and widows, and 
 all who are in need, and those who are in bonds, and 
 those who have come from a strange land, and, in one 
 word, he is guardian to all who are in need." 
 
 They were spoken of as evil-doers, and possibly so- 
 called Christians might have been such — Gnostics, or 
 heretics of questionable creeds — but if so, urged the 
 writers, they could be no true followers of Him whose 
 recorded words they quote, and whose influ- 
 Their line of e nce in the past they point to as leading the 
 
 argument. 1 y j- ;n 
 
 hearts of men from hatred to love, from 
 vice to virtue. Unsocial and morose they were not, 
 though they must needs shun the forms of idol-worship 
 and the gross offerings so unworthy of God's spiritual 
 being. Magicians certainly they were not, and it was an 
 idle taunt to say that the miracles of their Master were 
 the mere works of magic art, for prophecy had long ago 
 foretold them by the mouth of the holy men of God on 
 
CH. vi. The E??ipirc and Christianity. 155 
 
 whom a large measure of the Divine Spirit must have 
 rested. That Spirit or Eternal Logos was incarnate in its 
 fulness only in Christ Jesus, though shared in some degree 
 by the good men of heathen days, like Socrates or Plato. 
 But the Greek sages were not able to persuade anyone 
 to die for his belief, whereas their Master was obeyed 
 by poor ignorant artisans and slaves, who proved the 
 purity of their religious life by the manly courage of 
 their death as martyrs. Great, however, as was their 
 devotion to their heavenly Master, they had no lack of 
 loyalty to Caesar, for the kingdom to which Christ 
 pointed was no earthly kingdom of material power ; but 
 their hopes and fears of a life beyond the grave were 
 the surest sanctions of morality, and such wholesome 
 restraints on evil-doers all wise governors must welcome. 
 These were the main topics of the earliest Apologies, 
 interspersed at times, now with attacks upon the heathen 
 legends which sanctioned the very vices with which 
 Christianity was falsely charged, and now with warnings 
 against the malignant action of the demons who had by 
 the allurements of idolatry seduced men from the wor- 
 ship of the living God, and who still made their potent 
 influence felt in the outrages of persecution or the snares 
 of heretical deceivers. 
 
 We know little but the names of any cf the writers of 
 this class before the time of Justin Martyr, and his story 
 is mainly eiven us in his works, if we except 
 
 j rt_- .J ^ 11 The life of 
 
 the record of his martyrdom, though born Justin 
 
 in a city of Samaria, he came seemingly 
 
 of Gentile parents, and his attention was only drawn to 
 
 Christianity when he saw how the believers 
 
 could face the pains of death. " For I my- J ust j n > A P- 
 
 r ' 11. 12. 
 
 self,'' he writes, "while an admirer of Pla- 
 tonic thought, heard the Christians spoken evil of; bur 
 
156 The Age of i lie Anto?iines. ch. vii. 
 
 when I saw them fearless in regard to death, and to all 
 else that men think terrible, I began to see that they could 
 not possibly be wicked sensualists. For what man who is 
 licentious or incontinent would welcome death with the 
 certainty of losing all that he enjoys ? Would he not 
 rather try to live on as before, and to shun the notice of 
 the rulers, instead of giving information against himself 
 which must lead to his death?' He had passed from 
 one system to another of the ancient schools of thought, 
 seeking from each sage in turn to learn the lessons 
 of a noble life; but only when he heard of Christian 
 truth was the fire lighted in his soul, and he knew that 
 the object of his search was in his grasp, for the true 
 philosophy was found at last. He tried to pass it on to 
 other men, wearing as before the wandering scholar's 
 mantle, and talked with men of every race about the 
 questions of the faith. 
 
 His Apologies were addressed by him to the Anto- 
 nines by name, with what effect we may best judge 
 from the fact that he closed his missionary life by a 
 martyr's death while Marcus Aurelius was on the 
 throne ; and we have reason to believe that his sentence 
 was pronounced by Rusticus the Praefect, who owed his 
 place of office to the monarch's gratitude for earlier 
 lessons of morality. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE CHARACTERISTICS OF THE STATE-RELIGION AND 
 OF THE RITES IMPORTED FROM THE EAST. 
 
 After studying the progress and the dangers of the 
 Christian church we mav naturally ask what was the 
 character of the national religion which it tended to dis- 
 
Forms of Worship Sanctioned by the State. 1 5 7 
 
 place. An old inscription tells us that a vote of thanks 
 was passed by the Roman Senate in honour of Antoninus 
 Pius for his scrupulous care for all the ceremonial obser- 
 vances of public life. There was indeed no ^ 
 special reason why the Emperors of this age Emperors 
 should be attached to the old forms of Roman respond 
 worship. The families from which they ^^ ld of 
 sprung- had been lone resident in foreign national 
 
 r ° . . religion, 
 
 lands; by taste or from necessity they 
 passed much of their time far from the imperial city ; 
 their culture and the language even of their deepest 
 thought was often Greek, and they had few ties of senti- 
 ment to bind them to the rites of purely Italic growth. 
 But it had been part of the policy of Augustus to begin 
 a sort of conservative reform in faith and morals, and to 
 lead men to reverence more earnestly the religion of 
 their fathers. His successors, wanton and dissolute 
 as they often were, professed at least the same desire, 
 and expressed it often in enduring shapes and costly 
 ceremonials. The Emperors of the second century 
 observed with more consistent care the same tradition, 
 carried it even somewhat to extremes, as when they 
 stamped upon their medals the legendary fancies of an 
 early age, and linked the old poetic fictions to the asso- 
 ciations of imperial rule; just as the literary fashion of 
 their times tried to express its complexities of thought 
 and feeling in the archaic rudeness of an ancient style. 
 The old religion of Italic growth was a very artless 
 Nature worship, whose deities, with uncouth names, were 
 cold abstractions of the reason, personified as yet by no 
 poetic fancy. They were the sexless and mysterious 
 agencies which presided over the processes of husband- 
 ry, the powers of stream and forest, and the sanctities of 
 the domestic hearth. After a time, indeed, the exotic 
 
158 The Age of the Auto nines. ch. vn. 
 
 growth of Hellenism overlaid the simple forms, which 
 tended perhaps to disappear from the language and 
 thought of educated men, but lingered on in country 
 life, surviving even at the last the ruin of their more at 
 tractive rival. Among the earliest and most 
 mostdis- distinctive of the usages of natural religion 
 
 tmctiye of were the observances of the collegia or con- 
 
 w.uch were o 
 
 the customs fraternities which served as organized forms 
 
 ot the ... °. 
 
 cuUegia or of an established worship. These priest- 
 hoods were still recruited seemingly with 
 the same care as heretofore. The oldest families of 
 Rome were represented in the Salii, among whom a fu- 
 ture Emperor, as we have seen, was entered at an early- 
 age, and took pride in mastering the niceties of tradi- 
 tional practice ; at the Lupercalia the half-naked priests 
 still ran along the streets of Rome, using the time- 
 honoured words and symbols ; and the Arval Brothers 
 went through their ceremonial round with formularies 
 which had been unchanged for ages. 
 
 The last of these dated certainly from immemorial 
 
 antiquity, for the foundation legend of the city enrolled 
 
 the twins of Rhea in the then existing bro- 
 
 such as therhood. During the whole period of the 
 
 th-itofthe & , 
 
 Arval Republic its prayers and offerings continued 
 
 to express the hopes and fears of rural life, 
 though history has passed it by with little notice. Even 
 in imperial days, when liberal schemes of re-endowment, 
 due probably to the policy of Augustus, had raised it in 
 the social scale, we should know scarcely anything of 
 the customs of its members if we were left only to the 
 common literary sources. But a lucky accident has 
 saved for us unusual stores of evidence. Year by year 
 it was the practice to have careful minutes taken of 
 their meetings and of all official acts, and to commit 
 
Forms of Worship Sa?ictioned by the State. 159 
 
 fhem, not to frail materials or the custody of 
 
 their own president, but to monumental cha- the official 
 
 - 1 registers of 
 
 racters engraved upon the walls of the tern- which still 
 pie where they met. Their holy place was 
 not in Rome itself, but in a quiet grove five miles away, 
 which in the course of ages has become a vineyard, 
 while a humble cottage has replaced the shrine. Some 
 of the stone slabs which lined the walls have been 
 worked into the masonry of other buildings, till the let- 
 ters graven on them have caught here or there some 
 curious eyes. One such,. of special value, containing the 
 oldest form of an Italian liturgy, was found a century 
 ago in a chapel of St. Peter's. Only a few years ago the 
 Institute of Archaeology at Rome resolved to explore the 
 field in which the temple stood in search of further evi- 
 dence. The scattered fragments of the stones were 
 pieced together, and a long series of priestly archives, 
 reaching from the days of Augustus to those of Gordian, 
 reappeared at length as from the tomb. 
 
 The accounts of the stated meetings and of many 
 occasional gatherings are given with surprising fulness 
 of detail, and by their help we gain an in- 
 sight quite unique into much of the symbo- JJJ^JjJdSi 
 lie ritual and characteristic worship of the in full 
 
 . . detail, 
 
 Romans. Brothers in name, and twelve in 
 nymber. to correspond to the twelve lunar months in 
 which the round of agricultural labour is completed, 
 they were at first the spokesmen of the Latin husband- 
 men who offered prayer and thanksgiving for the pros- 
 pects of a fruitful season ; but in later days the noblest 
 families of Rome were proud to figure on the list of a 
 religious guild which reckoned at times an Emperor for 
 its high-priest. 
 
 Its greatest festival came at the end of May, when the 
 
\ 6 o The Age of the A ntonines, ch . vi ; . 
 
 first-fruits of the earth were gathered, and a blessing 
 asked upon the works of coming harvest, 
 especially Three days the holy season lasted. The first 
 
 festival. and third were kept at Rome, but the second 
 
 fS^aJSJ 3 ' must be spent among the scenes of rural life 
 and the brooding sanctities of Nature. At 
 early dawn the president passed out of the city walls to 
 the Tetrastylum or Guildhall, enclosed in its four lines 
 of colonnade. Robing himself here in his dress of state 
 with purple stripe, he went at once to the entrance of 
 the sacred grove, where he offered swine on one altar 
 and a white heifer on a second, to appease the sylvan 
 deities whose mysterious peace was to be that day dis- 
 turbed. While the victims were roasting on the flames, 
 the other priests were all assembling, and each in turn 
 must enter his name on the official register ; which done, 
 they laid their robes aside and breakfasted upon the 
 viands which were now ready on the altars. The hours 
 that followed were given to repose in the cool shade, 
 but at mid-day another service must begin. Robed in 
 the dress of state, with ears of corn wreathed round their 
 heads, they paced in ceremonial procession through the 
 grove up to the central shrine where the lamb was 
 offered on the altar. The wine and meal were sprinkled 
 on the ground, the clouds of incense filled the air, and 
 the jars of antique form which held the bruised meal of 
 earlier days were exposed to reverent adoration in the 
 shrine. Once more they issued from the doors, with 
 censers in their hands, and offerings to the treasury, and 
 libations poured from silver cups. Two priests were 
 then despatched to gather the first-fruits from left to right 
 through the whole company, and back again. Then 
 with closed doors they touched the jars of meal, and 
 murmured over each the solemn words of dedication, 
 
Forms of Worship Sxnctioned by the State. 161 
 
 and brought them out to be flung at last down the hill- 
 side before the temple. The priests rested for a while 
 upon their marble seats, and took from their servants* 
 hands the rolls of bread bedecked with laurel leaves, 
 and poured their unguents on the images around them. 
 The laity must then withdraw ; the doors were barred, 
 while the priests girded their flowing dress about their 
 loins, and took each his copy of the service books in 
 which were written the old liturgies whose meaning no 
 one present knew. The venerable chant was sung with 
 the cadenced movements of the old Latin dance, and 
 then the servants reappeared with garlands which were 
 placed upon the statues of the gods. The solemn forms 
 were at an end. The election of the president for another 
 year was followed by the customary greetings (fclicia), 
 and the priests left the grove to rest in their own hall, 
 and to dine in pomp after the labours of the day. The 
 dinner over, they crowned themselves with roses and 
 betook themselves with slippered feet to the amusements 
 of the circus which were held close by, and closed the 
 festival with a supper party in the high-priest's house at 
 Rome. 
 
 In the proceedings of the Arval Brotherhood we may 
 note three features which seem to character- Wc m 
 ise the national religion of the Romans. note '". their 
 
 13 proceedings, 
 
 (l) Its punctilious regard for ancient forms ist, their 
 
 , punctilious 
 
 may be read in every line of tho?e old ar- regard for 
 chives. The deity worshipped in that shrine foJJJJ^ 1 
 was a nameless Dea Dia still, as in the days 
 before Greek fancy made its way to Latium ; the primitive 
 religious dance (tripodiatus) was scrupulously observed ; 
 the rude instruments of barbarous ages were still used, 
 though else unknown ; the words of the chant they had 
 to sing were so archaic that they could not trust their 
 
1 62 The Age of the An to nines. ch. vii. 
 
 memories without the book. The fear to employ any 
 instruments of iron in the grove ; the changes of drczs 
 and posture and demeanour ; the careful entry in the 
 registers of each stage in the long ceremonial service ; 
 these are examples of a Pharisaic care for outward usages 
 which may be often found elsewhere in the history of 
 symbolism, but which in this case seem to have passed 
 at last into a stately picture language which spoke noth- 
 ing to the reason and little to the heart. 
 
 (2) It had therefore little influence on man's moral 
 nature, and scarcely touched the temper of his character 
 or the practice of his workday life. For the most part 
 the deities whom they adored had each his toll of offering 
 
 and due respect, but did not claim to guide 
 2nd, the . \ . • ° . 
 
 absence of the will or check the passions. Ceremonial 
 spiritual obedience might serve to disarm their jeal- 
 
 mflueuce; ousy or win their favour, and men need not 
 
 look to any spiritual influence beyond. The priests had 
 never been the social moralists of Rome ; preaching and 
 catechizing were unheard of; and the highest function- 
 aries of religion might be and sometimes were men of 
 scandalous life and notorious unbelief. The history of 
 the Arval Brotherhood may help to illustrate the general 
 truth. In the lists recorded in its archives may be found 
 the names of many of the most profligate worldlings of 
 imperial times, but very few of good repute. Court 
 favour gave a title to the priesthood. Its practical con- 
 cern was the enjoyment of good cheer, and the inscrip- 
 tions carefully record the sum which was allotted for 
 each banquet by the state, and the drinking cup which 
 was put for every guest. One list of the year 37 tells us 
 that the Emperor Caligula presided on the day of the great 
 festival, and though he was too late to be present at the 
 sacrifice, still he was there at least in time for dinner. Of 
 
Forms of Worship Sanctioned by the State. 163 
 
 the seven names which follow his, two were borne by- 
 noblemen of exceptionally immoral habits, a third is 
 called by Tacitus of a self-indulgent nature, and not one 
 displayed any great qualities in public life. Five out of 
 the seven died a felon's death, or to escape it laid violent 
 hands upon themselves. 
 
 (3) The Romans had their national worship, their 
 church as established by the state. The priesthoods had 
 been commonly faithful servants of the governing 
 powers, and had never raised the cry of rights of con- 
 science or of spiritual freedom. The Arval Brotherhood 
 had certainly the temper of unquestioning rd ^^ 
 loyalty. We need not, indeed, lay special loyalty to 
 
 . . . • established 
 
 stress upon the recurring usage of state pray- powers of 
 ers in which they joined at every opening 
 year together with the whole official world; but it is cun 
 ous to turn over the archives of the eventful year 69, ii 
 which four Emperors followed each other on the throne, 
 and in which the Brothers took the oath of fealty to each 
 with equal readiness, meeting one day under the presi- 
 dency of their prince, and five days afterwards hailing 
 the murderer as his successor. Sometimes they met ta 
 commemorate events of national importance, as in the 
 days of festival for Trajan's Dacian victories. But be- 
 sides this we have in the first century a whole series of 
 days of thanksgiving and intercession connected chiefly 
 with the fortunes of the imperial family, whose chiefs 
 had been first patrons and then deities of the old guild. 
 The Flavian dynasty and the Antonines were too sensible 
 and modest to care much for such official flattery, and 
 possibly they may have grudged the sums allotted to 
 such a costly round of entertainments; so the meetings 
 of the priests grew fewer, and the entries in the registers 
 were rarer, save for the May festivals of early usage. 
 
164 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vn. 
 
 The creed and ritual of ancient Rome were too cold 
 and meagre and devoid of all emotional power to content 
 the people's hearts. The luxuriant creations of Hellenic 
 fancy, the stirring excitements of the Eastern worships, 
 gradually came in to fill the void, till at last 
 ligion was" a ^ ^ ie religions of the world found a home 
 
 too cold and m t ] le i mper i a l c i ty> 
 meagre ior >■ J 
 
 men s The Greek colonists who early pushed 
 
 their way along the coasts of southern 
 Italy handed on the legends and the rites of Greece, 
 which even in the regal period gained, through the 
 Sibylline books, a footing in the state which literary 
 influences constantly increased. As Rome's conquering 
 arms were stretched forth to embrace the world, as 
 strangers flocked to see the mistress of the nations, and 
 slaves of every race were gathered within her walls, the 
 names and attributes of foreign deities began to natura- 
 lize themselves almost of right, and to spread insensibly 
 from aliens to Romans. 
 
