The historians' history of the world in twenty-five volumes, volume 05

by Unknown

CHAPTER XXVII. THE LAST DAYS OF THE REPUBLIC

The noble Brutus

Hath told you Cæsar was ambitious:

If it were so, it was a grievous fault;

And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.

—Shakespeare.

While the conspirators were at their bloody work, the mass of the senators rushed in confused terror to the doors; and when Brutus turned to address his peers in defence of the deed, the hall was well-nigh empty. Cicero, who had been present, answered not, though he was called by name; Antony had hurried away to exchange his consular robes for the garb of a slave. Disappointed of obtaining the sanction of the senate, the conspirators sallied out into the Forum to win the ear of the people. But here too they were disappointed. Not knowing what massacre might be in store, every man had fled to his own house; and in vain the conspirators paraded the Forum, holding up their blood-stained weapons and proclaiming themselves the liberators of Rome. Disappointment was not their only feeling; they were not without fear. They knew that Lepidus, being on the eve of departure for his province of Narbonese Gaul, had a legion encamped on the island of the Tiber; and if he were to unite with Antony against them, Cæsar would quickly be avenged. In all haste, therefore, they retired to the Capitol. Meanwhile three of Cæsar’s slaves placed their master’s body upon a stretcher, and carried it to his house on the south side of the Forum with one arm dangling from the unsupported corner. In this condition the widowed Calpurnia received the lifeless clay of him who had lately been sovereign of the world.

Lepidus moved his troops to the Campus Martius. But Antony had no thoughts of using force; for in that case probably Lepidus would have become master of Rome. During the night he took possession of the treasure which Cæsar had collected to defray the expenses of his Parthian campaign, and persuaded Calpurnia to put into his hands all the dictator’s papers. Possessed of these securities, he barricaded his house on the Carinæ, and determined to watch the course of events.

In the evening Cicero, with other senators, visited the self-styled liberators in the Capitol. They had not communicated their plot to the orator, through fear (they said) of his irresolute counsels; but now that the deed was done, he extolled it as a godlike act. Next morning, Dolabella, Cicero’s son-in-law, whom Cæsar had promised to make his successor in the consulship, assumed the consular fasces and joined the liberators; while Cinna, son of the old Marian leader, and therefore brother-in-law to Cæsar, threw aside his prætorian robes, declaring he would no longer wear the tyrant’s livery. Dec. Brutus, a good soldier, had taken a band of gladiators into pay, to serve as a bodyguard of the liberators. Thus strengthened, they ventured again to descend into the Forum. Brutus mounted the tribune, and addressed the people in a dispassionate speech, which produced little effect. But when Cinna assailed the memory of the dictator, the crowd broke out into menacing cries, and the liberators again retired to the Capitol.

That same night they entered into negotiations with Antony, and the result appeared next morning, the second after the murder. The senate, summoned to meet, obeyed the call in large numbers. Antony and Dolabella attended in their consular robes, and Cinna resumed his prætorian garb. It was soon apparent that a reconciliation had been effected; for Antony moved that a general amnesty should be granted, and Cicero seconded the motion in an animated speech. It was carried; and Antony next moved that all the acts of the dictator should be recognised as law. He had his own purposes here, but the liberators also saw in the motion an advantage to themselves; for they were actually in possession of some of the chief magistracies, and had received appointments to some of the richest provinces of the empire. This proposal, therefore, was favourably received; but it was adjourned to the next day, together with the important question of Cæsar’s funeral.

CÆSAR’S WILL AND FUNERAL

On the next day, Cæsar’s acts were formally confirmed, and among them his will was declared valid, though its provisions were yet unknown. After this, it was difficult to reject the proposal that the dictator should have a public burial. Old senators remembered the riots that attended the funeral of Clodius, and shook their heads. Cassius opposed it. But Brutus, with imprudent magnanimity, decided in favour of allowing it. To seal the reconciliation, Lepidus entertained Brutus at dinner, and Cassius was feasted by Mark Antony.

The will was immediately made public. Cleopatra was still in Rome, and entertained hopes that the boy Cæsarion would be declared the dictator’s heir, for though he had been married thrice there was no one of his lineage surviving. But Cæsar was too much a Roman, and knew the Romans too well, to be guilty of this folly. Young C. Octavius was declared his heir. C. Octavius was the son of his niece Atia, and therefore his grand-nephew. He was born, as we have noted, in the memorable year of Catiline’s conspiracy, and was now in his nineteenth year. From the time that he had assumed the garb of manhood his health had been too delicate for military service. Notwithstanding this, he had ventured to demand the mastership of the horse from his uncle. But he was quietly refused, and sent to take his first lessons in the art of war at Apollonia, where a large and well-equipped army had been assembled.

SPEECH OF ANTONY OVER CÆSAR’S BODY

Legacies were left to all Cæsar’s supposed friends, among whom were several of those who had assassinated him. His noble gardens beyond the Tiber were devised to the use of the public, and every Roman citizen was to receive a donation of three hundred sesterces (between £2 and £3). The effect of this recital was electric. Devotion to the memory of the dictator and hatred for his murderers at once filled every breast.

Two or three days after this followed the funeral. The body was to be burned and the ashes deposited in the Campus Martius near the tomb of his daughter Julia. But it was first brought into the Forum upon a bier inlaid with ivory and covered with rich tapestries, which was carried by men high in rank and office. There Antony, as consul, rose to pronounce the funeral oration. He ran through the chief acts of Cæsar’s life, recited his will, and then spoke of the death which had rewarded him. To make this more vividly present to the excitable Italians, he displayed a waxen image marked with the three-and-twenty wounds, and produced the very robe which he had worn, all rent and blood-stained. Soul-stirring dirges added to the solemn horror of the scene. But to us the memorable speech which Shakespeare puts into Antony’s mouth will give the liveliest notion of the art used and the impression produced. That impression was instantaneous. The senator friends of the liberators who had attended the ceremony looked on in moody silence. Soon the menacing gestures of the crowd made them look to their safety. They fled; and the multitude insisted on burning the body, as they had burned the body of Clodius, in the sacred precincts of the Forum. Some of the veterans who attended the funeral set fire to the bier; benches and firewood heaped round it soon made a sufficient pile.

From the blazing pyre the crowd rushed, eager for vengeance, to the houses of the conspirators. But all had fled betimes. One poor wretch fell a victim to the fury of the mob—Helvius Cinna, a poet who had devoted his art to the service of the dictator. He was mistaken for L. Cornelius Cinna the prætor, and torn to pieces before the mistake could be explained.[131]

Antony was now the real master of Rome. The treasure which he had seized gave him the means of purchasing good will, and of securing the attachment of the veterans stationed in various parts of Italy. He did not, however, proceed in the course which, from the tone of his funeral harangue, might have been expected. He renewed friendly intercourse with Brutus and Cassius, who were encouraged to visit Rome once at least, if not oftener, after that day; and Dec. Brutus, with his gladiators, was suffered to remain in the city. Antony went still further. He gratified the senate by passing a law to abolish the dictatorship forever. He then left Rome, to win the favour of the Italian communities and try the temper of the veterans.

Meanwhile another actor appeared upon the scene. This was young Octavius.[b]

THE ACTS OF THE YOUNG OCTAVIUS

[44-43 B.C.]

Julius Cæsar had in truth determined to take his great-nephew with him to the war against the Parthians, for which he was already eagerly preparing. As his legions were collected in Macedonia he sent on Caius Octavius in October of 45 B.C. to Apollonia to complete there his education in the science of warfare and rhetoric. As companions Cæsar gave him two of his contemporaries, Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa and Quintus Salvidienus, members of no distinguished family it must be admitted, but men who by their military services had done credit to Cæsar’s penetration in judging men. During the preparations for the Parthian War Roman troops were constantly in Apollonia, single detachments from time to time were ordered off from the army in Macedonia to enable the young Octavius to take part in their manœuvres and gain closer access to their leaders; in short, no effort was spared to make him popular with the army.

While the soldiers were making strenuous preparations for the Parthian War and eagerly looking forward to the arrival of their leader as soon as the favourable time of the year should be upon them, they were suddenly confronted with the news of his assassination. It was evening when the intelligence of the ides of March was delivered in Apollonia. An immediate resolution was imperative, as it was impossible as yet to know whether the lives of Cæsar’s friends and relatives were not also in jeopardy. Some one even hazarded the wild suggestion that the Macedonian legions should be led against Rome; such a plan, that admitted of no preparations and at once exposed its originator to the danger of failing at its inception, and so making it wholly impracticable if the legions remained faithful to their sworn duty, was in direct antagonism to the character of Octavius, and was duly rejected.

Taking leave of the leaders of the army he returned home to Italy, as a private man. He did not dare land at a great port like Brundusium; on the contrary, he took care to select a harbour as little known as that of Lupiæ. Here he received more direct intelligence from Rome, particularly on the subject of his adoption. With the firm determination to claim his inheritance he turned to Brundusium, where he was immediately hailed as Cæsar by Cæsar’s adherents and veterans. Many joined his side, it would seem, there and then, accompanying him to Naples. Cicero, who was taking a journey into lower Italy at the time, wrote to Atticus on the 11th of April, full of curiosity and dread anticipation: “But I would fain know what the arrival of Octavius portends? Does the multitude flock to him? Is there danger of a revolution? I don’t think so myself; but whatever is the case I should like to know it.” Arrived at his villa at Puteoli he writes to the same friend, apparently quite as an after-thought, that Octavius too came to Naples on the 18th of April; but the next day he again recurs to this subject: “Octavius, too, has come here, and occupies the villa of my neighbour Philippus. He is quite my humble servant.” Close upon this he writes on the 22nd of April: “Octavius treated me with great consideration and friendliness at his visit. His household, it is true, are accustomed to address him as Cæsar, but his stepfather does not follow suit, nor do I. I cannot allow that he is a good citizen. There are too many in his neighbourhood who threaten our party with death. He describes the present position of affairs as not to be endured. Yes, but what think you will happen when this boy comes to Rome?”

