The Amazing Emperor Heliogabalus

by John Stuart Hay

Not that Antonine was by any means at the end of his resources as yet. If he hesitated, no one knew it. Like Caligula, he must have spent nearly £400,000,000 of our money, and was radiant because he had achieved the impossible. But he was worried, and, again like Caligula, in the nick of time he remembered the sure and certain way to glory. As an Antonine at the head of a conquering army he would again advance against the Marcomanni, the men inhabiting Bavaria and Bohemia, whom Commodus had reduced.

Now, the oracles had predicted that an Antonine should finish this war, a circumstance which commended itself to the Emperor from more points of view than one. Like every religious person in the Empire Antonine was superstitious. Zonaras recounts that the boy wore 600 amulets; but, as he was not there to see, and the contemporary authors do not mention the fact, we can dismiss this with similarly exaggerated stories. Not that the use of these aids to piety or tickets to heaven is even now extinct; the idea may still be found set forth, with both precision and logic, in any manual of prayers under the heading “Brown Scapular,” or “St. Simon Stock.” More ridiculous and more wicked were the figments of imagination, by means of which men tried to dissuade Antonine from undertaking this war. They told him that these Marcomanni had been conquered by means of enchantments and magic ceremonies, the sole property of Chaldeans and other soothsayers. Remove these enchantments, and those same enemies of the Empire would break out into open rebellion once more. Antonine, therefore, sought to know the enchantments and how to destroy them, so that a pretext might be found for recommencing the war, which he, as an Antonine, was eager to finish, lest that honour should fall to another. Here even Lampridius is sympathetic; he says that a war would have enabled the Emperor to merit the name of Antonine, which he, along with nearly all the others, had sullied; but the opportunity was not given him; death came too soon to enable him to make the preparations.

Lampridius now enters upon a few more pious reflections, and in the course of his argument a few more terminological inexactitudes concerning the Emperor’s name and family history. He states that Antonine had not only usurped that august name, but had profaned it, until it became a name of public ridicule; that he was called nothing but Varius and Heliogabalus. These remarks are both unnecessary and untrue. The Emperor was never called either Varius or Heliogabalus. The name of his God, which he assumed at Nicomedia, was never in any sort of way an official title; neither does Varius appear on any known coin, inscription, or document. This Emperor is frequently cited as Priest of Elagabal, Priest of the Most High God, which title was, by the way, often obliterated on the monuments instead of the name Antonine, when Alexander defaced, or partly defaced, these after his cousin’s death.

Like the name Jahwe, the El of the Hebrews, this name Elagabal, the El of the Emesans, was in all probability considered too holy for common use, at least during the Emperor’s lifetime. After his death, it was applied to him as a sort of nickname, just as Caligula or Caracalla had been applied to former Emperors, or even like the term “Romanist” was applied more recently to the last Stuart King of this country.[58]

To this latter period of the reign we may ascribe a certain amount of Antonine’s activity in building. Lampridius mentions at least two monuments of importance, the first a gigantic column which he purposed to erect, a staircase inside, round which should be engraved or chiselled, not the history of the Emperor’s deeds, not even the history of the family exploits, but a record of the miracles which God had wrought, and for which men gave thanks. Antonine was murdered before the project could be fulfilled, and Rome lost the finest of those most beautiful relics of antiquity—the columns which still grace her forums and market-places. The second was a high tower which he built in accordance with the prophecy of certain Syrian priests, that his death as well as his life should be violent. All traces of this tower and its location have disappeared; so have the sheets of gold covered with jewels, with which he paved the court below, in pursuance of his desire to perish magnificently. The idea of this extravagance was that of a splendid suicide, to be accomplished by throwing himself from the summit of the tower on to the sparkling beauty beneath, thus finding sensuousness even in death. Antonine had read Iambulus; he knew the history of the men in the Fortunate Isles, who, when they were overtaken by the ennui of sheer happiness, lay on perfumed grass which had the faculty of producing a voluptuous death. His conception was not so easy, but what it lost in ease it gained in splendour.

In addition to these works, mention must be made of the completion of the Antonine baths, now known as those of Caracalla, the Thermae Varianae on the Aventine, which are variously named by Pauly as Thermae Syrae or Surae, and the hall built for the Senaculum on the Quirinal. These are authentic works, and there are many other instances cited by Lampridius of this Emperor’s passion for building. We hear of houses, baths, huge salt-water lakes, built in the mountains and fastnesses of the country districts. All these were erected, so the story goes, but for a moment, as temporary shelters for the monarch when travelling, and were destroyed when once he had reached his next habitation. Even Lampridius states that such records are obviously false, the inventions of those who wished to malign Antonine, once Alexander was possessed of the supreme power, sycophants Lampridius calls them, who makes such a poor show himself when occupying that unenviable position at Constantine’s bidding.

There is yet another point which must be examined in connection with the murder of this Emperor, namely the so-called disaffection of the soldiers. Time and again, throughout the history of the reign, we learn from coins and inscriptions that Antonine was popular with all ranks of the army. On the other hand, we have the repeated assurance of all authors, both Greek and Latin, that the Emperor was continually losing his popularity.

More reliance could be placed on the written testimony if the authors agreed as to when this popularity was lost. As a matter of fact, Lampridius ascribes the beginning, progress, and culmination of this dislike to each separate year; on the later occasions, seemingly, because he had forgotten that he had already stated definitely that the affection for the Emperor was a thing of the past. Nevertheless, the story cannot be entirely dismissed as a mere fable, since there were two military risings or disturbances, in the second of which the Emperor lost his life.

The question must occur as to whether these are traceable to actual disaffection or to some conspiracy. The side-lights which all authors throw on the progress of events leave no doubt in our minds that the two risings were definite conspiracies, worked up by interested persons,—such wholly unsuccessful plots as those of Seius Carus and Pomponius Bassus may be left out of consideration here, as they were at once discovered and as easily frustrated. The fact remains, however, that Antonine was killed, most probably in the Praetorian camp, and that his body, having been dragged about the city, was thrown into the Tiber, near the Aemilian Bridge, or else cast down a drain which ran into the river, in order to show contempt for his sacred person. Again, there was no effort made to punish the wrong-doers. The Praetorians themselves, when they knew of the murder, made no outcry, which circumstances tend to show a certain amount of acquiescence on the part of the soldiers and people. How, then, had Antonine alienated in 222 the men who in 220 testified such devotion to his person and rule?