 Polytheism has commonly a tolerant and elast!^ 
 
 system. It seldom tries to impose its creed by forc,^ on 
 
 other races, or to resist the worship of new 
 
 supple^ g° ds as a dishonour to the old. Accustomed 
 
 mented by already to the thought of a multitude of 
 
 exotic J ° . 
 
 creeds and unearthly powers, it has no scruple in 
 adding to their number, and prefers to bor- 
 row the guardians of other races rather than force them 
 to accept its own. So as land after land was added to 
 the Empire, protection and honour were accorded to the 
 forms of local worship, and ail the subject nations were 
 allowed to adore the objects of their choice. If any of 
 them left their homes, they clung, of course, to the old 
 rites, and might enjoy them undisturbed at Rome. It 
 was, however, quite another thing to let them pass be- 
 
Forms of Worship Sanctioned by the State. 165 
 
 yond the bounds both of country and of race, and to 
 give them the sanction of the state as a form of the 
 established faith of Rome. Still more so when the latest 
 comers, who claimed to set up their altars and their 
 temples in the streets, shocked the old-fashioned scruples 
 of the ruling statesmen by their extravagance or sensual 
 licence, or when it seemed that secret societies were 
 spreading through the people under the cover of reli- 
 gious names. Then the government stepped ,., 
 
 D ^ x 1 which were 
 
 in with force or menace, stamped out the only feebly 
 
 t-> 1 1 • r t • 1 -II opposed by 
 
 Bacchanalia, for example, with terrible the civil 
 decision, and had the shrine of Isis levelled P ower > 
 to the ground, though the consul's hand had to strike 
 the first blow with the axe when meaner arms were para- 
 lysed with fear. Even after the days of the Republic, 
 Augustus, who had shown honour to Serapis in his Egyp- 
 tian home, forbade his worship on the soil of Italy. Yet 
 these were only passing measures, ineffectual to stay the 
 stream of innovation. On one pretext or another, the 
 sanction of the state was given to the alien rites ; a war 
 or a pestilence was at times enough to excuse an appeal 
 to some new tutelary power, and even to cause invita- 
 tions to be sent to distant gods. As the sense of the 
 imperial unity grew stronger, the distinction between 
 the religious life of the centre and the provinces seemed 
 more arbitrary and unmeaning ; and though many a 
 moralist of antique spirit gravely disapproved of the tone 
 and temper of the eastern creeds, yet the rulers gradually 
 ceased to put any check upon their spread, so long a9 
 each was satisfied to take his place beside the rest with- 
 out intolerant aggression or defiance of the civil power. 
 
 There was, besides, another tendency which made it 
 easier to enlarge the national Pantheon. Mary a scru- 
 ple was disarmed when men were told that the new- 
 
1 66 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vn. 
 
 comers were only the old familiar powers disguised in a 
 new shape. Comparison had shown the likeness some- 
 times of usages and prayers in different lands, sometimes 
 of the attributes assigned, or of the poetic fancies which 
 had grown up in time round venerable names. Sincere 
 believers felt a comfort in the thought that all the multi- 
 tude of rival deities which seemed to have a claim on 
 their respect consisted really of the many masks assumed 
 by the same personal agencies, or were even 
 
 and were 
 
 welcomed separate qualities ol the One Heavenly 
 
 nundTsuch Father. Plutarch, priest of the Pythian 
 as Plutarch Apollo and a devout adherent of the old 
 religion of his fathers, yet wrote a treatise on the gods of 
 Egypt in which he tried to prove that they were in truth 
 only the gods of Greece, worshipped with mysterious 
 rites and somewhat weird suggestions of the fancy, 
 which, however, found a counterpart at home in the na- 
 tive outgrowths of the Hellenic mind. The truth which 
 the figurative language of their ritual shadowed forth 
 was one expressed in many another symbol ; the pow- 
 ers of heaven were well content that men should read it, 
 and would yield their secrets with a good grace to the 
 earnest seeker. He felt, therefore, the more attracted to 
 the mystic obscurity of that old culture of the Pharaohs, 
 of which the Sphinxes were the aptest tokens, certain as 
 he was that all its riddles might be read, and would yield 
 an harmonious and eternal truth. 
 
 Plutarch never doubted of the personal existence of 
 the beings whom he adored, and never resolved them 
 into mere abstractions. Others there were with piety no 
 less real than his, who regarded all the forms of popular 
 
 , ,. . religion as useful in their various degrees, 
 
 and Maxi- ° ° 
 
 mus Tyrius, but as all alike adequate to express the 
 to. truths which were ineffable. " Doubtless," 
 
Forms of Worship Sanctioned by the State. 167 
 
 says one of them, " God the Father and Creator 
 of the Universe is more ancient than the sun or hea- 
 vens, is greater than time, superior to all that abides 
 and all that changes. Nameless He is, and far away 
 out of our ken ; but as we cannot grasp in thought His 
 being, we borrow the help of words, and names, and 
 animals, and figures of gold and ivory; of plants and 
 streams, and mountain heights and torrents. Yearning 
 after Him, yet helpless to attain to Him, we attribute to 
 Him all that is most excellent among us. So do the 
 lovers who are fain to contemplate the image of the 
 persons whom they love ; who fondly gaze at the lyre or 
 dart which they have handled, or the chair on which 
 they sat, or anything which helps to bring the dear one 
 to their thoughts. Let us only have the thought of God. 
 If the art of Phidias awakens this thought among the 
 Greeks; if the worship of animals does the like for the 
 Egyptians ; if here a river and there the fire does the 
 same, it matters little. I do not blame variety. Only 
 let us know God and love Him; only let us keep His 
 memory abiding in our hearts." 
 
 In place of the matter-of fact and ceremonious religion 
 of the Latin farmers, we may trace in course of time new 
 thoughts and feelings roused to play their part in a rich 
 variety of spiritual moods. We may trace the mystic 
 reveries and ecstatic visions such as those which convent 
 life has often nursed in pious souls of later times, where 
 the fancy, living overmuch in the world of the unseen, 
 loses its sense of the reality and due proportions of the 
 things of earth. We hear of sensitive and enthusiastic 
 natures who see so clearly the special providence which 
 broods over their lives, and feel so keenly love and 
 gratitude for all the mercies given to them, that they 
 speak of themselves as the elect predestined to the favour 
 
i68 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vii. 
 
 of heaven. They feel the workings of God's spirit in 
 their hearts ; they see in every turn of life the traces of 
 His guiding hand, and airy visitants from other worlds 
 look in upon them in their dreams. 
 
 Such a one was the rhetorician Aristides, who, after 
 suffering for long years from a malady which none could 
 cure, devoted himself to the service of the god Asclepius 
 (whom the Latins called y^Esculapius), living mainly in 
 his temple with his priests, seeing him in visions of the 
 night, following implicitly the warnings sent in sleep, 
 and falling into trances of unspeakable enjoyment. 
 Proud of the privileges of his special revela- 
 
 and Aristides, l . . . 
 
 who was full lation, he wrote out in impassioned style 
 reveneVand his sacred sermons, published, as he said, 
 visions. at «.| le dictation of his heavenly patron. He 
 
 tcld the story of his ecstatic moods, of the promised 
 recovery of strength which followed in due course, of the 
 deliverance from instant danger vouchsafed to him at 
 the great earthquake of Smyrna, of the comfort of 
 the abiding presence of a saving Spirit, and his thank- 
 fulness for the old trial of sickness which brought him 
 to the notice of a protector so benign. 
 
 Mystic aspirations point to the hope of a closer union 
 with the Divine than the trammels of our common life . 
 allow. To rise above these' limitations,* to 
 
 New moods -. 
 
 of ecstatic lose the sense of personal being, and al 
 
 most indeed of consciousness, in the pul- 
 sations of a higher life — to this the enthusiasm of devo* 
 tion points in many a different name and race. Most 
 commonly, with this end in view, the soul would keep 
 the body under and starve it with ascetic rigour, while 
 the spirit beats against its prison bars, panting for a 
 freer and purer air. Examples of such austerity of self- 
 denial may be also found in heathen times ; weary jour- 
 
Forms of Worship Sanctioned by the State. 169 
 neyings to holy places visited by countless 
 
 J ° J L . . self-denial, 
 
 pilgrims, who must be meanly ted and 
 hardly lodged if they would hope to gain the gladness 
 of the beatific vision. Recluses too there were in Egypt, 
 giving their lives without reserve to holy meditation, 
 and hoping to draw nearer to their God by well nigh 
 ceasing to be men. More frequently they had recourse 
 to the influence of high wrought feeling, to the 
 
 ° excitement, 
 
 electric sympathies by which strong waves 
 of passion sweep across excited crowds, and carry them 
 beside themselves in transports of enthusiasm. By the 
 wild dance and maddening din, by fleshly horrors self- 
 imposed, or the orgies of licentious pleasure, by vivid 
 imagery to make the illusion of the fancy more com- 
 plete, they worked upon the giddy brain and quivering 
 nerves, till the excited votaries of Isis or Adonis passed 
 beyond the narrow range of everyday life into the frenzy 
 of religious ecstacy and awe. 
 
 In the early Roman creed there was little room for 
 the hopes or fears of a life to come. But there is a 
 yearning in the mind to pierce the veil which hides the 
 future from the sight, and many a prophecy was brought 
 from other lands, couched in hopeful or in warning tones, 
 here darkly hinted in enigmas, here loudly proclaimed 
 in confidence outspoken, there acted in dramatic forms 
 before the kindling fancy as in the ancient mysteries of 
 Greece, or in more questionable shapes in the ritual of 
 Eastern creeds. 
 
 Another influence was brought to bear on Western 
 thought in the deeper sense of sinfulness, as the pollu- 
 tion of the guilty soul and an outrage on the 
 majesty of God. With this came in natural and mystic 
 
 ■> J gloom, 
 
 course the greater influence of the priests, 
 
 to whom the stricken conscience turned in its bewilder- 
 
1 70 The Age of the Antofiines. ch. vu. 
 
 merit or its despair. For they alone could read with 
 
 confidence the tokens of the will of heaven, they alone 
 
 knew the forms of intercession or atonement which 
 
 might bring peace by promises of pardon. No longer 
 
 silent ministers engaged in the mere round of outward 
 
 forms as servants of the state ; they wan- 
 are J 
 
 encouraged dered to and fro to spread the worship of 
 
 bv the , . . . . . x . 
 
 religions of their patron saints, sometimes with the 
 the East. fervour of devoted faith, sometimes work- 
 
 ing on men's hopes and fears to gain a readier sale for 
 their indulgences and priestly charms, sometimes like 
 sordid mountebanks and jugglers catering for the won- 
 der loving taste of credulous folks by sleight of hand 
 and magic incantations. 
 
 Among the most striking of such innovations due to 
 
 the spread of Oriental symbolism was the costly rite of 
 
 taurobolium, in which recourse was had to 
 
 The striking j-hg p Ur ify'mg influence of blood. Known to 
 
 observance . . 
 
 of the taziro- us chiefly by inscriptions, of which the ear- 
 liest dates from the reign of Hadrian, we 
 have reason to believe that the usage came from Asia as 
 a solemn sacrifice in honour of the Phrygian Mother of 
 the Gods. From Southern Italy it passed to Gaul, and 
 in the busy town of Lugdunum (Lyons), the meeting- 
 point of traders of all races, it was celebrated with more 
 than common pomp. It was the more impressive from 
 its rarity, for so great seemingly was the cost of the ar- 
 rangements, that only the wealthy could defray it. Cor- 
 porations, therefore, and town-councils came forward to 
 undertake the burden, when dreams and oracles and 
 priestly prophecies had expressed the sovereign pleasure 
 of the goddess. Ceremonies on such a scale could be' 
 held only by the sanction of the ruling powers, and it 
 would seem that an official character was given to the 
 
Forms of Worship Sanctioned by the State. 1 7 1 
 
 rites by the presence of the magistrates in robes of state. 
 The crowning act of a long round of solemn forms was 
 the slaughter of the bull itself, from which the whole rite 
 had drawn its name. The votary in whose behalf the 
 offering was made descended with silken dress and 
 crown of gold into a sort of fresh-dug grave, above 
 which planks were spread to hold the bull and sacrificing 
 priest. As the blow fell upon the victim's neck, the 
 streams of blood which came pouring from the wound 
 flowed through the chinks and fittings of the wood, and 
 bathed the worshipper below. From the cleansing 
 virtue of the blood, he became henceforth spiritually 
 regenerate (in aeternum renatus), and at the time an 
 object almost of adoration to the gazing crowds. We 
 need not wonder that the writers of the early church 
 indignantly opposed such heathen rites, which seemed 
 to them a hideous caricature of the two great topics of 
 their faith, Christian Baptism and Redemption. 
 
 It would be too much to say perhaps that any of 
 the thoughts and feelings naturalised in later days at 
 Rome were wholly new and unfamiliar. In weaker 
 moods, in rudimentary forms, they maybe traced in the 
 religion of the earliest da>s, and so too even the outer 
 forms of worship, the mystic rites and orgies had their 
 counterparts in ancient Rome. Some scope 
 
 r , r tit- The new- 
 
 was given from the first to sacerdotal claims, comers were 
 some priestly functions had been claimed Jive side by 
 by women, which made it easier in later side in 
 
 J peace in the 
 
 times for priests to gain ascendancy, and imperial 
 
 , , .... Ppntheon. 
 
 women to play so large a part in the religion 
 of the Empire. But the Eastern influence gave inten- 
 sity of life to what before was faint and unobtrusive. It 
 vivified the unseen world which was vanishing away 
 before the practical materialism of the Roman mind. It 
 
Z y 2 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vn. 
 
 coloured and animated with emotional fervour the pale 
 and rigid forms of social duties. It was the informing 
 spirit which was new, and this could pass into any of the 
 multitudinous creeds which now lived side by side in 
 peace. They could and did compete for popular favour, 
 without bitterness or rancour in their rivalry; and the 
 priests of one deity could be votaries of another, be- 
 lieving, as they often did, that the same Power was 
 worshipped under different disguises of nationality and 
 language. Each took its place within the imperial Pan- 
 theon, without the hope or wish to displace others. Two 
 systems only proudly stood aloof —the Jewish Synagogue, 
 whose energies were centred in the work of explaining 
 and commenting on its Sacred Books ; the Christian 
 church which was turning from its fond hopes of the 
 speedy fulfilment of its kingdom of heaven, to engage 
 in a struggle of life and death, in which all the iron dis- 
 cipline and social forces of the Empire stood arrayed 
 against it, while it was armed only with the weapons of 
 mutual kindliness and earnest faith and inextinguisha- 
 ble hope. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE LITERARY CURRENTS OF THE AGE. 
 
 The period of the Antonines abounded with libraries 
 and schools and authors, with a reading public, and all 
 the outward tokens of an educated love of 
 spread letters. Never has there been more enthu- 
 
 enthusiasm siasm for high culture, more careful studv 
 
 for learning, ° _ " 
 
 butwmtof of the graces of a literary style, more criti- 
 
 creative , . . , , , , 
 
 power. cal acquaintance with good models, more 
 
 interchange of sympathy between professors 
 
CH. VIII. The Literary Currents of the Age. 173 
 
 of the different schools ; and yet there were but scanty 
 harvests from all this intellectual husbandry. There 
 was no creative thought evolved, no monument of con- 
 summate art was reared, no conquest of original research 
 achieved. 
 
 The scribendi cacoethes, the mania for scribbling, 
 poured forth vast quantities of literary matter ; but most 
 of it fell at once still-born, and much of what remains 
 has little value for us now, save to illustrate the condi- 
 tions of the times. The men are of more interest to us 
 than their works. There was colour and variety in the 
 features of their social status ; there were curious analo- 
 gies to the history of later days ; but we are likely to 
 gather from their writings rather a series of literary 
 portraits, than ideas to enrich the thought and fancy, or 
 models of art to guide our taste. 
 
 The culture of the age was mainly Greek. Hellenic 
 • nfiuence had spread long since far into the East. 
 <\mong the populous towns of Asia Minor it 
 ruled entirely without a rival ; it had pushed The culture 
 its wav through Svria, and almost to the line was mainly 
 
 _ , _ , ,., -ill Greek, 
 
 of the Euphrates ; while it held many an 
 outpost of civilized life in the colonies planted long ago 
 among the ruder races of the North. Through all of 
 these the liberal studies were diffused, and in their 
 schools the language of Demosthenes was spoken with 
 little loss of purity and grace. From them, as well as 
 from Athens and her neighbours, came the instructors 
 who taught the Western world ; from them came the new- 
 est literary wares, and the ruling fashions of the season ; 
 and even in countries such as Gaul, where Rome had i 
 stamped so forcibly the impress of her language and her 
 manners, scholars who hoped for influence beyond a 
 narrow local circle, often wrote and thought in Greek, as 
 
174 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viii. 
 
 the speech of the whole civilized world. The old Ro- 
 man tongue grew rapidly more feeble and less pure, 
 with few exceptions the learned declined to write in it, 
 and an Emperor, as we have seen, even in the memoirs 
 written for no eye save his own, expressed his deepest 
 thoughts and feelings not in Latin but in Greek. 
 
 The career of a man of letters was chiefly professorial, 
 
 and his works were meant more for the ear than for the 
 
 eye. His sphere of action commonly was 
 
 and pro- found in lectures, conferences, public read- 
 
 iessonal. ' r 
 
 ings, panegyrics, debates, and intellectual 
 tournaments of every kind. For the scholars of those 
 days were not content to stay at home and be prophets 
 to their countrymen alone, or to trust to written works 
 to spread their fame ; but they travelled far away from 
 land to land, and ever as they went they practised their 
 ready wit and fluent tongue. Like their prototypes in 
 earlier days, the rivals of Socrates and the objects of the 
 scorn of Plato, they were known by the old name of So- 
 phist, which implied their claim to be learned if not to be 
 wise, and the term was used without reproach of the 
 most famous of their number, whose lives were written 
 bv Philostratus. Citizens of the world, and self-stvled 
 professors in the widespread university of culture, they 
 found full liberty of speech and an eager audience in 
 every town. For though the times were changed many 
 of the habits of the old Republic lingered still ; and 
 though the stormy debates of politics were silenced, and 
 the thunders of the orators of old were heard no more, 
 still the art of public speech was passionately prized, and 
 men were trained even from their childhood to studv the 
 grace and power of language, and to crave some novel 
 form of intellectual stimulus. 
 
 So when the travelling Sophist was heard of in their 
 
CH. vni. The Literary Currents of the Age. 175 
 
 midst, the townsmen flocked with curious ears about the 
 stranger, as the crowd slathered around Paul 
 
 ° J he van >us 
 
 upon Mars' Hill, eager to hear and tell of cla-ses of 
 some new thing. Sometimes it was a scholar 
 of renown who came with a long train of admirers, for 
 young and old went far afield in search of knowledge, 
 and attached themselves for years to a great teacher, 
 like the students of the middle ages who passed in 
 numbers from one famous university of Europe to 
 another, attracted by the name of some great master. 
 Then the news passed along the streets, and time and 
 place were fixed for a lecture of display ; the magistrates 
 came in state to do the speaker honour, and even an 
 Emperor at times deigned to look in, and set the ex- 
 ample of applause with his own hands. Sometimes a 
 young aspirant came in quest of laurels, to challenge to 
 a trial of skill the veteran whose art was thought by his 
 countrymen to be beyond compare. Sometimes came 
 one with all the enthusiasm of a new-found truth, to 
 maintain some striking paradox, to advocate a moral 
 system, or some fresh canon of literary taste. Like the 
 great schoolmen of the age of Dante, or the Admirable 
 Pico of a later time, they posted up the theses which 
 they would hold against all comers, and were ready in 
 their infinite presumption to discourse of all the universe 
 of thought and being (de omni scibili et ente), and when 
 weary of the sameness of the scholar's life wandered 
 like knights errant round the world in search of intel- 
 lectual adventures. Sometimes it was a poor vagrant 
 with a tattered mantle, who gathered a crowd around 
 him in the streets, and declaimed with rude energy 
 against the luxury and wantonness of the life of cities, 
 bidding men look within them for the sources of true 
 happiness and worthy manhood. Like the preaching 
 
i ^6 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viii. 
 
 friars of the Christian church, they appealed to every 
 class without distinction, startling the careless by tneir 
 examples of unworldliness, and striking them often on 
 the chords of higher feeling, as they spoke to die rich 
 and noble in the plain language of uncourt'iy warn- 
 ing. Yet often the Cynic's mantle was only a dis- 
 guise for sturdy beggars, disgusting decent folks by 
 their importunate demands, and dragging good names 
 and high professions through the mire of sensuality and 
 lust. 
 