The boy was not in such a hurry to come to Rome. He was in the very neighbourhood of Italy in which Cæsar had most endeared himself to his veterans. These negotiations were entered into even at this time with the object of ascertaining the colour of their minds. Young Cæsar then conducted his journey slowly to Tarracina and thence to Rome which he entered in the opening days of May before Antony had had time to return. We still possess to-day in the Museo Chiaramonti a marble bust in a fit condition to bring before our present eye the impression made by the man who was to be so mighty a ruler. The features are distinguished and fine, but energetic too; almost even disquieting.

His first steps in Rome concerned the will of Cæsar. Although his family, and notably his stepfather, strongly dissuaded him, he declared fearlessly, with a premature confidence in his determination that is striking, that his intention was to bid for Cæsar’s inheritance, and this in the presence of Caius Antonius who had taken over the affairs of a town prætor since the flight of Brutus; shortly after this, in about the middle of May, he was presented to the people as Cæsar by the people’s tribune, Lucius Antonius, a brother of Caius. The young Cæsar hereby pledged himself to the Roman people to exclude his adoptive father’s legates, nor could he hope that Mark Antony would be prepared to deliver up to him that adoptive father’s treasure.

Mark Antony indeed after his return did everything in his power to load young Cæsar’s position with difficulty. His conduct to the son of his friend was loveless it is true, yet we can hardly deny that it is explicable. Two things there were especially which separated their interests: Antony would not and could not pay back Cæsar’s treasure to the legitimate heir—equally impossible was it for him to divide the conduct of his party with a boy of nineteen. At the very first personal encounter between the two in the gardens of Pompey, which were then occupied by Antony, the incompatibility of aims which separated them came clearly to light, and the attempts of friends common to them both to bring the two rivals closer to each other could not avail to avert an open breach.

Rightly did Antony oppose the illegal bid of his rival for the tribunate of the people, but nothing but petty spite was the source of his refusal to allow the confirmation by the curiæ of the perfectly valid adoption by Cæsar. Moreover, the young Cæsar, in order to curry favour with the people, had declared his readiness to fulfil a vow of the dictator and to grant games in honour of the victory of Cæsar. Caius Matius and other friends of the dictator gave him every support at these games, from the 20th to the 30th of July; but Mark Antony, who had no power to prohibit games, succeeded in preventing a golden chair with a coronal from being publicly set up in honour of Julius Cæsar. To the friend of Cæsar this Cæsar worship appeared at once of doubtful taste, a worship which his youthful rival sought to organise with all the outward show of an agitator; and before the decisive sentence of the consul the private man had at last to yield. But the later Augustus tells with peculiar satisfaction in his memoirs that, suddenly, in the course of the games, a mighty comet with a long tail was seen, and that it was greeted by the multitude as the star of Cæsar. The star of the Julii was again in the ascendant; and the son who had reared a brazen statue, surmounted with a star of gold, to his father in the temple of Venus, the mother of his stock, secretly hoped to attract the rays from this auspicious talisman upon his own future. A comet always stirs up the imagination of the people mightily, it signifies war; so a contemporary poet mourns: Comets full of foreboding never shone so frequent. This time the people were right; the figure of Nemesis for the murder of Cæsar stood in the doorway.

The nearer things came to a crisis the blacker grew Cæsar’s situation. Antony had contemptuously rejected a confederacy with him; an apparent reconciliation on the Capitol had no enduring consequences. By the outbreak of a civil war, in which a Cæsar could not (even if he would) remain neutral, the young man could only rank himself as a bond fellow of the senate, of the very men who had murdered Cæsar. The thought was so intolerable to him that he did not shrink from an attempt to free himself of his opponent by assassination. Luckily for Cæsar’s cause the attempt failed, and Antony was free a few days later to make away to his legions at Brundusium. Had the attempted assassination succeeded, the young Cæsar, whose security grew more and more perilous would, in all probability, not have been in a position to reap the benefit of this bloody deed. When we take into account the prudence of Cæsar’s conduct on every other occasion but this, we can only explain this folly by the light of that systematic opposition with which Antony had met all his aspirations. To the murderers of Cæsar and the senate he behaved with somewhat greater caution.[f]

Still Antony remained in possession of all actual power. The senate voted, on his demand, that the provinces of Macedonia and Syria, though granted to Brutus and Cassius by the act of Cæsar, should be given to C. Antonius and Dolabella, and that the coveted province of Cisalpine Gaul should be transferred from Dec. Brutus to Antony himself. The news of these arbitrary acts convinced the liberators that they had nothing to hope at Rome. Dec. Brutus immediately left the city and took possession of his province by force. But M. Brutus and Cassius still dallied. Their vacillating conduct during this time gives us an unfavourable impression of their fitness for any enterprise of mark. Cicero, not himself remarkable for political firmness, in this crisis displayed a vigour worthy of his earlier days, and was scandalised by the unworthy bickerings of his friends. At length they set sail from Velia for Greece. This was in the month of September. Cicero also had at one moment made up his mind to retire from public life and end his days at Athens, in learned leisure. In the course of this summer he continued to employ himself on some of his most elaborate treatises. His works on The Nature of the Gods and on Divination, his Offices, his Dialogue on Old Age, and several other essays belong to this period and mark the restless activity of his mind. But though he twice set sail from Italy, he was twice driven back to port at Velia, where he found Brutus and Cassius. Here he received letters from A. Hirtius, and other friends of Cæsar, which gave him hopes that, in the name of Octavius, they might successfully oppose Antony, and restore constitutional government. He determined to return, and announced his purpose to Brutus and Cassius, who commended him, and went their way to the East to raise armies against Antony; he repaired to Rome to fight the battles of his party in the senate.

Meanwhile Antony had been running riot. In possession of Cæsar’s papers, with no one to check him, he produced ready warrant for every measure which he wished to carry, and pleaded the vote of the senate which confirmed all the acts of Cæsar. When he could not produce a genuine paper, he interpolated or forged what was needful.

On the day after Cicero’s return (September 1st) there was a meeting of the senate. But the orator did not attend, and Antony threatened to send men to drag him from his house. Next day Cicero was in his place, but now Antony was absent. The orator rose and addressed the senate in what is called his First Philippic. This was a measured attack upon the government and policy of Antony, but personalities were carefully eschewed. But Antony, enraged at his boldness, summoned a meeting for the 19th of September, which Cicero did not think it prudent to attend. He then attacked the absent orator in the strongest language of personal abuse and menace. Cicero sat down and composed his famous Second Philippic, which is written as if it were delivered on the same day, in reply to Antony’s invective. At present, however, he contented himself with sending a copy of it to Atticus, enjoining secrecy.

Matters quickly drew to a head between Antony and Octavius. The latter had succeeded in securing a thousand men of his uncle’s veterans who had settled at Campania, and by great exertions in the different towns of Italy had levied a considerable force. Meantime four of the Epirot legions had just landed at Brundusium, and Antony hastened to attach them to his cause. But the largess which he offered them was only a hundred denarii a man, and the soldiers laughed in his face. Antony, enraged at their conduct, seized the ringleaders, and decimated them. But this severity only served to change their open insolence to sullen anger, and emissaries from Octavius were ready to draw them over to the side of their young master. They had so far obeyed Antony as to march northwards to Ariminum, while he repaired to Rome. But as he entered the senate house, he heard that two of the four legions had deserted to his rival, and in great alarm he hastened to the camp just in time to keep the remainder of the troops under his standard by distributing to every man five hundred denarii.

Bust of Octavius

(In the British Museum)

The persons to hold the consulship for the next year had been designated by Cæsar. They were both old officers of the Gallic army, C. Vibius Pansa and A. Hirtius, the reputed author of the eighth book of the History of the Gallic War. Cicero was ready to believe that they had become patriots, because, disgusted with the arrogance of Antony, they had declared for Octavius and the senate. Antony began to fear that all parties might combine to crush him. He determined, therefore, no longer to remain inactive; and about the end of November, having collected all his troops at Ariminum, he marched along the Æmilian road to drive Dec. Brutus out of Cisalpine Gaul. Decimus was obliged to throw himself into Mutina (Modena), and Antony blockaded the place. As soon as his back was turned, Cicero published the famous Second Philippic, in which he lashed the consul with the most unsparing hand, going through the history of his past life, exaggerating the debaucheries, which were common to Antony with a great part of the Roman youth, and painting in the strongest colours the profligate use he had made of Cæsar’s papers. Its effect was great, and Cicero followed up the blow by the following twelve Philippics, which were speeches delivered in the senate house and Forum, at intervals from December, 44 B.C., to April in the next year.

Cicero was anxious to break with Antony at once, by declaring him a public enemy. But the latter was still regarded by many senators as the head of the Cæsarian party, and it was resolved to treat with him. But the demands of Antony were so extravagant that negotiations were at once broken off, and nothing remained but to try the fortune of arms. The consuls proceeded to levy troops; but so exhausted was the treasury that now, for the first time since the triumph of Æmilius Paulus, it was found necessary to levy a property tax on the citizens of Rome.

[43 B.C.]

Octavius and the consuls assembled their forces at Alba. On the first day of the new year (43 B.C.) Hirtius marched for Mutina, with Octavius under his command. The other consul, Pansa, remained at Rome to raise new levies; but by the end of March he also marched to form a junction with Hirtius. Both parties pretended to be acting in Cæsar’s name.

