The Comic History of Rome

by Gilbert Abbott À Beckett

Thurii received a small Roman garrison, which not being strong enough to defend itself, was à fortiori, or rather ab impotentiori, too weak to protect those for whose safety it had been appointed. Rome, therefore, despatched ten ships to its aid, in defiance of a treaty with Tarentum, that no armed vessel should proceed beyond a certain point. The people of Tarentum, who happened to be at the theatre, which commanded a view of the sea, and who were evidently looking at the ocean as a much finer spectacle than the play, observed the approach of the ships, and leaving the actors to finish their performance to empty benches, they rushed out to meet the enemy. The commander of the squadron was not prepared for an audience that would hear nothing he had to say, the sailors were alarmed at finding themselves suddenly assailed, and the poor rowers were completely overawed at their unexpected position. Only five ships escaped, the remainder being sunk or captured, with all their crews and cargoes. The Tarentines fell upon Thurii, whose cause was now completely undefended; but the Roman garrison, instead of being despatched by the sword, was generously despatched home by the earliest means of conveyance.

The Romans, having lost a considerable number of men, thought it better to recruit themselves by peace, as they were unable to find recruits for their army. It was accordingly determined to try the effect of an embassy upon the Tarentines, and some Feciales were employed to propose—what Rome considered—very moderate terms of arrangement. L. Postumius is said to have been one of the envoys, and it is added that upon his commencing a speech in bad Greek, there was a burst of laughter at his mistakes in grammar, orthography, and accent. He had been selected for the charm of his eloquence, but the spell was broken by the spelling, and in the confusion of his nominatives and datives, he was unable to make out a case of any kind. The Senators gave way to bursts of laughter—those bursts of nature which it is often difficult to control—and a buffoon, encouraged by the bad example of his betters, played some practical joke upon L. Postumius. The insulted emissary immediately held up his toga, which had been soiled by the jester, whose wit seems to have consisted in throwing dirt; but a shout of laughter was the only reply that the complaint of Postumius elicited. Desiring them to laugh on, he made an allusion to the possibility of the operation being transferred to the other side of the Roman mouth, and he added that a lavatory supplied by their blood was the only wash to which he would send his toga. Returning to Rome, he pointed out the stain that had been thrown upon him, and the Senate declared war on the spot the moment the spot was exhibited. An army was accordingly sent against Tarentum, but the leader, L. Aemilius Barbula,—so called probably from his being the little-bearded or the downy one—offered peace a second time. The Tarentines, thinking the Romans were afraid of fighting, refused to come to terms; but seeing that the latter did not retire, it became necessary to seek assistance in meeting them.

It appears that in these early days there were a set of persons willing to undertake butchery as a trade, by hiring themselves, or rather lowering themselves, to fight for any one who would pay them. Among these, one of the most respectable was Pyrrhus, king of Epirus, whom we may almost regard as a professional spiller of blood, for he took care to turn his labours to a profitable account, by bleeding those on whose side he fought, as well as those he fought against. According to some writers, Pyrrhus was no mercenary, because in agreeing to lend his arms to the Tarentines, he had in view a kingdom, rather than cash, or, in other words, he did not propose to be paid by those whom he assisted, because he intended to appropriate to himself everything out of which they would have the means of paying him. Pyrrhus, in fact, can only be excluded from the order of mercenaries by transferring him to the catalogue of thieves, and of this arrangement we have no objection to give him the benefit.

Though he lived in an age when the education of sovereigns was sadly neglected, he possessed a fair amount of information, and he had the fortunate habit of listening to good advice, so that he got credit for being wise on the strength of the wisdom of his counsellors. His tongue was no less polished than his sword, and his manners would have fully justified their being charged as extras in the bill of any school in which they may have been acquired. He was only thirty-seven years old when he entered Italy with a stud, including no less than twenty elephants and two thousand horses, though he was, of course, the principal lion of his great travelling menagerie. He was accompanied by a vast number of slingers, whose arms were in their slings, and a large body of bowmen, who could draw the longest bow with a truthfulness quite astonishing. An incident connected with the invocation of the aid of Pyrrhus by the Tarentines has come down to us by tradition, that common carrier who lays much at the historian's door, that he is not always inclined to answer for. It is said that a respectable young nobleman, of the name of Meto, appeared one day in the Tarentine senate with a quantity of faded flowers in his hair, as if he had just come home late from a dinner party, and had passed on his way through one of the markets. Being attended by a female with a pipe, the Tarentines were seized with a sudden desire to cheer, a propensity still evinced by a modern mob in the presence of any absurdity.

Pyrrhus arrives in Italy with his Troupe.

The excitement at length broke out into a general demand for a dance, and a shout arose similar to the unmeaning cry of "Hornpipe!" that is heard in a modern theatre on the first performance of a pantomime. The young noble, feeling that he might be involved in an extraordinary caper, seems to have suddenly resumed his senses; for he exclaimed with a serious air, "Yes, we must dance and feast now, for Pyrrhus will soon put an end to all our merriment." The words of Meto seemed too prophetic; for Pyrrhus had no sooner arrived, than, on the principle, perhaps, that where there is a great deal of work, there should be no play, he shut up the theatre of the Tarentines. He stopped everything in the shape of amusement, and the young noble's prediction as to the city's dancing days being nearly over, was completely verified. It would certainly have been better for Pyrrhus in the end had he listened in the beginning to his counsellor, Cineas, who, according to Plutarch, talked the matter over with his royal master, in the most familiar manner possible. "Now, tell me," said Cineas, "supposing our expedition to be successful, what will be the next step?" a query which elicited from Pyrrhus a whole catalogue of arduous exploits, which he had in contemplation. "Very good," said the sage, "and when all is conquered, what then?"—"What then?" responded Pyrrhus, "why, then, of course, we can take our ease, drink, and be merry."—"True enough," rejoined Cineas, "but why not take your ease, drink, and be merry at once, without all the preliminary toils and dangers you propose to undergo, and by which you only postpone, instead of advancing, your ultimate object?" Unfortunately Pyrrhus, like many others, failed to see the force of this kind of reasoning, and he continued to encounter immediate peril and fatigue, with the remote prospect of future repose, which there was nothing to prevent his taking at once if he had really set his head on it.

Appearance in the Senate of a young Nobleman, named Meto.

Though he would not acknowledge himself to be convinced by the arguments of the philosopher, it is probable that Pyrrhus secretly felt the value of the advice that had been given him; for his first step was a proposal to treat; and he even offered a draft by way of preliminary, but the Roman Consul rejected the proffered measure. The armies accordingly met on the banks of the Siris, a small river near Heraclea, and Pyrrhus sent a spy with a spy-glass, to inspect the position of the enemy. The spy was immediately spied out on the other side, and arrested forthwith, so that the look-out of the spy appeared utterly deplorable. Having, however, been shown everything there was to be seen in the Roman camp, as if he had been a traveller in search of information, instead of a sneak traversing a hostile area, the spy was sent back with care—right side upwards, which he scarcely deserved—to his master. This incident elicited from Pyrrhus the remark, that "the barbarians had an exceedingly gentlemanly way of conducting a war;" and the next day being fixed for the battle, he felt that he should have the satisfaction of a gentleman in going out with them.