 The name of Sophist was applied m common speech 
 to two great classes, which, rivals as they were for popu- 
 lar esteem, and scorntui as was each of the 
 
 falling under , ... 
 
 the main di- pretensions of the other, were yet alike in 
 nlonSTsts' 1 many of the features of their social life, and 
 andphiioso- W ere scarcely distinguished from each other 
 
 phers, J ° 
 
 by the world. 
 The first included the professional moralists and 
 high thinkers, who claim to have a rule of active life 
 or a theory of eternal truth which might be of infinite 
 value to their fellow-men. Philosophy had somewhat 
 changed its aims and methods since the great systems 
 of original inquiry had parted the schools of Greece 
 among them. The old names, indeed, of Platonist ana 
 Peripatetic, Epicurean and Stoic, still were heard ; but 
 the boundary lines were growing fainter, and the doc- 
 trines of each were losing the sharpness of their former 
 outlines. Philosophy had lost the keenness of her dia- 
 lectic, the vigour and boldness of her abstract reasoning; 
 she had dropped her former subtlety, and was spending 
 all her energy of thought and action on the great themes 
 of social duty. She aspired, and not quite in vain, to be 
 the great moral teacher of mankind. She stepped into 
 the place which heathen religion long had left unfilled. 
 
CH. viii. The Literary Currcn's of the Age. 177 
 
 and claimed to be the directress of the consciences of 
 men. When the old barriers were levelled to the 
 ground ; when natural law, and local usages,, and tra 
 ditional standards became effaced or passed away before 
 the levelling action of the imperial unity ; when servile 
 flattery began to abdicate the claims of manhood, and to 
 acknowledge no source of law and right but the caprices 
 of an absolute monarch, philosophy alone began on 
 sure foundations to raise the lines of moral order, philo- 
 sophy alone was heard to plead in the name of dignity 
 and honour. She left the shadow of the schools, the 
 quiet groves of Academe, the Gardens, and the Porch, 
 and came out into the press and throng of busy life 
 under every variety of social guise. She furnished her 
 lecturers of renown, holding chairs with endowments 
 from the state, and speaking with the authority of men 
 of science. She had her spiritual advisers for great 
 houses, living like domestic chaplains in constant at- 
 tendance on the wealthy and well-born. There were 
 father confessors for the ruler's ear, rivalling in influence 
 the ladies of the imperial household. There were phy- 
 sicians of the soul, who had their little social circles of 
 which they were the oracles, guiding the actions of their 
 friends, sometimes by confidential letters, sometimes by 
 catechetical addresses, while at times their familiar table 
 talk was gathered up for private use in the diaries of 
 admiring pupils. Missionaries travelled in her name 
 from town to town, with hardy courage and unvarnished 
 phrase, like the Mendicant Friars of later days, speak- 
 ing to the people mainly in the people's tongue, and de- 
 nouncing the lust of the eye and the pride of life in the 
 spirit of Christian ascetics. 
 
 The greatest among the heathen moralists of the age 
 was Epictetus. The new bought slave, for that is the 
 
178 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vm 
 
 meaning of the only name by which history 
 such as knows him, early exchanged his Phrygian 
 
 Epictetus, ' 
 
 home for the mansion of a Roman master, 
 who seems to have been a vulgar soul, cringing to the 
 powerful and haughty to the weak, and who treated him 
 probably with little kindness, even if he did not, as one 
 version of the story runs, break his slave's leg in a freak 
 of wanton jest. Yet, strange as it may seem, his master 
 sent the lame and sickly youth to hear the lessons of 
 the most famous of the Stoic teachers, intending him, 
 perhaps, for literary labour because he was too weak for 
 other work. The pupil made good use of the chances 
 offered him ; and when in after years he gained his free- 
 dom, he ruled his life in all things by the system of his 
 choice, proving in the midst of his patient, brave, and 
 unobtrusive poverty how fully he had mastered alJ the 
 doctrines of the Porch. No cell of Christian monk was 
 ruder than his simple bedroom, of which the only fur- 
 niture was a pallet bed and iron lamp, and when the 
 latter was taken by a thief, it was replaced by one of clay. 
 Epictetus wrote no works, and made no pretence in 
 public as a sage; but he talked freely to his friends, and 
 admirers gathered round him by degrees to hear his racy 
 earnest sermons on one moral question or another, and 
 some made notes of what he said, and passed them on 
 in their own circles, till his fame at last spread far and 
 wide beyond the range of personal acquaintance. Arrian, 
 his devoted friend, has left us two such summaries ; one 
 a Manual of his Rule of Life, couched in brief and 
 weighty words, as of a general to his soldiers under fire ; 
 the second, a sort of Table Talk, which, flowing on with 
 less dogmatic rigour, found tenderer and more genial 
 tones to speak to the hearts of those who heard him. He 
 eschewed all subtleties of metaphysics, all show of par- 
 
CH. vin. The Literary Currents of the Age. 179 
 
 adox or literary graces ; his thoughts are entirely trans- 
 parent and sincere, expressed in the homeliest of prose, 
 though varied now and then by bursts of rude eloquence 
 and vivid figures of the fancy. In them the whole duty 
 of man, according to the Stoic system, is put forth in the 
 strongest and most consistent form ; and as such, they 
 were for centuries the counsellors and guides of thou- 
 sands of self-centred resolute natures. 
 
 To bear and to forbear in season, to have a noble dis- 
 regard for all the passing goods of fortune, and all which 
 we cannot ourselves control ; to gain an absolute mas- 
 tery over will and temper, thought and feeling, which 
 are wholly in our power — to make Reason sit enthroned 
 within the citadel of Self, and let no fitful gusts of pas- 
 sion, no mere brute instincts guide our action — these in 
 bare outline are the dogmas of a creed which insists as 
 few have ever done upon the strength and dignity of 
 manhood. True, there are harsh words at times, full of 
 a stern, ascetic rigour, as when he bids men not to grieve 
 for the loss of friend, or wife, or child, and to let no 
 foolish pity for the ills of any whom he loves cloud the 
 serenity of the sage's temper. Rebuking grief, he needs 
 must banish love, for grief itself is only love which feels 
 the lack of what is torn away, and without sympathy to 
 stir us from our moods of lonely selfishness we should 
 be merely animals of finer breed and subtler brain. 
 
 But Epictetus could not trample out all feeling; he 
 rises even to a height of lyric fervour when he speaks of 
 the providence of God, of the moral beauty of His works, 
 and the strange insensibility of ungrateful men. Nor 
 would he have his hearers rest content with the selfish 
 hope of saving their own souls ; rather, he would have 
 them ever think of the human brotherhood, and live not 
 for themselves but for the world. He falls into a vein of 
 
180 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vin. 
 
 Christian language when he speaks of the true philoso- 
 pher as set apart by a special call, anointed with the 
 unction of God's grace to a missionary work of lifelong 
 self-devotion, as the apostle of a high social creed. Un- 
 consciously, perhaps, he holds up the mirror to himself 
 in this description, and the rich colouring and impas- 
 sioned fervour of the chapter redeem the austerity of 
 his moral system. 
 
 The substance of some passages may serve perhaps 
 to complete the brief sketch of his character and thought. 
 When asked to describe the nature of the 
 ideal Cynic, he said that heaven's wrath 
 would light on him who intruded rashly into a ministry 
 so holy. It called for an Agamemnon to lead a host to 
 Troy ; none but Achilles could face Hector in the fight ; 
 if a Thersites had presumed to take that place, he would 
 have been thrust away in mockery or disgrace. So let 
 the would-be Cynic try himself, and count the cost before 
 he starts for the campaign. To wear a threadbare cloak 
 is not enough : something more is needed than to live 
 hardly — to carry staff and wallet, and to be rude and un- 
 mannerly to all whose life seems too luxurious or self- 
 indulgent. It were an easy matter to do this. But to keep 
 a patient, uncomplaining temper, to root out vain desire 
 and rise above the weakness of anger, jealousy, pity, and 
 every carnal appetite, to make the sense of honour take 
 the place of all the screens or safeguards of door and 
 inner chamber, to have no secrets to conceal, no shrink- 
 ing fear of banishment or death, in the confidence of 
 finding everywhere a home where sun and moon will 
 shine, and communion will be possible with heaven — 
 this is not an easy thing, but to be able to do this is to 
 be a philosopher indeed. Thus furnished for the work 
 of life, the true Cynic will feel that he has a mission to 
 
cri. viii. The Literary Currents of the Age. 181 
 
 be a preacher of the truth to erring men who know so 
 little of what is really good or evil. He is sent as a seer 
 to learn the path of safety, and as a prophet to warn his 
 fellow-men of all their dangers. It is for him to tell 
 them the secret of true happiness, that it does not lie in 
 the comfort of the body, nor in wealth, nor high es- 
 tate, nor office, nor in anything which lies exposed to 
 the caprice of chance, but only in the things which fall 
 within the range of man's freewill, in his own domain of 
 thought and action. 
 
 Men ask indeed if any can be happy without the 
 social blessings which they prize. It is for the apostle 
 of philosophy to show that, homeless, childless, wifeless 
 wanderer though he be, with only a mantle on his body 
 and the sky above his head, he can yet enjoy entirest 
 freedom from all anxiety and fear, and from all the 
 misery of a fretful temper. But let no one rashly fancy 
 that he is called to such a life without weighing well its 
 duties and its dangers. Let him examine himself well, 
 and learn the will of God whose messenger he would 
 claim to be. Outraged and buffeted he may be, like a 
 poor beast of burden ; but he must love his persecutors 
 as his brethren. For him there can be no appeal to 
 Caesar or to Caesar's servants, for he looks only to his 
 Sovereign in heaven, and must bear patiently the trials 
 which He sends him. In a realm of perfect sages there 
 would be no call into the mission-field, and all might 
 innocently enjoy the pleasures of home life in peace. 
 But that soldier serves most cheerfully who has no cares 
 of wife or household, and the Cynic who has felt the call 
 to do God's work must forswear the blessings of the life 
 of husband or of father, must rise above the narrower 
 range of civic duties, remembering that all men are his 
 brothers and his city is the world. 
 
1 82 The Age of the Antonines, ch. vin. 
 
 Yet large as is the call upon his self-denial, he should 
 not aim at needless austerity or ascetic gloom. There is 
 no sanctity in dirt or vermin, nothing to win souls or to 
 attract the fancy in emaciated looks and a melancholy 
 scowl ; nor is there any reason why the missionary must 
 be a beggar. Epictetus saw no merit in hardships self- 
 imposed, nor would he have men turn from pleasure as 
 from a traitor offering a kiss ; only he would have them 
 able to part cheerfully with all save truth and honour, in 
 the spirit of pilgrims on the march. " As on 
 
 (c. vii). . .......... . 
 
 a journey, when the ship is lying at anchor, 
 thou mavest land to take in water, and gather shells 
 and the like upon the shore, but must keep the vessel 
 still in view, and when the steersman beckons, must 
 leave all else at once to come on board : so, too, in life's 
 pilgrimage, if wifelet or little one be given thee for a 
 while, it may be well, but to see to it that thou art ready, 
 when the pilot calls, to go at once, and turn not to look 
 back." 
 
 The life of Dion Chrysostom may serve to illustrate 
 still further the ideal of the philosophic propaganda of 
 
 , _. these times. He was, indeed, no Stoic by 
 
 and Dion 
 
 Chrysos- profession, and did not use heroic tones ; 
 
 yet like the sage pictured to our fancy in 
 the strong words of Epictetus, he felt that he was called 
 to spend his life unselfishly for others, and to preach and 
 plead to every class in the enthusiasm of a religious 
 duty. He only gradually awoke, indeed, to the sense of 
 his vocation, and it is curious to read his own account of 
 his conversion to philosophy, and note his confessions 
 of unworthiness. 
 
 Driven by a popular riot from his home at Prusa, in 
 which town he had already filled the highest offices, he 
 betook himself to Rome, where he gained a name by 
 
CH. viii. The Literary Currents of the Age. 183 
 
 eloquence, and the hatred of Domitian by outspoken 
 satire. He fled away and lived a wandering life, in the 
 course of which, as we have seen already (p. 6), he 
 appeased a mutiny among the legions when the news of 
 the tyrant's murder reached their camp upon the northern 
 frontier. During those years of banishment he hid his 
 name but could not hide his talents ; his threadbare 
 cloak was taken for a Cynic's mantle, and men often 
 came to him to ask for counsel. His quibbles of rhetoric 
 availed him little for cases of conscience such as these, 
 and he was driven to meditate in earnest on great themes 
 of duty, and seek for truth at the sources of a higher 
 wisdom. With light so gained he saw the vanity of 
 human wishes, he felt the littleness of his earlier aims, 
 and resolved to devote his eloquence to a higher cause 
 than that of personal ambition. He would spend himself 
 for the needs of every class without distinction, and tend 
 the anxious or despairing as the physician of their souls, 
 regretting only that so few care for serious thought in 
 the season of prosperity, and fly to the sage for ghostly 
 counsel only when loss of friends or dear ones makes 
 them feel the need of consolation. 
 
 The details of his life and character are known to us 
 chiefly by his works, some of which are moral essays, 
 sermons, as it were, on special texts which might be 
 preached to any audience alike, while others are set 
 speeches made in public as occasion called him forth in 
 many a far-off city where he sojourned in his wandering 
 career. In the former class we note that among all the 
 commonplaces of the schools, high thoughts may be met 
 with here and there, full of a large humanity, and with 
 an entirely modern sound. In a world whose social 
 system rested on a basis of slave labour, he raised his 
 voice not merely to plead for kindliness and mercy, but 
 
1 84 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viil 
 
 to dispute the moral right of slavery itself. Feeling deeply 
 for the artisan and peasant, whose happiness was sacri- 
 ficed, and whose social status was degraded by the 
 haughty sentiment of Greece and Rome, he spoke ii 
 accents seldom heard before of the dignity and prospects 
 of industrial labour. His account of the shipwrecked 
 traveller in Eubcea gives us a picture, else unequalled in 
 its vividness, of the breach between the city and the 
 country life, and of the uncared-for loneliness of much 
 of the rural population 
 
 But the second class of writings best reflects the 
 temper and activity of Dion's efforts to bring philosophy 
 to bear upon the world. They show him as the advo- 
 cate of peace, stepping in with words of timely wisdom 
 to allay the bitterness of long-standing feuds, or the 
 outbreak of fresh jealousies such as had lingered for 
 centuries among the little states of the ./Egean, and sur- 
 vived even the tutelage of Roman power. At one time 
 the subject of dispute is the scene of the provincial courts, 
 at another the proud title of metropolis of Asia ; at 
 another some infinitely petty right of fisheries or of pas- 
 ture. Quarrels such as these brought citizens of rival 
 towns into collision in the streets, and led to interchange 
 of passionate complaints, wearying out the patience of 
 their Roman masters by the vanity and turbulence of 
 these Greek republics. All Dion's tact and all his 
 eloquence were needed in such cases, to enforce the 
 eternal principles of concord and forbearance by the 
 dexterous use of personal appeals. He shows his sense 
 of the importance of this work by speaking with a sort 
 o f fervour of the holy functions of this ministry of recon- 
 ciliation. 
 
 He was jealous of his dignity and independence, 
 stooping to truckle neither to the violence of mob-licence 
 
ch. vni. The Literary Currents of the Age. 185 
 
 nor to the caprices of a monarch. He startled the disso- 
 lute populace of Alexandria by his bold defiance of their 
 wanton humour, and by his skilful pleading to have the 
 claims of philosophy respected. He bore himself with 
 courteous firmness in the presence of the Court, and 
 lectured Trajan on the duties of a royal station without 
 any loss of honest frankness or imperial favour. He 
 preached on the vanity of human glory, and was one 
 day to prove in his own person how treacherous and 
 unsubstantial a thing it is. The cities which had hon- 
 ored him as their teacher and their friend were presently 
 to grow weary of his counsels, and to show him the in- 
 dignity of setting another head upon his statues. Prusa 
 his birthplace, and the object of his special tenderness, 
 was to turn against him in blind fury, and to denounce 
 him to the Roman governor as a traitor and a thief. 
 
 To the vicissitudes of the career of Dion we may find 
 a striking contrast in the unbroken calm of Plutarch's 
 life. Descended from an ancient family of 
 the Boeotian Chseroneia, after drawing from ' ' 
 
 the sources of ancient art and learning at their fountain 
 head at Athens, he betook himself in riper years to 
 Rome, where, besides attending to the duties with which 
 he seems to have been charged in the service of his 
 fellow-townsmen, he lectured publicly from time to time, 
 and made good use of the literary stores amassed in the 
 great libraries, and of the interchange of thought in the 
 cultivated circles of the capital. In the vigour of his 
 intellectual manhood he went back to Chseroneia, where 
 he lived henceforth, for fear, he says, that the little town 
 should lose in him a single citizen ; serving with hon- 
 ourable zeal in the whole round of civil and religious 
 offices, and winning the respect of all his neighbours as 
 well as of many correspondents from abroad. 
 
1 86 The Age of the Antonines. ch. vm. 
 