Antony left his brother Lucius in the trenches before Mutina, and took the field against Hirtius and Octavius. For three months the opponents lay watching each other. But when Antony learned that Pansa was coming up, he made a rapid movement southward with two of his veteran legions, and attacked him. A sharp conflict followed, in which Pansa’s troops were defeated, and the consul himself was carried, mortally wounded, off the field. But Hirtius was on the alert, and assaulted Antony’s wearied troops on their way back to their camp, with some advantage. This was on the 15th of April, and on the 27th, Hirtius drew Antony from his entrenchments before Mutina. A fierce battle followed, which ended in the troops of Antony being driven back into their lines. Hirtius followed close upon the flying enemy; the camp was carried by storm, and a complete victory would have been won had not Hirtius himself fallen. Upon this disaster Octavius drew off the troops. The news of the first battle had been reported at Rome as a victory, and gave rise to extravagant rejoicings. The second battle was really a victory, but all rejoicing was damped by the news that one consul was dead and the other dying. No such fatal mischance had happened since the Second Punic War, when Marcellus and Crispinus fell in one day.

After his defeat Antony felt it impossible to maintain the siege of Mutina. With Dec. Brutus in the town behind him, and the victorious legions of Octavius before him, his position was critical. He therefore prepared to retreat, and effected this purpose like a good soldier. His destination was the province of Narbonese Gaul, where Lepidus had assumed the government, and had promised him support. But the senate also had hopes in the same quarter. L. Munatius Plancus commanded in northern Gaul, and C. Asinius Pollio in southern Spain. Sext. Pompeius had made good his ground in the latter country, and had almost expelled Pollio from Bætica. Plancus and Pollio, both friends and favourites of Cæsar, had as yet declared neither for Antony nor Octavius. If they would declare for the senate, Lepidus, a feeble and fickle man, might desert Antony; or, if Octavius would join with Dec. Brutus, and pursue him, Antony might not be able to escape from Italy at all. But these political combinations failed. Plancus and Pollio stood aloof, waiting for the course of events. Dec. Brutus was not strong enough to pursue Antony by himself, and Octavius was unwilling, perhaps unable, to unite the veterans of Cæsar with troops commanded by one of Cæsar’s murderers. And so it happened that Antony effected his retreat across the Alps, but not without extreme hardships, which he bore in common with the meanest soldier. It was at such times that his good qualities always showed themselves, and his gallant endurance of misery endeared him to every man under his command. On his arrival in Narbonese Gaul he met Lepidus at Forum Julii (Fréjus), and here the two commanders agreed on a plan of operations.

The conduct of Octavius gave rise to grave suspicions. It was even said that the consuls had been killed by his agents. Cicero, who had hitherto maintained his cause, was silent. He had delivered his fourteenth and last Philippic on the news of the first victory gained by Hirtius. But now he talked in private of “removing” the boy of whom he had hoped to make a tool. Octavius, however, had taken his part and was not to be removed. Secretly he entered into negotiations with Antony. After some vain efforts on the part of the senate to thwart him, he appeared in the Campus Martius with his legions. Cicero and most of the senators disappeared, and the fickle populace greeted the young heir of Cæsar with applause. Though he was not yet twenty he demanded the consulship, having been previously relieved from the provisions of the Lex Annalis by a decree of the senate, and he was elected to the first office in the state, with his cousin Q. Pedius.[132]

A curiate law passed, by which Octavius was adopted into the patrician gens of the Julii, and was put into legal possession of the name which he had already assumed—C. Julius Cæsar Octavianus. We shall henceforth call him Octavian.

The change in his policy was soon indicated by a law in which he formally separated himself from the senate. Pedius brought it forward. By its provisions all Cæsar’s murderers were summoned to take their trial. Of course none of them appeared, and they were condemned by default. By the end of September Octavian was again in Cisalpine Gaul, and in close negotiation with Antony and Lepidus. The fruits of his conduct soon appeared. Plancus and Pollio declared against Cæsar’s murderers. Dec. Brutus, deserted by his soldiery, attempted to escape into Macedonia through Illyricum; but he was overtaken near Aquileia, and slain by order of Antony.

Italy and Gaul being now clear of the senatorial party, Lepidus as mediator arranged a meeting between Octavian and Antony, upon an island in a small river near Bononia (Bologna). Here the three potentates agreed that they should assume a joint and co-ordinate authority under the name of “triumvirs for settling the affairs of the commonwealth.” Antony was to have the two Gauls, except the Narbonese district, which, with Spain, was assigned to Lepidus; Octavian received Sicily, Sardinia, and Africa. Italy was for the present to be left to the consuls of the year, and for the ensuing year Lepidus, with Plancus, received promise of this high office. In return Lepidus gave up his military force, while Octavian and Antony, each at the head of ten legions, prepared to conquer the eastern part of the empire, which could not yet be divided like the western provinces, because it was in possession of Brutus and Cassius.

THE PROSCRIPTION

But before they began war the triumvirs agreed to follow the example set by Sulla—to extirpate their opponents by a proscription, and to raise money by confiscation. They framed a list of all men’s names whose death could be regarded as advantageous to any of the three, and on this list each in turn pricked a name. Antony had made many personal enemies by his proceedings at Rome, and was at no loss for victims. Octavian had few direct enemies; but the boy despot discerned with precocious sagacity those who were likely to impede his ambitious projects, and chose his victims with little hesitation. Lepidus would not be left behind in the bloody work. The author of the Philippics was one of Antony’s first victims; Octavian gave him up, and took as an equivalent for his late friend the life of L. Cæsar, uncle of Antony. Lepidus surrendered his brother Paulus for some similar favour. So the work went on. The description already given of Sulla’s proscription may be repeated here literally, except that every horror was increased, and the number of victims multiplied. Not fewer than three hundred senators and two thousand knights were on the list. Q. Pedius, an honest and upright man, died in his consulship, overcome by vexation and shame at being implicated in these transactions.

As soon as their secret business was ended, the triumvirs determined to enter Rome publicly. Hitherto they had not published more than seventeen names of the proscribed. They made their entrance severally on three successive days, each attended by a legion. A law was immediately brought in to invest them formally with the supreme authority, which they had assumed. This was followed by the promulgation of successive lists, each larger than its predecessor.[b]

Appian gives a multitude of instances of the terrors of this proscription.

“The proscription being published,” he says, “guards were forthwith placed at the gates and all the avenues of the city, at the seaports, and in the marshes, and in all places where there was any likelihood an unhappy man might shelter himself; besides, centurions were commanded abroad, to make search in the country, which was done all at an instant; so that both within and without the city many persons died suddenly several kinds of deaths. The streets were filled with the sad spectacle of heads carrying to the triumvirs, to receive the reward; and every step some person of quality endeavouring to save himself, was met shamefully disguised; some running down into wells, and others into privies; some hiding themselves in the tops of the chimneys, or under the tiles, where they durst not utter a sigh or a groan; for they stood in more fear of their wives, or children, or freedmen, or slaves, or debtors, or neighbours that coveted some of their goods, than of the murderers themselves.

“All private grudges were now discovered; and it was a strange change to see the prime men of the senate, consulars, prætors, tribunes, or pretenders to these dignities cast themselves at the feet of their slaves with tears in their eyes, begging and caressing them, calling them their saviours and patrons; and, which is most deplorable, not to be able with all these submissions to obtain the least favour. The most pernicious seditions and cruellest of wars never had anything in them so terrible as the calamities wherewith the city was now affrighted; for in war and tumult none but enemies were feared, and domestics were confided in; whereas now domestics were more dreadful than enemies, because having no cause to fear for themselves, as in war or tumult, from familiars they became of a sudden persecutors; either out of a dissembled hate, or out of hope of recompense publicly proposed, or because of some silver or gold hid in the house; so that no person found himself secure in his house, servants being ordinarily more sensible of profit than of the affection they owe to their masters; and though some might be found faithful and kind, yet they durst not assist a proscript, nor conceal him, nor so much as stay with him, for fear of falling into the same misfortune.

“There was now much more danger than when the seventeen first proscribed were fallen upon; for then no person being publicly proscribed, when on a sudden they saw some killed, one man defended another, for fear lest the same should happen to him. But after the proscription was published, those comprised in it were presently forsaken by all the world; some that thought themselves secure, having their minds bent on profit, sought them to deliver them to the murderers, that they might have the reward; others pillaged the houses of those that had been killed, and with the present gain comforted themselves against the public misery.

“The most prudent and moderate surprised at a thing so extraordinary, stood like men astonished, considering that other cities turmoiled with divisions were re-established by the concord of their citizens; whereas the Romans, already afflicted with civil dissensions, completed their ruin by this reconciliation. Some were killed defending themselves; others, who thought themselves not condemned, without any defence; some let themselves die with hunger, or hanged, or drowned themselves, or threw themselves headlong from the tops of houses, or cast themselves into the fire, or ran to meet their murderers; others again sought to protract the time; and either hid themselves, or begged shamefully, or fled, or offered money to save their lives. Many likewise were slain contrary to the intention of the triumvirs, either by mistake, or out of some particular grudge; but the bodies of the proscripts might be known from the others, because they wanted the head, which was cut off, and carried before the tribunal for orations, where they paid the reward. On the other side, wonderful examples were to be seen of the affection of wives, children, brethren and slaves; who found out a thousand inventions to save their husbands, fathers, brethren, or masters; died with them when they were discovered, or killed themselves upon those bodies they were not able to defend.