 Full of the generous patriotism of the best days of 
 Greece, he gave his time and thought without reserve 
 to the service of his countrymen, though he allowed no 
 glamour of ancient sentiment to cloud his judgment. 
 He told the young aspirants round him that, when they 
 read the harangues of Pericles and the story of their old 
 republics, they must be careful to remember that those 
 times were gone for ever, and that they must speak with 
 bated breath in their assemblies, since the power had 
 passed into the hands of an imperial governor. It was 
 idle to be like the children at their play, who dress them- 
 selves as grown-up folks, and put on their fathers' robes 
 of state. And yet the worthy citizen, he says, has no lack 
 of opportunities for action. To keep open house, and so 
 to be a harbour of refuge for the wanderers, to sympa- 
 thise with joy and grief, to be careful not to wound 
 men's feelings by the wantonness of personal display ; 
 to give counsel freely to the unwary, to bring parted 
 friends once more together, to encourage the efforts of 
 the good and frustrate the villany of designing knaves, 
 to study, in a word, the common weal, these are the 
 duties which a citizen can discharge until his dying day, 
 whether clothed or not with offices of state. 
 
 For Plutarch did not write merely as a literary artist 
 to amuse a studious leisure or revive the memory of 
 heroic days, but as a moralist invested by public con- 
 fidence with a sort of priesthood to direct the con- 
 sciences of men. He had, indeed, no new theory of 
 morals to maintain, and made no pretension to original 
 research ; he wished not to dazzle but to edify, to touch 
 the heart and guide the conduct rather than instruct 
 the reason. His friends or neighbours come to him for 
 counsel on one or other of life's trials, and he sends 
 them willingly the fruit of his study or reflection. He 
 
CH. vni. The Literary Currents of the Age. 1S7 
 
 holds his conferences like a master of the schools, and 
 the privileged guests flock willingly to hear the sermons 
 of which the subject has already been announced, and 
 listen with becoming gravity to the exhortations of the 
 sage. Sometimes they are invited to propose a question 
 for debate ; but nothing frivolous can be allowed, nor 
 may any of the audience betray an unseemly lack of in- 
 terest, " like the bidden guest who scarcely touches 
 with his lips the viands which his host has spread before 
 him." The listener's mind must be ever on the alert, 
 " as the tennis player watches for the ball," and he 
 never should forget that he is sitting, not like a lounger 
 at the theatre, but in a school of morals where he may 
 learn to regulate his life. The lecture ended, or the 
 public conference closed, the privileged few remain to 
 discuss the subject further with their master, while here 
 or there a stricken conscience stays behind to confess 
 its secret grief and ask for ghostly admonition. But the 
 teacher's doors are ever open ; all may freely come and 
 go who need encouragement or advice on any point of 
 social duty. Out of such familiar intercourse, and the 
 cases of conscience thus debated, grew the treatises of 
 ethics which, read at Rome and Athens as well as in the 
 little town of Chaeroneia, extended to the world of letters 
 the fruits of his ministry of morals. 
 
 He did not always wait to be applied to, but sought 
 out at times the intimates who seemed to need his coun- 
 sels, watched their conduct with affectionate concern, 
 and pressed in with warning words amid the business of 
 common life. He tried to recommend philosophy not 
 by precept only but by practice, first testing on himself 
 the value of his spiritual drugs, and working with hu- 
 mility for the salvation of his soul. " It was for the good 
 of others," he tells us, "that I first began to write the 
 
1 88 The Age of the Anto)iines. ck. viii. 
 
 biographies of famous men, but I have since taken to 
 them for my own sake. Their story is to me a mirror, 
 by the help of which I do my best to rule my life after the 
 likeness of their virtues. I seem to enter into living com- 
 munion with them ; while bidding them welcome one by 
 one. under the shelter of my roof, I contemplate the 
 beauty and the grandeur of the souls unbared before me 
 in their actions." 
 
 Yet it was not without other reasons that he lingered 
 over these old passages of history and romance. For, in- 
 deed, with all his width of sympathy and his large hu- 
 manity, the mind of Plutarch was cast in an antique 
 mould. At home mainly in the world of books or in the 
 social moods of a petty town of Greece, he knew little of 
 the new ideas which were then leavening the masses. 
 The Christian church, meantime, was setting the hearts 
 of men aadow with the storv of a noble life which could 
 find no sort of parallel in his long list of ancient wor- 
 thies. Dion Chrysostom had dared to call the right ot 
 slavery in question, and spoke as feelingly as any modern 
 writer of the sorrows of the proletariate and the dignity 
 of labour. Marcus Aurehus was soon to show what deli- 
 cate humilitv and unselfish <rrace could blossom in the 
 midst of heathendom, while straining after visions of 
 perfection not to be realized in scenes of earth. But 
 Plutarch's thought in religion and in morals seems 
 scarcely to have passed bevond the stage of human pro- 
 gress reached long ago in Plato's days, and five cen- 
 turies had passed away and taught him no new principle 
 of duty. 
 
 He believed in the unitv of God, and saw the vanity 
 of idol worship; but to him the essence of religion lay 
 not in dogmas or rules of life but in solemn ritual. He 
 clung to the edifying round of holy forms, though the 
 
CH. viii. The Literary Currefifs of the Age. 189 
 
 faith to which they ministered of old was swept away, 
 and though he had to people the unseen world with inter- 
 mediate spirits, and freely resort to allegoric fancy, to 
 justify the whole mythology of Greek religion. 
 
 In morals his ideal is confined to the culture and 
 perfection of the personal aspirant ; and amiable and 
 chastened as are his tones of courtesy, his talk is still of 
 happiness rather than of duty, and his spiritual horizon 
 is too narrow to take in the thought of the loathsomeness 
 of evil and the enthusiasm of charity. His calm serenity 
 reminds us of the temples of old Greece, which attain in 
 all that is attempted to a simple grace and a consum- 
 mate art, with none of the gloom and mystery of a 
 Christian cathedral, and with little of its witness to a 
 higher world and its vision of unfulfilled ideals. 
 
 But most of the scholars of the day made no preten- 
 sions to such earnest thought, and shrunk from philoso- 
 phy as from a churlish Mentor who spoke a 
 
 O Tl 
 
 language harsh and discordant in their ears, fi^ary 
 These were literary artists, word-fanciers, a r tlsts . and 
 
 * rhetoricians 
 
 and rhetoricians, whose fluent speech and 
 studied eraces won for them oftentimes a world-wide 
 fame, and raised them to wealth or dignity, but did not 
 add a single thought to the intellectual capital of their 
 ao-e and left behind no monument of lasting value. 
 
 They studied the orators of earlier days to learn the 
 secrets of their power ; but the times were changed since 
 the party-strife of the republican assemblies had stirred 
 into insanity the stateman's genius and passion. The 
 pleadings even of the law courts were somewhat cold 
 and lifeless when all the graver cases were sent up by- 
 appeal before the Emperor or his servants. They tried, 
 indeed, to throw themselves back into the past, to re- 
 open the debates of history, and galvanize into spasmodic 
 
iqo The Age of the Antonines. CH. vm. 
 
 life the rigid skeletons of ancient quarrels. When men 
 grew weary of these worn-out topics, the lecturers had 
 recourse to paradox to quicken afresh the jaded fancy, 
 startling the curiosity by some unlooked-for theme, 
 writin°- panegyrics on Fever and Baldness, Dust and 
 Smoke, the Fly even and the Gnat, or imagining almost 
 impossible conjunctures to test their skill in casuistry or 
 their fence of subtle dialectic. To others the subject mat- 
 tered little. Like the Isaeus of whom Pliny writes admir- 
 ingly, or the improvisaiorioiz. later age, they left the choice 
 to the audience who came to hear them, and cared 
 only to display the stock of images with which their 
 memory was furnished, their power of graceful elocution 
 in which every tone or gesture had artistic value, or 
 their unfailing skill in handling all the arms of logical 
 
 debate. 
 
 Sometimes it was a question merely of the choice of 
 words. The Greeks commonly were faithful to the purer 
 models of good style; but the Roman taste, not content 
 with the excellence of Cicero as approved by Ouin- 
 tilian's practised judgment, mounted higher for its 
 standards of Latinity, and prided itself on its familiar 
 use of archaic words or phrases gleaned from Cato or 
 from Ennius. The harmonious arrangement of these 
 borrowed graces was in itself a proof of eloquence, and 
 poverty of thought and frigid feeling mattered little, if 
 the stock of such literary conceits was large enough. 
 
 Fronto of Cirta passed for the first orator of his day at 
 Rome, and was honoured with the friendship of three 
 Emperors, of whom the latest, Marcus Aure- 
 lius, had been his pupil, and was to the last a 
 loving friend. When scholars heard early in this cen- 
 tury that the letters which passed between the sovereign 
 and the professor had been found in a palimpsest under 
 
CH. vin. The Literary Currents of the Age. 191 
 
 the Acts of the Council of Chalcedon, they were full of 
 eager interest to read them ; but they soon turned with 
 contempt from the tasteless pedantry and tawdry affec- 
 tation of the style which was then so much in vogue at 
 Rome. It is curious to find the rhetorician speaking of 
 his favourite art as the only serious study of the age. 
 " For philosophy," he thought, " no style was needed ; no 
 laboured periods, nor touching peroration. The student's 
 intellect was scarcely ruffled while the lecturer went 
 droning on in the dull level of his tedious disquisitions. 
 Lazy assent or a few lifeless words alone were needed, 
 and the audience might be even half-asleep while the 
 * firstly' and 'secondly' were leisurely set forth, and 
 truisms disguised in learned phrases. That done, the 
 learner's work was over : no conning over tasks by 
 night, no reciting or declaiming, no careful study of the 
 power of synonyms or the methods of translation." He 
 thought it mere presumption of philosophy to claim the 
 sphere of morals for its special care. The domain of 
 rhetoric was wide enough to cover that as well as 
 many another field of thought ; her mission was to 
 touch the feelings and to guide men by persuasive 
 speech. For words were something infinitely sacred, 
 too precious to be trifled with by any bungler in the art 
 of speaking. As for the thoughts, they were not likely 
 to be wanting if only the terms of oratory were fitly 
 chosen. Yet, with all the pedant's vanity, we see dis- 
 closed to us in his familiar letters an honest, true, and 
 simple-minded man, who was jealous for the honour of 
 his literary craft, who lived contentedly on scanty means, 
 and never abused his influence at court to advance 
 himself to wealth or honour. 
 
 Few, like Fronto, were content to shine only with the 
 lustre of their art. To live a Sophist's life was a pro- 
 
192 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viii. 
 
 verbial phrase for a career of sumptuous luxury. To 
 turn from rhetoric to philosophy was marked by outward 
 changes like that to the monk's cowl from the pleasures 
 of the world. But it was in the Greek cities of the 
 Empire that they paraded their magnificence with most 
 assurance, and ruled supreme over an admiring public. 
 Among the brilliant towns of Asia Minor, which were at 
 this time at the climax of their wealth and splendour, 
 there flourished an art and literature of fashion, to which 
 the Sophists gave the tone as authors and critics. 
 
 At Smyrna above all, the sanctuary of the Muses and 
 the metropolis of Asia, as it proudly styled itself, the 
 famous Polemon lorded it without dispute, 
 deigning to prefer that city for his home 
 above the neighbouring rivals for his favour. When he 
 went abroad, the chariot which bore him was decked 
 with silver trappings and followed by a long train of 
 slaves and hounds. So proud was his self-confidence 
 that he was said to treat the municipalities as his infe- 
 riors, and emperors and gods only as his equals. 
 Smyrna, the city of his choice, profited largely by the 
 reputation of its townsman. Scholars flocked to it to 
 hear his lectures. Jarring factions were abashed at his 
 rebuke, and forgot, their quarrels in his eulogies of peace. 
 Monarchs honoured him with their favours, and lavished 
 their bounty on his home : Hadrian even transferred his 
 love from Ephesus to Smyrna, and gave the orator a 
 noble sum to beautify the queen of cities. His self- 
 esteem was fully equal to his great renown. When he 
 went to Athens, unlike the other speakers who began 
 with panegyrics on the illustrious city, he startled his 
 hearers with the words, "You have the credit, men of 
 Athens, of being accomplished critics of good style ; I 
 shall soon see if you deserve the praise." A young 
 
CH. vin. The Literary Current* of the Age. 193 
 
 aspirant of distinction came once to measure words with 
 him, and asked him to name a time for showing off his 
 powers. Nothing loth, he offered to speak off-hand, and 
 after hearing him, the stranger slipped away by night to 
 shun the confession of defeat. When Hadrian came to 
 dedicate the stately works with which he had embellished 
 Athens, the ceremony was not thought complete unless 
 Polemon was sent for to deliver a sort of public sermon 
 on the opening of the temple. When death came at last 
 to carry him from the scene of all his triumphs, he said 
 to the admirers who stood beside his bed, " See that my 
 tomb is firmly closed upon me, that the sun may not 
 see me at last reduced to silence." 
 
 Ephesub, meantime, which took the second place 
 among the cities of Ionia, had brought Favorinus from 
 his native Aries to honour it with his brilliant 
 
 _ . , r * r Favorinus. 
 
 talents. But neither of the great professors 
 could brook a rival near his chair, and a war of epigrams 
 and anerv words was carried on between them, and was 
 taken up with warmth by the partisans of each. At 
 Pergamos, Aristocles was teaching still, after giving up 
 philosophy and scandalizing serious minds by taking to 
 the theatre and other haunts of pleasure. Each even of 
 the lesser towns had its own school of rhetoric, and its 
 own distinguished Sophist. 
 
 Nor could the intellectual society of Athens fail to 
 have its shining light in all this galaxy of luminous ta- 
 lents. It had its University, with chairs endowed by 
 government, and filled with teachers of distinction. But 
 it had also a greater centre of attraction in its own 
 Herodes Atticus, who devoted his enormous 
 wealth, his stores of learning and his culti- a«Icus S 
 vated tastes, to do honour to his birthplace, 
 and make her literary circles the admiration of the edu* 
 
jq4 The Age of the Antontnes. ch. viii. 
 
 rated world. His father, who came of an old family at 
 Athens, had found a treasure in his house so great that 
 he feared to claim it till he was reassured by Nerva. He 
 used it with lavish generosity, frequently keeping open 
 house ; and at his death nearly all the town was in his 
 debt. No expense was spared in the education of his 
 son, who studied under the first teachers of the day, and 
 made such progress that he was taken to Pannonia as a 
 youth to display his powers of rhetoric before the 
 Emperor Hadrian. The young student's vanity was 
 damped, however, by a signal failure, and he nearly 
 drowned himself in the Danube in despair. Returning 
 home in humbler mood, he gave himself once more to 
 study. There and in Asia, where he served as an im- 
 perial commissioner, he amassed ample stores of learn- 
 ing and formed his style by intercourse with the greatest 
 scholars of the day. After some years spent at Rome, 
 he settled finally on his own estates, and became hence- 
 forth the central figure of Athenian society, which was 
 by general consent the most refined and cultivated of 
 the age, and the most free from the insolent parade of 
 wealth. 
 
 The most promising of the students of the University 
 were soon attracted to his side, where they found a 
 liberal welcome and unfailing encouragement and help. 
 Aulus Gellius gives a pleasant picture of the studious 
 retreat in which he entertained them. " In our college 
 life at Athens, Herodes Atticus often bade us come to 
 him In his country house of XZephissia we were shel- 
 tered from the burning heat of summer by the shade o! 
 the vast groves, and the pleasant walks about the man- 
 sion, whose cool site and sparkling basins made the 
 whole neighbourhood resound with splashing waters and 
 the song; of birds." Here at onetime or another came 
 
CH. vin. The Literary Currents of the Age. 195 
 
 most of the scholars who were to make a name in the 
 great world, and who were glad to listen to the famous 
 lecturer. A privileged few remained after the audience 
 had dispersed, and were favoured with a course of spe- 
 cial comments which were heard with rapt attention 
 Even the applause so usual in the Sophists' lecture halls 
 was then suspended 
 
 But if an orator of any eminence arrived at Athens 
 and wished to say a word in public, Herodes came 
 with his friends to do the honours of the day, to move 
 the vote of thanks to the illustrious stranger, and 
 to display all his practised skill in the tournament of 
 rhetoric. Not indeed that the reception was so courteous 
 always. One Philager had the imprudence to write an 
 offensive letter to Herodes before he came to Athens. 
 On his arrival the theatre in which he had intended to 
 declaim was crowded with the admirers of the Athenian 
 teacher, who had malicious pleasure in detecting an old 
 harangue which was passed off before them as a new 
 one, and hissed the poor Sophist off the stage when he 
 tried vainly to recover credit. Nor did the talents of the 
 orator save him always from a petty vanity. Aristides 
 wished on one occasion to deliver the Panathenaic 
 speech ; and to disarm the opposition of his rival, whose 
 jealousy he feared, he submitted to his criticism the draft 
 of a weak and colourless address. But instead of this, 
 when the day came to deliver it, the actual speech 
 proved to be of far higher merit, and Herodes saw that 
 he was duped. 
 
 One special object of his care was purity of diction. 
 Not content with forming his style upon the best models 
 of the past, he was known even to consult upon nice 
 points of language an old hermit who lived retired in the 
 heart of Attica. " He lives in the district," was his ex- 
 
196 • The Age of the An to nines, ch. viii. 
 
 planation, " where the purest Attic always has been 
 spoken, and where the old race has not been swept 
 away by strangers." We may find a curious illustration 
 of his affectation of archaic forms in the fact that some of 
 the inscriptions of his monuments are written in Greek 
 characters of a much earlier date, which seemingly in 
 the enthusiasm of the antiquarian he was desirous to 
 revive. 
 
 A like spirit of reverence for the past is shown in his 
 regard for the great religious centres of Hellenic life. 
 Not content with adorning Athens, like Hadrian, with 
 stately works of art, he left the tokens of his fond respect 
 at Delphi, Corinth, and Olympia, where new temples and 
 theatres rose at his expense. There were few parts of 
 Greece, indeed, which had not cause to thank the magni- 
 ficent patron of the arts, whose taste inclined, after the 
 fashion of the day, to the colossal, and was turned only 
 with regret from the idea of cutting a canal through the 
 .Corinthian Isthmus. 
 
 In spite of all his glory and his lavish outlay, the 
 Athenians wearied of their benefactor, or powerful 
 enemies at least combined to crush him. Impeached 
 before the governor of the province on charges of oppres- 
 sion, he was sent to Sirmium when Marcus Aurelius 
 was busy with his Marcomannic war. Faustina had been 
 prejudiced against him, the Emperor's little son was 
 taught to lisp a prayer for the Athenians, and the great 
 orator, broken down by bereavement and ingratitude, 
 refused to exert his eloquence in his own behalf, and 
 broke out even into bitter words as he abruptly left his 
 sovereign's presence. But no charges could be proved 
 against him, and the Emperor was not a man to deal 
 harshly with his old friend for a hasty word. 
 
 Among the visitors atCephissia, in the circle gathered 
 
en. viii. The Literary Currents of the Age. 197 
 
 round Herodes, probably was Apuleius, who had left 
 Carthage to carry on his studies in the lecture 
 
 .... t^i -1 1 Apuleius. 
 
 rooms and libraries of Athens. Philosopher 
 and pietist, poet, romanticist, and rhetorician, he was an 
 apt example of the manysidedness of the sophistic train- 
 ing, as it was then spread universally throughout the 
 Roman Empire. He is a curious illustration of the 
 social characteristics of the age, combining as he does 
 in his own person, and expressing in his varied works, 
 most of the moral and religious tendencies which are 
 singly found elsewhere in other writers of these times. 
 
 i°. There is no originality of thought or style. Inevery 
 work we trace the influence of Greek models. His cele- 
 brated novel of the Transformation of a Man into an 
 Ass is based upon a tale which is also found in Lucian ; 
 the stirring incidents of comedy or tragic pathos which 
 are so strangely interspersed, the description of the rob- 
 ber band, the thrilling horrors of the magic art, the licen- 
 tious gallantries therein described, are freely taken from 
 the Greek romances which he found ready to his hand 
 in many of the countries where he travelled. Even the 
 beautiful legend of Cupid and of Psyche, which lies em- 
 bedded like a pure vein of gold in the coarser strata of 
 his fiction, is an allegoric fancy which belongs to a purer 
 and a nobler mind than his. The style indeed is more 
 attractive than that of any of the few Latin writers of his 
 age, for Apuleius had a poet's fancy, and could pass with 
 ease from grave to gay; but the author is overweighted 
 by his learning, and spoils the merit of his diction by 
 ill-adapted archaisms and tawdry ornaments of preten- 
 tious rhetoric. 
 
 2 . In him, as in the literature of the times, there is 
 none of the natural simplicity of perfect art, but a con- 
 stant striving for effect and a parade of ingenuity, as \i 
 
198 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viii. 
 
 to challenge the applause of lecture-rooms in a society 
 of mutual admiration. One of his works consists of the 
 choice passages, the lively openings or touching perora- 
 tions, gleaned from a number of such public lectures, to 
 serve, it may be, as a sort of commonplace-book for the 
 beginner's use. 
 
 3 . As a religious philosopher he illustrates the eclectic 
 spirit then so common. From the theories of Plato he 
 accepted the faith in a Supreme Being and an immortal 
 soul ; but instead of the types or ideas of the Greek 
 sage, the unseen world was peopled by the fancy of 
 Apuleius with an infinite hierarchy of demon agencies, 
 going to and fro among the ways of men, startling them 
 with phantom shapes, bat making themselves at times 
 the ministers of human will under the influence of magic 
 arts and incantations. 
 
 4 . We find in him a curious blending of mocking 
 insight and of mystic dread. He vividly expresses in 
 the pages of his novel the imposture and the licence of 
 the priestly charlatans who travelled through the world 
 making capital out of the timorous credulity of the 
 devout. Yet except Aristides no educated mind that 
 we read of in that age was. more intensely mastered by 
 superstitious hopes and fears. The mysteries of all the 
 ancient creeds have a powerful attraction for his fancy ; 
 he is eager to be admitted to the holy rites, and to pass 
 within the veil which hides the secrets from the eyes of 
 the profane. Nothing can exceed the fervour of his en- 
 thusiastic sentiment when he speaks of the revelation of 
 the spirit world disclosed in the sacred forms before his 
 kindling fancy. 
 
 5 . Finally, in his case we have brought vividly before 
 our minds the difference between devotion and morality. 
 The sensuality of heathendom is reflected for our study in 
 
ch. VIII. The Literary Currents of the Age, 199 
 
 many a lascivious and disgusting page of Apuleius; and 
 though he speaks of the chastity and self-denial needed 
 for the pious votary to draw near to the God whom he 
 adores, yet the abstinence must have been perfunctory 
 indeed in one whose fancy could at times run riot in 
 images so foul and lewd as to revolt every pure-minded 
 reader. 
 
 We have seen that the scholars of the times were 
 almost wholly living on the intellectual capital of former 
 ages ; in rhetoric and history, in religion and philosophy, 
 they were looking to the past for guidance, and renew- 
 ing the old jealousies of rival studies. In the credulous 
 and manysided mind of Apuleius all the literary currents 
 flowed on peacefully together side by side ; but in 
 Lucian we may note the culture of the age breaking all 
 the idols of its adoration and losing every trace of faith 
 and earnestness and self-respect. 
 
 The great satirist of Samosata was a Syrian by birth, 
 though his genius and language were purely Greek. 
 Apprenticed early to a sculptor, he soon laid down the 
 carver's tools to devote himself to letters, 
 and making little progress at the bar of ucian. 
 
 Antioch, took to the Sophist's wandering life, and, like 
 the others of his trade, courted the applause of idle 
 crowds by formal panegyrics on the Parrot or the Fly. 
 In middle life he grew wearied of such frivolous pursuits, 
 and finding another literary vein more suited to his 
 talents, composed the many dialogues and essays in 
 which all the forms of thought and faith and social 
 fashion pass before us in a long procession, each in turn 
 to be stripped of its show of dignity and grace. 
 
 It was an easy matter to expose the follies of the 
 legendary tales of early Greece, and many a writer had 
 already tried to show that such artless imaginings ot 
 
200 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viii, 
 
 childlike fancy were hopelessly at war with all moral 
 codes and earnest thought. But it was left for Lucian 
 to deal with them in a tone of entire indifference, with- 
 out a trace of passion or excitement, or spirit of avowed 
 attack. The gods and goddesses of oJd Olympus come 
 forward in his dialogues without the flowing draperies of 
 poetic forms which half disguised the unloveliness of 
 many a fancy ; they talk to each other of their vanities 
 and passions simply and frankly, without reserve or 
 shame, till the creations of a nation's childhood, brought 
 down from the realms of fairyland to the realities of 
 common life, seem utterly revolting in the nudities of 
 homely prose. 
 
 Nor had Lucian more respect for the motley forms of 
 eastern worship to which the public mind had lately 
 turned in its strong need of something to adore. He 
 painted in his works the moods of credulous sentiment 
 which sought for new sources of spiritual comfort in the 
 glow and mystery and excitement of those exotic rites ; 
 he described in lively terms the consternation of the 
 deities of Greece when they found their council chamber 
 thronged by the grotesque brotherhood of unfamiliar 
 shapes, finding a voice at last in the protests of 
 Momus, who came forward to resist their claims to equal- 
 ity with the immortals of Olympus. "Attis and Corybas 
 and Sabazius, and the Median Mithras, who does not 
 know a word of Greek and can make no answer when 
 his health is drunk, these are bad enough; still they 
 could be endured ; but that Egyptian there, swathed 
 like a mummy, with a dog's head on his shoulders, what 
 claim has he, when he barks, to be listened to as a god ? 
 What means yon dappled bull of Memphis, with his 
 oracles and train of priests ? I should be ashamed to 
 tell of all the ibises, apes, and goats, and thousand dei- 
 
ch. viii. The Literary Currents of the Age. 201 
 
 ties still more absurd, with which the Egyptians have 
 deluged us , and I cannot understand, my friends, how 
 you can bear to have them honoured as much as, or 
 more even than yourselves. And, Jupiter, how can you 
 Let them hang those ram's horns on your head ? " Momus 
 is reminded that these are mysterious emblems, which an 
 ignorant outsider must not mock at, and he readily ad- 
 mits that in those times only the initiated could dis- 
 tinguish between a monster and a god 
 
 Lucian's banter did not flow from any deeper source of 
 faith in a religion purer than those bastard forms of idol 
 worship. He was entirely sceptical and unimpassioned, 
 and the unseen world was to his thoughts animated by 
 no higher life, nor might man look for anything beyond 
 the grave. His attacks upon the established faith were 
 far from being carried on in the spirit of a philosophic 
 propaganda. He was unsparing in his mockery of the 
 would-be sages who talked so grandly of the contempt 
 for riches and for glory, of following Honour as their 
 only guide, of keeping anger within bounds, and treating 
 the great ones of the earth as equals, and who yet must 
 have a fee for every lesson, and do homage to the rich. 
 " They are greedy of filthy lucre, more passionate than 
 dogs, more cowardly than hares, more lascivious than 
 asses, more thievish than cats, more quarrelsome than 
 cocks." He describes at length the indignities to which 
 thev are willing to submit as domestic moralists in the 
 service of stingy and illiterate patrons, or in the train of 
 some fine lady who likes to show at times her cultivated 
 tastes, but degrades her spiritual adviser to the company 
 of waiting maids and insolent pages, or even asks him to 
 devote his care to the confinement of her favourite dog, 
 and to the litter foou to be expected. One by one they 
 pass before us in his pages, the several types of militant 
 
20 2 The Age of the Antonines. ch. viii. 
 
 philosophy, — the popular lecturer, the court confessor, 
 the public missionary in Cynic dress, the would be pro- 
 phets, and the wonder-mongers, astrologers, and charla- 
 tans, all crowding to join the ranks of a profession 
 where the only needful stock in trade was a staff, a 
 mantle, and a wallet, with ready impudence and a fluent 
 tongue. 
 
 Was Lucian concerned for the good name of the 
 earnest thinkers of old time, the founders of the great 
 schools of thought, whose dogmas were parodied by 
 these impostors? Not so indeed The old historic names 
 appear before us in his auction scene ; but the paltry 
 biddings made for each show how he underrated them, 
 and in his pictures of the realms of the departed spirits 
 all the high professions of the famous moralists of Greece 
 did not raise them above an ignominious want of dignity 
 and courage. 
 
 Thus with mocking irony the scoffer rang out the 
 , funeral knell of the creeds and systems of the ancient 
 world. Genius and heroism, high faith and earnest 
 thought, seemed one by one to turn to dust and ashes 
 under the solvent of his merciless wit. Religion was a 
 mere syllabus of old wives' fables or a creaking ma- 
 chinery of supernatural terrors ; philosophy was an airy 
 unreality of metaphysic cobwebs ; enthusiasm was the 
 disguise of knaves and badge of dupes; life was an 
 ignoble scramble uncheered by any rays of higher light 
 and unredeemed by any faith or hope from a despairing 
 self-contempt. 
 
ch. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 203 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE ADMINISTRATIVE FORS OF THE IMPERIAL 
 GOVERNMENT. 
 
 The imperial ruler governed with unqualified authority. 
 No checks or balances or constitutional safeguards were 
 provided by the theory of the state, and the . 
 
 venerable forms which lingered on existed perial ruler 
 mainly by his sufferance. The Curule offices absolute 
 remained only as part of the showy cere- sovereign, 
 monial of the life of Rome, but with no substantial 
 power. The senate met to help the monarch with their 
 counsels, or to register his decrees in formal shapes ; 
 but the reins had passed entirely from their hands. The 
 local liberties throughout the provinces were little 
 meddled with, and municipal self rule provoked, as yet, 
 no jealousy ; but it might be set aside at any moment by 
 a Caesar's will, or its machinery abused as an engine of 
 oppression. Meantime, however, the transition from the 
 unsystematic forms of the Republic was only slowly going 
 on, and the agents of the central government were few 
 compared with those of the widespread bureaucracy of 
 iater days. 
 
 The imperial household had been organized at first 
 like that of any Roman noble. Educated slaves or 
 freedmen, commonly of Greek extraction, wrote the 
 letters, kent the books, or managed the accounts in 
 wealthy houses, and filled a great variety of posts, partly 
 menial, partly confidential. In default of aTld his 
 ministers of state and public functionaries ministers 
 
 . t wre at 
 
 of tried experience, the early Emperors had first his own 
 used their own domestic servants to mul- 
 
204 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix 
 
 tiply their eyes and ears and hands for the multitudinous 
 business to be transacted. Weak rulers had been 
 often tools in the hands of their own insolent freedmen, 
 who made colossal fortunes by working on their master's 
 fears or selling his favour to the highest bidder. 
 
 But the Emperors of the second century were too 
 
 strong and self-contained to stoop to the meanness of 
 
 such backstairs intrigue, and we hear little 
 
 though . . . 
 
 afterwards in their days of the sinister influence of the 
 imperial freedmen. But the offices which 
 they had filled in direct attendance on the ruler were 
 raised in seeming dignity, though shorn perhaps of 
 actual power, when Hadrian placed in them knights 
 who might aspire to rise higher on the ladder of pro- 
 motion. Of such posts there were four of special trust 
 and confidence. 
 
 i°. First came the office of the Privy Purse (a rationi- 
 bus), which controlled all the accounts of the sovereign's 
 „, revenues, and of the income of the Fiscus. 
 
 1 he most ' 
 
 important The poet Statius describes in lofty style the 
 
 of these . . 
 
 were importance and variety of the cares which 
 
 rationibns thus devolved upon a powerful freedman 
 
 (treasurer). w ho held the post for several reigns. "The 
 produce of Iberian gold mines, of the Egyptian harvests, 
 of the pearl fisheries of the Eastern seas, of the flocks of 
 Tarentum, of the transparent crystal made in Alexan- 
 drian factories, of the forests of Numidia, of the ivory 
 of India, whatever the winds waft from every quarter 
 into port— all is entrusted to his single care. The out- 
 goings are also his concern. The supplies of all the 
 armies pass daily through his hands, the necessary sums 
 to stock the granaries of Rome, to build aqueducts and 
 temples, to deck the palaces of Caesar, and to keep the 
 mints at work. He has scant time for sleep or food., none 
 
ch IX. Administrative For as of Government. 205 
 
 for social intercourse, and pleasure is a stranger to his 
 thoughts." 
 
 2°. The prince's Secretary (ab epistulis) required of 
 course a high degree of literary skill, as well as the 
 powers of an accomplished penman. " He 
 has," says the same poet of another freed- epistulis 
 man, " to speed the missives of the monarch 
 through the world, to guide the march of armies, to re- 
 ceive the glad news of victory from the Rhine, the 
 Danube . the Euphrates, from the remotest lands of 
 Thule, whither the conquering eagles have already made 
 their way. His hand prepares the officers' commissions, 
 and lets men know who have gained the post of centu • 
 rion or tribune. He has to ask if the waters of the Nile 
 have risen high enough for a good harvest, if rain has 
 fallen in Africa, and to make a thousand like enqui- 
 ries ; not Isis, nor Mercury himself, has so many mes- 
 sages of moment." In later days there were two 
 departments of the office, for the language of Greece and 
 for that of Italy. The former of the two was coveted by 
 the most famous scholars of the age, and was looked 
 upon as the natural reward for purity of style and critical 
 discernment. It led in time to the higher rank and the 
 substantial emoluments of office. 
 
 3 . It was the duty of another minister (a libellis), to 
 open the petitions or complaints intended for his master's 
 ear, and probably to make abstracts of their 
 contents. If we may trust Seneca's account fib'eUis 
 the duties were arduous enough, since (clerk of 
 
 petitions). 
 
 Polybius. who discharged them, had little 
 time to nurse his private sorrows. "Thou hast so many 
 thousand men to hear, so many memorials to set in 
 order. To lay such a mass of business, that flows in 
 from the wide world, in fitting method before the eyes 
 
206 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 of thy great prince, thou must have thyself unfaltering 
 courage. Thou must not weep, for thou hast so many 
 weeping petitioners to hear. To dry the tears of so 
 many who are in danger, and would fain win their way 
 to the mercy of thy gracious Csesar, thou must needs 
 dry thine own eyes first." 
 
 4°. The Chamberlains often attained to large influ- 
 ence by their talents and address ; but there seemea 
 something menial in the duties of the office, 
 
 4 . a cubi- _ _ 
 
 culo (cham- which was therefore filled by slaves 01 
 freedmen, though, as the court adopteo 
 more of the sentiment and language of the East, the 
 overseer of the sacred bedchamber (propositus sacri 
 cubiculi) filled a larger place in public thought, and 
 gained at times complete ascendancy over a weak or 
 vicious monarch, like the mayors of the palace over 
 puppet kings in France. 
 
 Of far higher social dignity were the official friends 
 of Caesar (amici Caesaris), the notables of Rome who 
 were honoured with his confidence, and 
 Councii 1Vy called on for advice as members as a sort 
 *? m,ci . of Privy Council or Consistory, which met in 
 
 varying numbers at the discretion of the 
 prince, to debate with him on the affairs of state. It was 
 an old custom with great Roman nobles to divide their 
 friends according to gradations of their rank and influ- 
 ence. The Emperor's court was formed on the same 
 model, and it was of no slight moment to the aspirant 
 after honours to be ranked in one or other of the two 
 great privileged classes. Out of these were chosen the 
 companions (comites, counts) of the prince in all his 
 travels, who journeyed with him at his cost, and were 
 entertained by him at his table. In the first century the 
 rank had proved a dangerous eminence. With moody and 
 
ck. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 207 
 
 suspicious tyrants, a word, a look, had proved enough to 
 hurl the courtier from his post of honour. But in the 
 period before us the lot was a far happier one. The 
 Privy Councillors were treated with a marked respect, 
 and by the Antonines at least they were not burdened 
 with the duties of personal attendance on the prince, or 
 the mere etiquette of social intercourse, save when the 
 business of state required their presence. At last the 
 term became a purely honorary title, and the great 
 functionaries throughout the empire were styled the 
 friends or counts of Caesar. 
 
 The imperial officers were not appointed, like the 
 ministers of state in modern times, to great depart- 
 ments, such as War, the Home Office, the Exchequer; 
 but each held a fraction of delegated power within local 
 limits carefully prescribed. The city of Rome, the 
 prince's bodyguard, the urban watch, a province or an 
 army, were put under the command of officers who 
 looked only to the Emperor for orders. Two of these 
 posts towered high above the rest in dignity and trust. 
 
 (1) The Praefect of the City represented the Emperor 
 in his absence, and maintained civil order in the capital. 
 The police of Rome lay wholly in his sphere 
 
 of competence, with summary powers to of^aiy 04 
 proceed against slaves or disturbers of the 
 peace, out of which grew gradually the functions of a 
 High Court of Criminal Jurisdiction. 
 