“Of those that escaped the proscription, some pursued by their ill fortune, perished by shipwreck; others saved beyond all probability, came afterwards to exercise dignities in the city, to have command of armies, and arrive at the honour of triumph. Such wonderful things were to be seen in those days which do not happen in an ordinary city, or in a small kingdom; but in the mistress of the world, as well by sea as land; Providence disposing it so to reduce things to that excellent order wherein you now see them. Not but that Rome felt the same miseries under Sulla, and before him under Marius; and we have in writing of them reported many actions of cruelty, even to the depriving their enemies of burial; but what passed under the triumvirs made much more noise, because of the height of their reputation; and particularly the valour and good fortune of him, who having fixed the foundations of this empire, has left it to those of his race and name, even to this present.”[c]

DEATH OF CICERO

Among the victims far the most conspicuous was Cicero. With his brother Quintus the old orator had retired to his Tusculan villa after the battle of Mutina; and now they endeavoured to escape in the hope of joining Brutus in Macedonia: for the orator’s only son was serving as a tribune in the liberator’s army. After many changes of domicile, they reached Astura, a little island near Antium, where they found themselves short of money, and Quintus ventured to Rome to procure the necessary supply. Here he was recognised and seized, together with his son. Each desired to die first, and the mournful claim to precedence was settled by the soldiers killing both at the same moment.

Meantime Cicero had put to sea. But even in this extremity he could not make up his mind to leave Italy, and put to land at Circeii. After further hesitation, he again embarked, and again sought the Italian shore near Formiæ (Mola di Gaëta). For the night he stayed at his villa near that place; and next morning would not move, exclaiming, “Let me die in my own country,—that country which I have so often saved.” But his faithful slaves forced him into a litter, and carried him again towards the coast. Scarcely were they gone when a band of Antony’s bloodhounds reached his villa, and were put upon the track of their victim by a young man who owed everything to the Cicerones. The old orator from his litter saw the pursuers coming up. His own followers were strong enough to have made resistance; but he desired them to set the litter down. Then, raising himself on his elbow, he calmly waited for the ruffians, and offered his neck to the sword. He was soon despatched.

The chief of the band, by Antony’s express orders, hewed off the head and hands and carried them to Rome. Fulvia, the widow of Clodius and now the wife of Antony, drove her hair pin through the tongue which had denounced the iniquities of both her husbands. The head which had given birth to the Second Philippic, and the hands which had written it, were nailed to the rostra, the home of their eloquence. The sight and the associations raised feelings of horror and pity in every heart.

Cicero died in his sixty-fourth year. He had fallen on evil times; and being eminently a man of peace was constantly called upon to mingle in counsels of civil war. From his first appearance in public during the dictatorship of Sulla to the great triumph of his consulship, he rose with a vigorous and unflagging energy, which gave promise of a man fit to cope with the dangers that were then closing round the constitution. But the performance was not equal to the promise. When once Cicero had joined the ranks of the senatorial nobility, his political conduct is marked by an almost peevish vacillation. His advances were coldly rejected by Pompey. He could not make up his mind to break entirely with Cæsar. His new senatorial associates never heartily welcomed the new man, whose laborious habits contrasted disadvantageously with their own. As the first orator of the day, he thought he had a claim to be considered as equal to the first statesman; and the rejection of this claim even by his own party threw him still more out of harmony with that party.

If we turn from his public to his private character, our commendations need less reserve. None but must admire the vigorous industry with which from early youth he prepared for his chosen profession of advocate, full of the generous belief that every branch of liberal studies must be serviceable to one who is expected to bring out of his treasure things new and old. To mould his multifarious knowledge he possessed a readiness of speech which sometimes betrayed him into verbosity. The advocate with an eye only to his verdict is sometimes forgotten in the orator who desires to display his own powers. When the Forum and the senate house were closed to him, he poured the overflowing abundance of his acquirements into those dialogues and treatises which we still read with delight. He wrote rapidly and fluently as he spoke, rather to amuse and employ his mind in times of enforced idleness than as one who feels a call to instruct or benefit mankind.

His disposition was extremely amiable. He felt no jealousy for rivals; Hortensius was among his intimate friends, and is chiefly known to us by Cicero’s generous praise. No man had more friends. In his family relations he shines brightly amid the darkness of that age. His wife Terentia was one with whom he had little sympathy; her masculine energy was oppressive to his less resolute character. It was a relief, doubtless, to find an excuse for divorcing her in the troubles of the Civil War. But divorces were matters of course in these times. Nor did public opinion condemn him when to mend his broken fortunes he married Publilia, a girl of large property, who was his ward. To his affection for his brother Quintus and for his children there is no drawback. On the whole his character displays much weakness, but very little evil; while the perfect integrity and justice of his life, in an age when such qualities were rare, if they do not compensate for his defects in a political point of view, yet entitle him to the regard and admiration of all good men.

Many of the proscribed escaped their fate, and found refuge, some with Brutus in the East, some in Africa, more still with Sext. Pompeius. This adventurer took advantage of the troubles in Italy to extend his power. He occupied Sicily, and his fleets swept the coasts of Italy to afford assistance to the proscribed. Next year, while Antony was intrusted with the task of levying troops against Brutus and Cassius, Octavian undertook to wrest Sicily from the hands of Sextus. But his fleet was encountered and beaten off by the skilful captains of the enemy; and Octavian was compelled to depart for the East without accomplishing his purpose.

BRUTUS AND CASSIUS

[44-42 B.C.]

Brutus and Cassius, when they left Italy in the autumn of 44 B.C., at once repaired to the provinces allotted to them, though by Antony’s influence the senate had transferred Macedonia from Brutus to his own brother Caius, and Syria from Cassius to Dolabella. C. Antonius was already in possession of parts of Macedonia; but Brutus succeeded in dislodging him. Meanwhile Cassius, already well known in Syria for his successful conduct of the Parthian War, had established himself in that province, before he heard of the approach of Dolabella. This worthless man left Italy about the same time as Brutus and Cassius, and at the head of several legions marched without opposition through Macedonia into Asia Minor. Here C. Trebonius had already arrived. But he was unable to cope with Dolabella; and the latter surprised him and took him prisoner at Smyrna. He was put to death with unseemly contumely in Dolabella’s presence. This was in February 43 B.C.; and thus two of Cæsar’s murderers, in less than a year’s time, felt the blow of retributive justice.

When the news of this piece of butchery reached Rome, Cicero, believing that Octavian was a puppet in his hands, was ruling Rome by the eloquence of his Philippics. On his motion, Dolabella was declared a public enemy.[133] Cassius lost no time in marching his legions into Asia, to execute the behest of the senate, though he had been dispossessed of his province by the senate itself. Dolabella threw himself into Laodicea, where he sought a voluntary death.

By the end of 43 B.C., therefore, the whole of the East was in the hands of Brutus and Cassius. But instead of making preparations for war with Antony, the two commanders spent the early part of the year 42 B.C. in plundering the miserable cities of Asia Minor. Brutus demanded men and money of the Lycians; and, when they refused, he laid siege to Xanthus, their principal city. The Xanthians made the same brave resistance which they had offered five hundred years before to the Persian invaders. They burned their city, and put themselves to death rather than submit. Brutus wept over their fate, and abstained from further exactions. But Cassius showed less moderation; from the Rhodians alone, though they were allies of Rome, he demanded all their precious metals. After this campaign of plunder, the two chiefs met at Sardis and renewed the altercations which Cicero had deplored in Italy. It is probable that war might have broken out between them, had not the preparations of the triumvirs waked them from their dream of security. It was as he was passing over into Europe that Brutus, who continued his studious habits amid all disquietudes, and limited his time of sleep to a period too small for the requirements of health, was dispirited by the vision which Shakespeare, after Plutarch, has made famous. It was no doubt the result of a diseased frame, though it was universally held to be a divine visitation. As he sat in his tent in the dead of the night, he thought a huge and shadowy form stood by him; and when he calmly asked, “What and whence art thou?” it answered, or seemed to answer, “I am thine evil genius, Brutus; we shall meet again at Philippi.”

PHILIPPI

[42 B.C.]

Meantime Antony’s lieutenants had crossed the Ionian Sea, and penetrated without opposition into Thrace. The republican leaders found them at Philippi. The army of Brutus and Cassius amounted to at least eighty thousand infantry, supported by twenty thousand horse; but they were ill supplied with experienced officers. For M. Valerius Messalla, a young man of twenty-eight, held the chief command after Brutus and Cassius; and Horace, who was but three-and-twenty, the son of a freedman, and a youth of feeble constitution, was appointed a legionary tribune. The forces opposed to them would have been at once overpowered, had not Antony himself opportunely arrived with the second corps of the triumviral army. Octavian was detained by illness at Dyrrhachium, but he ordered himself to be carried on a litter to join his legions. The army of the triumvirs was now superior to the enemy; but their cavalry, counting only thirteen thousand, was considerably weaker than the force opposed to it. The republicans were strongly posted upon two hills, with entrenchments between; the camp of Cassius upon the left next the sea, that of Brutus inland on the right. The triumviral army lay upon the open plain before them in a position rendered unhealthy by marshes; Antony, on the right, was opposed to Cassius; Octavian, on the left, fronted Brutus. But they were ill supplied with provisions, and anxious for a decisive battle. The republicans, however, kept to their entrenchments, and the other party began to suffer severely from famine.

Determined to bring on an action, Antony began works for the purpose of cutting off Cassius from the sea. Cassius had always opposed a general action, but Brutus insisted on putting an end to the suspense, and his colleague yielded. The day of the attack was probably in October. Brutus attacked Octavian’s army, while Cassius assaulted the working parties of Antony. Cassius’ assault was beaten back with loss, but he succeeded in regaining his camp in safety. Meanwhile, Messalla, who commanded the right wing of Brutus’ army, had defeated the host of Octavian, who was still too ill to appear on the field, and the republican soldiers penetrated into the triumvir’s camp. Presently, his litter was brought in stained with blood, and the corpse of a young man found near it was supposed to be Octavian. But Brutus, not receiving any tidings of the movements of Cassius, became so anxious for his fate that he sent off a party of horse to make inquiries, and neglected to support the successful assault of Messalla.