 (2) The Prefect of the Praetorian soldiers was at first 
 only the commander of the few thousand household 
 troops who served as the garrison of Rome. The Praefect 
 While the legions were far away from the of the Frseto- 
 
 , ,. . _. c rian Guards 
 
 frontier, the temper of the Praetorians was of 
 
 vital moment, and the Praefects might and did dispose 
 
 of the safety of a throne. Sometimes their loyalty seemed 
 
208 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 to be secured by boons and honours, or by marriage 
 ties ; sometimes two were named together, to balance 
 each other by their rivalries ; but they were always dan- 
 gerous to their master, till in the fourth century the 
 power of the sword was wholly taken from them and 
 lodged in the hands of separate commanders. Already 
 the greatest jurists of the day had been appointed to the 
 office, to replace the Emperor on the seat of justice, and 
 it became at last the supreme court of appeal in civil 
 jurisdiction. 
 
 The whole of the Roman empire, save Italy alone, 
 was divided into provinces, and in each the central 
 government was represented by a ruler sent from Rome. 
 For the peaceful lands long since annexed, 
 Provincial where no armed force was needed, a gov- 
 Governors, ernor (proconsul or propraetor) was chosen 
 by the senate, in whose name the country was adminis- 
 tered. For border lands, or others where there was any 
 danger of turbulence or civil feud, a lieutenant (legatus) 
 of the Emperor ruled in his master's name, and held the 
 power of the sword. There were doubtless cases still of 
 cruelty and greed; but the worst abuses of republican 
 misgovernment had been long since swept away. The 
 prince or his councillors kept strict watch and ward, and 
 sharply called offenders to account; the provincial no- 
 tables sat in the imperial senate, in which every real 
 grievance could find a champion and a hearing. There 
 was a financial agent (procurator) of the sovereign in 
 each country, ready to note and to report all treasonable 
 action ; despatches travelled rapidly by special posts 
 organized by the government along the great highways. 
 The armed force was seldom lodged in the hands of 
 civil rulers ; the payment of fixed salaries for office 
 made indirect gains seem far less venial ; and the old 
 
ch ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 209 
 
 sentiment was gone that the world was governed in the 
 interest of Rome or of its nobles. The responsibilities ol 
 power raised the lone of many of the rulers, and moral 
 qualities which had languished in the stifling air of the 
 great city flourished on the seat of justice before the 
 eyes of subject peoples. 
 
 A certain court or retinue followed each governor to 
 his province, some of which received a definite sanction 
 and a salary from the state. There were trusted in»> 
 mates on whose experience or energy he might r«ily, 
 trained jurists to act as assessors in the 
 courts, and to guide his judgment on nice suf te their 
 points of law, young nobles eager to see life 
 in foreign lands, literary men to amuse his leisure 
 moments on the journey, or to heir in drafting his 
 dt-spatches, practised accountants for financial business, 
 surveyors or architects for public works, together with 
 personal attendants to minister to their master's wants. 
 None of these, save perhaps the notaries (scribae), were 
 permanent officials, and ♦"heir number on the whole was 
 small, and quite disproportionate to the size and popu- 
 lation of the provir_e. For the agents of the central 
 government were few, and local liberties were still 
 respected, though there were ominous signs of coming 
 changes. 
 
 The imperial rulers had shown little jealousy as yet of 
 municipal self rule, and almost every town was a unit 
 of free-life, with many administrative forms 
 o f local growth still undisturbed. Magis- 
 
 & magistrates , 
 
 /rates were elected year bv vear in each ; 
 town councils formed of leading citizens and ex-officials 
 ruled all concerns of public interest ; general assemblies 
 of the townsmen met from time to time, and took an 
 active part in the details of civic life, long after the 
 
210 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 comitia of Rome were silenced. Nor were these merely 
 idle forms which disguised the reality of servitude. Men 
 still found scope for active energy in managing the 
 affairs of their own towns; they still saw prizes for a pas- 
 sionate ambition in the places and the honours which 
 their fellow countrymen could give. 
 
 We have only to follow the career of some of the lead- 
 ing provincials of the age, we have only to turn over the 
 copies of the numerous inscriptions left on stone or 
 bronze, to see how much remained in outward show at 
 least, of the old forms of republican activity, 
 freedom! A Herodes Atticus could still be a com- 
 
 manding figure in the life of Greece : a 
 Dion Chrysostom could find occasion for his eloquence 
 in soothing the passions of assemblies and reconciling 
 the feuds of neighbouring cities. No sacrifices seemed 
 too costly for the wealthy who wished to be dignitaries 
 in their native boroughs. To gain a year or two of 
 office they spent vast sums in building libraries or 
 aqueducts, or baths, or schools, or temples, squandering 
 sometimes a fortune in the extravagant magnificence of 
 largesses or shows. They disputed with each other no\ 
 only for the office of duumvir or of aedile, but for hono 
 rary votes of every kind, for precedence at the theatres^ 
 for statues whose heads were to be presently replaces 
 with those of other men, for a flattering inscription even 
 on the building which the city had accepted at their 
 hands. 
 
 But if we look below the surface, and listen to moral, 
 ists like Plutarch, who best reflect the social features ot 
 provincial life, we may have cause to think that public 
 spirit was growing fainter every day, and that the securi- 
 ties for freedom and self-rule were very few. 
 
 (i) Rome was the real centre of attraction as of old v 
 
ch. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 211 
 
 the aim of all ambitious hopes. Local dis- ^ few ^ 
 tinctions were a natural stepping-stone to a rantees of 
 
 permanence, 
 
 place in the Senate or the Privy Council, as illustrated 
 and employments else of little worth found by p utarc 
 a value as the lowest rounds of a ladder of promotion, 
 on which none could mount high until they had made a 
 name at Rome. Men of good families dropped their 
 ancestral titles and latinized their names to pass as de- 
 scendants of the conquerors of the world. In a spirit of 
 flattery and mean compliance, the municipal 
 authorities abridged with their own hands ^JJlfeT" 11 " 
 their ancient freedom, tore up their old tra- courted 
 
 interference 
 
 ditional charters, consulted the governor at 
 
 every turn, and laid humbly at his feet the reins of 
 
 power. 
 
 Of such unconscious traitors Plutarch speaks with 
 just severity. He reminds his readers that the invalids 
 who have been wont to bathe and eat only at the 
 bidding of their doctor, soon lose the healthy enjoyment 
 of their strength ; and so too those who would appeal to 
 Caesar or his servants in every detail of public life, find 
 to their cost that they are masters of themselves no 
 longer ; they degrade senate, magistrates, courts, and 
 people, and reduce their country to a state of impotent 
 and debasing servitude. 
 
 He would have them cherish no illusions, and give 
 themselves no airs of independence, for real power had 
 passed out of their hands ; but it was needless folly to 
 seem to court oppression, or to appear incapable of using 
 the liberties which still remained. For these lasted on 
 by sufferance only, and had no guarantees of perma- 
 nence ; the old federal leagues had passed away, and 
 there was no bond of union between the cities save the 
 tie of loyalty to the Emperor at Rome. As units of free 
 
212 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 life, linked to each other by some system of provincial 
 parliaments, they might have given effective utterance 
 to the people's will, and have formed organized centres 
 of resistance to oppression, but such assemblies can be 
 hardly traced, save here and there in feeble forms, and 
 the imperial mechanism was brought to bear directly on 
 a number of weak and isolated atoms. 
 
 (2) The proconsuls or lieutenants of Caesar grew im- 
 patient of any show of independence or any variety of 
 , , , local usage. Not content with the maintc 
 
 (2) the ° 
 
 governors nance of peace and order, and with guarding 
 
 meddle ° the interests of state, they began to meddle 
 
 more, m a |j foe details of civic life. A street-riot, 
 
 or a financial crisis, or an architect's mistake in public 
 works, was excuse enough for superseding lower powers, 
 and changing the whole machinery of local politics. 
 Sometimes immunities were swept away, and old cus- 
 toms set aside by self-willed rulers greedy of extended 
 power, ignorant even of the language of the subject 
 peoples, and careless of the associations of the past. 
 Sometimes conscientious men like Pliny, who rose above 
 sinister or selfish aims, would interpose in the interests 
 of symmetry and order, or wished to prove their loyalty 
 and zeal by carrying out their master's plans with scant 
 regard for old privileges or historic methods. 
 
 (3) The imperial system was one of personal rule, and 
 the stronger and more self-contained the Caesar on the 
 
 throne, the more was he tempted to make 
 Caesar on & ^'\s government felt in every department of 
 th- throne hj s p 0we r. The second century was the age 
 
 was more * J ° 
 
 and more of able and untiring rulers, whose activitv 
 
 appealed to. 
 
 was felt in every part of their wide empire. 
 The ministers who knew the temper of their sovereigns 
 appealed to them in every case of doubt, and the impe- 
 
CH. ix. Administrative Forms of Govermnent. 213 
 
 rial posts along the great high roads were kept in con- 
 stant work with the despatches which went to and fro 
 between every province and the centre. From distant 
 Bithynia came Pliny's questions about a bath, a guild of 
 firemen, the choice of a surveyor, or the status of a run- 
 away slave who had enlisted in the army; and Trajan 
 thought it needful to write special letters to forbid a 
 couple of soldiers being shifted from their post or to 
 sanction the removal of a dead man's ashes. 
 
 Under cautious princes like the Antonines the effects 
 of an absolutism so unqualified were for a time disguised ; 
 but the evils of misgovernment, which in the last century 
 had been mainly felt at Rome, might now, as the empire 
 grew more centralized, be known in every land. They 
 were not hid from the eyes of Plutarch, who preferring 
 as he does monarchic rule to every other social form, 
 and looking on the sovereign as the representative of 
 heaven on earth, yet insists on the grave danger to the 
 world if the prince has not learnt the lessons of self- 
 mastery. "He should be like the sun, which moves 
 most slowly when it attains its highest elevation." 
 
 We shall better understand the perils of the system 
 then adopted if we look forward to some of 
 the actual evils of the centralized monarchy evils of a 
 of the later empire. later age> 
 
 i°. The sums which flowed into the treasury of Rome 
 seem to have been still moderate, if compared with the 
 vast extent of her dominions, and the wealth 
 
 i°. 1 he 
 
 of many of the subject lands. Much of the pressure of 
 expense of government fell upon the local 
 resources of the towns, which had their own domains, 
 or levied special taxes for the purpose ; but the rest may 
 be brought under three heads, (1) that of the pay and 
 pensions for the soldiers of the legions, (2) of the 
 
214 The Age of the Ant a nines. CH. ix. 
 
 largesses of corn or money, and (3) of the prince's civil 
 list, including the charges of his household and the 
 salaries of public servants. The first and second varied 
 little in amount ; there were few changes in the number of 
 troops or the expenses of the service save in crises like the 
 Dacian or Marcomannic war; at Rome the recipients of 
 corn were kept at nearly the same figure, and it was dan- 
 gerous to neglect the imperial bounties to the populace 
 of the ereat towns. The third was the division in which 
 a thrifty ruler might retrench, or a prodigal exhaust his 
 coffers by extravagance. The question was one of per- 
 sonal economy or self-indulgence, for the civil servants 
 were not many, and their salaries as yet formed no great 
 item in the budget. It was by the wantonness of inso- 
 lent caprices that tyrants such as Caligula or Nero 
 drained their treasuries, and were driven to refill them 
 by rapine or judicial murder. But while they struck at 
 wealthy victims they spared the masses of the people, 
 and it was left to an unselfish ruler like Vespasian to 
 face the outcry and the indignation caused by a heavier 
 system of taxation. 
 
 In general the empire had, in that respect at least, been 
 a boon to the whole Roman world, for it had replaced 
 
 the licence and extortion of provincial go- 
 moderate at vernors and farmers of the tithes by a 
 
 system of definite tariff and control. The 
 land-tax levied in every country beyond Italy had taken 
 commonly the form of a tithe or fraction of the produce, 
 farmed by middlemen (publicani), and collected by their 
 agents, who were often unscrupulous and venal. It was 
 a method wasteful to the state and oppressive to the 
 subjects, and full of inequalities and seeming hardships. 
 The first step taken by Augustus was to carry out a 
 general survey of the empire as a needful condition of a 
 
en. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 215 
 
 fairer distribution of the burdens ; another was to control 
 the licence of the publicans by a financial agent in each 
 province, holding a commission directly from the prince. 
 
 Further steps were gradually taken, and by the time 
 of Marcus Aurelius the system of middlemen was swept 
 away. Tithes were not levied as before in kind, but a 
 land tax (tributum solij of uniform pressure took their 
 place,. Italy had long enjoyed immunities under the 
 Republic, when she lived upon the plunder of the world ; 
 but custom-duties (portoriaj were imposed on her by the 
 first Caesar, and tolls at the markets (centesima rerum 
 venalium) by Augustus, while succession duties (vi- 
 cesima hereditatum) were levied in the course of the 
 same reign in spite of the indignant outcry of the wealth- 
 ier Romans. These or their equivalents under other 
 names were the chief sources of revenue, to which we 
 have to add the lands and mines which passed into the 
 imperial domains as the heritage of the state or of the 
 royal houses of the provinces, together with the proceeds 
 of legacies and confiscations. 
 
 There was no large margin, it would seem, for per- 
 sonal extravagance or a social crisis ; but the Antonines 
 were happily of frugal habits, and one of 
 them, as we have seen, parted with the gradually 
 heir-looms of the palace rather than lay more in- 
 fresh burdens on his people. Future rulers 
 were less scrupulous than they. The brilliancv of per- 
 sonal display, the costly splendours borrowed from the 
 Eastern courts, the charge of a rapidly increasing civil 
 service, the corruption of the agents of the treasury, the 
 pensions paid to the barbarian leaders — these and other 
 causes led to a steady drain upon the exchequer which 
 it was harder every year to keep supplied. Fresh dues 
 and tolls of various kinds were frequently imposed ; the 
 
216 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 burdens on the land grew more oppressive as the pros- 
 perity of the wealth producing classes waned, till at last 
 a chorus of many voices rises to deplore the general 
 misery caused by the pressure of taxation, the insolence 
 of the collectors in the towns, the despair of the poor 
 artisans when the poll-tax is demanded, parents selling 
 their children into slavery, women driven to a life of 
 shame, landowners flying from the exhausted fields to 
 take refuge even with barbarian peoples, and all signs 
 of universal bankruptcy. 
 
 2°. The administrative system gradually became more 
 
 bureaucratic and more rigidly oppressive. In early 
 
 n ^u days the permanent civil servants of the 
 
 2°. The x 
 
 increase of the state were few in number. At Rome we read 
 of notaries or accountants (scribae), of jave- 
 lin men (lictores), and ushers (apparitores) in personal 
 attendance on the magistrates. These were seemingly 
 allowed to form themselves in guilds in defence of their 
 professional rights, and gained a sort of vested interest 
 in their office, which could at times be even bought 
 or sold. 
 
 But their number and importance was not great. We 
 have little evidence of like classes in the provinces, and 
 the o-overnor's suite went out and returned with him 
 as his own friends or retainers, while doubtless servile 
 labour was largely used upon the spot. 
 
 Such a practice was too rude and immature to last 
 long after the activity of the central government became 
 more intense. Tn the course of time, there- 
 b7opfr™1ve fore, the whole character of such official 
 th?C?S? nS ° n work was changed ; the accountants and 
 Service. t ^ e wr jters rapidly increased in number as 
 
 the business grew upon their hands, and the state secured 
 its servants a professional status. This, strange to say, 
 
CH. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 217 
 
 was called a military service (militia) ; many of the 
 grades of rank adopted in different stages of employ- 
 ment were borrowed from the army; a certain uniform 
 was worn at last, and commissions were made out in the 
 Emperor's name, while a sort of martial discipline was 
 observed in the bureaux (scrinia). Honours and privi- 
 leges and illustrious names were given to the heads of 
 the official hierarchy ; but the state began to tighten its 
 grasp upon its agents, to require a long period of ser- 
 vice, to refuse permission to retire until a substitute was 
 found, to force the children to learn their fathers' craft 
 and step one day into their places, till the whole civil 
 service gradually became one large official caste, in 
 which each generation was bound to a lifelong servitude, 
 disguised under imposing names and military forms. 
 
 3 . A like series of changes may be traced in a higher 
 social order. In all the lands through which Greek 
 or Italian influence had spread, some sort 
 of town-council had existed as a necessary honou^be^ 1 
 element of civic life. The municipal laws c ? me onerous 
 
 1 charges. 
 
 of the first Caesars defined the functions of 
 this order (ordo decurionum, curia), which like the 
 Roman Senate was composed of ex officials, or other 
 citizens of dignity and wealth. 
 
 For a century or more, while the tide of public life 
 flowed strongly in the provinces, the status of a coun- 
 cillor (decurio, curialis) was prized, and leading men 
 spent time and money freely in the service of their 
 fellows. As the empire grew more centralized, local 
 distinctions were less prized, and we find in the inscrin- 
 tions fewer names of patriots willing, like Herodes Atti- 
 cus, to enrich their native cities with the monuments of 
 their lavish bounty. As municipal honours were less 
 valued, the old relation was inverted, and the councillors 
 
218 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 had to fill in turn the public offices, which instead of 
 dignities were felt to be oppressive burdens. 
 
 By the time of Trajan we find the traces of unwilling- 
 ness to serve, and in the reign of Marcus Aurelius the 
 reluctance had grown already more intense. The sophist 
 Aristides tells us frankly of his eagerness to escape from 
 civic changes, how he wept and fasted, prayed and 
 pleaded to his gods, till he saw the vision of white maids 
 who came to set him free, and found the dream was 
 followed by imperial despatches which contained the 
 dispensation so much longed for. 
 
 The central government, in its concern, devised more 
 marks of honour and distinction ; but still men grew less 
 willing to wear the gilded chains, for the responsibilities 
 of office grew more weighty. The order of dccuriones had 
 not only to meet as it best could the local needs, but to 
 raise the imperial taxes, to provide for the commissariat 
 of the armies, and keep the people in good humour by 
 spectacles and corn and grants of money. Men sought 
 to quit their homes and part with their estates, and hoard 
 as best they could the proceeds of the sale, if only they 
 could free themselves from public duties. But still the 
 state pursued them with its claims ; the service of the coun- 
 cillors became a charge on landed property, the citizen 
 of means was a functionary who might not quit his post. 
 He might not sell his fields, for the treasury had a lien 
 on them ; he might not travel at his ease, for that would 
 be a waste of public time ; he might not live unmarried, 
 for his duty was to provide children to succeed him when 
 he died, he might not even take Holy Orders when 
 he would, for folks of narrow means were good enough 
 for that, but " he must stay in the bosom of his native 
 country, and, like the minister of holy things, go through 
 the ceaseless round of solemn service." 
 