Cassius, on his part, discouraged at his ill success, was unable to ascertain the progress of Brutus. When he saw the party of horse, he hastily concluded that they belonged to the enemy, and retired into his tent with his freedman, Pindarus. What passed there we know not for certain. Cassius was found dead, with the head severed from the body. Pindarus was never seen again. It was generally believed that Pindarus slew his master in obedience to orders; but many thought that he had dealt a felon blow. The intelligence of Cassius’ death was a heavy blow to Brutus. He forgot his own success, and pronounced the eulogy of Cassius in the well-known words, “There lies the last of the Romans.” The praise was ill-deserved. Except in his conduct of war against the Parthians, Cassius had never played a worthy part.

After the first battle of Philippi, it would still have been politic in Brutus to abstain from battle. The triumviral armies were in great distress, and every day increased their losses. Reinforcements coming to their aid by sea were intercepted—a proof of the neglect of the republican leaders in not sooner bringing their fleet into action. Nor did Brutus ever hear of this success. He was ill fitted for the life of the camp, and after the death of Cassius he only kept his men together by largesses and promises of plunder. Twenty days after the first battle he led them out again. Both armies faced each other. There was little manœuvring. The second battle was decided by numbers and force, not by skill; and it was decided in favour of the triumvirs.

Roman Sarcophagus

Brutus retired with four legions to a strong position in the rear, while the rest of his broken army sought refuge in the camp. Octavian remained to watch them, while Antony pursued the republican chief. Next day Brutus endeavoured to rouse his men to another effort, but they sullenly refused to fight, and Brutus withdrew with a few friends into a neighbouring wood. Here he took them aside one by one, and prayed each to do him the last service that a Roman could render to his friend. All refused with horror; till at nightfall a trusty Greek freedman, named Strato, held the sword, and his master threw himself upon it.[134] Most of his friends followed the sad example. The body of Brutus was sent by Antony to his mother. His wife Porcia, the daughter of Cato, refused all comfort; and being too closely watched to be able to slay herself by ordinary means, she suffocated herself by thrusting burning charcoal into her mouth. Messalla, with a number of other fugitives, sought safety in the island of Thasos, and soon after made submission to Antony.

[42-41 B.C.]

The name of Brutus has, by Plutarch’s beautiful narrative, sublimed by Shakespeare, become a by-word for self-devoted patriotism. This exalted opinion is now generally confessed to be unjust. Brutus was not a patriot, unless devotion to the party of the senate be patriotism. Towards the provincials he was a true Roman, harsh and oppressive. He was free from the sensuality and profligacy of his age, but for public life he was unfit. His habits were those of a student. His application was great, his memory remarkable. But he possessed little power of turning his acquirements to account; and to the last he was rather a learned man than a man improved by learning. In comparison with Cassius, he was humane and generous; but in all respects his character is contrasted for the worse with that of the great man, from whom he accepted favours, and whose murderer he then became.

The battle of Philippi was in reality the closing scene of the republican drama. But the rivalship of the triumvirs prolonged for several years the divided state of the Roman world; and it was not till after the crowning victory of Actium that the imperial government was established in its unity.

The hopeless state of the republican, or rather the senatorial party was such that almost all hastened to make submission to the conquerors; those whose sturdy spirit still disdained submission resorted to Sext. Pompeius in Sicily. Octavian, still suffering from ill health, was anxious to return to Italy; but before he parted from Antony, they agreed to a second distribution of the provinces of the empire. Antony was to have the eastern world; Octavian the western provinces. To Lepidus, who was not consulted in this second division, Africa alone was left. Sext. Pompeius remained in possession of Sicily.

Antony at once proceeded to make a tour through western Asia, in order to exact money from its unfortunate people. About midsummer (41 B.C.) he arrived at Tarsus, and here he received a visit which determined the future course of his life and influenced Roman history for the next ten years.

ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

[41 B.C.]

Antony had visited Alexandria fourteen years before, and had been smitten by the charms of Cleopatra, then a girl of fifteen. She became Cæsar’s paramour, and from the time of the dictator’s death Antony had never seen her. She now came to meet him in Cilicia. The galley which carried her up the Cydnus was of more than oriental gorgeousness; the sails of purple; oars of silver, moving to the sound of music; the raised poop burnished with gold. There she lay upon a splendid couch, shaded by a spangled canopy; her attire was that of Venus, around her flitted attendant Cupids and Graces. At the news of her approach to Tarsus, the triumvir found his tribunal deserted by the people. She invited him to her ship, and he complied. From that moment he was her slave. He accompanied her to Alexandria, exchanged the Roman garb for the Græco-Egyptian costume of the court, and lent his power to the queen to execute all her caprices.

Meanwhile, Octavian was not without his difficulties. He was so ill at Brundusium that his death was reported at Rome. The veterans, eager for their promised rewards, were on the eve of mutiny. In a short time Octavian was sufficiently recovered to show himself. But he could find no other means of satisfying the greedy soldiery than by a confiscation of lands more sweeping than that which followed the proscription of Sulla. The towns of Cisalpine Gaul were accused of favouring Dec. Brutus, and saw nearly all their lands handed over to new possessors. The young poet Virgil lost his little patrimony, but was reinstated at the instance of Pollio and Mæcenas, and showed his gratitude in his first Eclogue. Other parts of Italy also suffered—Apulia, for example, as we learn from Horace’s friend Ofella, who became the tenant of the estate which had formerly been his own.

But these violent measures deferred rather than obviated the difficulty. The expulsion of so many persons threw thousands loose upon society, ripe for any crime. Many of the veterans were ready to join any new leader who promised them booty. Such a leader was at hand.

Fulvia, wife of Antony, was a woman of fierce passions and ambitious spirit. She had not been invited to follow her husband to the East. She saw that in his absence imperial power would fall into the hands of Octavian. Lucius, brother of Mark Antony, was consul for the year, and at her instigation he raised his standard at Præneste. But L. Antonius knew not how to use his strength; and young Agrippa, to whom Octavian intrusted the command, obliged Antonius and Fulvia to retire northwards and shut themselves up in Perusia. Their store of provisions was so small that it sufficed only for the soldiery. Early in the next year Perusia surrendered, on condition that the lives of the leaders should be spared. The town was sacked; the conduct of L. Antonius alienated all Italy from his brother.

ANTONY MEETS WITH REVERSES

While his wife, his brother, and his friends were quitting Italy in confusion, the arms of Antony suffered a still heavier blow in the eastern provinces which were under his special government. After the battle of Philippi, Q. Labienus, son of Cæsar’s old lieutenant Titus, sought refuge at the court of Orodes, king of Parthia. Encouraged by the proffered aid of a Roman officer, Pacorus the king’s son led a formidable army into Syria. Antony’s lieutenant was entirely routed; and while Pacorus with one army poured into Palestine and Phœnicia, Q. Labienus with another broke into Cilicia. Here he found no opposition; and, overrunning all Asia Minor even to the Ionian Sea, he assumed the name of Parthicus, as if he had been a Roman conqueror of the people whom he served.

These complicated disasters roused Antony from his lethargy. He sailed to Tyre, intending to take the field against the Parthians; but the season was too far advanced, and he therefore crossed the Ægean to Athens, where he found Fulvia and his brother, accompanied by Pollio, Plancus, and others, all discontented with Octavian’s government. Octavian was absent in Gaul, and their representation of the state of Italy encouraged him to make another attempt. Late in the year (41 B.C.) Antony formed a league with Sext. Pompeius; and while that chief blockaded Thurii and Consentia, Antony assailed Brundusium. Agrippa was preparing to meet this new combination; and a fresh civil war was imminent. But the soldiery was weary of war; both armies compelled their leaders to make pacific overtures, and the new year was ushered in by a general peace, which was rendered easier by the death of Fulvia. Antony and Octavian renewed their professions of amity, and entered Rome together in joint ovation to celebrate the restoration of peace. They now made a third division of the provinces, by which Scodra (Scutari) in Illyricum was fixed as the boundary of the west and east. Lepidus was still left in possession of Africa. It was further agreed that Octavian was to drive Sext. Pompeius, lately the ally of Antony, out of Sicily; while Antony renewed his pledges to recover the standards of Crassus from the Parthians. The new compact was sealed by the marriage of Antony with Octavia, his colleague’s sister, a virtuous and beautiful lady, worthy of a better consort. These auspicious events were celebrated by the lofty verse of Virgil’s Fourth Eclogue, styled The Pollio.

[41-39 B.C.]

Sext. Pompeius had reason to complain. By the Peace of Brundusium he was abandoned by his late friend to Octavian. He was not a man to brook ungenerous treatment. Of late years his possession of Sicily had given him command of the Roman corn market. During the winter which followed the Peace of Brundusium (40-39 B.C.), Sextus blockaded Italy so closely that Rome was threatened with a positive dearth. Riots arose; the triumvirs were pelted with stones in the Forum; and they deemed it prudent to temporise by inviting Pompeius to enter their league. He met them at Misenum, and the two chiefs went on board his ship to settle the terms of alliance. It is said that one of his chief officers, a Greek named Menas or Menodorus, suggested to him the expediency of putting to sea with the great prize, and then making his own terms. Sextus rejected the advice with the characteristic words: “You should have done it without asking me.” It was agreed that Sicily, Sardinia, and Corsica should be given up to his absolute rule, and that Achaia should be added to his portion; so that the Roman world was now partitioned amongst four—Octavian, Antony, Lepidus, and Sext. Pompeius. On their return the triumvirs were received with vociferous applause.

Agrippa

(From a bust in the Capitol)

Before winter, Antony sailed for Athens in company with Octavia, and for the time seems to have banished Cleopatra from his thoughts. But he disgusted all true Romans by assuming the attributes of Grecian gods, and indulging in Grecian orgies.

[39-36 B.C.]

He found the state of things in the East greatly changed since his departure. He had commissioned P. Ventidius Bassus, an officer who had followed Fulvia from Italy, to hold the Parthians in check till his return. Ventidius was son of a Picenian nobleman of Asculum, who had been brought to Rome as a captive in the Social War. In his youth he had been a contractor to supply mules for the use of the Roman commissariat. But in the civil wars which followed, men of military talent easily rose to command; and such was the lot of Ventidius. While Antony was absent in Italy, he drove Q. Labienus into the defiles of Taurus, and here that adventurer was defeated and slain. The conqueror then marched rapidly into Syria, and forced Pacorus also to withdraw to the eastern bank of the Euphrates.

In the following year (38 B.C.) he repelled a fresh invasion of the Parthians, and defeated them in three battles. In the last of these engagements Pacorus himself was slain on the fifteenth anniversary of the death of Crassus. Antony found Ventidius laying siege to Samosata, and displaced him, only to abandon the siege and return to Athens. Ventidius repaired to Rome, where he was honoured with a well-deserved triumph. He had left it as a mule jobber; he returned with the laurel round his brows. He was the first, and almost the last, Roman general who could claim such a distinction for victory over the Parthians.

The alliance with Sext. Pompeius was not intended to last, and it did not last. Antony refused to put him in possession of Achaia; and to avenge himself for this breach of faith Pompeius again began to intercept the Italian corn fleets. Fresh discontent appeared at Rome; and Octavian equipped a second fleet to sail against the naval chief; but after two battles of doubtful result the fleet was destroyed by a storm, and Sextus was again left in undisputed mastery of the sea. Octavian, however, was never daunted by reverses, and he gave his favourite Agrippa full powers to conduct the war against Pompeius. This able commander set about his work with that resolution that marked a man determined not to fail. As a harbour for his fleet he executed a plan of the great Cæsar—namely, to make a good and secure harbour on the coast of Latium, which then, as now, offered no shelter to ships. For this purpose he cut a passage through the narrow necks of land which separated Lake Lucrinus from the sea and Lake Avernus from Lake Lucrinus, and faced the outer barrier with stone. This was the famous Julian Port. In the whole of the two years 38 and 37 B.C., Agrippa was occupied in this work and in preparing a sufficient force of ships. Every dockyard in Italy was called into requisition. A large body of slaves were set free that they might be trained to serve as rowers.

On the 1st of July, 36 B.C., the fleet put to sea. Octavian himself, with one division, purposed to attack the northern coast of Sicily, while a second squadron was assembled at Tarentum for the purpose of assailing the eastern side. Lepidus, with a third fleet from Africa, was to assault Lilybæum. But the winds were again adverse; and, though Lepidus effected a landing on the southern coast, Octavian’s two fleets were driven back to Italy with great damage. But the injured ships were refitted, and Agrippa was sent westward towards Panormus, while Octavian himself kept guard near Messana. Off Mylæ, a place famous for having witnessed the first naval victory of the Romans, Agrippa encountered the fleet of Sext. Pompeius; but Sextus, with the larger portion of his ships, gave Agrippa the slip, and sailing eastward fell suddenly upon Octavian’s squadron off Tauromenium. A desperate conflict followed, which ended in the complete triumph of Sextus, and Octavian escaped to Italy with a few ships only. But Agrippa was soon upon the traces of the enemy. On the 3d of September, Sextus was obliged once more to accept battle near the Straits of Messana, and suffered an irretrievable defeat. His troops on land were attacked and dispersed by an army which had been landed on the eastern coast by the indefatigable Octavian; and Sextus sailed off to Lesbos, where he had found refuge as a boy during the campaign of Pharsalia, to seek protection from the jealousy of Antony.

Lepidus had assisted in the campaign; but after the departure of Sextus he openly declared himself independent of his brother triumvirs. Octavian, with prompt and prudent boldness, entered the camp of Lepidus in person with a few attendants. The soldiers deserted in crowds, and in a few hours Lepidus was fain to sue for pardon, where he had hoped to rule. He was treated with contemptuous indifference. Africa was taken from him; but he was allowed to live and die at Rome in quiet enjoyment of the chief pontificate.

It was fortunate for Octavian that during this campaign Antony was on friendly terms with him. In 37 B.C. the ruler of the East again visited Italy, and a meeting between the two chiefs was arranged at Tarentum. The five years for which the triumvirs were originally appointed were now fast expiring; and it was settled that their authority should be renewed by the subservient senate and people for a second period of the same duration. They parted good friends; and Octavian undertook his campaign against Sext. Pompeius without fear from Antony. This was proved by the fate of the fugitive. From Lesbos Sextus passed over to Asia, where he was taken prisoner by Antony’s lieutenants, and put to death.

Hitherto Octavia had retained her influence over Antony. But presently, after his last interview with her brother, the fickle triumvir abruptly quitted a wife who was too good for him, and returned to the fascinating presence of the Egyptian queen, whom he had not seen for three years. From this time forth he made no attempt to break the silken chain of her enchantments. During the next summer, indeed, he attempted a new Parthian campaign.[b] It has been described by Florus as follows:

“Such was the excessive vanity of the man, that being desirous from a love of distinction, to have Araxes and Euphrates read under his statues, he suddenly quitted Syria and made an inroad on the Parthians, and that without any cause or reason, or even pretended proclamation of war, as if it were among a general’s accomplishments to surprise people by stealth. The Parthians, who, besides having confidence in their arms, are crafty and subtle, pretended to be alarmed, and to retreat across the plains. Antony, as if already victorious, instantly pursued, when a body of the enemy, not very numerous, rushed suddenly forth like a storm of rain upon the Romans, who, as it was evening, were tired with the day’s march. Discharging their arrows from all sides, they overwhelmed two legions.

“But this was nothing in comparison with the destruction that would have met them on the following day, had not the mercy of the gods interposed. One of the Romans who had survived the overthrow of Crassus, rode up to the camp in a Parthian dress, and having saluted the soldiers in Latin, and thus gained credit with them, told them of the danger which threatened them; saying that the king would soon come up with all his forces; that they ought therefore to retreat and take shelter in the mountains; and that possibly, even if they did so, enemies would not be wanting. In consequence, a smaller number of enemies overtook them than had been intended. Overtake them, however, they did; and the rest of the army would have been destroyed, had not the soldiers, while the arrows were falling on them like hail, fortunately sunk down, as if they had been taught, upon their knees, holding up their shields above their heads, and making it appear as if they were killed. The Parthians then refrained from shooting.

“When the Romans afterwards rose up, the proceeding appeared so like a miracle, that one of the barbarians exclaimed: ‘Go! and fare ye well, Romans; fame deservedly speaks of you as the conquerors of nations, since you have escaped death from the arrows of the Parthians.’ After this, there was no less endured from want of water, than at the hands of the enemy. The country, in the first place, was deadly from its drought; the river, too, with its brackish and bitter water, was more deadly to some; and besides, even good water was pernicious to many, being drunk greedily when they were in a weak condition. Subsequently the heat of Armenia, the snows of Cappadocia, and the sudden change in climate from one to the other, was as destructive as a pestilence. Scarce the third part, therefore, of sixteen legions being left, the excellent general, begging death from time to time, at the hands of a gladiator of his, escaped at last into Syria, where, by some unaccountable perversion of mind, he grew considerably more presuming than before, as if he had conquered because he had escaped.”[e]

[36-35 B.C.]

In the next year he contented himself with a campaign in Armenia, to punish the king of that country for alleged treachery in the last campaign. The king fell into his hands; and with this trophy Antony returned to Alexandria, where the Romans were disgusted to see the streets of a Græco-Egyptian town honoured by a mimicry of a Roman triumph. For the next three years he surrendered himself absolutely to the will of the enchantress.[135]

To this period belong those tales of luxurious indulgence which are known to every reader. The brave soldier who in the perils of war could shake off all luxurious habits, and could rival the commonest man in the cheerfulness with which he underwent every hardship, was seen no more. He sank into an indolent voluptuary, pleased by childish amusements. At one time he would lounge in a boat at a fishing party, and laugh when he drew up pieces of salt fish, which by the queen’s order had been attached to his hook by divers. At another time she wagered that she would consume ten million sesterces at one meal, and won her wager by dissolving in vinegar a pearl of unknown value. While Cleopatra bore the character of the goddess Isis, her lover appeared as Osiris. Her head was placed conjointly with his own on the coins which he issued as a Roman magistrate. He disposed of the kingdoms and principalities of the East by his sole word. By his influence Herod, son of Antipater, the Idumæan minister of Hyrcanus, the late sovereign of Judea, was made king to the exclusion of the rightful heir. Polemon, his own son by Cleopatra, was invested with the sceptre of Armenia. Encouraged by the absolute submission of her lover, Cleopatra fixed her eye upon the Capitol, and dreamed of winning by means of Antony that imperial crown which she had vainly sought from Cæsar.

[35-32 B.C.]