CH. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 219 
 
 In their despair the decuriones try to fly, but they are 
 hunted down without compunction. Their names are 
 posted in the proclamations with runaways and crimi- 
 nals of the lowest class ; they are tracked even to the 
 precincts of the churches, to the mines and quarries 
 where they seek shelter, to the lowest haunts of the most 
 degraded outcasts. In spite of all such measures their 
 numbers dwindled constantly, and had to be recruited, 
 while land was given to the newly enrolled to qualify 
 them for the duties of the service. Still the cry was for 
 more to fill the vacant offices of state, arid the press-gang 
 gathered in fresh tax-gatherers — for they were little 
 more — from every class. The veteran's son, if weak or 
 idle, the coward who had mutilated himself to be unfit for 
 soldiers' work, the deacon who had unfrocked himself or 
 been degraded — all were good enough for this — the 
 priestly gambler even, who had been counted hopeless 
 and excommunicate, and who was declared to be pos- 
 sessed of an evil spirit, was sent not to a hospital but to 
 the curia. 
 
 4°. The same tendencies were at work meantime on 
 every side in other social grades, for in wellnigh all alike 
 the imperial system first interfered with 
 healthy energy by its centralised machinery, f°j^ies S a " d 
 discouraged industry by heavy burdens, and became 
 
 j j j hereditary- 
 
 then appealed to force to keep men to the burdens. 
 
 taskwork which they shunned. Its earlier 
 
 rulers had indeed favoured the growth of trade and the 
 
 development of industry, had respected the dignity of 
 
 the labour of free artisans, and fostered the growth of 
 
 guilds and corporations which gave the sense of mutual 
 
 protection and self-respect to the classes among which 
 
 they sprung. Bounties and privileges were granted to 
 
 many of such unions, which specially existed for the 
 
220 The Age of the Antonines. ch. ix. 
 
 service of the state, for the carrying trade of Roman 
 markets, or the labours of the post, the arsenals, the 
 docks. 
 
 Over these the control became gradually more strin- 
 gent as the spur of self-interest ceased to prompt the 
 workers to continued effort. Men must be chained, like 
 ^alley slaves if need be, to their work, rather than the 
 well-beinsr of societv should suffer, or government be 
 discredited in vital points. The principle adopted in their 
 case was extended to many other forms of industry 
 which languished from the effects of higher taxation or 
 unwise restrictions, and were likely to be deserted in 
 despair. In the rural districts also sturdy arms must be 
 kept to the labours of the field, lest the towns be 
 starved by their neglect ; peasants must not be allowed 
 to roam at will, or betake themselves to other work, but 
 be tied to the fields they cultivated in a state of vil- 
 leinage or serfdom. The armies could not safelv be 
 exposed to the chances of volunteer recruits ; but the 
 landowners must provide their quota, or the veterans 
 bring up their children in the camp, or military colonies 
 be planted on the frontier with the obligation of per- 
 petual service. 
 
 So, high and low, through every grade of social status, 
 the tyranny of a despotic government was felt. It drained 
 the life-blood from the heart of every social organism ; 
 it cut at the roots of public spirit and of patriotic pride, 
 and dried up the natural sources of unselfish effort. 
 And then, in self-defence, it chained men to their work, 
 and made each department of the public service a sort 
 of convict labour in an hereditary caste. 
 
 But the toil of slaves is but a sorry substitute for the 
 enlightened industry of freemen; and the empire grew 
 poorer as its liberties were cramped. It grew weaker 
 
CH. ix. Administrative Forms of Government. 221 
 
 also in its energies of self-defence, for when the barba- 
 rians knocked loudest at the gates, instead of the strong 
 cohesion of a multitude of centres of free life bound to 
 each other by a thousand interlacing sympathies, they 
 found before them only towns and villages standing 
 alone in helpless isolation, and vainly looking round 
 them for defence, while the central mechanism was 
 sadly out of gear. 
 
 The imperial Colossus seemingly had dwindled to an 
 inorganic group of loose atoms. 
 
INDEX. 
 
 ADONIS, 169. 
 Aelia Capitohna, 75. 
 Agri decumates, 28 
 Agricoia, Calpurnius, 99. 
 Akiba, 75. 
 Alcantara, 16. 
 
 Alexander the grammarian, 120. 
 Alexandria, 60, 113, 185. 
 Algeria, 55. 
 Altinum, 103. 
 Ancona, 17. 
 Anio, 18. 
 Antimachus, 67. 
 Aminous, 60. 
 
 Antioch, 43, 47, 54. 93, II2 > x 99- 
 Antoninus, Marcus, 82, 84-135, 143, 
 
 151. 215- 
 Antoninus, Pius, 72, 73, 77-84, 157. 
 Antoninus, Marcus, 42. 
 Apamea, 25. 
 
 Apis, 59- n „ , 
 
 Apollodorus, 38, 00, 09. 
 
 Apollonius, 82, 119. 
 
 Apologists, 153. 
 
 Appian Road, 16. 
 
 Apuleius, 196-198. 
 
 Aqua iVlarcia. 17. 
 
 Aquae (Biden-Baden), 27. 
 
 Aquileia, 102, 105. 
 
 Arabia, 48. 
 
 Arbela, 47. 
 
 Aristides, 113, 168, 195, 198, 218. 
 
 Aristocles, 193. 
 
 Armenia, 42, 44, 92. 
 
 Arrian, 58, 68, 178. 
 
 Artaxata, 94. 
 
 Arval Brothers, 158-163. 
 
 Asklepios fTEsculapiusJ, 167. 
 
 Assyria, 48. 
 
 Athens, 38, 42, 43, 58, 184, 192, 193. 
 
 Attica, 195. 
 
 Attis, 200. 
 
 Augustan History, Writers of, 135. 
 
 Augustus, 11, 26, 28, 63, 74, 157. l6 5 
 
 214. 
 Aulus Gellius, 194. 
 Aurelius, M., vide Antoninus. 
 Avidius Cassius, 93, 94, 108-112. 
 
 BABYLON, 48. 
 Bacchanalia, 165. 
 Baiae, 73. 
 Barchochebas, 75. 
 tfelgrade, 31. 
 Beneventum, 19. 
 Bether, 75. 
 Bithynia, 141, 21a. 
 Blandina, 149. 
 Brigantes, 80. 
 Britain, 53, 55, 99. 
 Bructeri, 26. 
 
 CALEDONIA, 99 
 Caligula, 73, 162. 
 Calpurnius, v. Agricoia, 
 Capitoline, the, 38. 
 Cappadocia, 59. 
 Carlisle, 55. 
 Carnac, 59. 
 Carpathians, the, 37. 
 Carrhae, 42. 
 Cassius, v. Avidius. 
 Cassius, v. Dion. 
 Catacombs, the, 132. 
 Cato, 67, 81, 190. 
 Celsus, 152. 
 
22X 
 
 Index. 
 
 Centumcellae, 16. 
 
 Cephalonia, 58. 
 
 Cephissia, 194. 
 
 Cria^roneia, 185. 
 
 C11. ldaea, 49. 
 
 China, 94 
 
 Chrestus, 136. 
 
 Cnristi.in Church, the, 135-156, 171, 
 
 188. 
 Cicero, 67, 190. 
 Cilic a, 49. 
 Ciadova, 35. 
 Claudius, 57, 136. 
 Clemens, 141:. 
 Clyde, the, 100. 
 Colchis, 82. 
 C llegia, 158. 
 Commodus, 115, 132. 
 Como, 21. 
 Constantine, 38. 
 Constantius, 40. 
 Cornelius Palma, 65. 
 Corybas, 200. 
 Crassus, 42. 
 Ctesiphon, 48, 49, 94. 
 Cu ius, 80. 
 
 Cynic, picture of, 180. 
 Cyprus, 49, 75. 
 Cyrenaica, 49. 
 Czernctz, 35. 
 
 D ACT AN WAR, 29-36. 
 Dacians, 29. 
 Dante, 51. 
 
 Danube, the, 27-29, 80, 100. 
 Daphne, 42, 93. 
 Decebalus, 28, 29, 31, 33. 
 Decunones, 218. 
 1 )iocletian, 115. 
 Diognetus, 119. 
 Dion Cassius, 8, 30, 35, 51, 107, 115, 
 
 174 
 Dion Chrysostom, 6, 182-186 
 Dneister, 99. 
 
 Domitian, 1, 7, 26, 14.1, 183. 
 Domitilla, 141. 
 Drusus, 28. 
 
 TpDESSA, 4 8. 
 V s F.jrypt, 22, 48, 60, 163. 
 Elensinian mysteries, 113. 
 En«ius, 67, 190. 
 Ephesns, 193. 
 Epictetus, 119, 177-181. 
 Epi^han s, 46. 
 Euphrates, 43, 48, 58, 92, 94, ioa. 
 
 FAUSTINA, wife of Antonimis 
 P., 28. 
 Faustina, wife of M. Aurelius, 90, 96, 
 
 11^-113, 133, 196. 
 Fau-tinianae, 114. 
 Favorinus, 66, 191. 
 Flavian dynasty, 163. 
 Florus, 68. 
 Forth, Firth of, 100. 
 Fronto, 85, 90, 95, 119, 190. 
 
 GALEN, 103. 
 Germania of Tacitus, 26. 
 Germany, 26, 54. 
 Getse, 28. 
 Gnostics, 154. 
 Gordian, 159. 
 Goths, 74. 
 Gregory the Great, 51. 
 
 HADRIAN, 29, 51-76, 144, 145* 
 192, 204. 
 Hatszeger Thai, 33. 
 Helvidius, 4. 
 Hermannstadt, 35. 
 Herodes Atticus, 193, 218. 
 Hormisdas, 40. 
 Hydaspes, the, 43. 
 
 T LLYRIA, 100. 
 J_ India, 48. 
 Irenaeus, 144. 
 Iron Gates, the, 35. 
 Isaeus, 190. 
 Isis, 165, 169, 204. 
 
 TEROME, 76. 
 
 J . Jews, 74-77, 8o > *35« 
 Julian, 132. 
 
 Julianus Sulvius, 63, 68. 
 Julius Caesar, 26. 
 Julius Severus, 76 
 Junius v. Rusticus. 
 Justin Martyr, 144, 156. 
 
 LAHB.ESTS, 55. 
 Licinius Sura, 12, 29. 
 Logos, the, 155. 
 Longinus, 34. 
 T.orium, 81, 89. 
 Lucian, 151, 198-201. 
 Lucilla, 95. 
 Lugdunum, 148, 170. 
 Lupercalia, 158. 
 Lusius Quietus, 31, 65. 
 
Index. 
 
 225 
 
 MJESIA, 29, 34. 
 Mainz, 29. 
 Marc manni, 100, 105. 
 Mausoleu.n of Augustus, 74. 
 Mausoleum of Hadrian, 74. 
 Maximus, 120. 
 Mcmnon's statue, 59. 
 Memphis, 200. 
 Mithras, 200. 
 Momus, 200. 
 Moc-s, the, 53, Bo, 98. 
 
 NERO, 45, 73, i°3> x 37. 
 Nerva, 1-7. 
 Newcastle, 55. 
 Nicaea, 24. 
 Nicomedia, 24. 
 Nineveh, 48. 
 
 OGRADINA, 31. 
 Origen, 145. 
 Orontes, the, 46. 
 Orsova, 31. 
 Ostia, 16. 
 Oxus, the, 43. 
 
 PALESTINE, 49, 75. 
 Palma, v. Cornelius, 65. 
 Panatnenaic Speech. 195. 
 Pannonia. 31, 35, 52, 115. 
 Parthamdsiris, 44. 
 Parthian War, under Trajan, 42-49 ; 
 
 under M. Aurelius, 92-96. 
 Parthians, the, 34. 
 Peregrinus Proteus, 151. 
 Persia, 48. 
 Thidias, 70, 167. 
 Philager, 195. 
 Phrygian Mother, 170. 
 Placentia, '9. 
 
 PI, to, 84, 115, 124, 155, 188. 
 Pliny, 3, 14, 17, 21, 22, 50, 141, 212. 
 P'oti.>a, 9. 15, 53. 
 Plutiirch, 166, 185-189, 211. 
 Polemon, 82, 192. 
 Polybius, 205. 
 Polycarp, 147-148. 
 Polycletus. 70. 
 Pompeianus, 131. 
 Pompeius Magnus, 139. 
 Pomponia Graecina, 136. 
 Ponticus, 150. 
 Pontine Marshes, 16. 
 Poppaca, 137. 
 Pothinus, 149. 
 
 Praefect of the City, 215. 
 Praeiect of the Praetorians, 215. 
 Prusa, 24, 182, 185. 
 Ptolemies, the, 59. 
 Ptolemy, 17. 
 
 QUADI, 102, 106. 
 Quietus, v. Lusius. 
 Quintilian, 190. 
 CJuirinal, the, 38. 
 
 
 RAVENNA, 108. 
 Rhine, 27, 81. 
 
 Rimini, 97. 
 Riumanians, 38. 
 Rusticus, 87, 98, 119, 146. 
 
 SABAZIUS, 200. 
 Sabina. 59. 
 Salii. 85, 157. 
 Salvius Julianus, 63, 6&, 
 S.unosata, 199. 
 Sargetia, 36. 
 Sarmatians, 116. 
 harmizegethusa, 33, 
 Save, the, 31. 
 Segestica, 31. 
 Seleucia. 43, 48, 94. 
 Selinus, 49. 
 Seneca, 205. 
 Sernpis, 60, 165. 
 Servianus, 52. 72. 
 Severus, Julius, 76. 
 Sextus, 120. 
 Sibylline books, 164. 
 Siimium 114, 196. 
 Smyrna, 82, 113, 147, 168, 19s. 
 Socrates, 155, 176. 
 Sophists, 174. 
 Spain, 84, 
 
 Statius the Poet. 204. 
 Statius Priscus, 94. 
 Stoics, the, 90, 127-130, 179. 
 Strabo, 31. 
 Suetonius, 136. 
 Suez, Isthmus of, 17 
 Sura, v Licinius. 
 Susa, 48. 
 Syria, 40, 42, 52. 
 
 TACITUS, 5, 26, 100, 137, 
 Tapae. 32. 
 Taurobolium, 170. 
 Taurus, 113. 
 
226 
 
 Index. 
 
 Tertullian, 144, 145. 
 Thracians, tue, 27. 
 Thule, 205. 
 Tiberius, 28, 136. 
 Tibur, villa at, 69. 
 Tierna, 31. 
 Tigranes, 43. 
 Tigris, the, 47. 
 Tiridates, 45. 
 Titus, 48, 74. 
 
 Trajan, 7-51, 142, 185, 218. 
 Transylvania, 29, 32. 
 Trapezus, 58. 
 Troy. 57. 
 Turks, the, 43. 
 Turn-Severin, 35. 
 
 T TLPIA TRAJANA, 27, 
 
 \ 7ENICE, 5 i. 
 
 V Verginius Rufus, 2. 
 Verus, ./Elius, 71, 88. 
 Verus, Lucius, 91, 92-96, iot, io2 3 
 
 109. 
 Verus, M. Annius, v. M. Antoninus, 
 
 84. _ 
 Vespas'an, 12, 26, 205. 
 Vienna in Gaul, 148. 
 Vienna in Germany, 114. 
 Viminacium, 31. 
 Volcan Pass, 35. 
 
 VyALLACKS, the, 35, 3 8„ 
 
 XANTEN, 27. 
 Xiphilinus, 107 
 
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 The story is full of intrinsic interest, and was never better 
 told . ' ' — Christian Union. 
 
 " The volume is one of rare interest and value." — Chicago 
 Interior. 
 
 "An admirably condensed history of Carthage, from its 
 establishment by the adventurous Phoenician traders to its 
 sad and disastrous fall." — New York Herald. 
 
 THE GRACCHI, MARIUS, AND SULLA. By 
 
 A. H. Beesley. 
 
 " A concise and scholarly historical sketch, descriptive of 
 the decay of the Roman Republic, and the events which paved 
 the way for the advent of the conquering Caesar. It is an 
 excellent account of the leaders and legislation oi the repub- 
 lic." — Boston Post. 
 
 " It is prepared in succinct but comprehensive style, and is 
 an excellent book for reading and reference." — New York 
 Observer. 
 
 " No better condensed account of the two Gracchi and the 
 turbulent careers of Marius and Sulla has yet appeared."— 
 New York Independent. 
 
EPOCHS OF ANCIENT HISTORY 
 
 THE ROMAN TRIUMVIRATES. By the Very Rev. 
 Charles Merivale, D.D. 
 
 " In brevity, clear and scholarly treatment of the subject, 
 and the convenience of map, index, and side notes, the 
 volume is a model." — New York Iribujte. 
 
 " An admirable presentation, and in style vigorous and 
 picturesque." — Hartford Courant. 
 
 THE EARLY EMPIRE— From the Assassina- 
 tion of Julius Caesar to the Assassination 
 Of Domitian. By Rev. W. Wolfe Capes, M.A. 
 
 " It is written with great clearness and simplicity of style, 
 and is as attractive an account as has ever been given in 
 brief of one of the most interesting periods of Roman 
 History." — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 "It is a clear, well-proportioned, and trustworthy perfor- 
 mance, and well deserves to be studied." — Christian at 
 Work. 
 
 THE AGE OF THE ANTONINES— The Roman 
 Empire of the Second Century. By Rev. 
 W. Wolfe Capes, M.A. 
 
 " The Roman Empire during the second century is the 
 broad subject discussed in this book, and discussed with 
 learning and intelligence." — New York Independent. 
 
 " The writer's diction is clear and elegant, and his narra- 
 tion is free from any touch of pedantry. In the treatment of 
 its prolific and interesting theme, and in its general plan, the 
 book is a model of works of its class." — New York Herald. 
 
 " We are glad to commend it. It is written clearly, and 
 with care and accuracy. It is also in such neat and compact 
 form as to be the more attractive." — Congregaiionalist. 
 
 *#* The above six volumes give the History of Rome from 
 the founding of the City to the death of Marcus A urelius 
 Antoninus. 
 
EPOCHS OF MODERN 
 HISTORY. 
 
 A SERIES OF BOOKS NARRATING THE HISTORY OF 
 
 ENGLAND AND EUROPE AT SUCCESSIVE EPOCHS 
 
 SUBSEQUENT TO THE CHRISTIAN ERA. 
 
 Edited by 
 
 Edward E. Morris. 
 
 Eighteen volumes, i6mo, with 74 Maps, Plans, and Tables, 
 
 Sold separately. Price per vol., $1.00. 
 
 The Set, Roxburgh style, gilt top, in box, $18.00. 
 