While Antony was engaged in voluptuous dalliance, Octavian was resolutely pursuing the work of consolidating his power in the west. His patience, his industry, his attention to business, his affability, were winning golden opinions and rapidly obliterating all memory of the bloody work by which he had risen to power. He had won little glory in war; but so long as the corn fleets arrived duly from Sicily and Africa, the populace cared little whether the victory had been won by Octavian or by his generals. In Agrippa he possessed a consummate captain, in Mæcenas a wise and temperate minister. It is much to his credit that he never showed any jealousy of the men to whom he owed so much. He flattered the people with the hope that he would, when Antony had fulfilled his mission of recovering the standards of Crassus, engage him to join in putting an end to their sovereign power and restoring constitutional liberty. In point of fidelity to his marriage vows Octavian was little better than Antony. He renounced his marriage with Clodia, the daughter of Fulvia, when her mother attempted to raise Italy against him. He divorced Scribonia, when it no longer suited him to court the favour of her kinsman. To replace this second wife, he forcibly took away Livia from her husband, Ti. Claudius Nero, though she was at that time pregnant of her second son. But in this and other less pardonable immoralities there was nothing to shock the feelings of Romans.

OCTAVIAN AGAINST ANTONY; THE BATTLE OF ACTIUM

But Octavian never suffered pleasure to divert him from business. If he could not be a successful general, he resolved at least to show that he could be a hardy soldier. While Antony in his Egyptian palace was neglecting the Parthian War, his rival led his legions in more than one dangerous campaign against the barbarous Dalmatians and Pannonians, who had been for some time infesting the province of Illyricum. In the year 33 B.C. he announced that the limits of the empire had been extended northward to the banks of the Savus.

Octavian now began to feel that any appearance of friendship with Antony was a source of weakness rather than of strength at Rome. Misunderstandings had already broken out. Antony complained that Octavian had given him no share in the provinces wrested from Sext. Pompeius and Lepidus. Octavian retorted by accusing his colleague of appropriating Egypt and Armenia, and of increasing Cleopatra’s power at the expense of the Roman Empire. Popular indignation rose to its height when Plancus and Titius, who had been admitted to Antony’s confidence, passed over to Octavian, and disclosed the contents of their master’s will. In that document Antony ordered that his body should be buried at Alexandria, in the mausoleum of Cleopatra. Men began to fancy that Cleopatra had already planted her throne upon the Capitol. These suspicions were sedulously encouraged by Octavian.

Before the close of 32 B.C., Octavian, by the authority of the senate, declared war nominally against Cleopatra. Antony, roused from his sleep by reports from Rome, passed over to Athens, issuing orders everywhere to levy men and collect ships for the impending struggle. At Athens he received news of the declaration of war, and replied by divorcing Octavia. His fleet was ordered to assemble at Corcyra; and his legions in the early spring prepared to pour into Epirus. He established his headquarters at Patræ on the Corinthian Gulf.

But Antony, though his fleet was superior to that of Octavian, allowed Agrippa to sweep the Ionian Sea, and to take possession of Methone, in Messenia, as a station for a flying squadron to intercept Antony’s communications with the East, nay even to occupy Corcyra, which had been destined for his own place of rendezvous. Antony’s fleet now anchored in the waters of the Ambracian Gulf, while his legions encamped on a spot of land which forms the northern horn of that spacious inlet. But the place chosen for the camp was unhealthful; and in the heats of early summer his army suffered greatly from disease. Agrippa lay close at hand watching his opportunity. In the course of the spring Octavian joined him in person.

[31-30 B.C.]

Early in the season Antony had repaired from Patræ to his army, so as to be ready either to cross over into Italy or to meet the enemy if they attempted to land in Epirus. At first he showed something of his old military spirit, and the soldiers, who always loved his military frankness, warmed into enthusiasm; but his chief officers, won by Octavian or disgusted by the influence of Cleopatra, deserted him in such numbers that he knew not whom to trust, and gave up all thoughts of maintaining the contest with energy. Urged by Cleopatra, he resolved to carry off his fleet and abandon the army. All preparations were made in secret, and the great fleet put to sea on the 28th of August. For the four following days there was a strong gale from the south. Neither could Antony escape, nor could Octavian put to sea against him from Corcyra. On the 2nd of September, however, the wind fell, and Octavian’s light vessels, by using their oars, easily came up with the unwieldy galleys of the eastern fleet. A battle was now seen to be inevitable.

Antony’s ships were like impregnable fortresses to the assault of the slight vessels of Octavian; and, though they lay nearly motionless in the calm sea, little impression was made upon them. But about noon a breeze sprang up from the west; and Cleopatra, followed by sixty Egyptian ships, made sail in a southerly direction. Antony immediately sprang from his ship of war into a light galley and followed. Deserted by their commander, the captains of Antony’s ships continued to resist desperately; nor was it till the greater part of them were set on fire that the contest was decided. Before evening closed the whole fleet was destroyed; most of the men and all the treasure on board perished. A few days after, when the shameful flight of Antony was made known to his army, all his legions went over to the conqueror.

DEATH OF ANTONY AND CLEOPATRA

[30-29 B.C.]

It was not for eleven months after the battle of Actium that Octavian entered the open gates of Alexandria. He had been employed in the interval in founding the city of Nicopolis to celebrate his victory on the northern horn of the Ambracian Gulf, in rewarding his soldiers, and settling the affairs of the provinces of the East. In the winter he returned to Italy, and it was midsummer, 30 B.C., before he arrived in Egypt.

When Antony and Cleopatra arrived off Alexandria they put a bold face upon the matter. Some time passed before the real state of the case was known; but it soon became plain that Egypt was at the mercy of the conqueror. The queen formed all kinds of wild designs. One was to transport the ships that she had saved across the Isthmus of Suez and seek refuge in some distant land where the name of Rome was yet unknown. Some ships were actually drawn across, but they were destroyed by the Arabs, and the plan was abandoned. She now flattered herself that her powers of fascination, proved so potent over Cæsar and Antony, might subdue Octavian. Secret messages passed between the conqueror and the queen; nor were Octavian’s answers such as to banish hope.

Antony, full of repentance and despair, shut himself up in Pharos, and there remained in gloomy isolation.

In July, 30 B.C., Octavian appeared before Pelusium. The place was surrendered without a blow. Yet, at the approach of the conqueror, Antony put himself at the head of a division of cavalry, and gained some advantage. But on his return to Alexandria he found that Cleopatra had given up all her ships; and no more opposition was offered. On the 1st of August (Sextilis as it was then called) Octavian entered the open gates of Alexandria. Both Antony and Cleopatra sought to win him. Antony’s messengers the conqueror refused to see; but he still used fair words to Cleopatra. The queen had shut herself up in a sort of mausoleum built to receive her body after death, which was not approachable by any door; and it was given out that she was really dead. All the tenderness of old times revived in Antony’s heart. He stabbed himself, and in a dying state ordered himself to be laid by the side of Cleopatra.

The queen touched by pity, ordered her expiring lover to be drawn up by cords into her retreat, and bathed his temples with her tears. After he had breathed his last, she consented to see Octavian. Her penetration soon told her that she had nothing to hope from him. She saw that his fair words were only intended to prevent her from desperate acts, and reserve her for the degradation of his triumph. This impression was confirmed when all instruments by which death could be inflicted were found to have been removed from her apartments. But she was not to be so baffled. She pretended all submission; but when the ministers of Octavian came to carry her away, they found her lying dead upon her couch, attended by her faithful waiting-women, Iras and Charmion. The manner of her death was never ascertained; popular belief ascribed it to the bite of an asp, which had been conveyed to her in a basket of fruit.

Cleopatra was an extraordinary person. At her death she was but thirty-eight years of age. Her power rested not so much on actual beauty as on her fascinating manners and her extreme readiness of wit. In her follies there was a certain magnificence, which excites even a dull imagination. We may estimate the real power of her mental qualities by observing the impression her character made upon the Roman poets of the time. No meditated praises could have borne such testimony to her greatness as the lofty strain in which Horace celebrates her fall, and congratulates the Roman world on its escape from the ruin which she was threatening to the Capitol.

Octavian dated the years of his imperial monarchy from the day of the battle of Actium. But it was not till two years after (the summer of 29 B.C.) that he established himself in Rome as ruler of the Roman world. Then he celebrated three magnificent triumphs, after the example of his uncle the great dictator, for his victories in Dalmatia, at Actium, and in Egypt. At the same time the temple of Janus was closed (notwithstanding that border wars still continued in Gaul and Spain) for the first time since the year 235 B.C. All men drew breath more freely, and all except the soldiery looked forward to a time of tranquillity. Liberty and independence were forgotten words. After the terrible disorders of the last century, the general cry was for quiet at any price. Octavian was a person admirably fitted to fulfil these aspirations. His uncle Julius was too fond of active exertion to play such a part well. Octavian never shone in war, while his vigilant and patient mind was well fitted for the discharge of business. He avoided shocking popular feeling by assuming any title savouring of royalty; but he enjoyed by universal consent an authority more than regal.[b]

AN ESTIMATE OF THE PERSONALITY OF ANTONY

We cannot well take leave of the fallen Antony without a few words of characterisation: “He was,” says Liddell, “by nature a genial, open-hearted Roman, a good soldier, quick, resolute, and vigorous, but reckless and self-indulgent, devoid alike of prudence and of principle. The corruptions of the age, the seductions of power, and the evil influence of Cleopatra, paralysed a nature capable of better things. We know him chiefly through the exaggerated assaults of Cicero in his Philippics, and the narratives of writers devoted to Octavian. But after all deductions for partial representation, enough remains to show that Antony had all the faults of Cæsar, with little of his redeeming greatness.”[b] This is scant praise. A more sympathetic estimate is that of Gardthausen who, eloquently summarising the heroic qualities of Antony’s character, sees in him a type of man rare in antiquity. Here is his characterisation:

Antony’s chivalrous bearing and the chivalrous bent of his mind contributed to his success in a manner highly impressive in a character of the antique ages. These can boast of few characters that may be called chivalrous, at the most an occasional Homeric hero, the princely leader of a national army, such as Alexander the Great, Pyrrhus, and Demetrius, the counterfeit presentment to Plutarch’s Antonius; possibly chivalrous standards of life may have been spread among the Greek mercenaries. The chivalrous warrior was a man who was ready at any moment to pledge his person and mindful of the ups and downs of battle to treat his opponent as he himself would be treated were their situations reversed. The small republics of antiquity were not fit soil to nourish such a character as this. The ancients were not soldiers before everything else, their ideals were sought in another region.