 THE BEGINNING OF THE MIDDLE AGES- 
 England and Europe in the Ninth Century. 
 
 By the Very Rev. R. W. Church, M.A. 
 
 "A remarkably thoughtful and satisfactory discussion of 
 the causes and results of the vast changes which came upon 
 Europe during the period discussed. The book is adapted to 
 be exceedingly serviceable." — Chicago Standard. 
 
 "At once readable and valuable. It is comprehensive and 
 yet gives the details of a period most interesting to the student 
 of history. " — Herald and Presbyter. 
 
 "It is written with a clearness and vividness of statement 
 which make it the pleasantest reading. It represents a great 
 deal of patient research, and is careful and scholarly." —   
 Boston Journal. 
 
 THE NORMANS IN EUROPE— The Feudal 
 System and England under the Norman 
 Kings. By Rev. A. H. Johnson, M.A. 
 
 " Its pictures of the Normans in their home, of the Scan- 
 dinavian exodus, the conquest of England, and Norman 
 administration, are full of vigor and cannot fail of holding the 
 reader's attention." — Episcopal Register. 
 
 " The style of the author is vigorous and animated, and he 
 has given a valuable sketch of the origin and progress of the 
 great Northern movement that has shaped the history of 
 modern Europe." — Boston Transcript. 
 
EPOCHS OF MODERN 1 HISTORY 
 
 THE CRUSADES. By Rev. G. W. Cox. 
 
 " To be warmly commended for important qualities. The 
 author shows conscientious fidelity to the materials, and such 
 skill in the use of them, that, as a result, the reader has 
 before him a narrative related in a style that makes it truly 
 fascinating." — Congregationalism 
 
 " It is written in a pure and flowing style, and its arrange- 
 ment and treatment of subject are exceptional." — Christian 
 Intelligencer. 
 
 THE EARLY P L A N T AG EN ETS— Their 
 Relation to the History of Europe; The 
 Foundation and Growth of Constitutional 
 Government. By Rev. W. Stubbs, M.A. 
 
 "Nothing could be desired more clear, succinct, and well 
 arranged. All parts of the book are well done. It may be 
 pronounced the best existing brief history of the constitution 
 for this, its most important period." — The Nation. 
 
 " Prof. Stubbs has presented leading events with such fair- 
 ness and wisdom as are seldom found. He is remarkably 
 clear and satisfactory." — The Churchman. 
 
 EDWARD III. By Rev. W. Warburton, M.A. 
 
 " The author has done his work well, and we commend it 
 as containing in small space all essential matter." — New York 
 Independent. 
 
 " Events and movements are admirably condensed by the 
 author, and presented in such attractive form as to entertain 
 as well as instruct." — Chicago Interior. 
 
 THE HOUSES OF LANCASTER AND YORK 
 — The Conquest and Loss of France. By 
 
 James Gairdner. 
 
 " Prepared in a most careful and thorough manner, and 
 ought to be read by every student. " — New York Times. 
 
 "It leaves nothing to be desired as regards compactness, 
 accuracy, and excellence of literary execution." — Boston 
 Journal. 
 
EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY 
 
 THE ERA OF THE PROTESTANT REVO- 
 LUTION. By Frederic Seebohm. With Notes, on 
 Books in English relating to the Reformation, by Prof. 
 George P. Fisher, D.D. 
 
 "For an impartial record of the civil and ecclesiastical 
 changes about four hundred years ago, we cannot commend a 
 better manual." — Sunday- School Times. 
 
 "All that could be desired, as well in execution as in plan. 
 The narrative is animated, and the selection and grouping of 
 events skillful and effective." — The Nation. 
 
 THE EARLY TUDORS— Henry VII., Henry 
 VIII. By Rev. C. E. Moberley, M.A., late Master in 
 Rugby School. 
 
 "Is concise, scholarly, and accurate. On the epoch of which 
 it treats, we know of no work which equals it." — N. Y. Observer. 
 
 " A marvel of clear and succinct brevity and good historical 
 judgment. There is hardly a better book of its kind to be 
 named." — New York Independent. 
 
 THE AGE OF ELIZABETH. By Rev. M. 
 Creighton, M.A. 
 
 "Clear and compact in style ; careful in their facts, and 
 just in interpretation of them. It sheds much light on the 
 progress of the Reformation and the origin of the Popish 
 reaction during Queen Elizabeth's reign ; also, the relation of 
 Jesuitism to the latter." — Presbyterian Review. 
 
 " A clear, concise, and just story of an era crowded with 
 events of interest and importance."' — New Ycrh World. 
 
 THE THIRTY YEARS' WAR— 161 8-1 648. 
 
 By Samuel Rawson Gardiner. 
 
 " As a manual it will prove of the greatest practical value, 
 while to the general reader it will afford a clear and interesting 
 account of events. We know of no more spirited and attractive 
 recital of the great era." — Boston Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 " The thrilling story of those times has never been told so 
 vividly or succinctly as in this volume." — Episcopal Register. 
 
EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 THE PURITAN REVOLUTION; and the First 
 Two Stuarts, 1 603- 1 660. By Samuel Rawson 
 Gardiner. 
 
 " The narrative is condensed and brief, yet sufficiently com- 
 prehensive to give an adequate view of the events related." 
 — Chicago Standard. 
 
 •' Mr. Gardiner uses his researches in an admirably clear 
 and fair way " — Congregalionalisl. 
 
 "The .-ketch is concise, but clear and perfectly intelligible." 
 — Hartford Courant. 
 
 THE ENGLISH RESTORATION AND LOUIS 
 XIV., from the Peace of Westphalia to the 
 Peace of Nimwegen. By Osmund Airy, M. A. 
 
 " It is crisply and admirably written. An immense amount 
 of information is conveyed and with great clearness, the 
 arrangement of the subjects showing great skill and a thor- 
 ough command of the complicated theme." — Boston Saturday 
 Evening Gazette. 
 
 "The author writes with fairness and discrimination, and 
 has given a clear and intelligible presentation of the time." — 
 New York Evangelist. 
 
 THE FALL OF THE STUARTS; and Western 
 Europe. By Rev. Edward Hale, M.A. 
 
 " A valuable compend to the general reader and scholar." 
 — Providence Journal. 
 
 "It will be found of great value. It is a very graphic 
 
 account of the history of Europe during the 17th century, 
 
 and is admirably adapted for the use of students." — Boston 
 
 Saturday Evening Gazette. 
 
 "An admirable handbook for the student." — The Churchman. 
 
 THE AGE OF ANNE. By Edward E. Morris, M.A. 
 
 "The author's arrangement of the material is remarkably 
 clear, his selection and adjustment of the facts judicious, his 
 historical judgment fair and candid, while the style wins by 
 its simple elegance." — Chicago Standard. 
 
 "An excellent compendium of the history of an important 
 perV)d." — The Watchman. 
 
EPOCHS OF MODERN HISTORY. 
 
 THE EARLY HANOVERIANS— Europe from 
 the Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of Aix- 
 Ja-Chapelle. By Edward E. Morris, M,A„ 
 
 " Masterly, condensed, and vigorous, this is one of the 
 books which it is a delight to read at odd moments : which 
 are broad and suggestive, and at the same time cc -idensed in 
 treatment. " — Christian Advocate. 
 
 "A remarkably clear and readable summary of the salient 
 points of interest. The maps and tables, no less than the 
 author's style and treatment of the subject, entitle the volume 
 to the highest claims of recognition." — Boston Daily Ad- 
 vertiser. 
 
 FREDERICK THE GREAT, AND THE SEVEN 
 
 YEARS' WAR. By F. W. Longman. 
 
 " The subject is most important, and the author has treated 
 it in a way which is both scholarly and entertaining." — The 
 Churchman. 
 
 "Admirably adapted to interest school boys, and older 
 heads will find it pleasant reading." — New York Tribune. 
 
 THE FRENCH REVOLUTION, AND FIRST 
 EMPIRE. By William O'Connor Morris. With 
 Appendix by Andrew D. White, LL.D., ex-President of 
 Cornell University. 
 
 " We have long needed a simple compendium of this period, 
 and we have here one which is brief enough to be easily run 
 through with, and yet particular enough to make entertaining 
 reading." — New York Evening Post. 
 
 " The author has well accomplished his difficult task of 
 sketching in miniature the grand and crowded drama of the 
 French Revolution and the Napoleonic Empire, showing 
 himself to be no servile compiler, but capable of judicious 
 and independent criticism." — Springfield Republican. 
 
 THE EPOCH OF REFORM— 1 830-1 850. By 
 
 Justin McCarthy. 
 
 " Mr. McCarthy knows the period of which he writes 
 thoroughly, and the result is a narrative that is at once enter- 
 taining and trustworthy." — New York Examiner. 
 
 " The narrative is clear and comprehensive, and told with 
 abundant knowledge and grasp of the subject." — Boston 
 Courier. 
 
IMPORTANT HISTORICAL 
 
 WORKS. 
 
 CIVILIZATION DURING THE MIDDLE AGES. 
 Especially in its Relation to Modern Civil- 
 ization. By George B. Adams, Professor of History in 
 Yale University. 8vo, $2.50. 
 
 Professor Adams has here supplied the need of a text-book 
 for the study of Mediaeval History in college classes at once 
 thorough and yet capable of being handled in the time usually 
 allowed to it. He has aimed to treat the subject in a manner 
 which its place in the college curriculum demands, by present- 
 ing as clear a view as possible of the underlying and organic 
 growth of our civilization, how its foundations were laid and its 
 chief elements introduced. 
 
 Prof. Kendric C. Babcock, University of Minnesota: — "It 
 is one of the best books of the kind which I have seen. We 
 shall use it the coming term." 
 
 Prof. Marshall S. Brown, Michigan University: — "I 
 regard the work as a very valuable treatment of the great 
 movements of history during the Middle Ages, and as one 
 destined to be extremely helpful to young students. ' ' 
 
 Boston Herald: — "Professor Adams admirably presents 
 the leading features of a thousand years of social, political, 
 and religious development in the history of the world. It is 
 valuable from beginning to end." 
 
 HISTORY OF THE UNITED STATES. By E. 
 
 Benjamin Andrews, D.D., LL.D., President of Brown 
 University. With maps. Two vols., crown octavo, $4.00. 
 
 Boston Advertiser : — "We doubt if there has been so 
 complete, graphic, and so thoroughly impartial a history of our 
 country condensed into the same space. It must become a 
 standard." 
 
 Advance: — " One of the best popular, general histories of 
 America, if not the best." 
 
 Herald and Presbyter : — " The very history that many 
 people have been looking for. It does not consist simply of 
 minute statements, but treats of causes and effects with • philo- 
 sophical grasp and thoughtfulness. It is the work of a scholar 
 and thinker." 
 
IMPORTANT HISTORICAL WORKS. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF ROME, from the Earliest 
 Time to the Period of Its Decline. By Dr. 
 
 Theodor Mommsen. Translated by W. P. Dickson, D.D., 
 LL.D. A New Edition, Revised throughout, and embodying 
 recent additions. Five vols., with Map. Price per stt, $10.00. 
 
 "A work of the very highest merit ; its learning is exact 
 and profound ; its narrative full of genius and skill ; its 
 descriptions of men are admirably vivid." — London Times. 
 
 "Since the days of Niebuhr, no work on Roman History 
 has appeared that combines so much to attract, instruct, and 
 charm the reader. Its style — a rare quality in a German 
 author — is vigorous, spirited, and animated." — Dr. SCHMITZ. 
 
 THE PROVINCES OFTHE ROMAN EMPIRE. 
 From Caesar to Diocletian. By Theodor 
 Mommsen. Translated by William P. Dickson, D.D., 
 LL.D. With maps. Two vols., 8vo, $6.00. 
 
 " The author draws the wonderfully rich and varied picture 
 of the conquest and administration of that great circle of 
 peoples and lands which formed the empire of Rome outside 
 of Italy, their agriculture, trade, and manufactures, their 
 artistic and scientific life, through all degrees of .civilization, 
 with such detail and completeness as could have come from 
 no other hand than that of this great master of historical re- 
 search." — Prof. W. A. Packard, Princeton College. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF THE ROMAN REPUBLIC. 
 
 Abridged from the History by Professor Theodor Mommsen, 
 by C. Bryans and F. J. R. Hendy. i2mo, $1.75. 
 
 " It is a genuine boon that the essential parts of Mommsen's 
 Rome are thus brought within the easy reach of all, and the 
 abridgment seems to me to preserve unusually well the glow 
 and movement of the original." — Prof. Tracy Peck, Yale 
 University. 
 
 "The condensation has been accurately and judiciously 
 effected. I heartily commend the volume as the most adequate 
 embodiment, in a single volume, of the main results of modern 
 historical research in the field of Roman affairs." — Prof. 
 Henry M. Baird, University of City of New York. 
 
IMPORTANT JUSTORICAL WORKS. 
 
 THE DAWN OF HISTORY. An Introduction 
 
 to Pre-Historic Study. New and Enlarged Edition. 
 
 Edited by C. F. Keary. i2mo, cloth, $1.25. 
 
 This work treats successively of the earliest traces of man ; 
 of language, its growth, and the story it tells of the pre-his- 
 toric users of it ; of early social life, the religions, mythologies, 
 and folk-tales, and of the history of writing. The present 
 edition contains about one hundred pages of new matter, 
 embodying the results of the latest researches. 
 
 "A fascinating manual. In its way, the work is a model 
 of what a popular scientific work should be." — Boston Sat. 
 
 Eve. Gazette. 
 
 THE ORIGIN OF NATIONS. By Professor George 
 Rawlinson, M.A. i2mo, with maps, $1.00. 
 
 The first part of this book discusses the antiquity of civiliza- 
 tion in Egypt and the other early nations of the East. The 
 second part is an examination of the ethnology of Genesis, 
 showing its accordance with the latest results of modern 
 ethnographical science. 
 
 "A work of genuine scholarly excellence, and a useful 
 offset to a great deal of the superficial current literature on 
 such subjects. " — Congregationalist. 
 
 MANUAL OF MYTHOLOGY. For the Use 
 of Schools, Art Students, and General 
 Readers. Founded on the Works of Pet- 
 iscus, Preller, and Welcker. By Alexander 
 S. Murray, Department of Greek and Roman Antiquities, 
 British Museum. With 45 Plates. Reprinted from the 
 Second Revised London Edition. Crown 8vo, $1.75. 
 
 " It has been acknowledged the best work on the subject 
 to be found in a concise form, and as it embodies the results 
 of the latest researches and discoveries in ancient mythologies, 
 it is superior for school and general purposes as a handbook 
 to any of the so-called standard works." — Cleveland Herald. 
 
 ' ' Whether as a manual for reference, a text-book for school 
 rise, or for the general reader, the book will be found very 
 valuable and interesting." — Boston Journal. 
 
IMPORTANT HISTORICAL WORKS. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF GREECE. By Prof. Dr. 
 Ernst Curtius. Translated by Adolphus William Ward, 
 M.A., Fellow of St. Peter's College, Cambridge, Prof, of 
 History in Owen's College, Manchester. Five volumes, 
 crown 8vo. Price per set, $10.00. 
 
 " We cannot express our opinion of Dr. Curtius' book bet- 
 ter than by saying that it may be fitly ranked with Theodor 
 Mommsen's great work." — London Spectator. 
 
 "As an introduction to the study of Grecian history, no 
 previous work is comparable to the present for vivacity and 
 picturesque beauty, while in sound learning and accuracy of 
 statement it is not inferior to the elaborate productions which 
 enrich the literature of the age." — A". Y. Daily Tribune. 
 
 OESAR: a Sketch. By James Anthony Froude, 
 M.A. i2mo, gilt top, $1.50. 
 
 "This book is a most fascinating biography and is by far ' 
 the best account of Julius Caesar to be found in the English 
 language. " — The London Standard. 
 
 "He combines into a compact and nervous narrative all 
 that is known of the persona), social, political, and military 
 life of Caesar ; and with his sketch of Caesar includes other 
 brilliant sketches of the great man, his friends, or rivals, 
 who contemporaneously with him formed the principal figures 
 in the Roman world." — Harper s Monthly. 
 
 CICERO. Life of Marcus Tullius Cicero. By 
 
 William Forsyth, M.A., Q.C. 20 Engravings. New 
 Edition. 2 vols., crown 8vo, in one, gilt top, $2.50. 
 
 The author has not only given us the most complete and 
 well-balanced account of the life of Cicero ever published ; 
 he has drawn an accurate and graphic picture of domestic life 
 among the best classes of the Romans, one which the reader 
 of general literature, as well as the student, may peruse with 
 pleasure and profit. 
 
 "A scholar without pedantry, and a Christian without cant, 
 Mr. Forsyth seems to have seized with praiseworthy tact the 
 precise attitude which it behooves a biographer to take when 
 narrating the life, the personal life of Cicero. Mr. Forsyth 
 produces what we venture to say will become one of the 
 classics of English biographical literature, and will be wel- 
 comed by readers of all ages and both sexes, of all professions 
 *nd of no profession at all." — London Quarterly. 
 
VALUABLE WORKS ON 
 CLASSICAL LITERATURE. 
 
 THE HISTORY OF ROMAN LITERATURE. 
 From the Earliest Period to the Death of 
 
 MarCUS Aurelius. With Chronological Tables, etc., 
 for the use of Students. By C. T. Cruttwell, M.A. Crown 
 8vo, $2.50. 
 
 Mr. Cruttwell's book is written throughout from a purely 
 literary point of view, and the aim has been to avoid tedious 
 and trivial details. The result is a volume not only suited 
 for the student, but remarkably readable for all who possess 
 any interest in the subject. 
 
 " Mr. Cruttwell has given us a genuine history of Roman 
 literature, not merely a descriptive list of authors and their 
 productions, but a well elaborated portrayal of the successive 
 stages in the intellectual development of the Romans and the 
 various forms of expression which these took in literature." — 
 N. Y. A T ation. 
 
 UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE. 
 
 A HISTORY OF GREEK LITERATURE. 
 
 From the Earliest Period of Demosthenes. 
 
 By Frank Byron Jevons, M.A., Tutor in the University 
 of Durham. Crown 8vo, $2.50. 
 
 The author goes into detail with sufficient fullness to make 
 the history complete, but he never loses sight of the com- 
 manding lines along which the Greek mind moved, and a 
 clear understanding of which is necessary to every intelligent 
 student of universal literature. 
 
 "It is beyond all question the best history of Greek litera* 
 ture that has hitherto been published." — London Spectator. 
 
 CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS, 
 
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