Chivalrous as he was, he was ready to credit others with a similar disposition; and his confidence was seldom misplaced. At the head of five ships he defied the warnings of those about him and sailed against the whole fleet of Domitius Ahenobarbus with chivalrous recklessness; he accepted an invitation from Sextus Pompeius the admiral to eat with him on board his vessel; a word would have sufficed to effect his imprisonment or his murder; but this word was never spoken, for his unquestioning reliance on the pledged honour of his foe had disarmed that foe. Where he was deceived, however, as for example later on by that same Domitius Ahenobarbus who went over to the enemy before the battle of Actium, Antony had enough generosity of mind to send over to him into the enemy’s camp his possessions and his slaves. To Sextus Pompeius later on he showed admirable forbearance in Asia Minor and shrank as long as it was possible from believing in the treachery of a man who had stood by his side first as ally and then as supplicant for protection. Even when fate was against him, he assumed the same chivalrous spirit in his foe that he himself would have manifested had the circumstances been reversed. So for instance after the battle of Actium he challenged Cæsar to personal combat although the acceptance of the challenge by his opponent, who was everything rather than chivalrous, was on the face of it very improbable.

As the knight for his lady so Antony in an official despatch declared his constant readiness to die for Cleopatra, and on receiving news of her death he said again that now his last reason for living had fallen away. Even in death he was consoled with the thought that it was as a Roman of Romans that he had been subdued.

In conclusion “chivalrous” is the term that I would apply to that exaggerated sensibility of honour which could not reconcile itself to giving the command for an absolutely indispensable retreat after the Median campaign and so charged a field officer under him with the burden of issuing that command.

To talk of the personal bravery of Antony, which his foes too recognised, were superfluous; like his Herculean frame, it was part of his birthright, not a thing acquired with years through the steady energy of his will. He was equally at home with his men whether on the field of battle or in the young men’s wrestling ring. He was most in his element however at the head of his trusty horsemen, when after a mad ride he could flash unexpected upon the enemy like lightning, reduce them to nothing or take them captive. As an instance of this, take the brilliant cavalry engagement with Servilius in lower Italy and the last victory he won over Cæsar’s horsemen at the hippodrome before Alexandria. His pride was then at the height of its ascension when he could come before Cleopatra as the knight before his lady to demand as the reward of victory, a kiss for himself, for the bravest of his horsemen a golden suit of armour.

Perhaps the foreign trait of faithlessness in him was just a symptom of that sultanic nature which very quickly developed itself in Antony as in many other Romans who ruled the East. Bountiful he had always been even before he possessed anything to give away, but in the East this bounty soon acquired a far more splendid play. In public he felt himself king of kings, bestowing on Monæses the Parthian refugee as the king of the Persians once bestowed on Themistocles, three towns, constantly making a new map of the East and giving provinces to his Egyptian queen, granting Polemon little Armenia as the reward for an embassy, giving his actors the town of Priene, in return for a good luncheon, making his cook as rich as a wealthy Magnesian. We can best see what sort of task he set his cook from a story that was whispered in Plutarch’s circle. At every time in the day the cook had to be in a position to serve a complete luncheon immediately. Eight wild boars were turning on the spit at the same time, because at a given moment one had to be ready roasted to be set instantly upon the table, and in this way all the preparations necessary for a luncheon for not more than twelve persons were conducted. Plutarch’s characteristic anecdote is a proof at once of the costliness of Antony’s court and the irregularity of his mode of life. If the preparation of one daily meal involved such expenditure we hardly need to reckon the crazy wagers with Cleopatra to arrive at an explanation of the immense sums raised and squandered by Antony in the East. His example set the standard for his own people; his eldest son Antyllus was yet a boy when he gave a doctor such a sum for a paradox in medical language that the man did not believe his ears.

But this extravagant expenditure was not all; it belonged to some extent to the maintenance of a sultan, and impressed the eastern imagination. The effect of the East upon the character of Antony was damaging in that it robbed him of requisite elasticity. There are characters that only reach their full altitude under circumstances of prosperity, and in the absence of these wither and fall away as the flower that lacks sunlight; others again will nowhere prove so defective as when exposed to a succession of good fortune; their better self slides out of sight until it is again summoned into activity by dire need which alone can spur them to heroical endeavour. Antony’s was of the latter kind; he required pressure from outside to recover his elasticity and bring out his resources to the full. In the noise and pother of battle, in the dire need of retreat after the defeat of Mutina and the Median campaign he did great deeds, but with the termination of the danger, the activity which it had called forth came also to an end; he sank into Eastern torpidity from which nothing could rouse him. Political questions ceased to exist for him, whole months passed in which not even the current business of administration was despatched.

Labienus might overwhelm Syria and Asia with Parthian horsemen and drive back the Romans upon the islands; at the same time one ugly despatch after another might come from Italy whither he was urged to go and lend succour by his wife, his brother, his legates who struggled vainly with Cæsar’s power; but nothing availed to tear him away from his idle indulgences at Alexandria. At the very crisis of the rupture when all the peoples of the ancient world were arming themselves either for or against him, he withdrew to Samos to live a life of pleasure undisturbed by the clash of arms.

Here are examples enough to prove how he regarded his high place in the world, to what use he in reality put it for the pursuit of his private love affairs, how he accepted the privileges without recognising the responsibilities of his position.

He entirely lacked a sense of responsibility as a prince—the reproach weighs only too heavily upon him—and in a similar way, so little patriotic spirit for Rome survived in him during his life in the East, that he did not want even to leave his ashes to his fatherland. We miss in his indolent nature all joy in business and in those creative strokes that he still made every few years; he followed the impulses of the moment without reflecting what would be their ultimate consequences; this habit grew so natural to him that he followed it at Actium and plunged himself and his followers in ruin.

Paradoxical as it may sound, Antony was no more a genuine commander than a genuine statesman. As a subordinate officer of the dictator he won well-earned encomium. Once in the position of dictator himself and the difference, the great difference, is evident.

Certainly the victory at Philippi was exclusively due to him, but Cæsar’s party owed Philippi to the tactics, not to the strategy of Antony. He had to take battle upon ground chosen by the enemy, and had to thank his own bravery and his legions for victory. From this time forward, as the ancients have already contended, Antony only conquered through his subordinate officers, while, by himself, he was beaten. The honour of a triumph to which the subordinate officers could, strictly speaking, make no claims, was accorded to them, although with a less generous spirit than his colleague Cæsar showed; only in cases of immoderate success was his suspicion aroused and then he was led to thrust aside officers of too conspicuous good fortune like Ventidius. He alone must be made responsible for the disastrous issue of the Medo-Parthian campaign. The conception was wrong, the execution defective, in as much as the best time was over before he commenced operations. Before the last crisis of the war he again let the auspicious moment slip past him.

Instead of making rapid use of the advantage assured to him by the well-filled condition of his military exchequer and the forward condition of his armaments, instead of hurling his force upon Italy which could well have been overpowered in view of the scarcity of money and the deep disaffection that prevailed, he again frittered away the best time with Cleopatra in Samos and at last was compelled to postpone the decisive action, much to his own disadvantage, until the next year, thus losing the advantage in readiness of equipment which he had had over his opponent. Finally one may ask, did ever a general, who deserved the name of general, prematurely pronounce a battle to be lost, in which not only supremacy and life but the destiny of a whole world was at stake? But Antony loved to treat serious issues lightly and trifles as if they were of supreme importance.

In his relations to women his sensual sultanic nature and his chivalrous character unite. We need not here concern ourselves with the foul love stories of his youth. His enemy Cicero speaks frequently of Antony’s men and women friends and also of others about whom it is uncertain whether they should be classed with the former or with the latter. Antony was always regardless of his reputation; he well knew that in this direction he had nothing left to spoil. We will not here intrude upon his innumerable liaisons with beautiful dancers, distinguished Roman ladies and eastern princesses. Cleopatra alone could claim, at all events in their last years, to exercise her dominion over him undivided with any other wife or mistress. This dominion was so absolute and so enduring that in the days of the ancients it was thought impossible to explain it by natural means and recourse was had to the superstition of a magic potion.

Could we have seen Antony on foot with a bevy of eunuchs following the litter of his mistress at the entry into some Egyptian town, we might have concluded him to be a knight doing homage to his lady’s honour. Mediæval worship of women is absolutely foreign to antiquity; but Antony based his descent on Hercules, who after his twelve Labours became a slave of Omphale, and laid aside club and crossbow to help his lady at the spinning-wheel. Antony followed the example of his great ancestor and paid obedience in effeminate sloth where it was within his power and his duty to be sovereign. The sacrifices he made to his lady are without a parallel in the history of the world; and Cleopatra’s thanks were, to betray him first at Actium and then at his death in Alexandria. In a word one may sum up the verdict in the language of the ancients: Nature had intended Mark Antony for a Deuteragonist, chance and misfortune made him Protagonist. But Shakespeare says: “His taints and honours waged equal with him.”[f]